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emchant3d · 10 months

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It’s the fourth time this week Eddie’s been late without a phone call.

Sure, his job has him working weird hours - Steve gets it. But he also knows his schedule and he knows the days Eddie works at the bar til close and he knows the days he’s supposed to be home before dark, and he hasn’t had a closing shift once this week.

Yet he came home near ten tonight, and Steve had been worried and nervous and yes, sure, a little - a lot - insecure about it, and maybe he’d lashed out first, or maybe Eddie had, Steve doesn’t know, but he knows they’re standing in the living room shouting at one another and it’s all coming to a head and he can’t stop himself, can’t keep from getting loud and angry and–

"Do you even want to fucking be here?" he yells.

"Not when you're acting like this!" Eddie says, and Steve's throat goes tight like there's a fist wrapped around it.

Not when he's acting like this, he thinks. Not when he's being too needy. Too pushy. Too demanding.

Something in his brain feels like it rewires. Their relationship flips on its head, and suddenly fear is coiling in Steve's stomach, not anger.

He'll lose Eddie if he keeps pushing like this. If he demands too much of his time, pulls him away from what he'd rather be doing, makes himself too much work, he'll lose him. Eddie always said he wasn't going anywhere. That he loves Steve, wants to be with him, will never get tired of him. Steve was a fucking idiot to take that at face value.

He feels sick to his stomach. He wants to apologize, wants to tell Eddie to forget all about what he said, wants to show how sorry he is, but between one moment and the next he's feeling like a guest in his own home, and he's very familiar with how it feels to be unwelcome.

So instead he shakes his head. Eddie wants to be left alone, probably. Doesn't want to see Steve when he's mad at him. Doesn't want to deal with him. He'll make himself scarce.

"I'm staying in the guest room tonight," he says stiffly, and turns away, only faltering a little when Eddie mumbles 'what the fuck ever' behind him. He flinches when Eddie slams the front door and closes the spare room so quietly it barely even clicks.

– Eddie gets home late.

Like, late-late. Steve hears the front door open as he's staring at the clock on the bedside table, the bright red numbers burning into his vision. Why did they even put a fucking clock in here, he thinks. It's the guest room. Why did he insist on furnishing this room like someone might live in it? Like this was a home people would be in and out of, like their family would come and stay with them long enough to need an alarm clock on the bedside table?

Desperate, a voice in his head hisses at him, desperate and needy and full of wishful thinking that someone would want to stay around sad little Steve Harrington long enough to need anything--

Eddie's coming down the hallway. He's trying to be quiet, but he forgot to take his shoes off at the door and his Reeboks squeak a little against the hardwood. It's a familiar sound. Comforting, usually. It's how he knows his honey's made it home safe when he's out late, that tell-tale squeak and the little stumbles when he's tipsy and making his way through their home after a long gig.

There was no gig tonight, though, and Eddie's footsteps are steady and even despite the soft sound of rubber on wood. He isn't drunk, Steve doesn't think - and is that better or worse? That he left after a fight and didn't even go somewhere to drink it off. Where has he been, if not their usual bar to think about what they'd spat at one another, trying to think of solutions, of apologies?

And is Steve really owed an apology? He was overbearing. He was pushy. He was demanding and authoritative and too fucking much all over again, and Eddie lashed out in response, and does Steve deserve an apology after all that? He's been going around in circles with himself all evening about it, arguing in his own head, saying yes I deserve one because my feelings were hurt and no I don't deserve one because I lashed out first and how does he answer this for himself? He doesn't know.

He knows he'd do just about anything to make the empty feeling in his chest go away, though. Knows that he'd shove his hurt away and eat his words and apologize to Eddie and never, ever push again if it meant he knew where they stood. If it meant Eddie would forgive him and never storm out like that again, if it meant Steve knew he wouldn't be left alone like this to wonder if Eddie was coming back.

And he feels so dramatic - he can hear Robin's voice already, telling him it was just a fight, that there's no reason to get this worked up about it, but Steve can't help it. Slammed doors and loneliness are the soundtrack to his childhood and he can't help the panic he feels when someone he loves leaves.

