Even Stranger Magic

It always started the same way…

Steve would be in the park, sitting on the swingset where he used to play as a kid. It would be sunny, warm, Steve would be swinging and trying to make his legs pump faster and faster. All he wanted to do was fly over the top, in a perfect spiral, like Tommy swore that he could do.

It would start to get dark out and Steve's legs would get longer, slowing down as they did. The temperature started to drop, each swing would get slower, harder, colder.

Then Steve would hear El's voice ringing in his head that a new portal opened - the monsters in the Upside Down were able to leak through to their world again. That's when they would show up and the fear that would pierce Steve's heart became stronger, more excruciating, and he would fall from the swing and look up with wide eyes filled with genuine terror.

The worst monsters, the worst freaking ones, were always there in the place where Steve used to feel the safest. They would float around him, blocking him in. Steve couldn't run, they were too fast. Steve wasn't a wizard, he couldn't make silver animals shoot from his palms like Sirianna could to chase the monsters away.

Even his bat, the one filled with nails that he smashed through an army of freaking giant spiders with, was useless against them.

They reached out with scaly white hands under their misty black cloaks and Steve arched backward, his thoughts spiraling —

"Mom? It's - it's me, Steve. I'm scared, can you come home?" Steve sniffled, curled up in the kitchen in the big house all alone.

"Steve… we've talked about this. You're a big boy, you can handle a couple of days alone. Maria will be there in the morning with groceries, okay?"

That was a code, a code for: Steve would handle a couple of days alone because Mom said he had to. Even if the house was big and dark and made creepy sounds. Even if Steve thought someone might break in and kill him because who would notice? How long would it take for someone to find him all chopped up in pieces?

"Yeah, okay."

They were just fooling around, wrestling and being stupid. Tommy wrestled Steve down and kind of grinned at him, his breathing heavy from their prolonged play-fight.

Steve didn't know why he did it, he didn't plan it, but Tommy was grinning down at him and Steve felt something in his stomach jerk in a hot tug and then —

"Ugh! Gross!" Tommy rolled off Steve immediately when Steve's body freaking betrayed him and picked the worst time to get interested in Tommy. "Are you a fag?" Tommy asked, squinting at Steve like maybe they'd never be friends again if Steve said the wrong thing.

"What? No!" Steve laughed and curled up, embarrassed and trying to hide it. He looked around Tommy's bedroom quickly and nodded toward his poster on the closet door, the one of Pamela Anderson that his mom hated. "I was thinking about Pam's boobies," he said.

"Oh. Shoot." Tommy grinned and it was cute, but - but not as cute as Pam. Actually, it wasn't cute at all, it was stupid.

"She gets me hard too," Tommy said, flopping down on the floor by Steve like nothing happened. "I was worried you were like one of those queers or something."

"Yeah," Steve laughed even though he felt like crying. "Okay."

"Faggot." Someone kicked Steve and it hurt like a bitch, it hurt worse with the anger behind it, anger that Steve didn't think he deserved.

Who was Steve hurting?! Not any of them! The dicks at school that used to be his friends, used to laugh at his jokes and want to spend time around him, weren't the ones who were being ripped apart because they didn't know themselves anymore.

It hadn't been a fair fight to start with and Steve was alright with the few hits he got in, but Steve wasn't winning a 3-on-1 fight. Steve was one person, one. He kept his arm up, tried to keep from getting his face bashed in by someone's foot, and had to wait it out.

"Hey! What the fuck?" There was the sound of a punch, someone grunted that wasn't Steve, Steve tried to roll over and coughed up what he hoped wasn't a freaking molar.

Steve didn't have much going for him lately, he'd like to keep all of his teeth at the very least.

A hand was in front of Steve's face and he peered up and saw it was Jonathan, Jonathan with Billy's loud voice yelling behind him. God, it was so pathetic.

Steve was so fucking pathetic.

"You okay?" Jonathan asked, pulling him up and looking him over with pity in his eyes.

"Yeah." Steve was going to be the laughingstock for a week straight, the stupid queer that got bashed behind the gym. Nobody would comment on how it wasn't a fair fight, how Steve would have beat someone's ass if they had came at him on equal footing.

"Okay," he said, feeling anything but.

— Steve screamed in his dream until his throat ripped and he shot upward in his bed, no longer surrounded by the monsters and still feeling the cold chill they caused.

