Recently I decided to go to my local fighting game tournament.
Here's how it went.
I had been getting pretty good at Guilty Gear over the past few weeks, to the point where I was getting the input correctly for the Potemkin Buster 1 out of every 4 or 5 times I tried it. So I thought "I might not be the best yet, but, surely good enough for my local" -- and I decided to go.
It took place at a the comic & games store in the town center. The venue was full of people 10-15 years younger than me and even more drastically cooler. They all turned to glare at me as I walked through the door, but as I stood completely motionless like a gazelle hoping to blend into the grassland, their gazes slowly returned to each other and they continued to banter friendlily.
I sat down next to me first opponent, and reached out to shake their hand. They looked down at my hand, and then up at my eyes slowly.
"You're supposed to do that at the end of the match."
"Oh, s-sorry"
I got perfected twice and lost the match. At the end, I reached out again to shake their hand, but they just stood up and walked away.
Because I lost, I got moved down to the loser's bracket, which was literally below the main tournament because it took place in the basement of the comic shop. I could hear footsteps, cheering, and happy conversation in the floor above. Here in the loser's bracket though, the mood was a lot more somber.
My next opponent reminded me a little bit of me. They were equally nervous and disheveled looking. They said "Um, h-hello" and reached out their hand for a handshake as they saw me approaching. I said "you're s-supposed to do that at the end of the match." But as a look of deep sadness came over their face and they slowly put down their hand, I pulled them in for a hug.
I'm not sure why I did that.
I think that some part of me knew that, in this dark, dank, alien place, illuminated only by a single failing ceiling light and the neon glow of a few arcade machines, I had at last found a friend -- someone I understood, and who might understand me too.
They hugged back.
I lost that match by a very narrow margin, and as they jumped up and began dancing around and cheering ecstatically, I began to hate them. This was no friend of mine. A friend would not do this to me. After they were done dancing, they reached out to shake my hand. After a few seconds of pause, I stuck out my hand too, but didn't look at them and refused to close it around theirs as they grasped it. They shook my karate chop.
I thought that at that point, since I had lost and then lost in loser's bracket, I was free to go home. But one of the tournament organizers approached me and informed me that I was going down to sub-loser's bracket in the sub-basement of the store, and pointed me towards a descending staircase.
The people there were fewer, and it was darker. I could faintly hear sobbing in one of the corners, but as I went to investigate, another participant put his hand on my shoulder. He furrowed his brow in a look of pain and shook his head slowly.
"You can't do anything for them."
In sub-loser's bracket I went up against a man in a suit whose face was cloaked in shadow. He spammed May's dolphin move. I lost.
As I went to go back upstairs, one of the tournament organizers held out her palm to stop me, and pointed towards a staircase leading further down instead.
Going down through the levels, I lost to many interesting participants. One player played exclusively by bashing the controller against his face. One player was a mushroom with a few circuit cables clipped onto it, that I later learned was able to play because its bioelectrical signals got sent to a machine that interpreted them as fighting game inputs. One player didn't touch their controller at all, but instead just told me their life story, which was so tragic that I picked up their controller and won for them.
Finally, at the very bottom floor, where construction standards were long abandoned and the stairs and walls were just messily carved out of the earth's stone, I faced my final player. It was a small bit of metal framework, with a controller nestled in it. On it was a tiny piston that just pressed the jab button exactly once every second. I lost.
I hung my head for a moment, then said "close game" and stuck my hand out for a handshake, before remembering that I had played against a metal framework cube with a piston in it and retracting my hand slowly. Then I heard a slow clapping from the darkness.
"No neutral. No footsies."
Out of the darkness slowly walked a woman about my age, clad in a decorative poofy dress that looked more expensive than my entire life savings. She smiled at me warmly, continuing to clap slowly, but there was a hint of mischief in her eyes.
"No meter management. No mixups. No spacing. No learning. No strategy…
…You're perfect."
"Wh-what?"
"You're perfect. I absolutely must have you."
"Have me for…um…for what…"
(Her eyes went wide as her smile grew more manic.)
"WHY, MY MORON FAILSON HAREM OF COURSE."
"Um, I-I"
"Tell me, what do you do for a living? Let me guess, you work at a fast food restaurant? Or, retail?"
"No, I'm a--I'm a comic artist."
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! Oh my god, you are PERFECT. What will it take to get you."