"Do you want to be here?" he'd asked, like a fucking idiot, and Eddie hadn't said yes. Steve swallows around the lump that's taken up permanent residence in his throat. Reaches to swipe a hand over his face, rubbed raw, eyes burning with tears he won't let fall because what right does he have to cry? He brought this on himself. He always brings it on himself.

Eddie's feet are still squeaking their way slowly down the hallway, he's trying not to wake Steve - or is he just trying not to be noticed? Impossible, if Eddie Munson is in a room Steve is going to notice, how can he not? He's been yanked into that gravitational pull and there's no escape for him, not anymore, he's a moon circling around the solar system and Eddie is the sun, burning bright and pulling focus and what is Steve to do in the face of that?

He keeps his eyes fixed on the clock. Watches the display change when a minute's passed. Feels his heartbeat stutter when Eddie's shuffling, squeaking steps pause outside the guest room.

They keep a hall light on at night. It's on a dimmer, turned down way low, but neither of them do well with complete darkness. Too many nightmares, too many shadows haunting and hunting the both of them. Steve can see the muted glow of it from beneath the door.

He can also see when Eddie comes to a stop because his feet block that light. Two shadows in the doorframe, obscuring the soft haze of warm orange that creeps in a half-moon over the carpet, and Steve stops breathing. There's a soft shifting noise, fabric over wood, a gentle thunk when Eddie leans against the guest room door, and Steve almost calls out to him. Almost says I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, please don't leave again, please don't leave me, but the words stick in his throat. Ball's in Eddie's court, as it should be when Steve fucked up so bad, when he tried to ruin it all, when he made Eddie so mad that he left when he promised Steve he would never do that. Eddie's a good man. Keeps his word. Steve's the problem, Steve is always the goddamn problem, always will be, ruins and stains everything he fucking touches–

The shadow disappears. Steve squeezes his eyes shut so tight he sees lights popping behind his lids. Those shuffling squeaking steps continue their way down the hall. Steve feels like he's going to throw up but he didn't have dinner so there's nothing in his belly but bile and nothing comes up even though his throat is tight and his stomach is fucking rolling.

The bedroom door - their bedroom door - creaks on its hinges. Steve keeps meaning to put some WD-40 on it but he kind of likes that it makes a noise, that when he's asleep it's just loud enough to wake him halfway and tell him to anticipate the warm wash of tobacco and sandalwood that will cloud him when Eddie slips beneath the covers. Lets him know he's about to be grabbed and groped a little bit, sweet little kisses pressed to his shoulder and neck and jawline until he's got a face tucked into the curve of his throat, until he's giving a sleepy smile and winding his arms around a trim waist and dragging Eddie in close, sputtering and laughing tiredly as wild hair gets in his face and mouth before he falls asleep again, wrapped tight around the love of his life.

None of that tonight, apparently - and he doesn't blame him. No, he hears the bedroom door creak and it feels like a punishment that he deserves and his eyes burn and burn and burn and his face is wet now, he can't help it, and he wipes at it again angrily, takes the soft blanket to his face and why is it so soft why does Steve try so hard when he knows he won't get anything back why does he try to build a home when he's never had one and never will and is going to lose the one he's clawed onto so desperately and tried so hard to keep–

The door creaks again. Steve takes a stuttering breath. Eddie's steps are soft now as they come down the hallway, bare feet on the floor, almost silent as he creeps his way closer. Steve clenches his teeth so hard his jaw aches, anything to hold back the sounds he wants to make - he can't let Eddie hear him. He can't let Eddie know he's crying. That's manipulative, isn't it? Crying in front of the person he hurt? He won't do it, won't be that selfish, but that shadow appears at the base of the door again. Steve can't help the shaky inhale he takes, and it sounds so fucking loud in the quiet of the guest room, choked and echoing.

"Baby?" Eddie says, voice low and quiet, rapping so gently against the door with one knuckle. "You in there, Stevie?"

Just the sound of him is enough to send his heart crashing around in his ribcage, fluttering and jumping and making Steve tense. He wants to answer but he can’t get the words to form, his throat feels sealed shut, and he wonders if he should answer even if he were able because what could Eddie possibly have to say right now? It can’t be anything good and Steve doesn’t know if he can take it right now, in this room that makes him feel like a guest in his own home - but isn’t he always a guest? Isn’t that what he’s made to be, a temporary stop in everyone else’s story?

