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028. 𝗮 𝗳𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗳𝘂𝗹 𝘁𝗮𝗹𝗸 𝗼𝗳 𝗵𝗼𝘄 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗹𝗶𝗽𝘀 𝗴𝗿𝗮𝘇𝗲 𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗲,
𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗵 𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗹𝗼𝗮𝘁𝗵𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀.
𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 when she found herself sitting outside, in the dark, on the back steps of the Byers’ house. She sat with her legs folded up to her chest to keep warm against the cold— wearing nothing but her jacket in the November air. Her neck was tilted back and her eyes were fixated on the endless rows of stars above, that twisted in constellations and shimmered on for miles past the treeline, not a cloud in sight. The sky was empty if not for the presence of the stars. It left room for contemplation, room for thought, room to let out a long breath of air.
She reached to her side and then let her throat gulp down another sip. Her fingertips were chilled as they were gripped around the glass bottle, and she shut her eyes in the slightest wince as the liquid smoothed down the lump in her throat, burning at just the right amount. Leaving a tingling on her tongue and making more room for thought.
Letting the liquid settle in her stomach among the pit of nerves and raging anger, she placed the bottle of alcohol back down beside her on the wooden step.
She fluttered her eyes open to stare back at the stars. She hadn’t checked the time in forever, what felt like forever, but that didn’t matter. All she knew was that it was late and that she’d been awake for longer than twenty-four hours. She knew that light would come eventually, but in a time like this, it wouldn’t come for days. She knew that danger was all around, and sitting out on the back steps could be a bad idea. But she knew that the others had it under control. But she also knew that this was something damn near uncontrollable. And she also knew, that Joyce Byers kept some pretty good alcohol in the back of the fridge.
She knew that she shouldn’t be drinking. The kids were under her watch, and what good was that watch if the watcher wasn’t thinking straight. But at the same time, her mind was racing at five million miles per fucking hour and being in a quiet house just waiting was getting to her head. The gash on her head stopped throbbing and the back of her neck was fine now, but every time she thought about either, it seemed to come rushing back. She couldn’t think straight before the alcohol, and she didn’t care if it was the same afterwards. At this point, all of the stories and all of the fear and all of the fucking danger was getting to her— and she needed to clear her head, she couldn’t care less right now. Besides, Steve was still there, well and sober to be babysitting.
Oh, Steve.
Even if she tried her hardest, the thought of him would not leave her mind. With every sip, she tried to drown it away, but it seemed to be doing the opposite. She could still feel the grasp of his hand on hers, and she literally tried to eliminate the feeling by shaking her hand out— but that didn’t work either. She hated, absolutely loathed the thought of it being nice, or the fact that it had felt so comfortable in the moment.
Why was she going so damn crazy about holding hands? It racked her brain so bad, among the endless worries of other things, that she reached for the bottle again.
Her lips closed around the open cap, and she tilted her head back to let the liquid fall into her mouth. She winced as she swallowed. The back of her hand rose to wipe her lips as she placed the heavy glass bottle back down. She folded her arms on top of her knees, and rested her chin on them. Her mouth had a prickling aftertaste but she couldn’t care less about that. Or anything else.
She thought now, now that it was quiet, and now that she was finally by herself for the first time in a day— how she’d gotten into this. Simple answer: she’d been stupidly nosy and walked in on Dart because she was curious. But that wasn’t what her mind was stuck on. She wondered how this could happen to her. How did Maureen pick a place like this, a boring old Indiana town— only for it to end up being the gateway to an interdimensional fucking disaster. This wasn’t just secrets that the town had. It was bad, really bad. Really heavy. Impossible. But yet, she was sitting there, in the midst of it all.
She thought back to the curse. Not long ago, she’d thought that she’d been cursed. Parents divorce, moving away, asshole neighbor, asshole neighbor steals cassette, the whole nine yards. That was the curse. But only at first. Now, as she sat in the dark with the whole world above her, she thought of how stupid that was. If she was cursed before, then what the hell was this?
Before she even arrived in Hawkins, Lori Philbin had her mind set on just existing. Just cruising through senior year and getting out as fast as she could. Not giving into anything the town had to offer. She had her mind set on just living through the mundane aspects of the shitty life she’d been given, dragging on by. And she absolutely did not mean to give into curiosity. But as soon as she saw that pumpkin patch on the drive in, something clicked in her brain. Something shifted and suddenly all she could focus on was that. Now, that was not a part of the plan.
