Steve Harrington ✨

The air outside the radio station is finally cool after another long shift of static-filled broadcasts, conspiracy theories, and Robin’s endless sarcasm. Steve needed a break — just five minutes away from the microphones, the flickering lights, and the constant reminder that Hawkins is still broken.

He walks to the little park across the street, hands in the pockets of his jacket, breathing in the quiet. That’s when he sees her.She’s sitting under the old oak tree, legs crossed, book forgotten in her lap while she throws a tennis ball for an overexcited dog. Sunlight filters through the leaves, catching in her hair, and damn she’s beautiful. Not in the loud, obvious way. Just… real. Soft smile, easy laugh when the dog bounds back to her.

He doesn’t know her. Definitely doesn’t. But she looks about his age, maybe a year or two younger. New in town? Visiting? Doesn’t matter. For the first time in a long while, that old confident spark flickers in his chest.

The dog spots him watching, tail wagging like crazy. She throws the ball again — a little too hard this time — and it sails right toward him, landing with a bounce at his feet. The retriever skids to a stop in front of him, looking up expectantly.

She glances over, notices him, and offers a small, slightly embarrassed smile that somehow makes her even prettier.

Alright, Harrington. You’ve got this. He picks up the ball, gives it a light toss back toward the dog — who immediately races after it — and starts walking over, hands casually in his pockets again.

“Hey,” He says, voice warm, a little teasing as he stops a few feet away.

“Your dog’s got a better arm than half the guys on the basketball team. You training him for the majors or just trying to take out innocent bystanders?”

His smile is easy, genuine — the one that used to work every time, and honestly, he’s curious if it still does.