"To-to ge--"
"You would be well taken care of, of course. 3 Michelin star dining for every meal. Only the finest, softest sweatpants and sweatshirts, pre-stained with whatever flavor of Takis your little heart desires. You would have access to the entire mansion except for the main foyer when I'm in business calls, and you could make all the comics and play all the fighting games you want."
"I'm uh--"
I knew that I had to think fast here.
"I'm already i-in a moron failson harem."
"Oh, DARN IT!! TELL ME, WHO IS IT??? WHO GOT YOU??"
"I-I think I'm not allowed to s-sa--"
She stomped her foot petulantly, her shoe clacking against the stone floor.
"WAS IT SHUXUAN?? IT'S ALWAYS SHUXUAN HOGGING ALL OF THE GOOD ONES."
"I-I'm sorry," I blurted out, shuffling along the wall to make a wide radius around her and then running up the staircase.
As I got home and began making my standard dinner of Trader Joe's microwave falafel, I thought about her offer. Maybe I should have taken her up on it after all. A 3 Michelin star meal right now wouldn't be so bad.
Then I hopped on Guilty Gear and lost 22 matches in a row.
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can you tell us about your interpretation of the better world universe!!!! especially curious how stan/mystery trio works into it
hell yesssss I definitely can. ABW is maybe my favorite niche gf thing and probably the only "AU" I care about but that may be due to the fact that it's an AU that exists in the canon and we know so little about it. so it has an established foundation that you're left to fill in the details with yourself... it's like a poke bowl to me. you can put anything in there
and since I felt like it here's a bonus pic of them living their best lives pestering ford
[explanation-y stuff under ze cut because I got very longwinded]
as for specifics of how I see everything working out, there's a few key points that establish why things happened differently from canon, the most important being:
Stan agrees to hide journal #3 somewhere
Ford reunites with fiddleford and they begin working together again
both of these are already confirmed in canon, the first being the most obvious "schism" between timelines. literally everything in ABW is the way it is because stan made a different decision. kind of crazy in terms of its implications: I feel like that moment in the basement is a really good example of how stan gets so few opportunities to shape her own life (while ford is in the picture...) because of her role as the 'black sheep' twin. it's not exactly a premeditated decision to push ford into the portal, it's her acting on feelings that have been bubbling unaddressed under the surface for 10-something years at that point, and only then does she have any sort of power over the "narrative" of both her life and the story itself, something that from her pov has been ford's story. and in the canon timeline, she says no.
so like, what the hell made her say yes in ABW's timeline? this question kind of haunts me because I feel like it has to be entirely dependent on what the inside of stan's head looked like at the time. it's possible something influenced her, but overall I think it's more interesting if ford did and said all the exact same things up until this point and it really was entirely dependent on stan's decision internally.
so stan says yes, goes on a big trip to the other side of the world somehow, and buries journal 3 somewhere probably never to be found again. yay! but, uh, going on a trip like ford was suggesting would... take weeks. that would leave ford alone again. and not to have my established thoughts informed by new material or anything but bill did give him 72 hours.
so, next order of business: how in the fuck would ford convince fiddleford to rejoin him??? I'm unsure between journal 3 and tbob's information how ford may have tried to reach out to him but it seems like fiddleford was pretty adamant about staying away from that guy, out of guilt or fear of bill/the portal or both. I don't think logically it would just be a matter of ford calling him enough times or finding out where he lives- and I think that's kind of getting away from the point of why ABW is the way it is too. if stan is suddenly making decisions that are influencing ford's life, I think it would be similarly interesting if fiddleford also possessed some unique autonomy in this scenario.
aka I think ford got fucked up badly (possibly involving losing an eye) and fiddleford found him half-dead while trying to burn his house down. [mabel voice] romance!
to clarify: I don't think fiddleford is obligated to take care of ford. a major part of him leaving the project was finally making the decision to leave a situation that was hurting him, that he'd been staying in entirely because he still cared about ford and felt on some level he could still help him (which gets broken with "I don't need you!") and I think that's a very reasonable decision on his part. but I also do have to think about all the times ford has been "the hero" in situations where fiddleford ends up hurt and helpless because of something traumatizing. I think it'd be fascinating to see that reversed and have fiddleford actively making the difficult, messy decision to take care of that guy even when they're on miserable terms. and so begins like a solid week of these two desperately trying to look out for eachother in a nightmare scenario where one of them probably needs to go to a hospital + keeps getting possessed off and on and the other is going through the worst addiction/withdrawal cycle of his life irt the memory gun. yay! (part of the reason this even works To Me also is heavily informed by the lack of secrets: if fiddleford is actively dressing that guy's wounds he can't really keep it all to himself anymore. crushingly intimate perhaps...)