And with painful realization, she realized now that Steve wasn’t apart of the plan, either. It always came back to him, almost every thought. Him “stealing” the cassette was not in her plan, him showing up in the middle of the night to borrow her car wasn’t in her ideas, having a conversation during the autumn sunrise by the lake, far from Hawkins, was not in the plan— and winning back his ex, only to fail miserably, was not in the plan. But somehow he wiggled into the already-loosening scheme of things, and she realized now that she never stopped him.
So how did she end up here. How did she, Lorraine Philbin— an omnipresent grey cloud of pessimism and dread— end up sitting on the back steps of a stranger’s house, drinking a stranger’s alcohol, while the rest of her group was somewhere burning demons out of a child; closing the gate that separated the real world from their fucking alternate universe; and stuffing an interdimensional slimeball into the fridge just a few walls behind her. She was definitely cursed.
As she reached for the bottle again, the back door creaked behind her.
Not even batting an eye to who it was, she took another swig, winced, and put the bottle back and wiped her mouth. By the time she was opening her eyes to look at the stars again, the back door closed, and feet stepped out onto the stairs.
She knew who it was without even having to look.
“If you’re coming out here to tell me that what I’m doing is a bad idea,” she said coarsely against the quietness, squinting at the sky. “Then save your breath.”
Steve stared down at the bottle beside her, his lips departing only slightly. He wasn’t surprised, not because this was definitely a Lori thing to do— but because he understood why she was sitting outside alone with a bottle of Joyce’s alcohol. He understood completely. He stared at the back of her head for a moment as the door latched shut and he gripped the item in his hands tighter.
The wooden stairs creaked beneath his shoes, as he stepped towards her, cautiously.
“Here,” was all he said, his voice soft and calm from behind her.
He extended his arm forward, leaning down to reach the blanket he’d brought over her shoulder.
Lori’s movement’s were slow as she turned her head, landing eyes on a soft woolen blanket held out for her, in Steve’s hand. It lingered there for a moment as she flickered her eyes up to his. She’d be lying if she said that his eyes locking with her’s didn’t cause her heart to palpitate.
“Just wanted to make sure you weren’t freezing your ass off.” he said right then, ever so softly.
Slowly, she reached up and grabbed the folded blanket from him. When her fingers touched the warmth of it, she realized that she really was cold.
As she wasted no time in unfolding the blanket and wrapping it around her shoulders, Steve slowly lowered himself to sit on the same step, only a foot separating them. Without her noticing, he pushed the bottle back a little bit.
She shivered when the blanket engulfed her into a warmth she didn’t know she needed. She took a few seconds to bask in the comfort of it, before shifting her eyes to Steve, who had sat down.
“What about you,” she said, her voice rough from the stinging in her throat. She meant the blanket.
“Me?” he let out a small, airy laugh, and glanced to her. “I’ll be fine, Philbs.” he shrugged.
She didn’t say anything at that, but the sound of his voice when he’d spoken lingered in her mind. The use of the nickname echoed in her ears.
They both looked up at the stars. It was quiet for a few moments as they breathed in the fresh air.
“You’re not gonna get mad at me?” Lori said, her voice just above a whisper, always monotone. “I’d have expected you to shame me for not taking this babysitting job so seriously.”
“Since when do you care what other people think,” he said, delicately. Without looking to her.
“You know what I mean.” She said, gripping the blanket tighter around her shoulders.
“I get it.” he said, after a moment, referring to the drinking. “I do.”
Lori looked at him.
“I mean, you have impeccable timing,” he said, sarcastically. “But I’m not here to tell you what to do.”
“Then what are you here for,” She didn’t mean to ask, but it came out anyway. She stared at the side of his face.
She tried to look away when his eyes met hers, but she couldn’t.
He didn’t say anything, just kept his eyes on hers in the dark. Even with no light, she could still make out the meaning behind them, which was all it took.
He looked away first, aiming his head back up to the sky. “It’s crazy, isn’t it,” he said. “The stars, I mean.”
She finally looked away from him, and up at the same stars. “Yeah.” she whispered.
“In a town full of clouds, this is the only time they’re missing.” he spoke.
She thought of his voice, their voices so delicate and so gentle against the outdoor white noise.
She wanted to ask him why he was really here, why he brought her the blanket, but her mouth wouldn’t utter such words.
And then came the moment of truth.
