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harmonictechnicality · 1 year
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Memory Log: Day 52
part 1 here | part 2 here | part 3 here | part 5 here | part 6 here (ao3 link here)
After seeing his ink-smeared biography all over Eddie Munson’s arm, Steve becomes extremely motivated. Obsessed, even.
He assembles a makeshift army. Eddie’s Memory Soldiers, he calls it. Okay - he doesn’t call it that out loud, only to himself (because even Steve is self-aware enough to know how deranged this all sounds).
Steve compiles a ragtag group of Eddie’s friends to nudge his brain along faster. Band mates, theater dweebs, potheads that can carry a tune. All of them bring mixtapes on their visits. After two weekends, there’s already a fuckload of thrashy melodies for Eddie to choose from.
He lets them take the reins on this music-healing plan because there’s no fucking way Steve will be helpful in that department. It means less visits that include his presence, which sort of sucks, but it’s worth it. Worth it to get Eddie back to where he used to be.
Before Steve heads out for one of his morning visits, Robin interrogates him. Asks him the question he’s been ignoring for weeks.
“Steve
 not to sound harsh, but why do you care so much?” 
Yeah. Why does he care so much? 
She quickly follows it up with, “I just didn’t know you two were friends now. So I’m just curious, I guess.”
They’re not friends. They’re lukewarm tolerators - tethered together by monster hunting and Dustin Henderson.
They’ve flirted, sure. But who doesn’t? Steve would flirt with half of the leggy cartoon characters that appear on Saturday Mornings if he could. So that’s a weak argument to assume they’re more than just friends. Tolerators. Whatever.
So he lies. To Robin. To himself. Lies so much that it sits in his stomach like motion sickness.
He answers the exact same way he’s been answering since day one:
“I’m just doing this for the kids, Robs.”
He’s pretty sure neither of them are buying that statement. He tries again. Stamps the words onto his confused brain. Considers writing them on his arm just like Eddie might do.
“I’m doing it for them.”
Eddie is always on his Walkman (Steve’s Walkman) now that he has skyscraper of cassettes on his desk. Pretty much every time Steve returns, Eddie is head banging. Won’t stop until the nurses scold him.
Or Steve. He’ll stop if Steve scolds him too.
“You can’t keep jostling up your brain, Munson.” Steve whips the headphones off of Eddie’s ears. “Gonna undo all of our hard work.”
“Our hard work?” Eddie attempts to grab the headphones back. Gives up as soon as their hands make contact. “And who might be included in this our that you speak of?”
“You know
” Me. “The doctors and nurses and your friends.”
“Right.”
This is how things have been going lately. Eddie teases him mercilessly and Steve bats it all away. Doesn’t encourage it for a second.
Which blows so hard because he wants to flirt back. Steve wants to know what Eddie feels like beyond tubes and bandages and hospital gowns. He wants way too much after watching Eddie fall asleep smiling that night. After finding out that Eddie scams his own mind into remembering Steve in technicolor details every day.
But it feels wrong. Deep down, there’s this part of Steve that worries that Eddie only likes the scribbled notes, the good qualities of himself. The non-prickster qualities.
He doesn’t scribble the bad qualities on his arm. Eddie lets himself forget about those every night. 
So it seems wrong. Unfair to let Eddie only remember the good parts of him and take advantage of his weak mind.
Life was a fucking breeze before Steve cared about not taking advantage of people. Shit, he used the world’s biggest advantage-taker before all of this evil wizard nonsense.
“Quiz me, Harrington.” Eddie insists.
So Steve does. Steve goes down the list of questions. Things that Eddie’s memory typically hesitates to recognize. 
Music helps Eddie remember his childhood memories the best.
That’s the biggest discovery they’ve made over the last fourteen days. Tapes that include songs from the early to mid 70’s have the biggest mental impact on his memory skills. Every day, he recalls more moments from his past.
Winter birthday parties. Recess and tire swings. Nineteen chickenpox. A pet hamster named Sterling.
“Can’t believe Wayne trusted you with a living creature.” Steve sneers.
“Never said he did.”
He always gets fuzzy with stuff from the late 70s though. And the early 80s is just a jumbled-up shit show. That’s when Eddie really starts failing his quiz.
“What year did you get the tattoo on your chest?”
“You mean this one?” Eddie pulls down the wrinkly hospital gown, exposing way too much of his collarbone. “Or this one?” He pulls the fabric down even further.
They must’ve finally turned the heat on in this place. Or maybe Steve’s sweater is just extra itchy, scratching his skin all splotchy red. He rubs furiously at the collar, spreads the flush all over by accident. 
His eyes dart up to the fluorescent lights. Away from Eddie’s chest. “Um
 the
 creepy guy.”
“You’ll sprain your neck looking up like that.”
“Good thing I’m in a hospital then.”
“Okay - seriously, what’s up with you?”
“Nothing.”
“Sure.” Eddie snorts. His heart monitor beeps faster. Steve hates that laughing must be a bit painful for him. “And he’s not some creepy guy. He’s a creepy demon. Please respect the body art and get your facts right.”
“Fine.”
Not flirting back makes Steve feel like he could break out into hives. He has a fucking stockpile of pickup lines. He hoards provocative catchphrases like a horny pack rat. Talking is becoming increasingly difficult when he can’t banter back the way he wants to.
“Don’t remember what year I got it.” Eddie admits. “Sorry.”
Steve pulls his focus away from the ceiling and scribbles that down:
Eddie still can’t remember when he got his tattoos.
“Gee mister,” Eddie imitates a very masculine Shirley Temple voice. “Am I failing the pop quiz already?”
Eddie remembers who Shirley Temple is (weird, but okay).
Eddie does a really shitty impression of Shirley Temple.
Steve just keeps writing. Not even writing words anymore, just moving the pen to stay focused. Stay distracted from flirting.
The energy starts to feel swampy and stiff as he continues to give short responses with lifeless enthusiasm. Steve can tell that Eddie is picking up on the weirdness too. 
He’s so fidgety. Drumming his fingers, twisting the one ring he’s allowed to wear on one of his less busted fingers. Bobbing his knees and kicking off his blankets. 
Eventually, Eddie puts his (Steve’s) headphones back on and closes his eyes. A nonverbal surrender. A borrowed Walkman instead of a white flag. Why does it feel so shitty to see that he is just as defeated as Steve?
Once Eddie is asleep, Steve peaks over at his arms.
The notes are still there. Fading, but there.
It shouldn’t jab him in the heart the way that it does every time he checks, but christ. It’s so fucked up.
Slowly but surely, Eddie is gaining pieces of his past, but never his present. Why the fuck is that? Steve is so selfishly pissed about that because he’s a main role in Eddie’s present life. 
He’s the one that’s here most days. He’s the one that listens to Eddie’s rants and incessant complaints. He’s the one that calls the nurses when Eddie is too prideful to admit when he’s in pain.
Steve should be remembered without smudgey reminders and foggy recollections.
Steve should be un-fucking-forgettable.
After an unhealthy amount of moping, he comes up with an idea. Well, Dustin comes up with an idea, actually. Steve bribed him with nougat and R-rated movie rentals to construct a gameplan.
“And you need Eddie to remember your favorite sweater
why?” Dustin’s mouth is full of chewy candy as he asks.
Steve chucks a raisinette at his dumb hat. “I thought we agreed this was a no questions asked request.”
“You suggested that.” Dustin points at Steve. “I never agreed to it though.”
This is the part Steve despises. If he admits it to others, he has to admit it to himself. And while he’s come a long way since that first day with Eddie, he’s not there yet. His pride can only take so much vulnerability before it fractures completely. “Just
 I’m testing a theory I have on his newest memories.”
“Right. And what theory would that be?”
That he thinks about me in kissable ways. “That he remembers more than he gives himself credit for.”
Dustin chugs back his soda and scrunches the can in his grasp. “Okay. Well, the mixtape theory is working decently well with older memories, right?
“Yeah. Definitely.”
“So maybe it can work with newer memories too.”
Steve is lost already. “Meaning?”
“Find songs that relate to you.” Dustin shrugs like duh. He must sense Steve’s hesitation, so he sputters back into his brainy explanation. “Think about it: you’re there all the time -”
“Not all the time, but -”
“Shut the hell up. You’re there all the time, so he must remember the essence of Steve Harrington.”
Steve fake gags. “Don’t say essence, that’s fucking gross.”
“Will you stop interrupting? Jesus christ.” Dustin yells, scrunching the soda can even more with his irritation. “Just make a mixtape with stuff that relates to you. Get his current memories to stick with lyrics and shit.”
Steve twists his mouth to one side. Then the other. “That’s
”
“Genius?”
“I was gonna say worth a shot, but sure.” Steve agrees. “We’ll go with your conceited analysis.”
Dustin finally picks up the raisinette from earlier. Throws it back at Steve. “You should be nicer to me. I possibly just solved your dilemma.”
“I should be nicer to you?” Steve tosses the raisinette into his mouth, despite its questionable duration on the floor. “Dude, you’re never nice to me.”
“Yeah, but it’s affectionate hostility.”
“And that makes it better?”
“Basically, yeah.”
“Fine.” Steve rolls eyes, offers a hand to Dustin. “Thank you for the hostile affection.”
Dustin accepts the handshake. He’s overly smug about it too. “You’re very welcome.”
Memory Log: Day 53
Right away, Steve determines it’s a Kathy Day. Eddie is a verbal nightmare already, whining about the dead batteries in his tv remote.
“I’ll get Sam to grab some batteries when her shift starts.” Steve reassures the bitchy entity possessing Eddie Munson’s body at the moment.
“Why don’t you just get the damn batteries?” Eddie bites back. “You have legs, don’t you?”
“You have eyes, don’t you? Of course, I have fucking legs.” Steve can play it this game. Doesn’t want to but he can be just as obnoxious if Eddie keeps going with his attitude. “Please don’t pull this Kathy shit today.”
That simultaneously shuts them both up for a while. Steve begins flipping through one of the outdated magazines on Eddie’s desk, avoiding the escalated atmosphere. At this rate, there’s no fucking way Steve is going to bring up his mixtape. Kathy/Eddie will probably smash it. Roll over it with the wheels on his imprisoning hospital bed.
Eddie clears his throat, speaking softer than he did at Steve’s arrival. “You know
 you were sort of a Kathy yourself yesterday.”
Eddie remembers Steve’s weird mood from the day before (needs to check Eddie’s arm notes to make sure he didn’t write that down).
“Yeah well
 I’m allowed to be the pissy one sometimes.” Steve doesn’t look up. He just keeps pretending to read the fossilized magazine in his hand.
“Whatever you say, Harrington.” There’s another pause. Just as awkward as the last one. Their dynamics today are clashing harder than their music styles. Eddie breaks through the awkwardness once again. “So
 what’s on the brain agenda today?”
Eddie remembers their pop quizzes.
Right. The quiz. The quiz that Steve has no intention of administering today because he’s supposed to give Eddie this stupid mixtape. 
And look, Steve is pretty good at avoiding shit - homework and phone calls and extended family members. He’s good at dodging shit too, like the relentless one-night stands that can never seem to take a goddamn hint.
But this situation is different because Steve would clearly like to avoid the potential weirdness of giving Eddie Munson a gift. However, he’s innately aware that this particular gift could be helpful. Maybe more to himself than to Eddie, but who knows? If Eddie gets his memory tank back on track and Steve gets someone that reciprocates his affections? 
