#unrequitted affection

[free-grandmaa]

"Do you fantasize about us?"

[fallen-in-love-suggestion]

I will fall in love with you over and over and over again

[psychedelicmess81]

[brokenloveblog]

you've never left my mind throughout all this time. my heart was with you the first day i noticed you.

[kaynineacademy]

”why are you looking at me like that” clearly you are not aware that every time you speak my heart tries to crawl straight out of my chest

[silverbastardgoldenfool]

what kills me is how in Fool's Errand you can tell the Fool is actually harbouring hope that Fitz might reciprocate his feelings. yes, the silly overt flirting/teasing, but it's more than that. it's sharing what Fitz's friendship meant to him when they were kids (you saw me), it's the intense "should I?" when Fitz says the Fool should have known there was someone who cared for him enough to protect him. it's all those lingering looks, searching desperately for some sign that he's not imagining this thing between them. the fucking YEARNING leaping off the page is enough to give me liver damage.

[mrsmangi]

Yellow Carnation 💐

just friends - luigi mangione

♡ flower prompt: yellow carnation - a rejected love confession - meaning: in victorian times, to receive a bouquet of yellow carnations was read as a rejection to a romantic proposal. they can also be used to express sympathy or remorse. ♡ w.c.: 2k ♡ a/n: "pls more fluff" "pls more soft luigi-" no. angst will reign. this work of fiction is based on true events, directed by mrsmangi. enjoy!

♡ send me a flower & i'll write a drabble based off the prompt ! ↪ prompts that have been requested

“I like you, Luigi.”

You have rehearsed this moment countless times in your head. You have crafted every word, anticipating every possible outcome. You wish someone would have told you, even with all the possible precautions taken in the world, nothing could ever prepare you for how it actually feels–baring your heart to someone and watching your entire life teeter on the precipice of change.

The words escape your lips, raw and trembling, vulnerable in a way that makes your stomach churn. You’ve been holding these feelings in for so long that they’ve started to claw at your insides from within. They have pulled at your thoughts and tightened your chest every time Luigi’s name lights up your phone. Tonight, though, you’ll let them spill over, even if it means losing everything. 

“I thought if I just ignored my feelings for you, they would go away,” you begin gently. He doesn’t interrupt, letting you continue. “I would never risk doing anything to jeopardize my friendship with you, but there’s really no use in denying it anymore. Every time you look at me, I’m just reminded of how much it’s not going to happen. So, I try to cling to that and it helps me, sometimes.”

He chooses not to speak, but there’s a look on his face–one that highlights a tension in his features, and the faint crease between his brows–that tells you he’s listening. You take a breath to try to laugh it off, ease the tension, but it feels more like a deflection.

“I mean, it’s come to the point where I go out with guys just because they look like you,” you say, forcing another laugh, but your breath stutters. “Then, I’m disappointed by them when they don’t act like you–which is ridiculous in itself, I know.”

You know the words you utter won’t change anything because deep down, you already know Luigi’s answer. He doesn’t like you. “I know these feelings are completely unreciprocated,” you add quietly. “So, you don’t have to remind me.”

His lips twitch and he looks like he’s about to say something–something you know will just demolish you if he does, so you continue. You’re not ready to let him say it. “It just weighs on me, Luigi. My sentiment for you creates these expectations for you in my head that you’re not obligated to fulfill whatsoever. I have these urges to get to know you better–to know every boring, exciting, sad, stupid, happy thing about you. Friends don’t get urges to know you like the back of their hand or kiss you when you make them laugh. And it has everything to do with me, and nothing to do with you. I just really needed to get this off my chest and be done with it.”

Finally, he sighs. When he decides to speak, his voice is gentle, careful. It reminds you of a hunter attempting to approach a frightened deer. “I’m flattered,” he says. “But...” He trails off.

That, in itself, tells you all you need to know. It’s not a cruel rejection–not even a flat out rejection, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. You know what he attempts to convey with his half-sentence alone. On the contrary, his kindness almost makes it feel worse, like a salve that stings more than it soothes. He looks at you as though he’s attempting to soften the blow. “I care about you, (Name). I really do.” 

You nod wordlessly. How can words help you now? Your own have failed you. There’s no anger in your heart, no resentment toward Luigi because how could there be? He’s an outstanding friend. He’s been nothing but good to you, he makes you happy more than any other person you’ve ever known, and he’s never faltered. There’s no reason you could be mad, even if you wanted to be.

