chapter twenty ♰ Halloween

Hungry.

  Hopper and Matt had pooled some money together, splashing out on a second-hand Jeep Cherokee XJ for Sydney's birthday. A smell of an old man's musky aftershave clung to every layer of the car like a film of dust, and every time she sat down, a puff of cigarette smoke would billow up from the cushions ━━ but she had a car now, and that's all that mattered.

  Sydney's first drive in her brand new car ━━ which was an aging, off-white colour, and the wheels were caked in mud ━━ was the Halloween morning of 1984. She loved Halloween. She loved autumn. If people were to associate her with any season, she'd want it to be autumn. She'd want them to think of Sydney, then for their minds to bloom out into gnarly branches. They'd think of bitter, black coffee; her scuffed Doc Martens wading through crisp leaves; cableknit sweaters and cardigans; warming their insides with tomato soup, garnished with coriander, and dipped with buttered bread; rewatching nostalgic, cliché horror films; black cherry candles; wax stains; threadbare trees and their rotting foliages.

  The muddy tyres of her Jeep crunched over the brittle leaves, and splashed through a filthy puddle, probably splattering the side of the car even more. She halted it to a park and hopped out, burying her keys in the back-pocket of her mom jeans and hugging her corduroy coat closer to her body when a chilly wind made her a shiver. Since finding out about El, Hopper had taken it upon himself to teach them both Morse Code ━━ and he taught Sydney a secret knock reserved just for the 3 of them, and Matt. She warped the code against the splintery oak and waited on the porch of his cabin, craning her neck up to smile at a crow perched in its eyrie in one of the pines.

  "Sydney," Hopper exhaled in relief. Sydney turned to him, smiling fading a bit to see his tufts of hair all askew and cheeks flushed from stress. "Please, talk some sense into her."

  Sydney's brows furrowed. "What? What's wrong with ━━"

  "Trick or treat!"

  Feigning a startled jolt, Sydney flung a hand over her mildly alarmed heart and exaggerated her panic with a raspy, little scream. El jumped out from behind Hopper, shrouded in white linen, with two slits cut out for eyes. Sydney tried suppressing her smile ━━ tried acting like El really frightened her ━━ but she felt her mouth twitching with a grin at the girl's innocence.

  "You almost gave me a heart attack!" Sydney exclaimed, sweeping past Hopper and scooping El up into a bone-crushing hug.

  Today felt different. Today felt better. Like she could swim against the current. Like she could just about see the shore. Maybe it was thanks to the enigmatic new boy, who Sydney found was called Billy Hargrove. He had a sister, too ━━ Max. She received an earful over the phone yesterday from Lucas, who spoke about Max like she was a separate entity from everybody else. So exuberantly, and with an admiration he had only ever held for Eleven. Apparently she had taken over Dustin's highest score on Dig-Dug, and that, inevitably, had Lucas a bit lovesick for her.

  From what Sydney could get from the intrigued whispers in the ashen halls of Hawkins High, Billy Hargrove was almost a complete mystery. He was charming, and smelt strongly of cheap cologne, and probably was into surfing back home. Sydney saw through his veneer of pleasing smile ━━ it wasn't that what interested her. If she cared for niceties and charisma, she would've found herself a honeyed distraction months ago. She wanted someone who'd make her feel something ━━ even if it was ugly, even if it was death.

  That's why today was different.

  Sydney absently heard the door shut, and all the bolts being locked, and settled Eleven back down onto her feet. "So, you're a ghost."

  "I Saw them," said Eleven, gesturing under the cloth.

  Sydney chewed on the inside of her cheek, and looked warily over the girl's shoulder to where Hopper stood looking distressed, and almost guilty. El had a tortured habit of astral projecting to feel like she was still with the boys ━━ she missed them painfully. She felt suffocated in these derelict walls.

  "They're going as the Busters. From the movie we watched, remember? If I go as a ghost, they'll catch me."

  Her chest fractured down the middle. Eleven's innocence was something that made Sydney sick with grief. She had suffered a lot ━━ too much for such a young girl. She had all these wounds and trauma, and Hopper didn't know what to do with it. He was all tough, bruising love, but the issue was ━━ El already had enough bruises. They loved each other brutally. With raw throats from yelling and nasty insults and movie nights and eating their aching hearts out with junk food. They had a brutish love language.

  "El..." Sydney mumbled, trailing off when she realised she didn't have the strength to be as cutthroat as Hopper could be.

  Viciously, Eleven ripped off the linen and tossed it to the floor with a vengeance. Her features twisted with rage and glared at Sydney in a way she never had before ━━ meanly, and with a grudge only ever reserved for Hop's fractious temper.

  "You too?" Eleven yelled. "You're meant to be on my side!"

  Sydney recoiled. "Hey, that's not fair, El ━━"

  "No! You're not fair!" she spat, before storming off to her room. With a bellicose wave of her hand, the door slammed so hard the place shook.

  Reeling, Sydney shifted a bit to look at Hopper, who didn't seem shocked at all by El's volatile outburst. He sighed, and bent down to grab the fresh linen off of the dusty floorboards. He mumbled something about backache and age, cradling a sore spot at the small of his spine, before strewing the sheet over the back of the couch and smiling gauchely at Sydney.

