— CHAPTER 11 —
STRANGE BEDFELLOWS

THURSDAY 1st NOVEMBER,
1984

DESPERATE times call for desperate measures. That's what Daphne knows people say, and that in this scenario, it is certainly the case. The thought of what tomorrow holds — when she will meet Tonya's mother and force out the truth — keeps making her stomach flip. She needs something normal for once. Something she can completely throw herself into, to force herself to stop obsessing over the various different futures that could happen on Friday...

Still, it doesn't make Daphne feel any less weird about standing at Steve Harrington's doorstep now.

She isn't completely sure how her brain jumped to this as the best solution for her troubles. All she knows is that she could feel her brain rotting with anticipation at dinner, completely distant. Normally her ideal night in would be playing some music in her room, reading or writing and being alone with her thoughts. But that was exactly the problem — tonight, being alone with her thoughts was a terrifying premise. She had begun racking her brain for something, anything alternative to just letting her mind wander tonight. That was when she remembered, in a brilliantly relieving epiphany, that Steve Harrington (of all people) wanted help with his college application.

There is a vague aroma of chlorine mixed with dried leaves from the pool, hidden behind his house in the backyard but still pungent, which Daphne inhales and feels swirling around her head. She can see that someone is in — a warm lamp's glow illuminates some of the windows, but any further vision is obscured by the slits in the blinds. Her finger hovers hesitantly over the Harringtons' fancy doorbell before plucking up the courage to actually press it.

     Brrring!

     A pang of instant regret rocks Daphne's body vigorously, and she finds herself already stepping back from the door. What is she going to say when he opens the door? Or worse, is Steve going to even be the one opening the door? Oh God, what if it's his DAD—

     Daphne spins on her heel and begins high-tailing it out of his drive; she only gets a little over a metre between her and the house before she hears a click of a lock being turned. A triangle of indoor light splashes onto the ground, only slashed by the silhouette of her and another figure. Daphne slowly rotates around on the spot to face the door. Surely enough, standing right there is Steve Harrington — one arm propped against the door, and the other resting on his hip.

Daphne takes a couple of steps forward and forces herself to look at him. "Uh... hi."

"Hi?" Steve replies, as if it's a question. She can guess what he's thinking: What are you doing at my house?

     "Did you... still need help with your college application?" Daphne asks sheepishly. "It's just that I'm free tonight and, you know, I remembered you asking, so... I'm here!"

     "Are you serious?"

"Yeah. Unless you'd rather I go? Maybe that would be better actually. It's getting late, and I can go now if you want—"

"No, don't go, I just—" She hears Steve cut himself off and turns again to face him, having almost escaped for a second time in a row. Daphne noticed a strange expression flash across his face; as though he were completely surprised by her turning up (which, frankly, she was surprised at herself). Eventually he seems to give in, dropping his shoulders flippantly and stepping to the side. "Ah, what the hell," he says. "Let's do it."

"Great!"

"Cool..."

Daphne finds herself super-glued to the spot, nodding absentmindedly. A breeze sweeps over them and dislodges her hair while Steve blinks at her from inside.

"Are you coming in, or—"

"Right, right, sorry," she chuckles, doing a strange cross between hopping and walking over to the doorstep. Nodding a discreet 'thank you' to Steve for holding the door, Daphne feels a blast of thermal heating prickle over her skin as she steps into the Harrington home.

For a few moments, she just takes it all in — Daphne has always felt like any house or bedroom can say a lot about the person or people living in it. The little details, the quirks that make them who they are. It is the parts of people that are kept behind closed doors, choosing what they want to display and what they want to hide. And maybe for Steve Harrington, it would be one of the most interesting sights to behold. How much of his personality has been crafted just to fit? Or is he really just a douche? She loves peeling back the layers in this way.

