CHAPTER FOUR
IV.      fake it flowers
[ season 2, episode 2 ]

          "What do you want, Miller?" Steve demanded haughtily, storming toward his car.

Steph followed after the Harrington, curious to know what had dampened his typically uplifted spirits in such a violent way. It was very uncharacteristic for him; she almost thought she was looking at someone else. And the only thing usual about the situation as a whole was Steve's unwillingness to speak to Steph in a civilised manner ── everything else was unusual. His mood, his crestfallen expression, and the way he hesitated to continue onward when the girl with crazy hair rushed to follow him.

By now, he should have been half way down the street, taking any opportunity he could to escape her. That was why Steph refrained from spitting teasing remarks his way.

Something was wrong.

"I didn't think the new kid got to you this much." she admitted softly.

Steve whipped around instantaneously, eyes narrowing as his expression morphed into one of pure incredulity, "Billy Hargrove? You seriously think I care what that jackass has to say about me?"

She raised her shoulders in a feeble shrug, convinced otherwise, "Yes."

"Well," Steve puffed his cheeks out, heart still thundering in his chest in the wake of the events of the night, as he plunged the key into the car's lock. "I don't."

"Okay." Steph answered sceptically.

He glared at her, hand perched on the curvature of the car door. There was a notable difference in the way they conversed with one another tonight ── something that Steve found to be somewhat relieving. After his argument with Nancy in the bathroom just moments prior, he was seriously unable to tolerate the possibility of bickering with Steph.

He gestured to the car, "Do you need a ride?"

Steph quirked a brow, catching onto the reluctant twinge in his voice. She scrutinised him carefully, before saying, "Yeah, if you're offering."

A nod from Steve confirmed it.

Steph slipped into the passenger seat, shutting the door to the chilling darkness of the night. She rubbed her hands together awkwardly when Steve pressed his foot against the clutch and turned the ignition. He curled his fingers around the steering wheel, but didn't yet pull off into the street ── something evidently clouding his mind.

Steph finally gave in to the curiosity, twisting around in the passenger seat to face him, "So, you're seriously telling me Billy didn't tarnish your ego?"

"I swear to God, Miller ──"

"It's a serious question!"

Steve's hazel eyes scanned her face, brows cinching together furiously. He grumbled out the words, "No. He didn't. Seriously."

"Right." she replied unconvincingly. "And that's why you're definitely not sulking?"

Poking the bear ── that was Steph's major talent. She could prod the bear relentlessly, over and over again, and somehow wriggle herself free from it's groping claws when it finally snapped in the end. Steve was the bear in this instance. And once she saw the angered look scorched upon his sharp features, Steph raised her hands in surrender and sank further into the chair.

She muttered a quiet sorry under her breath.

They drove onward into the night in dead silence, turning down streets strewn in gleaming Halloween decorations. There were children meandering down the pathways either side of the road, grinning euphorically at their buckets overflowing with candy. The streetlights flickered, obscuring the view up ahead.

Steph glanced at Steve from the corner of her eye. A muscle in his jaw ticked ── a clear indication to the fact he was angry.

She sighed. Here we go.

"Harrington," Steph murmured the name quietly, knowing they couldn't sit in silence the entire journey. The heavy stillness in the air between them lifted, resemblant to early morning fog fading as the day stretched on. "What happened?"

Fleetingly, their eyes met.

Steve's expression was a mixture of discomfort and self-pity. There was a hint of sadness thrown into the combination, too, but he tried not to let it show.

Steph found herself feeling more and more curious, gaze constantly flitting from the dark road to his face.

"She said it was bullshit." Steve muttered.

It felt as though an enormous bag of bricks had just been lifted from his chest, and the ability of breathing a steady rhythm came a hell of a lot easier.

Steph eyed him unsurely, "Who did?"

"Nancy."

The car rolled over a drain, causing the passengers within the vehicle to jolt to the side. Stephanie rubbed the pads of her thumbs together, trying to think of some way to respond to Steve's . . . troubles.

She was too habituated with trying to annoy him that she couldn't ( despite her internalised efforts ) find a decent way to comfort him. In fact, Steph was almost certain it was an impossibility ── like, severely impossible. How was she supposed to commiserate with Steve Harrington? Half the time, they were at each other's throats, poised to attack. On this rare occurrence, Steve was in a state of vulnerability, and Steph was the only person present to keep his distending plethora of emotions under control.

Leaning into the back of chair, Steph cleared her throat and made an inquiry, "What did she call bullshit?"