“I just thought you should know,” you manage, even though the lump in your throat makes it difficult to speak. Difficult to breathe.

“I appreciate you telling me,” he whispers. You can’t help but let out a laugh of disbelief, shaking your head and looking away. 

“Oh, my God,” you breathe, hand rising to hold your head. You run your hand through your hair, still laughing, but it’s bitter. It’s disappointing. “I’m thoroughly impressed by how you’re somehow managing to dodge rejecting me while simultaneously rejecting me.”

“It’s not that,” he protests weakly. “You know, (Name), it’s just that…it’s just a crush.”

“Right.”

“You’ll move on.”

“Okay.”

Silence hangs between you. It feels suffocating, so unlike the comfortable silences you’ve shared before.

Luigi shifts in his seat, his discomfort visible. He’s trying, you can tell. Trying to say the right thing, to make this moment less unbearable for you both, but there’s nothing more to salvage. It’s not just his rejection that stings. It’s the hope that came before it, the fact that you let yourself believe–even just for a moment–that Luigi might feel the same way. You think about the nights you spent convincing yourself that the way he laughed at your jokes or lingered in conversation or did his damndest to bring you joy meant something more. In hindsight, it feels foolish, but at the same time, it just felt so real.

“I really want to stay friends, but I don’t think it’s fair to you,” he says. You can tell he means it. “It feels like I’m not helping you.”

He hasn’t. With his big dumb grin and his stupid awful jokes, how could he ever help you get over him? But you can’t say that. How could you possibly put the blame on him when all he’s ever done is be himself? It’s not his fault you’ve fallen in love with him. It’s not his fault he’s everything you’ve ever wanted. 

“Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”

“It’s up to you,” he whispers. “I’m giving you the option. You know yourself better than I do.”

True, you think, but if it were up to you, you’d stay at his side forever. You’d let him twist and bend you, like a piece of plastic until it inevitably snaps. Let him ruin you, let him devastate you.

You say nothing.

“I obviously don’t want to,” he voices what you both think, after you don’t reply. “But I know I would end up hurting you and I don’t want that either.”

He doesn’t have to hurt you, though, you hear a voice that sounds like your own whisper in the back of your mind. You’ll do that to yourself anyway. 

“Your friendship means so much to me,” you tell him, gently. “I'd really like us to stay friends because having you in my life is important to me. I just wanted to be honest about where I'm at emotionally, so I can work on handling it in a healthy way without jeopardizing what we have.” 

When he sighs with relief, your heart falls in your stomach. 

“You’re so emotionally mature, it’s insane,” he says. There’s still a carefulness, a subtle difference that wasn’t there before. “We don’t have to let it change anything. We decide how we deal with it.” You can’t tell if he’s trying to convince you, himself, or both.

You finally make yourself look at him, and the expression on his face nearly causes you to unravel. His dark eyes are so soft and apologetic–so guilt-ridden, you feel as though you may throw up. He must notice the contorted look on your face because he leans closer, frowning softly. 

“Is it really bothering you?” he asks after a moment. He sounds so tentative. You’re almost tricked into believing he was just lying to you, mere moments ago, when he implied he didn’t feel the same way.

Of course, you’re bothered. You’re sitting here like an idiot, choking on the weight of his kindness. The way it hurts you more than any outright rejection ever could. It’s not that Luigi doesn’t care about you–it’s the fact that he does that just makes it all so much harder. 

The affection you crave from him, solely him, isn’t something he can offer to you. 

“No,” you say finally, forcing a smile. “I’m okay.” 

You don’t have to say anything to know that he sees right through you. His expression doesn’t change–not really–but the way his eyes dim, filled with a subtle sadness, tells you he knows the truth. You can tell he wants to say something. You try to ignore the tense posture of his figure when his lips press together tightly in a straight line. You feel the weight of his restraint as if it were your own. You’ve always understood him in that way.

The conversation dwindles after that, neither of you quite knowing how to move forward. Eventually, you stand. The chair scrapes loudly against his wooden floor and you have to stop yourself from crying when he looks up at you with something akin to regret. 

“Thank you,” you say, and his eyebrows knit together in confusion. 

“You’re thanking me?” he asks. “For what?” 

“For letting me say it. For listening,” you say. “I’m sorry if I made this weird.” 

