[002] - hatred for each other hidden behind a hatred for golf.

      WEDNESDAY, JUNE 6TH

     Steve laid sloppily atop his bed, sheets thrown around, arms hanging lazily off the edges, hair messily fallen onto the fabric of his pillow. The seasonal heat had somehow found a way into the large, cold, air-conditioned, emptiness of the Harrington house. The temperatures made sleep feel like a chore, and insomnia feel inevitable. Yet somehow in the flurry of humidity, restlessness, and heat, Steve Harrington had found peace. A small door, a gateway, leading far away from the outside world and into the whimsy and warmth of his dreams. His mind explored his imagination, filling the dark nights with bright colors. Even when his bedroom felt empty, dark and still, he would live vivaciously in the visions of his sleep.

     Morning twilight sparkled against the curtains of Steve's bedroom, softly illuminating the striped walls. The light was tranquil, just barely grazing Steve's back as it slipped past the restraint of his windows. Soon, the tranquility broke. The calm lake became littered with ripples and waves as Richard Harrington entered the motionless room of his son.

     After noticing his son was still lost in his state of slumber, he stepped over to the windows. Pulling harshly at the curtains, light erupted around the room. Exposing the soft skin of Steve's eyelids and forcing them open. Shocked and disturbed, Steve buried his head into his pillow, muffling an annoyed groan.

     "Get up." Richard ordered, leaning above the bed and pulling Steve's sheets to the side.

     "Dad, it's like 6 am. I don't have to be at work until 4 today.." Steve grumbled, refusing to face his father. Wincing at his presence as if it was as damaging as the brightness now resurfacing across the room.

     "We're going golfing." Steve felt his father's words hit him sharply in the head, sending shock waves through his body, awakening him to the dark murmur of his father's voice and the dreadful headache that followed. "Get up. I won't ask you again."

    "What are you talking about?" Steve sat up on his elbows, brows furrowed and brain puzzled.

"Don't act surprised." Anger bubbled in Richard's words, threatening to escape in between his breaths. He had to dig the heels of his hands into his eyes in order to push the emotion down, desperately trying to keep his cool. "You agreed to this on Monday."

     Even in his foggy haze of morning confusion, Steve understood his father's words. Remembering the promise he made on Monday morning, the expectation to regain his composure after a dramatic hallway meltdown.

     "Meet me in the car in 30 minutes." Richard slammed the door shut as he left. His absence left Steve uncomfortably heavy, weighed down by a sense of anxiousness enough to cause him to crash through his bed.

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     STEVE SHIFTED UNEASILLY inside his shoes as he recognized Maeve's face across the room. She was leaning against the bar, chatting with what looked like one of the club's waiters. Steve only shook his head as he observed her outfit. There she stood, all dolled up again like some Barbie. The look of her slick bun, her neat polo shirt, it was all enough to make him extremely unsettled. It was only Steve's third time seeing Maeve, but he had already grown ill towards her and the silly facade of the country club that she so proudly upheld.

     Although the vast majority of Steve stood there disgusted, finding the easy way out through judgment and hatred, a small part of him was confused and intrigued. This part of him sat deep in his stomach, pulling at his heartstrings and plucking at his memories, like some irrational rodent nested in his well-known hair, taking complete chaotic control of his actions.

     Puzzlement bubbled as Steve was forced to remember his encounter with Maeve yesterday. He wasn't sure how to react to her appearance then, so different from the girl he had met on Monday. That girl was one he despised, one that lived so blissfully ignorant, so unaware and so deeply frustrating. And he definitely wasn't sure how to react now. Seeing her all dressed up like this time felt different, completely separate from the feeling he felt on Monday. That rich girl look he recognized that first originally seemed so natural and genuine. But now it felt like some sort of transformation.

     Although he was completely unaware of it, Maeve's "transformation" was almost identical to his. The correspondence between the two, and the forced personas they were expected to uphold, went unnoticed, slipping in between the air that separated the two as they walked past each other.

     Something swept over Steve as he felt his feet move without his permission. That small part of him stirring in his stomach had taken sporadic control of his body and now began pushing him towards Maeve.