  "Yeah, she's ━━ she's real nice recently," he said bitterly.

  "She's nearly a teenager," said Sydney with a shrug. "It's hormones, and ━━"

  Hop flinched at that, as if Sydney had just doused him with acid. "Yeah, yeah, that's... that's enough, thanks, Syd." Miserable, he pinched bridge of his nose and put his other hand on his hip. "I just ━━ I thought I compromised with her. Then you came, and ━━ she seems to think you'll let her go see 'em."

  "It's not my place," Sydney asserted.

  "But..." Hopper looked at her warily, "you'd let her... if it was?"

  "I mean... she's a kid, Hop. She misses her friends."

  Hopper's face darkened. "You know what. I'm not having this conversation with you, too."

  "Hey, what! I wasn't ━━ you asked," Sydney berated. She squinted cattily at him, and crossed her arms. "I'm not trying to tell you how to father her."

  His eye twitched. "I'm not her f━━"

  "You're the closest thing she's got," she interjected virulently. "I'm not saying you should let her go trick-or-treating, or whatever. I'm just saying ... you can't keep her here forever."

  "Yeah...yeah, I know," he muttered. Hopper looked down at his hands ━━ scarred from fights, and his job, and other nasty things. His knuckles were swollen. He'd go through every hit a million types over for El, he realised with a dread. She was his daughter. "Shit. How does your dad do this?"

  Sydney frowned. "Do what?"

  Hopper had to stop himself. What he wanted to say was ━━ how does Matt cope with seeing Sydney suffer? It hurt Hopper to see, and he was hardly anything to Sydney. Not officially, anyways. He was just the choleric and haunted man who was best friends with her alcoholic dad ━━ the guy she had to spend every Saturday night with because he took care of Eleven. But he saw this girl who he practically watched grow up ━━ back when she was healthy and hearty and lean, with grubby, scabbed knees from falling off her bike and hair dishevelled ━━ loosing herself right in front of his eyes, and it killed him. Maybe it was some kind of vicarious pain ━━ he felt it for Matt. For Sydney, too. For the girl she was.

  For that hot-tempered little girl who nearly smashed the glass-door of the station the day she came in to report her bike stolen, and Hopper tried to get her to talk to Matt. He remembered looking at this girl who was barely taller than his waist ━━ she had a gap in her smile from a missing tooth, and scarlet cheeks, and triplet scars on her temple from the accident. She had her grimy fists balled at her sides and her eyes narrowed maliciously up at Hop and all he could think about was ━━ this girl isn't Chris at all, this is Matt. She's her dad to the bone.

  Now... now, by God, she's all Christine. He called almost see it now. Sydney getting herself some cutthroat job, and a bunch of money to compensate for the emptiness. She'd buy a big house and fill it with expensive shit and it'll still feel empty.

  How did Matt cope? What would Hopper do if this was Eleven ━━ if it was Sara?

  "Fatherhood," Hopper settles on saying. "It's an art I have not mastered," he chuckled uneasily.

  Sydney straightened her spine a little. "Art shouldn't be mastered though, I guess. It should just be loved."

Hunger.

"I can't believe you're making me go to this stupid fucking party."

  Toby Stanfield loved many things. First of all ━━ his mom. For the iron-skinned woman she was. He loved chamomile tea ━━ the gentle notes of apple, mixed with the honey sweetness. He was an avid fan of Duran Duran, and could quite literally watch the Star Wars trilogy on repeat for the rest of his life. He was fascinated by animals ━━ and he adored the stray cat with the unsymmetrical, ginger fur who always showed up at the back doorstep every morning for breakfast and some fuss from Toby. He loved winter. An onslaught of snow that'd shut down school a few days early for Christmas, and the cinnamon-infused hot cocoa that was practically a rite of passage.

  What he didn't love, however, was parties.

  But he did love his best friend. He loved Sydney Sommers. Even if he hated the power she had over him ━━ the way she'd only have to ask, and he'd pitch himself off a cliff to certain death for her. All it took was the batting of her eyes and the jutting out of her lower lip, and she had him begrudgingly agreeing to go to Tina Cameron's fucking Halloween party ━━ in matching costumes, no less.

  "Oh c'mon, Toby-Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope..." Sydney mused, lips smiling around her botched Princess Leia impression.

  Toby's heart throbbed at that, looking up at her from where he sat on the end of her bed. "You're ━━ shit, you're unfair."

  Sydney laughed, and it was such a pretty, lethal sound. One he had missed terribly. She was sat in front of the vanity that Matt had constructed by hand about a few months ago, and slotting bobby-pins into her hair. It had grown to just below her shoulders now, so there was just enough of it to twist around the circumference of her head in an elegant halo braid ━━ replicating Princess Leia's hairstyle in Empire Strikes Back.