The payoff might be worth the weirdness.
“I actually wanted to contribute to your
” Steve gestures apathetically at the stack of tapes.
Eddie looks over at them and then back to Steve. “Oh you mean, Munsonopolis?”
“Boooo.” Steve heckles him immediately for that.
“You think of something better then.”
Steve thinks about this way too hard. “The Ed-pire State Building.”
“Boooo.” Eddie imitates Steve’s heckling.
“Better than yours.”
“Says who?”
“Says anyone with a sense of humor.”
“Brave of you to call that a sense of humor.”
“What can I say?” Steve clicks his mouth twice and does the most douchey finger-gun bit, blowing out the nonexistent smoke from each index finger. “I’m something else.”
Eddie bites down over his lip, hard enough that it goes white for a second. Doesn’t take his eyes off of Steve while he bares down.
“You sure are, Steve.”
Oh shit - did they just mindlessly segue onto Flirtation Boulevard without even trying? Is it really that natural with Eddie? Damnit, Steve needs to get his mind on the task at hand.
“Here.” He walks over, lays the tape on Eddie’s lap.
“Is this another one from Gareth?” Eddie flips the tape over, studies the back. “Cause I already assured him that I remember the concert we went to back in ‘84.”
Eddie remembers one of his closest friends.
“No, this one is actually
” Just fucking own up, Steve. “Well, I made it.”
Eddie’s eyes do that sequin thing again. Almost turn into disco balls. “You made me a mixtape?”
Ugh. “Don’t get too flattered, Munson.” 
“Too late.”
Steve was afraid that might be the case. So he does his damndest to channel Dustin Henderson. Provide a scientific explanation to his crush-driven theory. “It’s just an extension of our little music experiment. Some stuff that will help you remember me.”
“And why exactly do you want me to remember you?” Eddie does the same lip biting thing from before. He bites harder, and the color stays white even longer this time.
Steve involuntarily glances down at Eddie’s arm, giving himself away.
“Oh.” Eddie stops biting his lip, swiftly lifts the blankets over his arms. Hiding what Steve already knows is there. “Look
 that’s just -”
“You don’t have to explain yourself, really.”
Eddie looks down, nodding in agreement. “Right. But it’s not-”
“Eddie.” Steve places a firm hand on Eddie’s shoulder because he can’t. He can’t listen to whatever Eddie is about to confirm or deny. “It’s okay. I mean it.”
He’s not ready for it, for whatever barricade that’s between them to come crashing down. Steve didn’t bring the proper tools to shield himself from raw emotions or desperate declarations of true feelings. And from the way Eddie goes breathless and tense under Steve’s shoulder-grip, he doesn’t think Eddie has the proper tools for that either.
“So you uh
” Eddie peers down at Steve’s hand. Catches a glimpse then abruptly looks away again. “Do you want me to listen now or
”
God no. Steve releases his grip at that thought. “Wait till I leave.” 
“Got it.”
The rest of the visit goes both fairly smoothly. There are only a few lingering particles of awkward tension left behind. It doesn’t bother Steve, not necessarily. The whole day has been kind of all over the place, just like Eddie’s Literary Behavioral Scale. So this uneasy atmosphere is to be expected.
They talk about movies while Steve packs up his things to leave. Eddie asks about all the new movies that have come out since he’s been in the hospital. Steve tells him to make a list of the ones he’s interested in seeing. Tells him that they’ll have a marathon at his place once they’re released to vhs. Eddie says he knows a guy that sells bootlegs before the vhs release date, but Steve shoots that idea down so fucking fast.
It’s not their usual banter, but that’s okay. At least they're talking. Getting along. Tolerating one another at a lukewarm temperature again.
“Steve?”
“Yeah?” Steve is met with the most anxiety-ridden face. Eddie’s whole forehead is covered in wrinkles, like that one fancy dog breed that his next-door neighbor used to have. There’s no shimmer in Eddie’s eyes, no disco balls. It’s all just dull. Fearful.
“Sorry if the arm thing made you...” Eddie trips over his words. He pinches the skin between his eyes, makes his even more forehead wrinkles. “I don’t know what’s the word I’m looking for.. Uncomfortable, I guess.”
“Don’t worry. It didn’t.” It made Steve a lot of other things: gutted, determined, confused, sulky, smitten. But no. Worried did not make Steve’s grocery list of Feelings.
“Don’t forget to tell Sam about the batteries on your way out.”
Eddie remembers bitching about the batteries.
Yeah, Steve’s memory isn’t the faulty one here. Even so, Steve reassures him:
“I won’t forget, Eds.”
Day 56:
Wayne had a couple days off from work and took over Steve’s Wednesday and Thursday shifts in the hospital. It’s probably for the best - especially since Steve decided to do the most high school shit ever, and gift Eddie a fucking bouquet in the form of radio hits and plastic.
He’s breaking out from the stress, just marinating on what Eddie’s thoughts might be of the mixtape. It can’t be good. None of the songs are his typical riffs of eternal damnation or whatever. But it certainly sounds like Steve Harrington in a Speaker. So it better help him picture Steve dressed in the tackiest, most burnable sweaters imaginable, goddamnit.
But like, why is he breaking out from thinking about Eddie Munson? Absurd. All of it. The feelings and the acne. His weird little crush is making him regress into adolescent woes and it’s pissing him off.
After popping the zit and crossing his fingers that it’s not outrageously noticeable, Steve sucks in a deep breath, and heads into Eddie’s hospital room.
“There’s my favorite Material Girl.” Eddie lowers the headphones, smiles bonus-level wide.
Steve’s gulps. His face feels like a fucking toaster. “I take it you listened to the tape?”
“I didn’t just listen to the tape.” Eddie picks up the Walkman and smacks it against the side of his head. “I practically absorbed that bubblegum bullshit. Think some of it is still stuck in my teeth.”
Steve plays along, hoping that his face will return to its usual complexion. “You should see a dentist about that.”
“With what insurance?”
“That’s fair.” Steve slides his hands into his jean pockets. He’s so rigid. “So?”
“So?”
“Final conclusion?”
“Oh, I hated it.” Eddie says bluntly. “In a very stick-that-syringe-in-my-neck kind of way.”
“Shocker.” Steve actually expected a meaner response than that.
“Why did you put so many songs on there that use Girl in the title?”
“Hey - it’s not my fault that all of the rich poster child songs are about women.” Steve gets defensive about that one. Honestly, it’s true. There needs to be more music about wealthy guys with genetically flawless hair. Somebody needs to get on that shit so Steve can have more songs that apply to him.
“Whatever you say, man.” 
“So did it
” Steve is still standing. Hovering a bit. “Did it help?”
Eddie sticks out both of his arms, flipping to reveal his forearms to Steve.
They’re blank, besides the usual tattoos and contusions. They’re as blank as Eddie’s arms can be at the moment. No more Steve Cheat Sheet to be found.
Steve exhales all of his relief. “And you remember me?”
“Remembering you was never the problem, Steve.”
“It wasn’t?”
Eddie shakes his head. “But if I ever allowed myself to forget, I
” He taps rapidly over the Walkman. Steve’s Walkman. “I just didn’t wanna risk starting over.”
“Oh.”
“With you.”
The metaphorical arrow, the one Steve has alway seen on department store Valentines Day cards, goes straight through his chest. Eddie aims the words with you directly for Steve’s heart. Punctures that wall he built up after Nancy Wheeler.
The monitor connected to Eddie is beeping faster again. It’s not like that day Eddie was writhing in pain. No, it’s a different tempo.
It sounds like his nerves are conducting the pattern. He’s nervous. Steve is making him nervous.
Or Steve’s lack of response is making him nervous.
But how does Steve respond? Is this Eddie giving him permission to flirt back again? To keep driving down the detour of attraction, take the scenic route?
Eddie’s heart monitor is screaming, ‘say something, Steve.’
But Steve’s archive of failed relationships is screaming, back, ‘don’t fuck this up, dickhead.’
Steve tries to meet the two in the middle. Say something inviting yet keep it simple.
“So
 do you wanna make fun of the shitty soap operas together?” 
Steve puts a little emphasis on the together part, hoping it’ll tame the monitor. Make the tones evenly paced. He lets his hand tap once against Eddie’s arm. Right over his newly blank wrist. So clean. No more scribbles.
“I don’t know, I’ll have to check my schedule.” Eddie teases with his words, sure. But his hand lifts up. Tapping Steve back. Twice. “I’m a very busy man, you see.”
Steve shoves him away, laughing as he does it. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You’re not wrong.”
His monitor is ballad again.
One of Eddie’s (many) doctors walks into the room during their third hour of mocking the Home Shopping Network. Eddie has developed an elaborate backstory that they’re all cyborgs who are taking civilian money to grow their army of killer robots. Steve is surprisingly on board with this theory after the second hour. Some red headed lady twitches her eyes way too much to be human.
The doctor runs a few tests, looks over Eddie’s chart, the typical procedure. However, at the end of the visit, he decides to put Eddie on a new medication for his headaches. 
Headaches

Steve flips back to that first day he started visiting Eddie. Finds the note he passive-aggressively took back then:
Eddie has a headache (that’s not a memory thing - he’s just told Steve a thousand times now).
He fans through the other pages as well. At least two-thirds of them mention Eddie complaining about headaches. How did Steve miss this? How could he be so stupid? He was too busy fantasizing about Eddie’s chest tattoos and making shitty mixtapes, that he glossed over something so significant.
Dustin wouldn’t have missed this. Robin wouldn’t have missed this. Nancy definitely wouldn’t have missed this - hell, she would’ve already cracked the Case of the Missing Memories by now. 
Steve is the wrong man for this job. Not enough brainpower to fix a broken brain.
“Uh oh.” Eddie says. “Where you’d go, Harrington?”
Steve glances up to see Eddie pointing his finger at Steve’s head. “Just.. thinking.”
“Share with the class, please.”
Steve struggles to make his voice sound causal about this. “I should’ve known about the headaches. Paid better attention.”
“Are you joking?” Eddie asks. “Because if you are, we need to work on your delivery.”
“Not joking, no.”
Eddie’s tone is mildly annoyed, still gentle though. “Stevie
 that guy gets paid a shitload of money to figure out my problems. Truly - the reason there’s no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow is because it’s going straight into that guy’s pocket.”
Steve snorts. It’s even funnier to visualize because the doctor is kind of short.
“What I’m saying is, it’s his job to have a big brain.” Eddie’s eye contact is sharp. Broken bottle to his neck sharp. “And your job is to be my eye candy. Sit there and look cute while I try to not hack up my dinner.”
Steve’s hearing went crackly at all of the compliments. “Eye candy, huh?”
“Pretty much.”
Steve no longer has an excuse not to flirt back. Eddie has his mixtape; his arms are bare. He’s obviously encouraging it, even with the knowledge that Steve is a spoiled brat. He likes Steve, not just the good stuff. Eddie is still willing to pursue this even with Steve’s bad qualities.
So fuck it. Steve is gonna delve into his stockpile of pickup lines. He’s gonna rummage around his hoard of provocative catchprashes. Be the horny pack rat that he was born to be.
“Is the sitting part of my job description mandatory?” Steve leans forward, elbows resting on his knees.
