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[emesis-nemisis]

<- part one | part three -> | series masterlist

chapter summary: The week of the bet begins with a bang.

the song: Bodybag by chloe moriondo

also for your listening pleasure: Hungry Like the Wolf by Duran Duran / The Girl is Mine by Michael Jackson & Paul McCartney / I Can't Go For That by Daryl Hall & John Oates

4,024 words | please see masterlist for gen warnings / underage alcohol consumption & mentions / slut shaming from idiot/asshole teens | my blog is 18+

A house on Cornwallis Street - the past

The beat from the drums in the Duran Duran song playing throbbed, the speakers physically pulsing as you passed them. Your heels stuck to the kitchen tiles as you entered the room that had been your sanctuary for the past hour. Once the beer had been moved to the living room and the chip bowls thoroughly destroyed, the sticky vodka bottles and punch that looked like something died in it weren’t visited as frequently as they had been at the start of the night. 

So it was there, forearms pressed to the edge of the sink as you lifted a foot and rolled your ankle, then the next, with a soft and maybe too sensual sigh of relief, that Steve Harrington finally caught you alone. 

“New shoes?”

You spun, forgetting the teeny tiny sticks beneath your heels didn’t really care for quick movements or aiding in the process of balancing. 

He caught your forearm, fingers curled around your wrist as you settled. Like he was reminded he wasn’t supposed to like you, he dropped it, fingers running through the darkening hair he was keeping longer now instead as you lied. 

“No.”

Steve squinted at you, taking a sip out of red cup, mumbling into the plastic with a snort, “Sure.”

Your arms crossed, now acutely aware of the fact that the entire outfit you’d been in all night was much more revealing than anything you’d worn around him before. Eyes focused on the denim cut off a little too high on your thighs and the sliver of skin between the top of the mini skirt and your borrowed pink top as you accused, “What are you doing here?”

Steve took a step closer, white Adidas kicking a forgotten red solo cup as he did. 

“Funny,” he clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth, “Was just about to ask you the same thing.”

As you glanced up, you couldn’t help but notice the dark blue of his polo was starting to get tight around his shoulders and biceps.

Couldn’t help but look at his eyes that were unwavering in their gaze on you. Which all only made your skin hot, made you need to look away and pretend you were looking for something on the counter littered in trash. 

“Where else would I be, Harrington?” 

Steve was right behind you as he hummed, “Anywhere else. Literally, anywhere but a house party.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You spun with the biting accusation, the little black heels now your arch nemesis as they wobbled beneath unsteady ankles again. Steve caught your waist that time, bodies closer together as you fell back against the counter. 

He didn’t let go, his finger resting just above the denim, right against your skin. 

“It means,” he swallowed, exhaling a shaky breath as he leaned in and explained, voice taking on a tone that seemed like he was quoting something. Or someone. “That I thought you were better than stale beer and shitty conversation with idiots.”

A flash of an argument with your friend Robin in the hallway ghosted across your memory, making your lips part, but only a small noise escaped them. 

The movement and sound had Steve’s eyes glancing down, his adams apple bobbing. It had him squeeze at your hip involuntarily, had you wondering if it was possible for skin to spontaneously catch on fire. 

“I love beer,” you finally managed to sputter out while wondering if he always had those two freckles on his cheek and if he did, why could you suddenly not look away from them as they lifted with his smirk. 

“Yeah?” He offered his cup out to you, “Have at it, honey.”

Maybe it was the challenge in his eyes. Or that word, honey, that made you do it - made you aware of how close you were to the boy you’d always hated and how he wasn’t the one you came with. 

You took the cup and kept eye contact as the rim met your lips, kept it while the bitter liquid washed over your tongue. You kept it still, as you wondered if it was the color of his eyes or the alcohol that had your stomach warm and fizzing with something abnormal. 

“For the record,” you whispered after your fingers swiped at your lips, “I do hate shitty conversation with idiots. I came in here for a drink for my boyfriend.”

Steve blinked, like he hadn’t heard anything you’d said since you took the cup from him and that wonderful pride swelled in your chest with the thought that you’d successfully gotten the ball back to your side of the court. 

You cocked your head and blinked innocent eyes up at him, “Brenden Peterson? Junior? I think you’re on the basketball team with him…or well…” you winced, “You’re on the bench of the team he plays for…”

Steve’s hand dropped from your waist as boisterous calls came from the other room, shouting about spin the bottle. Tina’s voice carried over the music that dulled to something quieter, Michael Jackson and Paul McCartney singing about loving the same girl. Your name called in her shrill squeal, asking if you were playing. 

“Absolutely!” You yelled, still too close to Steve, “I love spin the bottle!”

You were sure it was the beer on your tongue that made the words slip over it, then out of cherry glossed lips so easily. 

Not the way Steve Harrington was looking at you. That had nothing to do with it. 

Nothing at all. 

Steve finally made a noise, scoffing as you shimmied out from his spot keeping you against the counter, wandering closer to the rowdy boys cheering at your agreeability to the suggested game. 

His jaw pulsed as you sipped out of the solo cup and made eye contact with him over the rim. He hated that something deep in his biology or wherever it came from had him suddenly panicked he’d pop a boner when your tongue darted out to catch amber liquid and foam from a pouted bottom lip. 

He hated that he followed you into that room. 

That he sat across from you in that circle. 

He hated what happened next. 

You were looking around the room, eyebrows furrowed together as a girl named Carol patted the carpet next to her and told you to sit. Brendan wasn’t in the room and as you looked around the circle, you caught Steve looking right at you with a challenge in his eyes not unsimilar to the one you just had in the kitchen. 

So you leaned forward and yelled, “Me first!” 

The circle ooh’ed, Steve looked anywhere but your chest as you crawled to the center and your fingers spun the green bottle. 

You were settled on your knees, blinking down at the slowing bottle and silently screaming for it to keep spinning, keep spinning, keep…

Carol yelled out an “Oh La La!” and boys snickered as the green bottle finally stopped right between Steve Harrington and Tommy H. 

“I-I just spin again, right?” You went to do so, panicking as Tina laughed from somewhere on your right. 

“Nope! Gotta kiss both boys!” 

“But I-“

“Oh, come on!” Carol moaned, snickering, “It’s just a kiss! Or two!”

You hesitated, hating the way Tommy grinned at you and Steve continued to stare at the carpet. 

“Wait,” someone in the circle laughed, “You’ve kissed a guy before, right?”

