Chapter Eighty-Five: Study (Not) Date

(pre-Suzie, Do You Copy?, Pt. 4)

The clang of her locker opening resounded in Rowan's ears, harmonising with the roar of sound that was the hallways of Hawkins High in-between classes—clanging lockers, chattering students, shoes squeaking on the floor, the bang of couples all but having sex on the lockers (and by couples, Rowan meant Tommy H and Carol)—and providing background noise for Joan Jett and AC/DC thundering in her ears.

It had been a couple of weeks since Rowan and Alistair got back, and everything was normal, like they hadn't left. Hawkins High was still a cesspool of societal and individual death and full of assholes like Tommy H and Carol and Hargrove sneering at her and calling her "freak" and teachers who either hated her purely because of her music tastes or clothing or just didn't care, but Rowan felt like she had changed. While she prided herself on having better control during the past couple of years, training with her family had helped immensely, on mellowing out the crackling, always-frantic energy inside her, and while her brother still hesitated around the cemetery and hospital, that he would probably always have nightmares, he seemed less frightened of the ghosts now—that talking to the much nicer ghosts in the manor and around Lynn had helped with that. Whatever it was, Rowan knew she'd changed from the person she was since all the Upside Down shit started... and she found she liked it.

As Rowan grabbed her Bio textbook, she felt a tap on her shoulder. Turning, the dark-haired teen saw Steve standing there. He smiled. "Hey."

"Hey," Rowan returned, pulling her headphones down and pausing her Walkman. "What's up?"

As she watched, Steve's confidence dropped and he rubbed his neck as he asked, "You're good at Chemistry, right?"

"A little," Rowan answered honestly. Chemistry wasn't her best class, but it wasn't her worst—and it wasn't going to be the same without Barb, that even though she had a new lab partner, the seat would always be vacant of Barb's presence. "Why?"

"Well, I was thinking maybe we could, uh... study together for our tests coming up?" Steve explained, looking almost nervous and... shy. Which was weird. Steve Harrington, shy? And especially around her? The Rowan Graveswood of a couple years ago would be cackling herself to death.

"Oh," the Rowan Graveswood of now murmured. She frowned. "Wait. Didn't you fail Chem a couple years back?"

"It was a C minus, but... yeah," Steve muttered, so quiet she almost didn't catch it—or the bitterness coating it. "Guess I want to try to avoid failing it this year. Not like it would matter, anyway. I only have a few months left."

"Hey, that doesn't mean you can't turn it around," Rowan pointed out.

"You think so?" Steve asked, eyebrow raised in skepticism.

"Yeah, I do," Rowan said firmly. She sighed and added, "Okay, you've convinced me. But Harrington, this better not be how you and Nancy studied a couple years back. Because if it is, I'm breaking your nose again."

Steve's eyes widened. "What? Graveswood, no, it isn't, honest. I just... I thought we could study together, and help each other. Okay maybe help me, but that's it. Honest."

"I knew you had an ulterior motive," Rowan snarked, and confusion replaced the earnestness on Steve's face.

"What?" he asked.

Rowan rolled her eyes, a smile playing on her lips. "God, you really are an idiot, Steve Harrington."

Steve, catching the smile, gave a hesitant one. "So... is that an yes?"

"Yes. Yes it is, you dumbass," Rowan confirmed, the smile widening. "And you can also relax. I was just messing with you. I know you wouldn't do that."

Steve's smile grew less hesitant, more confident. "Great."

"So... where do you wanna study? And when?" Rowan asked, adjusting her books so they didn't fall.

"I was thinking my place, after school?"

"Okay," Rowan said, her smile growing teasing. "Can you handle one of Hawkins' freaks in your palace, King Steve?"

"I think I can for the night," Steve snarked back, rolling his eyes.

"Okay, then. I'll come, and I promise I won't ruin the good leather too much. "

Steve rolled his eyes again at that, but still said, "Great. I'll pick you up after class."

"And I'll bring the study material."

"It's a date."

The joking smile dropped from Rowan's face as she stared at Steve, whose own features morphed into shock at what he just said, before he quickly recovered and added, "Study date. It's a study date. Nothing more."

"Right, right. Just two friends studying together," Rowan agreed, composing herself. Looking at Steve, she said, "I'll be at the parking lot, after class."

"Right. I'll be there, too," Steve replied, nodding.

"See you then, I guess," Rowan said, before she smiled and added, "It's a not date."

A smile shivered across Steve's face. "Okay then. Not date. Got it."

The shrill cry of the warning bell rang, and Rowan said, "Gotta go. Bio."

"I have to go, too. Algebra," Steve said, grimacing before it smoothed out. "See you then, Graveswood."

"See you then," Rowan replied as she watched Steve melt into the crowd as he rushed to his class. Something inside her twisting at her and Steve studying together at his place.

Probably because you're finally getting a glimpse into Castle Harrington, Rowan told herself. You've been on plenty of study dates with Eddie and Chrissy and Robin and Val and Nance.

She was about to raise her headphones and play music when a familiar voice asked, "Did that really happen?"

Rowan turned and saw Chrissy standing there, looking shocked.

"Chris! Where the hell did you come from?" Rowan demanded.