stan gets back eventually. such is the context of this pic
from there it's a nebulous grab-bag of things I think could happen up to the foundation of the institute.
how do all three of these incredibly fucked up individuals get along? well they don't but then they do.
how do they get bill out of ford's head without performing amateur brain surgery? idk. my best guess is a fiddleford and stan bonding trip into ford's mindscape that potentially helps answer the first question. possibly utilizing the memory gun. shrugs.
what's up with that one picture you drew of parallel fidds holding the memory gun up to ford's head? well. okay that one might or might not be something that actually happened but the idea was just that ford is coping badly with a few specific things and I liked the idea of fiddleford "holding onto" something for him to remember and work through later when he's ready to deal with it, it's an interesting reversal of how he's normally more of a memory sink.
from the point in canon about them stabilizing the portal so that bill can't use it to get into their dimension anymore onward, I think it just becomes a matter of them living the lives they could've always had in canon without realizing it. hence "a better world." some cool tidbits I like to think about:
stan gets to transition much earlier (late 1990's perhaps?) and probably starts going by "lee" instead
she's also the institute's CMO and is mostly in it for going on business trips abroad with ford. and the money. obviously.
the institute probably also legitimately changes the world on a sociopolitical scale outside of just interdimensional travel since their research renders them uniquely untouchable and all three of them are trans (I'm cartoon logic-ing a little bit here just let me have this one)
ford is the eccentric bill nye esque face of the company, fiddleford is the backbone. that isn't to say ford doesn't do anything as I think he'd always moreso be in it for the science than the fame (though it is nice to be more than comfortable financially) but it's an open secret fiddleford keeps tabs on literally everything, he's still very security-oriented.
the northwest family now has a more prominent ongoing rivalry with the pines family that could be very funny to think about. they've taken all the LOGGING JOBS with their damn SCIENCE
part of the reason I thought ford should lose an eye is because I think having him wear an eyepatch would be a neat way to parallel stan's "role" as mr. mystery visually! stan wears an eyepatch for no legitimate reason to keep up appearances as a schlocky tourist trap host, but it also alludes to her being more than she seems under the surface. ford's eyepatch does sort of have a legitimate reason to exist, but he also could just wear his glass eye and it would probably be less "conspicuous." he chooses the eyepatch instead because it's part of his image as Stanford Pines, Founder of Oddology, and because it keeps him safe. there's also a little residual scarring there from damage to his eyelid/tarsal plate which could easily represent him hiding the more "damaged" aspects of himself under his successes. ouch.
I'm unsure if ford and stan would ever feel comfortable getting back in touch with their parents. I know a lot of people go that route with fan material but I don't think they should have to. I think they're much happier now having healed the rift between them on their own and getting to live successful lives for themselves, rather than to prove something to their father.
that being said I do think fiddleford gets in touch with emma-may and his son again and they end up on better terms with time and a Lot of effort. tate's family is now composed of his father, mother, "uncle" ford (in the ye olde gay closeted sense of referring to your dad's partner as an uncle), and auntie lee, and I like to think they go out on trips to the lake together often :]
also ford and fiddleford tie the knot unofficially (in the eyes of the government anyway) in 1990. owed to stan somehow getting "ordained" as a rabbi. don't ask me how.
the pines twins start visiting the institute from a younger age than they do irt visiting stan in the show-- but they're only permitted to come along on heavily-supervised interdimensional excursions once they turn 12. cue antics!
anyway, hopefully this extremely longwinded and loosely structured mess helped answer your question. I like ABW sooo so so much you guys
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Roommates AU
roommate!remuslupin x fem!reader
CW: swearing, thats about it really.
lemme know what you thinkkkkk part 2
this is totally inspired by @moonstruckme btw
"So, do you have anything specific that you're looking for mate?" James asked, staring down out his laptop. Remus sighed; he had been looking for an apartment for weeks, but nothing had turned up in the area he was interested in.
"Honestly, anywhere would work at this point." Remus was looking at his own laptop, scrolling through all of the postings he could find. Nothing was available through, and Remus was about to be homeless.
He couldn't afford to keep living in his current flat, not since his roommate had decided to move back home. Remus had been stressing over this for months now, ever since his roommate had told him the news.
