chapter thirteen ♰ Interlude: For the Lovers, pt. I

  There's some moments in your life which will scar you forever.

  For a long time, Sydney thought nothing would ever rival the day her mom died. Winter was dying ━━ dwindling into the delicacy of springtime. But the air was still cold. And even before she got that phone call, Sydney had been tormented. The only reason she was at that stupid party was because of a fight with Christine.

  "All I'm saying is, we should've invited him!" Sydney had shouted.

  "Are you that fucking naive, Sydney?" Christine had screamed back ━━ the walls shaking with her belligerence. Marred by it, too. Many framed certificates and faked family photographs were used to cover up craters that Christine had punched into the drywall. "You really think he'd even take the offer? What do you think would've happened ━━ he'd switch up for one Christmas, bring you a little gift, and we'd all sit round the table like the fucking pilgrims, and he'd cut the turkey, and I'd be the adoring housewife?"

  Sydney remembered feeling as small as an insect under her mother's condescending snarl. Remembered wanting to rip her hair out.

  "I just hate thinking about him all alone over the holidays!" cried Sydney. "In that shitty, lonely cabin ━━ doesn't it make you sad?"

  Christine's jaw was set. "No, it doesn't."

  "You're heartless!" Sydney wailed. Crocodile tears slipped over her cheekbones. "How can you know he sits there all alone and regrets everything ━━"

  "He left us, sweetheart!" sneered Christine, all malice and meanness. "Get it into your naive, little head. He left us. He left you ━━ you were a baby! I stayed. If he regretted it, he would've come crawling back over all the broken glass he left ━━ he would've come back bleeding and begging for forgiveness. You think he bleeds a bit over us? That he'd ever ask for our forgiveness? Men have egos, Sydney ━━ big, ugly ones. They don't beg."

  Sydney had stormed out of the house and slammed the door so violently the hinges cringed. She had wandered round Loch Nora aimlessly until she heard music tremoring the walls of some rich boy's house like a pulse. And she just remembered getting blind drunk. Not being able to walk, and kissing strangers in hallways, being swathed in marijuana smoke and having a brain full of nothing.

  And then she got the phone call, and it was a knife. Lacerating a massive gash across the tapestry of her life, shredding it up into tatters. And it bled, then it scabbed, and then it made a scar, and before she knew it ━━ Sydney was burying her mom on the last day of snow, and the bittersweet taste of her last words to Mother would always be a cicatrix in her mouth.

  I HATE YOU.

  A scar that will never heal.

  I HATE YOU.

  Sydney didn't think anything will ever cut as deep as that. Heal as badly. Leave a scar so ━━ so deformed and grisly.

  Until  "It's your dad."

  An overbristling thornbush sprouted up from the organic, and grew around her lungs. Nettles poking at them. Making little cuts. Actually. Fuck all of that ━━ fuck the poetry and fuck the metaphors and all the prose. Nothing could compare to that feeling. The anguish. It was nothing short of fucking death.

  The plunge of her heart.

  The tightening of her throat.

  "He's not ━━ he's not dead," said Hopper hoarsely.

  Sydney's eyes widened, blinking at him dolefully.

  "But ━━ he's probably gonna be in here for a bit. He's ━━ It's best if you just come and see."

  But Sydney couldn't move. He wasn't dead. She wasn't an orphan. She had already started spiralling ━━ mulling over what happened next. How she could grieve alone. The logistics of planning a funeral. Who would she live with?

  "Hey, I'm sorry, I should've ━━ probably should've led with that he was still alive," Hopper laughed weakly, a large, bear-like hand suddenly on her shoulder. Heavy. Grounding.

  Sydney nodded numbly. "Yeah... you should've."

  "C'mon, I'll take you to him."

  She operated on autopilot the entire way there. Hopper had a coaxing hand on the small of her back and was muttering words of encouragement ━━ he kept talking about how brave Matt had been in the upside down. He explained how it happened ━━ that some kind of vines had entangled round his leg, slithering so tight around the limb that it fractured in two places. His head had smacked against concrete, too. He had needed stitches. 3 in the skull. He also told her that Will was OK. That Will was safe. With his mom and Jonathan, now. That she didn't have to worry anymore ━━ it was all over.

  Sydney felt like she was in a vegetative state. Like a lobotomy patient post-op. They reached the outside of Matt's hospital room and she stood catatonic, fingers tracing the doorknob.

  "Hey, kiddo ━━ he's just a bit beaten up," said Hopper. He was talking to her softly. Jim Hopper was not soft. He was rough. He was mean. But he smiled at her now like he cared ━━ Matt was his friend. His best friend. A bit like a brother. Maybe that meant he cared about Sydney, too. "It'll be shit to see, yeah, but ━━ your old man's suffered worse. And he'll suffer worse, too ━━ 'cause he's got a damn saviour complex. He wants to be a hero for you. He wanted you to be proud."