He doesn’t respond immediately, but when he does, he does so quietly. “Of course.” 

You can’t take it anymore. “I should go,” you gesture to his door. He doesn’t stop you. He doesn’t try to convince you to stay or ask you if you’re sure. If you want a ride home. He just nods, his hands resting loosely on the edge of his kitchen table. You wonder if he’s just as desperate to get out of this position as you are.

“Text me when you’re home,” he says softly.

You only manage to nod before grabbing your things and leaving. 

By the time you make it home and close the door behind you, the first sob chokes you as it escapes your throat. It’s soft at first, but it snowballs into something larger quickly, the weight of the evening crashing down on you all at once. You sink to the floor, burying your face in your hands as the tears pour. It’s exhausting and messy–the kind of sobbing that leaves your chest heaving, you coughing, and your head pounding. You let it happen.

The tears finally subside after what feels like a lifetime. You wipe your face with trembling hands and drag yourself to your bed. When you open your phone, Luigi’s name still sits at the top of your messages, just as it always is. 

 Luigi: Take care of yourself and get home safe, okay? - 40m ago

You stare at the screen for a long time, debating whether to text him as he asked. You could type something simple. His message is nothing dramatic. There’s no overreaching attempt to comfort you, no empty reassurances. He says nothing wrong. He doesn’t try to fix anything or pretend it’s not hard for you. This is Luigi. “Steady, dependable, who will always care about you, just not quite in the way you want him to” Luigi. The text is not cruel, Luigi never is, but it’s distant. Only a reminder of the boundary that has always existed between you, one that feels more evident now than ever before.

A simple “Made it home safe” text from you would suffice. You could pretend everything is fine. Pretend you’re fine. But you can’t bring yourself to do it. Not yet. 

It’s too fresh, and the thought of attempting to say something that feels adequate enough to reply with seems impossible now. Your friendship isn’t over, you know this, but this version of it has come to an end. Tomorrow, you’ll figure it out. Take it step by step, work on moving on from this chapter of your life. This “crush.”

But tonight, you want to soak in your ache. In a way that’s not cathartic or labeled “progress.” Just in a way that feels real and unforced. And maybe, for now, that’s enough.

[motojane]

[writersbloxx]

can we have body language for unrequited love?

Hi Anon! 

This is a really interesting ask so I’m gonna split it between a character in love and someone who doesn't feel the same. Hope it makes sense!

Unrequited Love

An Unrequited Character:

Daydreaming about (unlikely) interactions (this can be a way they project their own perception/hopes onto the other person)

More jealous/envious of those close to who they love

Going out of their way to initiate contact or make excuses to be around this person

Maybe this character believes that the other person secretly loves them (or will grow to love them if they just keep pushing it)

Putting the one they love on a pedestal, longing for them and fixating on even the smallest interactions, overthinking every social cue

Feeling angry, embarrassed, hurt, and frustrated when rejected or when they show interest in someone else

Confused about why they aren't feeling the same way. They may feel small or inadequate/insecure

The One They Love:

Many body language cues can happen here, but above all with unrequited affection, this character will avoid any chance of giving the other any hope of reciprocation.

Avoiding/minimal eye contact

Avoiding time with the other person (making excuses or finding other people to accompany them so they don't have to be alone together)

Lack of mirroring (postures/gestures and even energy/mood) or leaning away/creating extra space between them

This character may experience anxiety or nervousness when around the other person or over think their interactions (“did I give them the wrong idea?”)

Maybe being outright unkind to the other character or frequently bringing up their own romantic interest

Masking discomfort or deflecting affection can also turn into a sort of fawning, which would only fuel the cycle in this scenario. This can look like smiling to hide their discomfort, avoiding conflict by engaging in (what can be light) conversation, or even making empty promises to please the other person and end an interaction sooner.

[transingthoseformers]

How do yuo feel about post war jazzop slowburn

[free-grandmaa]

"You'll always be my baby, so I'll see you in my dreams.."

[fallen-in-love-suggestion]

Gentle reminder: You are worth love, you shouldn't be with someone who will not give you the love you deserve

[storytellingbadger]

And please... believe me when I say "I love you."

Based on my TSAMS AU Celestial Phenomena over on AO3. Mind the ratings.

Text-free version below.