  Toby couldn't distinguish if it was the costume of his biggest fictional crush of all time, or if it was just Sydney (it was Sydney, it was always Sydney) that made him feel even more infatuated that night. But there she was ━━ the girl of his dreams, the girl he'd loved since they were kids, with gummy smiles and grass stains on their clothes ━━ dressed up as Leia Skywalker, and he was pretty sure his lungs hadn't been functioning since he showed up about half-an-hour ago. He was unfathomably in love with her. It didn't even scare him anymore. It didn't hurt either. Not really. Not like it did. He knew that she was still hung up on Steve ━━ and that Harrington was obsessed with her, all the same. In his own clueless way. He knew that Sydney didn't love him back ━━ not how did anyways. And that she probably never would. People evolve. They both knew it. Relationships do to. Humans aren't stagnant ━━ Sydney learned it the hard way. Ephemerality is all they had promised. Toby knew that he loved Sydney and that he probably always would ━━ first love had that effect on people. Especially starry-eyed boys like Tobias Stanfield who always loved things a little too much. Who always cared a bit too lethally.

  "So...what do you think?"

  Toby blinked up at her, part of him dying. He remembered falling badly for Carrie Fisher when he saw the dress she wore for the awards ceremony at the end of A New Hope ━━ it was like one of those moments that left him sitting in the cinema seat a bit catatonic until Sydney dug her nails into the meat of his hand to tug him out of the theatre. But Sydney. Well, it was Sydney. Things always look different on someone who makes you feel. The elegant, white, silk gown fell over Sydney as easily as water, with a plunging neckline, and the straps slipping off her slender shoulders. Sheer tulle flowed along her arms, the sleeves more like a cape which ended at the dress's hem just by her ankles. It was cinched in at her sylphlike waist by Leia's silver belt, and the bodice was form-fitting, hugging her lithe torso. The hair was perfect ━━ she had sprayed the braid with Farrah Fawcett so that not a strand was poking out of place. She looked...

  "Wow." Involuntarily, Toby found himself standing up. His own cape ━━ which was a scratchy, brown fabric (Obi-Wan Kenobi didn't get the same silk luxurious as a princess) ━━ fell down to his knees and he threaded his fingers with Sydney's, spinning her under his arm. "I think you could put Carrie Fisher to shame."

  Sydney steadied herself with a hand on his chest, scowling at him mockingly. "Don't say such things!" she chastised.

  "I mean it," said Toby sincerely, onyx eyes boring into hers. Little bits of silver glitter dusted the crow's feet around her eyes, and it made them look like they were sparkling. She was ethereal. "You're beautiful, Syd. No matter what, OK?"

  Eat, Sydney. Eat. Be happy. Smile like this always. I love you, I love you, I love you.

  "You're being too serious. We need to get you wasted."

  At her deflection, Toby suddenly seized either side of her face in his large hands, and his hold practically swallowed her whole. He held her like God would hold the earth ━━ sacredly, like glass, with a tender horror.

  "Beautiful, Syd." He kissed her forehead. "Y'hear me?" The upturned end of her nose. "You're so fucking pretty, Syd." Her left cheek. "Always." Her right. "I care about you so, so fucking much ━━ it kills me." He didn't kiss her lips. He couldn't.

  Sydney looked up at him through hooded, dazed eyes, a bit overwhelmed, and strangulated by his words which wrapped around her heart like hands.

  "We definitely need to get you wasted..."

  Toby laughed mirthlessly and let her go, palms scorched. "I'm not drinking. I'm driving, remember?"

  "Oh," she said apathetically, staring at him like she wasn't really there anymore. "Right."

  "C'mon, Princess... the Millennium Falcon awaits."

  Toby's car was no Millennium Falcon, but it was a bit like home. Sydney never noticed how much it smelt like his cologne and her perfume combined until she fastened her seatbelt around herself that night, and he reversed out of her driveway with his lips pursed in concentration. The amber musk of his Calvin Klein ━━ intermingled with a touch of orange blossom and sandalwood ━━ and hers of honey, butterscotch and vanilla. A harsh clash of sweet and sour. The dichotomy of them, clinging to the fraying fibres of his sunken, leather seats.

  It was ironic, really. That it was Toby who had the citrus, sour scent, when it was Sydney who was so bitter and acerbic.

  She thought about that the entire way to Tina's ━━ another gaudy house in Loch Nora. By the time they got there, the 'Halloween Bash' (as the neon, orange fliers called it) was already in full swing. Tina's front garden was smothered by teens, and strewn with discarded red solo cups, mutilated pumpkins and the deflated corpses of eerie balloons. Toby pulled up outside, parking a bit dangerously between 2 lopsided cars abandoned by callous teens, and Sydney suddenly regretted ever agreeing to come to this. Dread coiled in her stomach a bit like a snake, twining around all of her vital organs with a clench.

  "Ummm...actually, take me home."

  Toby yanked his keys out of the ignition and looked at her in alarm. "What?"

  "Yeah, let's ━━ let's go home, Tobes," Sydney stammered, shrinking down in the chair. "We can ━━ we can watch The Rocky Horror Picture Show, and wait for my dad to come with a pizza and ━━"

  "No way, Sydney," Toby jeered, lovingly. He reached over her cowering body, and popped open the seatbelt lock. "You made me dress like this for a reason. We need to have fun, yeah? Be teens for once. You said it yourself."

  Sydney's throat felt tight as he turned to him. He was hovering over the console between them, and cocking a brow in bemusement. He was dressed like Obi-Wan fucking Kenobi for her. Knee-high boots and all. And she had spent so long getting ready ━━ doing her hair just right, and raising money for the costume she saw in the store window on Main Street every day on the way to school. And Billy. And the way he looked like he could tear her life up into tatters.