And yet, she has real trouble deciphering anything so far. Something about the house feels... odd. The heated air inside is laced with a undertone of freshener, already boasting a lifestyle savvier than the Delaneys. The sleek dresser in the entrance is empty and polished, except for a lampshade and two decorative plates propped up on display. Similar canvasses and framed paintings hang on the beige-painted walls, cool and sophisticated. The boarded wooden floor looks so shiny that Daphne almost feels reluctant to walk on it; noticing Steve only wearing socks, she figures she should do the same, and ungracefully wriggles her feet out of her tawny leather ankle boots. Then when she has, she wanders on past the staircase, gazing around for any signs of life here.

     That's what it is about this place. Everything feels for show. When Daphne thinks about her own house, keys and other trinkets lying on dressers among propped-up photographs, the Harrington house feels like a hotel in comparison. Don't touch this, don't walk on that.

     It almost feels... hollow.

     Glancing around and noticing she's by herself, Daphne suddenly feels lost in this spacious, hollow home. "Steve, where are you?" she calls out, feeling like she is playing a low-scale game of Marco Polo.

"I'm in here. Uh, dining room."

     Daphne follows his voice blindly and, sure enough, she turns into the dining room to find Steve pulling out a chair next to a large mahogany table. She carefully shuffles past the hutch encasing more decorative ornaments and takes a seat next to him. For the first time since she got inside, Daphne shrugs her backpack off her shoulders and unzips it. She can feel Steve watching her as she shakes it above the table, carefully emptying it of some of its contents until her notebook and pencil case land on the polished wood with a thunk.

     "So, how does this work exactly?" Steve asks. "Do I just sit here and watch you do it, or do you need some time, or...?"

     "Steve, I told you, I'm not writing your application for you. I'm just trying to help you out." Daphne has flicked through her notebook to an empty page, eager to flit past private doodles and scribbles of hers as quickly as possible. "Do you still have your first draft you showed me earlier?"

     "Yep..."

     Out from his pocket, Steve pulls out a crumpled ball of paper and strenuously smooths it out on the table as best as he can. When he slides it over to Daphne to read, she too makes an extra effort to flatten it again before re-reading. Her eyes lull carefully over each word printed in pencil onto the paper; already it reminds her just how much his application confused her the first time. Oh boy, Daphne thinks to herself, this is going to be a long night...

"Well?" Steve asks expectantly, his arms folded across his chest.

Daphne blinks and takes a deep breath. She's trying to avoid the word 'trainwreck'. Just look at the positives, she reminds herself. Using her pencil as a pointer, she indicates bits of texts gingerly. "So, the first paragraph, you use the basketball game against Northwestern as a metaphor for your life, which is... cool. But then it's just that afterwards, you start talking about your grandfather's experiences in Iwo Jima in the war, and I'm just... I guess I'm just a little confused about how it... connects?"

"Yeah, well, it connects because... we both won."

A beat passes. Daphne nods slowly, looking between him and the paper. "Oh yeah," she lies. "I think can see that now."

"So that was it?" Steve asks hopefully, fooling himself. "That's the only thing wrong?"

"Maybe wrong isn't the right word, but..."

"It's a burning dumpster truck. I know."

"Hey, don't say that, we'll figure it out together. Here..." Daphne folds up his old application neatly, already falling apart at the seams from being crumpled so much. She doesn't want Steve to get rid of it just yet, because frankly, it's still an entertaining work of art. Then she pops the lid off her pen and writes 'STEVE' in bold letters on a blank page in her notebook and draws a bubble around it. "How about we do an old-fashioned brainstorm?" she suggests. "That's what one of my friends did with me, when I was struggling to think of things for my application. Seeing it laid out on a page like this might help you think of some ideas."

"Okay... and what do we write on this thing?" Steve inquires quizzically.

"Interests, achievements, anything potential colleges might be interested in."

"Wow, you really know your stuff."

Daphne scoffs a little, shaking her head. "No, these are all tips from my friend Amy. She helped me with my application... like she helps me organise most things in my life. If it makes you feel better, my first draft was eight pages long and most of the stuff was totally irrelevant. I'm still trying to cut it down now."

