#gareth. threads

[bradleyxharper]

Pleased that Gareth let him wear something that felt a little bit more him for New Years' Eve, Bradley had actually been in the mood to do some mingling. He'd had very little desire to do any at Christmas. Once he was all out of social battery, he went to find his boyfriend, wondering if he would be busy tormenting Finn or some other slave. He finally found him at the bar in Euphoria, the faerie doing his best to sneak up behind him, giving him a little poke in the ribs before settling beside him. "Hope you're not busy, I've come to steal your attention for the rest of the evening," he chuckled, stealing a quick kiss before flagging down the bartender and ordering a cocktail. "You having fun?" He asked, turning his attention back to his boyfriend.

@garethbradbury

[mr007pennyworth]

{FROM HERE} @dontcxckitup

Gareth is definitely not happy. Alfred throws the bag full of clothes and washroom stuff into the backseat of the car and slides into the driver's side attaching the phone to the hands-free and pulling up directions to the hospital.

"Alright, I'm on my way, we'll deal with that when we come to it, I just need to know one last thing, I know you don't like them so do you want me to get you out of the hospital today, I just need a yes or no I can explain more when I get to you?"

It had been a long time since Alfred had seen the inside of St Thomas, he hoped the entrance to A&E was still the same.

[ofglories]

|| @toadmiretoweepover

Sitting and waiting was not usually her preferred way of doing anything, if Gareth were to be honest with herself.

But here she was, at one of the many small tables tucked away amidst the shelves in the library, waiting for a certain someone to join her. With a huff she idly flipped the pages of the book she'd grabbed before taking a seat. Something about flowers? Her attention wasn't really on it, if the knight were to be honest. Instead her focus was entirely on what she was preparing herself to say.

Nervewracking, really.

Finally she heard familiar footsteps approaching the cubby. And with a smile Gareth raised her head from where she'd been staring blankly at a photograph of some roses.

"You took a little longer than I was expecting, Romeo!" She laughed softly, motioning to the chair across from her seat. "There weren't any unplanned incidents in the kitchen, right? My brothers didn't decide to start giving you a hard time again the moment I left, did they?"

If they had...

Well, no matter what happened today, Gareth knew she'd have to be worried about them being idiots in some way to the poor man. Maybe she could get Master to ship them to a singularity for a month of material hunting?

[stxriesfromasharchive]

a starter for @dontcxckitup

Cassandra sat in the passenger's seat of the car, staring out the tinted windows watching the world outside pass her by. She appeared to be lost in thought, her gaze a distance stare off into nothing; in her mind, however, her thoughts were swimming - drowning, even - in a whirlpool of her own making. She'd received her new orders, not just two hours ago, and was now on her way to meet with who would be her new employer for an indefinite time period. In truth, she wasn't given very much to go on, other than the fact that she would be meeting with a figure of high importance. In not so many words, her task was of top priority.

It would be a lie for her to she wasn't mentally exhausted - not too much that she wouldn't nor couldn't be able to do said mission - but to say the least she wasn't the most comfortable with undercover gigs; that specialty was best for Leiliana, her closest friend and equal within the Seekers. Where as Cassandra was known as the 'Right Hand of Divine Justinia V (her branch of Seekers' head of operations), Leiliana was the Left Hand, and much more of a spy and infiltrator type than she was. She had been assured, however, this time would favor Cassandra's expertise much more.

The car pulled into a long parking garage, the building she had not paid any attention to, although after exiting the car and following behind her escorts her sense of perception switch on - eyes taking in as much detail as she could around her as she was lead into the building, into an elevator, and towards the high upper floors.

Though stoic and composed in outward appearance, her nerves began to tighten. She didn't like being in the dark, not knowing what she was getting into; her only comfort were the trusting words of Justinia herself (and her Divine has never lead her astray before).

Through a set of doors she followed her escorts and stood attentive, hands at her sides with her head held high, her back arched taut. One of her escorts announced, "Sir. Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast," before stepping aside to reveal her.

