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"u attract what u fear" AAAAAAAAH financial stability and rough sex
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eddie rubs his hands together as their waitress, cindy, sets his breakfast sampler and strawberries and cream crepes in front of him. he's already reaching for the ketchup and maple syrup to drown his food in.
steve thinks it's too early for him look that gleeful in the middle of an ihop. it's barely nine in the morning.
"give me a shout if you boys need anything else," cindy says as she sets down steve's smokehouse combo and new york cheesecake pancakes. "i'll be over to top your coffee off in a minute."
"thank you, cindy," they call as she walks away.
steve takes a sip of his coffee and watches eddie pop open the ketchup to smother his eggs and hashbrows with, the tip of his tongue poking out of the corner of his lips.
he resists the urge to lean across the table and kiss him, only because they're in public and steve also doesn't want to risk getting food all over the front of his shirt.
but when eddie squeezes the bottle, it makes a farting noise and all the comes out is a watery splash of red.
"aw no." eddie's face falls into an adorable pout. "not the ketchup pre-cum."
steve sputters and almost sucks his coffee back up his nose. he catches his breath and gives eddie a bewildered stare, but the other boy is focused on smacking the lid of the bottle against his palm.
"i'm sorry—the what?"
eddie finally looks up at him with round eyes, completely clear of any of the confusion that is definitely showing on steve's face currently.
"the ketchup pre-cum," he says, like steve should know what that is. "you know, the watery bits that squirt out if you don't shake the bottle good enough? kind of looks like pre-cu-"
"i know what pre-cum is," steve cuts him off with a sigh, casting glances around to the other tables to see if anyone else overheard him. "but do you have to call ketchup that?"
eddie only snickers at him. when he's satisfied that it's been shaken to his standards, he snaps open the cap and tries again–
–and lets out a high pitched moan when ketchup comes dribbling out of the bottle.
steve chokes on his spit. they're definitely getting stares from other tables now, and he hides his burning face in his hands while eddie just laughs harder, like the teasing little asshole he is.
"jesus christ," steve murmurs under his breath, dragging his fingers down his face. "can't fucking take you anywhere, i swear."
eddie just gives him a little hum and nudges his foot under the table, looking every bit pleased as goddamn punch.
taglist (ask to be added!):
@yournowheregirl @steves-strapcollection @thefreakandthehair @stobinesque @vecnuthy
@tboygareth @flowercrowngods @starryeyedjanai @matchingbatbites @corrodedbisexual
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@tangerinesteve @stevesjockstrap @steddie-island @spectrum-spectre @pearynice
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Knocking Me Out With Those American Thighs
For @astrangersummer prompt 'short shorts'
Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson (pre-relationship)
Rating: Teen (swearing)
W/C - 848
Tags: Post Season 4 Volume 2, Eddie Munson Lives, Eddie Munson has a crush on Steve Harrington, flirting, Steve Harrington wears short shorts, summer, pool party, sun bathing, water balloons, Steve Harrington's thighs, Eddie Munson is suffering
Summary: Steve sunbathes in the tiniest shorts Hawkins has ever seen. Eddie tries and fails to keep his cool.
___
Eddie was suffering.
Not just from the heat of the midday sun baking him alive, or from the way his hair was practically glued to his sweat-slick neck.
No, the worst of his suffering was caused by Steve Harrington’s thighs.
They were going to kill him.
Eddie couldn’t help it, he really couldn’t, he just had to keep glancing over at where the other boy was lying in the grass, skin bare except for the tiniest pair of shorts Eddie had ever seen. They barely covered the top half of his thighs for fuck’s sake, what was even the point in them…
The guy’s naked chest and torso had already done a number on Eddie. But when Steve had laid down, stretched out to sunbathe in his backyard, those already-skimpy shorts had ridden up even higher, revealing a slightly paler strip of skin stretched tight over lean muscle and Eddie had had to sit on his damn hands to stop himself from reaching out and just touching…
A water balloon smacked into the side of Eddie’s face, momentarily dragging his attention away from Steve’s hairy thighs.