“Oh, I’m very lenient on that detail.” Eddie’s voice drops lower. “The cute part
 not so much.”
“So you’re only keeping me around for what? My great hair? My symmetrical bone structure? My biceps, maybe?”
“Definitely not your humility, that’s for damn sure.”
They share a smile as Steve gets up, inches closer to Eddie’s bed. He reaches out and pinches the sleeve of Eddie’s hospital gown between his fingers. He cautiously rubs it over a few times, waiting to see Eddie’s reaction to this droplet of affection.
Eddie catches Steve’s wrist with his other hand. Mirrors the rubbing motion Steve set in place with the material.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
Steve nudges Eddie lightly. “Is this okay?”
And before he can even get a response back, Eddie’s face starts turning grayish-green. 
This happens. Eddie throws up biweekly, so it’s not a big deal at all. It’s just that Steve is usually not laying on the moves when Eddie is about to blow chunks. Honestly, it knocks Steve’s astronomical ego down a few notches.
He probably deserves it.
Eddie is really sick. He pukes three more times, and he starts running a fever after the second time. He’s all clammy and curled into a pillow, clutching it with shaky fingers.
It’s all side effects from the new medication apparently. Yeah, Eddie’s head is no longer splitting open, but his body is rejecting all of the cardboard hospital food.
Steve keeps an eye on him, not that he can do much about it. He gets a styrofoam cup of ice chips so Eddie can chew on it whenever his temperature spikes. He wipes the sweat off Eddie’s temples because one - it’s a nice gesture, and two - it gives him an excuse to be nearby.
The shivering is driving Steve crazy though. He’s so on edge just watching Eddie like this. Eddie keeps making jokes like ‘at least I’ll remember your stupid worried face in the morning’ or ‘damn, my past better be worth all of this.’ And Steve will chuckle halfheartedly each time.
The heart monitor is all jumpy now. Even, uneven, even, uneven. If Steve focuses on it for too long, it starts to sound like he’s driving by a highway collision. A pileup of beeps and tones.
He gets another cup of cafeteria coffee. Hopes the bitterness and chalky creamer will be enough to muffle his hearing. Steer his mind to an empty exit lane.
“What? No coffee for me?” Eddie is under an extra blanket now.
Steve scoots his chair even closer to Eddie’s bedside. “What’s the point? You’d just puke it all up.” He’s pretty lousy at supportive words, isn’t he?
“Aren’t visiting hours almost over?”
“You trying to get rid of me, Munson?”
“Never. Just figured you needed to catch the bus or whatever.”
Eddie remembers Steve taking the bus.
“Robin finally gave me my car back.” Steve conveniently leaves out how he demanded  for it to be returned to him. “So, I’ll stay until they kick me out
 if that’s cool with you.”
He places his non-coffee holding hand over top of Eddie’s open palm. It’s sort of instinctual. Doesn’t give his mind a moment to wonder if this is crossing a line. 
Holding hands in a hospital doesn’t mean romance. It never has. People do it all time, no one bats an eye at them either. It’s just a gesture of helpless support. It’s what people do to signify, ‘I can’t heal you with medicine, but I can warm your under-circulated skin just a little.’
But when Eddie’s fingers curl around his own, Steve’s stomach swells like its romance. It swells with hot air, helium maybe. It swells and stays swollen. Stays thermal and full.
“Looks like I’m gonna have to pay my eye candy overtime.” Eddie’s face rushes all pinkish-red. Almost as if he’s trying to combat his blush with humor, but it’s not working. He’s all the colors now. And with or without them, he’s attractive.
“You don’t pay me at all.”
“You got me there.” Eddie shakes a frizzy curl in front of his cheek. A poor effort to hide his flushed face. “I’m a terrible employer.”
Steve traces the grooves of Eddie’s palm lines. Pretends that they form a railroad track. “The worst.”
Once his fever finally breaks, Eddie falls asleep. His body unfolds, his fingers uncurl. It’s a heavy sleep, one that makes him all languid and soft. Any traces of bones are questionable now.
And even though Steve is about to pass out from exhaustion, he doesn’t move his hand from Eddie’s. He’d rather give up his whole arm than move it.
Sam peaks in just before Steve nods off. She lets in the bright hallway light, not too much though. Not enough to wake Eddie. Honestly, not a lot of things wake Eddie up these days.
“Sorry.” Steve yawns. “I overstayed my welcome.”
She shrugs, checks the fluids in one of Eddie’s IV bags. “You know, you can stay the night, if you’d like.”
“Really?”
“It’s pretty late
 you shouldn’t be driving on the highway at this time of night.”
“Won’t I
” Steve reworks the phrase. Tries to be less selfish about it. “Won’t you get in trouble for letting me stay?”
“Oh no.” She winks. “Because I never saw you here.”
Steve smirks. “Got it.”
“But if I did see you here,” She gestures her head to the door on her right. “I would tell you there’s extra pillows in the linen closet over there.”
Sam deserves a fucking raise. Steve would become a goddamn patron of this hospital just to give her more money. Let the godsend of a woman retire early for christ’s sake.
“Thanks, Sam.” Steve whispers.
“Thank you for keeping him company.” She whispers back. “He’s lucky to have someone like you.”
Steve doesn’t know if that’s true, if Eddie is lucky to have him, but he nods anyway. Gives a gentle wave as Sam heads back out of the room.
He sets the pillow next to Eddie’s leg, keeping their hands connected as he dozes off. Steve falls asleep the same way he used to fall asleep in class. All bent over in his chair, one cheek flattened out on the desk. It’s very reminiscent of that.
Only better because he’s with the guy that makes his chest swell, even when he’s being sarcastic or melodramatic. Even when heïżœïżœïżœs cobwebbed himself into a maze of cords. Even when he’s bitching about batteries and Steve’s vomit-inducing fashion sense.
Steve thinks maybe he likes the undesirable traits of Eddie Munson just as much as the desirable ones.
And once he’s knocked out entirely, the rhythm of his heart matches the beeping monitor hooked up to Eddie’s chest.
Day 57:
It’s been a long time since Steve has had a decent dream. And this dream he’s in right now? It’s fucking luxurious.
He’s at the hair salon, because of course he is - it’s his home away from home. 
His head is reclining back in that giant sink thing. The one that’s like a soup bowl for hair or whatever. The stylist is shampooing his scalp, scrubbing all of those foamy products into his roots. This is Steve’s favorite part of getting his hair done, he always feels blissed out of his mind afterward.
They keep washing it for the whole dream, digging their nails into his head, dunking water over his hair every so often. It’s downright perfection. A dream he could stay stuck in forever. 
The scenery of the dream flickers out, but the sensations linger as he gains consciousness. His squints both of his eyes open, immediately greeted by too much brightness, too much sunlight. Steve shuts them again, soaking up the remnants of his dream. The hair scratching that’s ongoing even though he’s awake.
Awake.
Steve is awake and can still feel all of that salon paradise. His brain finally wakes up enough to realize it isn’t a dream. It’s Eddie’s hands in his hair, combing it thoroughly.
Fuck, it feels so good too. Steve wonders if Eddie is aware of what he’s doing or if he’s also in that suspended place between awake and asleep.
It doesn’t matter, not really. It all feels way too incredible to care about the logistics. Steve nuzzles deeper into the pillow to hide the happy little hums that keep escaping through his mouth. 
Eddie doesn’t stop. He keeps moving his hand around. Twirling strands and releasing them. Ruffling strands and smoothing them. Massaging the pads of his fingers in all the right places. Every bit of it is dreamy. Better than the dream Steve initially believed to be unbeatable.
Being Eddie’s own personal petting zoo is way better. Miles, light years better. Is there any form of measurement longer than lightyears? Because it’s bigger and better than that too.
Eddie tugs a little harder, just once, but once is all it takes to make Steve melt. He open-mouth sighs into the pillow, hoping the fabric mutes the neediness of it. There’s drool on the pillow and it’s unclear if it’s from when he was asleep or if it occurred just from that one hair tug. 
“Steve?” Eddie’s voice still sounds coated in sleep. “Is this weird?”
Steve shakes his head no, still unable to lift his face from the pillow.
“Should I stop?”
Steve shakes his head much faster. Absolutely not. Stopping should be banished from Eddie’s vocabulary. The word ‘stop’ should be homeless as far as Steve is concerned.
Eddie tugs again, more firmly this time. The tug goes straight to Steve’s dick, which yikes. Humiliating. Yeah, it’s morning and this shit happens, but not this kind of boner. Not one brought on by hair salon fantasies and a metalhead with magical fingertips. This can’t be the reality of Steve’s life right now but somehow, it is.
“I think I combed through all of that cake-up hairspray.” Eddie talks as his hand continues to roam around Steve’s scalp. “Feels like cashmere now, so you’re welcome.”
Steve sighs again, pretty sure it’s much more audible this time because Eddie laughs.
“Embarrassing.” Steve mumbles. That’s all he can muster out without becoming a puddle of humiliation.
“The sounds you’re making?”
Steve nods.
“Oh that is not the adjective I would’ve gone with.” Eddie claws his fingers all the way down to Steve’s neck. “Not even close.”
Steve is all hormones now, all slurred speech and thoughtless words. “So good, Eddie.”
“Oh my god.” Eddie whines, sounds breathier than Steve. “You cannot say my name like that when I’m in a tissue-thin gown.”
Steve wants to sneak a peek, see if what Eddie is suggesting holds any truth. He resists, only because he’s trying to sort out his own tent-pitching problems at the moment.
He gradually lifts his head off of the pillow, back cracking as he straightens his spine out after hours of being shaped like fucking tetris piece. It’s the last thing he wants to do because it means Eddie has to take his hand out of Steve’s hair. But as Eddie pulls away, his knuckles brush against Steve’s ear, awakening this newfound urgency to not let this moment fizzle out.
Steve hops up onto the bed, sitting side-saddle next to Eddie. He looks through Eddie’s eyes, the ones that remind him of shimmery dresses and the backseat of his car on prom night. He looks through to find a reason to stop his actions. Stop his need to touch Eddie’s jawline or thumb over his lips. He’s searching for a reason to stop and finding none whatsoever.
“Do you remember me?”
“You’re Steve Harrington.” Eddie kind of stutters as he says it. “Hometown Slut extraordinaire.”
The nerdy bastard is never going to let that one go.
Steve gives a quiet laugh, leaning in to his impulses. He slides his thumb over Eddie’s bottom lip, curving around, mapping invisible outlines. A blueprint for his imagination when they’re apart later. “Am I reading this wrong?”
Eddie’s gaze is glued to Steve’s lips as he shakes his head no.
“Good.”
Steve uses his free hand to lift himself up, get closer. Breathing in the same stale oxygen, sucking up the same early morning courage, existing in the same dizzying climate.
He can feel Eddie exhale softly over his skin when there’s a knock at the door.
Steve has never stood up so fast in his damn life. Gets a head rush that’s so overwhelming that his vision speckles out momentarily. 
It’s Sam. Thank god it’s only Sam. But also, screw god for interrupting what almost happened just now. Not cool, sky man.
“Just a heads up,” she starts, shutting the door behind her. “You have another visitor that just arrived.”
Right. It's the weekend.
Steve and Eddie say it in unison. “Dustin.”
