loserarc

[loserarc]

hello!!! would anyone care for........a starter.... >:-)

[loserarc]

an appreciation post for joe keery's acting steve's subtle facial expressions

[loserarc]

More a reflection of himself, he thinks, that he never expects Eddie to come along. After all, Steve is always adding insult to injury. “We’re on the home stretch now!” as they always are. His hands swing to clap, perpetual motion even at rest, before he can—and does—catch his breath.

And still, there’s Eddie. As eyes meet, a dusky haziness reminds him they’re a few paces too far from each other for his liking. He makes an excuse to move this time, bending to give his shoulder a light one-two punch. “Let’s take a break.”

But there’s his husband’s influence, too: for all that movement, innate or desperate, Steve won’t careen out of orbit. The fear of that happening might be warranted. That might be why (circling back, here we go again) there’s Eddie. He squats down beside him, fingers plucking at grass. “Actually,” he admits, “running is the worst. Gets us out of the house, though, doesn’t it?” Which is a good thing because…

In truth, Steve loves the monotony. It’s nice to wake up and expect the expected, which was at one point so far-fetched that he’ll always be waiting for the other shoe to drop. In the end, of course, it will. He just hopes it isn’t going to be because God or fate—or whatever—realized they had made a mistake somewhere. This wasn’t supposed to be Steve’s life. Steve Harrington’s? This is a question with an answer so simple, the consequence of it would give him whiplash. Back to square one with him. You’ll have to work for it this time.

He’s still watching Eddie watch him. Then, with a decisive huff, he sits. “It’s nice out, isn’t it?” Steve leans back on his palms, the need to support himself stopping him from killing any more vegetation. Reminds him of sitting on the front lawn, waiting, being scolded in the meantime. Leave the grass alone. Who the hell even notices that? And why should he have to remember it? Not where he left his keys, not the name of their old street, but a lecture he didn’t even learn from. 

So there’s that. He can’t say he feels old all the time. It’s only when he knows he’s let something else slip away, and Eddie doesn’t let him know. No need to be a mind-reader here: their worries tend to overlap.

Steve sniffs. Scratches under his nose to hide a smirk. “Better watch your attitude,” he says, “or I’m not inviting you back.”

This was supposed to be heaven. Or as close to it as it’ll ever get. No alarm clocks, no kids, no deep-seeded-in-capitalism responsibilities — just them, and acres of land. In truth, he missed the babies, though he didn’t miss clocking into a job he hated but helped paid the bills. But now they both had too much free time on their hands. And that often made Eddie think, and then overthink if he wasn’t careful.

This week’s worry was the passing of time, he was dying and Steve was dying, that’s just how it worked, and now there was no other choice than to let it happen. 

Of course, he knew it wasn’t happening any time soon. He knew they would have many more years on Earth together, but this was him bargaining with the Universe. Saying, ‘Hey! I’m doing it! I’m putting in the work! Hello!? I’m eating healthy, I’m RUNNING! I want more time! Hello!!!!’ It probably was too little, too late, but he had to try. Although, it didn’t take much for running to start feeling like dying — he should’ve guessed. It wasn’t for him at twenty, it would most definitely not be for him now that he was ancient. 

“You’re still alive, you old fucker.” @loserarc

“Fuck off, Harrington.” Comes in between breaths. Eddie looks up from where he’s folded, palms clutching his own knees, a smile adding some extra wrinkles to a face that doesn’t need any more. He shakes his head, a reflex from when curls would curtain down his vision, not an actual need anymore. 

He is an old fucker, isn’t he? Makes him laugh, almost like an isolated event. The realization always strikes him like something impersonal, like it’s not happening to him at all. Two kids, three cats, many weddings later and he still feels like the first time they saw (really saw) each other. He knows he’s old, he knows the cells in his body are dying, like every other person’s, he knows his hair won’t ever be what it once was, he doesn’t understand things anymore and he doesn’t want to. But he doesn’t feel old. 

Steve looks the same, he thinks, still in that pathetic position, looking into his eyes for a moment too long — it’s become a tradition, to stare at each other in silence. Eddie thinks he could read Steve’s mind, and maybe he can. He’s certain Steve can read his, anyway.

“I’m never letting you coerce me into doing this shit again, man” It was purely his own choice, “Mark my words. Never. Again.”

[loserarc]

* 𝐇𝐁𝐎'𝐒  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓  𝐎𝐅  𝐔𝐒  /  𝐄𝐏  𝟑,  𝟒  &  𝟓.

feel free to change pronouns / wording!  spoiler warning.