The park was gone. It was dark though and Steve was alone, alone, al—

"Jesus Christ, Harrington." Someone kicked Steve and he jerked away, fell down and hit his head on the floor. A hard floor, not Steve's room. It was taking him too long to orient himself, but he recognized the floor and the coffee table and the TV stand in the corner.

He was at home, just in the living room. There were some beer bottles scattered around, mixed with the plates from dinner he made before he fell asleep. They… they had been watching the Colts game and Steve passed out on the couch. Billy must have fallen asleep too because there he was, glaring at Steve over the edge of the couch that Steve rolled off of.

"Can you have silent fucking nightmares like a normal person?" Billy asked, the anger Steve expected was muted behind a yawn. "Fuck, man. Monsters are dead, you're good. Goodnight."

"Yeah." Steve tried to catch his breath, tried to remind himself that El said she had a handle on the portals, that no more monsters should break through to Hawkins. "Okay," he said, reaching up to steal a blanket from the nest Billy made on the couch. Billy grumbled when Steve took one, but Steve felt a little better when he rolled around on the floor tucked in a warm fuzzy cocoon.

Steve didn't have nightmares often, like maybe a couple of nights a week. Sometimes they made sense, when it was monsters whose only job seemed to be causing people to relive the worst shit they'd ever been through. Some of them were harder to call ‘nightmares', they were more like flashes of bodies that Steve had seen, soundtracks of screams he had heard, all mixed together.

The worst ones were when his imagination started making its own worst ideas come to life.

Steve's group of friends turning around like Tommy and Carol did, laughing in his face and giggling about if Steve liked to take it up the ass or not.

His parents, never returning home, never answering Steve's calls. Their bedroom collecting dust as years went on and Steve never knowing what happened to them.

Harry finding out how Steve felt, finding out that Steve had dreams about them, together. Harry's disgust and his hate, his refusal to speak to Steve. Even in Steve's worst nightmares, Harry never mocked him or became cruel, he grew distant and cold instead.

That was worse, somehow.

It wasn't a big deal, everyone had crummy dreams sometimes. It was worse when Steve and Billy would pass out watching a movie or something and Steve woke Billy up. Billy didn't… he didn't like mention it again, not to Steve, but it was still embarrassing.

Billy was the one who should have nightmares. Billy had a shitty life and Steve's life wasn't so bad, really. Sure, his parents were distant, but they never beat the shit out of him before. Steve's old friends were jerks, but Steve had new friends.

Steve had it all, really. A big empty house, a group of friends who didn't mention the whole ‘gay' thing, parents who didn't hate him. Steve had never been a government experiment and he had never been tortured or seen his family be tortured.

Then Steve started to slip when he was awake, started to feel distant from everyone and everything. It felt like everyone would be around Steve, talking and laughing and making plans, and Steve was just standing there on his own.

Maybe that was just how it started, Steve stopped feeling like a part of the group and the group would start seeing him as an outsider.

Jonathan wouldn't want to help Steve with his homework anymore. Nancy would stop inviting herself to Steve's house to watch girly movies that were actually rad as hell. Billy would get a job, find a new place to live. When he left, Sirianna would have no reason to hang around Steve. And when Sirianna left, Harry would too.

Then Steve would really be alone.

"Hey." Billy threw a soft punch toward Steve's shoulder and Steve didn't move, just let it move his body. "Sirianna's going out with Chrissy tonight, Jason wants to get some of the guys together to go grab food in Muncie."

Steve nodded, his head feeling heavy.

"Cool."

Billy was squinting at Steve while he lit a cigarette - why were they still there? Oh, they were waiting on the twins.

"Cool like you're in or cool like you don't give a fuck?" Billy asked, tilting his head up to blow the smoke in the sky. "‘Cause that wasn't much of an answer."

Was there a question? The gym doors opened and Steve tried to shake off the fog in his mind, tried to think of what Billy said. Something about food and Muncie?

"No, I don't want food," Steve said, shuffling over to the passenger seat when he saw the twins walking toward them. It made sense for Steve and Billy to carpool sometimes, they had the same schedule and looked ridiculous driving two cars, but Billy always drove Sirianna and Sirianna always had Harry.

Which Steve liked… too much.

Billy muttered something about Steve being ‘fucking weird' before thankfully dropping it when the twins got close.

"Steve, Harry needs you," Sirianna said immediately. Whatever it was, Harry wasn't thrilled because he glared at her. Sirianna either didn't notice or didn't care, she probably didn't care.

"He's failing pre-algebra," Sirianna said, her voice lowering so the other students leaving didn't hear her. "Jonathan says you're better at it than he is and I can't understand it at all."