"How do you feel about a roommate bud?" Sirius asked suddenly, sitting up from where he had been laying down and scrolling on his phone. He stretched his arm out towards Remus, waving his phone around.
Remus snatched it and took a look at the posting Sirius was looking at.
"Two bedroom and one bath apartment. Looking for a roommate ASAP. Rent is $500 a month (utilities included). Message me for more information. :)"
There were pictures underneath the post. Remus clicked on the first one. It looked nice enough to him. He forwarded the post to himself before he messaged about it.
"I'm gonna send a message, see if I can schedule a walk through." Remus sighed as he tossed the phone back to Sirius, who seemed highly impressed at his find. He picked up his own phone and found the post.
He clicked the message icon at the bottom of the post.
`Hey, I saw your post about looking for a roommate. Is the room still available? Could I maybe come by for a tour soon? `
He sent the message before setting his phone to the side and continuing the search. Not expecting to receive a response for a while.
Not even two minutes later his phone buzzed. He grabbed it and sat up when he saw the response.
`Would today work? Maybe around 12? `
Remus was quick to respond.
`Yes, 12 works great!`
Then he followed it up with another.
`Can I bring some friends?`
The reply came just as fast.
'Yes, I'll see you then!'
Remus stood up, a large smile growing on his face. To say he was relieved was the understatement of the year. He looked at his friends.
"I've got a tour scheduled at 12 today, you guys wanna come?" He questioned. He really hoped they would, what if you were a serial killer and the post was only a ploy to draw unsuspecting victims in.
"Course mate! Its 10 now, what if we head out and find some food around that area?" James asked, causing Sirius to jump up quickly.
"Let me grab my shoes!" He called as he raced down the hall to his room. Remus shook his head and gathered his belongings.
It was right around 12 when there was a knock at your apartment door. Abandoning the cookies you were making, you raced over to the door. You had almost made it too, but the fuzzy socks adorning your feet caused you to fall.
You groaned as you pushed yourself up and yanked the door open with a large smile on your face. It dropped slightly when you realized that it was men on the other side.
"Hi! I'm Remus, we're uh here for the apartment tour?" There were three guys standing outside. The tallest of them was the one who had spoken. You nodded and opened the door wider for them to enter.
"I'm Y/N! I'm sorry about the mess..." You gestured around the living room. "It's my day off and I've been bingeing some shows." You kept a smile on your face as one of the other boys chuckled.
"So, let's get on with the tour!" You clapped your hands together. "I'll show you around and then let you guys look around by yourselves, yeah?" Receiving nods, you turned around and began the speech you had practiced in the mirror when you and received the message.
"Obviously this is the living room..." You mumbled and then walked towards the kitchen. Before entering you turned around. "Warning, I'm making cookies right now, so the kitchen is a bit of a mess."
You entered and they filed in after you, looking around and nodding to themselves. "Cookies anyone?" You asked as you grabbed the plate of the ones that were ready. They each reached out and grabbed one.
"These are amazing." You heard someone moan.
Moving on you began to lead them upstairs. "Right there is the bathroom and right here is my room and right here is the other room!" You said walking quickly down the hall and pointing things out as you did so. You turned around to face the three. "Any questions?"
No one answered and so you nodded. "Smashing, have a look around. I'll be in the kitchen if you need me!" And with that, you were darting back downstairs just as the alarm for your second round of cookies beeped.
Sirius was staring after you like you were the love of his life. His mouth hung open and his eyes were wide. James cleared his throat while looking at his best friend and roommate in amusement. Sirius shook his head and turned to look at Remus.
"Well, if you don't want to live here, I sure fucking do." He said before he walked past Remus and into the room you had said was the available one.
It was a nice sized bedroom with a window and a very large closet. Remus was quite impressed with it actually and you seemed nice enough.
He could definitely see himself living here, even if it was with a total stranger. He walked back out into the hall, heading for the bathroom to have a look in there.
You seemed pretty neat; all of your stuff was kept on a shelf and in a couple of drawers. Remus noticed how big the bathtub was, and he sighed at the thought of a nice bath.
As he walked further down the hall, he realized that your door was open, and he had to fight the urge to take a look around. He turned to walk back to the room that would be his so that he could ask James what he thought but his two friends were gone.
