Chapter Text
The Indiana sun was dipping low, painting the sky in bruised purples and soft golds, casting long shadows across the gravel rooftop. It was quiet up here, the usual hum of the town drifting up faintly but feeling miles away.
Sitting in a loose circle on old folding chairs were the four of them—older now, changed by time and distance, but still fitting together like they hadn’t spent months apart.
Nancy looked sharp and bright, her hair pulled back neatly, wearing a simple dress. She’d flown in from Boston that morning, where she worked as a reporter for The Boston Herald. Jonathan sat beside her, quiet as always, camera bag resting at his feet. He was down from New York City, where he studied film at NYU. Robin had come in from Southampton, Massachusetts, where she was majoring in linguistics at Smith College, chattering nonstop since she’d arrived, full of stories about classes and campus life.
And then there was Steve. He was still in Hawkins, the one constant in a town everyone else seemed to leave. He leaned back in his chair, one ankle crossed over the other, holding a cold soda can loosely in his hand.
“It’s actually perfect,” Steve was saying, grinning like he’d just figured out the secret to the universe. “Seriously—teaching sex ed to seventh graders? You would not believe the questions they ask. Half the time I’m just trying not to laugh or turn bright red. And coaching baseball? Turns out I’m actually good at yelling strategy from the sidelines. Who knew?”
They laughed, warm and familiar. Steve had found his place here, stable and solid, something none of them had quite managed yet.
“And then there’s Kristen,” Steve added, his voice softening, that familiar, earnest shine in his eyes. He leaned forward slightly, like he was sharing something sacred. “I don’t know, guys… I really think Kristen might be the one.”
Robin caught the flicker of something in his expression—something that didn’t quite match his words. She saw the way his eyes darted, just for a split second, toward Nancy, lingering there before he pulled them away. She saw the way his fingers tapped nervously against the side of his bottle. She knew. She’d always known. Steve Harrington could date a hundred girls, could say a hundred times that he’d moved on, but the truth was written all over him: he was still in love with Nancy Wheeler. He always would be. It was a quiet, permanent thing, rooted deep in who he was.
Nancy smiled at him, kind and genuine. “That’s great, Steve. Really. She sounds wonderful.”
Jonathan nodded, offering a small, supportive smile. “Good for you, man. You deserve something steady.”
The conversation drifted for a while—talking about the kids, about how much they’d grown, about Max, who was walking on her own now, still in physical therapy but fierce as ever. They talked about articles Nancy was working on, about the script Jonathan was drafting for his class, about Robin’s latest debate club victory. It was easy, the kind of easy that only comes from surviving the end of the world together.
Then Robin checked her watch and gasped, scrambling up from her chair.
“Oh shit—I completely lost track of time! I need to go, like, right now. I’m meeting Vickie in town in ten minutes.” She started shoving her things into her bag, already halfway toward the door leading down.
Jonathan stood up too, slinging his camera bag over his shoulder. “I have to work on my script anyway—deadline’s coming up fast and I haven’t finished the third act. I can drop you off. Nancy, you ready?” He looked over at her, keys already in his hand.
Steve spoke up quickly, before Nancy could answer. “Nah, you guys go ahead. Don’t worry about it. We haven’t finished our drinks yet—I’ll drop Nance home when we’re done here. Catch up properly, y’know?”
Robin paused, one foot on the step down. She looked from Steve to Nancy, then back to Steve again. Her eyes narrowed slightly, that skeptical, knowing look clear on her face. She knew exactly what he was doing—stealing a few more minutes alone with her, just because he could. But she said nothing. She just gave him a small, soft smile, a silent promise not to say a word, and stepped back to hug them both tightly.
“Love you losers,” she mumbled into their shoulders. “We’re meeting up tomorrow before we all head out, right? Don’t bail on me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Nancy promised, squeezing her back.
Jonathan clapped Steve on the shoulder, quiet and understanding. “See you tomorrow.”
And then they were gone, the heavy metal door clanging shut behind them, leaving Steve and Nancy alone on the rooftop.
The noise from the town below felt even further away now. Steve settled back into his chair, turning his gaze toward Nancy, the girl he had loved since he was seventeen, the girl who had left, who had grown into something brilliant and sharp and entirely her own. He took a sip of his drink, hiding the ache in his chest behind a smile.
“So,” he said softly, “Boston treating you okay?”
Nancy turned to him, the sunset catching the edge of her hair, and for a second, it was like no time had passed at all. “It’s good, Steve. Really good. But… Hawkins still feels like home, you know?”
Steve looked at her, really looked at her, and nodded slowly. He knew. More than she would ever realise.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “I know exactly what you mean.”