"I told you I'd help you," Billy said. If it was anyone else he would have puffed up and snapped, but not Sirianna. Billy was… different, softer… when he was around her.

It wasn't the same guy that showed up at Hawkins in the fall, pissed off at the world. Course, Steve might have been a giant douche if he had a piece of shit dad too.

"I don't care if I fail." Sirianna scoffed and flipped her hair over her shoulder, confident and cocky. She was kind of perfect for Billy, the two of them together acted like they would take over the world if they were just bored enough to do it.

They'd do it together though, which made Steve feel that much more distant.

"Steve?" Sirianna poked Steve's shoulder and they were all three looking at him, like Steve missed another question. Which, awesome, that was really the way to convince them all to not stop being his friend - acting like a freaking space case.

"Sure," Steve said, not even sure what the question was. He flashed a smile though and Sirianna smiled right back, taking his agreement at face value.

"Great! So Billy can drop you off at Steve's then?" Sirianna asked Harry, opening the passenger door so that Steve and Harry could get in the back of the car. Which was another problem, because Steve could shift his leg and it would be touching Harry's and it felt wrong, like Steve was - was… like brushing their legs together under false circumstances.

Steve was overthinking it, he couldn't stop. That was the problem - Steve and his own thoughts that circled around and around the same things.

Their legs were pushed together, as were their sides, when Sirianna told Harry to scoot over to make room for Max and El when they picked them up from the middle school. Steve tried to not let that make him happy, he tried to scoot as close to the door as he could so Harry had room.

Instead he spent the twenty minute car ride thinking that maybe Harry had some room to get closer to El and what if he was sitting by Steve because he liked when they were like that? What if it didn't disgust him, didn't make him want to punch Steve in the face?

Steve was overthinking it.

Billy dropped Steve and Harry at Steve's place and they did work on pre-algebra for a while, even though Steve tried to tell Harry that he really wasn't all that smart. Some of it was easy, because Steve learned it his freshman year. It wasn't Harry's fault that he was busy being a freaking government experiment when he could have been learning.

If Harry had never been taken by the wizards who experimented on him, he'd be a genius and would realize that Steve was kind of dumb, really.

It felt good that Harry didn't think so. By the time they worked through the section that Harry's class was on, Steve actually felt better and kind of silly about thinking that his friends were all going to get rid of him.

Why would he think that? It had to be like Junior-Blues or something.

"It's getting colder out," Harry said in a mild voice while they cleaned up after dinner together. It felt domestic when Steve cooked and cleaned with Harry, much different than when Billy stayed inside the main house for meals. Billy washed dishes, Steve dried, they listened to music.

Harry liked to talk about the weather, which was kind of weird except Steve had no idea that during the blizzards in 1978, there had been thundersnow recorded in Indianapolis as well. Thundersnow, like, it thundered in the sky and snow fell instead of rain.

It was kind of awesome.

"How long do you think until it snows?" Steve asked. He passed Harry a plate and tried to not stare at the intense look Harry got in his eyes when he was thinking.

"Two weeks? Maybe two and a half, I think it's close," Harry said, nodding his head along with his words. "You should check your tires. Hop said that bald tires in snow will kill someone."

"Oh, shit. Yeah, I should." Steve forgot to do that, but he was supposed to. His dad made him an appointment at a place just one town over, somewhere to do a bunch of car stuff that Steve was overdue for. He might not have forgotten if his dad had called to remind him…

Steve tried then to remember the last time he talked to his dad and he was coming up blank.

"Do you want to watch a movie?" Harry asked, taking the bowl from Steve's hand that he had been washing over and over to rinse. It was the last one and Steve shut the water off, slipping down into a haze again.

Sometimes things just didn't feel real - Steve would be standing in his kitchen and then he was floating along the ceiling, looking down and himself and wondering how he got there.

"Let's watch a movie." Harry was talking, his lips were moving, but the words were coming from a distance, fuzzy and difficult to make out. Steve felt a hand on his elbow - Harry's - and let it lead him out of the kitchen, into the living room and on the sofa. Steve was pushed down and he tried to argue against it, tried to tell Harry that he was fine, just tired.

Except Steve was tired, he was sleeping like shit, and Harry carried an entire stack of pillows and blankets in the living room with Risky Business on top. Harry dropped the bedding on the couch by Steve and popped the tape in on his own, familiar with it from how often they watched movies at Steve's house.