Luckily for Dustin, who was standing with his hands on his hips nearby and rolling his eyes at Eddie, the balloon hadn’t burst. If it had, Eddie might’ve strangled the kid himself.
“Hey, we said no water balloons near us!” Robin grumbled, sitting up to glare at the kid.
“I called your name three times,” Dustin complained to Eddie. “Not my fault you were too busy staring at Steve.”
Eddie’s eyes darted sideways, sensing movement from Steve. The boy cracked open an eye to give Eddie a brief glance, then closed it again, the tiniest smirk spreading across his face.
“I was not, you little shrimp,” Eddie snapped. “Now what do you want?”
“Come throw the rings into the pool for me? Lucas and Mike keep grabbing them before I can reach them, and I want to try and dive for them.”
Eddie snorted. “What are you, a fucking dolphin?”
“Language,” Steve mumbled lazily, not opening his eyes.
“Apologies, my liege, I’ll try to keep my language appropriate around your little charges.”
“Thank you.”
Eddie stood, wincing a little as he reached up to touch his rapidly reddening shoulders. Unlike Steve, he wasn’t gifted with a natural golden glow to his skin. He was pasty, usually sheet-white.
And now, he was steadily burning to a crisp.
Grumbling under his breath, Eddie stole one last look at the prone Steve, let his eyes run over his form for as long as he thought he could get away with. He could wax poetry about his thighs, about his torso, about the moles dotting his chest and stomach like constellations…
“Eddie?”
Fuck.
“Yeah, Steve?” His response came out as almost a squeak.
“You’re burnt. Once you’re finished entertaining Dustin, come back and get some sunblock on, I’ll help with your shoulders.”
Eddie swallowed thickly. Because that meant Steve would have his hands on him, all sun-warm as he spread sunblock across Eddie’s sensitive skin…
Steve opened his eyes then, rolling over to face Eddie and propping his head up on his hand with his elbow bent.
“And then after that, you can do my back.”
He fucking winked.
Eddie backpeddled, nodding quickly then turning around and doing his best to not trip over his feet as he scrambled after Dustin.
“Dude, you’re the least subtle person I’ve ever seen,” Dustin whispered to him as they walked towards the pool.
“Shut up.”
Eddie threw the rings half-heartedly into the pool, Dustin diving for them in a…not so impressive display of athleticism, but he would emerge eventually and toss the colourful rings back at Eddie, the other kids watching on.
As it tended to do, Eddie’s attention drifted back to Steve.
He was up now, chasing Robin around in the grass with the still-intact water balloon in hand. Robin was shrieking and trying to slap at him with her book, sunglasses flying from her hair. Steve hurled the water balloon, but it slapped against Robin’s back and plopped to the ground without breaking again.
Lightning quick, Robin picked it up and threw it hard back at Steve.
It smacked onto Steve’s chest and burst.
Eddie’s wide eyes drifted down.
Steve’s tiny shorts were now soaked, Robin doubled over with laughter as the water trickled down his torso and collected at the waistband.
Eddie’s gaze followed the path of water through Steve’s chest hair, down the soft planes of his stomach and small swell of his abdominal muscles, tracking past the healing scars on his sides…
When he looked up again, Steve’s eyes were on him.
Just as Eddie was trying to craft an excuse as to why he was openly ogling the guy again, Steve swiped the bottle of sunblock from the grass, holding it up with a little wiggle to Eddie, a slow grin spreading across his face.
Eddie dropped Dustin’s rings into the water without looking, ignoring the kid’s protests, and strode towards Steve.
The other boy’s smile spread wider, his eyes twinkling.
Eddie was fucked.
___
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truth, dare, spin bottles
you know how to ball, i know aristotle
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Buzzcut
For @klausinamarink ‘s birthday. I’m sorry this is late, my friend 💗
Eddie’s gonna kill him. Gonna murder his uncle and bury him in the backyard so he can never embarrass Eddie ever, ever again.
“This one,” Wayne the Betrayer continues, leafing over to the next page, “was Eddie’s eighth grade talent show.”