  "I want him to be alive," retched out Sydney. "Not a hero."

  Hopper shrugged. "Now he's both."

  She inhaled deeply and looked back at the door.

  "I'll leave you to it, kid."

  And he did. He vanished down the corridor, rummaging for a cigarettes. Leaving Sydney alone with a haunting. With Christine on her shoulder ━━ satanic and seraphic.

  Breathing in, and ignoring how it made her lungs rattle and wheeze, Sydney twisted the doorknob and pushed open the door. A wretched gasp tumbled out of her lips before she could even gather herself together.

  He looked terrible. The first thing she noticed was the IV drip he was hooked up to, and how he was feverishly pushing at the button ━━ probably enjoying the morphine in his system a bit too much. Then, the bandage on his nose, which was now far more professionally done. No more seepage. Next was the new injuries. Far too many of them. A whole matrix. A gauze on his head ━━ probably to cover up the stitches Hopper said he had to have. And his leg was risen in the air, bandaged up, too. His arms were smothered in bruises. He looked wrecked.

  Sydney's little, horrified gasp had his head flinging up and a dopey grin tugging at his lips. He was also high on pain medication.

  Fantastic.

  "Sydney, kiddo!" he cried enthusiastically, stretching out his arms. Then, he let out a pained yelp, cradling where he had accidentally yanked at his IV-drip. "Fuck ━━ motherfucker. 'Hurt."

  "Dad, you're ━━"

  Matt's grin crumpled. "Wait. You're hurt too."

  Paling, Sydney swept the sleeve of Toby's jumper over the blood on her face. It didn't come off. It had dried, stained her skin. She swallowed thickly.

  "I'm fine," she insisted, stepping closer to his bedside. It hurt to look at him. Really. It was like a constant sucker-punch to the gut. "You're ━━ you're not."

  "Eh," shrugged Matt. "I'm OK. Y'know, it's funny ━━ stitches and a broken leg. That day in the hospital, all those years ago ━━ you were just a kid. We've got the same injuries. Maybe we'll have the same head scars?"

  Strangled, Sydney basically collapsed into the chair beside his bed. She hadn't even realised that. But he was right ━━ 3 stitches and 2 fractured bones. She had always thought he never even turned up to the hospital. Sydney was 7. It had hurt so bad ━━ she had been hysterical. Even when Christine told her not to cry in front of the doctors, she did. And when she realised that Matt wasn't going to turn up, the sobs didn't stop coming. Sydney had unravelled that day ━━ 7 and heartbroken and maimed.

  "You know," choked out Sydney. "You know what happened."

  Crestfallen, Matt frowned. "'Course I do. I went to the hospital, Syd."

  Sydney shook her head vehemently. "No ━━ you didn't. I waited all day."

  "I showed up," he slurred adamantly. "I did. I was there. I just ━━ couldn't walk through the door. 'Saw you through the window ━━ Chris lovin' ya. Being good to ya. 'Knew I couldn't comfort you like she could ━━ protect ya like she could. 'Making up for it now, though. Trying. I really am, kiddo."

  "I know," she managed out tearfully. Sydney reached out and grasped desperately at his hand. Matt flinched at first, shocked, but he held it back. "I was so worried ━━ I didn't want to lose you. I can't lose you."

  "You haven't, Syd..." Matt reached out feebly, swollen knuckles grazing over a tiny cut on her cheekbone. "You won't."

  A sob wracked through her. Tore. Aching, Sydney flung herself forward and buried her face on  the bed next to his leg that wasn't suspended in the leg. She just started to bawl. Bawl for him, and for Chris, and for herself ━━ she was still in pain. Emotionally and from tonight's wounds. But those would heal. This won't. This cannibalism of parenthood ━━ Mother eats Daughter and Father spits her back out. It's always Mother, Father & Daughter. Even after monsters and boys and telekinetic girls ━━ this is what it boils down to. Scars of girlhood. Scars.

  Matt weakly patted her head, his own tilted back against the pile of fluffy pillows. He hadn't been in a bed so comfy since he lived in that shabby, old apartment with Chris right after Sydney was born. It wasn't necessarily the bed itself that was comfortable ━━ they got the mattress second-hand and it was lumpy and it gave him severe backache. But he slept next to Christine. In a room adjacent to where their little girl was slumbering peacefully in her cot. He'd sleep on concrete ━━ on a bed of nails ━━ to experience that again.

  His glassy eyes looked up at the ceiling and a lump lodged itself in his dry throat. He thought about Christine. About her face when he left ━━ so enraged and hurt. He ate her heart that day and he left his with her. Neither of them would ever have their own heart in their own chest ever again. Still to this day, between his third and forth rib, if he had died in the upside down, and a coroner would've had to cut him open ━━ he would've found Christine's heart. Black with tar and rot and death. With glimmers of life ━━ that was all Sydney. Matt shouldn't have ever left ━━ he should've ignored what Christine's dad said. About him not being worthy. Instead of heeding those ugly words, he should've proved them wrong. Got himself a job, dug himself out of the denial that this wasn't the life for a teenage boy who had owned the world. Matt should've known the world wasn't his anymore ━━ he should've made it Sydney's.

