Work Text:
Nancy liked a lot of things about Steve.
She had a running list of things about him that made her heart race, that sent a warm tickling flush along her cheeks and up to the tips of her ears. She'd always been the organized type, with her weekly to-do lists hung up on the cork board above her desk in her room, and a neat set of tasks in the notes section of her school planner.
But this list of things she liked about Steve was not something she'd ever put in writing. It was a mental list that she kept close to her chest, never spoken aloud or traveling further than her mind's eye.
She liked the way Steve called her Nance with a fondness. A soft quality to the short a that no one else who used the nickname could quite replicate. She especially liked it when he called her this while brushing her hair behind her ear, his touch feather light. Not because he thought she was breakable, but because he believed she was something precious, and she deserved his utmost care.
She liked the different smiles he gave her depending on his mood. The soft smile that showed off a hint of dimples after he kissed her, short and sweet, with her face cupped in both his hands. Her favorite was his bright smile with all his teeth, full of glee when she laughed at something absolutely ridiculous he'd said. His eyes would light up in triumph when this happened, and he would look like he was holding back his urge to pump his fist in victory at having impressed her.
She even sort of liked the sad smile he gave her in the Byers’ shed on that neverending November night, when he admitted to being a bad boyfriend but a pretty damn good babysitter. It wasn’t a smile that stemmed from happiness, and guilt had churned deep and sickening in her gut at the thought that he blamed himself for her cruel drunken words from Halloween. Steve's smile had been sad, a little wounded, but one hundred percent just for her. She liked it for that reason alone.
Even during the several months between the Fall of 1984 and Spring of 1985 when Steve was Just Steve, and Nancy was Nancy and Jonathan, she had her list.
She liked the shy slope of his shoulders as he stood in the doorway of her house when he dropped off Mike from the arcade. The way he would try to avoid staring at her too long, but never ignored her outright lest she get any idea that he was avoiding her.
She liked the way he called her brother and the other kids dipshits and dickheads with no malice whatsoever, with his hands on his hips as he hustled them in and out of his car like they were both the bane of his existence and a main reason he got up in the morning.
She liked the way his expression was always so readable, every line on his face and quirk of his brows or lips a direct translation of what he felt at any given moment. It made her blood rush and her head go all fuzzy when Steve's eyes went wide and starry the day she and Jonathan admitted to him that they wanted him to be more than Just Steve, and instead Steve and Nancy and Jonathan. When Jonathan asked if he could kiss Steve, and Steve gave a stunned little nod, she especially liked the way those wide eyes slipped closed and he let out a content, surprised sigh as Jonathan pulled him in.
After that, her list got considerably longer. Much more detailed, too.
She liked a lot of things about Steve, things that were just a part of what made him who he was. But to be honest, Nancy had always been a little selfish. Perhaps even a bit self centered. So while she liked Steve simply for being Steve, with all his quirks and habits and quiet insecurities, she liked even more the things she had a hand in creating.
She liked the way she could make his breath stutter when she placed a hand at the hollow of his throat, applying just the slightest bit of pressure. She liked the way he shivered at her touch, goosebumps rising on the skin of his back when she trailed kisses along the knobs of his spine.
She liked how his hands curled into the sheets of his bed like they could keep him from falling apart while she was on top of him, lips parted as he gasped and whined and repeated Nance, Nance, oh God, Nancy like some sort of church hymn.
She liked the sound he made when she dug her thumbs into his hip bones to steady him as she took him into her mouth. It made her laugh when he blushed and complained she made him sound like some virgin girl cliche when she did things like that.
She liked Steve as he was, but she liked him when he was Steve and Jonathan, too.
She liked the delicate way Steve's legs dangled over Jonathan's shoulders, long limbs and calloused heels pressing into the skin of Jonathan's freckled, unblemished back. Or the way Steve would interlock the fingers of one hand with Jonathan's and mindlessly reach out to her with the other; even though she wasn't at the center of the action, his eyes searching and full of need as he panted against Jonathan's lips. The need to have her close, to have her touching him, even with someone else all over him.
As much as she liked to just watch the scene, observing with the keen eye of a reporter as Jonathan took Steve apart bit by bit, Nancy always gave in. She couldn't help it, Steve was irresistible. He was the eye of the storm and she and Jonathan were just the outskirts of it, sucked in to revolve around him endlessly.
In the end, what Nancy liked most about Steve was that she didn't like him at all. She loved him, and she had maybe ever since the very first time he crawled into her bedroom window with that stupid, sneaky smile of his and whispered a promise of I'm here to help you study.
She loved him, and somehow, inexplicably, he loved her back. He said as much, breathy and sleepy and completely sincere. He held her hand as he said it, as they fell asleep in his bed with Nancy sandwiched between him and an already passed out Jonathan snoring against her back.
“I love you, Nancy,” Steve told her for the nth time in however many years they had known each other.
Even though she had hurt him more than once before, even though she probably didn’t deserve the amount of love and adoration he had for her, he gave it to her anyway. That was just who Steve was. When he loved people he made sure they knew it. He gave his love freely, like it was as easy as breathing for him.
She liked the way his eyes fluttered shut as the quiet of the night lingered, as he lost the battle against the pull of sleep. She liked the way he unconsciously leaned into her touch when she rubbed a thumb across his cheek, moved down to trace the beauty mark under his bottom lip.
“I love you, too,” she finally said back, lips brushing against the shell of his ear as his breathing evened out. She couldn't be sure if he had fallen asleep before she got to reply, but it didn't matter. She had plenty more chances to tell him.