Steve let out a dry laugh, gripping the wheel tighter than before, "What didn't she call bullshit?"

"I don't know. That's why I'm asking."

He titled his head to the side, switching gear as he spoke, "I'm bullshit. Our relationship is bullshit," the boy listed off harshly, eyes trained on the road ahead, aggressively turning the wheel to narrowly avoid a flock of trick or treaters. "Everything between us is bullshit."

"I. . ." Unable to find the right words to say in response, Steph rolled her lips together, waving her hands around aimlessly. "I mean, Nancy was pretty drunk, so that might have squandered her perception of, you know, everything. But . . ."

Catching onto her hesitancy to continue, Steve narrowed his eyes, "But what?"

"Drunk words are sober thoughts." Steph revealed, drawing her words out longer than needs be. "Sometimes the truth hurts, Harrington."

"Wow, thanks." Steve griped. His fingers flexed against the wheel, and he turned his gaze upon the rusted road signs plunged into the pavement on the roadside. "Making me feel a whole lot better about the situation, Miller."

"You're welcome."

"I was being sarcastic." Steve disclosed with an overzealous roll of his eyes.

"I'm perfectly aware, thank you."

He turned the corner sharply, forcing the car into the nearest backroad. Outside, the world had been smothered by a blanket of solid darkness ── the headlights of Steve's car providing the only source of light as far as the eye could see. The dazzling beams sliced through the eerie murkiness, casting shadows upon the houses lining either side of the too-quiet street.

Steph gazed out of the window. There was a woman walking her dog along the narrow path, a cigarette dangling from her pursed lips. It was probably her only means of escape from the luxury of being a full-time housewife.

That was sarcasm, by the way.

"You know," Steve began slowly. The girl beside him crossed her arms over her chest, tempted to put her feet up on the dashboard, but refrained. "one thing I've noticed about you is that you never seem sad. Or scared. Or, like, phased by human emotion at all."

Steph frowned, "Have you been watching me?"

"Oh, yeah," Steve retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "It's my favourite past time."

"Gross."

Regardless of the circumstances weighing heavily upon his shoulders as a result of the night's events, Steve managed a smile. It inched over his lips ── faint and barely decipherable. When Steph caught sight of it, the corner of her mouth twitched upward.

She almost couldn't believe it. Almost.

"No, but seriously," the Harrington pressed, desperate to receive an the answer. "how are you always so placid?"

Clearly, he was asking as a favour to himself. Searching for advice. Steph noted that, because his eyes sparkled with curiosity and his question was genuine, not teeming with sarcasm.

She sighed wistfully, "Fake it flowers."

"Fake it what?"

Another sigh slithered over her lips, growing impatient.

Of course he wouldn't understand the reference; how could he understand something that had resided in her mind for so long? It was between herself and no one else. An inside joke ── except, it wasn't really a joke. Or even remotely amusing.

In all honesty, Steph wasn't so sure she wanted to reveal her secrets behind being formally detached from the whirlwind of emotions. But it was Steve, and he would probably forget everything she said by tomorrow, so she continued with only a little hesitation.

"Fake it flowers." Steph repeated, reinforcing the importance of that phrase with a subtle edge to her tone. "They look real, but when you inspect them closer up, they're completely and utterly fake."

Steve's perplexed expression was highly amusing. "I don't think I follow." he informed.

"It's a metaphor."

"And that is . . ."

Running low on patience, Steph slammed her hand against her forehead and groaned. She had almost forgotten Steve flunked English, and his understanding of the entire concept surrounding the complex world of literature was weak. Metaphor sounded Latin to him.

Whereas she, on the other hand, adored literature. Her understanding was great.

"What I'm basically saying is," Steph splayed her hands out comically, which went unnoticed seeing as Steve was entirely focused on the road to make sure he didn't plough into a bunch of trick or treaters. "Fake it 'till you make it."

He silently repeated those words to himself, considering the phrase with a newfound interest.

"So, say someone is really pissing you off, but you wanna stay civil with them," Steve pondered aloud, glancing over at Steph occasionally. "what do you do? Flash 'em a fake smile?"

She nodded, "Exactly."

The car jerked forward when Steve pressed the breaks at a red stop sign. Much to Steph's disbelief, he was immersed in this new perspective on life ── to be a phoney, a fake, someone who could act like they didn't care. To push away the first thought that came to mind, and replace it with something inordinately different.

Steve Harrington actually considered her words with respect. And he used them as advice to better his demeanour.

Since they were pulled to a temporary stop, Steve tore his gaze away from the outer surroundings and zoned it in on Steph.