  "I should've married your mother," he muttered.

  The drugs were starting to really kick in. Eyes droopy. Muscles going slack. Matt was basically melting into the mattress, neck lolling to the side.

  "I should've married her, and I should've stayed. I'm sorry I didn't."

  Sydney blinked up at him, chin rested on his knee. "I'm not. We would've been miserable."

  Matt's head shook faintly. "But we would've been together."

  "We are now."

  "I know," he murmured, eyes falling shut. "As soon as they let me out of here, we're having that mushroom and pepperoni pizza, Syd."

  She laughed sadly, sniffling, and crying, and hurting so badly. "We are."

  "Hey, wanna know a secret?" Matt mumbled drunkenly.

  He was barely even conscious.

  That's probably why Sydney entertained it, grinning wryly. "What's that, Dad?"

  "I fucking hate mushrooms."

El was gone.

  Matt and Will had survived, but El had died protecting Mike, Dustin and Lucas ━━ because not all heroes live. Some kind of balance had to be restored. Some kind of price must be paid. A life for a life ━━ eye for an eye. Sydney just didn't understand why it had to be such a tortured, innocent little girl, who had a good heart.

  She told herself she'd bury that, though. That'd she mourn sometime else. When life got quiet again. When Matt was discharged from hospital, and when Will was home. Sydney tried not to think about El when she threw her arms around Will's malnourished body ━━ he had been startled by the hug. He didn't really know Sydney that well. He didn't understand why she was so glad that he was alive. But, he was a good kid ━━ maybe too good. Because he hugged her back. With his weak, bony arms.

  "I'm gonna be your babysitter from now on, kiddo," Sydney had mumbled to him devotedly. Joyce's hand had been on her back, rubbing circles on it. Saccharinely. Maternally. Sydney understand why El clung so tightly to her. "And I'm gonna do a far better job this time round ━━ I'm gonna keep you safe."

  Everything was a bit up in the air.

  El was gone. Matt was alive. Will was back.

  Sydney got a lift home from Mr and Mrs Sinclair after they came to pick Lucas up from the hospital ━━ he had fell asleep on her shoulder the drive to Holland Street. He was exhausted. He had enthused all about how El sacrificed herself ━━ basically zealous as he spoke about her martyrdom. As if she was a saint, not a little girl. Lucas also told her that he hit the Demogorgon with a slingshot. That made her laugh.

  Mrs Sinclair offered to give Sydney 20 bucks again when they pulled up on the driveway of home ━━ and Sydney really did decline it this time.

  Walking into the cabin without Matt being there was a harrowing. No music. No television. No nothing. The place lacked its warmth without him there. God, she'd do anything to have him there now ━━ she'd even stomach his raw scrambled eggs.

  Looking around now, she realised that the derelict cabin Matt McConnell called a home had just as much character as the man who lived in it ━━ and Matt didn't rot. He bloomed, really. He was growing every day. They were so good for each other, in retrospect. It was a bit like healing. He was suturing her wounds and Sydney was learning to make less of them.

  Sydney would take this cabin over Christine's place in Loch Nora any day. That house lacked character. Or, rather, it had too much of it. Maiming holes in walls. Frequent vase replacements because Chris had a tendency of smashing them to smithereens. Gauche, glitzy furniture to show how well she was doing without Matt. And, financially, she was. But mentally, Christine never recovered. None of them would. This scar will always be there. Right until Sydney is buried in the earth alongside Mother. The scar will decay in the soil with her, too. It'll be on her headstone.

  Sydney showered.

  Sydney put a clean gauze on the cut on her hand.

  Sydney changed clothes. She treated Toby's sweatshirt so delicately. Folded it like it was priceless into a box in a wardrobe where she kept the rest of the clothes of his that she garnered for safekeeping. She threw an oversized t-shirt over a pair of shorts and shivered in regret as she walked into the kitchen, padding barefoot of the linoleum tiles towards the freezer, and realised maybe she should've put on some proper pyjamas.

  This all felt so trivial after the past week. Like nothing amounted to anything ━━ her feet being cold against the floor meant nothing, and the goosebumps along her flesh were meaningless, too.

  She retrieved an icepack commonly used to nurse Matt's wounds from the freezer, wrapped it up in a tea-towel and cradled it to her jaw, hoping it'd numb the soreness of her tongue. And Sydney padded back into the living room. She sat down on Matt's armchair ━━ swathing herself in the crochet blanket like a caterpillar in a chrysalis. She put the TV on, and switched the channel as soon as Only Fools & Horses popped on the screen, reserving that programme exclusively until Matt was home again.