"Just now," her friend answered. The cheerleader's face grew inquisitive and slightly sly as she said, "Also, are you and Steve Harrington really going on a date?"

"What? No! We're just studying for this test at his house," Rowan answered, brushing it off.

Chrissy's brow was arched and she shrugged. "Okay. It sounded like a date, though."

"It's not a date. It's just study," Rowan replied. "Come on. We're gonna be late for Bio."

The reminder of the class put a pause on Chrissy's questions about the study not date, as the friends headed to their next class and got in just before the teacher could cry them late. But even as she tried to listen—especially when today was dissection day, and Chrissy was always squeamish around blood so Rowan always took the lead for this—Rowan's mind was on the study not date, at Steve's place. Doing something she'd done a thousand times before with her friends—hell, something she'd done heaps of times with Eddie. It was no different from those times.

It was no different at all.

***

Almost too quickly, school was over and Rowan was striding into the parking lot, arms full of what she and Steve needed, making a beeline for the BMW and the teen with the carefully styled hair leaning against it.

Who broke out into a smile when he saw her. "Hey, Graveswood."

"Hey, Harrington," she greeted back. "You look happy to see me. Given what we're gonna be doing."

"What, I can't be happy to see you?" Steve questioned, face torn between genuine wonderment and a smirk.

"I don't know... maybe," Rowan answered, her own smirk tugging at her lips. "Nice to know my face makes you smile now, when in the past you must have wanted to punch it."

"Your face always made me smile," Steve said, so quiet it was like he didn't intend for Rowan to hear it. But she did, and her eyes widened and her eyebrows climbed up in surprise as Steve's eyes widened and he added, "N-now, I mean now! Definitely now. Yeah, I kinda wanted to punch you before. Not now, though. Definitely not now."

"Harrington, take a breath before your brain bursts. It can't take any more damage than it's already had," Rowan said, also torn between genuine concern and slight sarcasm. "But glad you feel that way now. The feeling's mutual."

"Really?" Steve asked, eyebrow arched, but not fumbling now.

"Yeah," Rowan confirmed, before she jerked her head to the car. "Now come on and let's get this studying done."

"R-right!" Steve said, leaning off his car and heading over to the driver's seat as Rowan opened the door and climbed into the shotgun seat. Once she was inside and Steve was in, she propped her feet up on the dash and said, "Drive, Harrington. Please."

Steve rolled his eyes, but turned the ignition on and pulled out of the parking lot, exclaiming, "Take your feet off the dash, Graveswood!"

"Never," Rowan replied with a grin. She looked out the window, seeing Hawkins blur past as her fingers tapped against the textbook to White Man, Freddie Mercury's voice a welcome relief to the crush of conformity that was Hawkins High. Looking over to Steve, she saw him absentmindedly tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, his arm leaning against the window as much as possible with it being rolled up, head bobbing to the music and locks of his hair flopping along almost to the beat.

"Queen fan?" Rowan asked over the music.

"Uh yeah. Pretty big fan," Steve answered. "You?"

"Hell yeah. They're one of the fucking best bands ever. Plus, Freddie Mercury is like... the biggest inspiration to freaks and outcasts to be ourselves, so that's points in my book," Rowan replied, flashing Steve a grin. He returned it.

As White Man ended and Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy picked up, Rowan had a fond smile, remembering when she and Eddie would belt along to the lyrics as they drove around in summer, his voice so much better than hers, but neither cared. She hummed along to the lyrics, almost lost in the music... until she heard someone else singing.

Rowan's eyes widened as she slowly turned and saw Steve singing along to the song. And he sounded good. His voice was vastly different from Eddie's—her best friend's singing voice was loud and raspy and energetic, meant for singing over electric guitars and crashing drums. Steve's was soft and low, but as she listened it pitched higher, held the same energy as Eddie's singing voice did, the same passion, but very much different from the frenetic energy her best friend's voice held.

It sounded amazing. Steve sounded amazing. Not even him slapping his hands against the steering wheel like a dork could detract from how good he sounded—in fact, it helped it.

At some point, Steve looked over at her, staring at him mesmerised, and he gave a startled yell.

"Graveswood!" he shouted, as embarrassment clouded over his face. "How long have you been watching?"

"Not long," Rowan answered. "Harrington, since when the fuck could you sing?"

"Always?" Steve asked, sounding confused. 

Rowan snorted. "No, everyone can sing. I mean, when the fuck could you sing so good?"

"Uh, I don't know. Always, I guess—wait, you think I sound good?"

"Yeah! You sounded fucking amazing!" Rowan said, grinning. "Listen, Steve, two of my best friends are band kids, and one's in an actual band as the guitarist and lead singer. I've been to his gigs and practice rehearsal, and he sounds good. So if I say you sound fucking amazing... then you sing really fucking amazing."

Red flushed up Steve's neck, dotting his cheeks as he looked away, mumbling, "I, uh... thanks."

"Wait, you sang badly in front of Nancy a couple years ago. Do you purposefully sing badly around others?" Rowan asked, curiosity needling her at what seemed to be Steve's self-consciousness over being such a good singer.

"Maybe," he muttered, hands wrapped tight around the wheel. "It's not like being good at singing is part of the criteria for being popular."

