A/N - This chapter started out as one tiny scene and slowly grew into something a little longer and a lot deeper than I initially thought it would. I listened to the song Growing Sideways by Noah Kahan whilst I was writing because that man really knows how to write a song about generational trauma.
"I was sort of dating this girl for a while," Jonathan hummed, sitting back in his deck chair, snorting with laughter when you sat forward to look around Steve, desperate for the tiniest bit of gossip from your old friend.
"When you say 'for a while'-" you pressed.
"I hadn't seen her in a couple of days before coming down to Hawkins," he interjected, watching as your brow furrowed. "She left in a real hurry when we saw each other last-"
You watched carefully as his words trailed off, his cheeks tinting red with blush. "What happened?" you hummed, lowering your voice, your eyes darting to find Nancy still deep in conversation with Robin.
Jonathan shrugged slightly, taking another deep swig from the beer in his hand. "She came over and we were-" he hesitated for a moment, clearing his throat. "Getting intimate," he finally supplied, his attention fully fixed on the bottle in his hand, his nail picking at the paper label, peeling it from the glass. "And she, uh, she was really enjoying herself, but when she finished, it got a little messy," he pressed on, finally turning to look at you and Steve. "She got all embarrassed and kept apologising, and then she didn't call when she said she would, and I didn't really know what to say to make her feel better, so I didn't call either-"
Steve scoffed quietly beside you, just on the wrong side of tipsy as he reached to squeeze your knee gently. "You've got to get over the awkwardness and ask that girl out again," your boyfriend started, his thumb brushing over the bare skin under his hand. "Buy a couple of towels and put one of 'em down before you go to poundtown and you guys'll be fine. I mean, Y/N is like a damn slip and slide down there, and it works just fine for us-"
"Steve," you bit out, your eyes widening in horror at his comment, flicking between your boyfriend and Jonathan. "What is wrong with you?" you pressed, knocking his hand off of your leg, as he turned to you with his brow furrowed in confusion.
"What?"
"You're unbelievable," you muttered, pushing yourself up from your seat. "Jonathan, I am so sorry about him; please forget you heard any of that," you added softly, before turning on your heel and marching towards the ladder down to your car.
"Baby," Steve called out after you, stumbling slightly as he forced himself out of his chair, rushing to follow you. "Where are you going?"
You hesitated for a moment, glaring up at him from your spot halfway down the ladder. "Home," you bit out before you were moving again.
"Sweetheart," he called after you, immediately moving to follow you, hurrying to the car and climbing into the passenger seat before you could get the engine started. "What just happened?" he pressed as you finally got the car started. "Baby, why are you mad at me?"
The look you fixed him with had caught him off guard. You were so damn mad that it had startled him slightly. "Do you not realise how embarrassing that was?" you started, your voice thick and awkward. "You can't just talk about me like that to people. It's gross. It's inappropriate," you pressed on.
"I was just trying to help-"
"By describing how wet I get when we have sex?"
Steve hesitated slightly. "I didn't think-"
"Yeah, that was obvious," you bit at him, finally pulling out onto the road as Steve fell silent.
The two of you had driven the whole way home that way, in utter silence without even the radio to break it. And when you'd made it back to the little house the two of you had just bought out in Forest Hills, you had left Steve sitting in the car, slamming your door shut behind you.
*Time Skip*
You'd spent the rest of the evening and into the night not really speaking to Steve. It wasn't like you were giving him the silent treatment, but you'd taken shelter in the bedroom, and he hadn't made the move to apologise, so you weren't ready to make nice just yet, the humiliation of his comments still sitting awkwardly in your stomach.
It wasn't until 2 am, when you were still lying in bed, staring at the ceiling on your own, that you had decided to be the bigger person.
You climbed out of bed, padding barefoot out into the living room and finding Steve scrunched up on the too-small couch, a blanket draped awkwardly over his body, but wide awake.
"Steve?" you hummed softly, watching as his head shot up to look in your direction.
"What are you doing up, Baby?" he murmured, sitting up slowly, the blanket slipping to the floor.
You hesitated for a moment. "You didn't come to bed," you started. "I was waiting for you," you added softly.
"Oh," he breathed. "I assumed you'd want me to sleep out here tonight," he pressed.
Your brow furrowed at his comment. "Why would I want you to sleep on the couch?"
He opened his mouth, as if he was about to answer, and then it snapped shut again, and he shrugged. "I don't know," he murmured.
"I'm sorry I got so mad-"
"Don't, Sweetheart," he hummed out as you moved to sit next to him, reaching out to link your fingers through his. "I shouldn't have said-" his words trailed off. "I shouldn't have told Jonathan about our private life. It's not any of his business, and I offered it up like it was nothing. I embarrassed you in front of our friends, and it's not okay," he pressed on. "I'm sorry, Baby."
"I know you are," you confessed as you dragged his hand up to your lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. "You know, I still want you to come to bed, even when I'm mad, right?" you breathed, leaning in to rest your head on his shoulder. "I still love you, even when we're fighting, and I don't like the idea of you being out here all cold and alone, and giving yourself a bad back on this crappy couch, when you could be in there with me."
"Okay," he agreed softly, shifting to wrap his arm around your shoulders, surrounding you in his warmth. "I'm sorry, I just-" he broke off in a soft sigh. "When I was a kid, if my parents fought, I would come downstairs for school in the morning, and my dad would always be on the couch. Mum wouldn't let him come to bed for a couple of nights when they'd really gotten into it-"
"Steve, we aren't your parents," you reminded him, reaching for his free hand with yours and giving it a tight squeeze. "And I'm not going to let you sleep out here, alright? I want you in my bed."
He turned his head, pressing a quick kiss to your temple, his nose burying into your hair. "I love you, Baby," he breathed against you, the air tickling your ear.
"Come to bed, Stevie," you hummed, tangling your fingers through his as you stood, dragging him with you.
He had climbed into bed after you that night, his arm wrapping around your middle, his hand splaying against your stomach, and he had realised how right you were: you weren't anything like his parents, because even when you were mad, even when he was being an idiot, your first thought was always him, and no matter what, his first thought was always going to be you.
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