  Sydney was hungry. Like, actually hungry. Her stomach was growling, and she needed to eat. But she wanted that pizza, garnished with mushrooms and pepperoni. And she wanted to share it with Matt, even though he apparently hated mushrooms.

  She'd eat in the morning ━━ if she could distract herself from the fact that it'd be the first breakfast Matt hadn't cooked for her since moving in.

  So Sydney sat and thought and watched Indiana Jones: Raiders of the Lost Ark and stewed in the rumbling in her belly. For what felt like an hour, that's all she did. Time stretching out like a cavern ━━ yawning and empty. Alone.

  Nothing makes you feel as lonely as time.

  When knuckles started to warp at the front door, Sydney hoped it was Matt. Then, pragmatism told her it was probably Toby. As she shuffled down the hallway to answer it ━━ the knocking getting more aggressive and impatient the longer she drew out her lumbering ━━ she never would've guessed who'd actually be on the other side of it.

  "Tobes, I really just wanna be alone right ━━ oh."

  "Hey, Nicks."

  Steve was slumped against the doorway, still bruised, still bloody, but smiling at her halfheartedly like it didn't sting the cut on his cheekbone to stretch out his lips.

  "Harrington," exhaled Sydney. Just when she thought she couldn't get anymore emptier, Steve managed to find the last tender part of her anatomy to sink his pearly teeth into. "What ━━ you're here. You're ━━ why are you here?"

  Steve wavered. "I ━━ I wanted to see you. To talk to you. Can I ━━" He gulped, looking unsurely over her tense shoulder. "Am I alright to come in?"

  "Why?" said Sydney, a bit meanly.

  "Because..." Steve was wringing his hands together, regretting driving all the way here. He had barely been home half-an-hour before a strange power had him grabbing his keys and jumping back into his car to come see her. He didn't know what he expected ━━ a warm welcome? He wasn't that naïve, was he? "I just thought we could talk ━━ about everything. About tonight."

  Sydney chewed on the inside of her cheek. "I thought Nancy was gonna explain everything to you."

  "This isn't about Nancy," blurted Steve. Sydney stated him warily, and his ears felt hot. "This ━━ this is about us. I wanted to talk to you."

  "You're so ━━ ugh," groaned Sydney, prying the door fully open. "C'mon."

  Crossing the threshold feel like committing a sin. Biting into the rotten forbidden apple ━━ molars clenching down on the bullet ━━ Steve looked around. This was a home. His place wasn't like this. His house lacked the intimacy of the crochet blanket dangling off the stained recliner, and the defective grandfather clock. What he had said the night they went to the movies was right; there's less emptiness to fill in a small home.

  Yet, Steve waited in the claustrophobic living room and somehow felt like an insect inside of it ━━ like he was stood in the middle of a yawning chamber. He could hear the sound of his throat as he swallowed, kneading his hands together. Waiting for Sydney to lock the door up felt like ages, but in reality Steve was probably only static for 10 seconds.

  She came padding back into the living room and Steve's breath hitched, pulse jumping for a reason he didn't know and his mouth dry. There's a blotchiness on her cheek, and Steve glanced sparingly at the discarded icepack on the armchair ━━ for her bitten tongue. He also spotted the graze on her temple, too, bleeding through a bandage. Steve felt himself be cut open ━━ he kept reliving barging back through the door into Jonathan's house, just as Sydney was flung across the room. The fear he had ━━ God, it pervaded his fucking bone marrow. He had the music on full blast the drive home but he could still hear the sickening sound of her skull hitting the obliterated table, and smell the copper of her blood spitting from her mouth.

  Now, she looked better.

  When he left 2 or so hours ago, Sydney was still limping and having to alternate between which of them she idled against. By all means, Sydney wasn't the picture of health. She was smothered in far too many bruises for Steve's liking, and the cut on her head was gnarly, a bloom of yellow kissing at the edges. But she could stand. And she wasn't wearing the same blood-splattered clothes which smelt too much like gunpowder and gasoline. She wasn't wearing Toby's jumper ━━ he'd never admit it, but that brought Steve at least some semblance of comfort. The t-shirt she had on buried her so much in its surplus cotton that it covered the shorts she had on underneath. But she wasn't warm. He noticed her shivering as soon as he mustered the strength to look away from all of the injuries she had sustained.

  "Here, uh ━━"

  Haphazardly, Steve tore off his own jumper. With it, the polo shirt he had on underneath lifted a bit, too, exposing a slither of his toned abdomen. Sydney shivered again, but she wasn't sure it was because of the wintery air. His head emerged out of the neck of the sweatshirt and he smiled at her as he handed it over. The arbitrary tugging had left his hair a dishevelled mess, a few strands falling over onto his forehead. He was so pretty, it made Sydney ache.