"Well, that's fucked-up. Because you're really good and you shouldn't sing badly when you sound so amazing," Rowan complimented, giving a soft smile.

Steve returned it, but Rowan could see insecurity still clinging to him.

Leaning over, she nudged him and added, "But, I'm happy to be the only one to know Steve Harrington is a fucking good singer."

"Really? You won't tell anyone?" Steve asked, the insecurity sliding away as the same look he wore when confiding his hair secrets a few months ago came back.

"Not a soul," Rowan promised, a wicked smirk coming over her face as she added, "I mean, I haven't told anyone the secrets of your hair... Farah Fawcett."

Steve shot her a glare as Rowan let out a snort of laughter, a smile still playing over her face, before he sighed and said, "Okay. Thanks."

"No problem."

Steve looked over to her and said, "And I guess I don't mind if you're the one who knows, Graveswood."

"I don't mind either," she murmured, sending a soft smile at him. 

Steve returned it, before he frowned and asked, "Wait, you haven't told anyone about that, right?"

"Oh my God, no I haven't you paranoid dumbass!"

"If you did—if you told any of your... band nerd friends or super-powered cousins or anyone—your ass is grass."

"I haven't, promise!"

"Really?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die."

Steve gave her a suspicious look before he turned away, huffing.

"Wow, you are totally paranoid about this," Rowan remarked and Steve denied, "I'm not!"

"Yes you are! You were completely freaking out on me for telling anyone earlier!"

"Well I—I can't have you blabbing about this! It's private secrets, okay? Who says that you have?!"

"That's literally being paranoid, you dumbass!"

Steve glared at her and Rowan rolled her eyes with a grin.

"Relax, just teasing, you paranoid idiot," she assured, patting his arm as Steve rolled his eyes with less affection than hers had been, but the tight grip on the steering wheel relaxed. A minute later, he was singing again and Rowan listened, enchanted again by how good Steve's singing was.

That was how the rest of the drive to Steve's house passed—Steve, singing along to the next couple of songs on the album and Rowan listening, arguing about listening to radio or putting in another tape (Rowan won), Steve singing loudly to the Tears For Fears tape he had while Rowan rolled her eyes and pretended to hate it, but when Steve was singing and looked so happy and carefree, she couldn't hate it, she could never hate it if it was Steve singing it, and bickering occasionally—until they drove into Loch Nora and Rowan felt like she had been transported into another world as the rich suburbs flashed past, the spaces between neighbours' houses growing larger and larger until, finally, Steve stopped at a house that seemed to be surrounded by woods.

Steve's house. The infamous Harrington house.

A place she, Rowan Graveswood, certified freak and loser and outcast and trailer park kid, could only imagine stepping foot inside. And those fantasies usually consisted of a lighter and gasoline, or even a particularly dirty set of boots and sticky fingers.

But now she was here, and the prince of this castle was going to let her inside.

It felt sacrilegious. It felt wicked.

"You coming inside, Graveswood?" Steve asked, and Rowan realised he was out of the car and at the door.

"Uh, yeah, I am!" Rowan exclaimed, hopping out of the car, the things she and Steve needed for the study not date held firmly in her arms as she trudged up the driveway to the large house, eyes wide. Eddie had never got farther than the front porch, and Steve had asked her best friend via Tommy H for weed. Now, she was going to step inside and see what Steve's house looked like with her own two eyes.

Oh God, if she had a camera, she would be taking pictures every single second and distributing them to Eddie and the Hellfire Club the minute they developed.

Steve unlocked the double doors—and that had her eyebrows raise that Steve had double fucking doors—and swung them open, saying, "Uh, come right in."

Gladly, Rowan thought as she entered Castle Harrington.

The first thing she thought was, I do not belong here.

The second thing she thought was, Where's the life?

The house was rich, big and empty of personality. There were stairs leading to the upper level, a door Rowan assumed was a basement, and from what she could see, a living room and kitchen. There was a vase with a fancy plant—could rich people afford that sort of stuff?—and the occasional art piece and the furniture inside the living room seemed to be worth more than everything in her aunt's trailer plus the trailer itself. And it was so big—if Rowan could fit hers and Eddie's trailers in here, she thought they could.

And yet, despite all the space, despite the expensive-looking plants and artwork and chairs and sofa and coffee table and rug, it felt so... empty. Like something out of a home interior magazine, crisp and nice and devoid of life. Everything too neat, too pristine, too new. Too cold, like this was a show home and no one lived here even though Rowan knew there was people who did, that Steve lived here. But it didn't show it; there was no wall markings immortalising Steve's height as he grew like there was for her and Alistair, no clutter and records that made the space feel unexpectedly cosy like there was in the trailer, no stuffing or any sign of wear and tear for the sofa and armchairs like there was for her sofa, no chips or cracks or scratches or stains or marks on the walls and coffee table, no knick knacks or posters or projects and drawings kept from middle school art days, no candid photos. And it was so quiet—the trailer was always noisy, whether it was pipes or Aunt Aco's record player playing music or hearing her family moving about or her aunt doing business or the sound of food cooking, but there was no noise here, no music, not even the noise of TV or creaky pipes. There was nothing to denote a family lived here, to denote there was any life in here. Any love.