He listened for a second as he heard talking coming from downstairs. He turned and made his way towards the stairs. As he made it down and saw that no one was in the living room, he headed for the kitchen next. There he saw James and Sirius sat at the table while you danced around the kitchen cleaning things up.
"These are delicious, by the way." James spoke after chewing what looked to be one of the cookies you had made. You turned from the sink to grin at him. When you saw Remus, you smiled and wiped your hands on the towel thrown over your shoulder.
"So, what did you think?" You smiled at him this time, your question had alerted the other two to his presence. Sirius answered before Remus himself could.
"Well, if he doesn't want it, I fucking do!" He spoke loudly causing James to look at him.
"And what about our fucking apartment?" James asked incredulously, looking at his friend as if he had just stabbed him. You paid them no mind as you looked at Remus for an answer.
"I'll take it. When's the soonest I can move in?" Your shoulders sagging in relief at his answer.
"Oh, thank fuck, no one else has responded and the last chap I had look around gave me the Heeby jeebies." You paused, blowing a strand of hair from your face as you thought about it. "How about as soon as bloody possible eh? That work for you?"
Remus nodded and a brilliant smile formed on your face.
"Great, let me fetch the lease agreement."
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it was supposed to be short n small and now its 3k & its unedited and u all have to just deal with it bcos it was supposed to be SMALL | ao3
The driver's side car window makes a resounding thunk when Steve’s forehead falls against it.
Through the glass, his keys glint tauntingly back at him.
Still tucked in the ignition, locked in on the inside. So close and yet so far from Steve who is, unfortunately, locked on the outside.
I’m such a fucking idiot.
He lets his head raise up a bit just to drop it back against the window again, this time more in punishment. Of course, of course, he coughs up the money needed for a warrant of fitness and then he goes and locks his keys in the car the next day. Like he needed one more cost added to his finances.
Steve steals a glance at his watch. Fuck, if he doesn’t get on the road in the next 10 minutes, he’ll be more than late to work.
His eyes glance across to Eddie’s van, parked beside his own car, outside the trailer home in Forest Hills. Then he looks back at the trailer.
He can ask. He can just go inside and ask Eddie for the lift— and explain that the reason he can’t take his own perfectly fine car is because he’s so goddamn thick between the ears that he’s locked his keys inside, like some kind of moron.
The voice in his head sounds suspiciously like his father.
Something thick grows in his throat. He swallows it to no avail. Embarrassment begins to flush down his neck, hot and uncomfortable.
No, no— he can’t ask Eddie because as far as Steve knows, Eddie hasn’t quite figured it out yet.
Even while Dustin and Mike make their jokes about him being a bit slow, even when Robin says at least you have your pretty face, Eddie brushes them off and laughs. Takes them as jokes with no merit to them. Steve knows though.
So what if he doesn’t want to burst his bubble just yet?
He knows Eddie will figure it out eventually— because they always do. When he asks too many stupid questions and needs things explained twice and— and it’s just inevitable, okay? He knows that.
Fixing his glare through the window of his car at the shiny pair of keys within, Steve wrestles with what would be worse; being late or accidentally tipping Eddie off when they’ve just gotten so close.
Close enough to share a kiss, two nights ago, under the covers. It was barely more than a peck. But Steve knew it had taken a miraculous amount of courage from Eddie to do it— to surge forward and grab Steve’s face, his rings cool against his skin, and press his mouth against his Steve's own.
Eddie’s lips had been chapped but his smile had been pure sunshine and Steve thinks he could’ve stayed forever under that blanket, memorising the shade of pink Eddie’s cheeks turn after a kiss.
They’ve been dancing around it ever since. Each interaction is more charged, more flirty, more gooey. Long lingering looks and pointed nudges that make Steve feel like a 14-year-old with a crush again, in the best way.
So, no. He exactly can’t go ask.
With a heavy sigh and glance up at the darkening sky, Steve is only glad he’s not supposed to pick up Robin today as he begins to walk.
—
One phone call to the auto-shop reveals exactly how much it’ll cost to get his keys retrieved. Which is, to say, entirely too much for one adult living on the wage of a Family Video employee.
And they won’t be able to get anyone out for another whole day.
Growing more and more frustrated with himself, Steve angrily jots the number down into his little notebook, the pen pressing down hard enough to leave indents on the page behind it. Keith is somewhere out the back, snacking no doubt, and leaving Steve to man the front.
Normally, it wouldn’t bother him— especially because he could discretely make the phone call he needed— but now it’s just him, the empty store, and the number in his notebook that stares back at him.