[thefvrious]

@gareththegreat said -> ‘ i’ll find you again , wherever we end up next . ’

"what's that mean?" eddie asks, grinning goofily at gareth through a haze of bluish smoke. he's glued to the couch, bong cemented to his thigh, held in place with his ringed fingers firm around its neck. he's stuck, but if this isn't one of his favorite places to be. "you are never getting rid of me, g-dawg."

[aq2003]

well i wanted to watch it again with the new information of knowing who gareth roberts was and it was. interesting. that original script sounds like a nightmare so i guess it could be worse? the doctor never in his life would do that. what the fuck? i need to watch that episode to cleanse me

THIN ICE SAVE ME THIN ICE. i think sarah dollard is one of the most underrated nuwho writers she really is a prime example of someone that got a chance to write just a couple episodes but definitely made a mark bc both of them are absolute bangers. up there w/ jamie mathieson as my favorite writers for twelve

[ateliaers]

❛ —he's still sleeping, by the way. just so you know. ❜ sleeping was a good way to put it. it made it sound like lamorak was merely resting, recuperating from their time on mount tombe, rather than stuck in limbo for the third week in a row. it must be her former proximity to lancelot, gareth thought, that made her presence slightly more tolerable than that of her siblings in the eyes of the welshmen. or maybe it was simply that with the most vocal part of their trio laid up in bed and comatose, the sons of pellinore simply did not have it in them to uphold their feud. whatever it was, they hadn't shouted her off when she'd come by for news ; aglovale had merely looked at her like she'd grown a second head and then a third, which wasn't novel enough to warrant a comment. she slumped into the space next to gaheris, crossing her legs and snatching an apple off the basket sitting in front of her twin. ❛ not that you care. right ? ❜ — @sentinaels.

indignation should have welled up within her at the implication. in a world where it did, gareth’s approach would have been met with a withering stare, & an apt, if sardonic, remark, or an ill – conceived crack at lamorak’s expense, perhaps. as it was, the eyes turned upon her sister were dull & listless, puffed with what gaheris had staunchly claimed was a lack of sleep, & for half a heartbeat, she wondered if she should put up the token defence that would be expected of her, before letting the notion slip away.

she had never been able to hide anything from gareth in her life. what was the point in starting to try now ?

❛ fuck you, ❜ she gave in greeting, without any of her usual vehemence. ❛ i’m surprised they even let you in. i wouldn’t have, ❜ & there, in the space where there should have been a joke, was silence. she felt herself listing, little by little, until her head came to rest on gareth’s shoulder, a comfort she hadn’t sought in who knew how long.

❛ i — we should have been there, ❜ it was a sentiment she had expressed more than once since the others had returned, but never with such a heaviness in her voice. ❛ if they’d had more bodies, more people to act as back – up, distractions, even … ❜ nothing explicit had been uttered, but her thoughts seemed to hang in the air between them, saying he wouldn’t have had to fight alone. she could picture it so clearly, too — lamorak, & only the chip on his shoulder for company, that burning desire for glory which would have driven him to make a stand. if it had been possible to kiss such foolish defiance away, she would have rid him of it long ago.

❛ go on then, ❜ she said, shifting slightly as she searched for a more comfortable position against gareth’s impossibly bony shoulder, the act of sitting upright apparently beyond her now that she had a warm body to laze against. ❛ i know what you’re thinking. & i’ve already called myself an idiot for it a thousand times, but you might as well have your own turn at it. ❜ better to be called a fool than a coward, even if, in her heart of hearts, she knew both to be the truth. gareth, at the very least, had been able to bring herself to cross the threshold of the listenoise household, & ask after the middle brother directly. she had tried half a dozen times, & had turned back before she even reached the door, fists knotted in her skirts, berating herself all the while for what she lacked.