Steve makes a particularly strangled noise that lands somewhere between a coo and a laugh, pointing at the photo that Eddie is positive he’d set fire to last year.
Wayne must’ve made copies.
“Look at your hair!” Steve giggles, downright bouncing in his seat as he points to Eddie’s hideous buzzcut, “you were so cute!”
Eddie makes another grab for the photo album but his stupid jock boyfriend with his stupid, hot jock reflexes dances away, getting up from the couch to turn to the next page, which only makes him giggle louder.
“Look at you!” Steve downright coos this time, holding the photo album so close to his face it nearly rubs at his nose.
“I will never forgive you for this.” Eddie grumbles, Steve practically bouncing on his toes as he takes in Eddie’s woeful eighth-grade haircut, and Wayne has the audacity to scoff.
“Your boy asked. I ain’t about to refuse him.”
“You’re supposed to be on my side.” Eddie whines, and Wayne rolls his eyes.
“Not when you’re bein’ an idjit.”
Steve dances back over, keeping the album a safe distance away as he shows Eddie another photo, this time with him at a table covered in dice and miniatures, his hair still cropped close to his head. “I’m framing these.” Steve announces, tapping at the photograph, “look at you!”
And Steve’s smiling so big and wide, so obviously enamored, and Eddie, despite himself, feels his irritation shrink.
“We’re burning it.” Eddie counters, but it’s without heat, and Steve sits down next to him, no longer afraid for the albums safety.
“I love them.” Steve maintains, and Eddie softens more at the heartfelt way his boyfriend gazes on his awkward, gangly phase, on Eddie’s shaved head and how it accentuates his too-big ears and buggy eyes, Steve cradling the pages like those years are something precious.
“You’re biased.” Eddie grumbles, but he scoots a little closer to Steve. Presses their shoulders together. Their thighs.
“‘Ve got baby photos.” Wayne suddenly announces, and Eddie nearly topples off the couch, “you know he didn’t get hair until he was three?”
My permanent tag list (sorry yall are getting tagged twice in one day I am overdue on some gifts!!!) 💗: @hotluncheddie @hitlikehammers @hbyrde36 @littlewildflowerkitten @chaotic-waffle
@westifer-dead @perseus-notjackson @finntheehumaneater @theheadlessphilosopher @spectrum-spectre
@itsall-taken @marvel-ous-m @bookworm0690 @acasualcrossfade
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Everyone in the league knows about Eddie Munson. He has the makings of a great pitcher, except for the fact that his slider has a 75% chance of sliding too high and his fastballs mostly end up in the dirt. His technique is wild, flailing, unrestrained. Which is why Steve is beside himself when he learns about the trade.
The owners, they think that Steve being the best catcher in the league means he can work with Eddie, settle him, make him a real prospect. Steve's input isn't needed with the decision already made, but Munson--with all his tattoos piercings and leather--looks like he'd rather hock a loogie at Steve than take directions from him.
And Steve is the best in the league, the glue that keeps the team together. They're a well-oiled machine, and Eddie is--Eddie is a squeaky wheel.
They meet for the first time, briefly, in the locker room. He's seen the guy before, of course, but now, like this, he can't help but be intrigued by his pale skin and long curls and brown doe-eyes, his lightly muscled frame. And they're in the locker room, Eddie with just a towel around his waist, exposing his toned chest and stomach and the black swirl of his tattoos.
"Steve Harrington!" Eddie reaches out a hand. "Great to meet you, man."
"You too. Excited to have you with us." The handshake is quick and firm and Steve is trying not to be surprised about how excited and genuine the guy sounds, keep his mind away from thinking of how Eddie is naked aside from the towel.
With only a few weeks until the start of the regular season, Eddie starts pitching to Steve. And Steve, he so expects Eddie to fight and grumble and refuse, that his head sort of spins when, on the first day, Eddie claps him on the back with his glove, says, "where do you want me, cap?" and that's that.
He wants to say that they dislike each other, that they're a bad fit, that Eddie is full himself and refuses constructive criticism.
