Chief Jim Hopper lives near the outskirts of Hawkins, Indiana purely based on the fact that he hates interacting with people.

His trailer — although it's not really a trailer because it isn't really metal or small or situated in a trailer park, but that's beside the point — sits out by the water and among nature, where it's quiet, peaceful, with no one to nag him at every hour. His place of residence, where he's resided for the five years he's been back in his small hometown, was a decision he made simply because he didn't want to be bothered at home. Home was where he could get relaxation, drink and smoke to his heart's desire, pass out at odd hours, and not have to worry about someone knocking at his door when they shouldn't be.

His life is already stressful enough as it is, what with work and his past — he doesn't need annoying neighbors making noises or kids running up and down the street at odd hours or people knocking on the door asking for sugar. Not that he has sugar, anyways. He drinks his coffee black, the bitter taste the only thing able to wake him up in the morning. Besides his cigarettes, of course.

Either way, he wants to be alone. That's why he chooses to live where he does, as far away from everyone as he can get without bordering into the next town. And his plan works. There's no neighbors making noises or kids running up and down the street at odd hours, no one knocking down his door for sugar. He lives at home in solitude and it's perfect. Wonderful. Hell, he'll go as far as to say that it's absolutely delightful. His plan works. Well, sort of. It sort of works. Because unfortunately, amidst concocting his master plan to remain isolated during his non-working hours, he had forgotten to factor in a rather relentless, overly annoying sixteen year old girl with a penchant for bothering him when he didn't want to be bothered.

Heather Gilmore, the overly annoying sixteen year old in question, doesn't seem to care that Hopper wants to be alone. Hell, she's never cared that he's wanted to be alone. For the past five years, she's gone through the motions of him complaining about this being his territory, land that other should not cross. She goes against the grain, the laws of his land, by implanting herself in his presence whenever the need arises.

Today, the need is that it's Saturday, she has nothing to do but avoid studying for a chemistry exam, and her mother asked her to stop by. And because of this, she ventures to the outskirts of town where his not-so-trailer trailer sits by the water among nature, not caring that the man will probably want to vault her into the nearby lake. With her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail and a grin on her lips, she parks her rather crappy, somewhat rusted, cherry red Chevelle right alongside the vehicle branded with the words Hawkins Police Dept and Chief.

It is exactly seven thirteen in the morning, a good forty or so minutes before the Chief would have to leave for work. It also probably means that Hopper isn't even up at all, considering the man rarely rose around the same time the sun did. No, the chief liked to stay passed out in bed (or on the couch or sometimes the kitchen table, wherever he had last been situated when the darkness known as sleep consumed him) until at least a good ten minutes before he had to leave for work. But the Gilmore girl pays no attention to that small fact. She doesn't care that her sudden presence will awake him from slumber. In fact, she seems to operate with that knowledge that he's asleep working to her advantage.

Unclipping her seat belt, the sixteen year old leans over towards the passenger seat, quickly grabbing the brown paper bag that resided there. She also wrangles out two cups of coffee that she'd belted down in the passenger seat, seeing as her older model car didn't come equipped with cup holders. She sighs vehemently at that fact, to be completely honest. Cup holders were a necessity, this should have been figured out eons ago. But she digresses, plastering an even brighter smile on her face before she struggles to clamber out of her car without dropping anything. She manages to do so and closes the door of her car with her hip.

The blonde makes the short trek to the trailer, makes it up the small set of stairs, before setting the coffee and paper bag down by her feet. Having been making these early morning visits for a while now, she doesn't even bother to go through the normal social conventions of knocking — the chances of Hopper being awake are slim to none and she'd rather just skip necessary wastes of her time. So, instead, she slips one of the bobby pins out of her hair, the ones she put in to keep her flyaways from, well, flying away. She bends the metal rather aggressively before bending down slightly to be eye level with the deadbolt lock on Hopper's door. She slips the bobby pin into the keyhole and begins rummaging around, focused intently on popping the lock.

Heather is quite possibly the only person in Hawkins who would maintain such an unbothered, happy composure while picking the lock of the police chief's door. To an outsider, this scenario would look reckless, like she was actively seeking for one of those cards in Monopoly that say "go directly to jail, do not pass go, do not collect $200". But then again, an outsider wouldn't know her relationship with Hawkins grumbling police officer or that it's pretty much a common occurrence for the Gilmore girl to do some breaking and entering with the man's trailer.

