Archive of Our Own ^beta

Steve has never really liked his name. Steve is like the default name for a washed-up owner of a used car dealership. Steve is like a weird uncle you see twice a year and have weird, polite conversation with until you find an excuse to leave. Steve is like the guy in your office who talks nonstop about “the ol’ ball and chain” and doesn’t get that no one likes him.

Steve doesn’t want to grow up to be a Steve.

His full name is even worse. Steven Thomas Harrington. The only good thing about it was that it had been the reason he had become friends with Tommy H., because they were seated next to each other in elementary school and Steve had leaned over and said that technically, he could be a Tommy H. too, and the rest was history. Although, looking at how that relationship ended, he wasn’t really sure it was a good thing that they were friends.

Steve Harrington. He can’t deny that there’s a ring to it. It’s a name with status and wealth behind it, a name connected to a family he barely sees and money he can’t access. It sounded like he should be some kind of British nobleman who, like, bred dogs or something in the 1900s, some kind of weird rich people hobby. Ironically enough, the kids at his school seemed to think he needed a title too.

King Steve was legendary. King Steve was the most popular guy in school. King Steve threw the best parties, had the best alcohol, was the best player on the basketball team (even if he couldn’t get them to the championships). But King Steve wasn’t him. King Steve was a character that he played, slipping the mask on with his varsity jacket every morning. Hell, regular old Steve Harrington wasn’t even him either. Even after being decrowned, he still felt that discomfort that he thought came from the title. It’s not like he asked to be king of a high school he didn’t even really like. But people stopped calling him that and he still felt wrong. It was just him. There was just something wrong with him.

It was genuinely jarring anytime someone called him by his name out loud. It was still his name, and of course he still responded to it, but every time, there was a second of taken aback thoughts in his head, wondering, is that really me? Is that really who people see me as?

It definitely didn’t feel right when people called him Steven, but that at least made a little more sense, since the only people to call him that were authority figures that he didn’t really want to be talking to anyway. But he couldn’t help feeling a little guilty when his friends called him by his name and it still didn’t feel like him. Because his friends knew him, right? Of all the people in the world, shouldn’t it feel good when it came out of their mouths?

Maybe he was just so used to Robin calling him Dingus and Dustin lovingly insulting him and Eddie calling him every nickname under the sun that it was startling when they said his real name.

He couldn’t help it. Sometimes it just didn’t feel like him.

Something about the syllables, the way his mouth had to stretch so wide to accommodate the vowel, the slick sibilants coating the word — something about it was just off.

He didn’t know what else he would be, though. It was his name. He couldn’t just change his name for the hell of it. And it’s not like he even had something else in mind, anyway.

“If you could change your name, what would it be?” He asked one night, laying on the floor of his living room and high off of Eddie’s weed with Robin.

“Why would I change my name?” Robin snorted. “I like it. I’m like a little bird.”

Steve smiled, craning his neck against the floor to look at her where she was sprawled out behind him, their heads together and feet on opposite ends of the carpet. “It’s cute, Birdie.” Eddie called her that sometimes, and Steve thought it was maybe the cutest thing he had ever heard. If they weren’t both gay in opposite directions, it would’ve made him try to get them together. He gasped. “Wait, you’re a songbird! Cause —” He mimed playing a trumpet, a truly awful noise erupting from him as he mimicked a pep band tune.

“Okay, that’s not what I sound like, dingus.” She couldn’t help but laugh through her distaste at his trumpet impression. Steve broke off into laughter too before settling down and returning to the topic at hand.

“Okay, so you wouldn’t change your name, got it. What would I be called if I changed my name?”

“Hmmm…” Robin hummed. “Joe.”

Steve sat up, the headrush at the sudden change in position making him a little dizzy. “I would not fucking be named Joe, take that back!”

“Okay, okay, fine,” Robin giggled. “Josh.”

“Robin Buckley, I swear to god —”

“Okay, I promise you wouldn’t be a Josh!”

“Give me a real one, come on.” Robin sat up, squinting at him critically.

“You could be a Rory, I think. Or like. An Owen.”

Steve nodded, mulling that over. “I can deal with that.”

“What’s all this about names anyway?” Robin asked, slumping back against the couch. “You already have a name.”

Steve shrugged, not really sure how to explain it to her when he didn’t even really know himself. “Just curious, I guess.”

Robin nodded, high enough to accept that as an answer and not look too closely at it. “Matthew.”

Steve wrinkled his nose. “I would not be a Matt, Robbie.”

“Arthur.”

“That makes me sound like one of my dad’s coworkers.”

“Chris.”

“There are already too many Chrises.”

“Harry.”

“Harry Harrington? It’s like you want me to get bullied.”

Robin cackled. “Stop being so picky, then.”

“I can’t help that all your suggestions are bad,” Steve retorted.

Robin rolled her eyes. “Sorry for not being up to your oh-so-exacting standards.”

“My standards are ‘not the top 20 names for men,’” Steve said dryly. “Not a very high bar.”

Robin considered him for a moment, eyeing him ponderously. Steve could practically see the gears in her brain working.

“Sacha.”

Steve looked at her, confused. “That’s a girl’s name.”

She shook her head. “Only in the US. In Europe it’s usually short for Alexander. It’s really popular in France and Russia and stuff.”

Steve swallowed down the memories at the mention of Russia, ignoring the way his throat tightened in favor of interrogating Robin. “How do you even know that?”

“I get bored,” she explained with a shrug. “Plus, when we do grammar exercises in French class sometimes there’s a name in it and I made the mistake of using the wrong gender enough times for it to be in my head forever now.” She tapped her temple knowingly. “It’s spelled different too, with a ‘ch’ instead of an ‘sh.’ If that’s masculine enough for you.”

Masculine enough for him? It was a girl’s name, he thought instinctively. Of course it wasn’t masculine enough for him, no matter what they did in France.

But did he really need it to be masculine?

If he was honest with himself, he was a little tired of being the picture of masculinity all-star jock that he had been playing the part of his whole life. Sometimes he looked at El growing her hair out and Max’s chipped nail polish and Robin rushing through her makeup routine in his car and felt a bone-deep longing to be a part of it that he didn’t understand, because why would he long for those things? He wasn’t a girl. He couldn’t be.

…But maybe wanting to be a little girly sometimes wasn’t the end of the world. He’d seen the end of the world, and he’d come out fine, because all the girls he knew were absolute badasses.

“It’s nice,” he said, his tone a little more serious than he meant to be.

Robin smiled at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He leaned his head back against the couch, next to Robin. “If I was named Sacha do you think I would be invited to Girl’s Night?”

Girl’s Night (capitalization mandatory) was an approximately bi-weekly occurrence. Max, El, Erica, and sometimes Robin and/or Nancy, depending on who was available and willing to babysit, would sequester themselves at someone’s house, usually the Byers’, and emerge the next morning with freshly painted nails, a stack of VHS’s to return, and a barrage of blackmail on each other’s relationships. Steve didn’t know exactly what went down at Girl’s Nights, since the No Boys Allowed rule was pretty strict, but he had always wondered what exactly it was that girls did at sleepovers. He was a pretty good babysitter. He’d let them paint his nails and put tiny pigtails in his hair if they wanted.

Robin gave him a funny look at the question. “Do you want to be invited to Girl’s Night?”

Steve tried to shrug nonchalantly. “I’ve always been curious what you do at those things. If we had boy’s nights wouldn’t you wonder what we got up to?”

Robin snorted. “No, because it would just be D&D and weed.”

Steve barked out a laugh. “Shit, you got us.”

“You’re too predictable, dingus,” Robin teased. “All guys do is play their little games, whether they’re jocks or nerds, and get intoxicated.” Steve ignored the pang in his chest at that, because it didn’t make any sense for him to be sad about being included in a hypothetical boy’s night.