  "OK." A shaky breath trickled out of her. "OK. You're right. I said it myself. Let's go."

  Toby had an arm round her waist as they walked up the path ━━ Tina's house was shaking with the vehemence of the music booming through the walls. There was a crowd gathered around a keg at the front, swathed in smoke, cheering and counting obnoxiously. Toby had intended on leading them both up onto the porch and into the main part of the party, but Sydney dug her heels a bit into the damp lawn when she saw who's gloved hands were clutching the rim of the keg.

  "You've got to be fucking kidding me," muttered Toby. "Syd, really? This guy? He's ━━"

  "━━ 39, 40, 41, 42!"

  The crowd erupted into more raucous cheers, and smattering applause. Tommy H. had been holding Billy's ankles up as he gulped down the cheap beer, and as soon as he hit Hawkins' shining record, he let go. Billy Hargrove stood back up proudly, a maniac grin splitting his face half as he spat out the amber residue of the keg. Sweat glistened on his toned, bare torso, beading off down his abdomen. He had a black leather jacket on, and some blue jeans, and it was probably his half-hearted attempt as something like The Terminator, or the fingerless, black gloves could've been a homage to George Michael. Not that Sydney cared what he came as ━━ that didn't matter at all to her. Not when the crowd started to chant his name like he was some kind of fucking God, and certainly not when Billy Hargrove drank up the idolatry like it was the keg now warming up his belly.

  "That's how you do it, Hawkins!" he shouted, snatching a lit cigarette from Tommy H. and inhaling deeply.

  "What do you see in him?" Toby spat, derisive. "He's disgusting."

  Sydney smiled knowingly. "Tell me, Tobes. Who formerly held the title of Hawkins' Keg King?"

  Toby looked confused for a moment, before a horrible expression of dread fell over him. "Harrington."

  "Exactly. Now. If you'll excuse me ━━"

  Ignoring his startled hiss of her name, Sydney impetuously stepped forward, cutting off Billy's path into the house. He looked pissed, for a split second. Like he could've spat something abrasive at her. Then, his eyes narrowed at her, and a smirk curled up the corners of his lips ━━ an oh moment.

  (It's integral to note ━━ this wasn't an oh of romance. Or an intervening of passion from Sydney, either. Billy had nonchalantly spent the past 2 days asking around school about 'the girl with the dead mom', and garnered enough information about Sydney to be intrigued ━━ not only did she have the ghost of her mom clinging to her, but she had a best friend who was destructively in love with her, and had something with Steve Harrington. In all honesty, they probably had mutual motives. Fucking carnage. Making Steve Harrington hurt. Billy saw it as a challenge ━━ a wounded girl, who had something with a taken guy. Sydney saw it as a distraction ━━ he was the other side to Steve's coin, his rival. A parallel fucking line. It was vindictive. Plain and simple. Carnal and acrimonious and stupid. Just like Billy).

  "And who have you come as, sweetheart?" Billy asked, around a grin, and a puff of nicotine.

  "Princess Leia," said Sydney, not even the slightest bit surprised that he hadn't seen Star Wars.

  Billy hummed around the cigarette. "A princess, huh?"

  "And you?" Sydney sized him up, smirking a bit.

  "I'm Billy Hargrove, princess." He smelt of beer and ash and everything else that rots you. He wasn't Steve. He wasn't Toby.

  Sydney raised her eyebrows. "I meant you're costume."

  "So did I." He tongued his cheek with a little laugh and looked over his shoulder to the crowd of people still chanting his name. He fucking loved it. He relished in it. He was vile. "Can I get you a drink?"

  "Yeah. Yeah, you can."

  The chants followed them inside the house. The music, something by Mötley Crüe, reverberated in Sydney's skull like a pulse. There was nothing delicate about the way he had his arm around her ━━ it was more so like, here, look what I have, look who I've got, isn't that fucking amazing? He kept her tight to his sweaty side as they waded through the swathes of dancing teens. A few people knocked into them, and their drinks would slosh out their cups, and splatter the hem of Sydney's pretty, white dress with stains of something inconspicuously red, but she didn't pay any mind to it ━━ not when she noticed who Billy was leading her over to it, keeping her on his arm like a fucking ornament.

  It was objectifying. It made Sydney sick. She kept thinking about numbers ━━ pounds, calories, days since she buried her mom, Steve's love letters, how long it took for his lovebites to seep into her skin like a tattoo kiss and fade.

  "We've got ourselves a new Keg King, Harrington," Tommy H. derided.

  His voice was raspy from years of premature smoking, and screaming his throat raw for years during basketball games, or fights. He kept looking at Billy with moon eyes.

  Sydney tore her eyes away from the blemished marble and looked up to Steve ━━ he was already staring at her. He was Tom Cruise in Risky Business. Of course he was. Clad in all black and a pair of sunglasses, and looking at Sydney like she had plunged a knife into his back. He had been stood with a hand resting on the wall above Nancy's head, but his very own Lana was already stalking away, muttering venomously about boys, and he was pushing himself off the wall to size up Billy with a muscle twitching in his jaw.