Sam hums in reply. “I can stall him for a couple minutes. Give you time to sneak out the stairs that are tucked in the back hallway.”
“You’re the best.” Steve says. “I’ll be quick.”
She leaves, cracking the door on her way out.
Both of them just look at each other for a moment. There’s no time to even discuss the events that just took place. No time to recover the kiss that is already sneaking out the back hallway stairs.
Steve nervously whistles. “So
”
“I’ll see you Monday?”
“Monday.” 48 hours apart seems insane. “Yeah.”
Steve hurriedly makes his way to the door - refusing his horny impulses the opportunity to kick back in and ruin everything. “See you later, Eds.”
Eddie licks over his bottom lip - the one Steve mapped out with his thumbprint. “Later, sailor.”
Um. What?
Steve’s eyes go large. “What did you just call me?”
“Go.” Eddie flashes the wickedest grin. “We’ll talk all about your ocean of flavor on Monday.”
This can’t be happening. “Ocean of -”
“Get out of here already!”
Steve flings himself out of the room, sprinting down the hall. Does Eddie actually recall Steve working at Starcourt? How can that be possible? Steve doesn’t remember seeing Eddie outside of school ever. 
Plus, they’ve never even talked about his job at Scoops Ahoy. Family Video? Sure, that’s more recent. But Scoops? Steve tries to forget just about everything from his time at that seaside shithole.
Goddamnit, this is confusing. The hair foreplay. The almost-kiss. The nautical nickname. Confusing is an understatement. Steve needs to go back to high school and learn a better word for what this is. Confusing isn’t cutting it anymore.
If Steve can make it till Monday without spiraling into a bucket of nerves, he deserves a fucking trophy.
And a kiss on the lips.
Mostly the second option (although a trophy would be nice too). 
955 notes · View notes
harmonictechnicality · 1 year
Text
Eddie's Memory Log: Day 59
part 1 here | part 2 here | part 3 here | part 4 here | part 6 here (ao3 link here)
Steve spends an obnoxious amount of time in front of the mirror. This isn’t breaking news. If he were in that fairytale with the evil witch and her Mirror Disciple, the mirror would be so sick of Steve’s vanity by now.
The surprising part is that Steve has been in front of the mirror since five in the morning. He couldn’t sleep, his mind is one channel full of reruns. And unfortunately, people don’t have a fucking remote control to turn off their brains, so he’s just stuck reliving Saturday morning over and over again.
Here he is. Just staring blankly at his reflection. Yawning. The reflection yawns back. Flipping his hair to one side, thinking about Eddie. Flipping his hair to the other side, thinking about Eddie. Spraying the flyaways down, thinking about Eddie. Steve has to splash his face with water so much that he’s going to show up to the hospital looking like a shriveled-up sponge.
He’s nearly satisfied with how it’s shaping up when Steve is smacked with a thought. A rewind in his rerun. A loop.
It’s Eddie’s voice, that scratchy morning one that made Steve’s toes curl up in his sneakers. All he can hear now is that voice repeating the same syrupy sentence:
‘Feels like cashmere now
’
Steve listens to the phrase till his knees start to wobble. He reaches up into his hair, just to experience what Eddie experienced that day. Instead, all Steve feels is hardened strands. All of it holding a sticky residue. Not soft at all. And definitely not cashmere. 
Before the loop can start over for the umpteenth time, Steve strips off his meticulously planned outfit and hops into the shower. The water bursts out, directly onto Steve’s nearly satisfactory styling job. It breaks his pride more than his heart, washing all his hard work away so easily.
Steve never really goes out in public with unstyled hair anymore. Not after the time in eighth grade when Hailey Barnes got gum stuck in his hair mid-make out. Steve had to cut it the shortest it had ever been in his whole life. Led to a full blown Samson storyline for the rest of the school year. He still dated, sure - but barely any second dates.
Steve shakes off his biblical trauma and blow-dries for a good fifteen minutes. Look, if he can’t style it, he can at least dry it out. He’s not a complete heathen for christ’s sake. 
It’s weird, staring back at an unstyled Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington. But this might earn him more scalp massages. Potential kisses. Potential memories. So if Eddie wants cashmere, Steve’s gonna fucking give it to him.
He’s probably gonna be late for visiting hours, but he’s hopeful that Eddie will forgive him once he gets his vein-busted hands into Steve’s hair. Driving over the speed limit is not exactly necessary and certainly not legal, but fuck it all.
Fuck it all with the windows down.
It’s a gross habit, but Steve starts chewing on his nail as soon as he reaches the door to Eddie’s room. He’s gotta kick these nerves in the ass, pull his charisma out with a rope or some shit. 
There’s no reason to be nervous, not after Eddie verified that Steve was reading the situation correctly. That should be confirmation enough to make Steve stop his nasty nail-biting and boost his enthusiasm to max volume.
So that’s exactly what he does. Steve swings the door open, pointing directly towards Eddie upon arrival. “You have some serious explaining to do, Munson.”
“Quite the entrance you got there.” Okay. Less enthusiasm than Steve, for sure. Not even half-volume enthusiasm.
“I mean, just leaving me hanging like that?” Steve lightly smacks Eddie’s shoulder.  “You really are the worst eye candy employer of all time.”
Eddie’s eyes narrow as he nods along. “Sure
”
The enthusiasm is dialing down to fucking mute. At this rate, Steve will have to skip the sly banter, go straight for the obvious. His dignity would be damaged if he weren’t so wired.
“Oh come on!” Steve shoves Eddie’s shoulder a bit harder this time. “You’re not gonna say anything about my hair?” Steve runs his hands through it, movie slow-motion style. Then he shakes it out, flounces the ends. Anything for some sign of life at the moment.
“It’s
 different.”
No shit, it’s different. It’s certifiable fluff right now. Sort of like angel food cake without the icing. 
Steve has to shift gears yet again. Maybe the straightforward path is too basic for Eddie’s liking. Maybe he prefers the smooth lines. Steve can do smooth. Smooth is his fucking specialty.
“Free cashmere doesn’t come around like this everyday.” Steve sits next to Eddie on the bed, messing around with his heart monitor cord. “So touch it all you want, Eds.”
“What’s gotten into you?” Eddie’s face goes siren red. He scoots away from where Steve is sitting and laughs somewhat nervously. “Was it drugs? Did you finally raid my lunchbox?” 
“No. No drugs. Just
” Happy to see you. A little wounded that you’re not as happy to see me. But still
 happiness overall.  “A rare good mood, I guess.”
“I’ll say.” Eddie scoffs. "You are mighty chipper today.”
“Well, yeah.” Steve gets off the bed. He’s clearly making Eddie uncomfortable and he doesn’t know why. His energy is the same as it was Saturday morning. A little heightened, sure, but Eddie thrives off intense shit. Well, he usually does. “I mean, considering what almost happened Saturday.”
Eddie holds up both hands. “Wait. Time out. Saturday?” 
“Yeah.”
“This Saturday?”
“Yeah.”
“You were here on the weekend?”
No. No, this can’t be happening. This is Eddie scribbling Steve-related notes on his arm all over again. The trap door in Steve’s stomach drops, all of his insides feel like they’re plunging down to his feet. The blush that had settled in Steve’s face, is now being whipped around, right up to his forehead. He feels sick. He feels a migraine forming. He feels fucking robbed.
“Please. Please tell you didn’t forget.” Steve’s voice is small.
Eddie doesn’t respond immediately, just studies the grim expression on Steve’s whole face. “I need you to be specific with what you’re talking about, Steve.”
“Do you remember Friday?”
Eddie looks up at the ceiling as if his memories are stored somewhere up high. “You came over. We talked about your mixtape. Bubblegum shit. See a dentist. No insurance, yada yada.”
So far, so good.
“We watched the Home Shopping Network for four hours.”
Three, but Steve lets that one slide. Probably felt like four hours.
“The doctors gave me new medicine for
 something, I don’t know.”
“That part is important.”
“Yeah well, you try being on more medications than you can count on your hands.” Eddie barks back.  “See how many ridiculously long latin names you can remember.”
Look. Steve is a patient person - hasn’t always been that way, but the unexplainable circumstances over the last three years has Miyagi’d the shit out of his patience levels.
Five days a week, Steve sits here. Patiently dealing with whatever unpredictable mood Eddie is going through that day. Five days a week for almost three months. Steve doesn’t wanna sit here and do the math because he knows it’ll be depressing numbers. So many days, hours, minutes, that he spends being the Patient Guy.
But with Eddie snapping while Steve is trying to process how such an amazing moment can simply vanish like a demented magic trick? No. Steve is no longer proficient in the art of Patience.
“You know I didn’t mean that
” Eddie mumbles, fiddles with one of the wires attached to him. Not exactly an apology.
“No please, continue to use me as your emotional punching bag. It’s one of my life’s greatest joys.” Steve leans against the wall, all casual and relaxed. But his words bite just as hard as Eddie’s did. The way he looks and sounds are total contradictions to each other.
Eddie rubs hard over his eyes. “Shit, Steve. I’m being an asshole.”
Fucking christ, that’s still not an apology. “Whatever. Just tell me what you remember after the doctor gave you the medicine.”
Eddie sighs. Looks back up at the ceiling while he talks. “I got really sick
”
“Yeah.”
“You were here.”
“Per usual.”
“But I passed the fuck out once the fever went away.”
“And then
” Steve motions his hand for Eddie to keep going.
“And then?”
Goddamnit. “You don’t remember.”
Eddie stays silent. Searching the whole room now for memories that do not exist. Memories that have expired. Memories that are one-sided.
“You don’t remember any of it.” Steve whispers to himself. 
His impatience gets distorted with all of his feelings for Eddie. Everything is barbed-wire sharp, cutting up his throat. He doesn’t want to talk about it anymore, the answers are too unfair. The reality is too bleak. Steve doesn’t deal with his own mental hurdles most days - he can’t add new psychological pitfalls to his life.
Steve is holding his forehead, urging the headache to go away with fingertips and delusion. He opens his eyes momentarily to see Eddie staring back. He looks worried. Powerless.
That makes two of them.
“Steve.” Eddie is almost whispering. “Whatever it is
 I’m so sorry that I don’t rem -”
“Don’t do that.” Steve interrupts. “Don’t apologize for having head trauma, Eddie Munson.”
“Alright. I won’t.”
Steve crawls through the barbed wire, gets muddy and messy with the truth. “Look, there’s a lot of other shit you should feel sorry for. Like lashing out at me all the time. And never asking how I’m doing with my
 life and shit.”
“There’s a vending machine down the hall that you could fill with all the reasons you should feel sorry. Might as well make a fucking profit off of your remorse.” Steve tacks the dark joke on at the end because he can. Because it’s Eddie.
“But your recovery process is not one of things you should ever feel sorry for. Okay?”
“Yeah.” Eddie gulps. Nods. “Okay.”
Steve is standing at the foot of Eddie’s bed, hands gripped around the plastic railings. His knuckles are the same sterile white as the rest of this god awful room. Steve has become a chameleon to this place that somehow manages to feel haunted by more than just lingering mortality.
“I think I’m gonna head out.” Steve says it without even trying really. The words just stumble out.
Eddie’s mouth opens, forming an ‘oh’ in reply, but no sound comes out with it. 
“Yeah this just isn’t
 I don’t know.” It’s a lame thing to say but it’s true. Steve has no fucking clue what to do anymore. “I don’t think I can do this today.”