[brokenloveblog]

i can't move on until i know how you truly felt

[justaz]

this got longer than i meant it to so im putting it under the cut

merlin and morgana watching arthur and gwen be The Couple in camelot. they are heartbroken, jealous, and tired- no, exhausted. they've arthur and gwen for years and fell madly and hopelessly in love with them (respectively). however, they care for the both of them and if they’re happy together then merlin and morgana will simply bite their tongue. besides, its not like their feelings are reciprocated so there’s no use in stirring up trouble.

but the pain eats away at them until they are shadows of their previous selves. merlin is quiet and demure while morgana’s lighthearted snark is growing harsher and harsher. it comes to a head when morgana makes a scathing remark to merlin about his feelings. before, her comments had been directed at others, arthur more often than not, but never toward merlin. they were in the same boat so why would morgana target him?

but she did and things get a little tense. then merlin finds a spell and shows morgana and the two of them, utterly exhausted and desperate for an end to their agony, agree to take part in the spell together. merlin concocts the potion and they both down it. the next day, merlin and morgana are as happy as can be. it was a startling 180° from the morose and downtrodden duo they had been not even twelve hours before to the happy, on cloud nine, nothing is wrong with the world people that hummed as they danced around the castle

merlin and morgana exclaim to one another how freeing it is to not feel such a heavy burden of unrequited love. they mention how easy it is to breath. how they haven’t been this happy and carefree in years. of course, like everything else, there comes a price

to be rid of feelings like love, the opposite feeling would take it’s place. a lot of people believe the opposite of love to be hate, but it is in fact indifference. it starts off slow where gwen makes inside jokes that morgana cant remember. then it moves to them having trouble remembering arthur and gwen’s names. then their memories begin to rewrite themselves to remove arthur and gwen from their minds. eventually, they roam the halls, arm in arm, without even a glance at either arthur or gwen bc they cant find it in themselves to care about these two random strangers. who would?

arthur and gwen go to gaius who has already noted their odd behaviors and has been looking into it. the rest of the knights join them in gaius’s chambers bc they had also noticed how weird they were acting. lancelot is quiet and brooding until arthur pushes him to confess what he knows.

lancelot tells them how he fell for gwen the first time he had come to camelot. she flushes and arthur seems upset but lancelot continues. he tells them all how despite, or maybe because of, his love for gwen, he let her go to be with arthur bc she was happy with him. he hesitates and gwen encourages him. lancelot mentally apologizes to his two magical friends and spills the beans. he explains how morgana has loved gwen for years and how merlin has loved arthur for years. the three of them had bonded after arthur and gwen were engaged about how much it hurt watching the person you love be happy with someone else.

slowly, he pulls out a vial filled with glittering, dark red liquid - dark like blood. he hands it to gaius and explains how they had come to him a few days ago with that and said how it would cure his pain. it would wash away his love for gwen so he wasn’t crushed under the weight of it. he says he never took it bc he didn’t think it was right but merlin and morgana had already taken it. he wasn’t sure what the side effects were going to be until he saw them that afternoon.

gaius finds what the potion is and explains how it did in fact wash away their feelings of love for arthur and gwen and with the absence of love, indifference took hold. he wasn’t sure if their missing memories could be attributed to the indifference or if the spell took to wiping the memories to prevent the love from regrowing.

arthur and gwen are quiet, guilty and upset that their closest friends were going thru such turmoil and they weren’t aware at all. leon clears his throat and asks how to cure them. gaius grimaces and read the book a bit more before responding that a counter potion would do the trick, it would neutralize the previous potion by bringing back their memories and feelings. arthur is quick to agree but gaius interrupts that once the counter potion has been administered, everything will come back at once. everything.

they question him and he explains that every memory, every word spoken, every touch, and every feeling from the past 7+ years will run through them at the same time. considering they’ve been dealing with unreciprocated love and watching the one they love be with someone else for the past couple of years, it wouldn’t be that farfetched to assume that they would look and sound like dying animals. suffice to say, it wouldn’t be pretty.

in spite of the guilt and fear in arthur, he insists that they have to bring merlin and morgana back. he doesn’t want to put them in pain but he cant just let them wipe themselves away and continue on with his life as if he didn’t just lose his best friend and sister. they spike merlin and morgana’s wine with the potion and, as gaius predicted, merlin and morgana both drop to the floor, screaming and crying in pain, pleading with anyone to make it stop and take the pain away.

gwen hides her tears in elyan’s shoulder, arthur uses his long taught skill of being an Emotionless Prick of a Prince his father taught him to not cry. the tears stay in his eyes and do not fall. a few minutes later, merlin and morgana are both catatonic on the ground, limp and staring at nothing. their breathing is slow, so slow they almost appeared dead.

lancelot and gwaine help merlin up and take him to his chambers while leon and percival do the same for morgana. no one mentions what happened and merlin and morgana stay locked in their rooms for two days before being able to get up out of bed. they aren’t back to their shadow selves from two weeks prior, nor are they the happy go lucky duo from the past few days. instead, they are slow and quiet and barely even there. they’re barely even people anymore. simply going through the motions.