The sky shifted from gold to deep indigo, then to the soft, speckled black of night, but neither of them made a move to leave. The conversation had drifted effortlessly. They talked about old memories, too: stupid high school parties, that night at the Byers’ house, and the battles they’d fought side by side. It was strange, how much time had passed, yet sitting here with her felt as natural as breathing.
Even though it was June, the air up on the rooftop carried a sharp, cool bite, rolling off the treetops and the empty expanse of the pool below. Nancy pulled her arms tighter around herself, but it wasn’t enough. She shivered, a small, involuntary tremor that barely lasted a second—but Steve caught it immediately.
He noticed everything about her. He always had. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was thinking, the slight crease between her brows when she was focused, the way her voice softened when she spoke about something she cared about. It was a running joke with Robin, how observant he was when it came to Nancy, and completely oblivious to almost everything else.
Without a word, Steve stood up, slipped off his dark suit jacket—the one he’d worn to the ceremony—and stepped around the cooler between them. He draped it gently over her shoulders, letting the heavy fabric settle around her. It was warm, still holding his body heat, and smelled faintly of his cologne, citrus and something like vanilla, mixed with the familiar scent of him.
Nancy pulled it closer, wrapping it around herself, and looked up at him with that soft, familiar smile that still made his chest feel tight.
“Thanks, Steve,” she said quietly.
He leaned back against the railing, hands stuffed into the pockets of his shirt, grinning that easy, lopsided grin that hadn’t changed in years. “Don’t worry about it. You know… my clothes always did look better on you anyway.”
It was said lightly, like an old joke, but there was a quiet truth underneath it—one he hoped she felt but wouldn’t press on. He turned, reached into the cooler sitting on the ground, and pulled out two more bottles of beer. He popped the caps, the familiar hiss breaking the quiet, and held one out to her.
As she reached to take it, their fingers brushed—just a fleeting touch, skin against skin for half a second. It was small, nothing really, but the spark of it ran all the way up Steve’s arm and settled heavy in his chest. He didn’t pull his hand away right away, and for a heartbeat, neither did she.
Nancy’s eyes flicked up to meet his, dark and clear in the dim light. Neither of them said anything. The noise of the town below hummed in the distance, crickets chirped in the grass, and somewhere far off, a dog barked. But up here, it felt like it was just them, suspended in the quiet dark, holding onto a moment that neither wanted to let go of just yet.
Steve finally pulled his hand back slowly, taking a sip of his own beer to hide the way his heart was hammering against his ribs. He thought about Kristen—sweet, kind Kristen, who deserved everything—and then he looked at Nancy, wrapped in his jacket, looking back at him like she saw every part of him, and he knew, with a painful, beautiful certainty, that he was exactly where he was always going to be: right here, waiting, even if he knew he never should.
“Better?” he asked softly.
Nancy nodded, adjusting the collar of his jacket around her neck. “Yeah. Much better.”
The bottles sat empty on the concrete, condensation leaving faint rings in the dark. Steve stared at them for a long moment, wishing they could refill themselves, wishing the night could just stop moving entirely. But the air had grown cooler, and the silence between them had shifted from easy comfort to something thick and electric, humming with all the things neither had dared to say out loud.
“Come on,” Steve said, his voice rougher than he intended. He pushed himself off the railing, every movement feeling heavy and deliberate. “I’ll drive you home.”
He didn’t want to go. He wanted to stay right here, on this cold rooftop, sitting across from her, talking until the sun came up again. Or forever, if he could. The thought settled deep in his chest, aching and sweet. Every step he took toward the exit felt like a battle against himself; every time he looked at her, standing there wrapped in his jacket, looking small and beautiful in the dim light, it took every single ounce of his self-control not to cross the space between them, cup her face in his hands, and kiss her like he’d been wanting to for years.
The walk to his car was silent, the kind of silence that felt loaded with history and regret and everything left unsaid. The gravel crunched under their shoes, the sound too loud in the quiet night. Steve walked slightly ahead, hands stuffed deep in his pockets, fighting the urge to reach out and just brush his fingers against hers. He felt her presence beside him like a magnet, pulling him in no matter how hard he tried to keep his distance.
When they reached the BMW, he rounded the front, ever the gentleman, and pulled the passenger door open for her, holding it wide with a polite, practiced smile that didn’t reach his eyes at all.
“After you,” he murmured, stepping back to let her pass.
But Nancy didn’t move to get in. Instead, she reached out, grabbed the edge of the door, and shoved it shut with a sharp thud. Before Steve could even process what was happening, she stepped right into his space, hands gripping the lapels of his shirt, and pushed him backward until his back hit the cool metal of the car. And then—she kissed him.
It wasn’t soft or tentative. It was hard, desperate, and full of everything they’d both been holding back for years. Her hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer, and for half a second Steve stood there stunned, his brain short-circuiting completely, before his body took over.