She's at the point with the lock picking to where she thinks she might have popped it open. Heather's grinning wider now as she jiggles the pin a little more aggressively, ready to just get inside instead of being stuck out in the brisk November air. She can smell the coffee, too, as well as the doughnuts sealed in the bag and, Christ, she can feel her stomach grumbling. But, before she gets the final open sesame click she's waiting for, the sound of footsteps from behind the door catch her attention. Heather barely has time to pull the pin from the lock before it's being unlocked from the inside.

The door swings open, Chief Hopper standing before her. He's barely dressed, only in his work pants and a white t-shirt. His beard is untamed as usual and there's an unlit cigarette dangling from his fingers as his eyes land on the blonde on the doorstep. He sighs heavily and Heather can tell he's just recently woke up. After many years of knowing him, she pretty much has the types of sighs Hopper makes down to a science. There's his angry sigh, his laundry list of annoyed sighs, the two types of tired sighs, and his infamous "I just woke the fuck up, why are you bothering me at this hour" sigh. And this is definitely one of them.

He lets out another one of those sighs before asking, "Okay, why?"

"Hi, Uncle Jim," the Gilmore girl greets brightly, not even caring that he just witnessed her trying to pick the lock on his door. He's already seen her do that several times, sometimes the girl actually being able to pop the lock open. Honestly, at this rate, he should just give his niece a spare key.

Again, Hopper stresses, "Why?"

Heather bends down, scooping her items off the small porch. Then, raising the bag and coffees up for him to get a better view, she chirps out, "I come bearing coffee and contemplation!"

Coffee and contemplation has become Hopper's mantra during the morning hours for several years now. In his opinion, there's nothing good about early hours besides the bitter, yet wholesome taste of coffee and the peace and quiet that's supposed to come with the morning hours. People weren't typically awake at these hours, the hours before he leaves for work. Well, they probably are, but never around these parts of Hawkins — again, this is why he lives in the middle of nowhere.

But, instead of getting what he wants, his sixteen year old niece is on his tiny porch, with far too much pep in her step for a teenager at these hours. She brushes past him, without even bothering to ask if she can come in. Heather already knows the answers going to be a resounding no, so she's stopped asking. It's not that Hopper doesn't love his niece, he'd just rather her not be in his presence in the morning. Or the afternoon. Or the night. Honestly, the man just wants to be alone.

He watches as she makes herself comfortable, traipsing through the small space like she lives here. She sets down the two coffees and the paper bag, before she inspects the two coffee cups. She points to one, calling over her shoulder, "This one is yours. Black, just like my soul. And then there's mine, which is filled with so much cream and sugar that it tastes like candy and will probably make you throw up, so don't drink that one."

Hopper shakes his head, letting out an annoyed sigh — it's a number five annoyed sigh, the one that says he's annoyed, but that he'll probably give in to whatever's happening anyways. He shuts the door behind him, before telling her, "None of that answers my why question."

Heather ignores that, smiling at her uncle. She notes, "You're up early, I figured you'd still be wiped out on the couch. Or the floor. Or the table, whatever floated your boat last night."

Hopper gives her a look while she laughs. He groans, rolling his eyes as he moves away from the door. He heads towards her, before scooping the coffee she pointed out as his off the table and setting his cigarette down. He pops the little plastic flap on the lid open before taking a big gulp. It's hot, the kind of hot that'll burn your tongue clean off, but he barely notices it. He gives his niece a pointed look as he tells her, "Jesus. You saw me asleep at the table once. One whole time. It's not a common occurrence, kid."

Heather snorts. "Sure, sure."

A groan escapes her uncle's lips. "Seriously, kid, why the hell are you here?"

"Mom wanted me to check up on you," Heather says simply, as if it should have been obvious, before plopping down on one of the few chairs Hopper had set up in the relative kitchen area of his home.