  Trying to feign nonchalance, Sydney hugged her arms and shook her head. "No, I ━━ I have plenty in my wardrobe ━━"

  "I'm sure you do," interjected Steve. "But mine's right here."

  Her eyes narrowed. Guessing this was something he had his feet pretty much dug into the earth about, Sydney reluctantly took the jumper and slid her arms into its sleeves. It felt expensive. As soft as cashmere ━━ fuck, it probably was cashmere. The feathery fabric pooled around her mid-thigh, and Sydney instantly realised how palpably it still smelt like Steve. The first note she distinguished was unmistakable scent of Dior's Fahrenheit ━━ the same opulent aftershave most preppy, pretty boys like Steve Harrington were doused in. Leather, sandalwood, patchouli and honeysuckle. The artificial smells. But nestled deeper into the cashmere fibres was something profoundly Steve. Marijuana, pine trees, the balsamic touch of Farrah Fawcett spray, and chlorine from his pool.

  Sydney reckoned she could get high off it.

  And it made her sick.

  She wished the fabric was itchy, and that she was allergic to cashmere. That the stench of sweat and stale beer and cheap cigarettes clung to the threads of wool instead of something so cloying that she had an innate, obsessive urge to be buried in this sweatshirt.

  "So." Sydney emptied her throat gutturally. Steve blinked ━━ he had maybe been a bit too caught up in admiring her in his jumper. "You wanted to talk?"

  "Uh, yes ━━ yes!"

  Sydney singled a brow. "So ━━ talk."

  "I... Fuck, well, so... "

  Sighing, Sydney started to march toward him. For a terrible moment, Steve thought she might kick him out. But when she knotted her fingers with his and started tugging him along toward the kitchen, it was very clear that she had no intentions of making him leave.

  "Sit," she ordered bluntly, cocking her head to one of the chairs.

  "Yes, ma'am."

  Sydney rolled her eyes and started rummaging round the cupboard under the sink. There was a lot of clattering, and disparaging obscenities from her, but eventually she salvaged what she was looking for ━━ a first-aid kit. Steve stared at her, eyes stinging because he had this visceral phobia that if he'd blink, this would all end up being in his head. She came shuffling back to the table, opening the little, red box and started to forage through the gauzes, band aids and whatnot.

  "What are you ━━"

  "Shut up," Sydney muttered darkly.

  Steve clamped his mouth shut. He felt a bit like an open wound.

  Eventually, she retrieved a half-empty bottle of antiseptic and a wad of cotton buds. Steve already recoiled back, wincing at just the thought of her dabbing alcohol onto the still sore scrapes on his flesh.

  "Is that really necessary?" he groaned, voice coming out raspy.

  Sydney pinned him with a look, which she suggested it absolutely was necessary. "Do you want to stay?" When he gave a meek nod, Sydney gestured for him to move, "Then cooperate."

  Subconsciously, Steve readjusted his legs to make enough space for Sydney to stand between them. With an apprehensive, hoarse sigh, he shuffled down a bit in his seat and glared up at the ceiling, tightening his jaw.

  "Good," said Sydney. "Alright, this won't be pretty ━━"

  "No?" Steve said a little tauntingly. "What are you trying to say, Nicks?"

  She jabbed a finger into his ribs, and he laughed around the pained hiss it elicited from his throat. "I'm just gonna clean your face first ━━ with water. Is that OK?"

  "Whatever you want, Sydney."

  Lungs throbbing, Sydney just give a little nod and moved toward the sink. Steve had shut his eyes now that she wasn't in front of him anymore, angling his neck so his head was facing skyward. He could hear the drip of the faucet, water belligerently hitting the basin in an uneven rhythm.

  "Do you want me to help you after?" he asked, cracking one eye open. Sydney's back was to him, and she was wringing the excess water out of a washcloth. "You look pretty rough, too."

  Sydney scoffed. "Thanks. But, no ━━ I'm fine. When you came barging back in ━━ the knight in shining armour you are ━━ you saved me. I never got to thank you for that."

  "The fact you're covered in bruises and bleeding through a bandage on your head tells me otherwise."

  She was walking back to him now, glancing sparingly at her reflection in the magnetic mirror attached to the fridge as she went past. A red blossom of blood had flowered on the muslin covering the wound on her head. Sydney wrenched awkwardly at the washcloth.

  "Yeah, well," she mumbled, "I'm alright. You're worse. Hold on."

  "To ━━ what?"

  As soon as the damp, rough fabric made contact with the worst of his injuries ━━ the split, swollen welt on his sunken eye-socket ━━ Steve winced and instinctively reached out for the closest thing to him. Two different textures kissed his skin ━━ the softness of his jumper, and Sydney's thighs.

  "I didn't mean me," she whispered wryly, dabbing gently at the cut.