"Stay," Steve blurted when Harry looked around the room, a little lost himself. Harry's eyes slowly met Steve's and Steve tried to not look or sound pathetic with his plea. "I've got clothes in my room you can throw on to sleep in. We can watch a movie, hang out?"

Each word felt like it took too much effort to get out, but it was worth it when Harry nodded and agreed to stay the night. Even if Billy didn't come home, Steve wouldn't be in the house by himself - trying to remember when the last time he talked to his dad was.

Harry didn't take long upstairs, just long enough for Steve to get comfortable on the couch. Steve had put one of the pillows and blankets on the other side of the couch, expecting Harry to sleep there, and felt kind of knocked off-guard again when Harry took the floor.

"You can sleep up here," Steve offered, trying to not sound too awkward about it. It didn't have to be weird, Steve's couch was huge and there was plenty of room for both of them on it. Steve and Billy shared it all the time, it was shaped like an L, it wasn't like anyone had to cuddle to fit on it.

"I'm okay," Harry said from the floor.

Steve's stomach sank and he didn't want it to be a thing, couldn't help but think he had already made it a thing. Was Steve… obvious? Was Harry just there because he needed homework help and didn't appreciate the way Steve kept looking at him? Did he know?

"Is it…" Steve swallowed, steadied his voice, made it nonchalant like the answer wouldn't phase him. Steve's eyes stung and he closed them, Harry couldn't see him anyway. "Is it because I'm gay?" he asked.

Because if it was, Steve would go upstairs. Steve would hide in his room until Billy took Harry back to his place and Steve could watch the rest of his life completely implode.

"Er… no," Harry said. "It's - no, it's not that?"

Harry said no, but Steve thought that he didn't sound very sure of what he was saying for the first time. Steve still nodded and curled up on his side, his face hidden by cushions and pillows, and pretended that it didn't hurt.

When Steve eventually fell asleep, no longer caring about watching his favorite movie, he wasn't surprised that his dreams were filled with monsters that made him live through his worst nightmares. Some of them hadn't happened yet, but they felt like they had. Steve could feel his own heartbreak when Harry ignored him in class, he could feel his smile slipping when Billy tossed his stuff in his car and took off without looking back.

In his sleep, Steve lost everyone who meant something to him and they never looked back at him, not once. He was alone, always cold and alone.

Steve screamed in his nightmare, he screamed in the bedroom he was trapped in - forced to watch everyone leaving down the driveway, happier without him. Steve screamed until it cut off in a gasp as he shot up and looked around wildly, expecting to be alone and shocked when someone spoke softly to him.

"You're okay," they said, a dream in the dark. "I'm here. You're not alone. I'm not leaving you."

"Yeah, yeah." Steve laid his head down and his eyes fluttered shut, lulled into a sense of safety in the feeling of not being by himself. It would be nice while it lasted.

Steve's breathing evened back out and his body relaxed in the couch cushions, relaxed for the first time in a while. The soft voice was talking, saying a whole lot of something Steve didn't understand as close to sleep as he already was. He did understand that they were there and he didn't feel alone.

Sleep came easier and Steve didn't stir for several hours; he didn't dream, he didn't have any nightmares about monsters. He slept.

At first, Steve couldn't help but to feel lighter when he woke up. The sun was shining in the windows, it was early, and Steve felt like a whole new person as he yawned and stretched and rolled around on the couch. It wasn't until he glanced at the floor that the smile tugging at the corner of his lips dropped - Harry's bedding was gone.

Did he leave? The second Billy walked in, did Harry ask him to take him home? Did Steve imagine that Harry had been there when Steve woke up, without judgment and only a nice reminder that he wasn't really alone?

Should Steve be relieved if he was gone or not?

After he untangled himself from the blanket, Steve began padding through the house, too distracted by thoughts of what Harry mush be thinking to even notice the strange smell filling the place. Steve peeked briefly in the kitchen and stopped.

What…?

Steve's jaw dropped and he wondered if he had been robbed? By like a really hungry robber, maybe? The place was trashed and Steve couldn't stop looking at the eggs busted on the floor, the flour spilled on the counters, and how every single dish was somehow dirtied in the sink.

"What the fuck…?" Steve breathed, gripping his hair tightly. What - who - WHY - it was going to take Steve hours to clean everything in the kitchen, hours.

"Er… I'll clean it." Harry popped up in the doorway for the dining room and Steve immediately spun on the spot and clocked him as the starving burglar - except Harry stayed the night, Harry wasn't starving, and Harry wasn't messy - from the disgusting mess of foods all down his shirt and his sweatpants.