If Hopper is honest, he's not shocked by Heather's reply to the question. In fact, in the few minutes that she's been in the house, he knew that her mother was the reason. Janet Gilmore, née Hopper, is his younger sister by two years, the one that brought the annoying blonde staring up at him into the world. During their youth, Hopper had done his fair share of looking after Janet, the younger girl having a tad bit of a wild streak during their teenage years. Not to say that he didn't, because he sure as hell kicked up some trouble, but he had always felt responsible for his sister. It sure as hell had eased their parents mind that he took care of her, that's for sure.

This protective nature he had continued well into their adulthood. For instance, when Janet's no good son of a bitch ex-husband bailed on her and their daughter, Hopper had made sure that the two didn't struggle. He's always had his little sister's back, no matter the circumstance.

So the fact that Janet had sent Heather to his house this morning isn't shocking at all. Ever since . . . well, ever since what happened in the big city, the two girls had been watching him like a hawk. There isn't a week where Hopper goes without a visit or a phone call, all means to check up on him. Despite how many times he groans and whines and slams doors like a child, they keep coming back, making sure he was okay and wasn't do anything self destructive as a way of coping. In short, the Gilmore girls are a persistent bunch.

Persistent, but terribly annoying.

"Damn it, Janet," Hopper grumbles. But he moves to sit down, taking the seat across from his niece, who's currently blowing on the steam billowing out of her coffee.

"This isn't Rocky Horror," Heather quips as she does so, a reference that makes Hopper furrow his brow. She ignores his perplexed expression as her hand rifles through the bag she had brought with her, grinning brightly at her uncle. "And besides, like I said, I brought coffee and contemplation to you. Chocolate frosted, your favorite."

"Well, that's where you're wrong, because sleep and lack of little girls banging down my door is my favorite."

"Uh, no, it's chocolate frosted. We went over this two weeks ago when I brought you a strawberry frosted to shake things up. Never seen a man look so damn disappointed in my entire life. And besides, you were already up," Heather points out through a mouthful of glazed doughnut. "And mom wanted me to come visit you because she has an open to close shift at the diner. So, it's either a morning visit from me or a late night visit from a post work Janet. Seriously, Uncle Jim, which one would you rather prefer?"

He mulls it over for a moment, as he reaches for the doughnut bag — Heather wasn't wrong when she said chocolate frosted was his favorite. As he considers her ultimatum, he acknowledges the fact that his sister tends to be a complete ass after a full day shift at her work, so that would probably one hell filled visit. But then again, her daughter's cheeriness at this hour wasn't much better. "Is neither an option?"

Heather gives him a look, before laughing. "Nope."

He groans. Heather shrugs. They chew on their doughnuts and sip their coffee in silence for a few moments. It's peaceful, quiet even. The kind of peaceful and quiet that Hopper moved all the way out here for, just without the addition of being alone. It's a somewhat compromise, halfway happy. He'd still rather her not be present, though. Really took away from the whole being alone thing.

"Don't you have school?" he asks after a few seconds, thinking of things that would cause her to have to leave.

Heather snorts at his sad attempt, not budging from her seat. At this rate, she figures he should just give up. He only had so much time left before he needs to leave for work, it's not like she was planning on being attached to his hip the entire day. God, twenty or so minutes of human contact with someone who cares about him in the morning isn't going to kill him. Finally, after a bit of laughter, she replies, "It's Saturday, Uncle Jim."

He nods. And then, "Well, what about a job? You have one of those, don't you? Down at the Fair Mart?"

The Gilmore girl groans at the mention of the store. The Fair Mart is the local convenience store in Hawkins, a tiny little establishment along one of the main roads in town. It's run by a rather rude, balding man named Henry Larson who tends to push his employees to their breaking points in under a month, one of the few reasons Heather hates the place. If there's one way to piss off the blonde, it's mentioning Fair Mart.

"Nah, I quit that," Heather tells him, rolling her eyes at the mention of her previous employment. And then, with a smirk, she tacks on, "So for the foreseeable future of weekend mornings, expect me at your door."

Hopper furrows his brow as he takes another sip of his coffee. He swallows before asking, "Why'd you quit your job?"

Heather groans. Biting off another chunk of her doughnut, she replies angrily, "The manager is an absolute tool bag, that's why. He kept getting pissy that I couldn't work weekday mornings because I had school. And then he kept trying to schedule me for them, complete bullshit, honestly."

"Didn't you need that job, though?" Hopper questions.