“ want your jacket back? ”

“ never been in the woods. more bugs than i thought. ”

“ i don’t want your sorries. ”

“ i wasn’t gonna say i’m sorry. ”

“ nobody made you go along with this plan. ”

“ don’t blame me for something that isn’t my fault. ”

“ what are you looking out for? ”

“ is it something lame, like you fell down the stairs or something? ”

“ someone shot at me and missed. ”

“ i gotta grab some stuff i stashed. ”

“ you ask a lot of goddamn questions. ”

“ i had a friend who knew everything about this game. ”

“ there’s this one character named mileena who takes off her mask and she has monster teeth and then she swallows you whole and barfs out your bones! ”

“ ah, getting funnier. ”

“ dude, you got to go up in the sky! ”

“ so everything came crashing down in one day? ”

“ if you have to get bit to be infected, then who bit the first person? ”

“ there’s stuff up there you shouldn’t see. ”

“ well now i have to see. ”

“ whatever it was, think it’s gone. ”

“ dead people can’t be infected. ”

“ it doesn’t get old. ”

“ i’m not infected! ”

“ why did you take that long to answer? ”

“ i thought about lying for some reason, but the reason didn’t come. ”

“ i’m letting you go, so go. ”

“ if i feed you, then every bum you talk to about it is gonna show up here looking for a free lunch. ”

“ you already know i’m bad at lying. ”

“ everything tastes good when you’re starving. ”

“ i know i don’t seem like the type. ”

“ would you stop!? ”

“ paying attention to things, it’s how we show love. ”

“ there are no friends to be had. ”

“ i’ve actually been talking to a nice woman on the radio. ”

“ aren’t i the lucky one? ”

“ i got something to show you. ”

“ i like you older. older means we’re still here. ”

“ i was never afraid before you showed up. ”

“ took most of the night. i’m exhausted. ”

“ i’ve had more good days with you than with anyone else. ”

“ i should be furious. ”

“ you hear anything, you see anything, yell. ”

“ so they’re dead? ”

“ i used to hate the world, and i was happy when everyone died. but i was wrong, because there was one person worth saving. ”

“ we have a job to do, and god help any motherfuckers who stand in our way. ”

“ we can just keep our histories to ourselves. ”

“ you do what i say when i say it. ”

“ they have hot water! i’m taking a shower, and then you’re showering, because seriously - pffff. ”

“ well don’t you look pretty. ”

“ it’s like a spaceship. ”

“ gas breaks down over time, this stuff’s almost water. ”

“ it doesn’t matter how much you push the envelope, it’ll still be stationary. ”

“ what did the mermaid wear to her math class? an algae bra. ”

“ i stayed up all night wondering where the sun went, and then it dawned on me. ”

“ this make you all nostalgic? ”

“ hold your horses, i wanna see what all the fuss is about. ”

“ why are all these pages stuck together? ”

“ can we start a fire? i’m freezing. ”

“ no one’s gonna find us. ”

“ if you don’t think there’s hope for the world, why bother going on? ”

“ i’m not even tired. ”

“ i’m all turned around. ”

“ this is my second day in a fucking car, man! ”

“ you’re not hurt? ”

“ you don’t come out until i say, okay? ”

“ my mom isn’t far, if you could get me to her. ”

“ you can have it. ”

“ you don’t have to! ”

“ i can’t fit through. ”

“ i was alone. ”

“ you were wronged, and i’m sorry. ”

“ they put a gun to my head! ”

“ have i satisfied the necessary conditions for you to talk? ”

“ you think i won’t do it? ”

“ i didn’t hear that guy coming. ”

“ you’re just a kid. ”

“ i know what it’s like, the first time that you hurt someone like that. ”

“ i’m not good at this. ”

“ you shouldn’t have had to, and i’m sorry. ”

“ it wasn’t my first time. ”

“ you put it in your pack, you’ll shoot your damn ass off. ”

“ we’ll get through this. ”

“ let’s just handle what we have to handle. we can deal with this after. ”

“ where would you be without me, huh? ”

“ how did you know it was an ambush? ”

“ i’ve been on both sides. ”

“ we did what we needed to survive. ”

“ did you kill innocent people? ”

“ i don’t want someone sneaking up on us while we’re sleeping. ”

“ i don’t wanna talk about it. ”

“ so it gets easier when you get older? ”

“ did you know diarrhoea is hereditary? yeah, it runs in your jeans. ”

“ you laughed, motherfucker! ”

“ look at me, not at that. ”  

“ i used to be so scared of these people. ”  

“ did it make you feel safe? ”  

“ how does it make you feel now? ”  

“ i swear, i’ve told you everything i know. ”  

“ he won’t be talking. ”  

“ why go to the trouble? you can kill yourself right here. ”

“ do i look scared? ”  

“ i’ve been watching them, i know their patterns. ”  

“ we don’t wanna hurt you, we wanna help you. ”  

“ if i lower my gun, we didn’t hurt you, so you don’t hurt us, right? ”

“ that’s a weird fucking tone, man. ”  

“ that’s just the way he sounds, he has an asshole voice. ”

“ i’m gonna trust you. ”  

“ you know what happens when you do that to people? the moment they get a chance, they do it right back to you. ”

“ never killed anyone. ”  

“ pointing an unloaded gun at you was the closest i’ve ever come to being violent. ”

“ that’s my dicey-as-fuck plan. ”  

“ your dad’s kind of a pessimist. ”  

“ he’s not my dad. ”  

“ i’m not her dad. ”  

“ endure and survive. ”  

“ i wasn’t exactly telling you the truth, before. ”  

“ i am the bad guy because i did a bad guy thing. ”  

“ we’re not doing so good. ”  

“ have you been back to the room you grew up in? ”  

“ he would be horrified by the things i’ve done. ”  

“ this is what happens when you fuck with fate. ”  

“ are you ever scared? ”  

“ i’m scared all the time. ”  

“ i’m scared of ending up alone. ”  

“ if you turn into a monster, is it still you inside? ”  

“ stay awake with me. ”  

“ gimme the gun. ”  

“ what did i do? ”  

[loserarc]

“  ʎon,ɹǝ ᴉu loʌǝ ʍᴉʇɥ ɥᴉɯ      ˙  ˙  ˙      I can tell by  the  way  you  look  at  him.  The way the moon looks at the sun,  like for the first time in your lifeyou  feel  warm.  ”

[loserarc]

#Platonic soulmates

[loserarc]

steve doesn’t remember leaving the lights on. He usually checks on his way out the door, then double-checks in the rearview mirror. Usually, he isn’t this tired.

