Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Eddie desperately needs to delete twitter.

Like- so bad. He did away with it for a while (or rather Gareth had after he claimed Eddie’s ‘addiction’ was getting in the way of practice, while Eddie looked on. Kicking and screaming in an undignified manner), but the app itself is regularly re-downloaded and remains a temptation on his phone in moments of boredom such as these- sitting in the tour bus hiding from Chrissy as she tries to hunt him down over some stunt he’d pulled last show, or procrastinating working on whatever lyrics he’d been penning down for the album they want to put out next fall. It’s easy, far too easy- click and scroll.

Brain off.

He needs that now- delirious with lack of sleep after last night’s show, last night’s afterparty. Isn’t really thinking straight at all anyway.

He lounges on the floor of the dressing room they’ll be occupying before the last show tonight, mindlessly flicking his way through recycled memes, edits thieved from tiktok, AI slop (gross. He NEEDS to delete twitter again, gross), musings about everything from ongoing political scandals in the Middle East to pondering's over the top five sandwich fillings you could get at Subway (people were actually voting for tuna? Jail.)

He likes to scroll through fan replies, on their socials. Not for the ego boost- that’s worn off over time by now, but for the funny reactions, the clips fans take at their shows where one of them is acting particularly wild or manic (or sometimes homoerotic, for funsies) on stage. It never gets old- the fact people like their music. Love their sound, love Eddie’s words- it’s a gift, a privilege that took him years to recognise properly. He’s scrolling now, under their latest post (Chrissy definitely oversaw this one rather than one of his bandmates, the spelling is all correct)- sees someone reply with some sick fanart of him and Jeff jamming on their guitars. Tags: #CorrodedCoffin #EddieMunson #JeffCarey #music #fanart.

His thumb slips on the #music tag, and he squints at his phone, looking at the latest tweets under it. It’s another big range of stuff, mostly tweets from older people or artists- he eventually hits a video uploaded from an account with no profile picture, tagged #music #coworkers. Who tags stuff like that anymore, he snorts. He clicks play.

It’s a video taken on someone’s snapchat- with a little caption saying dingus performance #2 of today’s shift- someone walking out from what looks to be a storefront. There’s plants everywhere- lining the walls, bunches of vibrantly coloured flowers sprouting in bouquets in big buckets of water on the floor, up against a little wooden door. Music blares in the background- sounds tinny, like from an old radio. Eddie recognises the song immediately- it’s one of Wayne’s old favourites, consummate fan of the Stones that he is. Wild Horses. Someone’s singing over it loudly, off-tune and uncaring. It is kinda funny, the way their voice wavers as they sing, passionate, bright. 

The person recording is snickering quietly, walks out into what looks to be a back yard, walled in and covered in greenery. There’s a central courtyard with scattered crates everywhere, tools and dirt littered over the ground. A row of trees against the back wall, and big raised beds overflowing with life- and Eddie finally sees the singer.

Woah.

It’s a guy- young-ish, he’d hazard a guess at mid twenties- he’s wearing a dark green apron and rubber boots over a faded t-shirt and blue jeans with mud caked all over his knees and hands. His hair flops about as he sings and lunges around dramatically, entirely unaware of the fact he’s being filmed- light brown, lit up gold in the late afternoon sunshine. 

And he’s fucking stunning.

Like- Eddie pauses the video, gawks. He’s dancing around with a rake like a huge dork, grinning broadly in the frame Eddie’s frozen him in. Strong jaw, full lips- he’s really pretty. He’s broad and kind of muscly looking, biceps flexing as he grips the rake- his skin is tan, looks golden in the light against his stonewashed red tee. 

Eddie’s drooling a little. His type, very much his type.

He plays the rest of the video- the guy dances around a bit like the rake is his partner, then switches to playing air guitar on his knees dramatically, eyes squeezed shut as he belts out the chorus. In the last ten seconds he finally notices his hidden audience- the person filming is shaking with laughter- yelps “Robin!”, stumbles towards her with his cheeks aflame- and the video cuts out.

Eddie replays it, all two minutes and five seconds. 

Pauses it over and over, staring at the guy like a fucking creep. Sue him- it’s rare he finds someone that physically attractive over a grainy video depicting them singing along very badly to the Rolling Stones. Rarely does he see somebody he wants that badly at all these days- not to brag, but it’s a lot easier to get laid after you catapult to fame (not that he really takes advantage of that, given how picky he is). He downloads the video- easier to pause, scroll.

Eddie wonders if the guy has heard of them. Heard their stuff, heard Eddie’s lyrics. Maybe he’s seen them online or on a billboard or a podcast. 

Maybe not. His look doesn’t scream I-listen-to-glam-metal-and-prog-rock, but- you never know. Maybe.