He's not about to reprimand the kid, but he's mildly curious to say the least. For the most part, the Gilmore family are rather low in the bracket of middle, working class. They don't receive any form of child support or alimony from Christian Gilmore, the deadbeat fuckwad having hightailed it out of Hawkins without leaving so much as a forwarding address or phone number in his wake. And Janet's job at the local diner, The Sunrise Cafe, only pays her so much. That being said, once she was legally able to work, Heather had picked up shifts at the Fair Mart to help make ends meet, even having saved up enough to buy her shit box of a car. So to hear that she's quit her job is something a little startling for her uncle to hear.

Heather nods, but gives a small shrug afterwards. "Mom was the one who pushed me to do it. She was sick of having Larson call up bitching about me not being able to work. I'm pretty sure she told him to go stick his head up his ass or something."

"Sounds like Janet," her uncle chuckles. Hopper finally manages to crack a smile at that. It makes Heather smile in return. And then, as if to make her feel better about the situation, Hopper adds, "Fair Mart's coffee sucks anyways."

Heather grins, clutching her coffee cup. Her smile covers her face, reaching her eyes that brighten just a little bit more. A teasing comment lingers on the tip of her tongue, but she holds it in. Because for the first time this morning, Jim Hopper seems content. Happy, even. Her work here for the morning is done. And so she quietly sips her coffee, content knowing that her uncle appears to have left the ghosts of his past in the rear view, even if just for a moment.

X

Heather leaves her uncle's trailer around the same time as when he leaves for work. He seems a little less content with his life when he climbs into his police cruiser, but Heather knows that he'll fight through it regardless. Jim Hopper is nothing if not resilient, nothing if not a fighter.

Still the knowledge that he's off somewhere grumbling, probably yelling at his two bumbling officers Callahan and Powell, dampens her mood slightly. She frowns most of the way home, if she's being honest. Not even the upbeat sounds of Elton John crooning through the airwaves of her shitty stereo isn't enough to put a smile on her face.

She sighs as she drives down the back roads of Hawkins, taking the shortcuts she knows all too well. She's got one hand resting on the wheel, the other propped up against the door, near the mirror. She's barely paying attention, too lost in thought. Thankfully, the streets in Hawkins aren't alive quite yet, most children who play in the streets still warm in bed on this brisk November morning.

Heather briefly wishes she was in bed, to be completely fucking honest. She could technically take a nap when she gets home, but the pile of flashcards and study guides she knows are set on her nightstand for her upcoming chem exam say otherwise. Well, actually, they don't. But Heather knows that if she doesn't start studying today, her best friends will be up her ass about slacking off. Where her two friends are geniuses at anything they put their mind to and can pull good grades out of thin air, Heather was a bit of procrastinating mess. She blames her mother for it, she won't lie. Janet Gilmore tends to push everything off until the absolute last second and by then, she'll probably have forgotten about it anyways, as per her usual scatterbrained nature.

Heather's mulling over whether or not her friends will actually manage to figure out whether she starts studying as soon as possible or whether she can fit in a quick catnap (read as: she's planning on going back to bed for as long as possible and probably won't wake up until the sun sets, honestly) as she starts turning down Westminster. That's her street, a rather small road off of Connolly, only about five or six families inhabiting the houses there. The Gilmore girls live in the very last house on the road, number seven, the one right before the street becomes a dead end and divulges into the woods.

It's a quiet street for the most part, the neighbors being some of the Hawkins residents that actually mind their own fucking business instead of trying to involve themselves in literally every aspect of everyone else's days. Heather appreciates that. Her neighbors deserve muffin baskets. Or, like, a fruit basket on the off chance that muffins aren't their thing.

When she turns down the street, Heather immediately notices something's different. There's a car parked in front of her house, a maroon BMW that stands out terribly amongst the street of older cars. The Gilmore girls and their neighbors aren't poor per say, but they definitely aren't well off enough to afford new cars. The car in front of her house looks new, like maybe only a year or two old — Heather's own car is nearly twenty years old, older than her, and made so many noises that the blonde was certain it was just going to crap out on her in the near, foreseeable future. The BMW, however, looks like it drove right off of a new car catalogue and it's clear to see whoever owns it is from a well off family. Which is true, because Heather know exactly who drives that specific car.

