hi!! are you the author of my grave is mine to dig on ao3? i just saw your url is the same as on that fic and i was just wondering haha! i love that fic sm!
YESSSS, sorry for the late reply, that's me, that's me!!! sorry if im late to update it, chapter three is being a bitch and i might be splitting it into two big parts since it's where the subplot line begins closing in with the reveal of the main plotline, but AHHHH!!! hope ur patient enough for it đđđ here's a snippet from chapter three, if this helps!
There was something in people sharing sentiments with inanimate objects. How Steveâs affection extended to the unreal, to the immobile, and to the lifeless. Like he could love even beyond what normal loving did and there was something about that. With children loving anything and everything.Â
As if they could both love like kids could; like how they used to. Unfettered, limitless, real. (Like they had the power to do this: keep on loving again.)
âCome on. Maâs this way,â Eddieâs voice was hoarse and quiet, and Steve mustâve been learning a lot about him too because he didnât make a comment. Just let himself be pulled away.Â
âYou think sheâll like me?â Steve asked quietly.Â
âI donât know,â Eddie teased, âwhat do you think?âÂ
âEddieeee,â Steve dragged him to a stop, earning a chuckle out of him.
Eddie turned around and met Steveâs eyes. Found the churchyard, trapped in dawn, the sun breaking through the clouds at a time where Eddie and Steve would usually be sat at breakfastâafter Steve came back from whatever run he did in the morning. Theyâd be sharing a plate by then, with food that Steve cooked up, listening to Eddieâs old records on the turntable Eddie had dug out from Wayneâs old stuff. Steve would have bandaids over his fingers. Eddie would ask about themâand Steve would hum until Eddie forgot ever asking. Take his hand and dance him around. Pretended the world didnât exist for a momentâthat they werenât hurt everyday.
He swallowed past the lump in his throat.Â
âWell, Steve, I donât know. She likes to wake up early, though. She leaves conditioner in her hair, and can't go out without her favorite bracelet. Ma, she would sing this tune from a showâI forgot the name, I donât rememberâbut all I knew was that Ma loved to sing it in the kitchen.â He swept Steveâs hand up to his face, pressing a kiss into the knuckle just cause he could. âShe liked cats, and those silver wind chimes youâd see hanginâ from windows. I think my favorite memory of her isââÂ
He thinned his lips to meet Steveâs eyes once more; how Steve was full of wonder and adoration. A soft vacuum in a world that held his mess. Eddie couldnât think of anything more treacherous. Beautiful.Â
âIs what, Eds?â Steve whispered, in a manner so reverent, like he knew how Eddie was looking at him then. Caught in the dredges of his heart. If only he knew.
Eddie suddenly felt shy. Christ.
âEvery time I called her a hero, sheâd light up like a fucking Christmas tree. She knew how much I loved superheroes anâ shit back then. I was fucking ridiculous.â Eddie shook his head, laughing through his nose. âSheâd take me out on Fridays, get me those jelly ice pops and sit by the curb. Good shit. Weâd count the birds that flew byâname âem some stupid thingsâlike Spot, or Dot or whatever.â Steve throwing his head back in a laugh didnât make the names so stupid, so Eddie grinned softly in return. Continued, âWeâd watch the sunset, and sing a few songs too. Weâd wait until Pa left so we could go home. The best days were always when the bastard was gone. Ma always made shit better somehow. Itâs her magic powers or something. It always blew my mind.â
Eddie took a shaky breath. Steve tightened his grip and he looked over.
He didnât know what he saw, but he knew what Steve was seeing. He was looking at Eddie, and the jagged mire inside him; broken and scarred over. Steveâs bodyâjust this time, reflected in Eddieâs heart. A hurt manor, full of cracked windows and creaky doors. Alcoves of peopleâin a life that nearly fell apart.Â
Steve wasnât scared to take a look.
âShe sounds amazing,â Steve told him, âand you turned out amazing. Fucking amazing. Iâm glad she was there to love you. That she was your superheroâyour mom.â
As if Eddie wasnât fucked up for always losing people. For constantly loving and being left behind. For caring so much, that he felt like he was suffocating the people he wanted to stay; squeezing them so tight in his grasp, that his gripâhis careâwas horrifying. A desperate thing that forced people to leave. That he was a broken boy, always forced to stay.Â
But this was Steve, daunting and fearless. Loved with scars, never without themâbecause what the fuck kinda bastard would say shit like that right off the bat?
Eddie didnât know what to say, except, âShe was. And you know what? I think sheâd love you too,â which was the truth.
Because it was kinda like that. Seeing the people you loved, reflected in the people you were loving.Â
Mallory Munson wouldâve probably loved Steve Harrington for how similar they were. Maybe they had the same look in their eyes. People who gave a bit too much; who worried for the future, and what it would bring. Who had people for whom they cared for a lot; for whom they gave themselves up to. People who might be facing this futureâwith or without them, so they gave themselves to the worldâif only it meant that the world could love them a bit more easier.
Eddie looked at Steve and saw something familiar. It scared him. Made him feel tender and weak, in the face of something so fleeting. (In his grasp, squeezing, running awayâdying.)
âI think I could love her too.â Steve whispered, and Eddie hoped (fucking hoped) that it was true. That heâd stay.
With that, they strode forward across the dead.Â
And Eddie wondered if given the chanceâhe could love Steve Harrington any easier too.Â
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