You Never Know
I write stories out by hand but the moment I type them out (because I love making more work for myself), they go in a completely different direction then what I originally wrote.
| Steve Harrington x Reader |
Requested: ‘I HOPE YOU WRITE MORE FOR YOU NEVER KNOW I LOVEEEEEE IT’
‘please please please continue with You never know, i love ittt !!’
You had missed your first period and partly your second. You had walked over three miles to school; you had taken a significant amount of time as you could with every step. You needed to think about what had happened between you and Steve. How you hated yourself on the way you reacted towards him. You didn’t understand why you had run. It kept replaying in your head, everytime you shut your eyes to shake the thought of it; his sweet yet disappointed face was so vivid.
You dragged your feet when you entered the halls. Class was still in session for a good five more minutes; giving you a little bit more time to hate yourself. You let out a heavy sigh, resting your head against your locker. You couldn’t face Steve. You embarrassed more than yourself: he must have felt humiliated. You’ve had done enough damage for the day and it wasn’t even lunchtime. You were deep in your thoughts, you missed the bell ringing, that when you felt a hand being placed on your shoulder you had let out a shriek.
Your heart began racing, your heart in your throat; worrying that it was Steve and him wanting to talk about the incident. When you turned to face them, you let out a huge sigh of relief to see it was only Nancy and Jonathan before you. “Oh, thank God.” You murmured, placing a hand over your heart to calm it back down.
“Y/N, where have you been?” Nancy questioned, “You missed history and Spanish.” You shut your eyes, shaking your head a little. You let out a small laugh, turning to your locker to open it.
“About that,” You let out, grabbing your anatomy textbook, “I woke up late. My dad had already left for work so I had to walk.”
“Walk?” Jonathan asked, scratching his cheek as he was baffled at your statement, “Your house is six miles away from school.” You rubbed your nosed, trying to cover up the fact that you were nervous to tell them the truth.
“Do you think that coach will let me sit out during PE?” You played. You felt the slightest tug on the sweater you were wearing: Steve’s sweater. You didn’t turn around. Your nerves came back as your body had stiffened at the touch.
“This isn’t your sweater,” Nancy noted. She rubbed more of the sweater between her fingers.
“Good eyes, Nancy Drew,” You interjected, trying to play coy but would she buy it?
“It’s Steve’s.” She didn’t. You hid your head in your locker like an ostrich hiding their head in the dirt for when they nest.