"You're telling me I can fake my way through High School?" the boy implored dubiously, eyes misted over.

"It'll change your life, Harrington."

Steve ran his hand along his jaw, humming absentmindedly. Then, he turned his head toward Steph again. "Check it out. Is this a good fake smile?"

He flashed her a wry grin.

Stiff and slow, his lips quivered upward. Unfortunately, it looked like Steve was in agonising pain more than anything else. Or constipated, but that was beside the point.

"No." Steph said bluntly. "Needs improvement. More like this."

To demonstrate, she used her signature smile. Teeth showing, skin crinkled at the corners of her eyes, a dimple delved into the flesh of her left cheek.

Steve blinked away his surprise at how real it looked. Not to mention, how unnatural the expression was on her face. And how it made her look like a completely different person. Pretty even, which was something he had never really noticed. Until now.

The Harrington tried to fake it flowers again. Better ── but still not convincing enough.

Steph patted him on the shoulder, "Some people just aren't cut out for it. Evidently, you."

He looked deeply offended, mortally wounded even, and scoffed, "You're setting me up for failure."

"I'm not." she said calmly, slicing a hand through the air. "You either have it, or you don't. It's not something that can be taught."

"Fine." Steve snapped, as if he were a child that hadn't gotten their own way. Sulking, he lowered his voice into a mumble that Steph struggled to hear, "Geez. Dramatic much."

"What was that?"

He shook his head, "Nothing. Nothing."

At last, the light switched to green. Steve pressed the gas pedal, and the car barrelled down the road once again, the engine humming. Steve glanced in the mirror, practicing his fake smile. From the passenger seat, Steph rolled her eyes and looked at the road unravelling ahead.

Her breath hitched in her throat.

"Stop!"

There was a small figure walking carelessly onto the road, an empty Halloween bucket dangling from their fingers.

Once his eyes landed on the roadblock, Steve slammed his foot against the break. The car screeched loud enough to startle the raven-haired girl plodding along the wide strip of asphalt ── a walkman tucked into her pocket and black headphone strings spilling over her shoulders. No wonder she didn't hear the vehicle coming.

A Kind of Magic by Queen blared through the miniature speakers at the end of her earphones.

Steve rolled down the window, "Watch where you're going, kid!"

Awkwardly, the girl raised her hand and gave an apologetic wave. Steve merely acknowledged her apologies with a curt nod before watching her run along to the other side of the asphalt. Once she was well out of the way of danger, the boy grumbled a string of profanities to himself ( Steph exhaling in relief beside him ) and slowly drove away.

Now safely on the path, Lucia Delgado prodded a button on the side of her Walkman and changed the song to Time After Time by Cyndi Lauper.

Reckless driver.

✧.｡. *.

"Lucia!"

Dustin Henderson was wearing a large grin, clad in the Ghostbusters attire that looked as though it had been plucked straight from the movie. The other boys trudged along behind him, their buckets brimming with sweets.

Lucia hadn't been expecting to see the quartet during her annual lone-trick-or-treating experience. But here they were.

She pressed the pause button on her Walkman and dropped the headphones to hang around her neck, "Hey, Dustin."

Behind him, there was girl who Lucia recognised from the first encounter she had with the boys the day prior. Red hair, an intimidatingly stern expression, and a constellation of freckles over her nose ── it was Mad Max in the flesh.

She was wearing the Micheal Myers costume, fitted with a matching mask.

"Hey," Lucia mumbled, raising her hand in a small wave. Mad Max pressed her lips into a hard smile. "I'm Lucia. I would say I'm friends with these dweebs, but . . . I'm not sure how true that statement is."

"Lucia is the Terminator of our group." Dustin interjected quickly, his voice energetic and lively as always.

The strange statement caused the red head's eyebrows to furrow deeply, gaze lingering on the raven-haired girl dressed as Frankenstein ── which was merely a long, plum trench coat and a green mask with the monster's notorious features printed over the front. Although, Lucia wasn't wearing the mask, and had opted to push the puckered plastic away from her face where rested atop her head, vacant eye-holes staring up at the sky.

Mad Max grinned despite this, "Lucky you."

Again, Dustin interfered with the encounter before Lucia had a chance to properly introduce herself to the Dig Dug culprit, gesturing to her as he said, "This is Max. From the arcade."

"I figured." Lucia stated, smiling over at the newest member of their collective.

Max seemed kind enough. And so did the group, having them both. But one glance over at Mike Wheeler told an entirely different story, as his face was screwed up into an irritated grimace. His dark eyes flickered between Max and Lucia like broken headlights, his ferocity mounting as the seconds ticked onward.