It's Steve Harrington's car.

Steve Harrington . . . oh, how to describe Steve Harrington. Well, the easy way to put it would be that she knew him through school, despite the Gilmore girl being a year younger and a grade below him. But leaving their connection at just seeing each other around Hawkins High would be cutting out a large part of the story. You see, Heather's known Steve, or at least known of him, for basically her entire life. Hawkins isn't exactly a large town, which made it very possible for people to know most people. And when it comes to knowing people, everyone knew Steve Harrington.

He's one of the popular kids in school, practically regarded as small town royalty. Between his father's business supplying the Harrington family with a modest amount of wealth, his exceedingly good looks (the boy is like crack for the girls — and some boys, to be fucking honest — in Hawkins, considering the majority of the male population aren't exactly that attractive) his running in popular circles, and being involved in some of the sports teams at the high school, people know him. Hawkins knows Steve Harrington in ways they would never know others, ways they would never know Heather Gilmore. Steve Harrington was never supposed to know Heather Gilmore.

They run in different circles, are in different years, different classes. They're two completely different sides of one spectrum. Where Steve parties, dates, and ultimately has fun with his high school experience, Heather's place on the totem pole is a bit different. She isn't too popular, only having two close friends. She isn't exactly off people's radar, but she's far enough to the edge that people don't pay her much attention. She's fine with that, never really wanting to be the center of anyone's attention.

The point is, Heather Gilmore was never supposed to and should never have really been on Steve Harrington's radar. And she wasn't — until that day at Fair Mart, that is.

It had been super early in the semester, well before Heather had tossed in the towel on her shit storm of a job. It had been a Wednesday night, well after school hours and with only so much time before Larson would be closing the shop for the night. The shitty fluorescent lights had been flicking incessantly, the way they always did, and Heather vividly remembers wanting to set fire to the store if the lights flickered one more time. She had been trying to work on her geometry homework and Lord knows flickering lights were only distracting her from angles and all that shit.

Heather had been so engrossed in her schoolwork, the lack of customers in the store making it rather easy to do so. She hadn't even noticed the bell on the door chime, signaling someone coming in and hadn't noticed the dark haired boy that came in and began picking out snack foods. All she remembers is that one moment she was focused on finding the product of A squared and B squared and the next moment, a can of Coke, a packet of M&Ms, and a bag of Funyuns had been set in front of her.

"Jesus Christ," she had exclaimed, jumping up from where she had been leaning against the counter, clearly startled.

Her eyes had widened upon noticing who was in front of her. Steve motherfucking Harrington. Of course. Just her luck that she had to act like a total weirdo in front of the hottest guy at Hawkins High. It wasn't like she had a crush on him or anything (that was true, for the most part . . . but she had had her fair share of mindless daydreams about the kid, but then again, so did half the town). But Heather had also been certain that this was the first time their paths had ever crossed and she just sorta freaked out in front of him.

But Steve had taken it in stride, offering her his signature smile and a small laugh. "Actually, it's Steve," he had joked and Heather remembers rolling her eyes.

"Very original," she had replied, but a small grin had worked itself onto her face.

She had begun ringing him up, pushing her math homework to the side. She had been focused on scanning his items and making sure the three-for-two discount had registered on the register that she hadn't noticed him staring at her. And it wasn't a creepy stare, no definitely not one of those. And although no one could be for certain, because no one had actually observed Steve watching Heather intently, but if one did . . . well, they'd probably say it looked like he was noticing her for the very first time, wondering how he hadn't before.

"It's Heather, right?" Steve had asked, still watching her, cutting off her question if he wanted a bag for his stuff or not.

She had looked at him oddly, brushed a lock of blonde hair behind one ear, and had nodded awkwardly. With a small smile, she had told him, "Yeah, I'm Heather."

Whether he had actually known her name or he had seen it plastered on her name tag, something had definitely changed in that moment. Like the world had shifted off its course onto another one. He had smiled a big smile at her when he paid for his snack and had offhandedly told her he'd see her at school the next day. Heather hadn't thought much of it, until the boy actually saw her the next day and had approached her at her locker, striking up a conversation.