“What was that back there, Philbs.” he said to the sky, sounding like this was what he’d been meaning to ask all along.
Her heart skipped a beat, “Back where.”
“The junkyard,” he answered, still so calm and without looking at her. “The bus,”
“Which part,” she said, her voice hard.
He was quiet for a moment. “When you wouldn’t let me help you with the cut on your forehead,” he said, as the safest option.
She winced, “Harrington—”
“Unless you wanna talk about the other stuff.” he quickly said, and she knew right away that he was referring to their almost-kiss.
She let out a huff. “I was just pissed off. And scared, you know that.”
He looked over at her. “Is that it, though?”
She stared back into his eyes, his heavy brown eyes. Then she pressed her lips together.
“I know I said some stuff back on top of that bus.” she said, while looking at the sky.
“Did you say that stuff only because you thought we were gonna die,” he asked, staring at the side of her face.
Slowly, she shook her head. He let that sink in with the silence.
“And I guess,” she paused, and he noticed the tilt of her head and the tone of her voice that she seemed to use right before admitting something. “I guess, if I would’ve let you help me back there, it would’ve made it harder for me to hate you so much now.”
His lips departed. He wasn’t sure what he’d wanted to hear, but that was so much different. It hit him right in the stomach and trapped some air in his lungs for a good moment.
“How much did you drink?” he asked, his voice just above a whisper. He glanced from her, to the bottle, back to her.
She shrugged. “Enough to make you designated driver. As if we have anywhere to fuckin’ be.”
He wanted to laugh, but her words were still echoing in his head and he couldn’t bring himself to.
“Maybe you should go now,” Lori looked down at her knees covered in the blanket. “I tend to talk more when I’m under the influence. And I can feel it, like, getting to me now,” she swallowed, tasting the alcohol. “Say things I don’t mean, and not that I care about your wellbeing, cause I don’t— but I kinda don’t wanna hurt your feelings, or something.”
He could tell that the alcohol was getting to her now, too. He didn’t move, didn’t even glance back at the door. “Y’know, drunk actions are kind of just reflections of what we actually want.” he said, with a hint of sarcasm. “Or some meaningful shit like that.”
She let out a scoff.
“Sounds like something you would say,” he said.
“Well don’t you just know me so well.” she almost rolled her eyes. She clutched the blanket tighter as a gust of wind blew past them.
“I’d like to think I’m close to figuring out the enigmatic Lori Philbin.” Steve said, with a tilt of his lip. “But I’d never fully get there. You’re not something to be figured out, huh?”
Lori took this in, and the thought of Steve actually knowing her like that, broke out something in her stomach. Something like anger, or fear. That someone could know so much.
She swallowed, and stared down at her knees. “You should really go back inside, Steve.” she said, her words quick. “Check on the kids, I’ll be okay out her—”
“The kids are fine.” Steve interjected, speaking assuredly.
“What is this,” she said. “What are we doing.”
“Whatever you want us to be doing,” he replied with such tranquility, such gentleness.
“Stop doing that,” she shifted her eyes up to his.
He leant his body back on his hands, “Doing what,”
“Answering so calmly like that,” she squinted her eyes at him. “Like there’s nothing bothering you.”
He looked at her, and she could see the honest look in his eyes. “There’s something bothering you. Other than the obvious.”
She scoffed, quietly. She shook her head a few times, and stared at the wool of the blanket— each soft string so intricately woven together.
She knew that she shouldn’t say this. But something was sizzling in her stomach and pushing her to do it— probably the alcohol. And she couldn’t suppress it.
“Nancy told me that you told her about me.” She said, in a word-vomit sentence.
“What?” Steve narrowed his eyebrows.
“Is that true,” she couldn’t look at him.
He took a second to reply, but she could see him slowly nod his head in her peripheral vision. “Yeah.” he said, almost a whisper.
“She said that I was good for you, and that I shouldn’t break your heart again,” she started rambling a bit. “Which doesn’t make any sense— like, what does that even mean?”
She didn’t want to talk about Nancy when her and Steve were alone. But she couldn’t help it. She was tipsy. And in her tipsy stage, Lori said things.