[hippielittlemetalhead]

Never Took The Time (To Forget) part 5: Man Of The Hour

Life is mildly less sucky with depression being more managed (also the mood boost from Renaissance Faires 😁) and my weekends being free again for me to travel to see my person. Still full of dumpster fires but I want to scream about it less. Also, been in feels very similar to the ones that inspired this whole endeavor so... enjoy?

Anywho, here's part 5! Enjoy, my little nerdlings. As always, feel free to yell at/with me in the comments, tags, reblogs and/or ask box. If you see any mistakes feel free to message me about them. 😬👌

Part 1: Hop Fucks Up, Part 2: Pride and Prejudices (Joyce Edition), Part 3: One of Us, Part 4.1: With A Capital P, Part 4.2: Robin's Boy

Steve Harrington was an odd duck. That's what his grandmother always used to say. She would pat his already proudly coiffed hair as he hung off the arm of her rocking chair and tell him as much whenever his parents took him to visit. He would beam at her with his big (reportedly pinchable by every aunt and grandmother in the family) cheeks and quack at her before cracking up at himself like he told the funniest joke and she would let him laugh until he rolled himself off her armchair to the plush carpeted floor. She would laugh and reach way over the arm of her chair to poke his stomach or cheek or nose, sometimes just his little forehead, before leveraging herself up out of her chair and taking herself to the kitchen to boot his mother out of it. Steve Harrington was a certified 'odd duck'.

Steve isn't sure, as he sits in that old rocking chair he had stolen liberated from his parent's house when he moved into his new apartment, when he became whatever he is now. He slowly rocks himself back and forth, the chair creaking a little as his weight shifts. The kids and other teens are chattering on the walkie but it's nothing too pressing, just nonsense and junk food emergencies, Mike cursing out Hop. His ribs hurt and his nose is sore but it doesn't feel like anything is broken. It sucks he knows what broken feels like. It sucks that Robin is kind of mad at him for getting hurt enough Owens pulled rank and had him dropped off at home and assigned someone to be the Party's chauffer for the rest of the day. It sucks that all the kids have their own plans tonight, leaving him to try and find ways to keep himself distracted without their usual insanity. A lot of things just kind of suck these days.

He feels himself smiling and picks up the walkie to confirm that he was alive and resting like ordered when he hears Dustin bickering with Robin about invading his apartment to check on him. That doesn't suck he supposes. He knows Robin and the kids care and he knows that eventually the soldier tasked with driving his hellions around is going to be bullied into driving them to see him, other plans be damned and the thought makes him smile.

The smile drops when he hears what sounds like a soft knock at his door. It's too sharp to be Widow Bea two doors over who leans on her walker and kicks the bottom of his door with her soft leather slippers that belonged to her late husband when she needs him to fix a cabinet or mix batter for whatever pastry she was making that week. And it's not the distinct pattern of Clara Damon from down the hall who will come and tap at his door to ask if he has an extra cup of sugar or spoonful of flour as she bats her eyes at him simpering about how she's making cookies or a pie or a casserole of some kind and inviting him to dinner with her and her folks to have some. He's always got an empty pantry and a surplus of plans when Clara Damon comes knocking. He and Widow Bea have standing poker nights with the other older ladies who all meet at the recreation building.

(It used to be the Harrington house. But his parents decided to sell to prove a point when they up and kicked him out and Owens needed a place to set up a promised recreation space and the gym was already a relief supplies warehouse.)

But the knock at his door isn't either of those. It could be someone else in the building. Could be one of his neighbors who have started to associate Steve Harrington with fighting mutated wild dogs caused by government experiments gone wrong and hauling around kids who seemed to cheat death and holding I.O.Us signed by the U.S army instead of the absent Harrington socialites who are known for swanning into town, flaunting their wealth and making themselves scarce again. The ones who he can sometimes hear whispering about him as he makes his way down the street or through Melvald's.