     As he got closer with each step, he felt something start to carry through him. Rising through his body, unable to be stopped. Fear and shock thundered through his head as he feared that he may vomit, but as the feeling reached the tip of his tongue, Steve was relieved to discover it was only his own words.

     "Your outfit changes are giving me emotional whiplash." He came off deceivingly confident. A sly playfulness was heavy in his words, a remnant of the royal title he once upheld. Maeve acknowledged him with a small chuckle, almost as disingenuous as Steve's confidence. It was evident she was not amused.

     "Don't hurt yourself, Harrington" Maeve shook her head. Her eyes slightly squinted, weighed down by sarcasm. And although they weren't entirely clear, her iris taunted him. Her gaze was judgmental and cold, as still as the tone of her voice. Her words appeared facetious but were fueled by something much deeper.

     "You two ready?" Roy called from the opposite end of the bar, unknowingly stopping Steve from further responding to Maeve.

     "Just waiting on you guys!" Maeve's voice was different. Steve noticed. Crack. It was as if a switch had been clicked, her tone transforming from low and frigid to bubbly and enthused. Steve watched, intrigued, as a smile snapped onto Maeve's face, directed at her father across the bar. Crack. It was like Roy was some kind of trigger. Crack.

     Steve Harrington had a large opinion on Maeve Irvine. It was a sturdy, well-built, stubborn wall. But slowly, somehow, at this moment, He felt his certainty crack.

     And as tiny flakes of rock and dust began to fall from this large wall, confusion and turmoil filled in the holes of their absence. Leaving Steve in an unsatisfying combination of uncertainty and frustration.

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     STEVE HARRINGTON HATED GOLF. He hated the Irvines. He hated his father. He hated the blistering heat. He hated surface-level small talk. He hated that this was how he would be spending his morning. The four had been out on the course for over 2 hours. Luckily for Steve, there was no money on the game. And unluckily for the young boy, he was losing terribly.

     Even if it was in a stupid event like golf, Steve just couldn't bare losing. He would go to desperate lengths to avoid the title of "loser". Even if that meant abiding by the aggravating, artificial, societal norms of the country club.

     Steve let out a concentrated breath, lining up his club to the small shiny golf ball, preparing to put. As her arms slowly pulled back, his careful and precise release was interrupted by the voice of a distant shout.

     "Heads up!" The voice shocked Steve, disrupting his focus and causing the heads among the group to turn. His focus was swiftly recollected as he set up his swing once again. But this time, it wasn't a voice that interrupted him, it was a small shiny golf ball.

     "Fuck! Seriously?" Steve muttered under his breath, his temper lost beneath the waves of anger rumbling within his body. His body tensed and his grip on his club tightened as he noticed a family approach, the engine to his anger surely accompanying them.

     "Ross!" Maeve called out, noticing the family as well.

     "David! Molly!" Roy stepped forward, greeting them with a wide smile. "Why don't you guys go ahead, we're a little slow this morning."

     Steve simply stood confused, unable to understand why no one shared his current state of anger. He felt like there was some time of joke he wasn't in on, something that made their actions okay. They were all pretending their game had not just been rudely interrupted, acting as if Steve's play was not just destroyed.

     "Hey, sorry about that man." A voice emerged from behind Steve. This time he recognized it. It was the same one that called out earlier, the same one that forced Steve deeper into his loss. Steve turned to respond, fully noticing the tall brunette boy that now stood before him. "I did warn you though!" He laughed, walking away before Steve could even introduce himself.

     As the Campbell family made their way ahead of the Harringtons and Irvines, Steve still remained shaken. Both curious and frustrated, he did something he thought he would never do; turn to Maeve Irvine for answers.

 
     "Who was that?" His approach was hesitant, almost shy. The question didn't exactly startle Maeve, but it wasn't exactly expected. She didn't owe Steve any information, especially about her friends. And she would bite at any opportunity to mess with him.

     "Oh, just your predecessor." She spoke nonchalantly, not even bothering to look up from her golf bag.

 
     "I'm sorry what?" Steve had no clue where Maeve was going with this. He wanted a name, maybe even a small description, but instead he was given a silly title that only confused him more.

     "Come on Steve. Skipped too many English classes to know the big words?" Maeve looked up, finally meeting Steve's eyes. There. There were those taunting eyes again. That look she had given him time and time again aggravated him to his core. Yes, her words were hurtful, but this look. This look stung much more.