"Holy shit," Steve chuckles, although his features still seem pained by the notion of working on his application. Daphne wonders for a minute if she just made it worse by possibly insinuating: "Don't worry Steve, if it makes you feel better, I'm as clueless as you are! Anyway, let me help you with your college essay..."

     They start off slow, trying to coax out his other interests besides basketball; a task that clearly proves harder than Steve anticipated. Then they get into his skills, which Daphne offers her own limited perspective on to help — although even then, beyond surface-level traits such as his sociability, he seems to struggle to find anything. While writing down these ideas, she can spot Steve sinking lower and lower into his chair in her periphery, and she can't help but feel a pang of guilt. It feels as though he hadn't quite realised how much work had to go into this application — it was a totally foreign concept to Daphne. For her, this is something she's been mentally preparing herself for for years, knowing a place at a college she enjoys would mean a one-way ticket out of Hawkins and a foot into her big life dream. For Steve, maybe he's just been so used to his dad saying a few words and making a few deals, and voilá; the Harrington name is kept alive.

     Either way, a good hour and a quarter later, they have descended into bickering over some minuscule details of his application (and altogether his future) and their patience is running thin. And to add the cherry on the cake, their legs throb with cramp for sitting too long in the upright chairs.

     "Screw it, this isn't working," Steve huffs suddenly. He gets up from his chair and swoops out of the room, leaving Daphne behind in his dust. She blinks in surprise before going after him, following the sound of his footsteps.

     "Steve, come on! It's fine, we can still do this," Daphne pleads with him, feeling strangely gripped with determination now. She's on fire. She wants him to do well. If she has invested this much time and effort in the guy, she would at least like pay-off of some sort.

     "No, this is pointless and you know it. Any college would be an idiot to take me, clearly. I don't have any skills, have barely achieved anything, and then of course the grades are a narrow pass at best."

     "Don't be so hard on yourself—"

     "Why not? It's true!" Steve fires back. They're in the living room now, and in the silence that follows, he collapses down into an arm chair by the window and sighs heavily. His hand slicks back some of his hair as it threatens to flop down into his eyes, the motion easing his back into the chair as he stares up contemplatively at the ceiling.

     Oh my God... thinks Daphne. I've sent Steve Harrington into an existential crisis.

     In the warm lamp's glow of the living room, with slits of their reflection through the window blinds watching them, Daphne tilts her head at Steve curiously. It is as though she sees him in a new light — she has a feeling she is seeing the Steve Harrington behind closed doors. There is something so raw about him right now, completely genuine in his vulnerability over thinking about his future, that Daphne feels almost privileged to see. She's so accustomed to King Steve; everyone is. Mr. Popular, Mr. Funny, Mr. Cool. The pretty boy most of the girls at Hawkins High go weak at the knees for. But in that armchair, she doesn't see any of that right now. This Steve feels different... Daphne thinks she's only seen a glimpse of this Steve one other place; last year, looking down from the graffitied marquee outside the Hawk Theatre, and a wounded inside-and-out Steve Harrington staring back up at her.

     Slowly and cautiously, Daphne lowers herself into the armchair opposite him, relishing for a moment the soft bounciness that absorbs her body. "... Can I ask you something?"

     The silence finally broken, Steve glances over at her and nods.

     "Why do you really want to go to college?"

     Daphne can see the cogs turning in his mind from across the carpet. He takes a moment to consider, gazing out of the window, then shrugs. "Well, isn't that what everyone does?" says Steve. Although he says it casually, she thinks she might have hit a nerve.

     "Not everyone," she replies softly. "And who cares what other people want. What do you want?"

"I don't know," he shrugs more forcefully this time. "I don't know..."

"Look, I think you should at least try to apply either way. And if you don't get in, so what? College isn't for everyone." At this Steve scoffs, rolling his eyes off to the side as if her very suggestion is ludicrous. But Daphne is dead serious. "No, I mean it. I know that sounds patronising but it's true. I might not know you very well, but what would you rather do: major in something you're not really interested in, then wind up in a stuffy nine-to-five job with a ton of college debt... or something else?"