❛ it’s just … no change at all ? not even a flinch ? you’re sure aglovale wasn’t just keeping quiet to get rid of you ? ❜

[magikborn]

@hstoryhuh

"YEAH, KID. FAMILY." HE SHOOK HIS HEAD and ran a hand through his grey hair. "Nicholas missed you. I dragged him from the palace. He's been very depressed recently since you left for New York. No one blames you, not even him." Gareth explained as he came into the guest room and went to sit on the corner of the bed. "I took care of your twin brother since he was eleven. I know I haven't made myself too known in your life, but as your great uncle - it is my duty to make sure you are alright too."

[cupofjoes]

Are you a resolutions type of guy for the new year, or not so much?

It was a great time. Oh, it isn't. It is just totally unexpected. They do certainly put me in my place. But then again, they have always done that. Children can always do that no matter how old they are. I am glad to hear your New Years is going great. Mine is too.

[clioerato]

Two straight guys

Party had once again turned the night into a movie marathon — “The Princess Bride” was wrapping up on screen for the third time, and the group was in various stages of collapse. Someone was snoring, someone was mumbling nonsense. Eddie was nestled in his favorite spot — head in Steve’s lap, eyes closed, trying his very best to look unconscious.

This was his favorite game for the past three months: Maximum Violation of Steve Harrington’s Personal Space. A stealth mission of love and desperation, really. Scraping together whatever scraps of warmth he could scavenge. All because he fell for the one type of person most incompatible with yearning: a straight guy.

“Jesus,” Eddie thought. “This is so pathetic. Lucky me, Steve’s personal boundaries got obliterated sometime between Robin and babysitting every child in Indiana. Being in love with a straight dude is… it’s a nightmare. A soft, nice-smelling nightmare.”

Steve was gently running his fingers through Eddie’s hair, convinced the guy was fast asleep. Robin was curled up next to him, whispering something with her head on his shoulder.

Steve (whispering, smirking): “Come on, Robin. Three ha-ha’s and that’s it. Eddie’s so straight. I’ve never met anyone so utterly oblivious to flirting. I’d have better luck seducing drywall.”

Robin (eye-roll): “Steve. Please. I read signals. Queers can smell their own. And Eddie? He’s definitely not full-on straight. If straight at all.”

Steve: “Robin. I’ve been flirting with him for three months. We cuddle. I let him touch my hair. God, I don't let anyone touch me except you and sometimes the kids.. I invited him on a date. And do you know what happened? He brought friends. He brought Gareth. Jeff. Two family-sized bags of nachos. TO A DATE, ROBIN.”

Robin: “Just because he doesn’t respond to your flirting doesn’t mean he’s straight. Also, Eddie’s boundaries? Basically nonexistent. I mean, Steve, sometimes I forget you used to be King Steve. But then you say things like this and your ego comes screaming back.”

Steve: “If he wasn’t straight — and didn’t like me — he’d just say it! But he doesn’t! He doesn’t see it! Being in love with a straight dude is… it’s a nightmare.”

Meanwhile, Eddie — very much awake and actively dying inside — kept his eyes shut, clutching onto the last threads of his sanity and telling his heart to chill the hell out.  This was fine. Everything was fine.

(lil bit more in comment)

[mr007pennyworth]

Husband Shenagings Part 1/?

Alfred turns on the living room light

Alfred: "Huh... that's a bit dim suddenly..."

Gareth: *not looking over from his laptop* "Maybe needs a new one?"

Alfred goes back into the kitchen and returns with a new lightbulb and step ladders

Alfred: "Do you want me to change it now or...?"

Gareth: *looks up from the laptop at the step ladders and imagines 100 scenarios of Alf falling*

"No, no... I'll see to it you go back to cooking lunch"

Gareth climbs the ladder and leans up fussing with the shade cover and muttering about appliances being as weak as Bond's aim.

Gareth; "erm...Alf?"

Alfred: "What?" *returns from the kitchen* "Did I give you the wrong bulb?"

Gareth: *pulls out a pair of boxer shorts from the light fitting*

Alfred: "Oh...so that's where they went"

@dontcxckitup

[ofglories]

She can't believe she just blurted it out like that.