“Well, you’re doing that right now,” Steve pointed out. The name thing could probably count as a game. Sort of. She’d get what he meant.

Robin’s brow creased as she thought about that. “Does this count as a game? I’m just saying names at you.”

Steve shrugged, glad that she was always on his wavelength. What would he do without her? “Sure.”

“Okay,” Robin said. “Wanna keep playing?”

“Sure,” he said again. It was actually kind of fun to hear her suggestions and imagine what he would be like if he hadn’t been born Steve Harrington. Some kind of escapism shit or whatever. If he said that out loud he was sure she would try to psychoanalyze him, so he kept it to himself.

Robin gasped. “Oh my god, you should be a bird like me! We can match!” She grinned at him, bouncing in place with enthusiasm for her idea.

Steve’s eyes went wide. “Holy shit, you’re so right.”

Robin squealed and flapped her hands. “Okay, okay, bird names. Uhhh… Raven?”

“Raven and Robin?” Steve said. Something about that rang a bell in the recesses of his mind. “Aren’t there some superheroes named that? I swear Dustin’s said that when he’s going on about comics.”

“We’re already superheroes,” Robin said, her voice kind of ominous the way she got sometimes when she was high. And sober too, honestly. “They should make comic books about us.”

Steve snorted. “The Adventures of Doofus and Dingus.”

“I wouldn’t be called Doofus!” Robin gasped indignantly.

Steve rolled his eyes. “What would you be, then?”

Robin looked shifty for a second, eyes darting back and forth. “Uhh…” She failed to come up with anything. “Well, not Doofus, that’s for sure!”

Steve laughed, head thrown back against the couch. “You’re so high.”

“You’re so high, dingus!”

Robin tackled him, sending them both to the ground with a soft thud. They wrestled for a few moments. She was more slippery than she seemed, Steve struggling to capture her wrists even though he was the actual athlete between the two of them. He got her eventually, and used the leverage to attack her weak spot (her ribs were ticklish), which made her start flailing like crazy, and he had to let go quick to avoid being kicked anywhere important. There were a few more minutes of playfighting shenanigans before they found themselves on the couch, Robin sprawled out, exhausted, and Steve holding her against his chest.

“You could be a Wren?”

Steve’s confused for a moment at the non sequitur before remembering what had started their argument in the first place. “I don’t really think it’s my vibe.”

Robin hummed in agreement. “Lark?”

“Is that a name?”

She shrugged awkwardly against his chest. “If you’re a hippie. How about Oriole?”

“I’ve never even been to Baltimore.”

Robin turned to look at him, a clear question of what the fuck? in her face.

“Like the baseball team?” Steve elaborated. “The Baltimore Orioles?”

She collapsed against him again with a sigh. “I always forget I’m friends with a jock.”

Steve flicked her shoulder. “Rude.”

“Dove.”

“I’m not soap.”

“Sparrow?”

“That doesn’t really feel like a name.”

Robin thought for a moment. “I’m realizing that none of the birds I know have very good names. Like, I don’t think you’d want to be named Grackle or Thrush or Mockingbird.” She glanced at him, a smile tugging at her lips. “Maybe Titmouse, though.” She dissolved into giggles at his affronted face.

“You cannot tell me that’s a real bird, you just can’t,” Steve said, trying not to laugh. “Titmouse?”

Robin nodded, trying to look serious. “The tufted titmouse.” She broke into a devious grin. “I would definitely call your tits tufted.”

“Okay, you asked for it —!”

And the wrestling was back on.

-

Steve kept thinking about it.

It was a new obsession. The thought of what if I could be someone else? had taken root in his head and was running wild. When he checked in customers at work, he took note of their name and imagined himself with it. When he was watching TV, he considered each of the character’s names automatically. Anyone new he met, he filed their name away in the back of his mind, categorized either as an ‘absolutely not me’ or a ‘maybe’.

He wasn’t really sure where he was going with this. It’s not like he could change his name for no reason. No one would call him by it, anyway. Everyone knew him as King Steve, and that wasn’t about to change anytime soon. Plus, if he started asking people to call him a girl’s name, he would get hate-crimed faster than he could blink.

That was another thing — he had found that he preferred the sound of femininity far more than he should.

Maybe it was because Robin had suggested it at first, but a dam had broken or something, and he considered girl’s names just as much as he considered boy’s. Sasha, Stephanie, Jessica, Kimberly… The list went on and on, and he wasn’t really sure what to do with it. He could never actually use a girl’s name, even if he narrowed them down enough to pick one. The closest he would probably ever get was being nicknamed Stevie, and he would probably never be able to tell anyone why he liked it. Not first because he wasn’t even sure himself.

He wasn’t a girl.

Right?

He wasn’t. He couldn’t be. He was an all-star athlete, basketball and swim team captain, muscly and hairy and nothing like a girl. He wasn’t a girl. He didn’t want to be a girl. He just… liked being a little softer, maybe. He liked his big sweaters, how they softened his frame and made him look smaller. He liked growing his hair out, how it softened the edges of his face, swooped gently above his brow, brushed the back of his neck. He liked the worn yellow of his favorite sweater, the light green of his favorite henley, the pastel of the polos that he was starting to wear less and less. They just reminded him too much of the person he used to be, the person he was starting to grow past. He was trying to slowly collect a new wardrobe without any high school memories attached to it, picking up a few pieces at a time when Robin would take him thrifting. Shopping with her was a new experience, and it was teaching him a lot about his personal style. Robin seemed surprised every time he pointed out a shirt with a floral pattern and said he liked it, or gave her advice on which skirts looked better, or passed on a striped polo that would’ve fit perfectly in his high school wardrobe. But he couldn’t help what he liked, and apparently what he liked wasn’t as masculine as anyone would have thought.

But he wasn’t a girl, because he couldn’t be. It was as simple as that.

Apparently, that didn’t mean he couldn’t get invited to Girl’s Night.

“You need what?”

“Your house,” Erica Sinclair told him, steadfast and unblinking from where she stood, just barely taller than the counter at Family Video. “Max’s trailer is too small, Robin’s parents hover too much, the Byers are still unpacking so there’s boxes everywhere, and if we went to the Wheelers they’d just make us babysit Holly.”

Steve took a moment to process. “So you’re making me babysit you instead?”

Robin scoffed. “Excuse you, me and Nance do not need babysitting.”

Steve gave her a look. “Nance I’ll accept, but you? What do you think I do all day at work —”

“Alright, dingus,” she complained, cutting him off with a light shove to his shoulder. “I would argue I’m babysitting you, but okay.”

Steve rolled his eyes and moved on, knowing from experience that this could become a long and circular argument if he let it. “Why don’t you want to hang out with Holly?” He said instead. “She’s a girl. It’s Girl’s Night.”

Erica leveled him with an unimpressed stare. “She’s five.”

“That doesn’t mean she can’t have fun!” Steve exclaimed. “I like spending time with her.”

“You mean you like babysitting her, because you’re a babysitter, and she’s a baby,” Erica said flatly, “which we, you’ll notice, are not.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Steve muttered.

Erica rolled her eyes. “Can we use your place or not?”

Steve sighed, knowing he had to at least put up some kind of front of reluctance. “Yeah, I’m free.”

Erica and Robin cheered, Steve smiling fondly at them. “Okay, we’ll be over at seven. Robin, you’re on movie detail. Nancy is bringing face masks and El wants to try out her new eyeshadow palette. And Steve?” She turned to him, and he froze at the full weight of her stern glare. “You better hold up your end of the ice cream deal.”

