Chapter Fifteen ♰ 
Summertime

August 1st, 1984.

  Steve Harrington was the kind of boy who fell in love with things easily. He loved the honeyed smell of Faberge Organics, and the floral touch of Farah Fawcett spray. In a totally non-conservative kind of way, Steve loved the white-picket-fence dream of a baby blue house with white trim and a lawn glistening with morning dew, and someone he adored to share that life with. He loved swimming ━━ just water, really. Holding his breath as his lungs balloon and his ears fill and he's sat at the bottom of the pool with chlorine making his eyes itch. Hall & Oates were probably his favourite band, and Steve figured he'd sell his soul to see them live ━━ but he loved Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy by Queen, and ever since that day at the theatre with Sydney, it was probably Steve's favourite song. He loved his cashmere sweater, and how it was just the right shade of green, and how pretty Sydney Sommers looked in it. He loved Return of the Jedi. As a kid, he used to love the saccharine cookies his mom baked before Georgia Harrington stopped seeing her son as her son.

  Most of all, Steve Harrington loved summer. Cold seawater making you recoil but you submerge yourself in it anyway, because as soon as the sun hits your bronzing skin, it's like it sizzles, and you forget about how cold you just were. The overripe coconut smell of sunscreen. Getting drunk at a stranger's house, and your throat gets all abraded after one shot too many ━━ you start experimenting which drinks you've never touched before and licking chiselled lines of salt granules of someone else's arm. Incandescent sunsets illuminating fresh polaroids that you'll cherish forever, but also forget, as they collect dust under your bed when winter sweeps over. Ice lollies melting over your hand and staining your tongue ━━ staining a girl's too, with Steve. The love of summertime, really. Love notes in sun-scorched sand and kisses that taste of cloying ice-cream ━━ the sugar and the girl rotting cavities into his teeth.

  There was something so romantic about summer.

  And Steve was spending the summer of '84 alone.

  He hadn't really spoke to Carol or Tommy H. since that day, and Nancy's family were visiting her grandma. And, in the same vein as Steve being someone with a lot of love, he was apparently an unlovable guy.

  So. Summertime was crawling to a sweltering apex. Sweat beaded the nape of his neck, and strands of hair clung to his forehead. He was sat on the end of his bed, lazily plucking at the strings of his guitar as his fingertips got all calloused from pressing down too hard, for too long, on the brass. An empty glass of lemonade with the ice-cubs melting at the bottom was forgotten by his foot and his sweaty t-shirt was balled up somewhere amidst his twisted bedsheets. It was lonely, and it was hot, and the room was suffocating.

  "Steve."

  Georgia Harrington spoke clinically, and with an edge ━━ a bit like a needle.

  Steve winced, looking up. "Yeah, Mom?"

  Another lecture. Another scorn. Another rhetoric about disappointments and wasted potential and, when will you start putting some effort in?

  Georgia stood in his doorway in a floral dress, and a Ralph Lauren sweatshirt tied delicately round her shoulders. Her shiny hair was twisted back into a chignon, and she was looking at him like just his presence in the house was pissing her off.

  "You have a visitor." She said it so contemptuously.

  Steve stiffened, fingers ceasing to strum at the guitar. "What? Who?"

  "Chris Sommers' girl."

  His heart fell, a bit like Icarus. The sun burnt too bright, melting the waxen wings. And Steve got too close.

  Georgia looked almost intrigued now, crossing her arms over her chest. "I didn't realise you two were friends?"

  "We're ━━ we're not."

  Because they weren't friends. He didn't want them to be friends. They weren't lovers, either. Sure, they kissed ━━ and it was the best kiss of Steve's life. And, sure, yeah, Sydney Sommers was like this pretty scar in the shape of a novelty love heart that would never heal. But they weren't really anything at all. Friends actually talk, and their last conversation was Christmas Eve ━━ that day feeding off Steve for months afterwards. They've hurt each other so much. Steve arguably more. But Sydney Sommers (much like her mother) knew how to go for the jugular. And she slit Steve's with the blunt blade of her words.

  When he cranked open his locker to empty it for the holidays, and that note slipped out, Steve earnestly believed he went into cardiac arrest. And whatever fragile mess of scar tissue and torn muscle was left in his ribs after recognising her pretty handwriting, an invisible, gnarled hand reach out from the matte ink and crushed it. One of them had to do it ━━ knock the nail in the coffin and bury what they had. There was no other version to their story. Just an end.