[bradleyxharper]

The faerie briefly thought about the question before settling on the town house. It was further, sure, but a lot more private. "Town house," he answered. "Less.. interruptions." He knew there was realistically only Finn that was going to be going in and out of the suite, but Bradley selfishly wanted Gareth's attention solely on him for the rest of the night.

"Hm." Gareth smirked and moved to scoop Bradley up bridal style, adjusting his hold on him carefully to make sure he was secure. "I think I can get us to our bedroom just fine. Question is, would you prefer the town house or the suite?"

[elkattacks]

Solas's voice actor Gareth David-Lloyd posted this on Threads 🤭

[felassan]

Erika Ishii - US/North American Rook - IMDB | Wikipedia | Twitter | Instagram | reel

Bryony Corrigan - United Kingdom/EU Rook - IMDB | Twitter | Instagram | reel | Bryony as Nine Fingers in BG3

Jeff Berg - US/North American Rook - IMDB | Twitter | Instagram | Threads | reel

Alex Jordan - United Kingdom/EU Rook - IMDB | Twitter | Instagram | Threads | TikTok | Twitch | Alex's Rook in the DA:TV gameplay reveal | reel

Ike Amadi - Davrin - IMDB | Wikipedia | Twitter | Instagram | DA trailer with Davrin line | reel

Jee Young Han - Bellara - IMDB | Instagram | DA trailer with Bellara line | Jee speaking

Ali Hillis - Harding - IMDB | Wikipedia | Twitter | Instagram | Harding in the DA:TV gameplay reveal

Jessica Clark - Neve - IMDB | Wikipedia | Twitter | Instagram | Neve in the DA:TV gameplay reveal | Jessica speaking

Jin Maley - Taash - IMDB | Wikipedia | reel | Jin speaking

Nick Boraine - Emmrich - IMDB | Wikipedia | Twitter | Instagram | Nick as Peter Ashe in Black Sails | Nick speaking

Zach Mendez - Lucanis - IMDB | Instagram | reel | Zach speaking some more

Matthew Mercer - Manfred - IMDB | Wikipedia | Twitter | Instagram | DA Absolution trailer with some Matthew as Fairbanks lines

Brian Bloom - Varric - IMDB | Wikipedia | Varric in the DA:TV gameplay reveal

Gareth David-Lloyd - Solas - IMDB | Wikipedia | Twitter | Instagram | Solas in the DA:TV gameplay reveal

Will probably edit/update this post as we go. :)

Edit: post has been updated a few times.

[clioerato]

Three times Eddie was broken (one time he paid back a debt.)

Gas can and sandwich.

“…shit shit shit shit shit…”

Thoughts swarmed through Eddie’s head like a flock of pissed-off birds. He banged his forehead against the steering wheel of the dead van a couple of times, but not out of despair — no, that emotion had long packed its bags and left. This was just exhaustion. Bone-deep, soul-crushing exhaustion that weighed as much as a whole damn life.

The van had broken down somewhere between Indy and Hawkins. Old faithful — except it hadn’t been faithful since the late 70s. The fuel gauge had been unreliable for years, part of the van’s charming, self-destructive personality. Normally, Eddie kept an emergency gas can in the back. Normally, he was ready for this.

Not today.

He’d burned through the last of the gas on the way to Indianapolis, chasing the fool’s gold that was Corroded Coffin’s first ever real gig. A suicidal move, financially speaking. They hadn’t made a dime — just torched through every cent the band had scrounged over the past six months. Gareth had thrown in the last $30, hard-earned mowing lawns for Hawkins suburbanites.

And now, on the way home, Eddie was stranded on some godforsaken stretch of road. Nearest gas station? Miles. Dozens of them. And even if he could get there, he was already twenty bucks in the red. His stomach twisted painfully — not just from stress, but real, angry hunger.

“…fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck…”

Eddie had a couple of options. None of them good. He could try to find a payphone — which meant abandoning the van and wandering god knows where. Or wait and hope someone drove by. This particular road wasn’t exactly busy, though. It was a forgotten thread leading into Hawkins, not even connected to the main highway.