  It's like he ripped her ribcage open and devoured what was his. Sydney swallowed thickly as Steve angled his shoulders back to puff his chest out to Billy, but snatched of his sunglasses to narrow his eyes at her. How could he look so hateful and hurt at once? This was manslaughter. This was killing. He'd murder her by doing nothing at all ━━ Steve would kiss lies into her like, I could never hurt you, while twisting a blade into her gut and watching her bleed out, and he'd keep his mouth on hers anyway. Like sharing oxygen would make up for the gaping wound. All while he was still golden in her eyes. Until they shut forever. Until she bled out on the abattoir floor.

  "Eat it, Harrington," chewed out Reed (another brainless, violent boy who had followed them in from the garden).

  Steve glared at them all, and then settled his eyes ━━ pupils dilated from the alcohol, and waterline swollen from something else ━━ on Sydney. A bit greedily. Or lovingly. Or with nothing but hate. Her heart in his jaw like a feral dog who'd leave dead birds on your doorstep as a gift ━━ but the killer never really understands.

  "Nicks," he breathed out, "can I talk to you?"

  Billy opened his mouth, but Sydney spoke first. "No. You can't."

  His face fell. "Nicks, please ━━"

  "You heard the girl, Harrington." Billy exhaled a mouthful of smoke at Steve. He wet his lips arrogantly, and squeezed Sydney so tight she felt her ribs cringe against each other. "Better look next time, huh?"

  Before Steve could splutter anything else, Sydney was stumbling over her feet as Billy dragged her away. It was wrong, right? To use them. Abuse Toby's good heart. Make Steve think there was still a chance. Manipulate Billy's ego. It was wrong. But filth breeds filth, and Christine was good at that kind of thing. It was her job. Manipulation.

  Billy had tugged her to the corner of the living room, nestled away from everywhere else. He stubbed out his cigarette on the wall. It sizzled, and charred the floral paper. He flicked the butt of it onto the carpet, and crushed it with the heel of his shoe. Then, he looked at Sydney like he'd do the very same thing to her if he could ━━ like there wasn't much he cared about. If anything. Apathetic. That was the only word for him.

  "I know what you're doing, princess."

  Sydney's squinted. "Oh, really?"

  "Yeah." Billy took a step forward, chiselling the space between them. He tongued his cheek again, and made the very same hollow, derisive laugh. "Yeah, really."

  "Enlighten me, then," snapped Sydney, jutting out her chin. "What am I doing?"

  "I do like you. I do. You intrigue me. That's why I don't care that you're using me to make pretty boy Harrington jealous." Billy smirked like he had won a grand prize. Especially when Sydney's confident stance faltered waveringly. "Ohh, did I get it?"

  Sydney scrunched her nose up. "It's none of your business."

  "Oh, but I think it is," Billy leered. "I think it's very much my business. I help you? Then you help me, sweetheart."

  "I'm not fucking you," said Sydney bluntly.

  Billy barked a laugh. "Not what I was talking about ━━ but it's your loss." Nausea churned in her guts. She could physically feel her face contorting. "I'll see you around, princess."

  He left her sickened and even emptier than before. Nostrils haunted by the smell of his cheap cologne and the stale beer and everything else he used to make himself feel alive. It sent chills down her spine to think that maybe she was just like Billy Hargrove, too. Carnal. Acrimonious. Stupid.

  It's hard to be a party when she felt like an open wound.

  Aching, Sydney went to find a drink. And Toby. And hoped she could forget all about Billy Hargrove until she needed him next ━━ or, even worse, he needed her.

Hope.

Steve barged out of the bathroom ━━ ears ringing, palms clammy with morose sweat and his eyes stung with tears. He pinched his nose, and smeared the dewy residue of snot against his jacket. He needed to get out of there. He needed to leave. The music echoing through the hollow walls and swathes of people who didn't like him (not really) ━━ entwined; sweaty; loved up on drugs, spiked punch and each other ━━ made him feel claustrophobic. He wanted to leave it all. Nancy and her slurring ━━ bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. Hargrove and his taunts ━━ Sydney like a fucking angel on his arm, deserving of so much better than him. Everyone and everything but her. He wanted her. He wanted those halcyon days back in the lakehouse, and he wanted that little dream he painted for himself after they slept together ━━ he'd work at the garage for the Collymore's son, and she'd get a job helping kids or something, and it'd be just them.

  He had every intention of bolting out the door and never looking back, but then he saw Jonathan pouncing toward the bathroom where he just left Nancy and her stains, and his guts twisted. Instead, Steve made a beeline to the kitchen and haphazardly poured himself an overflowing shot of tequila. He downed it hastily ━━ it burned his throat, and tasted of nothing and hurt. Then, he had another. And another. And when they weren't enough to satiate the hunger in his chest, he grabbed a beer from the cooler and knocked the lid off using the edge of the countertop, scratching the pristine granite. Nobody was sober enough to care ━━ and Tina was off flirting with Hargrove somewhere. And Steve was too fucked up to give a shit anyway.

  He necked it down ━━ gulping and burying it down in his belly and let it abrade his throat raw. When Steve put the bottle back down, it was empty. Just a few dregs palatable at the bottom. And he opened another ━━ more roughly, the lid pinging off somewhere and hitting the floor with a clang nobody paid any mind to. Least of all Steve, as he drank deeply again, stopping only once he downed the neck of the bottle. He slammed it onto the surface and gripped the countertop with his shaky hands, knuckles whitening and bruised.