His hands flew to her waist immediately, slipping around her back to pull her flush against him, one hand coming up to tangle in her hair, holding her exactly where he’d dreamed of holding her a thousand times before. He kissed her back with every bit of longing and love and confusion he’d carried since they were teenagers, pouring years of quiet devotion into it. He kissed her like she was the air he needed to breathe, like he was terrified she’d vanish if he let go even for a second.
He could taste the beer on her lips and the familiar, undeniable taste of her, and it was better, infinitely better, than anything he’d ever imagined. All the thoughts of Kristen, all the promises he’d made to himself about moving on, every attempt to put this behind him—they all dissolved instantly, completely irrelevant in this moment. Because here she was. Nancy. In his arms. Kissing him like she meant it.
He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his heart hammering so hard he was sure she could feel it through his chest, pressed tight against hers. This was where he belonged. He’d always known it. And now, finally, she was right there with him.
The backseat of the BMW was tight, the leather sticking warm to their skin, but neither of them cared about the space or the discomfort. There was no hesitation left, no more holding back—only the frantic, burning need to be closer, to erase every inch of distance that had stood between them for years.
Nancy was straddling his lap, the hem of her dress bunched high around her hips, pooling at her waist. Her panties had been pushed aside, Steve’s hands were everywhere—gripping her thighs, digging into her waist, tangling hard in her hair—while his suit pants and boxers were shoved down just far enough, caught around his thighs, freeing him completely.
There was no slow build, no careful pace. Steve pulled her down onto him hard, burying himself deep in one sharp motion, and Nancy gasped, her head falling back, fingers digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks.
She moved against him with an urgent, frantic rhythm, grinding down, taking him deeper every time, chasing the feeling that only he had ever given her. Steve met every movement, driving up into her, his hands guiding her, holding her exactly where he needed her, his mouth hot and open against her neck, her jaw, her lips—kissing her like he was trying to consume her. Every thrust was hard and unrelenting, fueled by years of quiet longing, of watching her be happy with someone else, of watching her leave.
The windows fogged up quickly, blocking out the night outside. The only sounds were their heavy, ragged breathing, the creak of the old leather seats, and the sharp, breathless sounds they made for each other. For these few minutes, nothing else existed—not Boston, not Kristen, not Jonathan. There was only this: the feel of her skin against his, the way she fit around him perfectly, the way she said his name like it was the only word she knew.
He gripped her hips tight enough to leave marks, fingers digging into soft skin, and drove up into her hard and sharp, setting a punishing rhythm that rocked the whole car. The leather squeaked beneath them, drowned out only by the sound of their ragged breathing and the slick, heavy push and pull of their bodies. Nancy’s head fell back, chest heaving, and she let out loud, throaty moans that bounced off the fogged windows—no holding back, no quiet politeness left between them.
“Fuck—just like that,” Steve groaned, voice wrecked, his eyes locked on where they were joined, watching himself disappear inside her over and over. “Take it, Nance… take every inch of it.”
She rode him hard, meeting every upward thrust with a sharp, desperate grind down, her hands fisting in his hair, pulling his face up to hers. “God—yes—right there,” she gasped, breath hot against his mouth. “Don’t you dare stop… fuck me harder, Steve… give it to me.”
He snapped his hips up faster, deeper, chasing that friction that had haunted him for years, and whispered dirty, breathless things right against her neck—“So wet for me… always so good for me… you feel perfect around me… just like this… take it all.”
She whined high and broken, rocking faster, nails scraping down his back through his shirt, moaning his name like a chant, like it was the only thing she could remember how to say. “Yes—yes—more… please… don’t hold back… fuck me, Steve…”
Every thrust was harder than the last, every whisper dirtier, every moan louder, as they chased the edge together, tangled up tight, nothing existing but the heat and the friction and the way they fit like they were made only for this.
“Steve—Steve, I’m gonna come—fuck—I’m gonna come—”
Her voice broke, high and wrecked, the words tearing out of her between ragged gasps, sharp and desperate. She was trembling all over, her thighs shaking hard where they clamped around his hips, her whole body wound tight, teetering right on the edge. Her fingers dug so hard into his shoulders she was sure she’d leave half-moons in his skin, her head thrown back, hair sticking damp to her neck.
“Fuck—yeah—that’s it—” He groaned, his hands gripping her harder, driving up into her even faster, harder, every thrust punching the air out of her lungs. “Come on then—come for me, Nance—give it to me—let me feel it—”
He bit out filthy, breathless encouragement right against her throat, driving her right over, “That’s it—take it—come all over my cock—yes—just like that—”
A second later she shattered. Her whole body seized up, her back arching sharp off his chest, a loud, keening cry tearing out of her as the pleasure crashed through her, hard and overwhelming. She clamped down around him, tight and hot, squeezing him so hard it nearly drove him over the edge right then, her hips stuttering and grinding frantically through every wave, chanting his name over and over like a prayer, like a curse, like it was the only word she knew.