     Steve stretches his arms above his head, muscles tensing before his shoulders drop tiredly. "Don't think I really have much choice there. Either way, I'll end up in the same place... working for my douchebag dad until my brain turns to mush—"

     "Don't say that," Daphne cuts him off, almost offended on his behalf. Where is all this insecurity coming from?

     "Why not? Why do you even care so much? You can literally go home if you want to."

     "Steve, I'm staying because you asked for help. I'm trying to do what I came here to do."

     Of course, Daphne casually leaves out the part of this being a distraction, from the inevitable whirlwind of emotions that will likely plague her all day tomorrow. Steve can't be the only one feeling raw tonight — throwing every ounce of her energy into guiding him (why he picked her, she's still stumped over) is somewhat therapeutic.

     "Okay..." Steve trails off. "If you're so hell-bent on proving college wrong, then why are you going?"

     "Because I'm passionate about something. And because it's my ticket out of Hawkins."

     Simply saying it out loud makes the edges of Daphne's periphery fuzz with daydream. So many of her hopes are pinned on this concept inching closer and closer with every passing day — in all honesty, the thought of not reaching that dream terrifies her. The fact that it's so close she can touch it with her fingertips now is both exhilarating and terrifying...

"What are you... passionate about?"

The question throws Daphne for a second, and she stares at Steve from her armchair for a moment. Does he really care? Usually she would brush it aside as a definite No, but she's already done one unusual thing tonight by knocking on his door. Telling him this surely couldn't be any weirder.

"... I really wanna go into filmmaking," she admits.

"Oh, really?" Steve's voice dances on the last syllable, his brows shooting up in interest. It catches her off guard, but the alarm is instantaneously replaced with an excitable electricity running along her body. It's not often people ask her about this. In fact, it rarely happens.

"Yeah. I don't know, I've just always loved storytelling, but especially through film."

As Steve nods his head slowly, mumbling a mildly impressed "Cool", Daphne thinks how she could just leave it there. But there's also this memory... it feels as vivid as the moment she experienced it, and it keeps replaying and replaying in her head, and suddenly there's this urge to just tell him. A fond smile lifting the corners of her lips, Daphne hooks her feet onto the edge of the chair and hugs her knees to her chest.

"One time when I was about seven," begins Daphne, placing her chin atop her knees, "my dad snuck me in to his work at the Hawk Theatre, 'cause he couldn't find anyone to babysit me. I was off sick that day, can't remember why... I might have even faked it. Anyway, he kind of left me to my own devices, so I just wandered around. It was the first showing of the day on a Tuesday morning, so our least busiest time, and 'The Way We Were' was in one of the rooms... I know, I was way too young to be watching it. Have you seen it? With Barbra Streisand, Robert Redford?" Daphne watches Steve do a so-so tilt of his head, and she dismisses it with a wave. "Never mind, you should see it."

"Anyway, it was on its last run before it left theatres that week," she continues eagerly. "I was bored and the theatre was empty, so I just sat myself down and watched. And I did. I watched the whole thing, from start to finish, and it just... took my breath away. I think I even cried at one point. I was too young to know everything that was going on, of course, but somehow I could still feel every little emotion and kind of understand it. When it stopped, there was this kind of out-of-body feeling of leaving the movie theatre, like I could physically feel myself jump back into reality. It was just so nice to escape for a while. The most special feeling ever. And I remember thinking, 'Wow, if I could create something that gave someone that same feeling...'" Daphne gives a small shudder, eyes glazed over with wonder as if she re-experiences the feeling all over again. "Then that was it for me. That was the moment when I knew."

     She has completely forgotten where she is — in her head, she is seven years old and completely lost in a movie on the large screen. But slowly, the overhead movie theatre lights fade into the paper lampshade of the Harrington house. And opposite her is not a huge cinema screen, but Steve staring at her; intently and unblinkingly. The reality slaps her in the face with a hot flush of embarrassment.