The knocking comes again, louder this time and firmer. It could be a lot of things and he doesn't want to deal with any of them.

Steve sighs, it could be important. He gets up to answer the door, breathing slow and shallow and letting himself lean on walls as he makes his way to the door. A third round of knocking and he's starting to get tired of it. He takes a slightly painful breathe to call out to whoever is trying to knock down his door to calm themselves down when, "Hey kid, Harrington, you in there?" That stops him a foot from his door.

His ribs hurt and his nose is sore and his leg is throbbing where a demodog got a lucky swipe on the meat of his thigh. But nothing is broken. His leg will be fine in a day or two. He hates that he knows what broken feels like. He hates that he knows what infected feels like. He hates that he knows the stone in his stomach and the clenching vice around his lungs has nothing to do with his injuries. His ribs scream at him when he pulls himself as tall and straight backed as he can, shifting himself so his weight is on his good leg and he can (hopefully) use the hallway wall and doorframe to support himself long enough to talk to Hopper and send him on his way.

He opens the door with a smile and feels himself falter a little when he sees Hopper standing there in a big tan canvas jacket and baseball cap and he's reminded of the times the older man would show up on his parent's doorstep with the same look on his face asking questions Steve didn't always know how to answer.

"Hey, Hopper." His voice is light and smile wide and loose and he just needs to keep this up. "What brings you to my neck of the woods?"

"Heard you got a bit banged up on a patrol?"

Steve shrugs. It takes more than he'd like to hide the pain that causes. "Just a couple bumps and bruises, nothing I can't walk off after a decent night's sleep. Owens is just paranoid these days, ya know."

"Owens huh?"

"Uh, yeah? That's who told you right? Cause I took a couple hits?" Hopper doesn't say anything, just looks at him with something that Steve might have once thought was concern about his potential injuries. He doesn't know why today of all days Hop decided to show up cause he got knocked around a little more than planned but it doesn't bode well when something in his face shifts and he lets out a tired sigh. "Oh, but don't worry!" That came out louder than he intended. "I'm totally fine. Like I said, I just need to walk it off and I'll be back out there in no time. You don't gotta worry about a thing, I've got it handled. Like I said, Owens is just overreacting. Nancy can cover for me tomorrow and then I'll be right back on the roster I promise. You and Mrs. Byers don't have to worry about a thi-"

"Steve. Shut up." He feels his jaw snap shut, the edge of his tongue and inside of his cheek getting caught in his teeth. "I didn't hear it from Owens. The kids told me. Owens knows you're hurt?"

"Uh, ye-yes sir. He's the one who sent me home. Gave the kids a detail to transport them and keep them protected while I'm out of commision. One officer to drive them around and they're being tailed by at least 3 others in case anything happens."

"Four soldiers just to replace you?"

"Oh they're not in that much danger! I'm perfectly capable of watching them usually, its just that Owen's guys are still kinda green even this deep in. Most of them just can't wrap their heads around the whole 'other dimension stuck in 1983' side of things." Hop's eyebrows shoot up under the bill of his cap. "But again, it's fine! I always take point whenever we go into a new sector and those guys are good as backup at least."

"But you're hurt." His eyebrows have come back down but now they're furrowed like he's confused or upset.

"Just a little!" He is not making things better. "I swear Hopper, you guys don't have to worry about a thing. I've got it handled, you don't have to-"

"Jesus fucking Christ, Harrington! Just shut up!" Steve flinches back, stepping further into his doorway as Hopper yells. The older man sighs, a big hand coming up to pinch at the bridge of his nose. He tries not to think of the times Robin and the kids have made fun of him for doing the same, calling it one of his 'dad poses'. "Look, I didn't come to try and give you shit about getting knocked around a little being stupid and playing soldier. I came to- I was going to ask." He sighs and his shoulders slump a little forward and his eyes are focused on the toes of Steve's (very comfortable) bat slippers that had been a gift from Wayne once the kids had told him Steve had been the one to drag Eddie out of the Upside Down. "Did you want to come over for dinner?"

Steve doesn't think he heard him right. "What?"

"Joyce is making some sort of spaghetti casserole-"

"Isn't that just baked spaghetti?"

"And we wanted to have you over. We haven't talked much since I came back. I'd like to change that."