  "Fuck. Fuck ━━ bullshit. I'm bullshit. It's all fucking..."

  His sullen, blurry eyes roamed the room, gouging all the flustered faces and contorted bodies. He found her ━━ adorned in a Princess Leia costume, with her dyed hair in one of those braids that wrap around your head ━━ and he swore he experienced a palpitation. His heart splattered into a mess in his guts and Steve almost sobbed. He thought about their day at the cinemas, and the lonely nights after spent watching the entire fucking trilogy as if that would make her love him. She was so pretty it hurt. How could he feel so much by two different girls? Be gutted by Nancy not loving him, and then get viscerally split open just by looking at Sydney ━━ not just because she was the most beautiful girl he knew, but because it opened a can of worms. August, and last November, and bruises and cuts, and lingering touches, and the delicate tending of wounds.

  Then, he fucking broke.

  None of it mattered. Staying with Nancy for an entire year, and hurting Sydney, and thinking he was being this martyring hero. He felt so fucking guilty about Barb ━━ she died in his backyard. She died because he asked Nancy to come upstairs with him. He thought he was making amends. He thought he was doing what was best. But Nancy didn't love him. Nancy blamed him for Barb, too. Blamed the both of them. He hadn't made amends at all, he made shit worse. And he lost Sydney in the process.

  So much for a saviour's complex. Who the fuck had he saved? Not Barb, not Nancy, not himself. And definitely not Sydney.

  "Bullshit," he muttered scathingly, before knocking back the rest of the second beer and stumbling round the kitchen island.

  The booze hit him like a freight train ━━ the abrasive confidence and the blind stupidity. It bubbled and simmered in his insides like fire in the belly of a dragon.

  "It's bullshit. Bullshit...bullshit...bullshit."

  He stalked toward Sydney, burly shoulders clashing belligerently with dancing teens who groaned in protest ━━ one kid even shoved him after Steve interrupted a devouring make-out session. If he hadn't been so focused on Sydney ━━ all pretty and lost and dancing so fervently she looked disconnected from the rest of the room ━━ he might've thrown a punch. But he just muttered a half-ass apology and staggered on, eyes wild and brain feeling like styrofoam.

  "Nicks..."

  Sydney jolted, startled by his sudden appearance. She peeled her body away from Toby's ━━ he looked homicidal, glaring menacingly at Steve as his best friend removed her arms from off of his shoulders. Steve didn't give a shit. He just about Sydney ━━ about the concern that consumed her face (so different from the apathy she had channelled at him the past few months), and the maiming touch of her that he hadn't felt in too long, and the pretty dress she had on.

  "Steve?" Sydney spluttered, aghast. Her hand grabbed his bicep beseechingly. "Fuck, are you OK? You look..."

  Steve swayed forward a bit, and his head found itself lolling into the crook of her neck. The column of her throat smelt like her perfume. He missed that ━━ he missed her. Just feeling her skin and smelling th honey against her pulse made him dizzy, and sad, and fuck━━ maybe he was the worst boyfriend ever.

  "Nicks...need you..."

  Sydney caught the back of his head, patting it nonchalantly before giving his hair a gentle tug to draw him back and make him look at her. "Steve, what's wrong? Where's Nancy ━━"

  "Don't care," he sneered, slumping into her. "You. Need you."

  Sydney bit viciously down on her tongue. She tasted metal, and tequila. And sin. She wanted to shout at him about how she needed him for a whole year ━━ she nursed his bruises and kissed him like that, and he left her in the dust. Then August came around and it was even worse, and she was still reeling from it all. Steve left her a godforsaken mess, an idiotic fool. But he was drunk and sad and all she wanted to do was hold him. He had such a power over her. She hated it. Toby certainly hated it too, because he was glowering at Steve like he wanted to rip his head off his shoulders and cave his skull in.

  "I'm...I'm gonna take him outside. Get some fresh air," mumbled Sydney in a daze, trying to avoid Toby's affront eyes as she pried Steve's head again from her shoulder.

  The dejected boy started to groan in protest, fingers pressing into her waist as he draped an around her. Toby instantly exclaimed in protest.

  "What the fuck, Syd?" he demanded vapidly. "Hargrove ━━ that's one thing. But this jackass again? He screws up with Nancy, and ━━ what? ━━ he goes to you as his Plan B?"

  Steve narrowed his bleary eyes on Toby. "Hey, what the fuck, man?"

  "Are you going to deny it?" snarled Toby. "You left her! You're a piece of shit."

  Steve, with one arm still firm around Sydney's waist, stepped forward, as if he planned on hitting Toby, and was only stopped by her hand shoving him square in the chest.

  "Can you both stop arguing like fucking children?" Sydney simmered, struggling to keep Steve steady and tracing her hand down to plant it flush against his abdomen. "There's people watching."

  There was but Steve didn't care. He just kept repeating Nancy's poisonous, garbled words over and over again in his head, and then thinking about Sydney's knuckles gently grazing his contused cheekbone, cleaning up the blood and suturing the cut. Her skin against his, twisted in bedsheets. Her legs round his waist in the lake. Nancy and Sydney. Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. He didn't leave Sydney...he didn't. Toby was just jealous ━━ Toby loved Sydney. Why wouldn't he? Who couldn't?