Eddie doesn’t look at him. “Got it.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
Steve takes those few painful steps to the door. His limbs feel heavy. Like guilt and confusion are weighing him down.
No words fit this moment. This departure. So Steve throws a few out there in hopes that it’ll be enough:
“Just
 hang in there.”
It’s not enough. Not even close. 
“Will do, Harrington.” Eddie still doesn’t look at him.
The door shuts, but Steve thinks he feels it slamming all the way down his spine.
Day 60: 
Steve doesn’t go to the hospital today. 
It’s Tuesday.
Day 61:
Day 62:
Day 63:
Day 64:
Day 65:
Steve hasn’t really talked to anyone since Monday, not even Robin. She called him once on Wednesday to see if he wanted to grab dinner with her and Vickie, but he politely declined. Didn’t even bother fabricating an excuse. Just stuck with good old-fashioned ‘no.’ Why reinvent the wheel with rejection?
He’s in dirty clothes and watching an Andy Griffith marathon, when the phone rings. He almost ignores it - except he needs to get more onion dip from the fridge anyways, and the phone is on the way there. Might as well pick it up.
“Harrington residence.” His voice drones. “Steve speaking.”
“Shit.”
Shit. “Eddie?”
“Yeah. Hey, man.”
“What’s wrong? Did something happen? Are you okay?” Apparently, Steve cannot switch off the caring portion of his heart.
“Everything is
” Eddie holds out the ‘s’ sound for a while. “I just needed to apologize.”
“Right.”
“And to thank you.”
Steve lowers his eyebrows. “For what?”
“Being here
 when you were.” Eddie’s voice sounds dried up. Like he hasn't spoken much in days. “I know you haven’t been back for a few days, and that’s my own damn fault.”
Most of the behavioral stuff is his fault, yeah. But the icing out bullshit that Steve is pulling is cowardly. He’s not doing anything productive with his free time. He’s deadlocked. Stranded in uncertainty.
Eddie continues. “But for all the days you didn’t give up on me
 I guess I didn’t know how much I needed that. So thank you.”
“That’s
” Steve is about to say ‘unnecessary,’ but decides against it. Dismissiveness solves nothing. “You’re welcome.”
“Even when I was being Kathy or Hyde or Grendel or whatever else you managed to come up with behind my back.”
Steve didn’t. He thought up a lot of spiteful shit, but he never said any of it out loud. Okay, maybe some it slipped along the way. He’s not perfect.
“I wouldn’t blame you for never coming back to visit me.” Eddie is talking faster now - which is basically normal Eddie speed. “But if you did
 I have something I wanna to give you.”
Steve groans. “Not a mixtape, right?”
“Nah, I’ve tortured you enough with my own vocal ridicule.” Eddie snickers, Steve joins him. “It’s nothing much, but yeah. It’s here if you want it.”
“Okay
 yeah. Thanks.”
Steve smiles, very briefly. His mind reminds him far too soon that nothing is fixed. Sure, he’s not pissed off at Eddie. The apology was genuine. Beside, it takes way too much brainpower to hold grudges. 
But Eddie doesn’t remember what Steve will never forget. That’s still very real.
“Hey, Eddie.” Steve checks again. Just to be certain. “You really don’t remember Saturday?”
There’s a pause. “I really am sorry, Steve.” 
Yeah. Sucks just as hard as it did on Monday.
“I know you said not to be sorry for my memory, but I am.”
Well
 Eddie remembers their fight.
“Glad you remember that part.” Steve finds the positive. Even if it tastes bitter, it’s positive-ish. “Thanks for calling, Eds.”
“Thanks for not hanging up.”
“Oh, there was deep contemplation about hanging up.”
Eddie lets out a single snort. “Good. At least you’re consistent.”
“I figured there would be lots of bad karma for hanging up on a dude that’s bed-ridden in a hospital.”
“Undoubtedly bad karma. They’d put you in karma jail for such actions.”
“Glad I decided against it then. I’m way too pretty for karma jail.”
“You’re way too pretty for any iteration of jail, Steve Harrington.”
The conversation becomes a stream of easy jokes and harmless insults. Steve prefers it this way, feelings or no feelings. He likes the relaxed discussions that he can have with Eddie. He likes how Eddie will run wild with a topic, so that he can just listen. He likes that Eddie will gladly shut up if Steve wants to interject.
Steve just likes him. Likes Eddie.
They talk until Eddie takes his nighttime meds, promptly falling asleep. Snoring into the phone speaker. Steve stays on the line a little while longer. Waits until he hears the heart monitor beating out a steady rhythm. 
He hangs up and heads to bed himself. Forgets all about his onion dip and the Andy Griffith marathon.
Day 66:
It’s six in the morning. The sun is gradually hitting the horizon, but Steve is wide awake regardless. He’s a fairly competitive person, but Steve definitely shouldn’t be competing with things like nature, goddamnit.
He picks up the phone, the same one he used last night to talk to Eddie. Swears that it’s still warm from being pressed to his cheek for hours.
He calls Robin. It’s inconsiderate as hell to call this early, but she’s the only one of his friends that might answer at this hour.
Might being the key word. There’s no answer.
Steve sucks in a deep breath. Decides to be extra annoying and calls again.
“Hello?” Thank god it’s not her dad.
“Morning, Buckley.”
“Bye.”
“Wait!”
Robin swears under her breath a few times. “Why? Why must you insist on having the sleep schedule of a farm animal, Steve?”
“Trust me, it’s not by choice.”
“I don’t trust anyone that calls me before noon.” She yawns the last few words of her sentence. “Something must be wrong with you.”
“Nothing’s wrong with me. Nothing you didn’t already know about anyway.” Steve does want to chat and get his mind off of things, but he also needed to hear his friend’s voice. “Just wanted to check in.”
This is what they do now. They have to. No one else is going to check on them because no one else even knows that they literally threw flames at a demonic entity. So they call or show up whenever they can.
They have to.
“I’m hanging in there.” Which is seemingly better than ‘I’m here.’ That phrase is an emotional grenade. “How about you?”
Steve laughs, then sighs. “Obviously sleep is a fuckshow. But yeah. Hanging in there too.”
They shift to lighter subjects. Movies they’re excited to see. Plans to try the new Italian restaurant on Main Street. All the petty town gossip they can think of.
Robin talks about Vickie too. Apparently, they have the same top four favorite novels. She mentions that three times in the same breath, so that must be a pretty big deal. Steve can hear her smiling through every ordinary detail she shares, which makes him happy. He’s glad his best friend has found someone that makes the ordinary shit seem like an adventure.
It selfishly makes him think of Eddie though. How badly he wants to bring him up after every other sentence. How random words remind him of something stupid Eddie said or did.
He’s doing so well with holding back, until Robin asks. She says his name, and Steve fucking shivers at hearing it. Eddie’s name, right in his ear.
“Haven’t seen him in a week
” Steve tries to toss it in there casually, despite how un-casual it is.
“Does that mean his memories are back?”
“Not exactly
”
Robin hums into the speaker, catching on quickly to Steve’s un-casualness. “Well, the coffee is already brewing. Might as well tell me what the fuck happened.”
He goes over everything in random order - whatever hits his mind first. The argument, the spending the night, the arm scribbles, the almost-kiss, the phone call. Steve sounds just like Robin talking about Vickie. Very little breaths and stupidly smiling over all the good parts. 
He doesn’t really elaborate on the fact Eddie is a guy and that he’s attracted to him anyways. There’s so many other complicated factors, that part has seemed secondary since the beginning. And honestly, he’s sort of grateful for that. Steve doesn’t want to overthink this. He just wants to see where this will go.
It’s painfully quiet for a while once he gets through everything, even the weirdly erotic hair-massage bit. He’s starting to think they’ve lost connection when he hears Robin crunch her breakfast. Loudly.
“So
” Steve urges. “What do you think?”
She’s chewing her toast even closer to the phone. “About you being in love with Eddie? It’s weird.”
“I’m not in love with Eddie.” 
“I’m sorry - you just told me that his heart monitor beats to the rhythm of a song while he’s sleeping.”
“Patiently.” It's Steve's favorite Journey song.
“Pop the champagne and prepare the gondola, my friend.” Robin exclaims. “Cause that is love.”
“Whatever.” Steve grumbles. Sort of despises how valid her point is. “Can’t believe he doesn’t remember.”
“It’s not like he’s cherry-picking his memories, dingus. This wasn’t on purpose.”
Steve clings to that fact. Robin is hardly ever wrong and he loves that about her. “Can’t believe he mentioned Scoops
 that fucker.”
“Oh I can believe it.”
He holds his breath for a few seconds. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Eddie was there loitering samples as much as baby Sinclair.”
“No, he wasn’t.”
“Uh.” She sounds totally annoyed with him. “Yes. He was.”
“I think I’d remember seeing a frizzy-haired hyena at Scoops fucking Ahoy, Robin.”
“You’re so wrong about this, my friend.” Robin is giggling now. Steve never knew a giggle could sound so villainous. “Eddie only came to get samples while you were scooping at the back counter.”
“Okay
” Steve says.
“You know
 to enjoy the show.”
“It’s too early for this.” He huffs. “Just spell it out for me, Buckley.”
The villainous giggle returns. Might be more evil this time. “Pretty sure the middle-aged divorcees nicknamed it the Below Deck Viewing Party.”
Steve finally gets it.
Oh fuck. “My ass had a fan club?”
“Afraid so.” Robin says. “And Eddie Munson was one of its most loyal admirers.”
Steve feels like running in circles. Doing burpees or jumping jacks. Maybe he’ll just start clapping over this brand new information that’s illuminating the horniest parts of his mind.
“How have you never told me this?” Steve questions, still sizzling with energy.
“And make your big head even more insufferable?” Robing drones. “Ugh. Gag me.”
That checks out. Steve is going to be so intolerable now, especially when he wears those laundry day khakis that Eddie pretends to hate. Maybe Steve should wear them today, just for the hell of it.
They chat until Robin has to head out to work. Neither of them call much attention to the fact that Steve is crushing on a guy, so Steve assumes his brain was right along.
It’s not a big deal. There’s so much more pressing matters at hand - like the fact that his crush doesn’t remember holding his hand all night long.
That’s way more pressing than crushing on dudes.
Eddie isn’t in his hospital bed.
Eddie isn’t in his room at all.
Those realizations clog Steve’s lungs until he feels them caving in. His mind is flooded with the time that Max wasn’t in her hospital room months ago. The time she coded and nobody fucking knew until they were all standing there in a Max-less room.
Steve slumps against the wall, the weight of his lungs and his premonitions are too heavy for him to stand straight. 
He’s about to crouch down, get his blood-flow to restart, when two nurses and Eddie walk through the door. They’re guiding him on either side, although he seems fairly stable on his own.
Steve is so relieved. Almost as relieved as the time Max came back after coding. Almost.
“You’re back.” It’s bordering on a question - the way Eddie says it.
“I got him,” Steve waves off the nurses. He takes Eddie’s left arm and holds it tight. Balancing both of them in entirely separate ways. The nurses thank him and he starts directing Eddie to the side of the bed. “Weird to see you standing again.”
He hasn’t seen Eddie upright since
 
Steve clears his throat. “You definitely look
” Hot. “Taller than I remember.”