Awkwardly, Lucia cleared her throat. She jerked her thumb over her shoulder at the enormous Manor House behind them.

"Wanna see what the rich have got to offer?"

Max nodded immediately, "Easy. Yes."

Lucas and Will exchanged an excited look, quickly sprinting toward the large home that likely belonged to the most esteemed Council members of Hawkins. That was how people tended to get bucket loads of money around the dull town. Boring jobs, or duties that involved making the boldest decisions surrounding how to run and maintain the bleak community.

Anything else, and your house was going to notably decease in size.

For example, Lucia Delgado lived with her father and sister in the supposed slums of Hawkins. Their two-story house was smaller than average, always cold because her father struggled to afford the heating bills with his average wage working in a fast food chain, and the street was overly populated. Her younger sister had to be cared for 24/7 due to a brain condition she acquired from a freak accident when she was just a toddler, and the medical bills continued piling up.

Rich people, on the other hand, simply carried on being rich. They flaunted it ── their wealth, their arrogance, their ability to put meals on the table without struggle, day in day out. Sometimes, Lucia was almost sure they all had four-leaf clovers hidden somewhere. That was how they become so lucky in life.

It wasn't fair.

She couldn't help but glare enviously up at the three story mansion towering above the six of them, standing in all of it's privileged glory. Freshly trimmed grass, bay windows, precise brick work, blah blah blah.

Max scoffed lowly from beside Lucia, rolling her eyes. It seemed she was in agreement with the Delgado; the rich just carried on being rich, sickeningly enough.

"Who's knocking?" Lucas inquired, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Max raised her hand, "I'll do it."

She rapped her knuckles against the painted oak door three times, and they held their breath as they waited for a response. In the meantime, a group of younger kids thundered up the porch steps, clutching plastic pumpkin buckets filled with candies. Both clans eyed one another unsurely, but before any words could be exchanged, the door opened.

A middle-aged woman was grinning, holding out a bowl of packaged sweets.

"One each." she informed.

Lucia plunged her hand into the bowl and pulled out a singular sweet ── a liquorice ball. With a suppressed grunt of annoyance, she dropped it into her bucket and turned on the heel of her foot, back down the steps. Soon enough, everyone else had taken their share and began following her back toward the pavement.

"Another full-size." Dustin grumbled. "Like, seriously, rich people are such suckers."

Wildly, he looked between Max and Lucia.

"Wait. You're not rich, right?" he asked.

"No, I live up on Old Cherry Road." Max solidified with a breathy laugh.

"I live close by," Lucia told the redhead, feeling her spirits uplift slightly with the thought of a potential friend living nearby. "I'm two blocks down. Number forty-two."

Max's brow quirked, "Really? I ride through there everyday. The street's pretty good for skating."

Dustin huffed in amusement, spitting through a mouthful of cotton candy, "Totally tubular."

Walking side by side, Lucia and Max exchanged a humoured glance.

"What?" said Dustin, having acknowledged their lack of cooperation. "Did I say that right? Or is it, like, tubular."

Lucas piped up then, imitating a surfer with both a somewhat nasally, drawn out voice and the finger gestures, "It's, like, totally tubular."

"Totally tubular!"

"What a gnarly wave, dude."

Lucia laughed softly at the boys antics. She and Max were both highly amused at their stereotypical impressions of surfer boys ── who basically always seemed higher than a kite, meaning the impersonation was a fairly easy one to nail.

In fact, Lucia couldn't help but add onto it with, "Totally brodacious, bro!"

Warmth trickled into her chest when Dustin, Lucas and Max laughed at her attempt of impersonation. They continued on for a while, egging Max on to take on the act, but she only shook her head, exclaiming the trio were hurting her ears whilst a wide grin was splitting across her face.

Trialing along behind them was Mike and Will, both extremely different in stature.

Will eagerly whipped out the camera Bob Newby lended him. He pointed it over at Mike, capturing both the sound of their friends' ecstatic laughter in the background, and close up shots of Mike's furious strides.

He finally gave in to silence, and looked to his friend, "Did you agree to this?"

"What?" Will replied.

He lowered his camera, concerned about Mike's sudden switch in demeanour. It had been a while since he had seen the boy looking so angered. Ever since Eleven disappeared the night of the Demogorgon's last battle, Mike hadn't been the same. For starters, his attitude problem became a whole lot worse.

He gestured to the two new members, "To them joining our party."