It felt really lonely. And sad.

Was this really the house Steve grew up in? If it was, then Rowan's heart ached for Steve, for coming back to a house empty of people and empty of love, trying to fill it up with parties and girls, another piece of information about what Steve's home life really was like behind closed doors provided for her that she tucked away with the rest she knew about Steve Harrington.

"Yeah, this is my house," Steve said, jerking Rowan out of her thoughts. She turned, seeing him look around as he went on, "I know you probably heard about it, so... what do you think?"

"What do I think?" Rowan echoed, before she smiled, or tried to smile. "Well, I'm in Castle Harrington, and I never would have expected to be here since I'm Rowan the Freak Graveswood the Second, the psycho bitch of Hawkins High and a trailer park kid. So... rich I guess? And uncomfortable—I mean, that sofa looks like it would break my ass if I sat down on it."

Steve's lips quirked up in a smile. "It's actually more comfortable than it looks."

"Really, huh? Guess it must be the poorness blinding me. I see every expensive couch as a brick."

"Really?"

"Yeah. If it doesn't have stuffing poking out or doesn't look like it's been sat on a hundred times before, then it must be death to sit on for long periods of time."

Steve grinned. "Oh man, I would love to hear you say that to my mom—she picked out that sofa herself."

"She must not have good taste, then," Rowan remarked. She didn't say what she wanted to say—that this house felt empty, silent, neglected. That if it felt this way when Steve was about to graduate from high school... did it feel this way in those previous years of high school when he was King Steve and she hated him with a burning passion? Did it feel this way when he was a kid?

Did he grow up without any life in this too-big house, any love?

She didn't say all of that—she knew Steve's parents was a touchy subject. She kept it locked away, and decided to focus on what she came here for—studying with Steve.

Looking at the uncomfortable-as-hell sofa, Rowan made to head over there before she stopped, turned to Steve and raised her foot, showing off her Docs. 

"Hey, is it cool for me to head over there in these?" she questioned, giving her foot a shake as she did.

Steve shrugged. "Go ahead. My parents would kill me, but screw them."

"Yeah, screw them," Rowan muttered, as she turned back to the couch and headed over to it, the sound of her boots stomping across the floor sounding very satisfying to her ears. She sat down on the couch, wincing slightly at how unyielding it felt underneath. Comfortable my ass.

A creak came and Rowan looked over to see that Steve had joined her. They were sitting so close, their knees were touching. 

"So, uh, where do you wanna start first?" Steve asked, running a hand through his hair. And even with that movement dislodging it from the hours of care and styling he must have put in it, even as the strands hung over Steve's eyes, it still looked perfect—the dishevelled look worked well for him.

"Well, I was thinking we start with reading a couple chapters from the textbook that we would have gone over in class, and would probably be on the tests," Rowan said as she set out the preparations—a Chemistry textbook, notebooks to do practice questions, and some flashcards. "Then we could take turns asking each other questions using the flashcards, and do some practice questions. How does that sound, Harrington?"

"Sounds good," he muttered. He side-eyed her and said, "You're really prepared, huh? Never would have expected that a year ago."

"Well, a year ago, I didn't have something I love and wanted to go to college and needed good grades for," Rowan responded. "That, and I've been studying with Chrissy and Nancy—they must have rubbed off of me, because Robin and Eddie are terrible at studying."

"They are?"

"Yep, especially Eddie. Trust me, I've been helping him study so he doesn't fail senior year again, and he is not the easiest person to study with."

Steve chuckled, a grin ghosting across his face as he questioned, "And you're easier to study with?"

"I hope so," Rowan replied, matching his grin with her own. "Are you easier to study with?"

"I hope so," Steve echoed back.

Now they were looking at each other, knees pressed together and faces a few inches apart, their breaths mixing together. Rowan stared at Steve's brown eyes, the lock of hair falling across, the moles dotting his face and neck, before she looked away and lifted up the textbook. 

"Okay. No more dawdling or we're gonna have to pull an all-nighter. Do you want to pull an all-nighter, Steve?"

Steve blinked, before he shook his head. "Uh, no. That sounds awful."

"It is and should only be done when you're desperate or don't give a fuck," Rowan said. "So. Let's get studying."

Steve nodded and he scooted closer to her, their bodies pressed together and heads bowed over the textbook, reading the chapter together.

The study not date had begun.

***

"Okay, Steve, what are chemical bonds?"

"Chemical bonds are... they have something to do with the, uh, atoms, right? Attraction or whatever."

Rowan looked at her answer on the back of the flashcard and said, "Uh, yeah, that's... kinda right?"

"It is?" Steve asked, eyes wide. He didn't think it was.

"Yeah, it is," Rowan confirmed, nudging him with her foot—in the past two hours they'd been studying, Rowan had taken her shoes off and was more or less lying on the couch, feet resting against Steve's leg. Neither had moved.

Steve smiled as he tapped his head. "Guess this can hold some information in it."

"Yeah, sure it can after the beatings it's endured," Rowan snarked. "Okay, my turn."

"Wait, let's take a break," Steve suggested. "I don't know about you, but I'm hungry. You?"