While that’s vaguely true, it is definitely not at the forefront of Steve’s mind. He's touching Eddie again, not in a bed and not to detach all his hospital machinery. He’s just touching him, keeping him steady with his arms, and it’s so fucking nice.
They take a few more steps and the sleeves on Eddie’s hospital gown slips off his shoulder. Steve cannot look away. There’s a gray-ish bruise right on top, extending down to Eddie’s shoulder blade. It’s been healing for months and it’s still discolored. Steve is fixated on the shadowy hue, how Eddie’s pale skin almost glows underneath it. 
If Steve’s hands weren’t busy being helpful right now, he’d touch it. Watch the colors ripple under the pad of his finger.
“Well
 glad to refresh your memories then.” Eddie tugs the sleeve back up, covering the patchwork skin that Steve couldn’t stop staring at. “But isn’t that your job? To refresh my impoverished frontal lobe?”
Steve redirects his focus. “Impoverished Frontal Lobe would make a good band name.”
“Shit, you’re so right. Dibs.”
“You already have a band, dumbass.”
“True - but every lead guitarist needs a backup band name. Everyone knows that. Fallouts are a disease to the music industry.”
Eddie remembers he plays guitar. Not accordion.
“You can have Impoverished Frontal Lobe if I can have Hometown Slut.” Steve shrugs to one side.
“Can’t have what’s already yours, Stevie.”
Steve finally releases Eddie’s arm, no reason to still be holding it. No medical reason anyways. He catches himself smiling at the natural return of their banter. Even though Steve left, his attraction to Eddie didn’t budge one goddamn inch.
Picking up the visitation routine is easy. Steve settles into the same well-worn chair, turns on the same daytime tv shows, chews the same minty gum that Sam leaves for him at the check-in desk. It’s all the same. As things should be.
Where Steve is supposed to be.
“It’s good to see you again.” The phrase - Eddie’s words - it all reminds Steve of holding shells up to his ears at the beach. “Sorta got used to you being here.” If Steve listens close enough, there’s an I missed you somewhere inside.
“Same.” There’s an I missed you too inside Steve’s words as well.
“And since your back
” Eddie does a drumroll over his thighs. “I can give you your gift.”
“You didn’t mention on the phone that this was a gift.”
“Thought it was implied.” Eddie bends down, drags a basket out from under his hospital bed. He pushes it over to Steve’s chair. “Here.”
Steve is beaming right away because it’s so tacky and gaudy, all synonyms that relate to Eddie. The basket is painted gold, sort of cracking around the splinters of wood. It’s oversized - much bigger than it needs to be for the items sitting inside of it. The clear plastic around it has a silvery glint and it’s so fucking noisy when he moves it around.
It’s not something Steve would’ve ever picked out to give as a gift. But the whole thing screams Eddie Munson, which makes it perfect.
“Yeah yeah, I know. It’s just one of the baskets from the hospital gift shop.” Eddie gestures broadly around the present, smacking the crinkly plastic a few times. “But I emptied out all of the lousy shit. Even replaced it with all of your vending machine preferences.”
It’s a gentle jab at Steve’s vending machine metaphor from last week. The basket is stacked with Steve’s favorite chips and candy - the ones he still chooses week after week.
Eddie remembers that Steve loves Utz potato chips and Junior Mints.
There’s a few sodas thrown in there too. The bottom layer is littered with the sugar packets that Steve hoards for his cafeteria coffee breaks.
But underneath all the snacks and sugar and sodas, there’s a card. It says ‘Feel Better Soon’ on the front.
“Oh yeah, that came with the basket.” Eddie flicks at the edge of the card. 
The greeting card hits Steve harder than it should. Eddie has no memory of all the monstrous fuckery Steve has witnessed. So, he can’t even begin to know how much Steve needed that silly little reminder. That Steve needs to get well soon, feel better, hang in there. All of those corny sayings, Steve needs all of them.
“I did write something in it though.”
Steve’s eyes shift up to Eddie. “You did?”
Eddie nods. “Didn’t know if you’d wanna talk to me again after last week.”
Eddie still remembers Steve storming out on Monday. (It’s the first time Steve wishes Eddie would forget something.)
Steve opens the card, but Eddie leans over to grab it out of his hands.
“Don’t read it here.” Eddie fans himself with the card. His hair wisps around, reminds Steve of a windstorm. “Even the freak is susceptible to the occasional embarrassment, okay?”
Steve gives Eddie a thumbs up and looks back over the items. None of them are expensive or luxurious or anything like. It’s all stuff Eddie could scavenge around for. But all of it is thoughtful. Significant. 
“So
 how are the memories?” Steve asks.
Eddie fills him in while they munch on their mountain of goodies. Music is still the strongest remedy. He tells Steve that if finishes physical therapy, he’ll be approved to play his guitar. Both of them are hopeful that will help unlock his past even more.
Steve pokes fun that Eddie always skipped gym class. He bets Eddie twenty bucks that he’ll play hookie at least once.
Eddie says ‘make it fourty.’ They shake hands on it.
They catch up and get stomachaches from all of the artificially sweetened crap they just ingested. Or maybe they just feel sick from laughing at all the stupid infomercials on tv. Whatever it is, they’re both sore and smiling by the end of the day.
“Guess I should head out.” Steve can already see the gears turning in Eddie’s head, wondering if he’ll be back. “Cool if I return to my usual schedule?”
Eddie’s chest falls. His shoulders relax. “As long as it’s not out of pity.”
“I don’t pity you, Eds.” Steve says. “The nurses, however
”
Eddie rolls his eyes. “Alright, alright. You’ve made your point, dickwad.”
Steve can’t bring himself to hold Eddie’s hand, not really sure why. Things have been mended, but maybe not enough. Maybe it’s all still too fresh.
Instead, Steve rubs the material of Eddie’s blanket. He smooths it out between his fingers, imagining that it’s the material of Eddie’s hospital gown.
Steve’s eyes stay on the fabric in his hands. “If you remember anything after you took that new headache medicine
 you’ll tell me, right?”
Eddie knocks his knuckles onto Steve’s hand. Steve lets the fabric go. He looks at Eddie, who is happier now. Warmer.
“Definitely.”
“Good.”
Steve doesn’t wait to read Eddie’s letter. He flips open the card as soon as he gets in his car.
The handwriting is pretty terrible, similar to all of Eddie’s arm scribbles. But Steve must’ve developed an overnight supernatural ability to decode Eddie Munson’s illegible penmanship because he can read every word perfectly:
Steve, The card says ‘Feel Better,’ but that seems insufficient. Just better? Nah. That doesn’t cover all the bases (look see? I threw in a sports term just for you, champ). A trust-fund catalog model that spends the majority of his week with a metalhead who has an affinity for nerd shit? No way. That kind of person deserves so much more than feeling better.  You deserve to feel worthwhile. Yours truly, Eddie/Kathy/Hyde/Grendel/HSN Conspiracy Theorist ps. Sorry I’m so bad at simple apologies. Everything has to be torturously difficult with me, which you already know. pps. Well shit. I never even said it properly.  I’m sorry.
Steve is overwhelmed by all of it. Even Eddie’s little doodles on the back cover are causing him shortness of breath.
It’s a sloppy skyline of mixtape-skyscrapers. The tallest one is directly in the middle. Sprawled across the bottom is the word ‘Munsonopolis,’and in quotations underneath it says, ‘featuring the Ed-pire State Building.’ There’s an exaggerated amount of arrows pointing at the one in the middle - just in case it wasn’t clear which one is the featured tower.
Not subtle, that one.
Steve is vibrating with energy the whole drive home. Eddie made so many references to past memories in that letter. Some were running jokes, sure. But others? The trust-fund dig? The sports joke? Steve has so many bullet points to add to the binder. So many things to notate. So much fucking progress.
But he doesn’t write down any of it. Instead, he staples the card to the notebook paper labeled ‘Day 66.’ Everything he’s ever needed to know is in that card. That ironically perfect card.
And it the faintest penciling, Steve writes one bullet for himself:
Robin was right. Definitely think I’m falling for him.
Day 67:
“Apology accepted, by the way.” Steve tosses a jello cup onto Eddie’s table. He snagged one at the cafeteria on his way in - just so Eddie doesn’t wrongfully assume he wanted pudding yet again. 
Is it cheating to give away the answers? Yeah. But Steve is falling for this guy, so he’d buy an entire fucking factory of gelatin if Eddie requested it.
“So you read the card?” Eddie viciously tears open the jello lid. Sniffs it. Weird.
Eddie remembers writing Steve the letter.
“Read it. Marinated on it. Read it again.” Steve automatically moves the chair close to the bed. Fuck distance. “Maybe I should make deep annotations on my upcoming reread.”
Eddie grumbles. “Is this how it feels when I tease you about jock shit all the time?”
Eddie remembers their banter. Huh.
“Sure does.” And I’m totally obsessed with it.
“Are you willing to change topics?”
Steve peers over to examine Eddie’s mixtape collection. A sideways grin takes over his face. “Wanna tell me why my mixtape is at the top of the pile over there?”
“Uh
” Eddie whips his head over to the tower. “You know what - the apology card mockery wasn’t so bad after all.”
“Oh really?”
“In fact, I enjoyed it.”
Steve teases Eddie for the rest of their visit, completely unforgiving about it. Payback for two months of this.
He’s pretty sure Eddie likes it more than he does.
Day 68:
Eddie is in and out of the room for physical therapy today. Steve is unfazed by the lack of quality time because any time Eddie does return, Steve gets to help him to his bed. Gets to touch Eddie’s arm, his back. Sometimes his shoulder. 
It’s becoming Steve’s hospital equivalent to the whole, ‘yawn and stretch’ move from all those movie theater dates.
“You don’t have to do this, Steve.” Eddie says it every time. “I can walk eight feet on my own.”
“Just in case
” which directly translates to, I want to do this.
Steve asks the same question at the end of every visit now:
“Call me if you remember.”
And Eddie always assures him that he will.
Day 69:
They are playing cards when Eddie brings it up. “What if I never remember?”
“Remember what?” Steve discards one of his cards to the pile. Grabs a new one from the deck. 
“The thing that makes you all twitchy at the end of every visit.” Eddie does his best twitchy-Steve impression. It’s insulting, at best. “What if it doesn’t come back?”
“It’ll come back.” Steve is so sure of it. Easygoing.
“How do you know?”
“I just do.”
“How original.”
Steve flips his cards down on the table. He reaches down to the binder that’s an extension of his determination these days, flips through the pages. Pages full of breakthroughs. Even on the lousy days, even when Eddie occasionally backtracks. The pages are still full.
“This is how I know.” Steve holds Eddie’s eye contact after shutting the binder. “I see the progress. It’s not linear, not all the time
 but I see it.”
Eddie reaches out. Runs his fingers across the binder, back and forth. Steve stops him the third time, places his hand over Eddie’s. There’s a hitch in Eddie’s breathing when he does it, so Steve slides away, doesn’t linger too long. He listens in to the heart monitor’s cadence for insight on the mood they’ve created.
Not the same as last Saturday. Not the tempo Steve is looking for to take initiative. Not yet.
“I win, by the way.” Eddie announces, flipping his cards over. Smiling that bonus type of smile.
“Damn right you do.”
