Apocalypse, Steve Harrington

Chapter Fifty-Four. About You

FIFTY-FOUR
— about you

      HER EYELIDS ARE HEAVY with the burden of exhaustion.

      Temple pressed to the cool, metal-wall of the elevator, she fights sleep. She thinks of her brother, and whether or not he figured out what was happening to Billy. She wondered if he drove to Starcourt, after, on the edge of his seat, ready to tell her how it went down. She knew how he got— a cheshire-like smile spread on his lips, eyes squinted, words moving at a million-miles-an-hour. He wouldn't be able to tell her, though, not until they were freed from the Russian-death-trap. . . if they were ever freed. Would her father be worried? Her chest aches.

They spent the first few hours of night whispering a plan, while Dustin and Erica slept. Clicking buttons, prying the doors open, checking for secret-vents. . . nothing. They were nowhere. She didn't have a watch, but it was much later, and they had lost Robin in the attempt to find a way out. So, now, she sat there, half-awake and fighting sleep.

      With a huffing breath out, Lucy shifts her body. Butt sliding against the cold-floor, she turns onto her side, arms splayed across her hips. She looks at her sneakers, beat-up and grey with years of wear-and-tear. The cuff of her jean-shorts, that would probably be too short for her fathers liking. The fabric of her tank-top, a burgundy-red, that's tight on her waist and chest— she's freezing.

They're all asleep. Erica rests her head against her backpack, Dustin is in fetal position, Robin sits up straight. Her tired, hazel-eyes move upwards. She meets Steve's awake-gaze, and they lock eyes, and her brow twitches, "Can't sleep," is all she mutters.

He sniffles. "Yeah," Steve says, "me, neither."

A pregnant-pause. Her blinks become slower, as she stares off blankly, until the ghost of a smile twitches its way onto her lips, "remember last year, when we were at the junkyard, with all the kids?" she says. "Dan and Riley, too. . . jeez."

His chest rumbles with a chuckle, "How did we even survive that, Hop?"

She shuffles upwards, and props her body-weight on her elbows, "could you imagine if they were all here now?" Lucy conceals a laugh, her lips pressed firm together, "Lucas would be squealing, like a little-girl, Mike would be a dick about it. . . Max probably would've broken those OPEN DOOR buttons."

Steve snorts, "Your brother, though. . . Danny would totally loose it," his eyes widen, "last fall, when the two of us were fighting the Demo-dogs, I remember his screams from the bus. 'Oh, my God! They're gonna eat you! You're gonna get eaten!'," he mocks.

Her eyes are screwed shut, and she finally lets out a laugh. Something about it is real, to Steve— the fold of her lips, so all of the teeth in her wide-smile are showing. The crinkles around her eyes, that burst out like stars, and the dimples that deepen in the bottom of her cheeks, small indentations and a reminder of whatever meaningless-joke he had just said. She's clamping a hand around her mouth, to muffle her laughter, which prompts a snort from the back of her throat.

He's smiling, and he's laughing, because she is. He can't remember what he said, in all honesty. Was it that funny? Does it look like he's laughing at his own joke? No, it doesn't. . . his pupils are blown wide, and a lazy smile hangs from his lips, and he looks absolutely entranced and enamored by the way a giggle rumbles from deep in her chests. He's looking at her, and his heart is swelling, and he can't remember the last time he saw something that made him feel like this inside.