Another person whispered, “Dude, that’s Brendan’s latest conquest. The one who…in the back of his…”

Your vision got a little blurry, the room suddenly too warm.

“Come on, I don’t bite,” Tommy shrugged, lifting his eyebrows up and smirking. “Unless you want me to.”

Steve’s fingers clenched into fists on his knees, he finally looked up at you and whispered, “You don’t have to-“

His words were cut off as you grabbed Tommy’s collar and pulled him towards you. Lips colliding in a kiss that made the circle cheer, wet lips and tongue and you pulled away with a gasp. Grabbing at Steve who looked shocked but his hand landed on your waist as your noses bumped. 

You took a deep breath, your eyelids started to flutter closed when you heard, “What do we have here?”

Brendan stood to the side of the circle, a tilted head of mussed blond hair. He laughed as he gestured to the circle, “Wow, you really will just do whatever guys ask you to, huh?”

Looking around the circle, everyone snickered into drinks or looked at you then Brendan, waiting for more of the show. 

“I-“

“You what?” Brendan interrupted, eliciting more laughs and your eyes started to burn, cheeks too hot when Brendan nodded at Steve and scoffed,

“Enjoy my sloppy seconds.”

A tear rolled down your cheek and when Tommy started to laugh, “Oh no, she’s cry-“

Steve elbowed him and whispered your name.

You shoved at him and stood, ready to bolt, when you saw the girl standing just behind Brendan with the purple mark blossoming on her neck.

Your jaw clenched as you took a step, then another, Brendan too focused on laughing at you with his buddies to care until he was doused in beer. 

The music stopped, the circle fell silent, and Brendan blinked through foam, swiping at his eyes as he growled, “What the fu-“

“Enjoy continuing to fail freshman level biology, getting kicked off the basketball team, and going absolutely fucking nowhere in your life, Brendan.”

You threw the crumpled red solo cup at his face as you tried to leave the room with some ounce of grace on the stupid heels you couldn’t wait to never see again. 

The slam of the front door behind you rattled the framed photos inside as much as the sob in your lungs did to your breath. Your fingers pressed to your lips as you blinked back the hot tears that wanted to pour out of you. 

“Hey,” a quiet voice from your left called, “You okay?”

A boy was leaning on his elbows in the grass, curly brown hair that was a little too long catching in the breeze, a lit cigarette dangling between his lips. He looked familiar, like you’d seen him in the back of the band room or somewhere in the first few months at Hawkins High. 

He looked you over and shook his head with a grimace, “Yeah, no, that’s not an okay face.”

“I’m fi-fine,” you managed to hiccup out. 

“Well, fine,” he groaned like a person much older than the boy he was as he stood, “I’m Eddie. Nice to meet you.”

A laugh left you, despite the tears still trailing down your cheeks. You swiped at them and told him your actual name. 

Eddie nodded and twisted the toe of a black boot into the cigarette now on the ground. “Still nice to meet you, but far less cool and interesting of a name than ‘Fine’ if you ask me.”

“It was nice to meet you too, Eddie,” you waved a little, hugged your arms around yourself and started down the driveway, only stopping to kick off your black heels and leave them in the grass. As you began again, now barefoot, his voice carried on the early autumn breeze. 

“Hey, Fine!” 

He grinned when you turned, and he held up his hands in surrender as he spoke. “Tell me to fuck off, but whatever just happened inside is not worth your time or energy, but you know what is?”

You sighed, and waved your hand towards him, “I suppose you’re gonna tell me yourself?”

He beamed and held a hand to his chest covered in some sort of skull and snake design, “Well, that probably remains to be seen. I do have a whole presentation on the value of having a Munson for a friend, but, nah, I was gonna say cherry pie.”

That laugh left you again, and Eddie only smiled wider at the sound, a dimple poking out on his cheek. 

You looked at him, then the house behind him, then down at the heels in the grass. 

“Can we stop and get me new shoes?”

“Can we…?” Eddie looked at you incredulously, “Sweetheart, I wouldn’t think of bringing you to get cherry pie without sneakers on your feet.”

He waved to a van a few cars down the street, bowing, “Your chariot awaits, ma’lady.”

By the time Steve got outside, bruised and bloody knuckles hung limply at his sides as he watched a van round the corner of his street, then disappear. 

A house on Cornwallis Street - the present

His fingers press the top of the alarm clock at precisely five fifty-nine am on Monday morning, the red glow of clock telling him he’s up too early yet again. 

He doesn’t drive Robin to school anymore, he doesn’t have to be at work till nine thirty, but he’s kind of used to his routine now.

And it’s not like he was sleeping anyways. 

His old Hawkins High swim team t-shirt slips over his head as he sighs, hands rubbing and slapping at his cheeks as he thinks about how he hasn’t really slept all weekend. He’s lacing his sneakers up as he thinks about how he definitely didn’t sleep on Friday. 

Not after he let you inside, and you smiled at him like that. After he yelled about how this wasn’t a fair bet and how Eddie upped the stakes to three hundred dollars then, the ‘arch nemesis’ clause as he put it. 

He holds his ankle in the driveway, pulling his leg up and stretching it, then the other, glaring at the red sign on the front lawn in the hazy morning sun beginning to rise. He starts down the sidewalk, but sees the house on the corner and decides that after an entire weekend of revisiting memory lane, he doesn’t need to physically go down the literal lane of his past mistakes and regrets. 

His feet thump on the ground in time with the Duran Duran song playing in his walkman. 

Family Video - the present

Daryl Hall and John Oates voices abruptly stop when you slam the stop button on your walkman due to the sight in front of you. 

Your feet straddle the baby blue bike, docs pressed to the pavement as you glare at the maroon car idling in the parking lot. 

He has his head leaned back against the head rest, eyes closed. His arms are crossed over the green vest while Tears for Fears plays out the open window quietly. 

Pulling your headphones down around your neck, you slam your hand on the hood of his car and Steve jumps in his seat, blinking profusely and swiping at his eyes before he glares at you.

“What are you doing here?” You accuse, fingers gripping your handlebars.

Steve rolls his eyes then his window up. He yanks his keys from the ignition, the sudden loss of the vehicles noises making the cicadas and frogs in the pond across the street louder. 

He gets out and squints at you as he slams the door. 

“Cute helmet.”

You quickly snap it off, cheeks warming as you shove your bike lock into a wheel and glare at him from your new crouched position. 

“Again,” you snap the lock closed, “Why are you here?”