Instead.
Instead it's easy.
Eddie doesn't complain, doesn't argue, just watches Steve, learns him, takes his advice and notes and implements them as much as he can. They like each other, have an easy rapport, get each other. He's tight with all the pitchers, but Eddie is different. They settle each other.
They're best friends. They hangout constantly. And he doesn't have a crush; he doesn't. It would be unprofessional. They're best friends.
But sometimes, sometimes he thinks he catches Eddie looking at him. It's impossible. Of course it's impossible. Eddie couldn't be into the guy Sports Illustrated called "baseball's Ralph Lauren model" in the intro to Steve's Body Issue photo spread. And it doesn't matter one way or the other because Steve won't make a move. He won't jeopardize the team like that.
They don't touch. He touches everyone on the team, often, and Eddie particularly is a physical guy, but aside from that first handshake, he keeps his distance. Steve's afraid--even though it's silly, he's afraid--that once they start touching, he won't be able to stop, and he can't let that happen.
The team is good, competing for first place in the National League. Eddie's success has made everyone else better.
It's late July, they're in first place in the league, and Eddie's pitching a perfect game. There's only been 24 perfect games thrown in the history of Major League Baseball, but it's the eighth inning and Eddie's doing it.
A pitch goes wild, veers high over the umpire's head. Eddie's shaken, Steve can tell with how his fist tightens compulsively around the ball. The next pitch swings wide, towards the batter's knees.
The count is at 2 balls, no strikes, and he can see, even from behind home plate Steve can see, that Eddie's losing it. He heads for the mound, refuses to let it end like this. He closes the distance between them, has a quick internal debate before he puts his hand on Eddie's lower back. They've never touched, this is it, this is--warmth bleeds from Eddie's skin, through the fabric of his jersey, goes straight to Steve's head.
Eddie frowns. "I don't think I--"
"You're going to do it, Ed. I know. I can feel it." He pats his chest, over his heart. "It's gonna happen."
Eddie's breathing settles and it's only then that Steve realizes he's rubbing circles into Eddie's back with his thumb. He's not sure when he started, doesn't want to stop, loves being able to feel.
"Okay," Eddie says.
"Okay."
Steve removes his hand, heads back to home, still tingling with the warmth of Eddie's body even as he crouches behind the plate.
He closes out the inning with three definitive strike outs. The crowd goes wild.
They take the field for the top of the 9th, the crowd is screaming, ready for this, the energy zipping through every player on the field.
It goes by in a blur. Nine pitches. Eddie's perfect game is wrapped up in nine phenomenal pitches.
As the ump calls the last out, there's a moment of complete and utter quiet in the stadium, Steve's heart a pounding hum in his ears, before pandemonium breaks loose. There's screaming, fireworks, someone is crying--
All he can see is Eddie. Eddie's who's thrown his glove to the dirt, is barreling towards him with a triumphant smile bright on his face. Steve stands, runs to close the distance. He sees the moment that Eddie decides to jump into his arms, catches him easily--will always catch him--but his legs are tired and the momentum gets him, sends them tumbling back into the grass.
They're both yelling, laughing, smiling hard enough to hurt. Eddie's hair has fallen out if its tie, tumbling around his shoulders, and Steve gazes at him, can't help it, in this moment can admit that he's so, so astronomically in love.
It's only then Steve realizes that the laughter's stopped, that Eddie's gazing back. Brown eyes shining bright with happiness, cheeks flushed pink, lips parted. Thoughtless, he reaches up to caress Eddie's cheek.
The team reaches them, streaming around them, yanking Eddie and Steve to their feet. The celebration stretches around them, the moment slipping away. He wants to finish what they started but there are interviews, champagne showers, congratulations, that keep them apart. Sometimes, from across the room, their eyes meet, and there's heat there that's new, that sparks something low in Steve's gut.
Hours pass, and finally he finds himself alone in the locker room. He's just pulled on his t-shirt when the door shuts behind him. He spins, finds Eddie, waiting, watching.