Someone else’s vest hangs over his shoulder, already dirtied and bloodied but saved from the ground regardless. Kneeling down at the front stoop, his fingers search under the welcome mat for a spare key that’s– yes, definitely still there. And it doesn’t matter. If it’s an intruder, Steve thinks, it’s a thorough one. That’s the thought he settles for as he walks inside. 

The TV is on, too. Though the news anchor speaks in a murmur while he kicks his sneakers off, he knows she’s either talking about the earthquake (rescues have quietly turned into recovery missions) or the local cult of Satanists (that vest has been sitting in his car for days). He opens his mouth, ready to announce that he’s here and doesn’t want any trouble—it’s getting dark, this house is big and empty, he wouldn’t blame them—but by then it’s too late. The shadow emerging from the living room has a face, mascara-smudged and pink. She stops beneath the tall archway, letting the space stand as a final barrier between her and him.

“You’re home,” Steve says. In case she wasn’t aware.

Her nails click against the wall, the last of her nervous energy escaping through her fingertips. They’ve been painted a deeper pink to match her pantsuit. 

“Mom? Are you okay?”

She swipes a puff of blonde back as if assuring her hands of their steadiness. Once they’re convinced, so is the rest of her. She finally nods, her lips quivering into a tight smile. “I should be asking you that.” Still, she struggles to tame the waver in her voice. “I called and called all morning and no one picked up. I even tried the video store, but obviously…” She bobs her head toward the end of the foyer. Connecting the dots, then: maybe some story displaying his strip mall’s shuttered windows? 

The news has ended just in time for the Jeopardy! theme to bounce through austere halls. Seven-thirty. 

“What’s this?” Time to cross that invisible boundary.

He refolds the vest and lets it rest under his other arm. Somehow, the lie comes to him just as easily. “My friend’s. He left it in my car.” 

She glances again before her eyes narrow on him. They travel upwards, landing just short of his face. “Are you sure you’re alright?” It’s getting a little too warm for turtlenecks, said only with a hum. There’s something else that needs to be said. “You know I hate dropping in on you like this, but with everything going on here and the stupid expo… I didn’t know what to do.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“No, baby, don’t be.” Her hand finds his back this time, the heel of her palm rubbing knit into a still-fresh welt. If that hadn’t made him jump, her gasp would have. “What? What is it?”

A wince melts into laughter as he squirms past her. “Slept wrong. It’s nothing.” He backs up until his foot finds the bottom step.

“You should take something for that. Poor thing. Your father’s the same way. Rather just walk it off.” Slender fingers rake through her hair, uncertain again. “I never understood it.”

Steve looks down at his hands. The denim cut-off has found its way into his grip, thumb running along a broken seam where softer t-shirt fabric has started to curl away from one corner. Now that he’s noticed it, he keeps his palm pressed there. Good enough.

He’s careful not to follow that line of thought any further, though. Then he’d have to wonder: good enough for who?

“So Dad’s still in Chicago?” He can hear his own voice, but it’s miles away from himself. “Is that… okay?” 

“Well,” she breathes, a hand to one hip as the other leans against the banister, “it was. You should know he appreciates you ‘holding down the fort,’ though.’” Her half-hearted imitation ends in an airy chuckle. Steve, letting this script play out, forces a laugh through his nose. Then she can go on, disregarding the weight one little “though” had carried. “Both of us do,” she continues. “I was expecting the house to be in a total state. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing when I drove through town, I really couldn’t! It’s like a war scene.”

He’s glancing over his shoulder when the silence catches him. “It’s really bad.”

“It’s terrible.” She tuts. “Which reminds me, I was wondering if you’ve heard from the Hagans at all. Tommy must be worried sick at school.”

He rubs the side of his face, forcing feeling into a tired numbness. It’s hard to remember now; either he forgot to tell her when that should-be lifelong friendship blew up in his face, or she chose not to believe it had. “They’re okay.” He hasn’t heard the name come up. These days, no news is good news.

“Thank God.”

Steve nods. A studio audience cheers from the living room.

“I should have been here.”

“You are now. And it’s fine. I’m—”

“No, no. It’s not. I’m sure the board of supervisors is having an absolute field day with me gone.” She waves a dismissive hand. “It’s the timing of it. I just know they’ve already convinced themselves I ran off. I can hear it now.”

Funny, he thinks. All he can hear is his thumbnail scratching denim.  

“Would you listen to me ramble?” She lets out a tremble of a sigh. “Why don’t you just catch me up in the morning, honey?”

“You sure?”