And well, that was that. Over the course of September till now, it's become blatantly obvious that there's something between the two teenagers. At school, they talk in the halls and at lunch, seemingly trying to fill every gap they can with each other. He'll wait outside of her classes for her, under the excuse that he's nearby and could walk with her to her next class, which was total bullshit because she totally knows his previous class was on the other side of the building. She'll walk past his table at lunch when she's with her friends, hoping to catch his eye (which she does) and he'll invite her and her friends to sit. Sometimes she'll say yes, but most times she'll say no on account of the fact that his friends are complete dick wads.

It's the kind of thing that makes her wonder, his friends that is. Between Tommy Hall and Carol Greene and a whole hoard of others, Heather feels like there's something wrong with the situation. Because Heather knows that they're not good people. They're rude and crass and the complete opposites of the people she associates herself with. They call her Buzzkill Blondie whenever Steve brings her around, because all of Hawkins knows who her uncle is. But then there's Steve. And from what she's noticed, Steve is everything that's good and kind. Sure, sometimes he'll act like a complete dumbass, but Heather knows his heart's always in the right place — something she admires about him.

So, yeah, she's a teenager with a bit of a crush. But she's not the only one. If there was one thing that Steve has done during their time being friends, their time talking, was make his feelings rather blatantly clear — he was totally into Heather, a fact that scares her just a bit. She hasn't done the whole dating thing, hasn't even done the somewhat dating thing. At least, not before Steve.

They're not official, not even close. They haven't kissed, although it's not from Steve's lack of trying. He's leant in quite a few times but Heather's brain switches into panicked autopilot and she tends to change the topic, pulling back. He never comments on it or complains though and Heather's pretty sure he knows she's never been kissed before. She knows he definitely has. Steve's had a plethora of girlfriends, like Laurie Colloran and Becky Trotter and Amy Gregory to name a few.

Heather doesn't even acknowledge this, doesn't care that he's definitely more experienced than her. Mostly, she just tries to avoid any sort of thoughts that involve the words Steve and dating. Because she knows it'll start her to think about them. And their status. How they're flirty but they're not dating, but they definitely seem to want to date. They seem to skirt around the topic, to be completely honest which Heather doesn't mind too much. She's barely had time to wrap her head around all of this, the fact that Steve Harrington, the practical king of Hawkins High, is into her. It's a rather large pill to swallow. There's also the fact that Heather hasn't mentioned to her mom that she's talking to someone.

Which is why she's slightly panicked at the fact that Steve is at her house. Granted, Janet isn't home, but if she was . . . well, it's not like Janet would be mad. Just confused as to why Heather hasn't said anything, but that's not something the blonde wants to deal with.

Heather squints at the figure on her doorstep as her car nears the end of the street and that's all it takes to confirm that it's Steve at her house. She wouldn't miss that hair, hell, she could probably pick it out of a lineup. He's facing the door, glancing to one of the windows by the door as if to look for any movement in the house. She wants to roll her eyes, considering the fact that both cars are out of the driveway and he's still expecting someone to open up for him.

She slows down by her driveway and turns to pull in. The sounds of her tires crunching over the gravel that's her driveway get Steve's attention and in seconds, he's turning around on his heels. A smile plasters across lips as he realizes it's Heather's car. He gives a small wave, before shoving his hands into his pockets, still standing on her doorstep.

Heather can't help, but giggle. She's confused, to say the least, but there's definitely something inside her that's jumping around for joy at the sight of her . . . friend on her doorstep. Once she's parked, she cuts the ignition and clambers out, giving the boy an incredulous look.

"What the hell are you doing here, Harrington?" she asks with a laugh as she locks the door to her car. She slips her hands into her pockets, mirroring Steve almost, as she makes the short trek between her car and the steps to her house.

Steve shrugs. "Well, I was in the area and I thought I'd stop by to see you."

"It's only, like, eight thirty in the morning, Steve," Heather replies, raising an eyebrow. She heads up the small amount of stairs until they're both stood at the very top, facing each other. They're close, the kind of close that makes her heartbeat pick up a bit. She hopes he doesn't notice.

He gives her a strange look, before gesturing to her. "Well, you're up, aren't you?"

She snorts. "Yeah, but I was doing something for my mom this morning. Most people our age aren't out of bed until at least nine or ten on a Saturday."