Oh, and it’s raining.
The darkening sky from earlier had transformed into something closer to a thunderstorm, rain lashing against the windows and driving any and all customers away. Which is fantastic— just what Steve needs now, really the fucking cherry on the top.
The phone rings, the noise unusually shrill in the silence of the store. The film playing amongst the aisles has been on mute as soon as he’d gotten his hands on the remote and Keith had disappeared out the back.
Steve stares at the phone, watching it ring once, twice, before he picks it up with a heavy sigh. He dredges up his customer service voice.
“This is Family Video, how can I help?” He greets, putting as much pep into his voice as he can manage—which turns out to be a meagre amount.
“Did you walk to work today?”
Steve straightens up at the sound of Eddie’s voice on the other end of the line. His free hand instinctively smooths down the front of his vest before he quickly remembers Eddie can’t actually see him.
“Eddie?” He asks, instead of answering the question.
“Your Highness, himself,” Eddie responds. His tone is that usual jaunty playfulness that Steve’s come to adore. “Now answer the question, Steve-o. I thought you were one of those smart guys who actually listens when the weather report comes on the radio. Why the hell did you walk?”
Steve’s shoulders curl in, just an inch, and his eyes seek out the open notebook with the quoted amount, underlined and circled, staring back at him. His throat grows a lump at Eddie’s unknowingly poor choice of words.
“Thought I would walk today.” He replies, his voice clipped. “You know, walking, exercise, good for you? Any of these ringing a bell for you, Munson?”
It’s supposed to be a joke but Steve can tell by the end of the sentence, it’s come out way too sour to land that way. He sounds mean.
Steve cringes, clutching the phone a little tighter and screwing up his eyes. He waits for Eddie’s response.
“You know,” Eddie says, sounding a lot duller all of a sudden. “I was calling to maybe offer you a lift through the rain—”
“Sorry, I’m sorry, that-“ Steve cuts in, that same strange embarrassment swelling in his throat. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”
“—But if you’re gonna be a dick about it, you can enjoy the walk.”
Steve grits his teeth and pinches the bridge of his nose because this feels a little too much like a line from his Dad— but it isn’t because Steve is the one digging this hole all on his own. He’s the idiot who fucking locked his keys in his car and walked to work and snapped at Eddie and—
“No, I’m sorry.” He says, still a bit too tense.
Idiot, idiot, you’re being a fucking idiot, Harrington.
“A ride would be appreciated. Please.”
A pause. This time when Eddie speaks, he’s a little softer. “You off at five today?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. I’ll see you at five.”
The dial tone sounds as Eddie hangs up but Steve stays where he is, phone pressed against his one good ear, with a sinking feeling in his stomach. The rain begins to flood the parking lot.
—
Five o’clock comes around too soon.
The rain has let up, just barely, but enough that Steve can actually see Eddie’s van when it pulls up into the parking lot. It rocks about dangerously in the wind and Steve suddenly feels bad for making Eddie come out to get him.
He could’ve stayed here, taken the longer shift. Told Keith to take off early and just walked back home when the rain let up a little more— or just camped out the back on the couch in the employee room if it never did.
It wouldn’t be the first time.
He’d started doing it more and more when his parent’s visits to home became more frequent. It was easy to pull a few white lies out and Steve far preferred answering questions like: Where were you last night? than Why won't you come out to our event tonight? Show face for the Harrington's? It's not like you're doing anything with your life, right?
The only reason he’d stopped, actually, was because he had become good friends with Eddie.
Eddie, who loved his company almost any hour of the day. Who gobbled up each and every morsel of food Steve cooked up, whether it was good or partially burned on the sides. Who told him he had a place in the trailer, day or night, rain or shine.
Eddie who… was waiting outside at five o’clock exactly, pulled up to the curb so Steve wouldn’t have to walk through the rain for more than a moment.
There’s a sliver of surprise, deep within his chest; like he thought Eddie might’ve not shown up and forced him to walk through the rain, just to learn his lesson. It would make sense, Steve thinks. You reap what you sow.
He clocks out hastily, barely murmuring his exit to Keith who doesn’t look up in the slightest. Steve heads for the door and decides then and there, he’ll happily pay the number in his notebook if he doesn’t have to tell Eddie what a fucking moron he actually is.