But he’s not ready for Eddie to move past him yet. Not tonight. Let it happen in the morning if it has to happen, let him put this off just a little longer. Just please, not tonight. Not yet.

But Eddie’s never been known for his patience, and the click of the latch has Steve slamming his eyes closed. Too late to roll over and hide his face, but he’s got enough time to duck down and tuck most of his features into a pillow. He tries to let his body relax, to let the tense lines of his muscles uncoil and his shoulders drop and his fists unclench, but he can’t tell if he’s managed it and the ache in his palms from his blunt nails tells him maybe he did, but it won’t help much.

Eddie makes his way across the carpet in silent steps, and the mattress dips with his weight as he sits on the edge of it. Steve’s fingers twitch to reach for him, but he just curls them into the sheets instead and hopes the motion looks absent enough to have happened in his sleep.

He smells sandalwood and tobacco and feels the warmth from Eddie being so near but it feels like there’s a wall between them, one he can’t cross even if he tries, one he’s barred from so much as touching.

He works hard to keep his breathing even but it’s hitching now and then despite his best efforts, shaky and too loud in the silent room, but he keeps up the charade even though the end of it all is perched right in front of him. And it’s Eddie who puts an end to it. It was always Eddie who was going to put an end to it.

“I know you’re awake,” he says, and Steve squeezes his eyes tighter like that’ll make it untrue, like he can just drift off in a second if he wills it hard enough. Eddie shifts on the mattress, and Steve curls tighter into himself. “Let’s just hash this out, huh? Get it over with.” Steve bites his tongue so hard he thinks he might taste blood. It’s that simple for Eddie - but it’s always simple, isn’t it? Cut and dry, plain as day, Steve is the only one who can never see it coming, it’s written on the goddamn walls for everyone else.

He risks peeking through his lashes but Eddie’s got his back to him so it doesn’t even matter, not really. Eddie isn’t looking at him and so Steve allows himself to look, takes in the hunch of Eddie’s shoulders, the curve of his spine beneath his thin pajama shirt - he’d changed, when he’d made his way through their creaky bedroom door, took off his clothes and put his pajamas on and kicked off those tennis shoes, they’re probably in a pile at the foot of the bed for Steve to trip over and he will miss tripping over them, he’ll miss it terribly.

He wonders if he’ll need to move. If he’ll have to find a new place and separate out all of their things into his things, if SteveAndEddie’sStuff will become Steve’s stuff and Eddie’s stuff. Or maybe he’ll just start staying in this guest room, maybe that’s why he furnished this room so completely, because somehow he knew he’d end up alone in it.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, and Steve inhales sharply.

“Don’t,” he says, and somehow he keeps his voice steady.

“So you are awake,” Eddie says, and he tries to sound teasing, sound playful, but it drops like a stone in this space between them. No room for levity in the dark cloud Steve’s filled this room with. He wishes he could be easygoing and let go gently, but it’s Eddie - in what world could he take losing him graciously?

“Yeah,” he says, and he stares at Eddie’s back as the other raises his head, but he still doesn’t turn to look at Steve, and he wishes he could at least look him in the face when he rips his heart out of his chest.

part 2

#steddie #steve/eddie #stevexeddie #eddie/steve #eddiexsteve #steddie fic #my fic #listen i was in the mood for steve whump and i won't apologize for it #don't worry there's plenty of eddie whump coming in part 2 i promise

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95-6qrsk2rx9uq42069nnnnnjthewolf · 3 months

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i think tim is high maintenance the way a boarder collie or austrialian shepherd is. like you have to make sure they're not only given space to expend energy but you have to specifically let them get the herding instinct out and challenge them intellectually or they start destroying ur home

#tim drake #red robin #jaytim #i think cohabitating would require resigning yourself to your gear going missing for 2-5 business days before returning slightly improved #or coming back to the microwave disassembled across the couch #this happens and jason is like ok im gonna pop over to the gcpd and grab u a cold case do Not touch my stand mixer #but also have to stop him from reaching critical levels of boredom that results in poking the league with a stick #because then gotham is being overrun by ninja 2 months from now #this is harder for jason to curb because an incensed ra's is so goddamn funny to the both of them #dcu #i know tim hating the ceo job is easy whump but consider he needs minimum 5 plates spinning at all times to keep the Thoughts at bay #and WE probably is such low stakes for manipulation tactics its stress relief at this point