-

All in all, it didn’t feel too different from a regular movie night, Steve realized. There were still kids and teenagers sprawled across his living room, taking up the entirety of the couch and floor with pillows and blankets. They were still determined to raid his snacks for all they were worth. There were just a lot less of them. And instead of their attention being split from the movie because of heated arguments about the plot, they were distracted because they were busy giving each other makeovers.

“I like this color,” El said, brushing a greenish shade onto Max’s eyelids. “It is like the school colors.”

Max wrinkled her nose. “Well, don’t put any orange on my face, I've got enough in my hair.” She couldn’t really see much beyond shapes and colors after the events of spring break, but she was apparently alright with being a model for El to practice makeup. Honestly, Steve thought it was really sweet, although Max probably wouldn’t want him saying so.

El smiled. “I like your hair. Can I try more braids on you tonight?”

Max shrugged, careful not to move too much under El’s hands. “Sure, just don’t put a bunch of knots in it.”

Nancy looked up from where she was painting Erica’s nails. “El, did you want me to show you more styles? I think I’ve still got that magazine…”

El brightened. “Yes! I would love that.”

Robin leaned in towards Steve and told him in an undertone, “Nancy’s been teaching El how to do hair for when her hair grows back.” Steve nodded, knowing how hard the girl had taken the loss of her hair. It was still in that stage of growing back where it wasn’t quite long enough to do anything with, but was just long enough to get in her face. Steve could sympathize with that. If he didn’t gel his hair up everyday, it would probably get there too.

Nancy looked over at him consideringly, that glint in her eye that meant she had an idea. “Actually… It might be a good thing that you’re here, Steve. You know a lot about hair, right?”

“You don’t get these kinds of luscious locks if you don’t,” he said, posing like a model and turning his head side to side to show off his hair.

Robin snorted. “You’ve been hanging out too much with Eddie.”

“I’ve been hanging out a perfectly normal amount with Eddie,” Steve retorted.

“That’s still too much.”

“Do you think you could help El?” Nancy cut in.

Steve looked to the girl in question. “Sure, if you want, Ellie.”

She grinned. “Only if you can help me make Max look bitchin’.”

Steve barked out a laugh, having forgotten about her favorite adjective. “Absolutely.”

They finished up Max’s look, Steve picking a couple more products that he figured kind of matched, and got ready to do her hair, Nancy getting the magazine they had been using for pointers. They showed him which styles they’d already tried, and Steve encouraged them to try something a little more intricate, reasoning that if it didn’t work, then it’s not like they were going anywhere. They decided on one with multiple braids that joined into one, and Steve sectioned her hair into halves, him on the left, El on the right. He laid the magazine between them and got to work, glancing back every so often. He liked to think he wasn’t bad at this, but it wasn’t like he’d had any practice recently.

“You can braid?” El asked, no judgment in her voice. Steve always forgot that with her, he didn’t have to worry about being societal standards, since she didn’t grow up in society.

Steve shrugged. “Yeah, of course I can.” He’d always kind of liked it, even though he never really had hair long enough. He used to put little braids in his hair as a kid, an easy way to distract himself when bored, but his father let him know quite clearly that he needed to stop.

“Mike sucks at braiding hair.”

“Mike sucks at a lot of things, I think.” El giggled at that and peered around at his section, which was coming along a bit faster than hers.

“I thought it was just a girl thing,” she said.

“Lots of girls can, but I think that’s just because they’re usually the ones with long hair,” Steve said, and hoped that was enough to clear up the gender norms.

“I bet Eddie would be really good,” Max said, smirk audible even though she was facing away from them. Steve tugged on her hair a little more intentionally.

“Do you think we could get Argyle to let us braid his hair?” El asked. Now, that was a good call. Steve was still kicking himself for not getting a moment alone with the guy to ask about his haircare routine.

“Depends, are we inviting guys to Girl’s Night all willy-nilly now?” Erica asked.

“Steve’s doing girl stuff, he doesn’t count,” Max was quick to counter. Steve ignored the warm, tingly feeling that lit up in his belly and kept braiding, stopping every often to consult the magazine and help El. Eventually, they were done, and though Max couldn’t see it, Nancy, Robin, and Erica complimented their work enough that she deigned to let it stay until the end of the night.

Steve was a little sad for it to be over. Teaching El reminded him of teaching Dustin how to do his hair for the Snow Ball, in a way. The difference, though, was that Dustin didn’t have any respect for the craft. He let Steve make him all nice and handsome with hairspray, sure, but he didn’t really listen to what he was doing or take any of his hair care advice. El, on the other hand, was a star pupil, listening intently to his every word and watching his hands like a hawk. She even asked questions when she got confused on the difference between gel and mousse, and let Steve run upstairs to show her some of his different products so she could see it for herself.

It was… really nice to talk about, actually. This interest of his wasn’t indulged that often. Sure, he was Steve “The Hair” Harrington, but the most anyone ever said about his dedication to haircare was a joke about the amount of time he spent getting ready in the morning. He put actual effort into it, though, like really, actually cared, and all anyone ever did was call him vain. So it was really validating to talk about it to an interested audience, who wasn’t making fun of him for caring or calling him vain or self-obsessed or girly.

Of course, it led him here: sitting on the floor of his living room, letting four teenage girls (and one very opinionated pre-teen) do whatever they liked to his hair. While El and Nancy were quietly dedicating themselves to the art of braiding, Max, Robin, and Erica took their joy in giving him tiny, ridiculous ponytails all over the rest of his head. When they relinquished him to look in a mirror, it was to find himself covered in them, all sticking straight up and decorated with the most garishly colored hair ties and clips they could find. The actual braids were near indistinguishable in the chaos.

He turned to the girls with a sigh. “We’ve come this far, so… are you gonna complete the makeover?”

El and Erica gasped. “Really?”

Steve shrugged, trying to look resigned when really, he was jumping at the chance. “I mean, I’m gonna have to fix all this anyways, I figure you might as well.” They nodded excitedly, grabbing palettes and brushes and tubes too fast for him to tell what they were. “Just don’t make me look like a clown? Please?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Erica told him, and violently uncapped an eyeliner pencil. “You’re in safe hands.”

Steve was still a little scared, but he closed his eyes and let them go to town.

When they were done, they didn’t let him get up and see, insisting on painting his nails to match, since they had done everything else to him. Nancy was chosen for that part, since she had the steadiest hands. Having seen her aim, Steve believed it.

“It’s really sweet of you to let them do this,” she told him quietly when everybody else was distracted by talking over the movie. “Most guys wouldn’t dare even come near this stuff.”

“It’s just makeup,” Steve responded, unsure what to say to something he didn’t really think he needed to be complimented for. “If it makes them happy, I’d let them do whatever they wanted.”

And that was true, of course. It just wasn’t the whole truth.

Because some of it was for Steve, too. Maybe a part of him always wondered what it would be like to wear makeup, or to have painted nails, or to have his hair in braids instead of perfectly coiffed.

But that wasn’t allowed. He wasn’t allowed.

But like this? In the privacy of his own home, under the guise of kids playing dress up? Maybe he could let himself have it. Just a little bit. Just enough.

Though maybe it would never be enough, he thought after they revealed his full look to him. Maybe he had doomed himself to a lifetime of wondering what if, all because he wasn’t strong enough to keep himself from getting a taste at Girl’s Night.

They had made him change into a different outfit, a pair of jeans and a pink sweater that he hadn’t worked up the courage to wear in public yet. Robin had donated a necklace, a simple golden chain. There had been talk of raiding his mother’s closet for a skirt, but Nancy had seen the look on his face and put a stop to it. Thank god. Steve didn’t think he could handle that much in one night.