Water splashes as he dashes down the steps and Eddie’s leaning across, pushing the door open so Steve doesn’t even have to wait to yank it open in the rain. He slides in, sprinkled with rain, slams the door closed, and instantly gets blasted with heat.
“God, you’re a lifesaver,” Steve sighs, sticking his hands out towards the air vents which are working in overdrive. They whir loudly in complaint. Eddie smiles, the apples of his cheeks glowing in the warmth, and twists the wheel, his eyes on the road before him.
The van groans and the bumper dips, kissing the gutter, as they roll out onto the road and head for Forest Hills. For a moment, Eddie focuses on driving straight before he flicks his gaze across to Steve.
“You know I wouldn’t have actually let you walk, right?”
Steve blinks, unsure of what to say in response, because he actually did think that was a possibility until about 2 minutes ago. He shivers as a stray drop in his hair sneaks under his collar, cold and wet.
“Right.” He answers, giving a hesitant smile back.
They’re driving slower than usual due to the rain. Steve lets himself sink back into the worn seats of the van, comforted by the familiar smells. A tang of tobacco, a stronger hint of weed, and that musky deodorant that Eddie swears by— even if Steve has never heard of the brand before.
But, well, it must be working in some sense because when Steve takes a deep breath, he smells it and feels a sense of calm. He doesn’t even notice he’s begun staring.
The strange weather has made Eddie’s hair frizzier than usual and paired with his rosy cheeks, Steve thinks he looks goddamn delectable. He gets caught up in a daydream about having a hot chocolate when they get back to the trailer, maybe even sharing a blanket on the couch and—
And then, Eddie turns and says, “So, wanna tell me why you walked? For real, this time?”
Something shrivels up within Steve. The tightness in his throat from this morning returns. He turns his head and looks out the window.
“I don’t get why you don’t believe me when I say I walked because I wanted to.” He grumbles, almost too low for Eddie to hear over the rain.
Why are they still talking about this? He thinks of the keys through the driver’s side window, thinks of the number in his notebook and the much smaller one in his bank account, and has to hold back from thumping his head against the glass again.
Something metallic jingles behind him.
Steve whips around, his eyes zeroing in on his keys dangling from Eddie’s hand— clearly just retrieved from his pocket. Something ugly and warm wakes up inside him, his stomach knotting uncomfortably, and his cheeks start to burn in embarrassment.
Idiot, Idiot, Idiot.
He knows, he already fucking knows how stupid you are.
Eddie’s eyes dart off the road to look at Steve. “Cos you’re clearly not telling the truth.”
Steve averts his gaze, turning his face back to the window and the wet pavement rushing by beneath the car. He swallows but the lump in his throat doesn’t move.
“Okay, look I don’t actually care that you walked to work,” Eddie continues, placing the keys down in the cup holder between the seats. “I just don’t get why you wouldn’t tell me that they were locked in your car.”
Steve can’t help it, the way his shoulders hike up. His teeth sink into his bottom lip meanly, nearly drawing blood. He doesn’t get it, he doesn’t get it— Eddie’s still trying to rationalise away what everyone else has already figured out.
“I just—” Steve starts, on the defence, but it comes out a bit too wet. He forces himself to swallow again, thankful there’s no sting of tears in his eyes. “I can fix that shit on my own. That’s all.”
“Well, yeah,” Eddie agrees.
Below them both, the hum of the van begins to dwindle and Steve realises abruptly that Eddie’s slowing down, pulling over to the side of the road. He looks to the side, at Eddie.
“Please, c’mon, I just wanna go home, man.” Steve pleads, not even caring that he’s referred so casually to Eddie’s trailer as his home.
“Wait, just,” Eddie waves a hand as he sticks the van into park, releasing the wheel and properly turning to Steve.
“I just want to understand. You know I can pop the door to most cars in, like, 5 minutes. Why didn’t you just ask?”
“Eddie,” Steve stresses, turning away with a pointed sigh. He runs a hand through his hair, latching onto the roots and tugging at it. “Just leave it, please.”
“Or asked for a lift!” Eddie continues, his hands gesturing out a bit wildly. “I could’ve given you a lift even.”
Steve's eyes slice across the van and he wills back every emotional outburst that wants to lash out of him, to poke the right spot that will hurt to get Eddie to back off.
But Eddie is just staring at him, brown eyes wide, a little furrow between his brows, and is just confused. Concerned.
“If you keep driving,” Steve murmurs, almost dejectedly. He ducks his head low and turns back to the window. “I’ll tell you.”