Steve sighs, leaning against the storefront’s window. “We open at ten, do we not?”

“We,” you laughed, sticking your key into the front door with the shake of your head, “Don’t do anything. You work in the afternoon all week. With Robin. I’m alone in the mornings until we-“

“Find a replacement for Tracy. Yeah,” Steve bites the inside of his cheek, pointing his finger like he’s just remembered something, “Keith said something about that. But, well, I volunteered for extra shifts, to help out while we’re short staffed for summer.”

You pull the key from the lock and narrow your eyes. “You what?”

Steve smiles at you, freckles on his cheek lifting as he shows off perfect teeth. “What can I say, I’m just a nice guy.”

You actually yell out a, “Ha!” with your head thrown back as you open the front door, not caring to hold it open for him. 

“You…you…” you stomp towards the back room as you search for the right words, “Slimy, sneaky…”

“Sexy?” Steve provides, following you.

“No.” You spin with the word, not expecting him to be so close behind you.

He stops just as abruptly as you, face mere centimeters from yours, both of you having the cover of the slow to buzz on overhead lights to steal breaths and find your composure once more. 

Steve sighs, walking past you towards the wall where time cards are kept. “Listen, if it’s actually that terrible to work with me, I can call Keith again. But I really would appreciate the extra shifts.”

You hang your helmet on a hook and push your own card into the machine, skepticism evident in your voice as you ask, “You need the extra shifts?”

Steve faces your profile, and you feel his gaze lingering on your cheek as he whispers, “Well, yeah. I’m about to be out three hundred dollars in a week.”

Turning to face him, you finally take in his appearance. The sincere look in his eyes is almost overshadowed by the circles under them, the frown of his pink lips almost forgotten due to the stubble surrounding them that’s not normally there. 

Your silence seems to mean something to him though, because the frown becomes a smirk, and his head tilts as he asks, “Or am I not?”

“Not what?” 

His smirk becomes a full smile, “Not gonna be out three hundred bucks. See something you like, babe?”

And just like that, it’s gone. 

Your eyes roll as your shoulder bumps his on the way to the coffee pot.

“In your dreams, Harrington.”

He watches you press start on the coffee, sitting on top of the break rooms table with crossed arms over a plain blue t-shirt. 

“Bet you’d like that.”

You fiddle with the cream you’ve pulled out of the fridge, the clipboard of tasks Keith left for the week. “What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, keeping your tone bored, willing the minutes of this day to go by faster. 

Steve’s voice is quieter, and closer to you as he says, “If I dreamt about you.”

Spinning at his words, cream canister in one hand, coffee mug in the other almost colliding with his chest. You blink at him as he continues, “Bet you’d like it even more if I told you what we did in those dreams.”

Your back hits the counter, not realizing Steve took a step closer as he spoke and there was nowhere for you to avoid how good he smelled or how what he was saying was making you sure there was something wrong with your stomach. Nowhere to avoid the eyes that look at you unashamed, and you could swear dare to seem hopeful. 

Until he’s grinning, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. 

And doesn’t he?

Steve taps the counter behind you twice with two of his fingers and hums. 

“On second thought, maybe you should take my afternoon shifts. Looks like I’m not the one who’s gonna be needing the extra cash after all.”

He leaves, whistling a song you can’t quite place, but it itches at your skin, demanding to be felt like the burn of his words left on your cheeks. 

You shake your head, and fix your coffee. This is not happening. Despite Robin and Eddie vouching for the new and improved Harrington, you will never, ever, believe it. 

You will never let him win. 

Especially after the first morning shift with him. 

When the store opens at ten, there are three cars in the lot already, families stocking up on weekly rentals. Kids are in and out, shouting about candy and horror movie marathons. Steve and you are both behind the counter for most of the shift dealing with returns and large purchases, arms bumping too many times to count. It’s when his hands land on your hips as you threaten to topple over with the stack of tapes you were desperate to get out on the shelves in the lull, that you both notice you’re finally alone again for the first time in four hours. 

Steve’s breath hits your neck, making you even warmer with a murmured, “You’re welcome,” when you gasp out a thanks. He drops his hands quickly and squints up at the ceiling, then out the front doors. 

The sky has turned darker, gray and gloomy, and you wouldn’t be surprised if a typical summer thunderstorm was rolling in. 

Steve leans against the counter, the back of his hand swiping through his hair as the other fiddles with the TV remote. He turns off The Breakfast Club, switching to a cable station. You keep your back to him as he’s surely staring at the news anchor’s chest that most men in Hawkins want to suffocate in, until he mutters, “Knew it.”

“That Lucy Lebrock’s boobs were fake?” You mumble, stacking tapes.

Steve snorts out a laugh and then he gasps, standing up straighter, “Holy shit. Are they really?”

“Honestly, Harrington, look at them.” You spin and gesture to the TV and whisper, “Oh, fuck.”

“I know,” Steve nods, biting the inside of his lip as he glances out the store windows again. 

Lucy points to a map showing a massive storm inching closer to Hawkins, red banner announcing a tornado watch for surrounding areas. 

Steve and you continue to watch, leaning against the counter next to each other in silence as Lucy tells everyone about tornado safety. 

“I cannot believe they’re not real. You’re right. I really am an idiot.” Steve’s whisper finally breaks the silence. 

You snort, covering your mouth with your hand, hiding your laugh but your eyes sparkle when he looks at you. 

And then a loud clap of thunder booms overhead, like the universe itself is warning you of what’s happening, of the danger just around the corner. 

Then the power goes out. 

It all happens quickly after that, and yet, each moment lingers, like it’s making sure you’re committing it all to memory. 

There’s a moment where you grab Steve’s arm and he grabs your hip. 

One where you both jump a part, shouting sorry too loud.

There’s another, that threatens to steal your breath when Steve holds his vest over your head as you squint through rain streaming down your face as you lock the front door, the ‘Sorry we’re closed’ sign swinging behind the glass erratically as you inhale cedar and mint.

Then one, that grabs something inside of your chest and squeezes, when you start towards your bike and Steve slips his fingers between yours and tugs, shouting over the rain, “Don’t be stupid!”

There’s several filled with the splashes of your feet in puddles as he tugs you towards the BMW’s passenger side, unlocking it and racing around the hood himself. 

One that’s silent, save for rain pelting the metal roof, and both of your heavy breaths fogging up the glass. 

Then the sirens start going off, Steve’s fingers shake as he starts the car, swiping water from his eyes with the other. 