The makeup was surprisingly tasteful for the hellions who put it on his face. Sure, the eyeshadow was a little more bold than he would ideally wear — if he could wear any of this out at all — and the eyeliner was a little crooked, and there were stains around his mouth where they had messed up his lipstick at first, but still, he looked — he looked —

The only word Steve could think of was beautiful.

He raised a shaking hand up to his cheek, revealing the lavender nail polish Nancy had so carefully painted on. It popped against his skin the same way the eyeshadow did, standing out in a way he couldn’t get enough of.

He stepped back from the mirror to see the outfit with it, and let out a startled laugh when he caught sight of his hair again, having already forgotten what they had done to him. It was a funny contrast with the normal-seeming outfit, the perfect picture of a beleaguered babysitter.

Except not quite, because with the makeup on he became something more, something older, something — something womanly —

He gasped when it hit him.

He looked like a mom.

They already called him that, sarcastic and long-suffering, only ever as a joke, but now — now he couldn’t bear how much he wanted it to be real.

He always knew he wanted to be a dad, knew he wanted a big family, and since the last few years, he’d known he liked taking care of people, too. Had honestly never really pictured himself as the breadwinner father-figure type. Hadn’t really thought about the fact that in his idle daydreams, he took on a much more maternal role. More of a stay-at-home dad. Stay-at-home parent. No, stay-at-home mom.

The idea felt more right than any career his parents suggested ever did.

“Steve?”

Like ice down his shirt, he was brought back to the real world in an instant, his daydreams shattered like a broken mirror. The real world where five people had just watched him have this epiphany, and now he had to make them think he was totally and completely normal about it.

“I should get my ears pierced,” he blurted out, and immediately wanted to sink into the floor.

Nancy’s eyebrows shot up, and Robin gasped. “Oh my god, you totally should.”

“We should have just brought clip-ons for tonight, I can’t believe none of us thought of that,” Max complained.

“Clip ons?” El asked.

“So you don’t have to get your ears pierced for real,” Max explained.

El nodded thoughtfully. “I want to get my ears pierced for real,” she announced. “But in the meantime I can wear clip-ons?”

“Yeah, of course you can, Ellie,” Steve said. “We just gotta find you some.”

She looked at him sweetly, no hint of judgment in her eyes. “And you,” she said. “So we can both be pretty before we get our ears pierced.”

Steve flushed and pointedly didn’t look at Max and Erica, surely giggling at him. “Yep. That’s right.”

“If Hopper says it’s okay, we can take you to get your ears pierced at Claire’s,” Nancy suggested. “Both of you.”

Steve shot her a look, only to be met with a playful smile. He sighed, ready to combat the Mama Steve allegations, even though he really wanted them to be real, to be more than a joke, and how the hell was he supposed to deal with that, but was stopped in his tracks by El’s pleading puppy dog eyes. He was pretty sure there was no one in the world who couldn’t be swayed by that look.

“Can I help you pick out earrings?” She asked, entirely earnest, and he sighed.

“Yeah, you can.” Her eyes lit up, and he knew he’d made the right choice. “Just — keep it tasteful, alright? Nothing super pink and sparkly and all that.”

“Just say you don’t want it to be girly,” Max said, rolling her eyes.

“You don’t like being girly?” El asked. “Is it bad?”

“Oh, no, of course not,” he said, his heart twinging at her crestfallen expression. “It’s just not my style.”

But did he want it to be?

“Do you think Claire’s does cartilage piercings?” Robin asked. “I wanna get one of those cool les—looking piercings.” Steve snorted at her misstep, elbowing her in the side when she glared at him.

“What’s a cartilage piercing?” El asked.

“Like, the upper part of the ear,” Robin explained, pointing at it.

El nodded. “My sister had one, I think.”

“That means your sister’s cool as hell,” Max said.

“Should I get a cartilage piercing too?” El asked.

“Okay,” Nancy broke in, shooting daggers at Robin for introducing the idea to a bunch of impressionable teens. Robin remained happily oblivious in her alternative fashion bubble. “That’ll have to wait until after you’re eighteen, because there’s no way Hopper is agreeing to that.”

El pouted, and Max looked ready to argue, so Steve jumped in. “Didn’t you guys wanna watch that movie? The one about the lady that turns into a fish?”

Erica rolled her eyes exasperatedly. “She doesn’t turn into a fish, she turns into a mermaid, come on.” She continued to explain the plot as he herded them downstairs, Steve grinning to himself at his expert misdirection. Yeah, maybe he was pretty good at this babysitter stuff.

Nancy caught his arm before he could follow them back downstairs. “Are you really going to go get your ears pierced?” she asked quietly. “You know you don’t have to. It’s nice of you to make her feel better.”

“Of course, Nance,” Steve replied, pretending the words were easy for him to say and not a terrifying reveal of his own queer tendencies. “I can’t let her go alone.”

“I’d be happy to go with her,” Nancy offered. “You know, getting your ears pierced at Claire’s is kind of like a teen girl rite of passage. She’d probably like it if I came.”

That actually made him want to go more. The idea of participating in a “teen girl rite of passage” set off a fizzy sense of excitement in his belly, like he was finally getting to experience something he never knew he’d longed for.

But he couldn’t tell Nancy that.

After a long moment, he shrugged. “I just want to, Nance,” he said plainly. “Is that so weird?”

Yeah, it was, he knew. But Nancy was kind enough not to say so. He found Robin downstairs making a fresh batch of popcorn, and folded himself into her without saying a word. She patted him on the head and ferried him to the couch, where they settled in to watch the kind of chick flick that Steve would’ve gotten shit about watching for a week in high school. He fell asleep warm and content.

A week later, Steve found himself eating frozen yogurt in the mall a town over, matching silver star-shaped studs in his and El’s ears. As she mixed her mountain of toppings into her frozen yogurt with the utmost concentration on her face to make sure none of it spilled, Steve felt like more of a mom than ever. Nancy and Robin hadn’t been able to come, and Hopper had been called into work, so it was just him and El. He got weird looks walking into the jewelry store, and weirder looks when he got his ears pierced too, but he didn’t care. It was worth it to make El happy, and it was worth it to make himself happy too. The burst of pure joy he felt when he looked in the mirror and saw the new glint of silver proved to himself that this was the right choice. If he felt this happy dressing more “girly”, how could it be wrong?

And what could he do to feel like that more often?

He started small. Phasing out his polos in favor of soft sweaters, wearing higher-waisted jeans like a lot of the moms he saw. Wearing clear nail polish, or one close to his skin color. Finding understated earrings for when he could finally switch out the starter studs.

He started paying more attention to what Robin wore for ideas of what to emulate. Not that he necessarily wanted to dress like a lesbian, but she dressed more masculine than most other girls he knew, and he figured there might be some overlap there. Of course, if he just asked her, he knew she would drop everything and take him to a thrift store right that instant. But he wasn’t quite ready for this to exist outside his head just yet. He needed more time to let it sit.

It was especially tough to convince himself that he was allowed this when some days, he woke up and didn’t feel girly at all. Those days, he drifted around in a conflicted daze, still feeling not quite himself but not chafing against the feeling of masculinity like he did most of the time. It was strange, because he could remember the feeling of yearning to be included in Girls Night, and the euphoria of looking at his newly pierced ears, and the soul-shattering feeling of truly seeing himself in the mirror for the first time. But today when he saw the shine of his star-shaped earrings, he only smiled because of the memory of how happy it made El. He didn’t dislike them. He still liked the more feminine aesthetic of florals and pastels. He just… didn’t quite feel the need to wear it so much.

And then he woke up the next day feeling like he might die if he didn’t go down to the county clerk’s office and change his name so he didn’t have to hear people calling him a man all day, so what the fuck?