Although his mother nods, smiling softly, Steve is slow to climb up the stairs. She hasn’t disappeared into the flicker-glow of the living room yet. Instead she lingers in the foyer, arms crossed and eyes locked on an abstract painting.

He’s plucking dried-up mud off Dio’s name now, feet moving forward without him. Screw it. He stops at the balcony. “Hey, Mom?” 

She doesn’t look at him. “Hm?”

“I’m sorry.”

No answer. She knows what he means.

hi, honey, it’s me. Just checking in! I’ll try again before we head out for breakfast, okay? Thanks. Bye-bye.

Hi, Steve honey. Checking in again. Call me when you can, alright? 

I’m getting a little worried— 

The receiver is clicked back into its place on his nightstand, unheard messages waiting to be deleted another day. Tonight, there’s nothing left to do but wait for sleep. So Steve waits. 

The pool casts a false daylight through his window. Bleary eyes wander from the popcorn ceiling to the criss-cross wallpaper, over the little blue waves that mimic the real thing. If he listens closely, he can hear the hum of the heater as it steams the crisp night air.

There’s nothing unfamiliar about this, though it doesn’t feel like his childhood bedroom until someone else is home. Usually, he’ll come and go, fix a coffee and sit in his car, whatever he has to do to ignore the sting of those slow-healing nerves until he can bother Robin with his whining. But his mother would only hear him creaking his way downstairs, her empty room briefly illuminated by the glow of headlights. Someone else was home, wasn’t he? What went wrong to make him leave? 

So he can’t. He keeps waiting, the waves swaying above him, his foot hanging over the side of his bed as if he still has the better option. 

Lying down like this, he can feel the water—or maybe just the impression of it—stuck in his chest. Probably radioactive, right? Some bodiless voice tells him he could scare off death with a good laugh. Did it work?

Guess we’ll know if I wake up.

Keep me posted.

Sure thing.

Anyway…

He finds his mother at the breakfast table the next morning. 

“You never told me where you were yesterday,” she says.

Steve shakes the last of the cereal dust into his bowl. He’s not hungry. It’s probably stale. But he slept, so he feels fine enough to make an exhibit out of it. A splash of milk should do it. He sits himself across from her and smiles. “Just hanging out with friends. Driving around. Are you gonna eat?”

Elbows to the table, she rests her chin over folded hands, curlers jostling around her face. No. She’s still tired. Proving to be, at least. 

“Yeah,” he goes on, spoon stirring, “it’s stupid. I wish I thought to check if you called. But I just figured, you know—”

“No, I know.” Frowning, she gives her head another subtle shake. “It isn’t as if I call every day.”

“Right.”

“Truth be told, I was ready to come home.”

Steve nods along as she reasons. The story hasn’t changed since last night, then. She’s probably preparing herself for her rounds already, considering where she should show her face first: the municipal center or the school? The hospital? Door to door? She’s been in one place too long as it is. 

Turning to the window, her sleepy eyes flutter shut. She waits a moment, soaking in the sunlight, before taking a breath. “How are your friends?”

“Huh?” 

“Your friends. I don’t even think I know who they are anymore, so hard to keep up with you kids. Ha.” It’s not really a laugh. He can hear the warmth leaving her voice as she faces him again. “How old do I sound? Good lord.”

“Nah, it’s not—” He purses his lips, dragging soggy bits of cereal down the sides of his bowl. Then he laughs, just as brittle. “It’s fair. We just, uh...”

“Steve, honey. I need you to tell me the truth now,” she says, leaning forward. The shift is so sudden that  his heart leaps into his throat. “Are you helping that boy hide?”

Now he watches her. She’s watching him, her eyebrows angling concern. It looks as strange on her as it had yesterday. As strange as what caused it: the vest that had been propped under his arm. Where had he left it?

Shit. What had he done with that?

“I found it in the laundry room this morning,” she answers. He doesn’t have time to register that she had answered perfect silence. That this isn’t where he left it at all. “It’s the same shirt from the posters, isn’t it? Sewn onto the back.”

“I don’t know what you’re—”

“Steven!”

“He’s dead.” 

steve finds himself in the blue again, his mind barely settling into reality before he’s pushed himself to his feet. His hand finds the cold of the floor, searching under his bed frame until his fingertips brush against something soft. And because that isn’t enough, he pulls the battle vest into his lap and examines it over crossed legs, front to back, as if it could have changed overnight. As if he’d ever be that careless. 

“Shit,” he chuckles, lake water rattling in his chest as he does. But there’s a feeling that he’s admitted to something horrific. He hasn’t said it out loud. It comes back to him as he refolds and returns it—blood spatter and all—to its temporary home underneath his bed. 

He didn’t know Eddie all that well. Doesn’t, to be optimistic. He doesn’t know him well yet, which makes this whole thing worse. There’s the obvious, of course: what right does he have to miss him at all, even in private? How could he, hesitant to even call it “missing him,” feel entitled to more time? 

Obvious only to him, maybe, are the few things he does know. The first: that Eddie dove in after his sorry ass. He didn’t have to. The second: that in spite of the circumstances, he arrived like a missing piece of the Hawkins puzzle. If the town was always as harsh as they knew it to be, then Eddie was its much-needed counterbalance. The people in his life knew that, too. And the third—looming in the backseat, hiding under his bed—Steve can’t keep that vest. He shouldn’t have taken it to begin with.