"It's just for Halloween." Will assured.

Even though their backs were turned, Mike gave Lucas and Dustin a dark look, "You should have checked with me."

"Well," the Byers hesitated, trying to think of what to say to further assure his friend. He didn't want there to be arguments, or unnecessary squabbles, on the most exciting night of the year. "They were excited. I guess I thought you'd be okay with it."

Mike shook his head, storming ahead, "They're ruining the best night of the year."

Apprehensively, Will watched his friend walk away, turning into another street. He tried not to worry about the growing tension in the air, but after everything the group had been through, it was harder than he initially thought. Arguments could tear them apart, leaving fresh wounds that may never heal, and that was the very last thing he wanted. The boys kept him sane ── especially after the traumatic events of last year.

Without them. . . well, Will would feel lost.

He hastily retraced his friend's steps, walking around the narrow bend into the estate.

Someone in a frightening mask lurched out from the darkness, "Watch it, Zombie Boy!"

"Trick or treat, freak!" snarled another, unsheathing a plastic sword.

"Boo!"

Will stumbled back fearfully. In the process, he lost his footing, and then inevitably lost his balance ── and soon enough, his entire body tumbled backward and collided with the floor.

But something had changed.

It was cold.

An ominous chittering billowed over the spindly trees standing rigid in the distance, and the ground was squelchy, covered in a gooey substance. Everything was darker here, with a blue tint glinting in the air, making the environment feel all the more glacial and unwelcoming. Will's heart dropped to the bottom of his stomach when he realised where he was. What it was.

Hawkins, but Upside Down.

Once on his feet, he called out desperately for help, but nothing came.

And then something emerged, seemingly from a hole in the ground.

At first, it looked like a swirling black storm. Spiralling and deadly. But as it grew, Will realised it was not an entity of nature, but an entity belonging to the supernatural horrors of the Upside Down ── a roaring shadow he recognised only from his episodes. It expanded, distending at terrifyingly fast pace, swelling over the length of the entire sky. A head and legs sprouted from the cloud of ink, warping into a creature that looked incredibly alike to a demonic spider.

Will's heart hammered against his chest. His mouth was dry, blood running cold.

A voice screamed in his head, run!

So he did.

In the distance, the mansion was the first thing he saw ── covered in vines. Then an alleyway, cutting into the darkness between the wilting house and a garden patch made from slime and particles. He rushed behind the brick wall, pulling his knees up his chest, the familiar feeling from when he was taken into the alternate dimension for the first time ever a year back inching up his neck. Goosebumps sprung to the surface.

The monster screeched.

Someone grasped his arm.

Will gasped fearfully, scrambling back into the corner of the alleyway. His eyes flashed open, and it looked as though the saturation of his surroundings had been increased to the maximum degree. It was no longer cold. Particles had been replaced by refreshing rushes of wind, the first indication to the fact he was in the normal side of Hawkins.

"Will, what's wrong?" Mike was kneeling beside him, stricken by panic and fear. He had paled considerably, but it was nothing compared to the lack of colour blooming in Will's cheeks. "I couldn't find you. Are you hurt?"

Having heard Mike Wheeler's voice, the rest of the group diverted their path and rushed into the narrow alleyway.

Lucia's umber eyes flared as wide as two sonar plates rolling in space. It was no mystery that Will's disappearance had affected him terribly, but she had no idea it had troubled him to the point he was facing panic attacks at the most random intervals of the day.

"Is he okay?"

Her question went unanswered by Mike, who was hastily assuring Will that he was going to get him home as soon as possible.

Dustin stepped toward as Mike wrapped his arm around Will, pulling him up from the ground, "All right ──"

"I got him." the Wheeler snapped.

Dustin jerked backward, looking confused by the unprecedented harshness in his friend's response, "Mike?"

"Just keep trick or treating. I'm bored anyways."

Lucia watched Mike and Will stumble down the alleyway, lights flickering above their heads and casting gloomy shadows over the cobbled steps in their wake. She interlaced her fingers, slightly perplexed as to why Will had been completely detached from his surroundings, gazing around at the walls as if they were made of obsidian or something. He hadn't looked all there ── absent in reality.

"What's wrong with him?" Max asked breathlessly.

She and Lucia simultaneously twisted their heads toward Lucas and Dustin, waiting expectantly for an answer. However, much to their surprise, they received nothing of the sorts.

Lucas and Dustin waited until Will and Mike had turned out of the alleyway before finally moving from their spots.

In a matter of seconds, Lucia became aware of one thing. And so did Max.

The boys were hiding something.