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CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE ; HOMESICK
also known as;
( pre-episode one )

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STELLA COLLINS WOULD ALWAYS BE THE MOST BEAUTIFUL PERSON HE HAD EVER SEEN . Whether her hair was up or down, if she was dolled up or covered in blood (which had not been an uncommon occurance over the course of their relationship), he swore she was some kind of goddess. He wished he could write poetry, or create the kinds of art she adored, but he was incapable of doing so. All he wanted was a way to express his love for her.

But alas, poor Steve Harrington was not good with words.

He had forfeitted the title of 'King Steve' a couple years back now, and along with it went his smooth talking and suave. He didn't miss it as much anymore, because he now knew that he never needed it. He had no one else to charm, because he had the one girl he'd want for the rest of his life. She didn't care for inauthentic gestures, or empty words. She wanted him.

He never thought he'd be the type of man to be so utterly in love that he would travel across the country solely to see her smile, hear her breathe, touch her skin - yet here he was, lying on their bed, in their apartment, watching as she painted something for her college assignment. They were doing a study on Surrealism at present, and he couldn't say it was his favourite. Her art, usually bright and filled with the excess love that spilled out of her chest, had been infested by the darkness she had faced. Like Dalí, there were inanimate objects that melted or broke. Like Magritte, the soft colours contrasted with a beautiful, yet horrific image.

He could see himself in her work, both figuratively and literally. In each work she did, he could see the colour of his eyes, the neon lights of Starcourt Mall, the apparent mundanity of Hawkins. Whether she did it intentionally or subconsciously, the reminders of home would always be there.

Her current work, and her final submission before spring break, was a piece she had not yet titled. A self-portrait, apparently, but Steve didn't recognise her. Her eyes were sunken in, stitch-like patterns woven through her eyelids. The top of her head was cracked open, and out of it came a cage, where the arms of the Mind Flayer gripped the metal barrier, scrambling to get out.

It wasn't his favourite piece.

Stella was adamant on finishing it in time, though. Their flight left in less than three days, and she still needed to write her companion piece before she handed it in. Her hair - yanked back into a bun that was already falling out, was also something she needed to fix before going back home to see her parents. The front was bleached blonde while the rest was left it's natural dark brown. She had been meaning to getting around to changing it to a singular colour, but their hairdressing apprentice roommate had enough lasting trauma from the first attempt.

So, she'd had to suck it up the last month and a half, with her hair two different colours. It had grown on Steve, actually. He thought the weirdness of it suited her perfectly. Especially when she wore that pair of overalls with painted splattered across the pants. The exact ones she wore now.

"Fuck!" she cursed, her lip jutting out in frustration. She'd dropped a dollop of paint on her sock (his sock, technically). She stared down at it in dismay, before lifting her foot up and swiping the mess away with her paintbrush. Steve pulled a face as a dark blue smudge was left on the garment, knowing it'd never be the same.

"It's too early to be running your mouth like that," he scolded, burying his head in his pillow, blocking out the morning light that streamed through the windows.

"It's midday," she didn't spare a glance his way, though there was a hint of a smile on her face. "I didn't meant to wake you up."

Steve grunted, his voice muffled by the pillowcase. He felt a weight on his side of the bed, followed by a soft kiss on his bare shoulder. He turned his head slightly. "You'd better not be getting paint on our new duvet, Estella."

Stella faked a dramatic gasp. "I would never!"

He heard a brief scuffle, and suppressed a chuckle as he realised she was removing her paint stained clothes, leaving her in a shirt and underwear. She then collapsed on top of him, wrapping her arms around all the body of his she could find. Steve groaned at the pressure, and turned around, forcing her to fall back on the other side of the bed. She laughed as she hit the sheets, and reached to touch his face. Steve relished in the feeling of her warm hands, and kissed the inside of her wrist.

This was their second apartment. It was considerably nicer than the dump they'd been in for the first six months, where the heating shit itself in the middle of winter and left them shivering, even during the day; where Steve had nearly cried when he saw a cockroach the size of his fist, and Stella had to come and save him with a glass to take it outside. The landlord was useless, and had tried to give Stella some pot brownies, which she definitely would have eaten if Steve hadn't tossed them into the garbage disposal.

Steve loved this place, though. The windows were big and the roommates were friendly - all the two broke young adults could ask for. They had a large room to themselves, and all the freedom life allowed them. They could go to parties and not have to worry about a curfew, they could decorate their home the way they wanted, and they could power through the struggles of adulthood together. Steve didn't think it would be so exciting for him to learn how to do laundry, but it had now quickly become a favourite pastime of his.

And though his heart ached for Hawkins, for the people he had left behind, he couldn't help but feel at home here - free from the chokehold of his father, and the prying eyes of his former classmates.