Even now, he knows there must be something else to it. A fourth reason keeps him pinned down, hugging his legs to his chest just to watch the projection dance across his walls. He’s been here before. Really been here, sinking to the bottom of the pool until all he could feel was weight. And all he could hear was the buzz of the heater, and all he could do was wait for the trigger point. Some instinct beyond himself would force him to surface, happy as could be that this wasn’t the end for him. It was just a new record.

And then there was yesterday. “Close one,” he mumbles to no one in particular. Though he does say it, which means he can give it more credibility than that dream. This early in the morning, anyway, the logic tracks. 

So does this: Steve sliding himself toward the nightstand, reaching for the lamp. Once he’s filled the room with light, he rests his brow over bare knees for a second, his face still beading a cold sweat. “Blaming you if I cough up a tadpole, man.” Now and only now, waiting for a sign seems to make sense, too. 

He leans his head back against the edge of the mattress, wincing into a comfortable position. “I, uh– went to see Max before that,” he says, voice kept low. He measures against the electric hum to be safe. “She’s doing a little better. Tried to talk this time, so that was awesome. It’s weird, though.”

Weirder than him talking to a lamp? She’d have a field day. He clears his throat to keep from laughing at himself. 

“Just, like… I’ll joke about something and expect her to roll her eyes at me. But yeah. God. That kid’s tough, man. Seriously.” 

What else? Steve scrubs at his face until the sleep is gone from his eyes. “Henderson said he saw Wayne? I guess he’s checked in a couple times now. I think he’s worried he’s annoying him or something, but like… I don’t know. Obviously I don’t know your uncle, but I just told him he probably appreciates it. I mean, he hasn’t told him to stop, right? So if you’re worried about him being alone, don’t be. It’s alright. Or it will be. And, um…” What else?

It isn’t until he gets a taste of metal that he realizes he’s been chewing on the inside of his lip. His eye stings. At least there’s something he can blame. He waits for it to pass, then takes a breath: just enough to say what he means. 

When he wakes up to a flicker, it’s only the silver daylight breaking through the trees. His mother is on the phone when he finally shuffles into the kitchen, her giggling anything but mirthless. He managed to remember the turtleneck sweater, but he’s already regretting his secrecy. The kitchen is hot. It’s threatening a headache. 

 “Ah, John, here he is.” No wonder, he thinks. They must have patched things up. She holds the phone out to him, uncurling the cord from her fingers. “Here. Morning, sweetie.”

He only blinks, watching her as she moves onto the next task. She’s dressed all in grey this time, grinning from ear to ear as she clears the remnants of her lunch from the table. Finally, he greets the breath waiting on the line. More of an afterthought.

“Steve-O.” He’s putting on a voice. Still in conference mode. “How’ve you been, champ?”

“Eh.” 

“Getting a late start today?”

Steve pulls the receiver away from his face, almost laughing, almost scoffing. “Yeah.”

“Listen.” There’s a rustling as his father switches ears, a click as he lights a cigarette. “Your mother’s telling me I should be worried.”

“Okay.”

“About you.”

He glances once more at the human blur bouncing around the kitchen, then quietly backs into the hallway. The telephone cord stretches from its coil. “Why?”

“Exactly what I said. Now, what I think you need is something to keep you busy. Some kind of routine.”

But he’s only half-listening. The tick-tick of a wall clock has met him in the dark of the hall. His eyes try to find a better place for this, where the phone can still reach. 

“Steven?”

“What?”

“What do you say?”

All he can do is retreat into the kitchen. He ignores the eyes on him as he does, thinking back a few seconds. Worried. Busy. Routine. “Sorry. Are you telling me to get a job?”

There’s a beat. Steve imagines him at his hotel window, flicking ashes. “No,” he says. “I’m offering you one. I’ll set you up in Indy while the Hawkins store is… Well, closed. You’ll obviously want to be working toward a diploma, so nothing full-time. But it would be a good stepping stone for you. A bit of a risk for me–”

“So why?”

“Why?” he laughs. “Why what? You are my son, aren’t you?”

“That’s funny.” There’s no time to stop himself. He’s already broken ground. “When did you remember? Before or after the town split in half?”

Across the room, his mother’s breath catches in her throat.

“Oh, didn’t you hear? There was this earthquake.” He digs himself deeper, dodging her hand as she lunges for the phone. “I’m fine. A little bored, but hey! Better a bored kid than a dead–”

“Steven,” she hisses, “that’s enough!”

“You know what?” Steve tells him. “Go to hell.” 

She had wrangled the receiver out of his grip and slammed it back onto the hook before that part could be heard. By the time she decides to follow, he’s already halfway up the stairs. A new line has been drawn between them.

“What’s gotten into you?” she pleads over the sound of his footsteps. “I thought you’d be thrilled!”

And maybe he should have been. To be fair to her, it wasn’t that long ago that he would have been. No future in sight; not even the one he’d been guaranteed. In a world that made any sense at all, he would have taken what he could get. 

Steve turns to face her. He holds his breath as he lowers himself to sit on the top step, not bothering to hide the pain. It’s sharp in his voice. “You talked him into it, didn’t you?” 