Steve decided to start journaling to keep a record of how he felt, an idea he’d picked up from Robin. Maybe if he could keep a tally of girl days versus boy days, he could make an informed, logical decision about which one he needed more?

Who was he kidding. He was too impulsive to sit around and analyze data.

Plus, he still needed to figure out his name.

He kind of liked the idea of Sascha. Not quite the feminine softness of the ‘sh’, not quite the implicit masculinity of the ‘ch’ either. He liked the idea of bringing them both together, mixing masculine and feminine into something new, something greater than the sum of their parts, something just for him.

Maybe it was silly. All the spellings were pronounced the same. No one but him would really know. But he would. And Robin would. And that was good enough for him.

Well, she would once he told her. Which was easier said than done.

He’d been trying to work up the nerve to tell her about him for a couple weeks now, but everytime he thought it might have been the right time, he chickened out and let the moment pass. Because what the hell did he even say? How did he explain something he didn’t even fully understand himself?

He knew he couldn’t just tell her he wanted to change his name and leave it at that. No, this was Robin. His platonic soulmate. His other half. She deserved the truth. The whole truth.

And he had no clue where to even start.

It made sense that when the time finally came around, they were talking about names again. Back to where it all started. Only this time, it was Robin complaining about her middle name: Eve.

"It's like I'm a holiday or something," she complained, a familiar nose wrinkle making an appearance. "Like Christmas Eve. It's Robin Eve, get ready for Robin Day."

"Everyday's Robin Day with you, Robs," Steve said. "It's my favorite holiday."

Robin flushed and shoved him gently. "Don't use your Harrington charm on me, dingus, you know it won't work."

Clearly, that was a lie, based on her pink cheeks and avoidance of his gaze, and he leaned into her side with a shit-eating grin. Really, all he wanted was to make her happy, and he was practically allergic to letting a day pass without letting her know how much he loved her. "Sure."

She rallied against his flattery. "Well, if everyday's Robin Day for you, everyday's Steve Day for me." He smiled at that, the confirmation that Robin cared about him just as much still unexpected, even this far in. Her eyes lit up. "Steve Eve! Oh my god this is perfect, it even rhymes!"

"Oh no," he groaned, purely to keep up appearances. Predictably, Robin was not deterred.

"Stevie Eve! Stevie Evie! Stee Veevee! The possibilities," she whispered, eyes sparkling.

Steve shrugged, unable to hide his growing grin. "It's a better middle name than Thomas."

Robin made a face. "For sure." She settled in against his side, his arm around her shoulders drawing her in tighter. "Steve Eve Harrington," she tried.

"Steven Eve, technically."

"Even Steven," she said nonsensically, and the two of them giggled for a moment. "I don't know, I think it doesn't flow as well as it could."

"Too repetitive," Steve agreed. He bit his lip, heart rate skyrocketing as he impulsively suggested, "It'd have to go with a different first name, I think."

Robin turned in his arms to look at him. "Yeah?"

Steve met her eyes after a moment, suddenly sure of himself. They both knew the gravity of the moment, even if they weren't saying it in so many words. "Yeah."

He was sure that Robin must have picked up that something was going on with him. All his questions about names, being lost in his head at work, his reaction to Girl’s Night — he just didn't know if she knew what it was all about.

"You know you don't have to change your name just to match mine," she said quietly.

"Robbie, changing my name is the least of the things I'd do for you. I'd love to take your middle name. Hell, even your last name." Robin's eyes widened at that last part, and Steve knew they'd have to circle back to that later. He couldn't regret being so honest. "It's… not just for you, though."

Robin shifted so they were sitting cross-legged on the couch, his hands held tightly in her lap. "All the name games we've been doing?" She raised a carefully non-judgmental eyebrow.

"I’m… It's not… It just doesn't feel like me anymore," Steve confessed, tears pricking at his eyes to finally have said it out loud. "Steve Harrington feels like… like a role I have to play. 'King Steve.' And it doesn't fit anymore." He looked down at his lap, unprepared for what he'd see in Robin's face. "I don't know if it ever did."

"Oh, dingus, come here," Robin whispered, and then he was swept up in a hug. He clung to her gratefully, burying his face in her shoulder. "I'm so glad you're not that guy anymore. You're so much better when you're not trying to fit into a role. When you're just… you."

Steve swallowed. He had to tell her the rest. She wouldn't hate him, right? She was his other half. There was no way.

He pulled back to look her in the eyes. "I'm glad I'm not that guy anymore, too. But…" He took a deep breath and steeled himself. "I'm not sure I'm a guy at all."

Robin looked surprised, then confused, then happy, all at once. Steve watched the emotions break over her face, intimately familiar with every one of her microexpressions. She raised a hand to his cheek, holding him with so much love he thought he might burst. "I'm so proud of you, Evie," she said, and he burst into tears. Robin panicked immediately, drawing closer to her. "Was that okay? I'm sorry, it's just cause you said you wanted to take my middle name and I can't call you Stevie anymore, unless I read this wrong and you still want me to. Do you want me to? I'm sorry, I'll call you whatever you want —"

"It's good," Steve interrupted with a grateful smile. Even in the most emotional moments, it was good to know he could always count on his best friend to be herself. "It's really good. I really like it."

Robin's frantic expression turned into a warm smile. "Good." They smiled at each other for a moment, lost in their emotions, before Robin realized she still had more questions. "Is that what you want to change your name to? Or I mean, wait, back up, are you a girl?"

Steve sniffed and wiped at his face. “I don’t know what I am,” he admitted. “I just know it’s not what everyone thinks.”

Robin nodded. “I have noticed you wearing more feminine stuff lately. And you seemed to really like Girl’s Night.”

“Yeah, I’ve been… easing into it, I guess.” Steve played with the cuff of his sweater, eyes caught by the chipping peach nail polish on his fingers. “I just like it.”

Slim hands caught his fidgeting ones, and he slid his gaze back up to Robin’s face. “Nothing wrong with that, dingus.”

Steve let out a shuddering breath. “I know. I know, it’s just — my dad caught me playing in my mom’s closet when I was a kid,” he said, something he’d never told anyone else, the memory and the shame always too close, too sharp. “He said — he called me… well, you can guess.” He barked a humorless laugh, his father’s voice echoing in his head. No son of mine will be a fucking queer. Robin squeezed his hands, a silent sympathetic comfort from someone who understood. “He made it pretty clear that I couldn’t be anything but the perfect picture of masculinity. So I was. All-star athlete, captain of the basketball team and the swim team, even got all the girls. But it still wasn’t enough.” He blinked back tears, struggling to talk past the lump in his throat, but needing to get the words out. He’d never said any of this out loud before. He knew Robin was the right person to hear it. “I don’t think anything I do will ever be enough for him.”

“So fuck him,” Robin said, her grip on his hands matching the intensity in her voice. “Who cares what he thinks? If nothing you do will make him happy, then stop trying to make him happy. He’s never even around anyways, I swear I spend more time in his house than he does.”

“Robin,” Steve choked out, tears breaking through and streaking down his cheeks. He didn’t know what else to say. No one had ever stood up for him like this before, so vehemently, without a second thought. God, he loved her.

“Fuck your dad, fuck your parents, fuck your coaches and teachers and everyone in that shitty high school who made you think you had to be someone you’re not, fuck this stupid shithole town full of stupid, ignorant people, because none of them matter, St— Evie.” Robin held his face between her hands, thumbs brushing tears from his cheeks. The way she looked at him, Steve knew that she loved him back. He couldn’t do anything but believe what she said. “You matter. We matter. All of our little shitheads, and the rest of the apocalypse crew, they matter. And all we want is for you to be yourself and be happy.” Her voice broke, and tears fell onto her face, too. Steve made a soft noise and reached to wipe them off, unable to see his best friend crying even when it was for him. Robin shook her head, pushing his hands away. “I just want you to stop trying to make other people happy instead of yourself,” she whispered.