“My…my apartment. It’s on the other side of…”

Steve shakes his head, backing out carefully as the wipers work faster than what seems possible, and yet they do nothing to aid in his ability to see out the windshield. 

“Honey, you’re crazy if you think I’m taking you anywhere other than my house that has a full basement and an emergency storm kit Robin made me make with her last summer.”

Honey. 

The word lingers, swooshed away with the sound of the wipers and the Duran Duran song that scratches the itch that lingered all morning spilling out of the car’s speakers. It disappears with the spin of tires on the wet pavement as they take you to Cornwallis Street. 

Tag List - thanks for your endless patience and excitement for this and sorry for the delay in posting today 💛

@ash5monster01 @madaboutjoe @foreverinwanderlust @the-fairy-anon @scarletwitchgf

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@sanniegirl1214 @yourmommilf

[emesis-nemisis]

series masterlist | part two ->

chapter summary: A bet is proposed.

the song: honey by halsey

2,563 words | please see the masterlist for general warnings | my blog is 18+

Hawkins, Indiana - the past

  Your fingers tightened around the handlebars, palms damp and grip too loose for your liking. A deep furrow seems permanent between your brows, resting under the cherry red plastic that brought you into this mess. Their words ringing in your ears like a jingle of a commercial - annoying and unable to ignore if you tried. 

  “What a girl - she needs a helmet to ride a bike?”

  And if that comment alone wasn’t bad enough, Steve Harrington had to chime in. Leaning over his own handlebars, smirking, daring you to challenge him. 

  “What you need it for anyways? Not like you were planning to go down the destroyer. Bet you were just going to Benny’s for ice cream.”

  The other boys had snickered, Steve’s smirk grew into a full wattage, cocky, grin. That is until you lifted your chin, kicked up dust directly at him as you turned your bike and said: 

  “Cute you still call it the destroyer. I’ve been biking down that hill for years. How about I show you and buy you an ice cream cone afterwards Harrington?”

  Boys ‘oo’ed’, Steve’s jaw clenched, and your chest filled with some sort of powerful and addicting feeling as you biked towards your lie. 

  Which now sits in front of you. The legend so aptly named by the Hawkins population of thirteen and under due to it’s sheer height and the gravel that sat below it. A hill way out near the Quarry, it took half the day to bike there and back - if you still had your bike after that is. It was the tallest point in Hawkins aside from a grassy hill teens would sneak away to. 

  From the top of the destroyer, you could see the whole town, all the way down to the bottom of the Quarry, the road, and where it turned to gravel to lead to the sort of landing at the base of the pit. 

  It was the point the hill turned to gravel that truly gave the bike killer its name. If one somehow got the courage, or in your case straight up stupidity and false confidence for brains, to decide to go down the hill, your speed by the time you reached the bottom would be too much and the gravel was a relentless enemy. 

  You’d heard stories of bikes skidding, of scratched up, bruised limbs. There was even a tale of one boy who toppled over his handlebars and popped his shoulder out of place. 

  And you’d told Steve Harrington you’d been going down it for years. 

  “Hey.”

  His voice was far quieter than you were used to hearing, like he wanted you to have to lean in and listen to what he was about to tell you. 

  When you turned to tell him you didn’t care for what he had to say, you were shocked to find his cheek pulled between his teeth, wavy hair pushed up at odd angles like he’d run his hands through it a few too many times. Steve wrapped his fingers around his own handlebars tighter, like if his grip was strong enough, yours would be too, straddling his bike next to yours and gulping as he looked down the hill. 

  “What?” You finally asked, fingers toying with the straps of your helmet. 

  “I don’t think you should do this…” 

  As the boys whispered behind you, you frowned and didn’t dare think about how Steve’s voice wobbled a little, like there was some real emotion behind the warning. 

  Like he cared. 

  “I’m truly touched you were able to scrounge up enough brain cells to force a thought, but I have never and will never care what you think Steve Harrington.”

  That same swelling feeling of triumph filled your chest when the other boys laughed and Steve’s ears started to turn as red as your helmet. 

  Steve ignored the laughing, voice a twinge stronger than before as he said, “You’re gonna get hurt.”

  “I’ve done this hundreds of-“

  Steve said your last name, grabbed your handlebars. His golden eyes burning with something as he practically begged you to listen to what he was trying to say.

  “You’re being stupid.”

  From this close, you could see more freckles along the bridge of his nose, see that his eyes weren’t brown but had a little green in them. You could smell lemonade and sunblock and something about it all made you panic. Made you push him off and add extra bite to your tone, hoping your words stung him.  

  “Yeah? Well, you’d know all about stupid, Harrington.”

  And then you pushed off, the call of your name drowned out by the wind rushing past your ears. 

  Hawkins, Indiana - the present

  Your eyes roll almost in time with Harrison Ford’s. A man who’s currently on the suspended screens because he has some weird thing about a movie with him being on while he’s flirting. Like Harrison’s energy is in the store with him, a guiding wingman. 

  What a tool. 

  Eddie’s lips quirk up in a lopsided smirk across from you when your shoulders tense at the shrill giggle to your left. You roll them back, then your head from side to side. Your fingers meet to form the goal post again, elbows sticking to laminated sheets screaming about summer deals and most definitely some sort of residual soda spill.

  “So,” a deeper voice than what you know it to typically sound like catches the tail end of the giggle, “If I were to call this number right now-“

  “I’m not home, silly,” another forced giggle interrupts. 

  Eddie sighs when you straighten up again, your teeth snapping at a red vine as you watch the hand reach forward and tuck a perfect blonde ringlet behind an ear, then linger. 

  “Well,” he leans in, voice stickier than the honey of his eyes, “If you were home…I’d call you.” He taps the tip of her nose with the pad of a finger, then flashes a smile brighter than the overhead fluorescents. “And ask you if you’d be free for a movie tonight?”

  Robin snorts next to your ankle behind the counter. Green vest covered shoulders rising as they shake with somewhat silent laughter and her head hides between her knees, tapes scattered on the floor around her. 

  Your head shakes back and forth in baffled amazement. It’s like an accident - you can’t help but watch  the wreck that’s about to-

  “And if I were home to answer, I’d tell you to pick me up at 7.” 

  The red vine falls from your mouth onto the counter, as you watch a little piece of paper leave manicured fingers and slip into the front pocket of his gray polo.