It works— the engine rumbles back to life and the wheels roll gently back out onto the road, just a couple more minutes from Forest Hills. Steve watches the road and tries to grasp for the right thing to say, each possibility dissolving like smoke. His eyes squeeze shut tightly. The rain dins loudly on the roof of the van, a song and dance of the elements.
By the time they’re entering Forest Hills, Steve still hasn’t said a word. The van crawls up into its usual spot, next to Steve’s own car, and Steve stares down at it. He can hear the soft click of Eddie’s seatbelt as he releases it.
He supposes it’s too late now, anyway. Eddie already knows. He keeps his eyes out the window as he speaks, his voice flat and dull.
“I just... I didn’t want you to think that I’m an idiot, too.”
There’s a questioning noise behind him, a little noise from Eddie’s throat that slips out, unbidden.
“Too?” He echoes. “Steve? Who thinks you’re an idiot?”
Steve huffs loudly and turns back, throwing his hands up. “Jesus, who doesn’t? Would you like a list?”
Eddie’s face twists into a meaner expression than Steve's ever seen before and for once, he properly matches the dark clothes and spooky tattoos he dons.
“Yes. And I’ll go door to door— wait,” He shuffles, shifting up onto his knees so he can stretch over the console and place his large hands on either side of Steve’s face, directing his gaze towards him.
It’s reminiscent of a kiss not too long ago. Despite all the burning self-deprecation that churns inside, the pleasant reminder dulls it significantly.
“I’ll go door to door to anyone who ever made you feel that way,” Eddie repeats, now face to face with Steve, their noses nearly touching. His brows are still pull tight into a furious frown. But it's not at him, Steve realises. “And I’ll do something— I’m not sure what yet, but it’ll be foul and like, maybe I’ll put instant mash potatoes on their lawn and— okay the specifics aren’t relevant but this— this is.”
He searches Steve’s face intently, eyes darting around, making sure the message is sinking in. His expression softens out, his eyes suddenly sweeter than before. “You’re aren’t an idiot, Steve. You aren’t an idiot for making a mistake and I’ve never thought that about you.”
Steve blinks. Swallows heavily and god fucking dammit, is the thickness in his throat ever going to disappear? This time it feels different though. He’s not sure how.
“You don’t think I’m an idiot, do you?” Eddie asks.
Steve shakes his head, moving Eddie’s hands with them at the same time. It’s true, he doesn’t. Eddie is… goddamn fucking wonderful. He’s like a warm summer shower through the wretched seasons of Steve’s life. One of the reasons it was worth living through the entire ordeal of 86.
The rain outside continues, pitter-pattering on the roof, somehow softer than it was a second ago.
“Okay,” Eddie says, a small smile on tugging on his lips.
“Okay,” Steve says back. He tries for a smile and it’s easier than expected, though it wobbles at the ends. It doesn’t matter— Eddie is still gazing at him, brown eyes shining and Steve believes what he says.
“Okay,” Eddie says one more time, his smile turning closer to a grin. “Let’s go make some cocoa, yeah?”
He moves to retract his hands but Steve moves faster, his hands darting up to hold them in their place, palms against his cheeks.
“Wait,” Steve murmurs, watching how Eddie stills and keeps his closeness, their noses still a couple inches from touching— and Steve clings to the threads of courage in him tightly.
His hands slide off Eddie’s, grasping lightly at his wrists, and it’s easy to lean forward and connect their mouths in one swift motion.
Eddie squeaks— then melts.
It takes half a second before he remembers to kiss back, equally as enthusiastic and it’s nothing like the first kiss they shared under the covers. The rain dances around them and Steve swipes his thumbs over Eddie’s pulse soothing, feeling the barest jump of his rabbiting pulse.
When he shifts back, breaking the kiss, Steve keeps the closeness, the tips of their noses bumping together. Eddie’s hands feel blazing warm on Steve’s cheeks but when his lashes flutter open, catching sight of Eddie’s glorious pink cheeks, he thinks it might be his face burning up too.
They tumble inside through the rain and with all of Steve’s prayers answered today, they also share a blanket on the couch, ankles linked beneath the rumpled fabric. They make hot chocolate, Steve’s style, and sip it at, making googly eyes at each other over the rim of their mugs— until Eddie laughs too much and spits it down his front.
Steve doesn’t feel stupid again— unless that is, you count feeling stupidly sappy.
(He does not.)
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