“I’m always happy with you, Rob,” Steve responded, quiet and ragged, she sobbed and fell into his chest. They cried together for a while, hugging each other so tightly he thought they might fuse.

“I’m always happy with you, too,” she replied after a while, speaking the words softly into his ear. She pulled back and shoved him lightly. “But shut up, dingus, I know you’re not always happy when we’re at work together, you complain too much.”

Steve laughed wetly, the humor a welcome reprieve from the heavy emotions. “Maybe I just like to complain.” She knew he did. It was one of their favorite pastimes. “But I mean, yeah, I’m not always happy. But you always make me happier. Like you just make me… steadier, or something. I don’t know.” He shrugged, the words seeming incomplete for how much Robin improved his life when she came into it.

“Aw, dingus,” she said, getting choked up again, and they were back to crying on each other. They lost a few more minutes like that before Robin once again took the initiative to pull away and ask, “Okay, so, did you have a name in mind? Because I can’t just keep calling you dingus full-time.”

“Can’t you?” Steve asked, and laughed when she stuck her tongue out at him. “But, um, yeah. I thought…” He took a steadying breath and tried to remind himself that there was nothing to worry about. “Do you think I could be a Sascha?”

Robin looked at him. Really looked. “Sascha Eve Harrington,” she tried. A smile spread over her face. “I like it.”

Steve — no, Sascha — flushed. “Really?” he asked quietly. He didn’t think he could take it if she didn’t like it, if she didn’t accept this part of himself fully and completely.

Luckily, he had nothing to worry about with Robin.

“Really,” she confirmed.

Sascha ducked his head, the joy overwhelming. It made him bold enough to say, “What if I like the sound of Sascha Eve Buckley better?”

Maybe too bold.

Robin stared at him, jaw hanging open. “Did you just propose to me?”

“Not if you didn’t want me to,” Sascha said, feeling bashful now that he had said it, now that it wasn’t just an idle thought in his head.

“No, I — I just — You’d do that for me?” Robin looked blindsided by the thought, as if there was anything that Sascha wouldn’t do for her.

“Of course, Robs,” Sascha said. “I’d do anything for you, you know that. And I’d rather have your last name than theirs.”

Robin blinked back tears. “You’d want to marry a lesbian over waiting to find someone you’re actually in love with?”

Sascha furrowed his brow. “Robin, do you think I don’t love you?”

“Well, no, of course I know that, but like, we’re not dating, so —”

“So what?” He interrupted. “It doesn’t matter. You’re the most important person in my life, and anyone I date is gonna have to deal with that. And there’s a good chance I wouldn’t be able to marry whoever I end up dating, either.” He raised an eyebrow at her, the reminder of his bisexuality clear. “Besides,” he started, a new thought occurring, “I’m not really a man anymore, so I think it’s still gay? Not that the state will know.”

Robin stared, eyes wide. “Oh my god, you’re right. Holy shit, you just boosted our queerness rate through the roof, this is incredible!” Sascha laughed with her, giddy at the revelation. Holy shit, were he and Robin engaged?

“Robs, do you wanna elope with me?” He asked, sure he looked manic. Robin matched, starting to bounce slightly in her seat.

“Yes, obviously!” She exclaimed, then paused. “Wait, you don’t want a big wedding with everyone there? I thought you were all about that white picket fence, suburbia fairytale stuff.”

“I do,” Sascha said, “But we can do that after we go and get the paperwork done. And plus,” he said, an evil grin forming, “just imagine the looks on all their faces.”

Robin gasped, only able to choke out “Dustin” before collapsing in hysterical laughter. It was contagious, and soon the both of them were curled into each other with tears in their eyes again, only this time, it was from imagining the look on that little twerp’s face when he found out that the two he’d been trying to get together for over a year got married without him.

“It’s gonna be so good,” Sascha said.

“Con of the century,” Robin agreed, and they just smiled at each other, cheeks hurting from laughing and breathless from exertion. Sascha could never get tired of this.

“I can’t wait.”

Robin nodded. “God, and then we’ll be — wives?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Sascha mused. He’d definitely rather be called that than ‘husband’. “Weird.”’

“Do you want me to call you girl stuff?” Robin asked. “Like, wife, girl, all that. And she instead of he?”

Sascha considered it. “I think so? I’m still not really sure. I’d — I’d like to try it, at least.”

Robin gave her a reassuring smile and squeezed her hand. “Of course. I’ll call you whatever you want.”

“I don’t think I’m quite a woman,” Sascha said, the urge to clarify herself strong, even though she herself didn’t quite know where she stood. “I guess I could be and I just don’t know what it feels like? But it’s — it’s weird. It changes.” She sighed. “Do you think someone can be both?”

Robin was silent for a moment as she thought it over. “It’s definitely weird,” she started, and Sascha wilted before she continued, “but I don’t see why not.”

Sascha looked at her with stars in her eyes. “You don’t?”

“Yeah,” Robin said with a shrug. “We’ve fought interdimensional monsters. I don’t see why someone can’t be both a boy and girl. Or neither, or something entirely different.”

Sascha laughed. “That’s a good point.”

“Do you want me to call you both?” Robin asked. “Like, both he and she. I mean, obviously I’d have to call you he in public for now, but when we’re alone —”

“I think I’d like that,” Sascha said. “I didn’t know that was an option.”

“I’ve heard people get pretty weird with it in the city,” Robin said. “Not that I’ve really ever been. But I’ve read a few zines and I know there are definitely people who know more than us, at least.”

“Woah,” Sascha breathed, stunned at the thought of others like her. “We should go sometime.”

“I’ve been trying to work up the courage to go for months,” Robin admitted. “But I think it’d be easier with a friend.” She shared a secretive smile, and Sascha knew their summer plans.

After that night, everything was better.

Sascha had underestimated the weight that she’d been under, trying to carry such a big secret all on her own. Now, with Robin by his side, it was like her best friend had widened the space he was trapped in, giving her room to breathe.

They went shopping together. By the end of the month, Sascha was sure that they’d been to every thrift store between Hawkins and Indianapolis. They put on a mini fashion show in Robin’s room to try out all of her new clothes — including the first skirt he’d ever owned. It wasn’t much, just a simple black knee-length skirt. But the first time she put it on, Sascha had to bite back tears of happiness, turning and tackling Robin in a hug.

“Thank you,” she choked out into her friend’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

Robin’s arms around her were better than any words she could have said.

Having someone who knew about him, who knew about Sascha, was more comforting than he could have predicted. Hearing her call him “she” and “her” out loud made his day every time it happened. Sure, it was rare, because it could only be in private, and how often do you talk about your friend in the third person when you’re talking directly to them? But Robin found a way. Sascha suspected she constructed sentences like that just to make her smile.

Sometimes she did wish that more people knew about her. It was hard, keeping herself a secret from her friends. Hearing them call him Steve was an unpleasant shock every time, even though he should’ve been used to it, considering it’s been his name for his whole life. But now that he knew what it was like on the other side, he couldn’t help but hope that one day, she’d feel confident enough to tell them who she really was.

The opportunity came on Sascha’s birthday. July 5th had always been an unfortunate day for a birthday, because his parties had always been subsumed by the Independence Day celebrations, but the year before had been the worst birthday of his life. He hadn’t wanted to turn 18 while recovering in the hospital from Russian torture, but at least Robin had been there for the lamest party of all time?

This year, however, was shaping up to be much better. If not just as nerve-wracking.