  A paper football smacks your nose as Eddie sighs out of his. As her hips sway under tight denim, haloed by the bright sunshine when the trill of the door chimes on her exit, the overpowering scent of vanilla and peaches continues to suffocate. 

  Steve Harrington turns to you all with a cocky grin. He pulls the digits scrawled in loopy font out of his pocket and nestles it between brown leather and green bills before returning the wallet to his back pocket with a pleased sigh. 

  “Oh yeah, I’m back.”

  And then he high fives the TV.

  Not just a tool - a whole box of them.  

  Steve turns when you snort, eyebrows raised at you as he takes his place behind the counter again.��

  “Something funny?” He asks, reaching toward your box of red vines. 

  “Real funny,” you admit, snatching them closer, “That you think anything about that interaction means you’re back.”

  Your waist hits the counter as you step out of his reach when he takes another forward with a tilted head. His fingers just miss the red candy when he huffs. 

  “Enlighten me, babe.”

  “Don’t,” you hiss, “Call me babe.”

  The counter digs into your back, Steve leans in closer, mint and cedar beginning to overpower the peaches, and you hate that you don’t mind the difference. 

  Steve’s lips smirk, a freckle just above his top one lifting as he tsks, “Wow. Not gonna even acknowledge my big brain word?”

  “Would you like a round of applause, Harrington, for correctly using the word enlighten?” 

  He grins, he nods, his fingers snatch a piece of the licorice up, “Yeah. Yeah I would.”

  You catch the end of the candy, shaking your head with a scoff. “She called you big boy.”

  Robin, whom you don’t want to admit you’d forgotten was even behind the counter with you, sighs, loudly.

  “Wow. Thanks. I had just forgotten.”

  Steve tugs on the candy between the two of you with raised eyebrows and a look of annoyance. “And?”

  You tug harder, and Steve dares to take another step closer with it, knuckles brushing yours that lay limply next to thighs almost touching. 

  “And, that means you didn’t do a thing except let rumors of what’s underneath your too tight Levi’s spread like the rash you’ve probably given to half this town.”

  Another tug of the candy, though gentler this time, pulls you closer, plastic crinkling against your abdomen as he proudly whispers, “Not rumors, babe.”

  “Call me babe,” you practically growl, “One more time. See what happens.”

  “Okay,” Steve tilts his chin in a challenge, fingers twitching on the candy, “Ba-“

  The red licorice disappears with a flash of silver metal, snapped between white teeth before it’s waved around dramatically.

  “While this is super fun to watch. She’s not wrong Stevie.” Eddie shrugs. 

  Steve takes a step back, red Nike swoosh flashing as he kicks at thread bare carpet. “Sure. She’s never wrong.”

  You have to physically stop yourself from sticking your tongue out at him. 

  Eddie hoists himself up onto the counter, chain tapping and clanking against things as he gets down just as quickly he sits when you snap your fingers and point to the ground. 

  He raises his hands in surrender at you, then waves at Steve with a squint of big, brown eyes. 

  “You’re not back. You barely had to put in any work with that cutie. She was making heart eyes at you from the parking lot, man.”

  Steve holds his arms out at his sides, like he’s innocent. “Just because girl’s know I have a sizeable-“

  “Ew,” you snap another bite of candy. 

  “Appendage-” Steve continues, ignoring you. 

  “You’re sick,” Robin delivers in a monotone from her stack sorting. 

  “And they know I know what I’m doing with it,” Steve talks over Robin in their well-oiled banter, “Doesn’t mean I don’t have to work hard.” Steve dares to place his fingers over his chest and continue with pride dripping from each word, like he truly believes and is proud to say, “I still have to put in the work to look good, to flirt and think on my feet. I have to pull out the Harrington charm. It’s not my fault I have more than other guys to work with.”

  Eddie ponders what Steve is saying thoughtfully, he places his hands behind his back and paces, nodding his head carefully. 

  “Maybe so,” Eddie sighs dramatically, gesturing with a bow to Steve, “We cannot all be gifted with such well-endowment.”

  “I truly hate it here,” Robin says to the ceiling while Steve beams. 

  You tilt your head at Eddie, trying to figure out where he’s going before he gets there. 

  He slaps his hands on the counter, metal clanking against glass displaying candy as he proclaims, “I propose a challenge.”

  Steve snorts, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter next to you, his elbow nudging yours. “What, like a duel?”

  Your eyes roll as you dig your elbow into his, pushing him away. 

  “Intriguing, but maybe another time. I’m fresh out of jousting materials I’m afraid,” Eddie grins. “No, I think, to really know if you’re back, to prove this,” he waves his hands at the entirety of Steve, “All takes real work and you’re not just coasting on what the good lord gave you, you’d need to use it on someone who’s unsuspecting. Someone,” Eddie purses his lips, “Who isn’t already swooning over the mere thought of you.”

  Robin spins, blue eyes alight with intrigue. “Hold on. I’m listening.”

  Steve tilts his head, “You want me to get the number of a girl who hates me?”

  Robin grins like it’s the best things she’s ever heard, but Eddie shakes his head, tugging on a curl. “No. Too easy. I think you need to sleep with her.”

  Your mouth drops open in disbelief and Robin whistles low and slow. 

  Eddie pretends to hold up a scroll, reading from air in a theatric voice, “I, Eddie Munson, declare that Steve Harrington cannot get the next girl to walk through this door of thy Family Video to have sex with him. The rules shall be that Harrington may only pursue said girl after careful consideration of her un-swoonability by yours truly, and will have one week to prove his charming capabilities. The stakes? One hundred dollars. Does Steve Harrington accept such a bet?”

  You scoff, “You’re both not actually making a bet on-“

  Steve’s hand slaps into Eddie’s, both boys smirking as they shake on it. Steve waves his other hand in the air, all nonchalant while confidence oozes out of him. “Next girl that walks through that door, I’m going to fuck. Easy.”

  “Unbelievable, You’re both unbelievable.” Your words are lost on deaf, egotistical ears.

  Eddie nods, he grins with shoulders raised at Steve. “Right. Since you’re back, easy peasy.”

  “Her ass and tits will be squeez-ied.” 

  Robin boos, cupping a hand around her mouth. 

  You gesture to her, “That? That’s what you finally have a problem with?”

  Robin shrugs, grinning, “I’m off the clock in one minute. Then he’s your problem.” She looks at Eddie, “Still able to give me a ride home?”

