✓ | 2. young blood [STEVE HARRINGTON]

three.

CHAPTER THREE:
THOMAS MIRKWOOD'S FIRST NIGHT OUT

[ TRICK OR TREAT, FREAK PART II ]

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         "Honestly, Thomas!" Steve shouted over his shoulder. "Just thank me fucking later!"

Thomas slammed the white film door behind him when he marched after Steve, arriving at the very back of Tina's driveway, which ran along the side of her house, near to her half-open garage door. The familiar sleek shape of Steve's car was just a shadow at first, then the motion sensor clicked in and the light above the door switched on silently, illuminating everything in a warm yellow glow. Ahead of him, on the other side of the car, he saw Steve rolling his eyes before he looked across at Thomas with his eyebrows raised expectantly, waiting for an explanation as to why he followed him outside, one hand on his car door handle.

"I'm confused," Thomas said simply. "What is bullshit?"

Steve groaned. "Don't tell me you don't know what bullshit means."

Thomas glared harshly. "I'm not stupid. I know what it means. I'm asking why you are so angry." It was a valid question, considering Steve never felt very passionate about Thomas nor his well being and now, here he was, losing his shit over Thomas getting in one fight at a high school Halloween party.

Placing his hands on the edge of the roof, Steve pressed his forehead into the cold metal between his knuckles with a loud noise of frustration, almost a growl but not quite, that came out through his teeth.

Before he could say anything, Thomas felt a surge of courage and compassion swell in his chest, so he burst out with, "Jonathan has taught me to drive. I can take you home."

Steve just shook his head but did not lift it away from his hands. Thomas had the slightest suspicion that he was crying, hence why he was hiding his face, but again he found himself greatly confused because surely, Steve wouldn't cry over him.

"Steve," said Thomas, quieter now, softer. The compassion he had felt before his previous offer to take Steve home was now present in his warm, gentle tone of voice. Steve's shoulders lifted and then fell with a sigh, before he hesitantly raised his head. In the glint of yellow light, Thomas could see that he had been right, that Steve had, in fact, allowed a few tears to slip past. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Steve sighed out, before he yanked open his car door and stood in the opening. "Nothing. I . . . I don't expect you to understand."

And then, as quickly as it had come, the compassion was gone.

"Right," Thomas agreed, somewhat spitefully. "Because I'm not normal."