  The water was a cold blanket around them and the moonlight was a celestial halo, but all Steve cared about was the girl in his arms. This was the place he thought of as home. The place he wanted to raise his kids. Escape the world from. And he brought her, hoping that she could crack open his skull and read all of those rampant thoughts and know how much this all meant to him. How much she meant to him.

  "Sydney," he said, "I'm not a religious person but I do sometimes think God made you for me."

  "Syd, fucking leave him to crawl home or something," spat Toby. "Let's go━━"

  "You're treating me like a little girl!" Sydney screamed. Shattering. "Both of you!" She set her eyes on both of them. Contemptuous and fed up and so very tired of it all. "Toby, I'm going to help Steve. You can either wait for me or go home, I don't care ━━ just please stop treating me like a piece of rope for you both to tug at."

  She started dragging Steve away and he gave Toby a drunken, obnoxious grin over his shoulder, winking at him. Toby's body shook with rage and he stalked towards the kitchen to get himself a drink.

  Sydney frogmarched Steve outside to the back of the house. The back garden was empty and dark. Fairylights lit up the neat hedges and the wraparound porch had a swinging bed on it, gently swaying in the October breeze. Sydney guided Steve towards it and roughly shoved him down. It swung violently as he crashed onto the pillows, bloodshot eyes staring up at her with surprise. Sydney just knelt down in front of him and placed the back of her hand on his forehead.

  There's that touch again. Considerate and gentle and her hands were always so cold ━━ but never in a harsh way, like the wind bristling around them. It was grounding, really. He melted into it.

  "You're burning up," she muttered, before taking her hand back ━━ punishing him. "Steve, what happened?"

  "I don't wanna talk about it," he said bitterly, roughly rubbing at his face. "What was Toby talking about? I left you...?"

  Sydney squinted at him and then hastily looked away, glaring at some space behind his shoulder.

  "I don't wanna talk about it."

  "Hey...Hey." He grabbed her jaw, and surprisingly he wasn't rough at all, considering his abrupt downing of 2 beers and 3 shots of vodka in hardly 2 minutes. He held her like the morning ━━ pinched between his pointer, index and thumb. His eyes were swollen and red but so earnest as he implored her to meet them with soft mumbles of her name. Sydney did and she frowned sullenly. "There you are..." His thumb rubbed over her cheek lovingly, and he wondered, if he conveyed it enough through touches, she might understand. "What did I do, Nicks? Hmm? Did I...tell me what I did."

  "You're drunk," snapped Sydney, voice wobbling a bit. "And sad. You argued with Nancy, didn't you?"

  "Stop mentioning her." Steve's thumb swept over her lower lip. "This isn't about her. It's about you. Us."

  Sydney scoffed meanly. "There hasn't been an 'us' in a long time, Steve. Actually ━━ I thought I made it clear that there's never been an us at all."

  Bullshit. It's bullshit. Steve's bullshit. Bullshitbullshitbullshit.

  He raised his other hand to grab either side of her face, and he realised he always found himself like this. Trying to cradle her and mumble some sense into it. Holding her like water in his hands, because she's always slipping away from him. Leaving. Coming and going. She's waves. She's a rogue comet. She's not his at all.

  "Please don't say that," he begged, pouting like a child. "Nicks, there is an us. 'Has been since that day in the bathroom. You're in my head all the time."

  "I called you a pervert that day, Steve."

  "I don't care," said Steve, laughing breathlessly, desperately. "I don't care. You can call me anything ━━ do anything. We're...you know? We're us."

  Sydney shook her head aggressively, eyes watering as she tried to shrink away from his upset stare and touch. "I'm afraid I don't know, Steve. You only care about me when Nancy isn't around. Toby's right. I know it. I'm Plan B."

  "Don't say that," he seethed through his teeth. "You're A ━━ you're always Plan A. You're my Nicks, aren't you? Yeah? My Nicks."

  "But you're Nancy's Steve."

  Steve's heart stung, as if struck by the barbed stinger of a bee (but in reality, it was just the brutality of a lost girl). He thought about Nancy. Smart, pretty, headstrong, skin as thick as nails. She was the perfect girl-next-door but she had teeth and a fight in her that no suburban, nuclear life could satiate. He...he did love her, in a weird way. He knew he did. He wouldn't have stayed with her otherwise. But whatever this was for Sydney ━━ it was addictive. She was mercurial drug. He looked at Nancy and it was comfortable ━━ she promised so much. Penance, mostly. But Sydney made him feel something deathly. Always had. No girl had ever called him a pervert and had him so fucking obsessed. He thought about every single detail of her after that day ━━ the bluntness in her tone and the shape of her face and they way she didn't care about who she was when she spoke at him so hatefully.

  And they got closer ━━ in weird, unpredictable ways. She snuck up on him like an assassin. Sydney invaded his bone marrow and his veins and his mind ━━ Nancy was the guilt in his gut from Barb, and she was his heart. (The mess that it was). Sydney was in every part of his system. She was the blood that kept the heart going. She was the air in his lungs.

  He anguished. "It's always been you."

