Hey all! Just a quick brotp scene with two of my faves. Maybe a bit of plot? We shall see. As always, let me know what you think!

and please, please check out my newest story, Mixtape!

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"Good afternoon, Ms Henderson," I hear Steve as he breezes into the house. More often than not, Harrington finds his way to my house, the excuses always vary. Giving me a ride to school, to the arcade, wanting to see a movie but no one to go with - it's kind of sad. I don't mind, of course - Steve Harrington is the king of cool. Girls melt into puddles of sloppy, dreamy smiles and gushy sighs whenever he's around. But I can't help but feel badly. Ever since Nancy picked Jonathan "I'm so mysterious and sensitive and I hate Top 40 music" Byers over him, Steve has been... Lonely.

"Steve! Goodness, look at you! What's the occasion?" My Mom is one of those gushy, soppy messes around him too. I think it's the hair. And the smile. And, ya know, the fact that he's always polite and acts like she's the best cook in the known universe (she's ok, but not /that/ good, and her "secret" potato salad recipe is total bull shit - she buys it from the store and dumps it into Tupperware). None of that hurts his case either.

I pat Yurtle absently on the shell and head into the living room, where Steve is scratching Mews Two behind the ears and Mom fusses over them both. I think she likes that Steve soaks up her mom-type affection. Though he's never said anything outright, I think his parents are kind of absent. Kind of shitty.

"Whoa," I say, taking in my friend. Because that's what we are, I think. Ever since he helped me with Dart, and then everything else /after/ that, plus everything in between. Steve doesn't make me feel like the Toothless Wonder I used to be, or the dumb kid brother of his girlfriend - ex girlfriend. I /still/ don't get that, but Mom always says, "the heart wants what the heart wants."

Whatever /that/ means.

Steve is wearing dark slacks, loafers, and a light green sweater that brings out his eyes, a black leather jacket over that. His hair is strategically messy thanks to Farrah Fawcett spray and his Ray Band are perched on top of his head. He looks snazzier than usual.

"I have a date," Steve announces. Mom gasps and clutches her chest, her excitement dramatic and contagious. I imitate her.

"Steve, I'm so unprepared! You could give a guy some warning," I joke, and he chuckles, lifting a hand to ruffle my frizzy brown hair.

"You wish, Henderson. It's with a /girl/, thank you very much." If he's nervous, I can't tell - and I'm probably the best of anyone I know at reading people.

"What's her name? Is she from Hawkins? What's her parents do?" Mom is full of questions and I can see Steve foundering for answers. I intervene.

"Mom, give the guy a break. C'mon," I say, and lead Steve back to my bedroom. It's a mess, and Yurtle is maybe two inches from where I left him. I step over my tortoise and move to make room on my bed, sweeping clothes and books and Three Musketeers wrappers onto the ground unceremoniously. Steve stands in the doorway, looking like it's physically paining him not to make a comment, but he purses his lips into a firm line and enters my domain.

"Sorry about Claudia," I say. I rarely call her Mom when she's not around. "She's just... enthusiastic." I roll my eyes and smirk. "So, who is the mystery girl?"

At this, Steve grows awkward. "She's not my normal type," he says carefully, like he's choosing the words purposely.

"So what? Is she like, really ugly?"

"No!" Steve exclaims. His hands card through his hair and he jumps up from the bed, pacing the small clear space on my carpet. "She's like, gorgeous. Not like any girl I've ever seen before! And she's so /cool/, she's totally out of my league. I don't even know what I'm going to say to her!"

I feel my jaw unhinge in surprise. Steve Harrington, king of cool, best looking guy I know in real life? This nervous for a /date/? I am shocked. I am dumbfounded. And then I'm laughing because what, she has to be Brooke Shields or something to throw him off his game this much.

"Nice. After everything I've done for you? Ungrateful shit." Steve kicks my sneaker and I have to hold my belly I'm cracking up so much.

"No, it's just - I've never met anyone like her! She's says what's on her mind. She has purple /hair/ and she's so freaking cool, kid. Like, she's just..." his brown gaze stares off into the distance.

Purple hair? That's definitely different than Nancy Wheeler, who dresses more like Nancy Reagan than Cyndi Lauper. Nancy /is/ kind of a badass now, despite the fact that she dresses like a librarian. I can admit that, even though I still feel betrayed for Steve. Girl dropped him like a hot potato and barely acknowledged it.

"So, why are you here? I mean, what can I do?" I'm big enough to admit that I am not on the coolest people list of Hawkins, Indiana. Steve had helped me through my own girl troubles, was the best at giving advice and pep talks. And apparently sex talks, too. But I'm not sure what I could possibly offer him in this time of need.

"I need a pep talk. So, you know - do your thing, Henderson."

I feel a flicker of warm affection in my chest. Scaredy-cat Steve came to /me/ for this? It's like ending a campaign with everyone intact. It's like dancing with Nancy at the Snow Ball. My heart feels bigger than my chest and I grin stupidly at his ridiculously good looking, albeit worried, face.

"All right, man. You're gonna walk in there -"

"I'm picking her up," Steve interrupts, hands on his hips.

"Ok, so you're gonna pick her up. You're gonna open her door and play it cool."

"What if she's a feminist? They don't like when you do that."

"Steve!" I exclaim, exasperated. Was I this difficult when he's building me up?

"Sorry, Sorry." He motions for me to continue.

"You're gonna open the door because that's what gentleman do. You're gonna charm her panties off, just smile and don't talk about Nancy, or how your best friend is fourteen -"

"Don't mention you shits, got it." He nods and his brow furrows like he's literally making a mental list.

"You're gonna take her for food or something. You look like a million bucks. She's gonna be putty in your hands, dude. And then, you're gonna take her home. I don't know about the kissing part, but I'm sure you can figure that out on your own. You're gonna knock her socks off!" I'm rambling but Steve is nodding along with me until a big smile breaks over his face.

"Yeah. Yeah," he says, nodding eagerly. "I'm just gonna be like, 'Kali, I know you're fine as hell and too cool for me, but I will move heaven and Earth to make your day.' Huh?" He sticks his tongue between his teeth and wiggles his eyebrows.

I frown. "Maybe tone it down a bit."

"Ok. Yeah." He slaps his hands together and jumps in place a couple times, like a boxer readying for a fight. "Thanks, kid. I gotta jet." I follow him out, and he waves bye to my mother before jogging down the drive to his BMW. I lean in the open passenger window as he plops down and buckles his seatbelt.

"So, ask this Kali if she has a younger sister, huh?" I purr and he glares.

"What've I told you about that?"

"Good luck, dude." I stand back and jam my hands in my pants pockets, watching him pull away with a salute. It's nice to know that even King Steve gets nervous, I think as I turn and trudge back inside. I wish him good luck, and know that I'll hear all about it the next time I see him.