  Georgia was looking less interested by the second. "Whatever. 'Want me to send her up?"

  "Uh, shit, um ━━" Steve glanced around frantically at his room. Awry magazines were scattered about ━━ inappropriate magazines, which he'd rather die than have Sydney see ━━ and he had random items of clothing strewn across his floor and furniture. He stood up abruptly, tossing his guitar onto the bed, and started to pick all the shit off the carpet. "Yeah, just ━━ Yeah, please, Mom."

  "If I thought she's all it takes for you to clean this shithole up, I would've called her round ages ago..." mumbled Georgia, before stalking out.

  Muttering bitterly to himself, Steve started balling up all the magazines and shoving them into the bin, stomping aggressively down on the heaped pile until it was crumpled paper. Then, he started stumbling to pick up his clothes ━━ sweaty polo-shirts he couldn't deal clinging to him in the heat, and random socks with grass-stains ━━ until his arms were full. Pulse racing as soon as he heard jogging footsteps coming up the stairs, Steve ran towards his wardrobe and threw all of the clothes inside. Hearing the soft padding of feet now coming down the hall to his room, Steve started to angrily tug at the shutters of the closet, but the clothes just wouldn't budge.

  Foot rabidly kicking a pair of jeans caught in the hinges, Steve failed to ignore that Sydney had already entered his room, and was watching him struggle with immense joy, and a shit-eating grin.

  "Jeez, what did it do to you?"

  Steve yelped. "Fuck! Sydney, it's ━━" He saw her head tilt downwards, and a smirk creep up on her face. He had missed one of the magazines. "Shit, fuck ━━ don't look at that!"

  Steve hurried over, and snatched up the Playboy with a sheepish smile. He tucked it under his duvet and looked back at her abashedly, scratching his neck. Sydney was laughing ━━ a real, pretty, shoulder-wracking laugh. It made Steve's heart swell, like a bruise. He knew all about them ━━ hearts and bruises. Sydney was both.

  "Don't laugh," he mumbled in chagrin.

  "Oh, but I am," she teased.

  Then her giggles stopped, cut off sharply as if she only actually just saw him. Like the abrupt drag of the needle against the record after the song stops. Sydney's smugness drained as soon as she realised what he was wearing ━━ rather, how little. A pair of dove-grey sweatpants hung low around his hips, and that was the only item of clothing he had on. His torso was entirely bare, and it made Sydney feel a bit disorientated. She had seen him shirtless before ━━ he'd tug off his shirt after a basketball match, usually. Before Nancy, before her, he was the kind of obnoxious shithead who'd throw it up into the bleachers for some girl to catch and keep it as a souvenir. He also rid himself of his shirt the night he stayed over at hers, and even though the wind outside was harsh and cold, his body nestled against hers until sunrise made it feel like summertime. Now it was, and he wasn't near enough, and it felt like winter was in her marrow.

  He didn't have a lot of muscle ━━ not that Sydney cared about that. But he was toned, and his abs were carved nicely, and he had the faint wisps of chest hair growing that she somehow found attractive. Sweat collected in the slope of his collarbone and stuck some strands of his dishevelled hair to his forehead, and he just looked good. Fucking effortlessly good. Sydney's throat was dry, and she wasn't sure if it was because the heatwave was dehydrating her, or if Steve Harrington just had that kind of effect on people.

  "You were saying?" Steve mused arrogantly.

  Sydney coughed, emptying her throat and looking away. "Fuck off. I'll leave if you keep up with that."

  Steve's ego deflated. "No, don't ━━ don't leave." Sydney just pursed her lips, conflicted. "Why... why are you here, Sydney?"

  A shrug. "I dunno... Lonely, I guess."

  "Toby not about to drive 'round town with you?"

  Maybe that was petty. Or jealous. Maybe those words were cut from the same cloth. But Steve didn't care. He didn't care that his teeth ground down so tightly onto each other they could smash into ivory smithereens and choke him just by thinking of Toby Stanfield, and the way he always knew what to do and say with Sydney.

  Sydney scoffed. "Jealous?"

  "Maybe," said Steve bluntly. "And if I was?"

  "I'd say you're a fucking hypocrite." Sydney's voice got tight. "I mean ━━ I have to see you and Nancy kissing against lockers, and I can't hang around with my best friend, because it hurts your ego?"