Under the tall arch of the foyer, he sees her face soften into a frown. Her arms cross slowly, almost awkwardly over her chest. She looks at him until she’s looking through him. 

Then she walks away. “Overwhelmed.” The explanation echoes down the hall. When she returns, she’s shrugging on a grey blazer, picking her keys from the rack. “We’re all a little overwhelmed, honey.” She digs through her purse then checks her hair in her compact mirror, checks on his reflection over her shoulder.

Steve nods, lips pursing into a smile. “Where are you going?”

“They’re meeting in ten minutes. I know, awful timing. You still need to–”

“Catch you up?”

She stalls in the open door. “Please,” she smiles back. “Tonight, okay? I want to understand.”

He imagines telling her, maybe sitting her down in the living room like families do on TV. Max is in the hospital, but you don’t know her. It was hard to see her. Hard to see Lucas. Erica. Robin is okay. I wish she were here right now. Dustin, Wayne, they’re alright. Or going to be. You don’t know them either. Eddie died. I let him. What else? “Sure.” 

She doesn’t disappear right away. Just one more thing: “I’ll let him know you’re sorry. Don’t you even worry.”

That’s funny, too, he wants to tell her. For the first time in a while, he isn’t worried at all. In fact, as the door finally clicks shut, he laughs. 

“Jesus Christ.” Carefully, he pulls himself upright, only to laugh until his ribs ache. “Good show, right?”

Of course, as always, Steve is willing to believe that he had no audience. He knows he’s pretending there’s some kind of science behind what he’s been doing: talking so as not to abandon, so as not to kill. But who knows? 

One night—another night alone—Dustin will call. He’ll tell him they found Eddie. A part of him always knew it would end this way. Who was he kidding? He’ll start to apologize, but his apologies will go unheard. He won’t know why right away. Soon enough, buried in the background of Dustin’s sudden panic, a deeper voice will mumble something. Steve won’t be able to hear anything else. 

Hurrying out the door, he’ll remember bandages and cold beer. He’ll remember the first thing Eddie said to him and he’ll remember the last. He won’t remember the damn vest. He’ll have to bring that back to him next time.

[loserarc]

 

#LOSERARC.   private & exclusive  𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎  𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚘𝚗 of 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛  𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜. written  by  nico  ( they/them,  20+ )  mostly  post-s4. affiliated  with  @freakarc. carrd. headcanons. nav. ic twt. wire: @/sbeve

 

[loserarc]

STEVE HARRINGTON     “the spy” 2.06 • stranger things

[loserarc]

@mlssworld  /  “   i  was  afraid  before ,   but  i’m  not  afraid  anymore .   ”

 “ … that’s  good. ”   Though if the quiet delay in his answer is any indication, good isn’t something to be believed. Maybe Steve shouldn’t have asked a bullshit question in the first place — or, at least, allowed a preface: You can be honest! It isn’t every day you stumble into a bad horror movie—  “ That’s really good. Pretty sure I didn’t take it that well. ”

He doesn’t know Chrissy. Not outside of the crowded hallways of Hawkins High, and not well enough to speak casually about the real horrors lurking beyond them. And that’s the problem with this, he thinks: no such thing as casual company when lives are on the line. It’s a good thing. (It’s the worst thing that could happen to anyone.)

Now that they’re in it, the both of them, he’s pulling up a chair for her. His house was only supposed to be a pitstop — these days, just keeping supplies and soon-to-be-donated items warm — but he can’t remember the last time he actually sat down. He steals another chair from the dining table, dragging a finger through the dust that’s settled there.   “ And to be totally honest, ”  he goes on,  “ my introduction to all this supernatural stuff was like… half as scary as this. There was no evil mastermind pulling the strings. Or there was? But I guess what I’m trying to say is it always works out somehow. ”  

He’s pretending he doesn’t know exactly how. It’s because of El. It’s because of the Party — a group of literal children. And she’s not afraid, so she doesn’t need his over-explaining to throw that off.  “ Hey ...  ”   Enough of that.  “ Do you want anything? Water? Uh, beer?  ”

[loserarc]

“   things  could  always  be  worse .   at  least  you  don’t  have  flesh - eating  bacteria ,   right ??   ”   /  @rebelarc

story interrupted,  it takes him a second to hear her properly. She says something that sounds sympathetic — the right tone, the right tilt of the head when he turns to face her — and to her credit, it’s probably sincere. But his eyes narrow on her.  “ Really helpful, Robin, ”  he deadpans,  “ thank you. Last time I open up about anything. ”  

Seriously, he means to add, but he realizes he’d be lying. 