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whump-allthe-way · 7 months

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caretaker wasn’t supposed to be doing this, they weren’t a caretaker, and surely whumpee is capable of taking care of themselves, right? surely they’re old enough, so why does caretaker need to be there? they hate it, waking up every morning to an overly excited whumpee rambling about their dreams, they make breakfast and attempt to tune out of the annoying endless chatter, and they spend their evenings praying to everything above that whumpee would just go to bed-

until one day whumpee’s gone. they dropped them off at school without a word, watched them as they happily waved them off before turning to their friends. but now they’re gone, they’re not waiting in that same spot out of the school, there’s no sight of them or their backpack riddled with dozens of cute keychains and pins. caretaker jumps out of their car, heads towards the friends they pretended not to notice, demanding to know where their charge is. the shrugs tell them nothing, so they go home.

maybe whumpee will show up later, the peace and quiet will be nice after all.

a few hours pass, and caretaker cooks them a meal for when they’re home.

they watch the clock tick by and pass their favourite channel as they scroll through the tv, their show is on.

whumpee never comes home, and soon they’re at the police station. the police call them a few days later, and all caretaker hears is “i’m sorry- kidnapped-“

caretaker waits in the silence, they cook two meals every night in case whumpee comes strolling through that door with their giddy smile and endless stories, they save their show so they can catch up, and they practice their “i don’t care about you, but don’t do that again” lecture.

it’s months before caretaker gets the call, and this time the only word they hear is “hospital”

caretaker isn’t worried, or angry or scared, not by whumpee’s pale, bruised face, the frail form or the scars that peak out from the covers. caretaker doesn’t care- and they’re not crying from relief, they’re not gripping their hand tightly as they thank every god above, because whumpee is nothing more than an inconvenience-

whumpee is so small now, they shake and stutter, and the small smiles they manage don’t reach their eyes. when they’re home, whumpee doesn’t talk, not really, they answer caretakers questions and they mumble a shaky thank you when they’re given food, but they don’t ramble. not like they used to.

and caretaker finds themselves filling in the silence, sat on the couch talking and talking, about what whumpee’s missed, their friends and hell- even caretaker’s friends. they hand them the remote to watch their show and they tuck them in at night, and they pray that one day whumpee will smile again, perhaps wake them with that annoyingly cheerful “morning caretaker!” once more, or even just talk about the meaningless things in their life.

the whumpee they let crawl into their bed after they wake up screaming, the whumpee that hides behind them in front of strangers, the whumpee that quietly asks them questions isn’t their whumpee. and all caretaker can think is that if they’d just listened; payed a little more attention to their endless stream of words, their whumpee would be here.

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hippielittlemetalhead · 9 months

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So I've seen a lot of 'Hop actively dislikes and distrusts Steve', 'Hop tolerates Steve because he's useful during UD shenanigans but doesn't like him', and the big swing to 'Hop has adopted Steve as his own and treats him the same/almost the same as he does El'

BUT, I present:

Hop pseudo adopts Steve because when he and Owens were trying to get the Harringtons to make any decisions about their teenager who saw some sketchy shit and may need government testing they legally gave Hop the rights to act in loco parentis and he takes that seriously because he doesn't want another Will Byers and he's pretty sure the Harrington kid has a concussion.

Hop who stays involved just enough in Steve's life season 1-3 that we the audience see Steve is getting attached. But Hop just sees an annoying kid who won't leave him alone when he's trying to deal with a rebellious psychic and her insane little friends and keeps asking stupid questions about highschool romance and teenage rivalry drama. Knows Joyce Byers doesn't like the kid but won't give a lot of reason why but he's mostly learned to trust that woman's judgement about people. Still gets him the job at Scoops when the kid's dad makes a stink about college and tells him if he survives a few months there he'll consider bringing him on the force, makes sense to keep him close and in a position to help should shit hit the fan again.