  Sydney yanked herself out of his hold, and fell back on her ass, tailbone hitting the decking. She looked up at him with so much hatred, and Steve wanted to bludgeon himself for saying it.

  "Fuck off," she whispered. Then, she looked at him very angrily, and made her voice louder, more contentious. "Fuck you, Harrington! Fuck you!"

  She scrambled up to her feet and turned her back to him, teeming with rage.

  "I don't understand," said Steve sadly. "Do you not ━━ have you stopped?"

  Translation: do you not love me?

  "Why are you doing this?" Sydney muttered to the ground.

  Translation: fucking yes.

  "You ━━ you went back to Nancy! Every time!" she wailed. "And then you argue with her, and suddenly ━━ always been me, my ass. You don't give a shit ━━" Sydney punctured the ugly word by turning back to around to face him, and jabbed a ruthless finger into his sore chest, "about me, Harrington."

  Steve's heart ached and he suddenly felt so tired, and sick. So fucking sick.

  "Nicks ━━"

  A sob. "Stop calling me that!"

  He glanced down, pathetic. "I always call you that."

  "You never call me anything anymore!" she yelled. "You don't talk to me! You don't look at me! Unless you shove some bullshit letter in my locker."

  Steve looked at her a bit heatedly now. "You left me!"

  Sydney was bewildered, momentarily, but then the anger returned, more savagely and rearing its ugly head with a snarl. "You had a girlfriend!"

  "I told you I'd leave Nance." He got up then, and all of the blood drained from his head, little white dots clouding his vision, but he could still see her. Always her. "I told you I'd leave her. But it wouldn't have changed anything, would it? Because it wasn't just Nancy."

  She faltered. "Stop it."

  "What, Sydney?" Steve sighed, tired. So very tired. "Are you going to tell me to fuck myself? Are you going to tell me that you're fine? That ━━ that the stunt you pulled earlier with Hargrove was, what? Because you like him?" His fingertips traced up her arm, and Sydney shivered, turning her head to the side stubbornly. "Don't go for him. Or Toby."

  "What?" Sydney paled. Badly. Like she might faint.

  "Don't go for them," he said again.

  She blinked. "Why?"

  "Why?" said Steve, laughing quietly. "You know why."

  For a few seconds, it was so still. She couldn't even hear the music from inside. There was just the chirping crickets in the freshly mown lawn, and birdsong in the surrounding trees.

  "No," said Sydney, shaking her head. "N-no."

  "What?"

  "Steve, stop it."

  Steve looked confused, reaching for her hand, but she pulled it away. "No, Steve, you're being mean."

  His eyes were doleful and sad. "Why am I being mean?" he whispered softly, but his words got lost under her overlapping denial.

  "Stop it. Stop it." Through her teary periphery, she saw his hand reach out again, but Sydney smacked it away. She sniffled and took a step back. She was really crying now. Maybe she didn't need Billy Hargrove to make her feel something ugly after all. Steve was perfectly capable of ruining her all by himself. "I've been second to Nancy for an entire year now, Steve. And I won't be the person you settle for just because you can't have her. I won't do it, not when ━━" She laughed without any humour, all tears and rue. She swept a hand under her eye and collected the smearing mascara, smudging a mar of black across her cheekbone. "You know, you're the first person I've ever actually liked?"

  Steve's head shook. "You mean that?"

  Sydney tucked her lower lip in, frowning. "I wish I didn't. 'Cause it really hurts."

  "Well." Steve glared down at his hands. He didn't know what to do with them. Not when she blatantly didn't want to feel them right now. "I've liked a lot of people."

  "Great," sneered Sydney. "That's great to hear, Steve. Thanks for that."

  "No, I mean ━━ Fuck." He massaged one of his temples, feeling a migraine creep up on him like a thundercloud, and put another hand to his hip. "I mean... I've liked a lot of people ━━ I fall in love probably, like, twice a week. But you ━━ none of them are anything compared to you, Nicks."

  Birdsong. Crickets. His breathing. Her pulse. Tick, tick, ticking.

  "You mean that?" she said, imitating him, but with something like a girlish excitement make her cheeks feel warm.

  "Yeah. I do. I really fucking do. And you know what ━━ I'm glad I do." He felt braver now. Maybe it was the alcohol thudding in his veins. Or the pretty smile she was blinding him with. He didn't know. He didn't care. "It hurts, sure. But I'd let you hurt me a thousand times over."

  Sydney's heart swelled. "Yeah?"

  "Yeah."

  She carved away at the space between them. Put a hand gently on his jaw. And then she smiled so big, Steve believed nothing could ever top this moment. This was it. She might as well kill him now.

  "I think..." mumbled Sydney, glancing down to his mouth, "that I want to kiss you."

  "What? You think a princess and a guy like me...?" Steve grinned.

  Sydney drew back, staring at him with wide, yearning eyes. "Did you just...quote Han Solo?"

  "Told you I watched the whole trilogy."

  "Fuck," cursed Sydney, feigning disappointment. "That makes things a lot more complicated."

  Steve frowned. "Why?"

  "It makes me like you even more."

  When she kissed him this time, it was just sweet. There was nothing mean about it.

from dani!

omg ??? what u think ?? lol.
ps. some of the last bit was inspired
by little women (2019) & ofc
a few taylor references were dotted about
as always<3