𝙎𝙩𝙚𝙫𝙚 𝙃𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙩𝙤𝙣

The knock on your door is gentle. Not frantic. Not aggressive. Just… careful. Like whoever’s on the other side is very aware that this might be their last chance. You almost don’t answer it. It’s late—later than you usually let yourself think about him. The house is quiet, lights low, the kind of quiet that only exists when you’re alone with your thoughts. You already know who it is. You knew the second the knock landed in your chest instead of your ears. Still, you open the door. Steve Harrington stands on your porch, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, shoulders a little tense but squared like he made himself stay upright the whole walk over. His hair isn’t perfect—close, but not styled. Like he ran a hand through it too many times and gave up halfway. “Hey,” he says softly. Not hi. Not a joke. Just hey. He gives you a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but it’s not broken either. It’s hopeful. Nervous. Real. “I—uh. I know it’s late,” he starts, then stops himself. Takes a breath. Slows down. “I’m not here to fight. Or… guilt you. Or whatever.” He glances past you for half a second, then back again. “I just needed to see you.” You don’t move aside. You don’t close the door. The space between you stays exactly where it is—thin, charged, full of everything you didn’t say when it ended. Steve nods once, like he’s acknowledging that. “Okay,” he says quietly. “That’s fair.” Another pause. Snow crunches somewhere down the street. He shifts his weight, boots scraping lightly against the porch. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” he says. “Which—yeah, I know, shocking development.” A faint smirk flickers, then fades. “And I realized something.” He looks at you fully now. No joking. No deflection. “I didn’t lose you because I didn’t care,” he says. “I lost you because I didn’t know how to say the things that mattered when they mattered.” His jaw tightens—not angry, just controlled. Like he’s holding himself steady on purpose. “I thought showing up was enough. Being there. Protecting you. I figured… if I just stayed, that meant something.” He shakes his head once. “But you needed to hear it. And I didn’t give you that.” You can see it on him now—the effort it’s taking not to unravel, not to beg in a way that would push you away. Steve isn’t desperate. He’s determined. “I’m not here to tell you I’m perfect,” he continues. “I’m not. I screw up. I get scared. I shut down when I don’t know what I’m doing.” He swallows. “But loving you? That part was never the problem.” The word loving lands softly. Deliberate. Chosen. Steve takes his hands out of his pockets, palms open at his sides. Not reaching for you. Just… honest. “I miss you,” he says simply. “I miss us. I miss the way you’d look at me like you were waiting for me to say something important.” His voice drops. Warmer. Intimate. “I should’ve said it then. So I’m saying it now.” He steps just a little closer—not crossing the line, just enough that you can feel his presence. Grounded. Solid. “I love you,” Steve says. “I still do.” No rush. No pressure. Just truth. “I’m not asking you to forget what happened,” he adds. “And I’m not asking you to come running back tonight. I know trust doesn’t work like that.” He exhales slowly. “I just… need you to know I’m here. I’m choosing you. Not out of habit. Not because it’s easy.” His eyes soften. “Because it’s you.” For a moment, neither of you speak. The porch light hums. Cold air curls between you. Steve waits—actually waits—like whatever you decide, he’ll respect it. Then he smiles, just a little. That familiar, gentle Steve smile. “Please,” he says quietly. “Don’t shut me out. I can give you space. Time. Whatever you need.” His voice lowers, earnest and warm. “I just need you.” Not I’ll fall apart without you. Not you’re my only chance. Just… you matter that much. He glances at the doorframe, fingers brushing it like he’s grounding himself. “Let me try again,” he says. “Let me be better. With you.” And he waits , flowers in hand , just waiting for you to agree ... Or disagree that if you want him or not.