He scrolls the replies- there’s a surprising amount, given the fact it’s a random video from a faceless account under the moniker ‘@buckley554’- but there’s a lot of heart eyes emojis, people commenting on the guy’s singing skills, inquiring who he is. Eddie smirks. He would never normally reply to this shit, he never replies to anything online. Just lurks on the burner account he has- but who’s going to notice a reply from his own account under a tweet with less than ten likes? And the guy is sexy as fuck- can’t hurt. 

Replying to @buckley554: @CorrodedCoffinOfficial: nice dance moves, pretty boy. yr fine as hell, damn ;)

He goes to click on the account- maybe they post more from their store- the chances of it being ‘local’ to where he’s finally returning to after this last show from the closing leg of their tour are slim to none, but hey. Can’t hurt to check- 

“Eddie?”

He hears Gareth call out in the hall- slams the door open. Eddie drops the phone.

“Huh? I wasn’t?”

Gareth narrows his eyes.

“Were you-”

“I was napping!” he snaps. “Is that okay, mom?”

Gareth peeks at his phone suspiciously, but Eddie springs to his feet, shoving it in his pocket. “What, are you fuckin’ babysitting me now? Or-”

“We were due at soundcheck like ten minutes ago dude. Is your head screwed on right? You know Chrissy-”

Eddie groans, facepalms. “Soundcheck waits for no man.” He spots a familiar figure with her hands on her hips at the end of the hallway. 

“Neither do managers,” Gareth replies dryly. “She’s pissed.”

Chrissy swats him over the head as he passes, but lets him go unscathed beyond that- lets him set up his guitar, pace around the stage, vibrate impatiently as techs come and go and mic him up, fix him in place. He’s jiggling, over-energised, come on, hurry up.

Eddie stands stage right- Jeff in the centre, Doug to the left on bass. Gets ready to run through a song to practice, picks out a complex riff. Jeff is the frontman- their singer, with his dramatic grungey vocals. He stays centre stage mostly, reasonably stationery. The rest of the domain is Eddie’s playground- he’s the liveliest. Lead guitar, backing vocals, songwriting. All of my favourite things, he thinks. Lucky me.

He’s feeling less lucky ten minutes later however- Chrissy storms across the stage, brandishing her phone like a baton in her hand as if she’s ready to club him over the head. They crowd round her, Gareth tentatively removing himself from behind the drumkit.

Chrissy looks like an angel- acts like one too, most of the time- but when this particular expression is painted across her face Eddie knows to mind his tongue. 

“Which of you morons,” she hisses, “let Eddie log into twitter today?”

Eddie blinks. 

The other three start blabbering over each other accusatorially- until Eddie starts to protest, whining. “You watched Gareth delete the app, Chris! Last week!”

“I did,” she concedes, deadpan. “So- you never commented on anything today? You didn’t re-download it?”

Fuck. 

“How do you-”

“Because, Eddie- you commented using the band account. You logged in on our official socials.”

Eddie stares at her dumbly. Then-

“Oh fuck.”

“Yes,” she agrees. “Oh fuck.”

“I’ll- delete that, then,” he laughs nervously. “Before-”

“Before someone picks up on it, screenshots it, begins distributing it across the internet at a frankly alarming pace and starts a series of hashtags up in an effort to find the ‘pretty boy’ gardener you were lusting over?”

“Um. Yes?”

Chrissy moans pathetically. “Eddie- you can’t do shit like that on our official account. Not now we have one point two million people watching on and sponsors and- it’s… when it blows up like this-”

“Fuck, Chrissy- I’m sorry- I had no clue I was logged in as- I mean, I should have realised, obviously… but it’s whatever, right? We can just swing it as a joke- ‘who let the intern at the account’ or some shit, right? I mean no one even knows I tweeted it.”

“You are severely underestimating the sleuthing skills of your fans, Munson. You think people haven’t cross referenced the reply against all of your old tweets they’ve saved- you’re the only one out of the four of you that spells ‘you’re’ like ‘yr’, every other tweet you made used that winky- smiley thing- and half the band are in relationships, so that kind of narrows it down. People act out, when celebrities do this shit-”

Eddie groans and sinks to the floor dramatically. I mean- thirst tweet. Whatever, not embarrassing. Thirst tweet the internet is going to make a huge fucking meal out of, while his band mates watch on, ripping into him- bit of a fucking pain in the ass.

“Just- is it deleted?”

“Yes-”

“Aw man,” Gareth grins, “I wanted to see it. Who’s gardener boy? You never tweeted shit like that on your personal account. No wonder people are going mad over this.”