Catastrophic as she tends to be, Robin has a talent for saying the right thing. And in all earnestness, given or not, he does tend to feel better. Which is why he goes on, ignoring the chime of the front door and any patron expecting a greeting.  “ Like, it’s gotta be me, right? ‘Cause Linda’s great. There’s nothing wrong with Linda, so what the hell’s my problem, you know? At least if it was— ”  he waves his hand as he recalls her phrasing, “ —flesh-eating shit, maybe then I’d get it. Maybe. ”  

They’ve been over this before, though:  “ they ”  being a slight exaggeration. He’s been over this as she’s done her best to take his supposed worst fears seriously.  (Just last week beating himself up over Debbie and how he could stop returning her calls if he really loved her, so maybe he didn’t, and maybe he’ll never love again — a terrifying thought — and I get it Steve, but I do think I’d put tortured by Soviet agents a bit higher on the list of terrifying thoughts.)  So this time, he feels the need to make an admission.  “ I realize none of this is world-ending, by the way. It just… well, you get it. ”

It sucks. Maybe only in the normal, growing-up sort of way, but there’s something oddly comforting about that. Aside from the things they typically don’t talk about, mall included, they’re just normal kids. He doesn’t really have to worry about dying alone. Because either of them could have. Because neither of them did.

Steve turns his back to the door, leaning against the counter.  “ Maybe I should call Debbie, ”  he muses. Hopefully he’s made it clear he’s kidding, pausing for her groans of protest.  “ What? I think I still have her number somewhere. ”

[loserarc]

❥     𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘 𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒    [   𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚂    ]   .

add context   &   change gendered language to your needs .   happy roleplaying !!

“   great .  just  fucking  great .   ” “   any  ideas  on  how  to  get  us  out  of  this  mess ??   ” “   this  is  the  last  time  i  go  anywhere  with  you .   ” “   haven’t  you  done  enough  already ??   ” “   don’t  worry ,   i  have  a  plan .   ” “   well ,   that  didn’t  work .   any  plan  c ,   genius ??   ” “   you  know ,   i  genuinely  don’t  think  this  could  get  any  worse .   ” “   how  did  you  manage  to  do  everything   incorrectly ??   ” “   this  is  wrong .   all  of  this  is  wrong .   ” “   looks  like  we’re  stuck  here .   ” “   admit  it ;   you  have  no  idea  where  you’re  going ,   do  you ??   ” “   we’re  completely  lost .   ” “   of  all  the  people  in  the  world  i  could  end  up  stuck  with  …   ” “   well .   was   this   your  idea  of  a  fun  vacation ??   ” “   how  is  the  tank  almost  empty ??   i  thought  you  said  you  got  gas  before  we  left !!   ” “   there’s  a  gas  station   five  miles  /   eight   kilometers   from  here .   we’re  just  gonna  have  to  push  the  car  there .   ” “   the  good  news  is ,   i  found  someone  who  i  think  can  help  us .   the  bad  news  is ,   i  don’t  think  they  speak   [ language ] .   ” “   thank  god ,   it’s  about  time  you  showed  up  to  help !!   ” “   could  you  run  any  fucking  slower ?!   ” “   i  can’t  get  any  signal  out  here .   ” “   someone  stole  my  fucking  wallet .   ” “   we  are  below  rock  bottom  right  now .   we’re ,  like ,  in  hell .   ” “   are  you  really  just  going  to  leave  me  here ??   ” “   okay ,   you  being  dramatic  is  not  going  to  help  us  find  a  way  to  fix  this .   ” “   are  you  bleeding ??   ” “   i’ll  try  to  find  us  somewhere  to  spend  the  night .   ” “   i  don’t  know  what  to  do !!   i’m  not  a  doctor !!   ” “   of  course  this  happens  to  me .  i  can’t  even  be  surprised .   ” “   i  can’t  walk  …  you’re  gonna  have  to  carry  me .   ” “   things  could  always  be  worse .   at  least  you  don’t  have  flesh - eating  bacteria ,   right ??   ” “   don’t  panic ,   but  i’m  pretty  sure  we’re  being  followed .   ” “   maybe  some  music  will  help  you  calm  down .   ” “   my  glasses  are  broken  …   ” “   i  didn’t  have  enough  rocks  to  write  out   ‘ help ’   so  i  just  spelled  out  ‘ hell ’ .   ” “   maybe  we  can  play  a  game  to  pass  the  time  until  someone  notices  we’re  missing .   ” “   okay ,   i  swear  this  is  not  what  it  looks  like .   ” “   there’s  a  killer  storm  going  on  outside ,   so   unless  you  want  to  disappear  under  mysterious  circumstances ,   i  suggest  you  get  comfortable .   ” “   how  long  was  i  out ??   ” “   well ,   at  least  i’m  trapped  here  with  you .   ”

[loserarc]

#pringle boys

[loserarc]

#He’s definitely one of his little nuggets now, who could have thought

[loserarc]

look at this icon frances made i’m crying

[loserarc]

It turns out that we are shit out of luck There are things in the woods that will prey on the things that you love

[loserarc]

freakarc.

there was a time where he could sleep through anything. It should’ve been considered a top skill, one he’d picked up as a little kid when his own parents would forget that he was only a child and couldn’t (shouldn’t?) keep up with them. He could sleep through every noise that was familiar, he would get acquainted with every noise to make them familiar just so he could get some decent amount of sleep. He would also jolt awake in the process, whenever something he didn’t recognize echoed in his room. And then at the shed. And then at the hospital. It had stopped when his hand began to be held throughout his slumber; first, his hand– then, all of him.

Unfamiliar noises didn’t rattle him anymore, nightmares on the other hand… core memories, muscle memories, Eddie could feel pain excruciating as in the moment he first experienced it in dreams, only to wake up sobbing to fully healed scars and skin grafts, and the ever so safe arms that would wrap around him, soft words in whispers that would make him remember he was, in fact, safe, and he’d always will be, as long as they’d be together.