Steve's shirt. Steve's sweatpants.

Still on Harry.

And covered in egg yolk and - and sugar? Maybe?

"I wanted to do something and - I'm not… I'm not you, I'm not very good at…" Harry waved a vague hand toward the kitchen and Steve knew what he was getting at; Harry wasn't good at cooking.

That was kind of obvious.

"Here." Harry moved to the side of the dining room entrance and twitched his hand, wanting Steve in there for something.

Did Harry… make him breakfast? That seemed unlikely, but Steve still walked forward in curiosity for what Harry could have been up to.

It didn't take him long to notice it, it was sort of… it drew an eye, certainly.

In the middle of the table, in the middle of the gleaming dining table that Steve's mom had imported from Italy to decorate the house she didn't really live in, sat a cake.

Probably.

It was probably meant to be a cake. It was… sort of round, like a cake might be. There was icing on it, dripping down the sides and leaking on the tabletop. There was also… melted candy… and some sort of drizzle that Steve couldn't stop staring at.

"It's bad. I'm sorry." Harry walked past Steve and Steve saw his shoulders were curled up, his voice was low. Steve didn't have a chance to say - well, anything, because Harry was rambling.

"I - I have nightmares too, every night. I kick and I flail and I didn't want to kick you because - because people don't like to be kicked. And I'm glad you're gay, I think I'm gay when I'm around you. You don't deserve to have nightmares, you're - you're you. You're Steve. You know your name. I just wanted to do something nice, something to make you happy because - because you made that cake in class, in home economics? Remember Siri said ‘this is what dreams are made of'? I - I wanted you to have dreams about cake. Maybe me. Definitely cake. But I screwed it up. I'm sorry. I didn't want to kick you and I'll clean the kitchen."

Sometimes Steve had to think about what Harry wasn't saying when they were alone together, sometimes Steve had to interpret silences and finger twitches and a cute little curl of Harry's nose. It was rare, but when Harry rambled Steve had to take his time and go through the entire speech to figure out what exactly had just been said to him.

Harry was patient, Steve had time.

Harry was patient and he had nightmares sometimes and he kicked and — ohholyfuckingshit.

Gay.

Harry said he was gay.

Sure, Billy said so, but Billy was a dick. And, okay, Nancy said it was ‘obvious', but Nancy never even talked to Harry. There was also Jonathan, who swore Harry was interested in Steve. Except Steve didn't believe any of them, he believed Harry, who stood by the ugliest cake that Steve had ever seen and stared at him with his clear eyes and waited patiently for Steve to reply to his ramble.

"You made me a cake?" Steve asked, his voice maybe a little more emotional than the situation required. Or not. What did Steve know?! Harry was gay and wanted - he wanted Steve to dream about him?

Did he really say he wanted Steve to dream about him and cake?!

"Yes. A bad cake." Harry pointed at the cake, like he thought Steve mixed up the one he made with a different cake. Steve liked that, he liked that Harry was direct and clean and even when he wasn't talking, he didn't leave a lot of room to be misunderstood.

"I think… I think it's a great cake." Steve didn't know why he was suddenly shy, why he wanted to hide behind his hair and kick the floor. Harry was the one who just said he wanted Steve to dream about him. Steve should have an entire book of replies, ways he could flirt his way directly into Harry's mouth. There were lines and lines Steve used on girls that would get him exactly where he wanted to be.

It was different with Harry, it was - it wasn't - Steve didn't just want to get his tongue in his mouth. Actually, Steve wasn't sure he wouldn't freak the fuck out of that did happen. Would kissing a boy, kissing Harry, be the final nail? Would that be forever proof of ‘Steve Harrington is a fucking homo'?

Would it be so bad? If it meant that Steve could dream about Harry?

"Steve, I think it tastes very bad," Harry said, straight-faced and almost exasperated. "You might die if you eat it, I don't know that it isn't poison."

Nah, there was no way. Sure, it was the ugliest cake Steve had ever seen, but it was almost so ugly that it was kind of charming. It was charming that Harry made it for Steve anyway.

"I'm getting a fork!" Steve decided, smiling wide without thinking about it. He dashed to the kitchen and there were still two clean forks - how did Harry use twenty-two forks?! - that Steve grabbed to take back to the dining room.

"It's bad, I know it," Harry warned him, watching as Steve scooped a bite off the side. It couldn't be that bad. Really, up close, Steve thought that Harry probably just frosted it too soon while the cake was still hot.

Ugly didn't mean not tasty.

Fucking disgusting did mean not tasty.