"Uh, yeah, sure. I can eat," Rowan said, sitting up and swinging her legs back over the side of the couch. Steve instantly missing them pressing up against his leg. "You wanna get a pizza or something?"

"I was actually gonna make something," Steve said as he stood up and headed to the kitchen, not noticing the look of shock on Rowan's face as she turned around.

"Hold on. You can cook?!" she exclaimed as Steve got out the stuff he needed to make some pasta and sauce.

"Uh, yeah. Just the basics," he answered as he grabbed out a pot and began filling it with water.

"Sorry, I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that Steve Harrington can actually cook," Rowan said, shaking her head.

"Well, I don't exactly broadcast it," Steve replied as he now set the pot of water on the stove and turned it on. 

"I know, I just didn't expect it. I thought you had like... a private chef or something to cook all of your meals."

Steve snorted. "Yeah, no, I'm not that rich."

"Could have fooled me with how freaking big this place is."

Steve smiled as he now set to work on the sauce. A part of him knew the conversation was ended, but he didn't want it to end. And before he could stop himself, he said, "And besides, I needed to know how to do this shit. Can't live on Pop Tarts and cereal and pizza when my folks are gone all the time."

Silence stretched out and Steve kicked himself, why the hell had he confided in Rowan that, he didn't even tell Nancy that and she was the person he'd felt the closest to before their breakup, why the fuck had he just said that?!

However, Rowan answered, and while her voice was soft, he could hear the grin in her voice. 

"Well, I think it's pretty awesome. I mean, how many other guys I know can cook without burning the house down?" she said. And while he couldn't yet see her, he could see the spark in her blue eyes, the grin flashing across her face.

"Dunno. Give me time. I might burn the house down," he said.

"Yeah, I don't think so. I mean, if you survived this long, you must know what you're doing."

"Guess I do," Steve responded. 

As he got the sauce going, he heard the quiet creak of the sofa and the even more quiet creak of footsteps on floorboards before he saw Rowan there, leaning on the counter and asking, "Can I help?"

"Uh, sure," he said. 

Rowan grinned and she hopped up on the counter.

"Graveswood, what the hell are you—" Steve began to yell before Rowan slid across the counter and down onto the ground, a wild grin on her face. Steve glared at her. "You're impossible, Graveswood."

"You love it, Harrington," she countered with a grin he could only describe as cheeky as she walked up beside him, watching as he stirred the sauce, the thick liquid bubbling slightly.

"Smells good already, Harrington," Rowan said. Strands of black hair fell down and Steve felt something in him squeeze at seeing how unguarded Rowan looked, the openness on her face.

"Uh, thanks," he managed to say as he kept stirring the sauce. "I, um, need some herbs to be put in here. Could you stir for a second?"

"Uh, sure! I can do that," Rowan said readily, and he handed the spoon to her. Their fingers brushed and something sparked up his fingers at the contact.

It's probably her lightning or something, Steve told himself, shaking his hand as he moved over to the cabinet, saying over his shoulder, "Just stir it, okay?"

"Okay!" she called back.

"And don't let it boil, just let it simmer, Graveswood. Simmer!"

"Will do!"

Grabbing what he needed, Steve turned and relief ballooned that nothing was on fire.

"Okay, I'm gonna tip these in, then I'll take over," he said. "You can put the pasta in."

"Yes, sir," Rowan said back, saluting him as she went over to the now-boiling pot of water and dumping the pasta in. 

Hissing erupted from the pot as it boiled like an angry sea, spitting water up.

"Shit!" Rowan exclaimed as she teleported back on the other side of the counter, Steve echoing her as he rushed to the pot, watching as the water reluctantly boiled back down, but there was still a lot of pasta in it.

"Sorry," Rowan apologised. "Guess I must have gotten more of my aunt's traits than I realised."

She chuckled nervously as Steve inhaled and exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"It's okay," he muttered, looking over to Rowan, who pointed back to the living room.

"I'll just... wait over here."

Steve watched her go, sitting back down on the couch. Steve worried his lip before he sighed and turned back to the pasta and sauce, watching both like a hawk.

When it was ready, he put the pasta into two bowls, then added the sauce on top. As he got two forks out, Rowan teleported back to the counter and murmured, "That smells so good."

Steve gave a non-committal grunt, handing a fork to Rowan and sliding a bowl to her. "Here."

Rowan accepted, sitting on the counter again and holding the bowl midair with her telekinesis. Steve wanted to tell Rowan to get off, but his friend looked so at ease that he didn't, instead standing and eating his dinner as well and trying to hide how jealous he was that Rowan could use her mind instead of her hands to hold the hot bowl.

After a few seconds of silence, Rowan said, "God, this is so good, Harrington. First, you're a good singer, now you're a good cook... God, what can't you do?"

"Get into college," Steve deadpanned, trying to hide his own bitterness at himself for that.

Rowan looked over at him. "Hey, don't say that. There's still a few months left."

"Yeah," he muttered. He sighed. "I guess I haven't really won a fight."

"Against humans. I can say you've won plenty of fights against the Demogorgon and Demodogs," Rowan countered, shrugging casually. 

"You think?"