      Disappointed at Steve's lack of a reaction, Maeve continued: "I've been through this routine before, that's all I mean." She sighed, attempting to explain her word choice, decoding and dumbifying her vocabulary for the boy before her.

     "Routine?" Steve stepped forward. A familiar feeling turning in his stomach. That small part of him that still remained rebelliously intrigued was once again gaining control over him.

     "You're not the first guy I've had to sit through insufferable lunches and excruciating golf games with this summer, that's all I'm saying, Harrington." Maeve didn't understand why she was suddenly letting her guard down. Why would she choose to be vulnerable around a guy like Steve? A guy that she believed could so easily use this information to exploit her. Steve didn't deserve to know any of this. So why, god why, was she telling him?

     Maeve braced for impact. Steve now had the upper hand, the advantage in their stupid game of shallow insults and harshly guarded identities. Steve's first comments were harmless, because they were untrue. They were fueled by false understandings and misleading appearances. But now, Steve knew. Steve knew far too much. And the more he knew, the more Maeve feared his words would start to become real. Fueled by his true understanding of Maeve, instead of his surface-level knowledge. Then, they would start to really hurt. Maeve wasn't ready for that. She wouldn't let herself be hurt by Steve Harrington. She wouldn't let herself be afraid of him. She couldn't.

     "Well, that guy is a total asshole." Steve muttered. A wave of relief hit Maeve instantly. The ball was in her court, she was not going to give it up like Steve just did. Why did he give it up..? Maeve thought. Stop it Maeve, don't waste your thoughts on him. Get it together.

     "That guy is pretty much just a more tolerable version of you." She started, defending Ross and reminding Steve of his place. "I mean you all come from some rich douchebag factory anyways so... Can you really be that different?" Maeve paused. Should she really be doing this? Messing with him like this, again? Yes, she had to. She had to stay on the offense, attacking at every open opportunity. She couldn't end up on defense against Steve Harrington. She had to protect herself, even if that meant being excessively rude to him. "Even your hair is pretty similar. Is that some kind of factory staple?" She saw the first reaction from Steve all day at that moment. A small flicker of offense flashed on his face. "Looks like I struck a nerve with that one."

     "Hey Maeve?" Steve stopped her before she could walk away. Even after all of that, he still felt some sort of lingering obligation to validate himself. Deep down he really wanted Maeve to know he was nothing like Ross, nothing like his father, nothing like this fucking hell hole.

     "Yes?"

     "I know what predecessor means." It was all he could muster. Maybe now she would know he wasn't stupid.

     "Sure you do Steve." A smile. Possibly a genuine one.

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     "Great to see you again Steve." Roy said as he offered Steve a handshake. "But next time you owe me a drink for that win, Buddy!"

     Buddy. Steve thought. Of course He'd use some belittling name like "Buddy"

     "Well, We'll catch you two tomorrow night right?" Richard called out as he and his son approached the club's exit.

     "Tomorrow?" Steve looked up at his dad.

     "Looking forward to it!" Roy waved, soon becoming lost in the large building that the Harringtons let behind.

     "What's tomorrow?" Steve asked again.

     "There's a Class of '85 party tomorrow night." Richard replied, a restlessness hidden in his voice.

     "Here?"

     "Yes. Here."

     "I can't." Steve searched for an excuse, desperate to escape yet another event at such an evil building. "I have work tomorrow night." For once in his life, he was relieved to be scooping ice cream.

     "Don't worry about it. I already talked to your boss."

     Of course. Steve thought. You'll talk to everyone except me about my own schedule. Great parenting Dad!

     "It's formal. Wear a suit." Richard spoke as he unlocked the car.

     "Lucky me!" Steve spoke under his breath before taking his seat.

author note:

this has been marinating for like 3 weeks and its so painfully mediocre. (also this is so barely edited so please forgive the monstrosity that is this chapter)

short but sweet chapter so i thought i would give yall the mood boards i promised for bri cleo and ross

brianna "bri" grant-

cleo thompson-

ross campbell-

cleo and bri do not have fcs but ross is either ross lynch or a young miles teller
(please tell me how you imagine them)

OKAY BYE LOVE YOU ALL <3