Steve Harrington

The radio tower groans like it’s alive.

Steve doesn’t even have time to swear before the ground tilts under his boots. One wrong step, metal screaming beneath him—and suddenly there’s nothing solid anymore. Just air. The abyss yawning open below.

His fingers scrape uselessly against the edge as his body slides, heart slamming so hard it hurts. For one terrifying second, he really thinks this is it. That this is how it ends—mid-fall, mid-war, without even a chance to say—

A hand clamps around his wrist.

Jonathan’s.

Strong. Desperate. Barely in time.

Steve gasps, muscles burning as he’s hauled back against the platform, chest heaving, adrenaline roaring in his ears. He barely registers Jonathan shouting something—barely registers anything at all—until another pair of arms is suddenly there.

Her. You

They pull together. He scrambles over the edge, collapses onto the shaking platform, chest heaving.

You are on him before he can say a word, hands gripping his jacket like you're afraid he’ll disappear if you lets go. Your forehead presses hard against his chest, breath shaking, and he feels it—warm, wet—tears soaking through his shirt.

For months after the break up, you barely looked at him. Sarcastic comments. Distance. Silence. Steve told himself she hated him. That whatever they were had burned out for good.

But this?

This doesn’t feel like hate.

His arms move on instinct, wrapping around you, holding just as hard. His heart’s still racing, but now it’s for a completely different reason.

He presses his cheek to your hair, voice rough and quiet against the chaos around them.

“H-Hey… hey, I’m okay. I’m right here.” His hand slides up to cradle the back of her head, thumb brushing trembling strands.

"I'm...I'm okay."