And anyway, Eddie Munson hated asking for help.

He let his hands fall onto the wheel and dropped his head, eyes burning. But he blinked the tears away, refusing to cry. Not now. Not over this. The memory of the warm, buzzing crowd in Indy still clung to him — how for one second, they’d made him feel seen, like he mattered. Now, life was back to rubbing his face in the dirt.

Just… give him a minute. One damn minute to mourn his broke, miserable life.

His last cigarette had been smoked yesterday.

A knock on the van window made him jolt.

Eddie blinked. Another knock.

He turned his head — and no freaking way. No. Freaking. Way.

Somehow, in the cacophony of his own mind, he hadn’t noticed another car pull up. A shiny, spotless BMW. He’d recognize that car anywhere. The royal chariot of King Steve. And there he was, in the flesh, knocking on his window like this was normal.

Eddie (exhaling, trying to gather himself): “Harrington?”

Steve (frowning slightly): “Um… do I know you? Sorry, you look kinda familiar. You okay in there?”

Eddie: “Oh, do not concern yourself, Your Majesty. This humble peasant has merely run out of fuel. Go on, ride off into the sunset. I’ll just rot here in your kingdom’s ditch.”

Steve (still frowning): “Uh…”

Eddie wasn’t expecting anything from Steve Harrington — the golden-boy jock, rich kid, probably still coasting on daddy’s money and senior year glory. Mercy wasn’t exactly part of the Harrington brand.

So when Steve just… turned, got back in his car, and drove off?

Well.

Yeah, that’s right, Eds. What the hell were you expecting from that guy?

A fresh wave of helplessness washed over him, darker than before. He wasn’t even mad. He just… had nothing left. He slumped back against the seat, letting it swallow him whole. Maybe if he sat there long enough, the universe would forget he existed.

Time blurred.

Another knock at the driver’s door snapped him out of his haze.

Eddie turned, heart suddenly tight in his chest — and there was Harrington again. Except this time, he wasn’t just standing there awkwardly. He was crouching down, placing something by the van.

Eddie looked.

Two gas cans.

Eddie: “…uh…”

Steve: “Sorry, I’m kind of running late. Think you can pour it in yourself?”

Eddie: “…uh… yeah? Thanks?”

Steve: “No problem. Try to get home safe, alright?”

Eddie couldn’t speak. His throat locked up with a stupid mix of shame and gratitude. Meanwhile, Harrington walked back to his BMW, opened the passenger door, grabbed something, and came back.

He handed Eddie a brown paper bag through the window.

Steve: “This is for you too. Don’t know how long you’ve been out here. Sorry I can’t stay — really gotta run. Take care, man.”

And just like that, he was gone.

Eddie sat frozen for a second, the paper bag crinkling in his hands. He watched the car disappear into the distance, the heat of embarrassment still burning behind his eyes.

Inside the bag?

Two sandwiches. And a cherry Coke.

2. Stitches and Insurance

It happened after that gig—the one with the bigger stage. Their band was starting to make waves, at least in the kind of circles that lived off bootlegs and basement posters. Steve helped with this, oddly enough. Eddie simply left him in the bar for half an hour on their last trip to Indy, and returned to a table where three people were sitting with Steve, one of whom was the owner of the music venue. But bigger stages came with bigger risks. And this one bit back.

Eddie cut his hand. Badly.

He swore he’d stitch it up himself. Ever since the whole Vecna nightmare—the hospital, the endless tests, the morphine haze—he’d sworn off hospitals entirely. What he hated even more than the IV drips and fluorescent lights was the bill. He’d caught a glimpse of it once, a flash of paper on Uncle Wayne’s cluttered kitchen table. All those zeros behind a number no one in Hawkins should ever have to see.