"Yeah. Don't discount your own badassery when you didn't win a couple fights against me and Jonathan and Hargrove," Rowan assured, nudging him with her elbow. Steve smiled.

"You're also a pretty damn good babysitter—those gremlins would have died without you protecting them," Rowan added as she twirled her pasta around her fork.

"And without you, too," Steve pointed out. "I think we both would have died without each other."

Rowan smiled. "Yeah, I think we would. Save each other, remember?"

Steve smiled. "I remember."

Rowan's smile stayed on her face, making the lines of her face softer, her sharp blue eyes gentler. She ate a mouthful of pasta, one end trailing down, bits of sauce coating it. Without thinking, she began slurping it up, lips pursed and face concentrated in a way that made Steve want to laugh and was kinda adorable despite the disgusting sound being made as Rowan finished slurping up the strand. And as she did, those bits of sauce flicked off, landing on her face—and on the wall of the kitchen.

Rowan froze, staring at the splotch of red sauce. "Shit. Sorry, Steve, I didn't—"

"It's okay," Steve assured, despite the tightness in his shoulders, the thought of, Mom's gonna kill me if she sees that, playing in his head. "It can be fixed. Here..."

Leaning over Rowan, he wiped the spot of sauce off the wall—only to leave the faint smear of red.

A smile quirked up Rowan's lips. "I think that's gonna take more than a wipe of your sleeve."

"I know. I just... shit," Steve muttered, gripping his hair, bowl resting on the counter, trying to breathe in and out, why should he have done pasta and sauce, why did he and Rowan eat in the kitchen, the wall was ruined, his parents were going to kill him, shit—

"Hey, hey, Steve. Steve, look at me," he heard Rowan say, felt hands holding his gently. He looked and saw Rowan there, her face full of compassion and empathy.

"Breathe, Steve, okay? Just... breathe with me, okay?" Rowan instructed gently, still holding that firm, gentle grip on his wrists, breathing in and out slowly. Steve matched her breaths, feeling his shoulders relax and something in his chest loosen, him and Rowan breathing in and out together.

Rowan watched his face and asked softly, "Better?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah. Better."

"Okay. Good. That's good," Rowan said. She let his right hand go, but still held his left hand. He didn't pull away. "Do you have any cleaning supplies?"

"Yeah, I do," Steve answered.

"Okay. Good. We just use them to wipe off the stain. Easy. See?"

"How?"

"Use lots of bleach?"

Despite himself, Steve snorted. That was his answer when Rowan asked what they could do to clean up the aftermath of one of her surges.

Rowan smiled, squeezing his hand. "Come on. Let's clean it up after we finish eating."

Steve modded, and they got back to eating—they were half-done, anyway. When the bowls had been cleaned out, Rowan put them in the sink while Steve got out some cleaning supplies and set upon the stain, scrubbing it away. When he finished, there was a faint mark left, but it wasn't noticeable. Not unless you looked closely.

His parents weren't going to kill him.

"Uh, Steve, how do you work your fancy-ass dishwasher?" Rowan called out to him.

"Wait right there! Don't you dare break it, Graveswood!" he yelled, coming to her side as he did the dishwasher while Rowan cleaned up the pots and spoon, the two working together.

When everything was cleaned up, Steve looked at Rowan and asked, "Do you wanna get back to studying?"

"Yeah, but... we could take a break for the night. I feel pretty tired," Rowan said.

"Uh, sure," Steve said. He looked at Rowan, whose brows scrunched up at the scrutiny and she questioned, "What the hell are you looking at?"

"Nothing. You just got a bit of sauce right..." Steve began as he reached up and wiped away the sauce clinging just above Rowan's lip. Something electric skittered down Steve's hand at the graze of contact, and he wondered if touching Rowan Graveswood always felt like touching an exposed wire—sparking and electric and dangerous and alive. 

Rowan's eyes were looking at him, blue and wide, so vibrant Steve thought why the hell did they need to glow when they were so bright already. Black hair ghosted across her forehead, and her lips were parted slightly as she looked at him and he looked at her, the two of them so close that only inches separated them. Something stretched between them, something ephemeral and hazy yet sharp and electric, blurring out everything else in the world.

Then the moment was snapped as Steve looked away, clearing his throat as he asked, "Study tomorrow night?"

Rowan blinked rapidly, as if she had been dazed and was rousing back to consciousness, before she said, "Yeah. Study tomorrow night. My place, same time?"

"Sure. See you there."

"It's a date."

Despite himself, Steve felt a grin crack on his face, seeing a smile spread on Rowan's face as well. He hadn't been lying, a few months ago, when he said her smile was nice—when Rowan Graveswood smiled, genuinely smiled, her entire face lit up. Not that Steve hated her sarcastic smiles, he loved them actually, full of rumbling thunder and sweet poison and hissing live-wires, but he loved her softer smiles, her genuine smiles, that transformed her face, like lightning crackling from the storm and lighting the whole world up—lighting her face up—more.

Steve would do anything to make her smile like that.

Still, he looked away. "I'll drive you back."

"Yeah, I'll get everything packed up," Rowan said, teleporting out of the kitchen and into the living room. He heard something rustling as Rowan packed it all up as he walked out of the kitchen and into the living room, seeing Rowan put the study materials to the side and tugging on her heavy boots. When she did, she looked at Steve and said, "Okay. Ready."

