Steve hesitantly opens the front door and gazes about the dark room. There's a slight illuminescence from the street lamps shining through the kitchen window.
His whole body shutters as he hears her bedroom door creek open.
As she comes into view, Steve loses his breath.
Not to be misunderstood, she always takes his breath away but never in such a mournful way.
She looks frail, probably from not eating, and her eyes are struck with redness from the irritation of crying or, judging by the purple bags under her eyes, lack of sleep– He assumes it is a mixture of both.
"Eddie, is that you?" She asks as he steps into the light, "Steve? What are you doing here?"
He steps closer, towering over her only slightly, "We need to talk."
She tries not to scoff, "Steve, we already–"
"No." He interrupts, standing his ground, "I need you to hear me out."
Angie takes a shallow breath as she stares into his eyes. Because of the streetlight, she can see the golden swirls in his irises that she's missed so dearly. She almost gets lost in them– sometimes she wishes she would rather than convince herself that it isn't what she wanted, "Okay fine," she gives in, "Talk."
She leads him over to the couch, taking a seat on the edge.
He carefully sits next to her, his hands clasped tightly, "I wanna start by saying that I'm sorry if I dismissed your feelings last time we talked. It wasn't my intention. I was just upset, and I said some things that I shouldn't have."
"I think we both did." She mutters softly.
He gazes at her guilty features, and he resists the urge to pull her close, "You know, I don't–"
"You were right." She interrupts, "You were right about me running away a-and using his death as an excuse to do it."
"No, Ange– I shouldn't have said that." He attempts, "It was uncalled for."
"But it was true. It was blunt, but you were right." She mumbles.
His heart sinks as he scans over her solemn features.
They sit in silence for a moment, not quite sure how to approach the conversation.
Steve speaks up after a moment, "I'm really sorry that we made you feel like this... I hate that you felt you couldn't come to us... to me." He corrects softly, "I should've done better to support you."
"Don't say sorry. It wasn't–" she shakes her head dismissively, "I– I don't know why I didn't come to you. I just– I needed to work through things, and I– I didn't know how else to do it." She admits, wringing out her hands.
He places his hand onto hers, "It drives me crazy when you do that." He mutters with a grin, referencing the first time he felt a ping of interest in Ange.
She allows herself to smile and laugh lightly. Her smile fades quickly from her features, "I'm really sorry that I've put all of you through this."
"Ange–"
"Every time I was hurting, I ran away, and I can't imagine what you must've been thinking. With everything we've been through, I should've known better. You have every right to be upset with me, and I see that now." She admits, truly sorry.
"I wasn't mad that you wanted to work through things. I just needed you to communicate with me... I needed to know that you were okay– safe, at least." He states gently.
"I think a lot of our problems could've been solved by better communication." She mumbles, fiddling with a loose string on her sweatpants.
"We could always try again." He suggests softly.
"Steve–"
"Just let me show you." He mutters, looking upon her solemn features, "I want to work at this, Ange." He admits, "I don't think I've ever wanted something more."
"I–" she starts but quickly silences herself, knowing he has more to say.
"You're it for me, Ange." He tightens his grasp on her hands, "You're everything I could ever dream of."
Tears brim in her eyes as she listens to him confess.
"I know we're not perfect, and we've been through some pretty crazy shit, but I love you, Ange." He grins genuinely, "Let me show you how much– Let me gift you flowers. Let me kiss you good morning. Let me tell you that you're beautiful– even if you don't feel that way. Let me make you laugh. Let me hold you on your bad days and let me listen to all your troubles so I can help you."
"What if I mess up again? What if I can't handle it? I mean–" she scrambles.
"Then let me forgive you..." He raises his hand from hers to her cheek, "Don't give up on this because you're scared." He stares deeply into her eyes, "Because it's going to be scary and it's going to be hard... but it's going to be worth it."
"Steve?" she mutters, a tear slipping from her eye.
"Yeah?"
"Don't let me leave."
He gazes at her, a hint of confusion glazing his expression.
"Don't let me give up on this." She sobs softly, "I'm not sure how love is supposed to be... my mom abandoned me, my dad is an abuser, my uncle is never around, Billy is... dead, and I think a part of Eddie resents me for forcing him to grow up– for taking his childhood away." Angie sniffles, "I don't want to hurt you like they hurt me– I don't ever want you to feel like this."
He leans his forehead onto her own, "I'm Steve Harrington. I can take it."
She smiles, letting her laugh escape her as he wipes away a stray tear.
"Please don't go." He mutters vulnerably, his own eyes welling with tears.
"I won't."
She places her lips onto his own. Steve returns it without question.
He missed the feeling of her lips on his own, but the kiss was soft. It wasn't lust or fear... it was love.
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I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. It originally was written differently, but I kinda let their dynamic write itself, and so I changed it to fit their new dynamic. I'm so excited for you guys to finally read it. I hope you enjoyed it!
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Angelica "Freak Two" Munson
Fanfiction"Hey, Harrington!" she reverses against her heel, flipping him the bird, "The names Freak Two, actually. If you're gonna insult me, you might as well do it right." ---------- Angelica Beatrice Munson, aka "Freak Two" is Eddie Munson's younger sister...