It was new for Eddie to really buy into it. To let himself believe in the infinite of someone else; people that would come into his life had a tendency to leave, to move on. The scar left by his parents was healed and soothed by the permanence of his uncle Wayne and his friends, but even then, Eddie knew. He knew that most of the time people would have to move on and move forward, and that was okay. Didn’t mean they loved him any less, or that they wouldn’t be in his life anymore. It just meant change, and change was good, sometimes. He would often think about Steve disappearing into the wilderness of opportunities he could have to pick and choose from. Maybe one day he would follow Robin into whatever state her genius college applications would lead her. Maybe he’d stick around then, but follow Dustin. And if Eddie was smart, he would accept that, he would be happy for his friends, and let them move on. It was a revelation, even for himself, how in every scenario, he had decided he wanted to follow Steve; wherever the universe would take him, it would have to take them.

The shift of weight in the bed underneath him didn’t wake him, even in his state of unconsciousness he could tell Steve hadn’t just… gotten up and left. He could still feel him in the room, if only by the fact he felt safe, protected. Somewhere in his brain lay the knowledge of Steve being there, though when his hand reached to touch him and found only air, his body reacted first. His palm felt the empty mattress a few times, it was cold already, before his eyes lazily opened for business, prompting himself up on weak-with-sleep elbows until his eyesight adjusted enough to make Steve out of a shape in the dark.

“ For sure, man, ” he groans with a stretch, not usually the biggest fan of waking up, but he’s trying here. “ I’m sure he meant for his books to be read in the wee hours ”. Eyelids shut as a weak chuckle sounds. “ You know, you’re gonna fuck up your eyes if you read in the dark like this. Tell ya what, if you come back to bed, I’ll recite you the first few chapters. Have them all stored up here– ”  he had laid down again, eyes closed, two fingers came to tap on own temple to make a point of his sentence. Though his hand comes out to reach for him, again, “ Hmm? Free sample, you can pick it up again in the morning if you like what you hear. Whaddaya say? ”

he knows he shouldn’t  be embarrassed. It’s Eddie, and Eddie’s already seen what worry looks like on him. It might have even looked like this, wringing the near-tremor out of his hands. This early, though — too early to fall into the unnatural rhythm of what shouldn’t be — he can’t help it. He’s embarrassed.   

“ Ah, ”  is the quick answer: a  “ no ”  if Eddie’s still fluent in polite hesitation.  ( This early? Who knows. )  Fluent or not, any understanding he might have had is about to be challenged. Steve sets the book back down where he found it, his heels numb to the floor as he shuffles back to bed — not because he was told to, but because he was caught. And because he thought he could see the purple light of the sun just peeking above the trees, he can pretend to sleep now. It can’t be that long until morning. 

His spot isn’t warm anymore, so he’s quick to draw the blankets over his shoulders again, shivering before he can finally pull himself close. Cheek to Eddie’s shoulder, letting this new warmth burn him, he shakes his head. And he’s almost sure he means it, but his mouth is quicker than him.  “ You really remember? ”  The words slur against his shirt. Pretty convincing, Steve thinks: he actually sounds fine. Maybe he is. Sighing into quiet laughter, relief moves in with the tide.   “ All of that? Be serious, Munson. ”   But he could believe it. There’s much less that Eddie can’t do, having faced certain death and lived to tell that tale. He’s only talking about words on a page: paper people and the paper worlds they inhabit, always finite, never edgeless.  Steve’s arms tighten around him.  “ Okay. ”  

He hasn’t sold it this time. Not even close. This time he knows he shouldn’t be embarrassed for sounding small but, warming the rest of his face just to bury it, he’s embarrassed by it nonetheless. He’d woken him up because he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t sleep because he’s always waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting because he hadn’t been paying close enough attention the first time. Fair enough until it’s been noticed.

It’s hard to forget how he had clung to the details of who Eddie was, past tense. Finite. Now he’s drawn into them as if he still has to be convinced they’re real again. He takes a shallow breath before he has to come up for air, thankful that the detergent-masked smokiness still lingers.  “ I won’t know. If you’re making it up, ”  he adds, tucking a loose curl back ( because he can, because he’s just checking ).  “ I, uh— I didn’t get… far? ”  Stuck on Eddie’s name, in fact, wondering when he’d written it. Thinking about all the little miracles it must have lived through to sit among that pile of books. Wondering if Wayne had been the one to save it, just to have to look at it. Just to wonder while Steve —  of all people — was sitting in a sterile room somewhere, not wondering anymore. 

He breathes in. Hiding his face in the crook of Eddie’s neck again, he doesn’t breathe out yet. So pretending he’s not worried about anything might not be working. Fine. He lets himself pretend he’s sinking, cross-legged, to the bottom of his pool. Practicing for a spot on the team. What’s the record? Seconds? Minutes? 

How many to Barbara? How long to the bottom of the lake? He almost wants to ask just so Eddie can make it up. Whatever answers he’d come up with, those would be the right ones. 

“ So, um. ”  He lets his breath go, slowly.  “ The wizard on the cover. Is that, like, the main guy or what? ”