“My brain is fried today Chris, I wasn’t thinking, I forgot,” he despairs, rolling on the ground and poking at her shoes. She kicks at him lightly, sighing exasperatedly. She’s melting though, he can tell- pity and years of fondness wearing down at her frustrated demeanour.

“It’s done now- it’ll blow over. Just log out,” she demands, “and for chrissakes delete twitter.”

*

Eddie tries to put it out of his mind before the show. Their last show for months- he wants to go into it unfettered with dread over fans circulating his stupid tweets and pointed looks from Gareth and Jeff and just. General bad feelings. Bad vibes.

So he gets gently shitfaced.

Eddie’s calmed down massively over the past three years of stardom- ever since their debut album blew up and they started actually selling out venues, it’s been a long journey of realising that most of his wild-child-man-whore-do-what-I-fucking-want shit is a very elaborate performance, and not actually something he really enjoys. It’s what’s expected of him as a Very Cool rockstar. 

They all used to act a bit depraved at the start anyway- drunk or high for every other show, acting like maniacs during interviews, sex scandal rumours and groupies trailing after them- Eddie might not sleep with like, ninety nine percent of people who make him offers but he does enjoy a good flirt. Then it happens. 

Jeff gets a girlfriend. 

Another musician- she’s a country singer with puffy blonde hair and big blue eyes and a stern attitude- and she puts him on a fuckin’ leash. Tammy’s cool- nice to them all, but it doesn’t take long for Jeff to start sobering up, acting responsible, skipping afterparties, rolling his eyes when Eddie starts pretending to deep throat his mic on stage. It’s fine, whatever- he still acts up during shows- he’s still fun to play with, to perform with, so what. He’s ‘growing up’ a little, as Chrissy puts it. 

Doug follows suit a couple months later, starts dating some chick he met on Raya- and it’s starting to get depressing now anyway, him and Gareth drinking themselves stupid backstage and making fun of Gareth’s awful attempts at keeping in touch with girls who very clearly wanted a one-night fling with a ‘rockstar’. Making fun of the fact that Eddie’s persona in public and online paints him out to be a total heartbreaker, when in fact he isn’t getting any- hasn’t slept with anyone in like six months. Doesn’t bother correcting rumours online about anything- about whether he’s queer, gay, straight, fucking fans, fucking influencers, fucking hollywood actresses and actors and half the band (there’s a diehard sect of fans still convinced he’s doing Jeff. Gag.)

Eddie is just… picky. Very picky. And he’s really bad at casual- try as he might, he always ends up fucking attached and shit gets messy and it never works out and- it’s easier, in the end, to just avoid it all. Flirt as much as he likes, then get himself off later and not have to worry about the consequences, giggle over whatever crap the tabloids are pushing the next day about him dating someone he’s never even been in the same room with before. 

The drunk-before-the-show thing slows a little too, in year two of their touring era. And the drunk-after-the-show thing. He still smokes like a fuckin’ chimney, but if he’s honest with himself- kind of nice not constantly relying on hair of the dog in the morning, head pounding, stomach roiling. Nice to play the odd show with clarity, letting the adrenaline rush push his performance instead. 

Not tonight though.

“Fuck,” Doug comments, walking into the room. Eddie’s on the floor again- it’s nice, okay- and he’s giggling at the ceiling lights spinning around him, half empty bottle of Jack beside him.

“Douglas,” Eddie sighs. “Do I look hot?”

“You look shitfaced, you fuck,” Doug grumbles, messing with his hair in the mirror. “Don’t do anything too braindead tonight, I don’t want to see shit online tomorrow about ‘Eddie Munson memorial’ after a dramatic death by stage dive or whatever. Last show, Munson, c’mon.”

“You do look hot though,” Gareth adds, wandering over and plucking the bottle off the ground. “Total waste since you’re not gonna get any- not unless we have any greenthumbs in the audience tonight.

Eddie scowls. Sits up and groans, then goes to fix his eyeliner, kicking Gareth as he does so.

“Prick. Be nice to me, I deleted twitter again and everything,” he huffs.

“Why’d you do that?” 

“What do you mean-”

“The love of your life is on there,” Gareth exclaims dramatically, swooning. “You, Eddie Munson- thirst tweeted. You never do that man, you barely interact with fans online- you just lurk on there. What was this guy packin’ to make you-”

“Fuck off-”

“Is he ripped? I see the way you look at the frat boy lookin’ types, was he shirtless?”

“No,” Eddie snaps. “It was- fuck, why is this even a big deal?”

“Haha- dude! Look how red he’s going!” Gareth snickers, poking Doug. They crowd him, jibing at him and cooing while Eddie bats them off, furious- cheeks burning up hot. Fucking assholes.