  Steve faltered. "We don't ━━ me and Nance aren't ━━"

  "Aren't what?" sneered Sydney, getting nasty. "Aren't dating anymore? 'Cause I know that's a lie. Nancy's my friend, remember? I get to hear all about what film you're taking her to watch, and what album you've hooked her up on ━━ including Hall & Oates. Tell me, Harrington. What came first? The vinyl you got for Nancy, or the letter you wrote for me?"

  Something cracked in his chest. A mirror shattering, glass shards flying everywhere. Nicking his heart, cutting open his lungs and slashing punctures in every vital organ until his entire body was just a bleeding mess of Sydney's rage and his heartache.

  "Is that why you came here?" asked Steve. It sounded downright pathetic. A bit like a whimper, but angry, too. "To make me feel like shit."

  Despite being the one to hold the knife, Sydney still felt like the one being cut up into millions of pieces ━━ something so vulnerable and raw about lying herself (and her anger) bare to him. Opening up her chest and showing him where he made her ache. A few months ago, Sydney thought Nancy was the Judas, with her saccharine and lethal kiss ━━ one for Steve (easy, good, there), one for Toby (an old wound, now a sweet scar), and one for Jonathan (new, exciting, out of reach). But it was Steve all along. It was always Steve.

  "I told you. I dunno why I came here."

  It's the brutal honesty of it that made Steve hurt even more. She didn't come to see him, or to make amends, or even to break his heart. It's Sydney's aloofness, and the indifference she carried herself with, that was the real blow.

  It grabbed Steve with an invisible hand, steely at his jaw, and yanked his face up to look at her. She was looking through him, like he was some ghostly apparition and not really there ━━ even in his own room. She wasn't Sydney anymore. Not really. She had on a pretty summer dress, and usually Steve would be a fucking goner for it. Thin straps, tied into bows on her shoulders, and it came to her knees ━━ red, with little, white daisies on it. Her hair had changed. He had noticed that months ago, when she first hacked away it. Some of it was brutally cut into layers around her chin, and the rest of it fell unevenly at her shoulders, dyed black and absent of the honey-gold strands he used to love catching when the sunlight caught them. He noticed that all the things of Nancy he once saw in Sydney were gone. Even Sydney's eyes looked different now ━━ sunken, and bloodshot, and the blue darkening.

  What concerned Steve the most was how gaunt her clavicle had gotten. And the haggardness of her cheekbones ━━ like she had been drinking acid, and it was eroding away the inside flesh of her mouth.

  His eyes were burning into her. Sydney almost swallowed her heart.

  "Are you alright?" Steve choked out.

  That made her flinch. "What?"

  "Are you ━━ are you taking care of yourself?"

  Sydney's expression got mean. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

  "It means I'm worried about you!" retorted Steve, just as sharply.

  "Didn't I tell you in the note that you don't have to?" she snarled. Then, she gave a derisive scoff, and rolled her eyes. "Thanks for them, by the way. 'Made the moving on process real easy for me ━━ a bunch of cute, stupid letters shoved into my locker."

  Steve weakened. "I thought they'd make it easier for you to forgive me."

  Sydney bit on the inside of her cheek, and looked like she was struggling not to face him. "Yeah, well. I haven't."

  "I see that."

  It was kind of like they were interminably devouring each other. It's bloody and raw, but almost sweet.

  "Do you wanna sit?" Steve blurted, gesturing pathetically at his bed.

  Sydney considered it, looking at his guitar and discarded shirt. "I didn't know you played?"

  "Oh." Steve scratched his head. "I don't, really. 'Just bored."

  "Missing Nance?"

  Steve's face scrunched up. "I missed you."

  He missed her making fun of him, and the way she'd brutally laugh at his attempts to be funny, or his mistakes. He missed her smiling, and the dungarees she used to wear. He missed how she vaguely tasted of blood and the hot chocolate she had been drinking, and smelt like honey all the time. He missed her in his bones.

  "Yeah?" sighed out Sydney. When all Steve offered was an equally breathy, and incredibly heartfelt, 'yeah', Sydney moved around him and sunk onto his mattress. She instantly started to tug at a hangnail. "Well ━━ why did you never end it?"

  Steve turned round to face her slowly, not knowing if he could stop himself from tearing up with her suddenly small voice. "You know why."