Steve sat up a bit, “Wait, Nancy told you—”
Lori rubbed the sides of her forehead. “And I’ve never been good for anybody. And that’s why I’ve been avoiding you all fuckin’ night because I don’t know what it even feels like to be good for someone— how do I do that? There’s so much room for error, and I’ve never cared about error, ever—”
He was trying to keep up, “Lori—”
“And it just pissed me off!” she finally admitted, rambling, “Because you’re so stupid, Harrington, and you make me so mad, sometimes you just make me so inexplicably angry to the point where I just wanna rip all of my hair out— all of it! And I think you’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met in my entire life, and so why am I not angry at the thought of someone thinking we’re good for each other?” she took in a breath. “Why am I having the hardest time trying to push you away when it’s clearly not working because you’re entirely all that I think about! And I meant everything I said on that bus and I don’t know why I’m still talking but I just— oh my god why am I still talking—”
Her words were cut short when his hand reached up to the side of her face, turning her towards him. Suddenly his body was right next to her’s, and his other hand found the other side of her face, cupping so gently.
Her breath immediately caught in her throat. Her eyes immediately shut. Her stomach hopped in a rush, brought on so quickly that she suddenly felt breathless. Like someone had knocked the wind out of her.
But he didn’t kiss her.
Not just yet.
He held her face with both hands, their lips only an inch apart, noses touching.
“I’m sorry.” she whispered against his lips, absolutely and entirely breathless. “I told you I talk when I’m un—”
“Shut up,” he whispered.
Her eyes were shut hard, and she focused on the feeling of his hands on her face, the tips of them in her hair, her heart suddenly beating at a thousand miles per hour. Way too fast.
She could hear his breaths, heavy, unstable breaths like he, too, had gotten the wind knocked out of him.
“Is this so bad,” he breathed out against her lips. His chest ached with adrenaline, with want, with desire.
Being this close, was this so bad.
Inhaling sharply, she nodded her head in his soft grasp.
Her body was overcome with a sensation when his hand moved from the side of her face, so delicately and so slowly. So excruciatingly slow that it was hurting. Hurting bad with need. In every part of her body.
She didn’t know she could want something so bad.
He placed his thumb on the corner of her mouth, and softly dragged it all along her bottom lip.
When his thumb reached the other corner of her mouth, she couldn’t wait any fucking longer.
She closed the gap between them, pressing her lips to his.
As soon as her mouth closed around his own, he gripped harder on her face, drawing in a sharp inhale and pulling her as close as she could get. Her chest exploded at the feeling of his lips on hers, and a shock of electricity shot through all of her veins, coursing through every one of them and sending her heart to the moon. Her hand broke free from the blanket and found the back of his neck, where her fingers met his hair and tangled in the ends of it. Her heart was beating furiously against her ribcage, so hard that it was seconds away from breaking loose. They kept the same kiss, the same single kiss, so entirely swept up in the feeling of it.
His hands drove further into her hair, tangling in the strands of it as he cupped the back of her neck. He pulled his lips way from hers, and she took in a breath before reattaching— this time faster, this time with more desire, more need. Their lips smoothed together, detaching and reattaching in a pace that wasn’t quick, but not slow. She felt like she wasn’t even on earth anymore as his fingers cupped the skin on the back of her neck, and his other hand traveled down from her shoulder to her back, landing on the curve of her waist. She couldn’t get enough of the feeling of his lips around hers, as adrenaline spiraled down her entire body— fireworks crackling in the pit of her stomach.
He pulled her in as close as he possibly could, to where her body was pressed to his on the back steps, his hand roaming around on her back and her fingers in the ends of his hair. Their lips locked, like they were always meant to.
She didn’t want it to come to an end. Not an inch of her body wanted to let go, to ever pull away.
But it did.
Steve pulled away first, his chest breathing so rapidly. Her hands were gripped on the collar of his jacket.
Their faces were an inch apart, both breathing so fast, hands still on one another. Eyes still closed.
She swallowed, and exhaled shakily. “Does this,” she paused, exhaling again, “Does this mean we can’t hate each other anymore,” she breathed out, against his lips. She didn’t even know how her body could utter words.
He angled his chin closer to her’s, as if he were about to kiss her again, but stopped himself. “You taste like cheap alcohol.” he murmured back sarcastically, as response.
And that was all the answer she needed.
𝙅𝙐𝙇𝙄
SCREAMING CRYING YELLING AT THE WALLS
FUCKING FINALLY
this is one of my favorite things i have ever written in my entire life. i’ve reread this shit like sixteen times and it still affects me!!!!!! gahhhhh!!!!!!
THEM <3333333333333 heart exploding.
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