Eddie had let out a string of expletives so strong, it probably cracked a window. And then he drove straight to Hopper’s office, still limping. The government owed them. Hell, wiping out Eddie’s medical debt should’ve been the bare minimum for silence. A couple stitches? They should’ve thrown in a house in the suburbs and a damn parade.

But no—Eddie had learned the hard way: it’s cheaper to die at home than heal in a hospital.

He told all of that to Steve—who, incidentally, was at his very first Corroded Coffin show. Eddie kind of felt bad. Ruined the guy’s night with blood leaking down his arm like a horror movie prop.

Steve didn’t argue. He just drove him to the hospital.

Two hours later, Eddie stormed out, still cursing under his breath. Bandaged. Stitched. And holding a fresh, infuriating piece of paper.

Then he found out it had already been paid.

Eddie: "Are you out of your goddamn mind?!"

Steve: "You were bleeding and rambling about stardust and destiny. Sorry for grounding you, Vulcan."

Eddie (irritated but begrudgingly charmed): "You spoiled, trust-fund prick."

Steve: "I work at a video store."

Eddie: "You have a checkbook with no bottom, Harrington."

Steve: "Idiot parents. Occasionally useful. But I’m actually pretty decent at saving."

Eddie (quieter now): "Steve..."

Steve (more serious): «Eds… did you really think I’d let you bleed out just because you’re too stubborn to ask for help?"

Eddie swallows hard. He doesn’t answer. Just stands there for a second too long. Then, as Steve walks back toward the car, Eddie tosses it over his shoulder like it costs him nothing:

Eddie: "Thanks, Harrington. I’ll pay you back. As soon as I sign with a label."

Steve (grinning): "I’m holding you to that, rising star."

3. Ice Cream and Laundry Detergent

Steve just shows up at Eddie’s trailer, arms full of grocery bags, fumbling with the door and trying to kick it shut behind him without dropping anything.

Eddie: “What the hell is all this?”

Steve: “You said you were out of detergent. And coffee. And, swear to God, I watched Henderson steal your last bag of chips yesterday. I’ve been picking the kids up from your place three days in a row, and your cabinets are still a desert.”

Eddie: “Wait—have you been snooping through my cabinets?”

Steve: “It’s the kids.”

Eddie: “Jesus, Steve. That’s not a reason to throw money at me. I’m not your kept man.”

Steve (half-lies): “Eddie, I did it for the kids. Max hangs out here more than at home, she feels safe with you. Dustin’s over like every other day. Will’s finally planning his first DND campaign after the break. This—this is life happening. Kids.”

Eddie doesn’t buy it. Yeah, his finances are a dumpster fire the size of Indiana, but that doesn’t mean Steve has to play savior. He’ll figure it out. He’s an adult, goddammit.

But something about it hits him in the gut—something ugly and hot, tangled in guilt. He feels like a loser, like he’s bleeding self-worth out of every pore. Writing their first real album is eating up every hour, and even then, he’s behind. Part of him wonders if things would be easier—for both of them—if he just gave it all up. If he shelved the band, got a normal job, stopped pretending the dream meant something.

He knows none of this is Steve’s fault. But that ache in his chest—the thrum of self-hate and fear—is louder than reason. It’s just another reminder that Eddie has nothing to give Steve. Not really. Nothing but his stupid, breakable heart, which probably isn’t worth a damn. All he ever does is take.

Eddie can’t…

They differ. Loudly.

Steve leaves, closing the door quietly behind him.

Ten minutes later, Eddie pulls out a pint of chocolate hazelnut ice cream from one of the bags. His favorite.

He sits on the windowsill, eats straight from the tub, and whispers into the dark:

Eddie: “You’re an idiot. And I love you. But you’re an idiot.”

+1. The Key to a New Life

It’s been almost two years. Eddie’s now the frontman of Corroded Coffin, a rock band climbing charts faster than anyone saw coming. His posters hang in teenage bedrooms across the country, and cassette tapes with their live recordings sell out weekly. He’s got a voice that cuts like broken glass and a heart that only beats for two things: music and Steve.