  Eddie nods, “I am but only the ladies driver,” he turns to you with a snap, “Speaking of, think you left your vest in my van, doll.”

  “Oh shit, thanks,” you bounce around the counter as Robin heads into the back. The door chimes as you squint into the late afternoon summer sun, sneakers kicking pebbles on the way to Eddie’s van, when it hits you. Suddenly. Wonderfully. Beautifully. 

  Your vest is sitting on the counter next to your red vines. 

  You spin, gravel crunching beneath your heels as you look at the front of the store.  

  Heavy steps thud against the ground as you race towards it, meeting a frantic Steve at the set of glass double doors.

  He grips the handles, wild eyes and shaking his head no, as he holds them closed and you tug to open them, grinning. 

  Eddie bows behind Steve as Robin cackles. 

  “What’s the matter Harrington,” you call through the doors, enjoying the way his jaw pulses, “Why can’t I come inside? Enlighten me.”

  Steve’s gaze traces your face, it lingers on your smile before it meets your eyes. 

  A challenge in both sets of glares, neither of you willing to back down. 

  He let’s his hands fall from the handles and rest on his hips as the chime trills overhead with your step inside. 

  You bat your eyelashes, you press the back of your hand to your forehead and pretend to faint against the glass. 

  “Good luck, big boy.” 

Tag List - thanks for your endless patience and excitement for this, but please let me know if you'd no longer like to be tagged:

@ash5monster01 @madaboutjoe @foreverinwanderlust @the-fairy-anon @scarletwitchgf

@curlsincriminology @siriuslysmoking @redbarn1995 @starry--sarah @starksbabie

@taccobelle @angst-lasagna @blckburd @crownofdecit

[emesis-nemisis]

My favorite genre of Eddie: in the background, very pretty, doing absolutely nothing.

[emesis-nemisis]

This is barely proofread, it’s just something quick and sad (sorry in advance)

No smut but as always my blog and work is 18+, warnings for blood mention, character death, hurt no comfort, post s4

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

“Ed? Eddie!”

Your voice bounces back at you from the walls of the narrow hallway. Shuffling along the threadbare carpet from Eddie’s bedroom, you poke your head around the doorway to the living room before stepping in.

There’s no sign of him.

It’s not unusual for you to wake in the trailer alone. Wayne’s probably at work. And Eddie might have taken a quick trip to Melvald’s for more milk, or maybe one of the little sheep called him for a ride somewhere.

While you wait for him to return you drop yourself onto the lumpy couch, legs stretched out to dangle over the armrest. Leaning over to the coffee table, your fingers scramble and stretch for the remote. You click the button a couple of times, but the screen across the room remains blank. You give up with a huff, laying on your back and staring up at the popcorn ceiling.

Sometime later you hear the turning of a key in the lock, the front door opening a moment later.

Eddie stands in the doorway. His hair is dishevelled, deep purple shadows under his eyes like he hasn’t slept well in weeks.

You sit up and offer him a bright smile, but all you get in return is anxious eyes and a pained grimace. Eddie’s chewing on his bottom lip so hard it could bleed.

“There you are! I was wondering where you’d gone.” You say.

Eddie steps in, closing the door with a soft click.

“I had some stuff to sort out.” He replies. Even his voice is tired, the words exhaled on a heavy sigh.

“Well I’m glad you’re back now. I missed you. Plus I’m pretty sure the TV’s busted again.”

When Eddie doesn’t react, you let out a soft laugh.

“Are you just gonna stand there all day Ed? Or are you gonna come and give me a kiss?” You tease.

Eddie wraps his arms around his middle, like he always does when he’s upset. Hugging himself to self-soothe. He winces, his skin there still tender. The demobats had really done a number on him. And on you too. You tried your best not to think about it too often. Lying in that dark, cold place, the scent of blood thick in the air. Eddie’s hand reaching for you across the ground, his fingers squeezing yours tight while he begged you to hold on.

“Baby.” He says, his voice breaking on a cry. That’s how he’d sounded that night. Desperate and afraid. His doe eyes glisten, tears pooling and threatening to spill.

“Oh, Eddie! What’s wrong?”

You’re up and out of your seat in an instant. As you near him Eddie takes a step back, holding up his hands as though warning you not to come any closer.

You stop. His rejection stings, tears now prickling in your own eyes.

“Fuck.” Eddie whispers. He shakes his head, and angrily wipes at the tears now rolling down his cheeks.

“What’s going on?” You whisper.

“Do you remember what we talked about? Do you remember what’s happening today?” Eddie asks.

You shake your head.

“Please.” He begs.

“Please try to remember. I can’t - I don’t think I can do this again.”

You frown, racking your brain to recall any important conversation. But your mind feels fuzzy. Trying to grasp at memories feels a lot like trying to catch smoke in your hands.

You stare blankly at Eddie. He takes a shuddering breath in.

“Steve’s outside.” He says.

“Is he coming in?”

“No. No he’s not coming in baby. He- he’s got the truck out there.”

“What truck?”

“The moving truck. I’ve been loading up what can’t fit in my van.”

“Moving truck? I don’t understand. We’re moving?”

Eddie chokes back a sob.

“Robin got into Berkeley. Steve is going with her. And.. and I’m going too. We’ve got a little apartment in California.” He explains.

“Oh! So, we are moving? Today?”

You’re so confused it makes your head hurt. How could you have forgotten something as big as this?

“I’m moving baby.” Eddie says sadly.

“What do you mean? W-without me?”

The boy nods, his chest now heaving as the sobs come thick and fast.

“I’m s-sorry. But I can’t do it anymore. I need… I need a fresh start. I wish things were different. I wish we were doing this together.”

“Why aren’t we? Why can’t I come?” You cry out, panic building in your chest. Eddie had promised you forever. Why was he leaving you now?

“Baby think about it! When did you last leave the trailer?” Eddie asks.

You hesitate. Your memories still feel so out of reach.

“When did you last talk to someone other than me?”

“I - I don’t know. It must have been… I can’t -“

“You don’t leave baby. You don’t talk to anyone but me. You’re… you’re tethered here.”

“I still don’t understand.” You say softly.

“I know. And I’m so sorry. I’d give anything to change this. I don’t know how I’m going to live without you. But I have to. I have to go.”

“Please don’t do this Eddie. Please don’t leave me!”

You’re shouting now, all sense of control gone. You fall to your knees, reaching out your hands to him desperately.

You just want him to hold you.

“I’m sorry baby. I love you. I love you so much. But I have to go.”