  "You said... you didn't want to break up with Nance because of what she's going through ━━ with Barb, and Mike missing El." (Steve was too busy drowning in her to notice the guilt in her features at the mention of Eleven). "But what about me? I get Nance is grieving, and I don't ━━ I'm not trying to belittle that. But I've been hurting too, Steve. And it definitely didn't help seeing you two everywhere together. You fucking said ━━" Sydney's words got caught in her throat, and she gulped. Steve stepped forward, impetuous and aching, but she raised a hand very weakly. "What did I do?"

  "You didn't ━━ you did nothing."

  Against her wishes, Steve crouched down like a preacher at her feet. She was a crucifix, and Steve was a holy man. He was grasping at her hands and brushing feverish kisses against her knuckles and Sydney was trying not to cry.

  "I must've done something," she spat out. "God, do you know how it felt, Steve? Letting you kiss me, and bandage me up, in my home, and seeing you the next day pulling up to school with Nancy like nothing happened? It was like ━━ like seeing my dad 'round town as a kid, back when he was dating Cheryl, and he used to give her son piggybacks, and I never had that. Do you know how that felt?"

  Steve shook his head, fucking destroyed.

  Sydney moved her thumb over his hand unconsciously. "It felt like shit, Steve. Like, like ━━ like you found some old wound and tore it open and just... It felt like shit, OK?"

  "I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, Nicks." Steve put his head against their entwined hands. "I really am."

  "I know."

  Steve looked up. He was on his knees. A sinner at an altar, begging for atonement. Sydney stared down at him impassively, and it was something that Michelangelo could've painted. A scene hung up in Louvre. They'd call it 'The Lovers'. It'd be photographed by tourists who'd never really understand what it meant.

  "You do?"

  Sydney brushed back the damp strands of hair from out his eyes. "I do. You're ━━ you've got a saviour complex, y'know? A bit like my dad, for that."

  "I'm not liking all these comparisons to Matt..." Steve said wryly.

  Sydney whacked the back of his head, laughing. "Fuck off."

  Penance, Steve sweetly put his lips to the bit of her thigh exposed by the riding up of her dress, before lolling his head against her knee and looking up at her as though she really was a piece of art in the Louvre.

  "I really do miss you, Nicks," he muttered ━━ like a sacred prayer, for only her to hear.

  Parables spoken into the thick, summertime air.

  Sydney carded her fingers through his hair. "I missed you, too." It's spoken like a litany. "I missed you calling me that."

  Steve grinned, drunkenly. "What? Nicks?"

  "I need something to call you."

  "Oh? Is 'pervert' not cutting it for you anymore?"

  Sydney pinched his cheek, lovingly. "Still fits. But I want something that'll ruin you ━━ like Nicks does to me."

  He meant his next words religiously.

  "You ruin me perfectly well all on your own, Sommers."

♰ 

It's hard for them to meet up over the next week. Sydney had her babysitting duties ━━ Will, Lucas and Dustin practically hiring her as their personal chauffeur with nothing but piggy-bank quarters, and the flimsy promise of an ice-cream (even though she always ended up paying). They had her driving everywhere, now that Mike's basement was unavailable with the Wheeler's still away visiting their grandma ━━ to the arcade, to the pool, to anywhere they wanted, really, because Sydney couldn't say no to them. And Steve, well. Steve was just waiting for Sydney to be free, cancelling half-baked plans with people who were hardly acquaintances, just in case Sydney called.

  She tried her hardest to call every day after coming home from driving the kids somewhere, or even taking part in an excruciatingly long campaign, or just baking with Joyce at the bungalow. She'd twirl the cord of the telephone around her finger as Steve would ramble about his day ━━ it'd be a fat load of nothing, but she liked hearing him talk, and he liked hearing her laugh at certain bits (stuff he'd usually make up, because, in all honesty, the best part of his days were these calls). They'd talk for hours. Sydney would complain about the kids, but Steve would know she loves them really, because she got all lachrymose over them ━━ talking about a drawing Will had sketched with Sydney in it, and she'd be standing protectively over the kids against an army of bullies. Or, she'd tell him that Lucas had bought The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars on record. Steve would find it endearing, and his heart would melt in his pattering ribcage, and he'd stutter over his words.

