Flipped: A Steve Harrington Enemies to Lovers

Season 3 Epilogue 1: I Just Died in Your Arms (18+)

Steve paled at the sight of you dropping to your knees with a bone-shattering thud, clinging onto El for dear life - two girls, weeping in each other's arms.

He watched you break before his very eyes, crying out with an unbearable wail. It broke him just to see you this way.

Hopper didn't make it.

That's what you were told.

Joyce had no other option, but to close The Gate and sacrifice him to the explosion. And while that means Hawkins gets saved once more, it leaves you and El without a father. You without a father, again.

When Steve was sure Max was in safe hands, the boy rushed to your side.

You gripped at him compulsively, sobbing into his shoulder, fully saturating his shirt with your tears.

"I'm so sorry, baby." He whispered into your skin, cupping your drenched cheek and wiping your tears away, but more and more came.

After getting into contact with Robin, who was stunned to hear the grave news, Steve made the easy decision to escort you home, and not leave your side for even a second.

The ride home was silent in the back of Jonathan's car. Nancy gave you a sympathetic squeeze before you left, promising she'd watch over El tonight. After which, Steve followed you up to your apartment. That entire time, you didn't utter a single word.

Now, entering your apartment, you stumble into the room, Steve sticking steadfast behind.

The following series of movements feel like they're in a drunken stupor, your head thick with a dizzying whirlwind of horrible thoughts. You begin with kicking off your boots. Next, you meander to the couch. Then, you flump down upon it in exhaustion.

You bury your head in your hands before releasing an enormous, pent-up sigh, with Steve watching you with dark, solemn eyes.

Finally, you speak in a tiny voice, "I uh- I need a shower."

Steve nods severely. "Take your time; I'll be right out here."

You close the door to the bathroom and lock it behind you, to start to undress with trembling hands, letting the stained fabric fall to the floor until you're naked and shivering under the stark, fluorescent light.

In the shower, you let the steam overwhelm your senses in the hopes it will cleanse your mind and clear your throbbing head.

You turn the heat up impossibly high, feeling the scorch of the water on your skin, wallowing in the burn and letting the remaining bits of dried blood seep in red trickles down your body.

After, you return to Steve with heat-flushed cheeks and dripping hair with a thin robe neatly wrapped around your body. You're finally clean, but you still feel so messy on the inside.

You sink on the couch beside him, and he braves a soft, sympathetic smile at you.

"Say something." He utters.

"There isn't much to say," You whisper with a shrug and observe the purpling bruise around his eye, made darker by the dim light of your lamp. "You need cleaning up."

"You don't have to-"

"-Please," You beg weakly. "I can't- I can't look at your face like that anymore. I hate seeing you like this."

He simply nods.

You take care of your own hands first, winding them up with fresh bandages, barely making a sound despite the obvious electric pain that surges through them. Steve is awestruck by your resilience, when really, you're just numb to anything besides the devastating feeling of grief right now.