"Oh. Oh, fuck." Steve tried to shut up, tried to curl his lips up while he made himself chew the giant bite of cake he had taken. There was so much salt that Steve's mouth was making saliva in overtime, trying to fight the taste away. Oh, God, it was bad. It was so bad.

"Yeah, good." Steve swallowed, apologizing to his entire body for that decision, then tried to relax his grin that had become strained during the assault on his mouth. "That's - there aren't words," he said.

Harry sighed, probably seeing right through Steve's act. He shrugged his shoulders up and Steve didn't miss the tiny glimmer in his eyes, the glimmer that might have been amusement, he thought Steve was funny.

"I ran out of sugar on the first two cakes I had to throw away so - so I thought that salt kind of looked the same," he admitted, a light blush on his cheeks. "I'm sorry."

"You know what? It's fine." Steve didn't care, he didn't care at all if Harry made the saltiest cake in the entire world because Harry made it for Steve. Harry made Steve a cake, just because.

"Thank you," Steve said, meaning it. "You didn't have to and - uh - I'll help clean the kitchen. It'll be fun."

Steve put the fork on the table and he slid his hand toward Harry's without looking at it, as casual as he could…

Harry watched Steve's face as he slid his hand over, closer and closer… their fingers bumped and Steve's heart leaped up to lodge in his throat while he got bold and curled his fingers around the ends of Harry's lightly… Harry didn't pull away, he smiled and it was the exact opposite of the cake sitting between them —

Sweet. Cute.

"Yeah," Harry said, his voice breathy and soft while his eyes shined. "Okay."

*****

"Hello, favorite brother!" Sirianna sang out to Harry when he walked in the door. She leaned backward over the armrest of the couch to grin at the proof of what she thought she had felt through the bond between them.

Harry looked happy.

"Hi." Harry walked straight to the chair in the living room and plopped down in it with the dopiest smile on his face. "I made a cake," he announced.

"You did?" Sirianna asked, trying to figure out why that would make Harry happy. Harry hated to be bad at things, maybe it had been some sort of self-assigned homework for their home ec class? That sounded like the sort of thing the old Harry, the swotty little bookworm who was once top of their year, would do.

"Yes. For Steve," Harry nodded. "And I told him that he makes me gay."

Sirianna's jaw dropped. She had hoped that if she kept getting Harry some alone time with Steve that they would eventually figure things out, she didn't expect Harry to go and confess!

"You—"

No, no, wait. That wasn't what Harry said… Harry didn't fumble his words, he always said what he meant to say. Sirianna had to think that through, think through what Harry said.

"You told Steve that he made you gay?" Sirianna asked, saying Harry's own words back to him. Was that how it worked? If Sirianna saw another girl as pretty as Chrissy would she become gay?

"Yes. When we spend time together, I feel gay," Harry said.

Maybe… maybe Harry was misunderstanding the word? Everything he was saying made almost perfect sense, all the right words but they weren't fitting together just right.

"And gay means…?" Sirianna asked.

"Happy."

There it was. Sirianna loved her brother more in moments like that one, moments when she didn't feel stupid and small, she felt like an equal to her adorable and sweet and ridiculous baby brother.

"Did Steve look pleased when you told him that - that being with him makes you gay?" Sirianna wondered if Steve heard the oddity of how Harry would have surely said it. She kind of doubted it, Steve probably heard what he wanted to hear.

"Yeah, I mean - I think so?" Harry said. He worried his lower lip and Sirianna's heart swelled with affection for her wonderfully imperfect twin. "Is that okay to say to someone? That - that they make you gay? He said it first?"

"Bubby," Sirianna reached over to take Harry's hand in hers to squeeze with assurance. It was hard for Harry, being around other people. For so long, it was just the two of them and Sirianna never needed Harry to talk for her to understand him. It was hard to see Harry struggle sometimes, other times - like right then - it was kind of hilarious.

"Yes, it's okay to tell Steve that he makes you happy," Sirianna swore. "Maybe - maybe just use the word happy though, but you can also tell him that you're gay."

"Okay." Harry sighed heavily and when Sirianna smiled at him, he smiled back. "Thanks, Siri."

"Anytime," she said.

Sirianna might never beat Harry in their classes and one day he would be back to the swotty brother who talked in encyclopedia only, but it was nice to be the one Harry turned to when he needed reassurance. Someone, like Harry, could even say it made her gay.

Gay as in happy, not gay as in ‘totally in love with her best friend' like Harry so obviously was.