Steve nodded, snatching up his keys and heading to the front door as Rowan trailed behind him. For a moment, he wanted to pause and ask if she wanted to stay the night, wanted to ask that even as they got into the car and he made the surprisingly short drive to Forest Hills, as he went to her trailer, as he watched her head inside the trailer, until the trailer door closed and he lost his chance.

Because, for those few hours when they were studying and eating dinner in his house... Steve had forgotten how lonely his house was, how dead it felt. Like Rowan had breathed life into it with her crackling, sarcastic energy.

He missed it the minute he went back.

***

They studied for the rest of the week.

Rowan and Steve alternated between his place and hers—his house, with its empty, big halls that would be filled up with her and Steve shooting questions and talking over dinner, her trailer with the pipes and thin walls and her aunt and Alistair talking and Aunt Aco asking how they were going and giving them hot cocoa to keep them going and Alistair helping since he was a nerd and loved science as Hugin croaked in support. They would study for an hour, then call for a break and have something to eat. If they were at Steve's house, he would either make dinner like that first night, or order in pizza. If at her trailer, she would have him join her eating with her family. And while Rowan knew that Steve probably thought her aunt's cooking skills were abysmal compared to his admittedly good ones, he never complained, eating as Alistair rambled about the D&D campaigns and his excitement about starting high school and officially becoming part of Hellfire and Aunt Aco listened and asked Steve questions about school and about his interests, the other teen fumbling slightly but answering, as if he was surprised an adult wanted to listen to what he had to say.

Her aunt didn't ask about his parents—she could tell it was a touchy subject from her own complicated experiences with Vervain Graveswood.

And while Rowan loved having Steve study in her trailer, she loved studying in his house more, when it was just them. It felt more... intimate, when it was just her and Steve. And she liked it.

But it had to end. Their tests had arrived on Friday, and neither one would know if they would pass, if studying had paid off, until they came out on the other side and found out on Monday.

Rowan mouthed 'Good luck' to Steve, just like she mouthed 'Good luck' to Eddie when he had to go in for it as well, and when she mouthed it to Chrissy and Nancy and Jonathan and Valerie when they shared this class with her. He mouthed it back to her and gave her a thumbs up. She smiled at the dorky, sweet action, kept it in her mind when she went in and did her test. She wondered if he kept her smile in his mind for his.

Now, it was Monday and Rowan was tapping her pencil nervously against the desk, as Mr. Kaminsky passed out the tests. Electricity simmered in her veins, responding to the nerves crackling throughout her body and twisting up her organs as she tried to keep her steady breathing and her heart from exploding out of her chest.

It's just a test. It won't kill you, she scolded herself, but the part of her that was fucking terrified of not getting into a good college felt very much like it would.

When Mr. Kaminsky finally came to her desk, he said, "Miss. Graveswood."

Rowan's head shot up, and despite herself, she smiled. "Yes?"

Her teacher's lips pursed. He was an asshole, and in the past Rowan had delighted in aggravating him. Now, she was trying to stay on his good side.

They had a stare-down, until Mr. Kaminsky put her test down and said, "Well done, Miss. Graveswood... for someone who used to slack off."

Rowan frowned, and wanted to say she hadn't, she just studied harder once she'd found her passion, before she looked at her score.

B+.

The breath rushed out of her. B+. She'd gotten a freaking B+. In Chemistry!

A grin spread on her face as the bell finished ringing and she sprinted out of her class, rushing to the gym—it was fifth period and Eddie had PE now which meant Steve would have PE, she needed to tell Eddie, she needed to tell Steve—

The doors banged open, and she saw the wild curls of her best friend.

"Eddie!" she shouted. 

He turned to her. "Rowan!"

Eddie rushed up to her, noticing the sheet of paper in her hands. "Whoa, you got your test?"

"Yup!" Rowan confirmed, smiling. "B+! I got a fucking B+!"

Eddie's eyes widened, and he grinned. "Congrats, Graveswood! I'm so happy for you!"

Rowan grinned. "Thanks! What'd you get for yours?"

The grin on Eddie's face fell. "F."

Rowan's grin also fell.

"I'm... I'm really sorry, Eddie," she murmured, holding his arm in support. "Fuck, I feel terrible now."

"No, don't, that's good! You did really well, Graveswood," her best friend immediately said. "Don't feel terrible for getting a good grade! A B+ is good, Graveswood! I'm really happy for you! And hey, if one of us gets out of this shithole town, I'd rather it be you."

Rowan looked at the earnest look on Eddie's face, a ghost of a smile on her face. "Thanks, and if you need any help, for this or any other test, or for the finals, I'll help you. Promise."

Eddie smiled. "Thanks, Graveswood. I appreciate it, I do. But I think I'm gonna blow this year, too."

"Don't say that. There's still a few more months yet, and the finals aren't for a bit. There's still time," Rowan said firmly, eyes glinting with determination.

Eddie raised his hands, accepting defeat. "Okay. I know when to pick my battles, and none of them should be against you."

"Because you know you'll lose?" Rowan said, a grin flashing across her face.