Hop who doesn't get it when Steve is one of the most relieved when he 'comes back to life' after Joyce and Murray bring him back from Russia. When Steve introduces him as "My Hop," (something he'd taken to calling him just before season 2 shenanigans) to his sarcastic, fidgety little friend like it means something. The girl, Robin, looks between the two of them and gets this sad look on her face for a second before smiling and shaking his hand and saying something about "Dingus has told me all about you".

Hop who complains to Murray one of the times The Party and assorted teens and adults are over at his renovated and expanded cabin (courtesy of Owens and shady government organizations recognizing these people are worth investing in, heavily if omens are to be believed) when the bald annoyance asks about what's up on there. Complains about having annoying teenagers who have nothing better to do but pester him legally put under his supervision cause their parents can't be assed to care and are spoiled little shits who are slightly more bearable versions of said parents cause he can stand toe to toe with one of those monsters they faced and the kids kind of listen to him. Complains about barely being able to breathe cause of regular visits and check-ins like Hop was still responsible for him. Says at least the extra hands are useful around the cabin what with the still healing up and El pacing herself after the showdown with Creel and still trying to find Max and the Byers not quite moved back to Hawkins yet.

Hop who doesn't realize that Steve hears every word cause he had gone looking for the older man when he disappeared for more than a few minutes, when he couldn't see him to make sure he was here and safe and alive. Steve who thought Hop actually had come to care for him in his own gruff way and had confessed to Robin that in a lot of ways the way Hop has taken care of him makes him the closest thing to the father figure he's always wanted but never thought he'd get to have. Steve who hears Murray hum and recollect a visit from Nancy and Jonathan where their romance officially started (he vaguely knows about the visit, didn't realize that's what happened, didn't realize she couldn't be bothered to even do the decent/considerate thing before moving on to something better) because it seemed it was a pattern he was seeing 'people liked Steve, but people didn't love Steve'.

Hop who hears a choked sound like someone taking a claw to the gut and turns to see Harrington. Steve Harrington his bandages just peeking out from the collar of his shirt and the opening of his sleeves. (He never did get the stories behind those, too busy being fussed over and being told about the kids and how they were doing as Harrington played babysitter) Steve Harrington a kid who went through hell and still managed to smile and laugh and stand tall and unyielding looking at him with a blank face his eyes misty and his shoulders starting to curl in on himself before he clears his throat, chokes out that he just wanted to make sure Hop was alright but looks like Murray had everything under control. He'd go now, get out of his hair, let him rest, let him breathe. Steve Harrington who walks away with purpose like a man on a mission and doesn't acknowledge the kids calling out asking if he's alright, make sure he has his walkie talkie on him.

Hop, who realizes maybe he left behind two kids who missed (needed) him. Who wonders who took care of Harrington's paperwork when he was concussed and sedated because he was bleeding out and feverish from infection and Hop was busy at the cabin reveling in the comfort and warmth of his daughter and the woman he loved and her two sons who were fast becoming like his own. Hop, who realizes too late that maybe if he'd given the kid half a chance he could have had 3 sons to sit with him and his daughter and the woman he loved as they basked in surviving another end-of-the-world. Hop who has spent years barely giving a damn about Steve Harrington and realizes that he's no better than the kid's own parents.

Part 2

Part 3

#nttttf verse #Never Took The Time (To Forget)#yeah the ramblings of a madperson #honestly made myself choke up with this one #some projection about father figures and unrequited familial affection #we in our feels today #morbid and melancholy unlovable bastards are we #got the morbs #hopper adopts steve #but make it sad #steve harrington whump #Hopper POV #mostly #come yell about the sad with me #rambler writes

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stevebabey · 1 year

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ok brain whipped up this concept & would NOT leave it alone today so here. have this. this is like ‘started making it. had a breakdown. bon appétit’ in a steddie post for me but alas <3 cw: talks of past sexual coercion

Eddie is mad at Steve.

Which, honestly, might be the worst thing in the entire damn world for all Steve cares. The whole world feels just a little bit off kilter when Eddie’s mad at Steve — because Eddie just loooves the silent treatment.

He’ll usually make a show of it. Pout and stick out his bottom lip, cross his arms, maybe even give a stamp on his big booted feet. Doesn’t say what’s wrong, just glares sulkily. It’s a bit childish, they both know, but Eddie likes to be doted and Steve loves to do the doting — and it hasn’t caused any proper fights yet.