Day 70:
Eddie is singing one of Steve’s mixtape songs, using his thermometer as a microphone. It’s purposely off-key and he’s implemented some exaggerated accent to it. 
This isn’t the first time he’s done this demented-karaoke routine. In fact, Steve has had to suffer through Eddie butchering pop classics since Day 26 of these hospital visits.
He always does it to get Steve to crack - lose his temper or threaten to leave. Steve usually humors Eddie with one of these reactions because it’s fun. It’s a lighthearted habit that they formed after hard days. Pain infested days.
But this week has been good. Surprisingly adequate. Steve is back and Eddie hasn’t thrown up, not once. He only complained about the flavorless cafeteria food on Tuesday, instead of every other day. That alone is an immediate call for celebration.
So today
 Steve doesn’t stomp his foot or swear under his breath. Today Steve claps. Encourages the mediocrity of it all.
“Oh, so you like it when I vocally murder your precious pop tunes?” Eddie laughs. Constantly making himself laugh.
“No, I don’t like it.” Steve folds his arms into his chest. Eddie’s laughter is contagious, Steve catches it as he speaks again. “I like you.”
Eddie’s mouth clamps up. His expression drops. His heart monitor skips two beeps in its pattern.
“Can’t believe I finally found the off-button on you.” Steve glides over to the bed. The upperhand is making him fucking fearless. “Only took me seventy days to find it.”
Steve swipes his thumb under Eddie’s jaw, watching his throat muscles tense at the pressure. Eddie gulps, barely anything goes down. Steve can feel that.
“I
” 
“Don’t tell me what you think I wanna hear.” Steve checks the clock. Visiting hours ended four minutes ago, and he doesn’t need to get himself into another spending the night incident. As much as he enjoyed the wake-up call, Steve fucking despised the aftermath of reality.
“Steve
” The way he says Steve’s name - as if someone took his vocal cords and dipped them in sweetener.
“I gotta go.” Steve reaches down and squeezes Eddie’s hand one more time before releasing it. “Call me if you remember.”
He turns around to leave, but Eddie hooks his finger into Steve’s belt loop, tugs rapidly on it. Steve’s cheeks flush right away, he can’t even hide it.
“What if I call you anyway?” Eddie plays along. “Memory or no memory?”
Steve removes Eddie’s hand. He’s about to set it back down when the last bit of caution is finally thrown out the window. Steve lays a quick kiss on Eddie’s middle finger, the finger that’s most injured. He squeezes his palm once, then returns Eddie’s hand back to him.
“Maybe I’ll call you first, Munson.”
He leaves before getting a good look at Eddie’s reception to the hand kiss. Steve has never kissed another dude’s hand before, and there’s a good possibility that he might’ve been laying the charm on too thick. Smearing it all over the moment like goddamn jelly. 
But the whole thing was just too irresistible. And Fully Flustered Eddie is a rare sight to behold, so Steve had to do something charismatic. His self-discipline hasn’t improved that much since high school.
Eddie ends up calling first. He calls nine minutes after Steve gets home.
Clingy bastard.
“Beat you to it, Harrington.”
“Not everything is competition, you know.”
“Is that so?” Eddie’s sarcasm is heavy. “Huh. Guess you do learn something new every day.”
“Easy for you to say. Your mind still has the training wheels on it.”
“TouchĂ©.”
Day 71:
It’s Saturday morning. Steve sleeps in - well, Steve does his version of sleeping in. Which basically means, the sun is fully up by the time he wakes up. Small victories.
His phone and alarm clock go off almost simultaneously. Which one: freaky. And two: annoying.
He walks over to his desk, eyes half-open, and picks up the phone.
“Hello?” Steve’s voice croaks into the speaker.
There’s no response, just a few heavy breaths.
Steve is more alert now. “Who is this?”
“I remember.”
Oh fuck. “Eddie?”
“You told me to call when I remember.” Eddie repeats. “I remember, Steve.”
“Holy shit um
 okay.” Steve rubs the last bit of sleep from his eyes. Searches around his room for his keys or clothes or fuck - he really doesn’t know what he’s searching for. 
“You coming to see me or what?”
“It’s Saturday. Henderson comes to see you on Saturdays.”
“Call and tell him to take a raincheck.” Eddie demands. Rightfully excited. “Cause I fucking remember.”
“Okay, okay.”
“I remember!”
Steve is cackling at the excitement. “I fucking heard you!”
“Get your ass over here before I say it again!”
“Alright alright!” Steve hangs up. Never gets ready so fast in his whole damn life. Almost forgets to put on underwear or style his hair.
This is what he’s been waiting for.
Eddie remembers.
It’s the first time Steve feels anxious walking into the room. He’s keenly aware that both of them are in on the secret. No more whispering around the unrequited attraction. Steve is entering a space that is laid bare. No curtains or subtle implications for either of them to hide behind.
As soon as he opens the door, that’s all in the past.
“Oh shit.” Steve isn’t expecting to see Eddie in the chair when he arrives. He’s wearing gray sweatpants under his hospital gown. Steve is pretty thankful for that - not sure the effect that Eddie’s exposed thighs would have on him in this detrimental state.
“Took your seat.” Eddie is all smug. Head to toe smugness.
“I see that.”
“You can take mine, if you want.”
“I’ll pass.”
Eddie winks. “Hope that’s the last time I hear you say that today.” 
“Oh yeah?” 
“Yeah.”
There’s a stool that the doctors use in the corner of the room. Steve takes a seat on it and rolls over towards Eddie. He stops right in front of Eddie's knees and leans his face in his hand. Tries to downplay his anticipation as much as possible.
“Wanna tell me what you remember?”
Eddie takes a deep breath. He swings his arms out to the side and lets all of his air out in one go. “My tattoos - I remember when I got them.”
Steve’s shoulders drop. Shrink.
The tattoo thing happened several days before the almost-kiss. Day 52.
“Am I wrong?” 
Steve doesn’t really say anything. That’s confirmation enough.
Eddie smacks the top of his head. “Shit, I’m wrong. Made you drive all the way out here to be wrong, jesus christ.”
“Hey, hey.” Steve murmurs, keeps his voice kind. “Not entirely wrong.”
His heart feels likes a crunched-up soda can, but whatever. Yeah, Steve’s hope were set way too high, but he can’t blame Eddie for that. Eddie regained some crucial memories - that should be a good thing. It is a good thing.
“Tell me about the tattoos.” Steve rests his hand over Eddie’s knee. It’s been bouncing incessantly, but stops the second Steve touches him. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and uncover all of it by talking through it.”
“Seems stupid now.”
“Hey.” Steve is stern. “Gaining bits of yourself back is never stupid. That’s your fucking history, goddamnit.”
Steve doesn’t mean to use his coaching voice, but he does. 
It works though. Eddie stares at him for a long time before admitting that Steve is right. He gives a long sigh before continuing. “I know where and when I got all of them.”
“Fantastic.” Steve gets as comfy as he can on this small, metal stool. He flips open the binder, clicks his pen. He flips it into the air - just cause.
“Tell me all about it,” He says, catching the pen with ease.
Eddie starts out pretty deflated. He starts off in chronological order, which Steve is impressed by. Steve even tries to cheer Eddie along any time he recalls specific details like locations and dates. 
The support seems useful. Eddie stops frowning long enough to retell the story about getting a fake ID, just for tattoos. Not for drinking or for getting into clubs. Eddie wanted to be the only sophomore with tattoos.
Steve has never been interested in getting tattoos, there’s nothing he’s ever liked enough to prick needles into his skin. However, he really likes seeing them all over Eddie. All the dark lines and the passionate stories that go with them. 
They take a lunch break and snack break, both of them equally improving Eddie’s crabby mood. Eddie gets sort of winded after talking for too long, so Steve helps him to the bed.
“You don’t have to do this.” Eddie says, sticking to his usual response.
“Thought it was obvious” Steve pulls the cover over Eddie’s arms, fluffs out the sides of his pillows. “I want to.”
“Didn’t know you were such a gentleman.” Eddie observes. “Courting the sickly is a weird move though.”
Steve takes his seat back, moving it next to Eddie’s bed. Always closing more distance than he did the last time. “Good thing you’re not sickly then.”
“Courting the freak is still a weird move.”
“Well, say the word and I’ll lay off.”
Eddie mimes zipping his mouth shut, tossing the invisible key into the trash bin.
“Looks like we’re all done with your tattoo summaries.” Steve glances over the bullet points, folds the binder shut. “Anything else you wanna do?”
He’s waiting for Eddie to take his turn. Steve has been leading the affection for days, so he’s cautious about any further touching. Needs physical permission to continue.
“Actually
” Eddie shakes his head. “We’re not done with my tattoo summaries.”
“We’re not?”
“I have six tattoos, Stevie. Not five.”
That can’t be right. Dustin told Steve all about Eddie’s tattoos weeks ago. This must be Eddie’s mind messing with him.
“My memory isn’t faulty, not this time.” Eddie taps over the binder before yanking it away. “I do have another tattoo, Stevie. You’ve just never seen it.”
This dirty chess game just got way more interesting. 
There’s no point in playing it safe now. Both of them are taking risks, playing offensively. All guards are down, miles away from Indiana.
“Prove it, then.” Steve’s cheeks warm up. He can feel the blood all over, in his ears, in the tip of his nose. “Show me.”
Eddie’s teeth look sharper when he smiles this time. Like Steve’s dare has turned his bones into blades.
“Are you gonna wig out if I lift this stupid gown up?”
Yes. Steve would never admit that, but yeah. Internally, he’s wigging out so fucking hard right now.
“You’ve puked all over me, dude. If I didn’t haul ass after that, I’m not gonna haul ass after seeing your skin.”
Eddie glares at him. “Could’ve just said no, but whatever. Be a smart ass.”
“Takes one to know one.”
Eddie twists onto his side, bunching up the material and settling it under his arms. Right over his rib cage, is the sixth tattoo.
It’s a birdcage, one that’s been mangled. The metal bars are all crooked and the cage door is wide open. One of Eddie’s demobat scars goes diagonally through the body art, like those creatures were the ones to slash it open. Destroying Eddie’s body in a multitude of ways.
Steve wants to touch it, feel the healing claw marks that look so much like his own, but deeper. He hides his own scars every day with sweaters and jackets, so it’s easy to forget how connected they are. How much pain they are forced to wear. Mutated skin and mutilated minds.
One battle with death and darkness has made them more alike than society ever would have.
“Where’s the bird?” Steve finally asks, mainly to stop his hand from reaching over, brushing the black lines and red scars.
“Didn’t have a chance to get it done.”
“No?”
Eddie contorts his face. “I got this part done back in January. And I was planning to get the bird inked up on the opposite side once I graduated
” 
The last word gets all strangled in Eddie’s throat. Steve barely hears it, doesn’t really need to hear it though. He figures it out by the way Eddie’s hands become fists. How he screws his eyes shut, refusing to let the anger fuel his tears.
Steve gets it. Most of his anger turns to sadness these days too. He knows he’s not a weak person, he knows that. But when those two emotions whisk themselves into a twister, Steve feels puny. Pathetic.
He lets his fingers circle the birdcage design on Eddie’s ribs. A cage on top of another cage. He’s pretty sure Eddie did that on purpose - the guy is obsessed with wordplay. Steve makes a spiral shaper over Eddie’s skin, letting the pattern get smaller and smaller as he reaches the center of the design.