"What?"

"You, dinner, at our place? With me and Joyce and the kids? I think Jonathan is bringing Nancy." Steve flinches and Hop silently curses himself bringing up the ex who cheated on him and the guy she cheated with.

"Why?"

"Uuh... Talking?"

Ah, he had it now. "What did the kids do? Just, lay it on me man, and I'll take care of it. Did they say something? I can have them over tomorrow and talk to them. Was it Mike, it was probably Mike, I'll get him to apologize, just-"

"Goddamn it Harrington I just wanted to ask you over for some dumbass spaghetti casserole thing and a decent conversation. Maybe watch a football game cause no one else in that house seems to enjoy a good game."

Steve isn't sure what's happening. "You want me to come to dinner. To talk?"

Hop sighs again. "Yes, kid. Just. Dinner and talking."

"Uh huh. Right. I'm just- I just need a minute." He tries not to slam the door in the man's face but he's definitely trying to be as fast as possible. He's not sure what the hell is going on but it has to be something because Hopper wouldn't just invite him over. And Joyce Byers definitely wouldn't want him in her house for something as simple as a talk and to watch football. It takes him longer than he'd like to reach the walkie on the little side table by his grandmother's rocking chair. His ribs are screaming at him and his elbow smarts from banging it on the corner as he turned into the sitting room.

"I need some sort of backup at my apartment. Like now please?!" He waits a second before pressing the speaker button again, "Over."

The walkie crackles and he hears an assortment of concerned chatter. "Steve?" Dustin's voice breaks through the general din. "What's the problem? Over."

"I- I'm not sure how to classify it? I've Got Hop at my front door but I think there's something wrong with him? Or something is trying to trick me it's him? Oh shit did I get Vecna'd??"

"Steve," Nancy snaps, shutting up most of the chatter and giving his rising panic something to focus on. "Why do you think it's not Hopper? Or that he's not in control of himself?"

"He- He invited me to the cottage for dinner?"

"What?"

"Yeah just dinner and talking? And that- that's weird right?"

Nancy sighs and Steve hears Hop say something from outside his apartment. He's running out of time. "Why is that so weird Steve?"

"Cause he doesn't like me. And Joyce really doesn't like me." He feels like that's obvious. "They don't like me and they're busy with other stuff. They wouldn't willingly ask me over for dinner and football or some shit so something has to be up."

"Seriously kid?"

He doesn't scream as he drops the walkie-talkie, spinning around to face the voice behind him.

"You're calling an emergency cause I invited you to dinner?"

Again, he feels like this is obvious. "Yes. I don't know what happened but we're going to fix it Hop, I promise. Or, like, if you're something controlling Hop or wearing his face or some shit I will figure it out and I will find the most painful way to kill you."

Hop runs a hand down his face again, he's going to have so many wrinkles after this. "Fucking Christ, kid. Is it so crazy that we wanted to try and get to know you? Make sure you're fed and taking care of yourself since apparently Owens isn't making sure you're alright?!"

What the fuck?

"Yes!" That seems to make Hop take a step back. "I tried for years to try and get the slightest acknowledgement from you! I've spent the last year taking care of the kids and monitoring the gates and fighting Powell and Owens every time they decide to try something stupid and almost get their men killed cause I realized you never meant it!" God he can hear his voice breaking and feel the tears starting to roll down his face. "You never meant it. But you meant it for El and Will and fuck, even Jonathan. And they deserved that. They needed you and you couldn't be there if you and Joyce were fighting with Owens and-" He can't hold back the sob that rips out from deep in his chest. "And I don't- I can't- I just-"

"Hey, hey kid. I need you to breath for me. Okay? Can you just let it out in one push and take a deep breathe in."

There's a large, warm hand rubbing up and down his back. His running nose is throbbing, his sore ribs are probably cracked now from how tightly he's folded in on himself and his injured leg feels wet like he pulled the stitches when he dropped to his knees on the threadbare rug. There's a deep rumbling voice talking to him, telling him how to breathe and asking him to sit up, let go of the walkie he can hear crackling as people call his name and ask Hopper what's going on. It's all just too much.

Why?

"What was that, kid?" Oh. He didn't mean to say that out loud.

"Why?"