Nobody in Rhode Island judged him for taking night classes - for working long hours, for adoring his girlfriend. If he wanted to learn the guitat, his roommate would teach him. If he wanted to find a new book to read, he would walk down the road and pick up the newest romantic comedy. He wasn't ashamed anymore.

It was as if the suffocating blanket of his old life had finally been lifted, and he could finally breathe.

"You okay?" Stella asked, combing her fingers through his long hair.

"I'm good," he responded. He pulled her closer and kissed her forehead. "I'm perfect."

The best part was that he truly meant it.

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Stella Collins loved Rhode Island. She loved her school, her apartment, and her boyfriend. She loved how he smiled when he woke up in the morning, how he sat on the space between the couch and the record player so he could relish in the sunlight, and how his eyes lit up when he saw her.

She didn't think she could be this in love with somebody, let alone a boy she had once despised.

He marched in front of her now, his arms wrapped securely around her canvas, as he had insisted his arms were longer and therefore better protection against the elements. Usually they would take a taxi, but they had been saving every single penny for spring break, and had no intentions of wasting several precious dollars on a five-minute car ride.

"Careful of the corner!" her eyes barely blinked, as she feared if she closed her eyes everything would fall apart. The canvas would catch on a pole, or Steve would drop it into a puddle - anything was possible in the overthinking mind of Stella. "Steve, I don't know, maybe the ten bucks was worth it - a car would've been so much safer."

"Do you have such little faith in me?" Steve joked, not looking over at her, as he was far too focused on the painting in his arms. It had been wrapped in brown paper as an extra layer of protection, but he, too, was anxious of ruining. "C'mon, Stells, I've fought monsters! I can handle a painting."

Stella released a nervous breath as they neared the campus. She trailed behind the man, fingers extended in case anything happened. Her heart was beating twenty times an hour, as if this was the scariest thing that had ever happened to her. In the moment, it definitely felt like it.

But, surely enough, they made it into the classroom, where a few students had left behind their submissions and companion pieces. Steve gently set the canvas down, and Stella appeared next to him to help unwrap it. She only felt her hands cease their shaking when it was settled on the easel beside her name. She placed her companion piece on the table, and ran her hands through her unevenly coloured hair.

"That was so stressful," she groaned, resting her head on Steve's shoulder. He chuckled softly, wrapping his arm around her waist and patting her hip. "Next time, can we just call a cab?"

"Hey, I did a great job as your transport officer," he protested. "The painting is as perfect as it was when we left the apartment."

"I'm not sure I like it," Stella said, her eyes trained on her work. Steve knew better than to convince her otherwise; she was always far too critical for his words of encouragement. "It's a bit too depressing for me."

"A little bit," he nodded. "But, you know, it's pretty surreal. It fits the theme."

That was something Stella could agree on. The image of the Mind Flayer she had created unsettled her, an aspect of the image she hoped would seem far-fetched to her professor. She hummed. "Yeah, you're right."

That small affirmation was more than enough for Steve. He spun her around so that she was facing him and not the painting. He raised his hand to her face, so that her chin was between his thumb and index finger. Lifting her face slightly, they looked each other in the eyes. Steve pressed a soft kiss to her lips, before pulling back with a grin. "Well, now that you're officially on spring break, how about we get some lunch? My treat."

Stella's brows knitted together. "But we're not supposed to-"

"Spend anything, I know," Steve rolled his eyes, before his smile broadened. "But we leave tomorrow, and I think you deserve a chocolate milkshake. Can you really argue with me on that?"

Stella's lips twitched, which Steve took as a yes. He grabbed her hands, and pulled her out the classroom, his smile permanently glued to his lips as he listened to her melodic laughter.

Everything was finally perfect, and he hoped it was stay that way forever.

★☆

(A DISCLAIMER - MY KEYBOARD IS SHIT SO IF THERE ARE TYPOS PLS IM SORRY ITS NOT MY FAULT)

and a friendly reminder that this story will skew slightly from canon bc of stella and steve's relationship and whatnot :)

a little bit of a short chapter to start us off but i needed everyone to experience girlboss Stella/malewife steve because i love them and i missed them and i needed a little bit of domestic fluffy cuteness before we send them back to the hellfire of season 4 :)))))

BUT ANYWAY

WELCOME BACK TO GLORY DAYS!!! i've missed this book so much, and i feel like this is the one thing i will never get tired of writing

what do you think is gonna happen this season with stella and steve! i would love to know theories, suggestions, etc etc

also i might try and do a few tiktoks here and there if anyone wanted an extra way to keep up with my stranger things writing antics (paigecantwrite on tt)

i'm also considering throwing in an eddie munson book but i'm not tooooo sure because i could never get into writing my robin one idk

l8r gang hope ur doing well since i last saw ya