“Got the cake!” Robin called, the front door slamming shut behind her. Sascha was out back, making sure the pool was ready for a group of rowdy teenagers. He heard her through the screen door and headed inside.

“Ooh, how’s it look?”

Robin set it on the table. It was a generous size, making sure the horde of partygoers could all get a slice, and on top, inside of a frame of pink fondant flowers, were the words HAPPY 19th BIRTHDAY SASCHA!

Sascha stared it down, worrying her lip. Robin came up beside him and gave her a side hug, resting her head on his shoulder. “It’ll be okay, babe.”

“What if it’s not?” He couldn’t help but say. “What if they don’t… get it?” Get me, they both knew he meant.

“Worst comes to worst, we just lie and say the bakery got our order wrong, okay?” Robin said. “If it seems like it’s not going well. If they don’t accept you as you are, they don’t deserve you.”

Sascha sniffled. “Thanks, Rob.” They stood there for another moment. “Can I get the piece with my name on it?”

Robin smiled. “Of course. But later. We still have to put up all the decorations!”

“You mean you do,” Sascha corrected. “I’m the birthday girl, it’s unconstitutional to make me do anything. I already cleaned the deck and everything.”

Robin laughed. “Babe, don’t you mean unconscionable?”

Sascha gave her a look. “No, I mean it’s illegal. Against the Constitution.”

“Not so sure about that amendment,” Robin replied sarcastically.

Sascha flopped down on the couch. “Looks like someone hasn’t read the Constitution. Remind me, which one of us has taken US Gov? And passed?”

“Dingus, I literally just graduated. You know I took Gov, you heard me complain about it enough.”

Sascha shrugged. “Well then, I don’t know how you missed the Birthday Girl Amendment. It’s, like, the first one.”

Now the bit had progressed past Robin playing along and into her staring at him incredulously. “Did you listen? The first one is fucking free speech!” Sascha’s giggles at winding up Robin were drowned out by a loud knock on the door. She pointed a strict finger at him on the couch before letting in their guests. “Don’t think this conversation is over.”

“Happy birthday!” Chorused Dustin, Lucas, Max, and Mike at the door. “Wait, you’re not Steve.”

“No, I’m not,” Robin answered dryly. “The birthday dingus is inside.” She opened the door and let them pour into the house.

“STEVE!” Dustin shouted. Sascha hoped her wince passed as annoyance at the volume. He flew at her, practically crushing her into the couch. “Happy birthday!”

“Hey, buddy,” she laughed. “I heard you the first time. Thanks, man.”

“We got you something,” Lucas said from a respectable distance away. He held out a bag filled with tissue paper. Robin swiftly took it from him and set it on the table.

“Presents are for later,” she declared. “But for now, you guys get to help us finish decorating!”

“Aw, what?” Mike cried. “We can’t just go in the pool?”

“That’s what you get for getting here early,” Robin said, and tossed streamers at them. “Tape’s on the counter. Get to it.”

Max rolled over to sit by Sascha on the couch. “I can’t see, I can’t be made to decorate.”

“Me neither, it’s my birthday.” Sascha gave her a smug fistbump as they enjoyed the chaos of their friends trying to use all the streamers.

All too soon, the house was ready and the pool was full, all of their friends present and celebrating another year of Steve. The kids were in the pool, Max heckling them from under an umbrella. Nancy floated peacefully on a raft in the deep end, giving them death glares if any of them splashed her. Argyle, Jonathan, and Eddie were lying on the grass beside the Harrington’s concrete pool deck, no doubt enjoying their own grass. Hopper was grilling, a surreal experience for Sascha, and Ms. Byers and Ms. Henderson were chatting with a couple of sweating sodas in their hands. Sascha found himself pulled every which way, making sure to be a good host and chat with everyone, but Robin stayed ever-present by his side. With what was awaiting them later, she knew he needed the comfort of her presence, and he couldn’t be more thankful for it.

It was maybe a bad idea to do the reveal at the end of the party. All the waiting was torture. But Sascha couldn’t take it if the whole day was ruined up top. At least this way, she still had one nice day with everyone before the peace could be broken.

Before they knew it, the sun had fallen, and everyone was corralled inside for dinner. It was something of a potluck, with everyone bringing their own sides, but Sascha had made lasagna from an old family recipe. Everyone seemed to love it, but she couldn’t stomach more than a few bites, the thought of what was about to come circling on a loop in her brain. But after everyone had cleaned their plates, he couldn’t stall anymore.

It was time for cake.

“Cake! Cake! Cake!” The kids chanted, Dustin leading the charge.

“Settle down,” Hopper sighed. “It’s not even your birthday.”

“It’s fine, Hop,” Sascha said, without her usual good-natured tolerance of their antics. “Let me go get it.”

“I’ll help!” Robin said, and scrambled after him. She caught up to him trying to light the candles, hands shaking too much to strike a match.

“Sasch,” she said quietly. She laid her hands over his, stilling their movements. He looked up at her. “You ready?”

He took a deep breath. Her hands still shook, but Robin’s touch made her remember her confidence. “Yeah.”

Robin gave her a smile, gently taking the matches from her hands. “Let me, okay? The birthday girl doesn’t need to light her own candles.”

Sascha smiled, tears springing to her eyes. “I love you, Rob.”

She looked up from her task and smiled up at her, laying a hand on her cheek. “I love you too.” She drew him in closer and landed a peck on his cheek. “Let’s do this.”

They made their way back into the dining room, the cheesy 1 and 9 candles flickering merrily. Sascha set the cake down in the center of the table and waited.

It took a terrible second before anyone noticed. Her gaze darted around the table like a hawk, anxiously awaiting the realization. The kids were just excited for cake, and were too far down the table to really read it properly.

But right in front of the cake, with the perfect viewpoint to read it like a news report, was Nancy. Sascha watched her brows crease in bullet time, watched her formulate the question that had the potential to turn his life on its head.

“Who’s Sascha?”

Everyone quieted down, confused. Sascha’s breath caught in her throat.

“Huh? Sascha?” The kids echoed.

Ms. Henderson leaned over to look at the cake and cooed, “Oh no, sweetie, did you get the wrong cake? The bakery down on Main Street is always messing up orders ever since they got that new woman at the register, I swear.”

“It’s — It’s not the wrong cake, Ms. Henderson,” Sascha found the strength to croak out. She cleared her throat. “I’m Sascha.”

Everyone stared at her.

“No, you’re Steve,” Dustin said, in that tone of voice that meant he thought she was being especially dumb.

Sascha shook her head minutely. “Not — not anymore.”

“You’re changing it?” Eddie asked. Sascha gave him a grateful smile and a nod. She had been pretty sure that he would be supportive, and she was relieved to be proven right.

“Isn’t that a girl’s name?” Mike said, that snotty teenager voice raising her hackles like it always did.

She bristled. “So what if it is?”

Mike shrugged uncomfortably. “It’s just a little weird to change your name to a girl’s name, man.”

Robin gave her hand a squeeze, and Sascha clutched her tight, begging her without words to help him out.

“Well, it’d be even weirder for a girl to be walking around with a boy name, wouldn’t it? That’s why she had to change it.” Robin’s matter-of-fact tone challenged anyone to refute it, staring daggers around the table. Sascha let out a breath. The cat was out of the bag now. All she had left to do was throw anyone out who didn’t like it.

“She?” Mike echoed.

“You’re a girl?” Lucas exclaimed.

“Yeah, I am,” Sascha said. “And if anyone here has a problem with that, you know where the door is.” She pointed in the direction of the front door, and tried to look as confident as her words.

There was a long silence in which Sascha’s heart just about beat out of her chest. What if they all just left? Worst birthday present ever.