  Steve grimaced. "Fuck. Sorry ━━"

  He went to move, but Sydney swept the cloth against his cheekbone delicately. "No, you don't have to. I don't mind."

  He took a shallow breath. "Yeah?"

  Sydney replied with a soft hum.

  She cleaned his face tentatively. With methodical notions and a care Steve wasn't used to. He loved it. He wanted to be treated like this forever ━━ like he was glass. Like he mattered to her. Occasionally, it'd sting a bit too much and he'd squirm under her touch, and Sydney would murmur a sorry, and graze her thumb saccharinely over the sensitive skin. Steve had liked this reaction so much that he may've exaggerated his pain once or twice, just to receive it again.

  Steve didn't realise how starved he was for this ━━ for tenderness ━━ until he got a taste of it.

  This ache is a hunger.

  "Now for the painful part," mused Sydney, moving back.

  Steve cracked an eye open. "That wasn't the painful part?"

  She smirked at him, dabbing some antiseptic onto one of the cotton-pads. "C'mon, Harrington ━━ where's that brave man who saved me earlier?"

  "Still shitting himself in Jonathan's living room," snorted Steve. "Pretty sure that was 90% adrenaline."

  "And the other 10%?"

  Steve stared up at her ━━ she was stood between his manspreading legs again, hovering over him with antiseptic droplets splashing down onto the linoleum floor, and he didn't even flinch.

  "The other 10% got outside, and looked back ━━ saw those flickering, and knew I couldn't leave you."

  A pulse beat furiously at her jugular, in the soft hollow just beneath her jaw. He was making her nervous.

  "And Nancy too, hmm?"

  The alcohol touched the lesion and Steve hissed. He tried writhing away from it, but Sydney grabbed his jaw ━━ roughly, at first. To steady him. Then, her touch softened and she held him like the morning paper ━━ pinching his chin between her pointer, index and thumb. Steve ground his teeth together, a guttural groan hitching in his throat as she sterilised the wound as gingerly as she could.

  "You always mention Nance." Steve had to grit his words out, still humming through the sting.

  Sydney tilted his jaw to the side, disinfecting a scratch on by his brow. "She is your girlfriend."

  Steve grunted. "And Jonathan's, apparently."

  Unforgivingly, she dabbed the antiseptic hard into him now.

  "Ow, Nicks, fuck ━━"

  "Don't talk about her like that," snapped Sydney. "She isn't like that. She does like you."

  That didn't comfort Steve the way it should've. It eased no nerves. Didn't still his palpitating heart. Failed to cut off the blood flow ━━ the haemorrhaging of Sydney.

  "And what about you?"

  Sydney drew in a sharp breath. "What about me?"

  Her neck was exposed to Steve now, leaning over his body to clean a graze on his jawline. He watched that pulse ━━ the evidence that she was here. Here, with him.

  "Do you like me?"

  Sydney stalled ━━ lungs mutilated by his question and hand delaying to clean off the last bit of dried blood. She could feel his breath fanning against her throat, and sense his eyes gouging at holes in her skull. Dissecting her. Eventually, she snapped out of it and exhaled heartily as she sterilised the last of his cuts.

  "All done," mumbled Sydney, tossing the bloodied cotton-pad aside.

  Steve hadn't missed how she avoided his question. "You now."

  "Steve, I already said ━━"

  "I don't care," he interjected coolly. Not missing a beat, he stood up from his seat, body tangibly close to hers. Sydney swallowed thickly, glancing at her feet. Steve tried to mask his own nerves, cocking his head to the countertop. "C'mon ━━ I can't, in good conscience, leave you like this."

  "Steve ━━" she anguished.

  Summoning strength from somewhere, Steve swept her up off her feet ━━ cursing when she viciously kicked his knee in surprise ━━ and carried her over to the granite surface. Sydney protested all the way there, but as soon as her backside hit the cool countertop, and her legs instinctively wound around his waist to stabilise herself, the objections fell short. Decaying like wilted petals in her mouth.

  Steve glanced at her parted mouth, and then at her eyes ━━ looking at his. "What shall I start with, Florence Nightingale?"

  "I'm surprised you even know she is," derided Sydney.

  He poked at her rib. "C'mon. I'm trying to be serious."

  "I know." Sydney wet her lips, frowning. "I'm not sure I like it." When all she did was give her a dry look, she grinned lopsidedly and nodded at the first-aid kit still on the table. "You can start with the adhesive bandages ━━ for the cut on my head."

  "OK."

  Her legs slackened from around his waist and Steve felt his lungs deflate as he padded away to fetch the adhesive bandages. He returned and despaired when she didn't wrap them back around him. But he pushed that feeling down to his belly, his hands rising from his sides then hesitating as his fingertips barely touched the edges of the plaster already on.

  "Will it hurt?"

  Sydney shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe."

  Steve scowled at her. "I need more than that, Nicks."