He crosses the room without a word, can't not, not now, not after everything. They grapple for a second, the wanting so strong that it takes a second to settle, to find each other. They kiss hard, desperate, seething with desire.
Steve hopes it never ends and it doesn't, just tapers into soft kisses, gentle nips. He can't bring himself to step away.
"Is this for real ?" Eddie whispers.
"I've been insane about you since the trade."
Eddie's smile is blinding. "I used to have those pictures of you--the ones with the little red shorts?--in my locker in the minors. Feel like I'm living in a dream right now."
It lights him up inside, knowing that Eddie wants him, has wanted him. "Let me take you home and show you just how real it is?"
He snorts, but his dimples deepen, eyes shining. "What a line, sweetheart."
"Yeah well, the baseball field isn't the only place where I hit home runs."
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I must not mock Gen Alpha. Mocking Gen Alpha is the mind killer. Mocking Gen Alpha is the little-death that brings total generational solidarity obliteration. I will engage with Gen Alpha lovingly. I will permit them to be cringe. And when they grow up I will turn my eye to their accomplishments. Where mocking has gone there will be nothing. Only generational solidarity remains
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truth, dare, spin bottles
you know how to ball, i know aristotle
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YES YES I NEED THIS SIGN IN EVERY SINGLE PARK PLEASE
This is my daily struggle, I had so many arguments with people with off-leash dogs (in a mandatory leash area!!!). Thanks to this behavior I'm struggling with Kim being anxious/aggressive with other females as she often gets involved in unpleased interactions with free females while on leash. And every single time that I ask for the dog to be at least recalled, I'm being called names and insulted of course.
Also 9 out of 10 their dog isn't really that friendly at all.
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all goofing aside I genuinely don't understand the urge to reimagine Taylor Allison Swift as a secretly queer icon when the pop music scene(TM) is like. literally overflowing with women who actually like women. Gaga and Kesha and Miley and Halsey are right there. Rina Sawayama and Hayley Kiyoko and Rebecca Black and Kehlani and Victoria Monét and Miya Folick if you're willing to get slightly less top 100. Janelle and Demi for them nonbinary takes on liking girls. like what are we doing here. like I'm not even saying you can't enjoy Taylor but why would you hang all your little gay hopes on her.
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Hi! hope you feel better soon! And hope you get some much needed rest in the meantime! For the one word prompt: post S4 Steddie, “hazy”.
thank you so much & thank you for inspiring a little moment about rest & healing 💕
•one word ficlet prompts
Steve finds that the couch next to Eddie’s hospital bed is ridiculously comfortable.
Eddie’s talking to the nurse—he can’t really catch what’s being said, the world growing warm and hazy—but he can hear that Eddie’s making her laugh. Knows that’s important, something that would’ve been unthinkable not so long ago: that Eddie feels brave enough to let something of himself shine through. That he can still trust in the kindness of certain people, even strangers.
Steve vaguely hears the nurse leave, glances over to see Eddie within touching distance, perched on the side of his bed. He’s folding some T-shirts in preparation for getting discharged—he’d joked when Steve had first arrived that it’s the most organised he’s ever been.
He must’ve washed his hair this morning, left it to air dry: some of the ends are still damp, and it’s gone kinda wispy around his face. It’s a calming sight, leaves Steve grateful that he no longer associates it with the dive into Lover’s Lake; now it’s something softer.
Something safe.
Eddie looks up. Smiles.
“Uh, Steve, with all due respect,” he begins, which makes Steve snort; he’s come to know it as one of Eddie’s sayings, preceding all manner of teasing objections, “what the hell?”
Steve would usually ask, “What now?” in feigned exasperation, unable to hide his amusement—but his head feels suddenly heavy, and all he manages is, “Hmm?”
Eddie’s smile grows, showing his dimples. He reaches over, and he places a hand on Steve’s knee, presses down gently, “Are you, like, training to be a contortionist?”
Steve feels the warmth of the touch through his jeans; he realises then that he’s sitting awkwardly: one knee bent towards his chest; his neck crooked, arms folded; his whole body instinctively angled toward the edge of the couch.