  Matt would come home late, and he'd shout through the painfully thin walls about "tolling up the phone bill to talk to some punk!" and Sydney would have to go. Again, she'd bellyache about how annoying her dad was, but Steve always heard the fondness in her voice ━━ it would always make him yearn. For Sydney to talk about him like that. And to be able to talk as affectionately about his father as Sydney did with hers. But Scott Harrington was nothing like Matt McConnell.

  The dichotomy of fathers.

  The line would cut off, and Steve would just lie there for the rest of the night in the blistering heat, skin getting stuck to his sheets, and his head full of Sydney. She'd indulge in pizza, and she'd laugh more with Matt. She'd feel lighter. She would also beat herself up inside for getting better just because of some boy ━━ Sydney would feel guilty for healing. And it was back to square 1.

  It's August 7th when Sydney phoned Steve in the middle of the day and he nearly had a fucking heart attack ━━ because she never phoned in the day.

  "Jonathan got fired!" she cried excitedly.

  Steve leaned up from where he had been lying in bed, scratching his neck. "Uh... why are we happy about that?"

  "'Cause," sung Sydney, elongating the word, and he could practically hear her smile, "until he gets a new job, I'm off chauffeur duty. Wanna hang?"

  He was bolt upright, now. "Um, shit, well ━━"

  "I mean, it's cool if you don't want to..." Her voice had lost the enthusiasm, taking his stammering as a rejection. "It's just ━━ Tobes is taking his ma to see his grams in Indianapolis, and Dad's been going with Hopper to the lab with Will more these days ... so it's only that ━━"

  "So I'm not even 2nd best? I'm 3rd."

  Sydney's laugh made Steve felt his lungs tighten. "I mean, if you wanna put it like that."

  "Hey, uh ━━ how long do you think it'll take Jonathan to find a new job?"

  "Why? Not that desperate, are you, Harrington?"

  If Steve could've fashioned something tangible for her to hold and understand just how desperate he really was for her, he would've.

  "Answer the question, Nicks."

  Sydney sighed, and he heard the sound of rustling ━━ he could picture her rolling onto her stomach on her bed with a smile. "I dunno... He's already applied for, like, 5. I'm guessing a week, at a stretch. Why'd you ask?"

  "I can't handle being in this house anymore."

  His father's yells were a constant echo in his skull, and his mother's grudge will never wither. They both hate him more and more every day. Scott loathed him for being what he was ━━ a profound disappointment. And Georgia looked at him and saw nothing but a wax figure of his dad in his younger years ━━ a reminder of the last chance Georgia had to get out. Now she was stuck. The socialite trophy wife to a rich man with bad politics and some kind of insurance company that he'd explain patronisingly to her at soirees she'd organise; planned to the last, microscopic detail, for no thanks. And a mother to a son she'll never forgive for entrenching her here.

  "No? So what do you pose we do, Harrington? You come live with me and we can be pirates?"

  "I've got the keys to our lakehouse."

  Her proceeding silence made Steve grimace. He overstepped. He fucked up. She was going to laugh at him and brutally put the phone down and he'd spend the rest of August alone and wanting.

  "You... you do?"

  Steve swallowed thickly. "Yeah. Marquette Beach. It's kinda sweet ━━ 'used to throw parties there, but ... 'not really in the partying mood."

  Sydney barked out a laugh. "King Steve's not in the partying mood?"

  "I don't really want to be around anyone right now."

  "Yet it seems like you're inviting me?" taunted Sydney. She was smirking now. It probably was puncturing a single dimple in her left cheek, and the image made Steve dizzy. "Unless I'm reading it all wrong?"

  "You're an exception. I always want you around."

  Sydney's breath hitched. "You're being mean again..."

  "I'm being honest. You're my favourite person."

  It's weird how adding 'favourite' to that sentence hollowed it of its meaning. What Steve really wanted to say was that Sydney was 'his person', but that felt too intimate. Especially when she made him promise last week that if they were to continue... ━━ whatever they were doing, they had to keep the romance out of it. At least until he broke off things with Nancy. And Steve figured he'd take any bit of Sydney he could get. Even if it was this confusing fraction of her ━━ through telephone static and longing.

  "Don't say things like that."

  It came out a bit seething, like a reprimand.

  Steve frowned. "M'sorry." When all she did was hum, Steve started to panic again. "So, what d'you say? You, me, lakehouse."

  "What will this even entail, Steve?" Sydney sighed. "You're telling me we're gonna spend the weekend doing... what? Roasting s'mores, and singing campfire songs?"