"I fucked up. I'm trying this thing called owning up to my mistakes." Steve lets out a wet laugh that turns into a pained groan when it shakes his ribs. "Come on, let's get you up here." He tries not to cry out when Hop lifts him up from under his armpits, pulling at his ribs, but he knows he lets out a sharp whimper. "You fuck up your ribs?"

"What do you think?"

"Yeah, dumb question." Hop chuckles self-deprecatingly. "Look, let's get your ribs wrapped and we'll get you down to the hospital to get checked out an-"

"No. No hospital. Can't do 'em."

"Kid you need to get looked at and maybe some pain meds and antibiotics while you heal up."

"No fucking drugs." Steve practically growls, his teeth clenched and eyes burning as he stares up at Hop. "I'll take your fucking antibiotics but I can take a couple of ibuprofen and call it a day."

"A couple of- What the fuck, kid? You can barely walk and you're telling me you're not in serious pain?"

"I've had worse."

"Bullshit." The kid winces and the look on his face closes off. "Stop trying to be a hero and just admit you need help." Steve rolls his eyes.

"I'm fine, Hop. I've walked off worse."

"Again, I call bullshit."

"You know how thorough our Russian friends could be."

"What?"

Steve shrugs, an angry grimace on his face. "Once you live through Russian military questioning and hiking through Upside Down Hawkins, most everything after that's a piece of cake."

"Jesus Christ-"

"I don't think saying his name is gonna make him listen to ya now."

"Ya ain't cute, kid."

Steve gives him the same smile he always did whenever Hop crashed one of his 'King Steve' parties. "I'm adorable." He chuckles at himself and Hop finds himself laughing along at the kid's attitude. "What do you want, Hopper?" Steve's voice is quiet. It wavers in a way that tells him the kid is sad and hesitant and tired and Hopper can feel something niggling at the back of his mind. "You come over out of the blue asking me to dinner with your family like that's something we do. What the fuck man? What are you trying to do?"

"Like I said kid: I realized fucked up. Bad. And I'm trying to fix it."

"That's it?"

"Yeah. Yeah it is."

Steve leans back, the rocking chair leaning farther back than Hop feels comfortable with considering the kid's injuries but he manages to not rock back so far he falls. "Alright then. So what do you need?"

Hop can't follow this kid at all and he's not sure when that happened. If it's always been like that. "What are you talking about kid? You're the one that's all beat up." His mind goes back to swollen eyes and bruised knuckles covered in a rainbow of haphazardly placed bandages being fussed over by a group of dirty but uninjured kids. Bloody sailor uniforms rounding up rowdy kids without a mark on them despite obvious injuries and a slight limp and what might be bruised ribs. Bandages being removed to expose red raised around a strong neck that looks like someone took barbed wire to it and bulky bandages poking out from beneath stolen shirts. "What are you talking about what I need?"

Steve lolls his head to look at Hopper. For the first time all evening his eyes are trained on the older man unflinching and not anxiously darting away. His smile is more a resigned grimace. "What do you need to get Robin -and I'm guessing the kids- off your back?"

"It's not just because of them."

"But it is because of them."

"I want to make this right."

"It's not yours to fix, Hop. I've made peace with that. Thought I'd made that clear to the rest of them."

"I thought the kids didn't know."

"Not about you being my emergency contact and like, in charge of making big medical decisions if they couldn't get a hold of my parents. But that you'd stop by the house to make sure I hadn't like drowned washing my hair after I took a beating. That I put more stock in that than I should have."

"You were right to put stock in that stuff Steve. Fuck, if I knew anyone else in that situation I'd assume they'd basically adopted you. It makes sense."

Steve shrugs, wincing less this time. "That's life, can't fix it now."

"Will you let me try?"

"I mean. I'm giving you a get-out-of-jail-free card here man."

"And I'm not taking it."

"Well. It's there, whenever you decide to take it."

"Thanks but no thanks, kid."

"Hey, your choice Hop. Ever get tired of the boardwalk just say the word and it's yours. Do not pass 'Go!'. Do not collect $200."

"Monopoly, really?"

"My head may have gotten a knock too. Not a concussion but I'm a little... swimmy."

"Swimmy?"

"Uhm-hmm"

Hop chuckles, "You're an odd duck, kid, you know that? An odd, pain in my ass, duck."

Steve feels his face splitting in a wide smile that pulls at a small cut on his lip and lets his head fall back, his body finally starting to come down from the adrenaline rush that has been this entire interaction.

"Quack quack."

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