Bombdiggity Brunets

Bombdiggity Brunets 3

Warnings apply as before and there are also subtle panic attacks. Read only if you're comfortable. Enjoy!

Steve wakes with a scream.

It's not a vocal scream that alerts anyone else he's currently terrified out of his mind, no, because that would disturb them and he doesn't want to be a bother, but it's a silent, internal scream that causes his thoughts to spiral into pessimism, and he's rolling out of bed before he can really think about what's happening, quietly landing on his hands and ankles to avoid making a sound.

And he's out of the room within a few seconds, downstairs within one minute, and leaving the house in another.

With no time in his plan for shoes or a jacket, he simply takes as deep a breath as he can and places one foot on the road, wincing as the cigarette burn flares up again, and starts to run.

He keeps slamming his eyes shut intermittently, wanting to rid himself of any pain or weakness by the time he gets back to his house. He tries to pretend that everything is fine and this is just another basketball escapade and he isn't now scared out of his mind most of the time. He doesn't entirely convince himself to be free of panic but he forces himself to pretend, knowing his parents won't allow for a ruined reputation.

Strangely, the front door is open.

"Father?" Steve calls as he walks in, draping he coat he'd hung up at some point around his shoulders to make himself look presentable.

"Kitchen!" his mother calls, so he wipes his feet out of habit and walks to their kitchen.

"You look terrible, where have you been?" his mother asks, her eyes wide.

"Probably playing basketball again," his father scoffs.

Steve nods, attempting to suppress the flashes of those men. His mother smiles and shakes her head at him, obviously assuming it was just another rough practice after which he'd gone to a mate's house and lost track of the time; it's not like they could know the only real friends he has wouldn't touch a basketball to save their life.

"Go get cleaned up, I have a meeting we need to attend."

Steve stops for a second. "You want me to come?"

His father sends him a strained smile. "As my only son, you are likely to inherit my role in the company as long as the board deems you fit to do so."

His mother beams. "So go freshen up and then you boys can have some pie before leaving!"

Steve barely even comprehends that he's been promised pie because he's too busy wondering how he's supposed to pretend he's not constantly losing his mind in front of so many people - people that have the power to shape his future in any way they please.

Nevertheless, he takes a painful shower, washing the dried blood off his skin, regretting trying to claw his skin off when he sees the faint scratches, and trying his best not to agitate the bruises or burns. Sighing, he realised he'll have to keep a jacket on at all times until the marks of his nails fade.

As for his face... Well, people are quick to assume he's gotten into a fight anyway; that shouldn't be a problem.

It's a challenge and a half to make himself look as cocky as the world expects himself to be but he does it, his jeans, shirt, and jacket complementing one another and his hair styled into magazine-worthy perfection.

His fingers itch to grab the nail bat hidden under his bed but he resists the temptation and, instead, slips on the small necklace Dustin had given him - one half of the silhouette of a man with a quiff. It's hidden under his shirt so nobody can see the chain but it comforts him to know it's there, a comfort he greatly needs if he's to play the part of the Steve Harrington that died as soon as he walked into that alley.