Mostly, she wants him to give her the real reason. She has a pretty good idea of what it is, too, but she's not going to fill in the blank for him. A part of Heather knows what it is, that this is all a part of the fact that they're dancing around each other with little heart shapes for eyes. She knows she likes him and she knows that he likes her. He's made that abundantly clear (she hasn't exactly been vocal, but she's fairly certain her blushes and the fact that she's constantly in his company is enough for him to get the hint).

But, as per the whole skirting around the topic, Steve gives her a shrug. There's a telltale smile on his lips as he bluffs, "Maybe I'm an early riser, you don't know."

"Bullshit," Heather says between coughs, making it clear what she said under them. Steve rolls his eyes, but the smile stays on his face. She's not quite sure if he's ever not smiled at her. She ignores that thought, before giving him a look. "How do you even know where I live?"

Another shrug. "Small town. Plus, your mailbox has your last name on it in, like, excessively large letters."

"That doesn't sound like it'd hold up in court," Heather replies casually, able to keep up the minor banter between them without missing a beat. Her hands are still jammed in her pockets and she's got her keys tucked in between her fingers, wondering when she'll be able to get out of the cold, early November morning air.

"I'm not stalking you, Gilmore," Steve replies, his usual flirtatious smirk covering his face. He laughs and then leans up against her front door. He's trying to look smooth, but all Heather can do is snort. Steve gives her another look before shrugging, "I just haven't seen you in a while, thought we could hang out or something."

"Steve, it's Saturday," Heather deadpans with amused gleam in her eyes. "I literally just saw you yesterday at school."

"Yeah, but that's school. And we don't have classes together, so it's not like we see a lot of each other," he points out, as if that makes all the difference.

Well, it sort of does, because Heather can't help but break out into a large grin. But she doesn't give in to her urge to aw, instead rolling her eyes. "Well, maybe that's your fault for being born early. If you'd waited a couple of months, maybe we'd be in the same grade."

She grabs his shoulder, gently nudging him out of the way. She's grown tired of the bitter chill to the air and she knows there's an abundance of heat behind the door calling her name. Steve seems to get the hint and steps to the side a bit, maneuvering to allow her to get to the door's lock. He's behind her now, impossibly close. She swears she can feel his breath on the back of her neck and she fumbles with her keys. He laughs, before replying, "Maybe it's your fault for being born late."

Heather bites her lip. She gulps. Her keys in the lock now, but it's a standstill as she tries to collect her thoughts. It's hard to do so with him so close though. She sighs. "Seriously, Steve, what do you want?"

He moves from directly behind her and leans back on the metal railing that lines her front steps, far enough back that she can turn to look at him. His normal devil may care smirk is on his lips and it's the kind of expression that makes Heather feel butterflies — God, she's pathetic. So utterly, utterly pathetic. She's fallen into clutches of a crush and, shit, has she quickly began sinking to the bottom.

"Like I said, we could hang out. Maybe get some breakfast? They make a mean short stack at the Sunrise — "

Heather's eyes go wide and she doesn't even let him finish. "Nope, nope, definitely out of the question. One hundred percent off the table."

Steve chuckles and questions, "Why not? Do you not like pancakes? I don't know if I can hang out with someone who doesn't like pancakes."

Heather sighs, turning back to her door. She finally turns the key, unlocking the deadbolt and then the other lock as well. The keys are then shoved back in her pocket and she turns back to Steve, one of her hands on the door handle. "Because my mom works at The Sunrise."

Steve gives her an amused look. "Ashamed of me, Gilmore?"

"What? No. Why the — no, I'm not ashamed of you. My mom just doesn't know about you, is all."

"Why not?" Steve asks, feigning offense. And then, pointing a finger at her, he adds "I'll have you know parents love me."

"She doesn't need to love you because she doesn't need to know about you. I mean, how would I even introduce you?" Heather exclaims.

She knows it's not going to bring about any sort of define the relationship conversations (even though she sort of wishes it would — okay, she totally wishes it would). He's said even sappier stuff to her, let alone allude to the fact that Heather definitely couldn't introduce Steve as just a friend. They might not have kissed yet, but they're way past friendship.

Steve ponders this for a moment, before shrugging. "You could just tell her that I'm your knight in shining armor with smoldering good looks and great hair."