  "Just ━━ get on with it."

  He peeled it off so gently it took almost an entire minute for him to completely remove it. Then, he discarded it with an absence of the same tenderness he used handled it with before ━━ the blood it was stained with and its limpness made the scrap of fabric look like a dead animal. A killed bird, maybe. A dove.

  Using his teeth, Steve severed open the packet of a fresh plaster. He peeled off the sticky back and held it a bit pathetically.

  "Uh, what do I ━━"

  "Just make sure the cushioned bit covers the cut, Steve."

  "Gotcha."

  And he did it so well. Intricately lathered it onto her skin, with his tongue absentmindedly poking out in concentration as he went. Once the adhesive bit was fixed, Steve used the back of his hand to smooth the fabric down, and then stepped back to admire his handiwork.

  "Proud of yourself?" mused Sydney.

  "Are you not?"

  "Whatever... Now my hand."

  "That ━━ I can do."

  Falling into an eddy of silence, Steve methodically started to unravel the roll of gauze and used a scarily sharp pair of scissors to sever enough off to bandage her palm. He was meticulous in unsnarling the dressing already there. It had stopped bleeding ━━ this didn't really need to be bound at all, really. But Steve liked feeling useful. He also kind of liked just touching her. The feel of her skin under his. He looped the ripe bandage around again and again ━━ her knees were one either side of him, grazing him with the mellowest of whispers. Sydney smelt like him. With a bruise of herself underneath it all ━━ manuka honey and weed and Paris by Yves Saint Laurent.

  It all intermingled to render Steve irrational. Blotted out. Existing without any boundaries. An exit wound.

  She was consuming.

  Steve tucked the surplus bit of gauze into the layer under it. He didn't move away. Neither did she. Knees still touching his hips, so subtly. But there.

  Sweat beaded on the slither of her clavicle exposed by the awry neckline of his jumper, Steve noticed. It glistened in the dim light of the kitchen. Leaves rustled outside. It was just him, her, and the moon.

  Sydney, Sydney, Sydney.

  Her head tilted back, thudding against the cupboard behind her. That lump still bobbed against her jugular. "I ━━ what are you and Nancy?"

  Steve traced the messy outline of his name on the bare skin of her thigh, roughened by goosebumps and fair hairs. "Is that really what you want to talk about right now?"

  "What else?" said Sydney, lungs rattling.

  His eyes looked like lost planets. His touch was as scorching as a fever. This was unbearable.

  "You could answer my question," muttered Steve ━━ as if afraid of echoes.

  As if the walls could talk.

  As if the broken grandfather clock ate rumours.

  Feeding into it, Sydney kept her voice a whisper, too. "You'll have to remind me."

  Neck bowing under the weight of her, of this, his lips lingering like a haunting over the crook of her neck. Warmth emanated addictingly from the column of her throat.

  "I asked..." the ghost of his breath tickled at the hairs on the nape of her neck, "do you like me?"

  "I ... "

  Sydney looked down. This was wrong. So fucking wrong. The way Nancy looked at her earlier ━━ Steve's hands scarring on her jaw ━━ shone in her mind like a film reel. An illicit snapshot reminding her that this ━━ this shouldn't be happening. But then Steve's knuckles weren't just brushing her thigh, his hand was holding it with a feverish severity that had any concept of being faithful dissolving. Who cares about sins when Steve Harrington's mouth is one bad mistake away from kissing your neck ━━ and he's gripping your thigh like he wants this just as much as you? And she was wearing his sweatshirt. Sydney was overwhelmed ━━ by the torturing brag of her heart and by him. Wretchedly him.

  This hunger had teeth. Canines. They were draining morality out of her.

  Sydney was a bad person.

  "Fuck," she muttered bitterly. "I do. I like ━━ oh!"

  An infinitesimal movement and his lips were on her and Sydney was a goner.

  He kisses messily up the column of her throat, roaming the barren field of pale skin, feeling her pulse throb against the protruding vein that paved the way up to the juncture of her jaw. The kisses were feverish until then ━━ hungry and lazy ━━ but then he pressed a sweet scar to the spot right there. And Sydney's legs were winding back round his waist, arms snaking over his shoulders, and she was grabbing a fistful of his obnoxious preppy shirt, and she couldn't even remember what Nancy looked like in her head. She tried fabricating an image in the hopes that it'd make her back out ━━ but it was pyrrhic. She was yanking Steve close and he looked at her through hooded, bruised eyes and a cocky, little smirk played at his lips when he realised how erratically she was breathing.

  That, Sydney couldn't accept.

  Belligerently, she had her mouth on his again. If a kiss could be a knife ━━ this had the sharpest of blades. It was vicious whilst being the most incandescent moment of Sydney's fucking life. It was oxygen. It was a drug. It was a bellicose war ━━ one neither were winning. Sydney was tugging at the roots of his perfect hair and he still had that hand on her thigh, kneading at the flesh there. The other was planted on the cupboard above her head, using it for leverage, deepening the kiss. The knife twisted deeper.