This time, however, he can tell Eddie is more mad than usual, because this time he hadn’t thrown the usual fuss. Instead, he’d just gone quiet. All glowers and glares. Not even a pout, and certainly not a peep.

And it’s just the worst because the version of Eddie that Steve knows best is a chatterbox. Can’t shut up, won’t shut up. Steve normally loves it.

And alright— maybe Steve deserved it for not picking him up after one of Eddie’s gigs. Especially because Eddie had specifically asked him too as well, considering his own van was in the shop.

But it’s not like Steve could control when his parents decided to waltz back into Hawkins!

They always seemed to run on their own timetable, or on what seemed like an entirely different orbit. Yet, they had no trouble roping Steve back into their routine, stuffing him back into a place, without any regard to his opinion on the matter. Which was exactly what they had done that evening.

But that didn’t really matter, Steve thinks with a sigh, because he knows it’s not really just because he didn’t pick Eddie up. It was because of what Steve said.

Gareth’s mom had swung by and while Eddie had gotten an eyeful of that suspicious look that followed him everywhere since the events of the Upside Down, Eddie had gotten home safely. Majorly annoyed but safe which was what mattered most.

He had then released his said-annoyance onto Steve.

But see, Steve was already tired from the prodding and lecturing of his parents. They’d been awfully disappointed to find he had yet to move on from his job at Family Video and worse, had badmouthed his choice of friends. Had brought up Tommy and the likes, asked pointedly why Steve hadn’t been seen with them in a few months.

Steve had bit his tongue to not spew out the fact he hadn’t been seen with Tommy for years and that was unlikely to change any time soon.

So, yeah, he was wound up. And Eddie was too. A bit too impatient, a bit too cut that he’d been on the receiving end of yet another scathing interaction because Steve had been so careless to forget to pick him up.

He’d said as much, jabbing a finger and dramatically reenacting the tense conversation he’d had to have with Gareth’s mother.

It had led to a spat, which led to an argument. Steve sat on the bed in Eddie’s trailer and toyed with a loose thread as Eddie pacing before him.

“You should’ve been there.”

“I know.” Steve ground out the words, eyes on the floor, feeling too much like he was still back home, still being lectured by his father about his good-for-nothing son. The thread was coming looser in his fingers with all his fiddling.

“You know? Is that all you’re gonna say?” Eddie asked, exasperated, but the moment Steve’s lip part to respond, Eddie had steamrolled on. Gareth’s awkward smile and his mother’s tight bunched up shoulders were still fresh in his memory.

“Great! That’s just fantastic, Steve. You knew and you still didn’t show up!”

Steve’s head shot up, brow furrowed. “That’s not what I meant.”

Like a kettle coming to boil, Steve could feel some bitchy comment lurch up his throat with his growing frustration. It was easy to think of things to say to hurt Eddie, to lash out, to make it so Eddie was the one with his head bowed, voice quiet.

Steve had learned that the hard part in these moments, is biting his tongue. Swallowing back mean comments. He doesn’t want to be vicious. Loathes the idea of falling back on snarky comments to win a fight, least of all with his boyfriend.

But... old habits die hard.

So, when Eddie had got all up in his face, firing himself up, and said, “Oh, pray tell then Steve what was so important that made you fucking forget your boyfriend.”

Steve had snapped.

“Fuck, do you ever stop? You are so much sometimes!”

The words had flown out in a harsh sneer and they hit their mark exactly as intended.

Because Steve knew all about that strange bubble of fear that lives inside Eddie— the part that didn’t care at all what strangers thought of him, but cared so much about those he came to trust. The part that worried that being big and brash all the time would be too much for people. That the reason they originally liked Eddie, would become the same reason they’d eventually dislike him for.

Steve had once told him he couldn’t ever get enough of him— let alone too much. It’s why he’d known where to strike.

Eddie’s expression has flinched, his eyes going from simmering to hurt in a few seconds flat. His fists unclenched at his side and Steve had felt the regret curdling up in his gut, a terrible sour feeling that had him shooting to his feet in an instant.

“Eddie, wait, I—”

“Leave.” Eddie said, voice dangerously low. There wasn’t room to push it. Nothing left to argue.