Heather snorts, instantly imagining Janet rolling her eyes at that. If there was one thing Janet Gilmore didn't fall for, it was smooth talking lines like that. And then, in a teasing tone, the blonde adds, "She'd probably be more inclined to ask why you wear more product in your hair than she does."

Steve seems to freeze for a moment, as if he's been caught doing something wrong, and Heather nearly questions him about it before he's spouting out, "Product? Who uses product in their hair? Not me. This is all, one hundred percent natural, kid."

"Okay, one, you're like barely a year older than me, you can't call me kid. And two, you saying you don't use product is bullshit and you know it."

"What's bullshit is that you don't want to hang out with me," Steve says with a slight chuckle, feigning hurt.

Heather rolls her eyes. She jams her hands back into her pockets and she's begun to bounce slightly on her heels, the chill of the air getting to her. "I never said that."

"Did too."

"Did not."

"Did too."

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Did not!"

"Well, you inferred it."

"Jesus Christ," Heather groans, quickly growing tired of the back and forth.

She briefly wonders if slamming her head off the door will get her out of it. But then she sighs. She's got a chem exam this week, she sort of needs her brain in good condition. She glances at the door and then the driveway. It'd be hours before her mom was able to leave work . . . and it was a lot warmer inside her house then on the porch . . . and to be honest, she wouldn't mind getting alone time with Steve . . .

Heather continues to mull it over for the next few moments before she sighs. Reaching for her doorknob, she pulls open the front door. Heather glances at the boy beside her, who watches in confusion. "We can hang out at my place. I'm sort of sick of standing on my porch and honestly, the little old lady across the street will probably sic her cat on you if she thinks you're bothering me. Which you are, but Mr. Snuffles shouldn't have to deal with you."

Heather steps into the front hall of her house, immediately doused in warm air as Steve strolls in behind her. The blue painted walls of the Gilmore house are the first thing that stand out to Steve as he shuts the door behind him, mostly because it occurs to him that the walls are nearly the same color as the blonde's eyes. His lip twitches upwards a bit at that. After the walls, he notices the pictures lining the walls, the knick knacks located on a shelf near the doorway. The house is small and even from here Steve can tell that it's mildly cluttered but he feels like that's what gives it its charm. It looks lived in, like it's truly someone's home.

Mostly, it occurs to him that this is definitely the sort of place that Heather Gilmore would inhabit. He watches her take her coat off and he can't help but smile at the way her cheeks are still tinged pink from the cold. Steve keeps his thoughts to himself though, as he slips off his own jacket and hangs it up next to hers. She turns to him and pauses and Steve feels like he should break the ice. So he does, in a somewhat corny way.

"So, should we head to your room?" Steve asks, giving her a comically suggestive look. As if to add on to the cheesiness of his expression, he gives a rather obnoxious wink.

Heather gives him a look of disbelief before she snorts. She shoves lightly at his chest. "Uh, that's a negative. We're staying downstairs, big guy."

Once again, Steve feigns shock. "You don't trust me to be a completely innocent gentleman in your bedroom, Gilmore?"

She gives him a look. "I barely trust you to do that on my front porch, Harrington," she deadpans.

"Hey! That's . . . " Steve pauses, letting her words sink in. He then gives her a shrug. "Actually, that's probably a valid point."

"You're an absolute mess, Steve," Heather says with laughter bubbling up through her lips.

"You're the one who let an absolute mess into their house, so who's the real mess now, Gilmore?"

"Shut up," she mutters, a wide smile on her face. She shoves at his shoulder lightly again.

He steps closer to her. His voice lowers a bit and he can't help but run a hand down her arm. He mumbles, "Make me."

" . . . You can hang out for a few hours, but you have to leave before my mom comes home. Last thing I need is her finding a random boy in the house," Heather instructs, while she leans back ever so slightly. Her panic mode has set in, it would seem. And then she points a finger at him, as if she were a stern teacher. "And no funny business, mister."

Steve snaps her a salute. "Scout's honor."

Heather furrows her brow. "Steve, you were never a scout."

"Oh, well now who's stalking who?"

"And now I'm regretting not letting Mrs. Gilchrist unleash her cat on you."

So this is the first chapter of Gasoline. I hope you all enjoy this and future chapters about Heather as much I'll be enjoying writing them!