  Were they too far gone?

  Steve came up for air. Wrecked. He looked at her, heaving, and she was so pretty. In his venture up to her lips, he had left the blooming of something ruby and possessive on her neck ━━ a lovebite he never wanted to fade. He madly thought for a second about asking her to get it tattooed. Or maybe he could just mouth at that same spot for the rest of their lives... keep it ripe and violet and his.

  He hoped Toby would see it tomorrow, when he came to pick her up for school.

  Fingertips pressing vehemently into her thigh, Steve dragged her dangerously close to the edge of the countertop. But, her legs were so tightly wound his waist that she probably wouldn't even fall.

  He kissed her again, and that was all that mattered.

  It was like morphine.

  It was a cavity and gave him toothache and she kept thinking this is wrong, this is wrong, this is ━━  Overdosing. Free-falling. This was fucking oblivion.

  "Steve," she whispered against his mouth.

  "I got you, Nicks."

  He kissed her mean and sweet.

  Sydney craned her neck back, head hitting the cupboard again. Steve chuckled against her lips and his own moved down again. Tantalisingly. Like a bolt of electricity, carving up the sky menacingly ━━ until they touched the tenderness of the same spot as before, and he chastely kissed over the little bruise he made like it was the most sacred thing in the world.

  "Steve."

  Groggily, he looked up at her through his thick, dewy eyelashes. He was worried.

  "Shit," said Steve, blanching. He straightened out, removing his hand from the cupboard above her, moving to hold her other thigh, too. "Did I ━━ you wanna stop?"

  "No."

  God, she was pathetic.

  Steve ached. "Then ━━ did I do something wrong?"

  "Nancy."

  His touch slipped. He gripped the countertop either side of her. And Sydney's legs slackened round his waist. His kisses were scars as she tried to breathe something other than him back into her lungs.

  "What about her?" asked Steve tiredly.

  "Steve, she's ━━ I can't do this with you."

  That hurt. "Nicks, you can't ━━ you can't kiss me like that and then say ━━"

  "Not while you're with Nancy." Her hands grabbed handfuls of his shirt beseechingly. Like she was praying. There was something so religious about all of this. Maybe she was Mary Magdalene, after all. "I won't be that girl."

  It was bloody and raw and taunting in her head ━━ that she already was that girl. That she had kissed Steve like that, and meant it, and sanctified him in her mind, all whilst knowing it was Nancy. Was it always Nancy? Would it always be Nancy? Sydney wanted him to kiss all of that away but he couldn't. Because of Nancy.

  "You want me?" she said hoarsely.

  "What do you think?"

  "Then break up with her. I won't be ━━ you can't make me another fling while you lose yourself in the girl next-door."

  Steve's head shook profusely. "You could never be a fling."

  He was good.

  "You can stay the night, though." Fuck. No. Tell him to go. "I don't want to be alone tonight."

  "Me neither," he confessed.

  "I'm sorry."

  His brows pinched. "For what?"

  Sydney combed her fingers through his hair. "I do want you."

  "So I'll do it right," said Steve, shrugging.

  "Let's go to bed."

  Steve's hands slotted into the dips of her waist, and he lifted her up from the countertop. Sydney expected him to softly lower her down to the floor, but his palms were on her thighs again and he was holding her chest to his. She smiled into the warm juncture of his shoulder and neck, muttering where he'd find her bedroom, and let him carry her there. Because this was harmless, right? No more kissing ━━ she was adamant. This was practically innocent.

  Steve settled her down the end of her bed and Sydney looked guiltily up at him as he just realised he was still wearing jeans.

  "Shit, I didn't think about that." Sydney scratched at her neck, frowning. "Listen, it's silly ━━ you don't have to stay, I'll be ━━"

  Her room was all shadows. Caliginous and inky black and he could vaguely see the distorted outline of her figure at the foot of her bed, messing with a hangnail. Steve was glad, because he was blushing, and he didn't want her to see that.

  "No way," he interjected. "Unless you want me to leave, I'm staying. Is that ━━ is that OK?"

  He just about saw her nod. "It's OK."

  And it was the most intimate night of Sydney's life. Not because of the kisses that still marred her ━━ the remnants of her still making her feel twisted and a bit like a harlot (like she deserved to have that shit Carol and Tommy graffitied about Nancy on the cinema marquee). But because Steve and her bodies ended up tangled in some kind of messy pile of limbs and the scratchy denim of his jeans and the roughness of their bandages.

  "It's not like this with other people," Steve mumbled.

  His words were a blade, cutting the ribbons of silhouettes tying her up.

  "You're not other people, Harrington."

  "No. Neither are you, Nicks."