He kept driving up into her through every pulse and flutter of her release, milking every last wave of pleasure from her body, his pace still brutal and unrelenting even as she went soft and shaking in his arms. He held her pinned down on him, chasing his own peak, the friction hot and perfect, her wetness coating him, the feel of her tight and spent around him pushing him closer and closer.
A few more sharp, deep thrusts and the tension snapped. He wrenched himself out of her with a ragged, guttural groan, hands clamped bruisingly tight on her hips, and shoved her back just enough. He pumped his fist over her stomach, and hot, thick spurts of his release spilled out across her skin, streaking over her lower abdomen, marking her, claiming her in the only way he could. His head fell back, eyes squeezed shut, breath coming in heaving, ragged gasps as the pleasure ripped through him, leaving him boneless and shaking, every bit of that years-long ache finally spent.
For a long moment the only sound in the car was their harsh, tangled breathing, the windows completely fogged over, the air thick with heat and sweat and the smell of them. Nancy slumped forward against his chest, boneless and heavy, her cheek resting over his heart, while he stayed slumped back in the seat, one hand still resting possessively on her thigh, the other wiping sweat from his forehead.
The heavy silence stretched out between them, thick and suffocating, as the heat and urgency of what they’d just done faded fast, leaving only raw, sharp reality in its place. Steve sat back against the seat, chest still heaving slightly, eyes fixed on her—on the mess they’d made, on the skin of her stomach still marked with him, on the way she wouldn’t meet his gaze.
“What does this mean for you, Nance?” His voice was quiet, rough, stripped bare.
Nancy froze mid-motion, fingers still fumbling to pull her dress down, to cover herself up, to put herself back together. She looked over at him, confusion and wariness written all over her face. “What do you mean?”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tight like he was holding himself back from reaching out, from undoing everything he was about to say. “You know how I feel about you. You’ve always known. I’ve never been able to hide it—not really. So I need to know… how do you feel? About us?”
She looked away, staring out the fogged window into the dark street, her jaw tightening. “Steve… it’s not that simple, okay?” She pulled her dress the rest of the way down, smoothing the fabric like it could fix anything. “I live in Boston. My job is there, my life is there, everything I’ve worked for. And long distance? It doesn’t work. You know it doesn’t work. It ruined me and Jonathan when he was in Lenora. We fell apart. I can’t do that again. I won’t.”
Steve let out a short, bitter breath, shaking his head. “So that’s it then? Just… a quick fuck in the back of my car, and then straight back to reality? Back to our separate lives, like nothing ever happened?”
“Steve, come on—don’t make it a thing.” Her voice was pleading now, soft and desperate. “We just… we needed it. It was just… us, for a minute. That’s all it can be.”
He sat up straighter, his expression hardening into something sad and resolute. “Look… I have something good with Kristen, okay? She’s good to me. She’s steady, and she cares, and I don’t want to ruin that. But I can’t have both. I can’t be with her and still be around you, not like this. Not when every time you show up, everything else just… disappears. So if you don’t want to actually work things out—if this is just a one-time thing—then I really need some space. I need to focus on my relationship. For real.”
Nancy’s face fell. “What does that mean, Steve?”
“It means…” He swallowed hard, forcing the words out even though they tasted like poison. “I can’t see you. Or be around you. Not for a while. I need… I need to get over you, okay? Properly. Once and for all.”
Her eyes glistened, hurt flashing bright and sharp. “You don’t want to be my friend anymore?”
“Nance…” His voice cracked, raw with pain. He looked at her, really looked at her, and it almost broke him right there. “Don’t make this harder than it already is. Please. I can’t just be your friend. I’ve tried. For years I’ve tried. But I can’t. Not when being near you means wanting you—wanting everything I know I can’t have. I can’t do it anymore.”
Nancy stared at him, heart splintering in her chest, seeing the truth of it written all over his face. There was no anger there, only sadness, deep and endless. She said nothing else—just turned away, her hands trembling as she fixed her clothes, tucked her hair back, wiped the smudged lipstick from her mouth, erasing every trace of what had happened between them. She reached for the door handle, shoved it open, and stepped out into the cool night air.
Steve scrambled to lean across the seat, voice urgent and thick. “Nance—wait. Let me drive you home. It’s late, it’s dark—”
“No.” She didn’t look back at him, didn’t even pause. Her voice was quiet, tight with tears she refused to let fall. “No. I’ll walk.”
She shut the car door behind her, soft but final, and started walking away—away from him, away from the car, away from everything they’d just done and everything they’d just broken. Steve sat there alone in the backseat, the air still warm with them, staring out into the dark after her, knowing that this time… this time, he might have lost her for good.