     "Wow..." Daphne blinks, laughing uneasily and rubbing the hairs on her neck that stand on end. "I'm so sorry. That was way longer than it needed to be. Sometimes I ramble—"

     "No, it's fine," Steve interjects earnestly, seeming to shake off some of the trance himself. "It's... nice. I don't think I've ever been that passionate about anything."

     Something about his tone feels so brutally honest that it twists her heartstrings. Daphne gazes pityingly at him, then down at her lap to fiddle with a loose string at the end of her sleeve. To break the lingering silence between them, Steve slaps his hands onto his thighs and stands up.

     "Well, if we weren't off track before, we definitely are now," says Steve, and Daphne can't help but laugh. "Do you want a drink? We have Coke, Pepsi, Fanta..."

     "Oh, Fanta would be great, thanks," she nods politely.

     As Steve disappears off to the kitchen, Daphne stands up to stretch her legs for a moment. The soft, vacuumed carpet sinks beneath her socks as she walks around and takes in her surroundings. She's finally spotted signs of life on a small shelf tucked in a nook behind her armchair in the form of two framed photographs. One of them is of Mr. Harrington, dressed immaculately in a black tie and suit, shaking the hand of a similarly dressed man at some work conference. But it's the one below that interests Daphne — an older family photo of the Harringtons, a Middle School Steve instantly recognisable to her. He appears suffocated in a black and red argyle sweater, squinting slightly into the camera with a distasteful expression. His parents either side of him appear just as unenthusiastic or vacant, like they have better places to be. Daphne leans in closer to his mother in the photo; Steve definitely has her eyes.

     Stepping away from the photographs, she next turns her attention to the view of the backyard. It only bursts through the slits of the blinds obscuring the large windows, but the aqua blue rays of light emanating from the pool still catch her eye. Daphne wanders over to the window and peers through at it.

     "Did you find anything exciting?"

     Daphne's heart skips a beat, as she spins around to see Steve standing there with a soft drink can in each hand. Sighing in relief that it was only him who spooked her, she takes the Fanta from him and they gaze out together at the back yard.

     "Just the pool I guess," she shrugs, noting the dead leaves floating atop the surface. "Do you use it much?"

     "... Not really at all," Steve answers.

     Daphne's brows furrowed judgementally. "Seriously?! That thing's the size of Atlantis, and you don't even use it?"

     "Not since last year..."

     "What happened last—"

     Oh. Of course. As Daphne remembers the photograph Jonathan took nearly a year ago, she looks out at the poolside and tries to imagine Barb there — legs dangling into the water, cradling the cut on her hand, her head of carefully curled red hair like a beacon of warning. A photograph taken only moments before disaster. Suddenly a plethora of memories sear through Daphne's consciousness — being tied up by vines in the Upside Down, Tonya's screams, the smell of the demogorgon's singed flesh after they burned it in the Byers house...

     A sudden chill has crept into the room.

     As Daphne sits back down on the armchair, crossing her legs and resting her Fanta in the middle, Steve is still staring out at the pool as he also goes to take a seat. "At least I haven't used it... in fact, I'm not even sure why the cover isn't on," he says absentmindedly. "And it's not like my parents are around enough to use it either."

     Welcoming an avenue for a new topic of conversation, she questions this. "Are they ever home? I hardly see them around Hawkins. It's almost like they don't exist."

     "Maybe it would be better that way. You see, my dad's..." Steve's breath seems to catch on the last word. He glances at Daphne contemplatively, perhaps wondering inside whether he is oversharing too much. Then he seems to let go and carries on. "Well, he's not exactly faithful. I think. No, I'm pretty sure. But whether he is or isn't, doesn't make him less of an asshole. He's always away on these 'work trips' and my mom gets super paranoid, so she tags along and watches him like a hawk, and the depressing cycle continues."