  "I mean... if that's what you want."

  "It feels wrong."

  Steve's heart tugged. "It's not. Strictly platonic."

  "It also kinda feels like you're gonna lure me out to some cabin and murder me."

  "Oh, I could never. What would I do without my favourite girl?"

  She didn't chastise him this time, she just laughed. "Oh, like you'd care if I was dead."

  "Sure, I do."

  "Why?"

  "Because then I'd have to start making a fool of myself for girls who actually like me."

  Sydney scoffed. "Yeah, like you could find one."

  "See!" exclaimed Steve. "Who needs love when I've got blind affection?"

  Her laughter was the same drug it had been all those months ago. She never failed to prove to him how addictive she was, and how obsessive he can get for a girl with visceral wit and a pretty smile. Well. He says 'a girl' as if Sydney Sommers was just any other girl he could pick up from a party or after a basketball match ━━ she wasn't.

  She was Sydney Stevie Sommers. His Nicks. Slayer of interdimensional monsters, and single mother of 4 kids, and a connoisseur of amazing music. She practically trademarked dungarees ━━ Steve would see another girl wearing them, and it'd make him want to gouge his eyeballs out, because it wasn't Sydney. She was like moonlight. She was night-time itself. When all the best moments happen ━━ their first kiss, and their time at the cinemas, and fuck, Steve realised how little moments they had actually shared, but how palpable and bruising of an impact they all had. Steve had months with Nancy, almost a year ━━ and they didn't leave even a papercut in comparison.

  Is that what love is?

  A whole litany of wounds, of different shapes and sizes and scales of pain.

  Love? Fuck.

  "Alright."

  Steve jolted. "What?"

  "Friday to Monday. We'll make a weekend out of it. But if it gets ━━ weird ━━ then I'm catching a bus home and leaving you stranded."

  "It won't be weird. 'Fucking ━━ swear it."

  "Oh, and I know how well you keep your promises, Harrington," Sydney drawled.

  Steve started to stammer. Pathetic, again.

  Sydney gave a breathy laugh, and he knew she was shaking her hand with a fond smile. "Pick me up tomorrow? I need to pack, and talk it out with my dad. He'll be cool with it, though. As long as I tell him I'm going with Toby."

  Steve's throat went dry. "He doesn't trust me?"

  "He doesn't like you."

  "Hah... 'can't say I blame him."

  "No, neither can I," mused Sydney. "Bye, Steve."

  "See ya, Nicks ━━" But she had already cut the line.

  Leaving Steve... empty. He stared down at the phone, now limp in his palm, and the inside of him was screaming. Nails scratched at his brain. Why the fuck did he do that? WHY? Was he a total idiot? An entire weekend away at a lakehouse with Sydney ━━ whilst his girlfriend was halfway across the country visiting her grandmother? Steve came to the diagnosis that he was utterly insane. Sick in the head. Maybe neurotic and driven mad by this girl who he couldn't get out of it.

  Slamming the phone down, Steve snatched one of his pillows and buried his face in it, hoping he could maybe suffocate himself to death in the fresh linen. Then, he found out it still vaguely smelt like Sydney's shampoo from when she laid her head on it a week ago, and he screamed so loudly that it rattled his lungs.

  "FUCK!"

  His dad's voice cracked out like a menacing whip from his office, where he was probably on some vicious business call. "Shut the fuck up, Steve!"

  Steve just buried his head in further.

  He was truly, completely done for.

AUTHOR'S NOTE.

uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. yeah. so, as u may notice. this has no correlation to the s2 plot yet. im sorry? it won't until AFTER next chapter (aka the lakehouse weekend getaway trip). i think anyways i actually havent checked my plannings for ages, im just going off memory here...

i just feel like i have to reiterate what ive already said before: i do not endorse the sydney & steve cheating arc that is  about to go down (nor nancy's emotional cheating on steve, which is NO excuse for what syd & steve r about to do this summer, but like.... c'mon guys, nancy and Steve did not love each other at all romantically). 

and before ppl start throwing tomatoes and say "why couldnt nance & steve just break up!!" bc i SAID SO. because things like this do happen. because  even tho cheating is horrible, not all cheaters are bad people. even if they're doing a VERY bad thing. also it's just realistic, i feel.

betty/august/cardigan references incoming. my apologies.