It’s a position he’s perfected it over the years, honed in all kinds of makeshift beds—most recently the chairs of hospital waiting rooms, leaving space for one of the kids to rest on his shoulder. Snatching rest wherever he could throughout the nightmare of that Spring Break, never quite relaxing fully: ready to move, to spring into action at a moment’s notice.
He remembers Robin tactfully making sure that the RV was empty while everyone else stayed outside; his side still aching, Steve stretched out on the seat in the back. Even while he was alone, he only managed a fitful doze—nearly fell off his seat as he wrenched himself awake at the slightest disturbance.
He can’t find that urgency now. Hasn’t needed to for…
He must have zoned out for a couple seconds, because Eddie’s standing now. Watching fondly.
“if you’re tired,” Eddie says quietly, “you should sleep.”
And Steve hears the shape of it, that deliberation in how Eddie says certain things, where he slows down just a little—and Steve knows it must be because it’s something Eddie’s once been told by his uncle.
There’s a blanket getting draped across him now. Eddie touches his knee again, and this time Steve relaxes fully, feels himself slowly tilt back. There’s a pillow beneath his head that wasn’t there before.
Eddie smoothes out the blanket with care. Steve’s view is getting dimmer, a drowsy blur of eyelashes.
But he can see that Eddie’s smiling again. Hears him make a soft, jokingly disapproving tsk.
“Close your eyes,” Eddie whispers, with such affection.
Oh, you love me, Steve thinks.
It’s a thought that drifts in, honeyed and slow, like it’s really been there all along—that perhaps before, in the white-knuckled days of survival, he was too afraid for it. Did not have room to feel it.
Steve’s eyes close.
He falls asleep so completely, knowing that Eddie will still be there, that time isn’t running out anymore; he can stay right where he is. He has room to breathe, to just be—room for the next thought, the next moment, for every moment to come.
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“You hurt me.”
“I know.”
Steve sighs, and he looks at Eddie in his doorway. So much has changed in five years. But Eddie seems the same. Just his hair is a bit longer, he’s got more tattoos, and he’s got scruff on his face that Steve knows when they saw each other last in 87’ would have driven him nuts.
Steve has always liked the idea of Eddie with a beard. It doesn’t matter now, though. “I think you should leave.”
“Steve, I—I just need a chance to explain.” Eddie moves side to side on his feet.
“Explain?” Steve scoffs, crossing his arms across his chest. “You had the chance to explain five years ago before you left. You had the chance to explain the weeks after with no phone calls to me to any of the kids. You had the chance to explain the year after when you talked to everyone but me, and I thought you just needed time. You had the chance a year ago before you cut everyone else off again.”
Eddie hangs his head in shame. “Stevie, please. I know I don’t deserve it. But I just want to talk.”
Steve’s resistance wavers slightly. He moves out of the doorway to let Eddie in. Eddie rushes inside, knowing Steve will change his mind at any moment. Steve shuts the door behind them. “I’m only letting you in because if Robin finds you in our doorway, she will kick your ass. And as much as you hurt me, I don’t actually want to see you in physical pain.”
Eddie smiles a bit, “Still the dynamic duo? You and Robbie? What’s stopping her from beating me up inside?”
“Our cat Sylvia might see. And she’s trying to shield her from as much violence as possible. Says one Sylvia has seen enough.”
“Oh please tell me she is out by now, because that is a giant gay flashing sign.” Eddie chuckles.
Steve can’t help but laugh a little, “Yes, she is. It would be hard if she weren’t, considering she’s dating Nancy. And Nancy is a lot of things, but subtle isn’t one of them. She shows her off any chance she gets.”
“Wow, Robs bagged Wheeler? Never saw that coming.” Eddie lets out a low whistle. “Must have been a blow to the ego for ya, Stevie. Your ex and your best friend.” He mock clutches his heart.
Steve lets out a big laugh this time, “Nah. I encouraged it. They’re my favorite people; they deserve to be happy.”