     "Wait, but isn't your mom, like, super successful on her own?" Daphne interjects.

"Yeah, that's what makes it so depressing," replies Steve bitterly.

She'd had no idea about the story with Steve's parents. Well, she did have some vague idea of Mr. Harrington being a sleaze bag from her own father's mysterious prejudices against him, but hearing that story just makes her detest him a little more. This night has certainly been enlightening so far if nothing else — Steve Harrington is starting to appear to her in a whole new light.

Sensing his discomfort at the last topic, Daphne tries her best to switch the subject, although it ends up being just as depressing as the one before. "Hey, so um... did you get to talk to Nancy today? About last night?" she asks, then does a double take. "Sorry if that sounds invasive, I was just curious."

"It's fine," Steve says softly. He stares down into his Coke can and sighs. "Yeah, we talked. It was a trainwreck really. And honestly, I'm not sure there's any coming back from it, but... I just can't help thinking if there was something I could have done or said to make things better."

Daphne wonders whether she should say what she is thinking — the same thing going through her mind last night when she took Steve home — and, in a moment of courage, takes the plunge. "Do you want to know what I honestly think about the whole thing? It's just, you asked me last night, and I... didn't exactly tell the truth."

     His curiosity seeming to pique, Steve sits up in his armchair, fixated on her and ready to hang onto every word. Daphne places her Fanta on the side table atop a coaster and sighs heavily.

     "I don't... I don't think there was anything you could do," she says carefully. "I mean, I don't know your relationship very well, but I do know Nancy. And I know what she went through last year... it was tough, Steve. It was really tough. People cope with that in different ways. Maybe... maybe this thing you had together just wasn't what she needed after everything. And honestly, now I've talked to you a little, maybe it isn't what you needed either. If you couldn't give each other what you wanted, then it was never going to work."

     "But what if I'd said something to change things?" he counters her with. In that moment, Daphne suddenly clocks just how lonely Steve seems tonight. Gripping onto any loose straws he can find to get back what they had. God, does she know that feeling.

     "If you keep dwelling on what you did or didn't do, it won't change a thing," Daphne imparts on Steve with a self-aware sigh. "Trust me, I know that too well... I was in a relationship with this guy for a while. He was my best friend. I thought we were the real deal, you know, I'd... I'd never felt that deeply for anyone before. And then he broke things off with me, and I just didn't see it coming. For months afterwards I just remember my head was spinning over all the whys and hows of our relationship. I thought... I don't know, I guess I thought—"

     "That you'd marry him or something?" Steve finishes for her, clearly as a joke. But when Daphne goes dead quiet, her stare burning into the carpet, she hears him sit forward in his chair. "Wait, holy shit, really?"

     "Alright, you don't have to rub it in," Daphne chuckles uneasily. Maybe marriage was an exaggeration, but... she hadn't not thought about it at the time with Felix. It was her typical lovestruck self, completely intoxicated by fantasies.

     "Are you still in love with him?"

     Daphne pauses for a moment. She feels herself relish the satisfaction of the answer that pops into her head, smiling with a gentle shake of her head. "No. I still have love for him, of course I do. But... you learn to move on. Honestly, you do, and the pain in the meantime sucks but it's worth every bit. Felix and I— no! I-I mean... shit—" Letting her head fall into her hands, she groans. Great, now you've namedropped to Steve Harrington, and tomorrow morning everyone will be laughing at you.

"Relax, I knew you were talking about Felix the whole time."

     "You... you did?" Daphne stammers. "I-I didn't think you and your friends would've paid attention to some random 'losers' going out together."

     "We didn't have to pay attention," Steve grins cheekily. "You two were obvious as hell. Especially you, gawking at him in class and holding hands in the hallway. It was so gross."

     "Hey! Says the ladies man of Hawkins High."

     "Well, not anymore it seems... not since Billy showed up in town."