"Exactly," Eddie replied with his own grin.

As the best friends shared a grin, Rowan looked over his shoulder and asked, "Hey, you seen Harring—"

"Rowan!"

Arms looped around her, lifting her off the ground. Rowan shrieked, panic thrumming through her and she whirled around, swinging wildly. 

"Whoa, whoa, it's me!"

Her fist dropped before it could collide with Steve's face.

"Steve!?" Rowan shrieked. "Holy shit you scared me!"

"Sorry, I was trying to surprise you," Steve apologised.

"Well it worked a little too well! Now put me down!"

"Sorry, but I think I'll do this a little longer."

"Okay, now you're asking for the punch. Put me the fuck down or I'm definitely breaking your nose again!"

"Okay, okay," Steve said, and he finally put her down. Rowan turned, and despite her threat, Steve looked happy. 

"Everything okay?" she asked.

"Yeah, I just..." Steve started, trailed off. He looked at Eddie and said, "Hey, Munson, can Graveswood and I have some privacy?"

Eddie's eyebrow raised, and his eyes narrowed in suspicion as he looked between Rowan and Steve before he shrugged and said way too casually, "Sure. I'm already gone."

Sticking his hands in his pockets, he said, "We'll celebrate that later," to Rowan with a smile before he joined the rest of the crowd, leaving Rowan and Steve alone.

Rowan turned back to Steve and asked, "What is it, Harrington?"

Steve looked at her, and hugged her again, crushing him to his chest.

"Whoa, easy Harrington!" she yelled. "My spine isn't meant to be broken!"

"Sorry," he mumbled, before he pulled back, a smile on his face. "I got a B-."

"A what?"

"A B-. On the test. My first one in, like, ever for Chem."

Rowan stared, before she grinned. "Oh my God, Steve, that's amazing! I got a good grade too!"

"What was it?"

"A B+!"

"Whoa, seriously!? Rowan, that's awesome!"

"Thanks!"

"No, thank you," Steve said, his face soft as he added, "I... I don't think I could have gotten this without you."

Rowan smiled. "Glad I could help, but don't sell yourself short. You're smart, Steve. Don't doubt yourself."

"Aren't you the one always calling me an idiot and a dumbass?"

"Yes, but I think you can be pretty smart. I mean, not genius-level like Dustin and the other gremlins or like Robin, but you've got your own smarts, too. Even with the concussions."

Steve grinned, before he tilted his head, suddenly as shy as he was when he asked for her help last week. "Hey, you wanna celebrate by going out to the diner? And do you think we could do this? Study together?"

"Sorry, but I already have plans to celebrate this with my family and Eddie and his uncle," Rowan declined. 

"Oh," Steve murmured. "I... I should have expected that. Fuck, I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay. I would have accepted but..."

"They're your family."

"Yeah."

The two stood in awkward silence, before Rowan said, "But I wouldn't mind studying with you again. I... I like studying with you."

"Really?" Steve asked, perking up.

"Yeah."

"I'm easier to study with than Munson?"

Rowan grinned. "Way easier. Am I?"

"Never studied with him, but yeah, I think you are."

Rowan's grin broadened. "I guess we'll meet in the parking lot next time we want each other's help."

"Yeah, we will."

"Also, rain check on that diner thing. Even if it isn't to celebrate, I'd like to hang out with you."

"Yeah sure, Saturday?"

"Yeah. Pick me up at my place?"

"Yeah."

"It's a date."

Now Steve and Rowan were grinning, as Steve corrected, "Not a date."

"Very much not a date," Rowan agreed.

The bell rang, signalling the end to the conversation and the beginning to the last period of the day.

"I have to go. See you around, Harrington," Rowan farewelled.

"Me too. See you around, Graveswood," Steve replied, and the two friends parted ways and headed to their respective classes.

Rowan feeling something light and bubbly inside her the entire time that she told herself it was her good grade, that she believed it was... but a small, unknown part of her knew it was Steve.

***

AKKSJSHSHSSH 

This chapter was pure Stowan fluff (with a bit of angst) and I love it so MUCH!!!!!!! Study dates are my weakness 🥰

The bit about Steve being a good singer is a meta fact to how Joe Keery can actually sing! Just a bit I wanted to put in (also, I love Rowan being absolutely floored by how good Steve sounds when he actually sings, and loves listening to him sing)

Also, I am a firm believer that Steve can cook (and is low-key  pretty good at it) Even if it comes from angsty reasons (and makes me hate his parents even more), I love it a lot—especially when Rowan is a bad cook (she got that from Aco) 😂

And yeah, I'm pretty proud of Rowan's thoughts when entering Steve's home and comparing it to hers, even if it is angsty

But yeah, this chapter is just full of Stowan fluff and them being like a couple without being a couple (also, Steve's thoughts on Rowan's smiles? 🥺) and I loved it so much!! Can you tell I'm going to have so much fun writing them in this act? Also, we only have a few more chapters or so till we hit s3 proper! And I can't wait for you all to see the plans I have in store... 😈

Also, thank you all for 2k reads!!!!!! I can't believe it's gotten that many, so thank you all so, so much 🥺🫶

Please read, comment and vote!

GhostWriterGirl out!