Eddie opens the door, stepping over the threshold. You crawl to the doorway, your body shaking with the force of your sobs. Your voice grows hoarse, throat burning and eyes stinging.

Eddie looks at you one last time. For a second you think he might change his mind. Might stop playing this cruel game and tell you it was all a shitty joke. Instead he closes the door.

Outside you can hear him crying faintly. The door to his van slams closed, a familiar sound. Its engine rumbles to life and rattles, another smoother vehicle starting up too. Gravel crunches under two sets of tires, and slowly the sounds fade away.

You rise to your feet, knees shaking a little. Face to face with the front door.

Why are you here?

“Eddie?” You call.

There’s no answer.

You’re alone.

But that’s not unusual. So you head to the couch, settling yourself on the floral cushions. Lean forwards and click at the remote. The TV refuses to turn on. It must be broken.

Never mind.

You’ll ask Eddie to take a look at it when he gets home.

[emesis-nemisis]

I'm watching Friends, and I'm thinking about the episode where Ben was born and Joey wanders off and helps a woman deliver a baby. I definitely think it would be Eddie who accidentally got lost in a hospital and then wind up being there for a random woman to help her deliver until the father would get there. And maybe later, he finds his way back to the group, vest thrown over his shoulder and his hair in a bun looking exhausted.

"What the hell happened to you?" Steve would ask.

"Just had a baby," he said and then just not explains as he collapses into a chair.

Steve's face and then Robin's, who just had her appendix out. . . Just imagine. 😆

[emesis-nemisis]

Eddie sits and watches Steve’s kitchen clock slowly count closer and closer to their movie time—closer, then past. It’s 30 minutes gone from showtime when he hears the bathroom door upstairs close and shut, and Steve’s bedroom door quietly doing the same.

Wincing, Eddie counts down slowly from 100, lets Steve wallow for a bit, before he gets down from his stool to head up.

“Hey,” Eddie murmurs, sitting beside the lump under Steve’s blankets. The lump does not reply. “Baby, you okay?”

“No,” it whines, and Eddie’s glad Steve has shoved his head under his pillow because Eddie can’t help cracking a smile. “I’m dying, and I’m a shitty boyfriend, and you’re going to dump me.”

Eddie scoffs. “The day I dump you is the day you send me to the funny farm,” he says, mock serious. “You do shit a lot though, babydoll.”

Steve whines louder. “It’s not fair! You eat expired hotdogs! Raw! Straight from the fridge!!”

“Guts of steel, Stevie! Your upper middle class suburban tummy would shrivel and die in the face of things I’ve eaten.”

“It’s shriveled and died already, thanks.”

Eddie laughs, and rubs his hand along Steve’s arm. He knows better than touching him anywhere else when Steve’s stomach is upset. But the fact that he’s in bed, under the covers, must mean the worst is over.

“You want me to get you anything?”

“New organs and a surgeon to put them in.”

“I was thinking more like water? Toast? Pepto?”

“A quick and painless death?”

“I’m afraid I can only offer you kisses and cuddles when you feel up for it. And the aforementioned consumable items.”

Steve’s head comes out from under the pillow and he squints at Eddie. His hair is standing up in wild spikes, and Eddie chews his lip to keep himself from laughing.

“Who the fuck says shit like aforementioned, you absolute dork.”

“You love me,” Eddie says, grinning.

Wrinkling his nose, Steve sighs, flopping back down on the bed. “I guess,” he admits, looking up at Eddie through his lashes with a little, miserable smile, and taking Eddie’s breath away. Even when he’s miserable and whiny, Steve remains the prettiest person Eddie’s ever had the luck to lay eyes on. “I guess I’ll take a water. And a kiss, if it’s not too much trouble.”

Eddie grins, leaning down. “Anything for you, princess.”

[emesis-nemisis]

Eddie, stuck on a song for months

Steve, walks up humming the song Eddie’s been working on and just continuing with a few new bars unconsciously

Eddie, jumping up to grab his guitar to go see the guys "You're a brilliant man and I want your brain on my shelf." Kisses his head and runs away

Steve, bamboozled, newly bi and in love. "Oh."

[emesis-nemisis]

[emesis-nemisis]

God I love Dustin Henderson so much man, I know Will is in love with Mike because only a deeply down bad homosexual would be able to say Mike “is the heart” when Dustin is alive and in the party. Dustin is the one constantly mediating in S1 between Mike and Lucas, he’s even insecure of his own newness to the group when he conciliates. Because even though the party are all HIS best friends he is able to rationalize why they might have a hierarchy based on seniority. Mike makes it clear that isn’t the case. It’s partly why Dustin is quicker to accept Eleven and partly why he’s so open to including Max “as the new kid” because that was him once. Dustin’s iconic “she’s our friend and she’s crazy!” Dustin and Lucas having parallel deviations from their code of honor in ST2 and Dustin being (so dramatic ik) literally ready to fall on the sword for his misdoings. Dustin basically involving Steve out of necessity but then cultivating that relationship to make Steve a good friend, Steve who had the shittiest friends in high school and attention for all the wrong reasons. Steve never had a true friend in his life and then some 12 year old basically gave him a crash course. In ST3 when Dustin earnestly challenges Steve’s socially conditioned need to be seen as cool only for Steve to become bffs with a band geek. A band geek who is also a lesbian that Steve would rather be seen as a rizzless hack of a womanizer than out her to anybody, even Dustin. All of Dustin and Steve. Dustin going from calling Steve a douchebag, to Eddie saying the kid worships him and thinks he’s a total badass. Dustin who in ST4 is once again demolishing social norms of high school vs middle school because FUCK, his friend is in middle school! His friend Erica, his comrade Lady Applejack, is a black girl in junior high and he dgaf what anyone thinks about it. ALL OF DUSTIN AND ERICA. Dustin teaching Erica to embrace her inner nerd, to Erica staunchly declaring “I’ve bled with him!” When asked if she knows Dustin. Dustin who is the FIRST person that Max goes to when shit hits the fan in ST4 because god damn dude Dustin is the heart. Dustin’s unwavering support of Eddie even when the evidence is stacked against him, Dustin always believed in Eddie Munson. Dustin is the only one who truly offers Wayne condolences. He is the friend of all friends. Dustin is constantly carrying the party through crisis and discomfort, he’s dedicated, he’s unabashedly caring, and he’s the character that is able to socially move across the board in every direction. I fuckin love this little curly haired drama king because these geeks would be LOST without him!!! If Dustin isn’t the heart; he’s the Central Nervous System, he’s the nucleus, he’s fucking vital to not only the party but every other tertiary character of importance. He’s constantly inspiring and providing direction. He’s a goofball, he’s wise beyond his years, he’s a lover and he’s a fighter, he always has a plan and he always has a bad idea, he’s the voice of reason and the resounding falsetto alarm of things gone wrong, he’s never done anything wrong ever in his life, one time something ate his cat but besides that. He’s my heart of the show damn it!