Eddie just watches him do it, Steve can feel the stare, the attention. His breathing is shallow, almost stopped. Almost like he’s holding his breath until Steve finishes whatever he’s doing.
“It suits you.” Steve says, moving his palm over to the scar now. Letting the damaged parts of Eddie receive just as much recognition as the tattoo. Eddie didn’t choose to have these markings, but it doesn’t matter. They’re here now. May as well acknowledge them. Engrave them into his history.
“The tattoo?”
Steve looks up. “All of it.”
“Steve.” Eddie tugs on Steve's arm, nails digging in harder than they need to. He almost makes the gesture feel like a question.
Steve answers it. He sits on the edge of the bed and settles one arm over Eddie’s body for support.
This is exactly where they were one week ago. Sharing the same breath, sharing the same tension.
But the resemblance to their sleep-driven moment from last week stops there. They’ve constructed something new, better. There’s anguish from the past and there’s breakable desire for their present. Last week was surreal, dreamy. This week is unrefined.
Steve can’t comprehend why he likes the rawness of today so much more.
“Am I reading this wrong?” Eddie’s hand lifts up to Steve’s cheek, thumb stroking the corner of his lips.
Steve chuckles, whisper-level laughter. “You’re stealing all of my moves here, Munson.”
"What moves?"
"I said the same thing last week."
“Wait.” Eddie’s huge eyes somehow defy science. Get bigger. “That wasn’t a dream?”
“What wasn’t a dream?” 
“That really happened?”
Steve is only half listening. “What are you talking about?”
“Well.. almost happened, I guess I should say.” Eddie is starting to ramble. "The nurses told me that I was having batshit crazy dreams all weekend long. I just assumed there was no way that could've been real."
“Can you please tell me what we’re talking about?”
Eddie is grinning, bouncing in the bed like a spring-loaded toy. “I can’t believe I thought it was a dream this whole fucking week!”
“For the love of god, Munson. Just tell me what happened in this stupid dream!”
Eddie cups Steve’s face and pulls him into a kiss. Kisses the glower right off Steve’s mouth. It only takes a split-second for Steve to react, leaning into it. Steve controls the pace to keep everything soft for Eddie’s sake. Calm hands, smooth lips, slow movements.
There’s a small cut on Eddie’s upper lip, Steve can finally feel it now. He opens his mouth enough to lick over it. Pay extra care to the fragile parts.
Eddie whines a little, his hands dropping to Steve’s collar, dragging him into his chest. Steve lets him, lets the kiss get rougher. Sloppier.
It’s clear that Eddie does not share Steve’s careful approach. He’s so grabby, so possessive. His teeth mash into Steve’s bottom lip. He takes the opportunity to bite and tug, makes Steve yelp. Teeth and kissing is usually a turn off, but god, Steve is obsessed with how Eddie does it. How greedy he is.
Steve dips his mouth in, opens up enough to let Eddie bite and lick as much as he pleases. Be greedy. His free hand is planted on Eddie’s waist, just above his bird cage tattoo. 
“Come here.” Eddie’s breath is warm, tinged with the chocolate they had on their snack break. He’s pulling Steve harder now, never breaking the kiss for long.
Steve scoots another inch, slides his hand all the way up to Eddie’s neck. “If I get any closer, I’ll be on top of you.”
“I know how physics works, Harrington.” 
“Your super-senior status says otherwise.”
“Please, shut up.” Eddie kisses him harder. His skin is extra pink everywhere Steve has pressed against him. For someone that kisses so madly, he looks so soft. Fresh-laundry soft. “Closer, baby.”
Steve sucks all of the air out of the kiss, totally startled by the nickname. He makes a sound, hopefully nothing too whorish or breathy. But Eddie definitely heard it because he’s smiling against Steve’s lips. 
Getting closer isn’t really an option with all of the wires and the unlocked door. So Steve drags his lips under Eddie’s jaw, down his neck. Improvises a way to feel closer, explore deeper.
“Holy shit, you’re good at this.” Eddie hisses, tangling his hands into Steve’s hair. 
Getting compliments on his kissing technique makes Steve preen, has to fight the urge to mark up Eddie’s already bruised neck. Explaining fresh hickies to an army of doctors would not be a pleasant task. So Steve flattens his tongue, runs it diagonally across Eddie’s collarbone. Pecks kisses over all the wet spots.
Eddie’s hands drift down to Steve’s chin, lifting his focus back up. “Steve.”
“Yeah?”
“You’re just
” Eddie’s eyes dart all over Steve’s face. He's breathing hard, his heart monitor and his pulse are at war right now. So many rhythms in their shared space. “You’re very pretty.”
“You think so?”
“The universe thinks so.” Eddie kisses Steve’s cheek - feels like tiny embers over his skin. “I’m just confirming it.”
Steve smiles, takes a minute to catch his breath. He’s finally realizing how little he’s been breathing for the last few minutes. His lungs ache the way they would after swim meets.  Rattled and burning.
"I like you too, by the way." Eddie kisses Steve’s other cheek, makes it even. “Just to clear things up.”
Eddie remembers Steve spilling his heart out yesterday.
“Consider things clear.” Steve laces their fingers together, under Eddie’s blanket. Each of them staring at the connection, both highly aware it means so much more than helpless support this time.
It means absolutely everything.
Steve’s back in the stupid chair that will never be close enough to Eddie. They lower Eddie’s bed so that Steve can rest his elbow on the side, play with Eddie’s hair just like he did with Steve last week.
He’s infatuated with how different their hair textures feel. Eddie’s hair is all frazzled and knotted. Still soft, but not like Steve’s hair. If Steve’s hair is cashmere, Eddie’s hair is woven wool.
“So you thought last Saturday was a dream, huh?” Steve questions.
“I have some crazy vivid dreams.”
Steve shakes his head. “But all that stuff I said to you. Why did you act so confused?”
“The headache medication knocked me out.” Eddie explains. “I thought you heard me talking in my sleep
 saying embarrassing shit and you and your hair.”
“So you thought I was mocking you?”
Eddie hums. Very hushed.
Steve untangles his hand from Eddie’s head and sighs. “You should’ve just told me what you were thinking.”
“I know that now.”
“We could’ve been making out all week.”
“Guess we should make up for lost time then.” Eddie hooks his index finger into Steve’s sweater, tugging him closer. Always tugging.
Steve angles himself to meet Eddie in the middle, kissing him sweetly this time, less urgency. Eddie’s lips are still puffy from Steve sucking on them. He wants to do it all over again, keep them puffed-out and swollen.
The kiss is so slow and so good, that Steve only breaks away when his neck muscles start to tighten up. Too many awkward kissing positions in this hospital room - Steve wants to get Eddie into his car or his bed. The floor might be good too.
“So,” Steve threads their hands back together. “Care to fill me in on your little ‘later, sailor’ comment from last week?”
“You did work at the finest ice cream chain to ever grace Hawkins, did you not?” Eddie retorts.
“Yeah. But of all things, how did you remember that?”
Eddie pokes to the top of Steve’s head with his free hand.
“My hair?”
“Your hairspray or product or whatever you use.” Eddie ruffles it and Steve tries not to become liquid at the touch. “Apparently smells can trigger memories almost instantly.”
“Woah.” Steve makes a mental note on that.
“Very woah.”
“And what about
 the club?”
“What club? Hellfire?”
“No, not Hellfire.” Steve playfully pinches the inside of Eddie's palm. “The Below Deck club.”
“Fucking hell, you know about that?” Eddie covers his face. “Somebody please, end my suffering. I can’t go on. Not like this.” 
Steve is cackling now, keeling over in his chair, almost tearing up from how much he’s laughing. And each time Eddie tells him to knock it off, he laughs harder. This is a better ab workout than he’s ever had at the gym, he should just cancel his fucking membership.
“All I’m hearing is that my ass is unforgettable.” Steve wipes a laughter-induced tear from his eye.
“Cruel.” Eddie mumbles into his hands. “This humiliation is cruel.”
Steve flips back onto the bed, yanking Eddie’s wrists away from his face. “It’s hot.”
“Drooling over an ice cream employee is hot?”
“You drooled?”
“Dear god, stop this madness.” Eddie grabs the tv remote and aims it at his face.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to rewind my mouth from saying stupid shit.”
“Eddie, chill out.” Steve takes the remote, hiding it behind his back. “I’m just glad you remember me. Even if my ass is the most memorable feature.”
“These are pretty memorable too.” Eddie smushes Steve’s cheeks, forces his lips to pucker out.
“Oh yeah?”
“And these.” Eddie squeezes Steve’s biceps. Steve rolls his eyes and wraps Eddie’s arms around him. 
They fall back into a long kiss. Visiting hours are about to end, and Sam is off on the weekends. No one is here to let Steve stay the night. So he kisses Eddie like time isn’t a factor. Steve kisses him slow and nice. Eats up any sugary sounds that leave Eddie’s mouth. Whispers how crazy he is about him any time they come up for air.
“I wish you could stay.”
Steve’s heart rips around the edges hearing Eddie say that. Christ, he wants to stay too. So fucking badly. Wants to stock up on chapstick and water so they can make out all night.
“Maybe I can come back tomorrow?” Steve suggests. “Give your bandmates the day off?”
Eddie nods, nuzzles into the crook of Steve’s neck. “Hey, Steve?”
“Yeah?”
“What if I forget about this?”
Steve hugs Eddie tighter. “Don’t say that.”
“It could happen.” Eddie peers up at him. “Fuck, I don’t want it to happen, but it could.”
“Hey hey, stop it.” Steve clicks their foreheads together and closes his eyes.
He can’t lie. He can’t tell Eddie that forgetting is impossible. But Steve can keep his eyes closed and savor every minute of today. He can hold Eddie’s kiss-warm cheeks and just hope that everything will be okay tomorrow.
Steve opens his eyes. He sees the Hawkins senior-class ring on his hand, and it gives him an idea.
“Here.” Steve plucks the ring off of his left index finger. He leans over and places it in Eddie’s drawer, right next to his dice collection. “If you remember what happened tonight, you’ll know where that ring is. Put it on tomorrow, so I can visually know that you didn’t forget. So I know it’s okay to come in here and kiss you stupid some more.”
"Like this?" Eddie kisses Steve noisily and they laugh, ignoring the shitty alternative for just a minute longer.
“And if I come in and you don’t have it on
 well, I’ll be on my best behavior.” Steve gets up from the bed, crosses his fingers over his heart. “No surprise make out sessions or lewd comments, I swear.”
“You’ll be okay with that?”
That’s a tricky question, Steve doesn’t have a ‘yes or no’ answer to it. He’ll be disappointed, that’s undeniable. But he’s so far into this with Eddie. The notes and the recovery and the feelings. Everything is netted together. Steve couldn’t separate it even if he tried.
“I meant what I said yesterday. I like you, Eds.” Steve puts on a brave smile. 
“So yeah. If you forget, then it’ll be a pleasure to restart with you.”
Steve swipes Eddie’s bangs to the side so that he can give him a kiss right in the center of his forehead. Kissing the place where all of Eddie’s memories are tucked away, even the lost ones. Wishing and aching for the memories of tonight to lock into that place, stay safe and secure. 
Just stay.
Don’t get lost in there.
Please.
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