Eddie softens, “Yea, being a favorite person of Steve Harrington is a very special thing.”
Steve feels ice water in his veins, “What are you doing here Eddie?”
Eddie sighs, “What do you want to hear? Why I needed to come, or why I wanted to? Cause the truth is I needed to come to apologize to you. Give you the explanation you deserve. What I wanted, though, what I wanted is to tell you that I love—“
“Don’t.” Steve chokes.
“Right apologies first.”
“First? First?! Eddie. I don’t know what you could say to me right now that would make anything make sense. We had something good. It took us so long to get to that point. And it was great because we learned about each other and knew each other inside out. Our friendship blossomed into something more, and we were just getting started, and you left. I had thought I was done with love before I met you. But then you came along and made me feel seen and cared for, and then you got weird and distant so quickly, and you fucking left. And then I knew for sure I was done with love. Don’t think it was meant for me. Sure, that’s not on you, but you don’t get to—you don’t get to open old wounds because you feel the sudden desire to come around again.” Steve swallows tears.
Eddie’s face goes through hundreds of emotions. Anger. Shock. Grief. He doesn’t say anything for a minute. They stew in Steve’s words instead. Then finally, Eddie settles on. “I’m an addict.”
Steve, who has thought about a million ways this could go, has never thought of this. “What?” All the tension releases from his body. He just stares hopelessly at Eddie.
“I’m an addict. I'm sober now, I just reached a year, but yeah. I'm an addict. Never thought I would be. But after everything with Vecna and the painkillers they put me on…it got hard. Denied it for a while. Said to myself a little of everything here and there to forget wouldn’t hurt anyone. But then we were becoming something alongside, me spiraling deeper into addiction. And I—fuck this was easier to practice at the meetings.” Eddie runs his hands through his hair. “You didn’t do anything wrong. But I would have hurt you. More than me leaving did. And I couldn’t live with that. I could live with you hating me. It was selfish of me. I wasn’t ready to give up the drugs so I gave up you, and it’s not fair. Not fair that I did that to you, to anyone of you really, but especially you Steve. You just deserved someone who could love you all the time, love you fully. And I thought I did but I think I was using you a little to make myself feel better. That’s not to say I didn’t love you. I did, still do, always will. But we both deserved a better version than what we had.”
Steve feels tears on his cheeks, he isn’t sure what to say. “You didn’t get to make that decision for me.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
Steve chokes on a sob, “Dammit Eddie. It was my birthday.”
Something breaks inside them, and suddenly they are in each other's arms, weeping together. There is this fragile broken thing between them, a love that never went away. It is horrible and beautiful and needs so much work to be wonderful once more.
But it was nice to break together again.
“I know. I’m sorry. I can’t say it enough. I’ll make sure every day for the rest of my life that I make it up to you. In any way I can.”
“I don’t know how we can get back Eds. Don’t know if we should.”
“I’ll take you any way you’ll have me. Friend. Lover. A person you only call when you need a ride to the airport. Just let me try; it’s all I ask. I promised I wouldn’t go back to you until I knew I had put the work into myself first. You don’t owe me anything. I would understand if you kicked me out right now. But I need you to know that Steve, I love you anyway you’ll have me. And I have never stopped thinking about you.”
Steve lifted his head from Eddie’s chest. “I’d like to try to get to know you again. This you. See where it goes. But Eds, no matter what, no matter the version of you, I will always care. And I will always be your friend.”
Eddie kisses Steve’s forehead, “Thank you.”
It’s there where Steve and Eddie hug on the wooden apartment floor; they hear the door unlock. “Oh no, she’s home early.”
Eddie doesn’t get to respond because, suddenly, Robin is in the doorway. “Hey, dingus! I brought home an extra latte—“
She freezes at the sight of Eddie before rebooting with a dark look, “Steve, is your nail bat still under your bed?”
——
Wanted to try the whole break up thing, I have a lot of different break up/makeup ideas in my head. maybe pt. 2???? Kinda feels good to stop here. But if you think so I have more ideas for this.
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