Steve smiles during their last call before Christmas. Eddie’s on tour. Steve—now officially the band’s manager, somehow infuriatingly good at handling everything from venue bookings to financials—isn’t with him for one reason: the kids. It’s senior year for their shrimp troop, and Christmas is just around the corner. Eddie promises to be back in three weeks, just in time for the holidays.

The call comes when Steve expects it the least. He picks up the phone, already half-distracted.

Woman: "Richard Harrington?" Steve: "Hi, this is Steve Harrington. Richard’s not home. You might wanna try his assistant—should I give you her number?" Woman: "No, I’m at the right address. Hawkins, [street name]?" Steve: "Yeah... that’s right." Woman: "My name is Abigail Richardson. I’m a realtor. I’m calling to let you know we’ve found buyers for the house. They’d like to schedule a viewing next week. I’ll call the day before to confirm." Steve: "...Wait. Abigail, sorry—what buyers? I didn’t know the house was even on the market." Abigail: "It’s been listed for two months now. I have all the notarized paperwork. I’ll bring them by so you can take a look. I’d recommend contacting Richard Harrington directly." Steve: "Right. Okay. Thanks." Abigail: "I’ll be in touch. Have a nice day."

Steve lowers the phone slowly, like it’s too heavy for his hand. His eyes roam the room as if he can anchor himself with a single glance. His parents had been here two months ago. Said nothing. Had they already known then? Had they already planned to erase him like a smudge?

There weren’t many good memories in that house. The few warm ones he had were wrapped in Eddie’s cigarette smoke, long talks with Robin on the staircase, and the laughter of kids who saw him as something solid. Still, it was his house.

The only one he’d ever had.

The following week passes in a haze. He can’t reach his parents. The viewing happens. A young couple, bright-eyed and expecting, signs papers that same afternoon. Steve hopes they break the curse of the cold Harrington mansion.

Hopper helps go over the paperwork. Then claps a firm hand on Steve’s back and mutters, “There’ll always be a room for you here, kid.” He’s given a week to pack. It all fits into three boxes, which he hauls to the Byers-Hopper place.

Everything blurs. Steve moves through days like they’re underwater. He retreats into himself, thick with the echo of old voices: Useless. Forgotten. Nothing. Now he’s homeless, too.

He doesn’t tell Eddie. He can’t. The guy’s on tour, living off adrenaline and noise. He doesn’t tell Robin either—she’s got finals, and anyway, he doesn’t want to say it. Words make things real, and Steve’s not ready to admit how badly it all hurts.

Christmas creeps closer, slow and bright.

One afternoon, Steve hears tires crunching on gravel. He looks out the window and sees it—Eddie’s new van. Not the old rustbucket, but the one they bought with their first real tour paycheck.

Eddie (storming inside): “Steve, what the hell? I go by your house and there are strangers living there! What’s going on?” Steve (half-laughing, half-crumbling): “Well, guess I’m officially free from the Harringtons. Like the wind. Or decaf coffee—completely useless.” Eddie (smirking): “Jesus, Steve. I had plans for Christmas, sweetheart. You’re messing with my whole script here."

(He pulls out a small box.)

Eddie: “So, uh... I’ve got a two-bedroom in Indy now. It’s not much. But... I figured it was time to return the favor.” Steve: “Are you... asking me to move in?” Eddie (offering the box): “It’s yours. A key. To a place where someone waits for you. Where you’re home. I know you weren’t planning to leave Hawkins yet—hell, kids. But… I want you in my life. Always. Forever. If you want me to. But if you don’t, that second room... it’s yours. Whenever. However. We can even make it legal if that helps. Because, Steve... it’s my turn to give back.”

Steve stares at him, eyes stinging.

Steve: “You don’t owe me anything. But somehow... you’ve already given me more than my parents ever did.” Eddie (softly): “Because you deserve it. Every damn thing. And more. I love you.»

Steve: "I love you too. Let's get out of this town after Christmas. We'll be just a phone call away from the kids."