     "If it's any consolation, I think he's got nothing on you," Daphne blurts out. It's followed by instant regret, cringing at herself as hot flushes of horror shoot up the nape of her neck. What were you thinking?! she scolds herself. She hadn't meant anything weird by it, just a compliment to make him feel better. But of course she had to make things weird.

     Note to self: just never open your mouth again.

     Luckily Steve is either aloof or didn't hear what she said, because he is staring up at a clock hung on the wall. "It's getting kind of late," he says. "Do you need to go soon?"

     Daphne looks out at the ever darkening world outside instead of the clock, the murky blackness of Hawkins at night enough to convince her. "Yeah, I probably should. My dad'll be wondering where I am."

     "I'll walk you out."

     "Good, because this house is like a freaking labyrinth... comparatively to mine at least."

     As they enter the corridor again, she hears Steve laugh behind her and can't help but smile. When they get to the front door, her leather ankle boots are still sitting there. Daphne starts crouching down, but loses her balance and tries to lower herself into sitting as graciously as possible. While she starts tying her laces, she hears Steve start talking from above.

     "Hey, uh, I never got to thank you for last night," Steve says. "For taking me home after the party."

     "Oh, it was no biggie. I just drive your fancy car back to your fancy house."

     "But I really appreciated it. So... thank you."

     Daphne stops tying her laces for a moment and glances up at him — albeit an awkward angle from her worm's perspective — before giving a small nod of gratitude. When she finishes up the other shoe, she stands up and notices Steve rummaging in his pockets. Out from them he pulls out a small wad of cash and starts sifting through it.

     "What are you doing?" she asks, perplexed.

     "How much do I owe you?" Steve asks back in return.

     Daphne blinks at him in disbelief, eyes wide. "... Are you serious?"

     "Yes, I'm serious!" he rebukes, waving the cash in his hand. "I've paid some nerds at school to write essays for me before, and I know tonight we didn't end up doing a whole lot, but you still wasted a night with me over this college application, so..."

     "Steve, I don't want or need your money, or anything from you... this was just a favour."

     A strange look crosses Steve's face, as he searches Daphne's expression for any sign of ulterior motives. But she knows she is pure in her intentions — and once he realises this too, he pockets the money and watches her go, although her turning it down seems to throw him for a loop. Perhaps he just isn't used to King Steve not being wanted or exploited.

     Although she doesn't tell him this, Daphne walks home in the dark with a welcoming feeling that she'll sleep soundly tonight. Whatever tomorrow holds, she was glad she had this night and what it turned into. Steve was wrong about this night being a waste of time; it helped her keep the shadows away from her mind long enough.

━━━━━━

A/N;

STAPHNE-CENTRIC CHAPTER WOOP WOOP 🥰 at this stage it's more building their friendship and some trust between them, which will prove important when they may or may not have to team up against the upside down. but i hope you guys are patient, because staphne is overall going to be a slowwww burn...

i'm aware this chapter is basically told from daphne's POV, but i wanted to shed a little light on how i felt steve's perspective was in this situation. basically after a day of getting ridiculed by billy, ditched by his old "friends" and basically ending his relationship with nancy, he was feeling pretty low. with nothing else to do and no one to invite to his house, he was kind of at rock bottom until daphne randomly knocks on his door like "hi 😃" and in steve's eyes, he just thinks "ahh what the hell" and rolls with it. but they end up getting into some kind of deep chats with each other, because for their own reasons (daphne feeling scared about tomorrow with meeting tonya's mum and what the repercussions will be) they are feeling pretty low that night, and kind of find an unexpected companion in each other. i feel like most of it was daphne being steve's therapist, but you may see those roles get switched 👀

it was so fun writing steve, but also kind of nerve-wracking because he's a character voice i really want to get right. what did you think? (also i kind of wrote this while i was having a bad day... nothing dramatic, i'm fine, just lots of annoying little things piling up you know? anyway i was worried that would affect my writing so hopefully not!)

thank you for reading as always, and hope you have a lovely day/evening!

— Imogen

[ Published: August 1st, 2022 ]