But still, Steve had wavered, swaying as a tidal wave of shame burned hot up his neck. He wanted to fix it. He needed to fix this.

But Eddie couldn’t look at him, eyes fixed on the ground and despite how much it had pained Steve to go, he knew he couldn’t fix it, not then and there. The door had hit him on the way out.

That had been two whole days ago. The guilt of it makes it feel like it was hours ago, still fresh as ever.

Steve had been diligent in giving Eddie his space to cool off.

The call Steve made the morning after never got picked up, just rang endlessly until the voicemail kicked in. Even though Eddie was always home Wednesdays. It told Steve well enough that Eddie was still well and truly mad.

Which was fair enough. Steve had been an asshole. Let himself fall back on old habits and stab a weak spot he only knew because Eddie trusted him, then twisted the knife as well.

But it’s like he said — silent treatment from the guy who usually can’t keep quiet is discerning to say the least. It itches uncomfortably at Steve who finds himself unusually eager to apologise.

Because, damn, if Steve doesn’t hate apologising.

Apologising means pulling out the stops, means admitting shamefully everything you’d done wrong, means having to prove how sorry you were.

It had been like that living under his father. When he was seven, Tommy had accidentally pitched a baseball through one of the windows. It had smashed right through, completely shattered. Steve had taken the fall.

He’d said sorry, head bowed, even though it had been an accident. And after he’d made Steve repeat his apology til it was a rigid phrase in his mouth, Richard Harrington had said; ‘Well, why don’t you prove how sorry you are, Steven?’

He’d ended up being his father’s personal beer boy for that week. Fetching them ice-cold from the garage at his father’s every call, from the moment he was home from school, to prove the apology was legitimate.

It had worked— after a week of doting, extra effort into keeping his room clean and to keep his father happy, Richard had permitted his son a rare smile and ruffle of his hair. ‘See? I know you were sorry now.’

Steve had learnt quickly in his childhood to go to lengths to avoid trouble with his father. To avoid the tumultuous apologies he’d have to perform, jumping through hoop after hoop for forgiveness.

But even then, Steve couldn’t escape them with friends, and especially not with girlfriends.

Tilly had been like that too. She’d been Steve’s freshman girlfriend, eyeshadow baby blue and lips always glossy. When Steve did things she didn’t like —spent Saturdays with his other friends, was late to dates— she’d pout her glittery lips and bat her eyes. ‘Aren’t you gonna make it up to me?’

Steve had — had pulled out the stops, emptied his pocket change to buy her flowers, went to second base because she really wanted him to, all to prove his apology. Until Tilly was back to her sugary smiles and fluttering hazel eyes.

It had even been like that with Nancy, though not quite to that extent. Forking out his savings to buy the nicest bouquet he could find, prepared to make it up to her, even if he wasn’t quite sure if it was him who was supposed to be apologising. But she’d gone silent treatment on him, so…

So, Steve hates apologising— but even more than that, is how much he hates Eddie’s quiet. So, when his boyfriend calls the Family Video on Friday midday, when he knows Steve’s soloing, and invites him over, Steve prepares himself for the grovelling to come.

The mixtape he’d already made sits in the gearbox of his car, carried around with him since he finished it. Upon hanging up the phone, Steve’s eyes catch on the florist across the street. His mind spins with all his knowledge of Eddie’s favourites — should he get those sour candies Eddie loved so much as well?Would it be too much?

Steve scoffs at the irony of his worries, considering what he was apologising for. Besides, it was never too much. There were never enough things to show he was sorry.

And Eddie couldn’t exactly be bought — not that was what this was. But Steve knew his boyfriend preferred all things in the manner of touch. That Steve’s affection was a far higher currency than anything bought with money.

That’s fine. Steve can do that.

He’s got a whole speech planned, honest. The smudged bullet points scrawled on his palm are testament to that, there to keep him on track and Steve checks them over religiously as he drives over after his shift.

It all goes out the window when Eddie opens the door, because Steve’s heart hiccups, splutters, soars forward in his chest.

Eddie looks just the same, his usual ripped jeans and dark shirt with a band Steve doesn’t know and yet— yet.

Steve is overcome by how much he missed Eddie.

Overcome at how those two days felt like two weeks to him. His mouth opens and the words burst out, “I’m sorry.”

part two.

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