But then El said, “I know what it is like to become a girl later than everyone else. I changed my name to do it, too. You are always invited to Girl’s Night.” She gave her a shy smile, and Sascha couldn’t help but rush around the table and wrap her in a hug. Her curly fluff of hair, still in the awkward stages of growing out a buzzcut, brushed against her cheek, and Sascha remembered that scared twelve-year-old she’d first met, hair slicked back and angry to the core. She’d grown so much since then, had grown into herself and her femininity so beautifully. Sascha hoped he would be able to do the same.

“Thanks, kiddo,” she whispered, choked up.

“Seconding the Girl’s Night invitation,” Max said with a smile.

“Me three,” Erica added.

“And me,” Nancy said. There was a twist to her smile that told Sascha that she’d probably be pulled into a corner to have a full conversation later, but for now, the simple affirmation was enough.

“I don’t know anything about Girl’s Night,” Lucas started, “But I don’t care if you’re a girl now. As long as you can still help me practice?”

Sascha snorted. “My muscles didn’t disappear just because I’m transitioning. Of course I’ll still help you practice.”

“So you are transitioning, then?” Ms. Byers asked. “Are you on hormones?”

Sascha was a little taken aback at the question, but she knew it was well-meaning. “Well, no, not medically. It’s still kind of new for me, I haven’t really been able to look into it yet,” she admitted with a hand on the back of her neck.

“I might know someone at the hospital who can get you in contact with a doctor for that,” Ms. Henderson offered. “Whenever you’re ready for that, of course.”

The tears in her eyes threatened to spill over. This was more generous than anything she’d been prepared for. “Ms. H, I — I don’t — I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

She reached out and took his hand. “Of course, sweetie.”

“So you’re gonna actually be a girl?” Dustin asked. “Like, for real?”

Sascha squinted at him. “...Yes?” Sure, maybe that wasn’t the whole truth of it, but just the idea of trying to explain her sometimes-a-woman-but-not-quite-and-sometimes-still-a-boy gender to thirteen people at the same time gave her a headache.

“She’s already been a girl, like, for real,” Robin snarked at him, jumping to her defense on a hair trigger.

“Yeah, of course, I mean, uh —” It was kind of funny to watch Dustin stumble over his words like this when he was usually so self-assured. “You’ll still, like, hang out with us and stuff? And not just do… girly stuff? Not that you can’t do girly stuff! I just, uh —”

Sascha rolled her eyes and put him out of his misery. “Yeah, I’ll still hang out with you, dipshit. I’m still me. It’s not like I’m gonna suddenly become a different person just because I like wearing pink now.”

Dustin nodded meekly and gave him a thumbs up. “Got it. Heard you loud and clear. Can we have cake now?”

Sascha snorted. “Yeah, we can have cake.” She picked up the knife, ready to make the first cut, but a gruff voice stopped her.

“Hand that over,” Hopper said, extending a hand. “The birthday girl shouldn’t have to cut her own cake.”

A lump rose in Sascha’s throat, and she quietly handed the knife over. “I want the slice with my name,” she told him, and he nodded in understanding.

Of all of them, the Chief was the one that she had been the most worried about. A police officer in a small town in rural Indiana was not the kind of person that one would think of when picturing someone accepting of queer people. But, she supposed, Hopper wasn’t your average small-town cop. For one, he wasn’t a cop anymore. But it couldn’t have been just anyone who would take in someone like El. Of course he would be accepting of another young adult trying to find their place in the world.

“Wait!” El shouted. Sascha jumped and turned towards her, expecting some terrible proclamation about the end of the world or a gate opening or or or — “We have not sung happy birthday yet!”

Sascha let out a relieved sigh along with everyone else at the table. Robin reached over to relight the candles, having burned down since they first brought them out. She led everyone in a raucous rendition of Happy Birthday, terribly out of key and ear-splittingly loud, but when her family chorused “Happy birthday, dear Sascha,” she couldn’t hold back the happy tears.

“Make a wish!” They cheered, and she blew out the candles, thinking of this time next year, thinking of being happier, and softer, more secure in herself, and hopefully living with her fiance-turned-wife. Robin clapped next to her, and gave her a tight hug as if she could tell he was thinking of her.

Hopper deposited a neat rectangle of cake on a plate in front of her. In swirling pink calligraphy on white frosting, there she was: Sascha. She almost couldn’t bring herself to take a bite.

“Hold on, don’t eat it yet,” Jonathan called, and she looked up, confused. Across the table, he was pointing his camera at her, adjusting some kind of setting on the lens. “Okay, now hold it up.”

Robin understood immediately, and glued herself to his side, picking up the plate and holding it between them, tilted so the camera could see the word on it. She smiled, pointed a cheeky finger at Sascha, and she couldn’t help but smile too. The camera flashed, and the best birthday of her life was immortalized on film.

Her first bite of the cake was heavenly, perfectly fluffy and sweet — just the way she liked it. The conversation turned away from Sascha after everyone was served, thankfully — they could probably tell that she needed a break. They chatted about everything and nothing, plans for the summer, predictions for the next school year, things that didn’t need to be talked about since they all lived in each other’s pockets but which they were all too eager to say anyway. Sascha sat back and just let the conversation waft over him like a sweet summer breeze.

She got pulled aside by Dustin when she got up to get more Coke, just a quick rendezvous by the fridge.

“Can we talk more later?” He asked, eyes pleading even more than his voice. “I just — I’ve never met anyone like you, and I don’t know that much about it, but I — I wanna do it right.”

Sascha’s heart melted at his earnestness, her first real friend of all of them. She pulled him into a hug. “Of course, buddy.”

“You’re really important to me, okay?” He said, meeting her eyes squarely. “I don’t care if you’re a girl or not. You’re really important to me.”

“Aw, Dust…” Sascha whispered, touched that he would say it out loud. Twice, even.

He sniffed and stepped back. “So I have a lot of questions for you. Like, how did you know? And what does it feel like? And —”

“Later, Henderson,” Sascha interrupted. “I’ll answer them. But later.”

He nodded. “Time to party now?”

“Exactly.”

He left her with a smile, rejoining the group with a new can of Sprite. Sascha took a second to regroup against the kitchen counter. God, she was teary today.

Guess she should’ve expected that from her coming out party.

The rest of the night proceeded as Sascha was too scared to hope it might — absolutely normal. No one stormed out, no one made it awkward asking about her dick, no one even called her by her old name.

And the rest of the summer? Better than she could have ever dreamed. The rest of the year, too. The rest of her life.

Sure, it wasn’t perfect. There were hard times, especially for queers in the eighties. But at the end of the day, she had her little monster hunter family. She had her wife. She had her friends, who knew her to the core and loved her still.

He and Robin got married that summer, just a courthouse wedding, nothing special, and reveled in the chaos that came when they revealed it to their friends. They ended up living together by the end of the year, moving to Chicago when Robin got accepted to college there. The city was more freeing than she’d ever thought possible. She got the chance to become Sascha Eve Buckley, officially, government-approved and everything, and Robin chose to match him as Robin Alexandra Buckley.

(“Sascha is short for Alexander, remember?” She explained to him. “It means ‘defending warrior’. I think that fits pretty well for both of us, don’t you?”

Sascha had simply hugged her and said, “It’s perfect.)

Robin was in every part of her. She had suggested his first name, he had stolen her middle name, he had taken her last name. It felt right. They shared a last name and switched their middle names, and it felt more like him than Steve Harrington ever had.

She had kind of thought that at some point, she might regret it. Changing her name and presenting differently and telling everyone. Upending her whole life on its head. But incredibly, she only ended up happier for it.

That’s what it was to be true to yourself, she supposed. Happier. Comfortable. Secure. Sascha was happy to leave the specter of Steve Harrington where she had left him. She had a much better name now.