[emesis-nemisis]

Okay but here’s the thing… in fanfic you can say whatever you want but in canon in the show why does he throw his shirt at Eddie though??

[emesis-nemisis]

for everyone out there struggling and thinking that your writing isn’t worth sharing.

post. it.

post all of it.

post it at midnight your time.

post it on saturdays, sundays

1 AM on a fucking wednesday.

as much as you think that notes mean shit, and having a lot of notes make you worthy of writing on tumblr dot com— THEY DON’T.

i fucking promise you babe that once you take that mental mind-fuck aspect out of this app and stop worrying about whether or not others will read your fics— it becomes SO much more enjoyable to be in this space.

treat this space as practice to get better at writing and you will find your niche.

a final note: stop putting people on pedestals— it’s weird, we are all writers/readers here and no one is better than another.

[emesis-nemisis]

Okay but what if I finished these and made them into charms 🤔

[emesis-nemisis]

reblog if u <3 ur moots

[emesis-nemisis]

sometimes before doing something I make a playlist to listen to while I do the thing and sometimes making the playlist takes longer than doing the thing

[emesis-nemisis]

A/N: I think this is the first time I've ever been so emotional about something I've written 😭 this hit a little too close to home for me

Summary: You help Eddie wash his hair when he can't. | 0.9k words

TW: depression, best friend!reader

“Nooo,” Eddie whines, voice muffled by blankets. “Stop– Seriously!” 

Your grip around his ankle only tightens from where you’ve fished it out of his cocoon. You tug, ripping his sock off in the process, until he’s halfway off the couch, clinging onto a cushion like his life depends on it. 

“You’re so annoying,” he slumps into a sitting position on the floor, eyes peaking out of the fold in his comforter. 

You crouch in front of your best friend. “Yes, but you love me.” 

He leans away when you peel the corner of the blanket away. He’s pale, which is typical, but it’s summer and he looks borderline vampirish with how visible his veins are. A palm brushes his bangs back to meet the knot secured to his crown. He bends away from your touch a second time. 

“Hair’s greasy,” he mumbles; a weak excuse, like you’d ever care about that. 

“I can wash it for you,” you offer seriously. 

His lips tilt into a sort of smile and his brows knit together, “What? Like in the sink?” 

“If you want?” 

He hums, “Prolly uncomfortable.” 

“Okay, in the shower then.”

A real smile this time. “If you want to see me naked just say that.” 

You punch his shoulder lightly. Normally you’d shove him hard without a second thought, and he’d probably push back equally, but it feels wrong to do so when you know he won’t put up a fight. “You can put swim trunks on.”

“I don’t feel like changing.”

“Okay, then in this.” You pinch the hem of his t-shirt sleeve. 

“That’s a little weird.”

“Since when do you care about weird?”

He shrugs half-heartedly, “I guess. If you want.” 

In the bathroom, you turn the shower knob, “Hot or cold?” 

“Warm.” He’s slumped on the toilet lid in his pajamas, having ditched the duvet in the hall. 

“Okay, here.” You whisk the curtain open fully. 

He shoots you a look that says, ‘Am I really doing this?’ before stepping into the tub. His eyes widen when you climb in right after him.

“You’re crazy,” he grins and it makes your heart leap. You’ve missed the way his eyes crinkle at the edges and his lashes kiss the tips of his cheeks when he smiles. 

“Not as crazy as you.” You hook a finger under his scrunchie, gently working it until his curls spill over his shoulders. 

He sighs, eyes drawing shut when you tilt his head back. His clothes are already soaked through, clinging to his slender frame like a second skin. He blocks most of the stream but stray droplets catch your arms where they connect with his head.  

“Have you eaten yet?” You ask, massaging shampoo through his hairline. “I could go for some takeout right about now.” 

He blinks at you. “I know what you’re doing.”

You crane his head to the side to scrub his nape, “I’m not doing anything. I’m hungry.”

You’re not looking, but you practically feel him roll his eyes. 

“So, pizza?” 

He knows you only suggest it because it’s his comfort food, but he’s too tired to argue about getting something you both want. Eddie nods into your hand. You thumb his cheek, studying him self-indulgently while his eyes are sealed again. 

You work conditioner through his dead ends, tenderly detangling, and sticking spirals of black hair on the shower wall as they are combed out. 

Silent tears mingle with the water dripping off his chin. The tremble in his breath gives him away and you acknowledge it with a wordless hug. He reciprocates, squeezing you under the warmth of the showerhead. His nose digs into your collarbone and you trace the knobs on his spine. 

This is not the first time you’ve seen him cry, or held him while he did, for that matter. You are well-versed in handling his depressive episodes. Knowing when to push and when not to pry. Knowing when to hold him and when to give him space. And most importantly knowing that most of the time he just needs someone there. Not to talk about it necessarily but to just be with him for a night so he can pretend not to feel like shit for a few hours. 

You wrap him in a towel and scour his room for fresh pajamas. There was a time when he’d have been embarrassed to let you see his room in such a state, but you’ve drilled it into his head that you love all of him, even the messier parts. 

You change out of damp clothes in his room while he does in the bathroom. A handful of his things are put away while you’re in there, but not enough for him to scold you for doing so. 

He meets you back in the living room where he sinks back into his spot in front of the TV. You dial his favorite pizza place before joining him on the couch to brush and braid his hair. He thanks you, though you don’t need it. 

With his legs thrown across your lap and half a greasy pie split between your bellies, the hum of a movie soothes you both to sleep. Outside, the world spins on, but for now, here with him, everything feels still.

[emesis-nemisis]

So, his arms were hurt, his back, his stomach hurt, and his neck. . .how the fuck did he sleep after that let alone go out and fold laundry? I hope after Argyle showed up, he gave Steve something for the pain because. . .FUCKING OUCH.

[emesis-nemisis]

if i ever seem awkward in any interaction, it is just because i am awkward. hope that helps :)