“Why were you even logged in on our socials anyway?” Jeff asks, joining him beside the mirror and inspecting his chipped black nail polish. 

“I- don’t laugh, but I wanted to check what Chrissy had in our drafts. You guys forget I made that account, before we got big. I used to run it- meant to log out, but…”

“But you’re a nosy moron,” Jeff commiserates. “Bad luck Munson.”

And then-

“So who is he?”

“Who?”

“The fucking Michelin man- your gardener, dipshit. He some influencer?”

“Can we drop it? Fuck- we’re on in thirty and I’m too sober for this.”

“This says otherwise,” Gareth replies, matter-of-fact. He swishes the half-empty bottle.

Jeff sighs. “Just- whatever. Don’t fuck up the last show, yeah?”

Eddie rolls his eyes. 

Eddie kind of fucks up the last show. 

It’s so deeply fucking irritating. 

Because it’s not even down to the drink- he’s just distracted. Out of it. He messes up two of their songs- slow on the intro, ignoring Jeff's glares. He trips and nearly goes flying into Gareth’s cymbals as he cavorts across the stage in his usual routine, and he crashes into his own mic stand when he slides to his knees to shred the solo in ‘Crash Out And Burn’.

The second half of the show is normally for fan interactions- Eddie usually leans over stage, screaming his backing vocals- throws some item of clothing (a belt, his bandana, a fingerless glove) into the crowd, sometimes he’ll crowd surf, sometimes he’ll try drag one of em’ on stage.

Tonight, he leans over and sees the sign. There’s always signs- usually accompanied by freely-given bras (thank you ladies. He’s gay as a two dollar bill, but it’s sweet,) and they say shit like #FuckMeUpEddie and Play All Cheerleaders Go To Hell and other stuff- but tonight the biggest one he sees has a different message: I’ll Be Yr Pretty Boy.

He whirls away, heart thumping a little- it’s not even the sign that does it- it's the fact that his stupid rodent brain actually looked at who was holding it, hopefully- it’s not him, obviously. It’s some other guy with brown hair the same length as Eddie’s. Pathetic. Why is he over-thinking this? It was a two minute clip of some hot guy on the internet, fuck. Whatever.

He plays the rest of the set in a somewhat subdued manner- he doesn’t even lick Jeff’s face during the encore song. Wrong. It’s all wrong.

“You’re out of it, man,” Gareth tells him later on- they’re back at the hotel, and Chrissy’s put together this little end of tour afterparty do. It’s sweet- she has it fucking catered. Organised. Far cry from how they used to celebrate after shows, with a lot more drugs and over saturated nightclubs and laughing at Gareth striking out with some model he’s stupidly set his sights on for the night. 

“Fuck off.”

“Jesus, screw me. Just concerned,” he says lightly, “as a friend. You seem really-”

“I just smoked too much man, I’m good. So good, very good. Excellent.”

Gareth hums. 

“So the account’s gone,” he adds. 

“What?”

“The one that posted the video. It’s privated. I checked, to try and-”

Eddie groans, mumbles drop it, fuuuuck.

“You don’t even want to-”

“No. No I don’t.”

An hour (and the remaining half bottle of jack) later, and Eddie is back at Gareth’s feet.

“I doooo,” he despairs. “I- hic- why did the- is the video gone?”

Gareth sighs. He hasn’t even moved from where he was sitting before, just methodically eating away at whatever canape shit Chrissy ordered.

“Devilled egg?”

Eddie stares at him. Hisses, “No I don’t want a fucking devilled-”

“Did you download the video?”

“Wha?”

“Oh my god you are fucking useless, Munson- give me the phone. Now.”

Eddie slumps against his leg, hands it over. The room is spinning so bad now. So much and so fast. He’s gonna throw up, all over the devilled eggs. All over Gareth, all over his jeans.

“Don’t do that, please,” Gareth sighs. “Not on my jeans.”

He’s watching the video now- Eddie can hear it playing. The tinny radio sound of the Rolling Stones, the off-tune singing. 

“God you’re predictable,” Gareth tells him flatly. “He’s corn-fed all american frat boy-next-door-”

“Yeah, yes, whatever,” Eddie slurs. “But that’s besides th’point. The account… I never saw the-”

“So this is the reason you guys are being so antisocial?” Chrissy muses, appearing out of thin air behind Gareth and peering over his shoulder at the phone. “He’s cute. Looks a bit like that guy you were seeing ages ago, Eddie- you have a-”

“Just know I’m wishing death on you both for doing this- I’m exploding you with my mind.”

“You do that, big guy,” Gareth cajoles, patting his head. “There- is that a logo? No. Nevermind-”

“He’s probably- fucking miles away, what’re the chances of him being in Chicago? Or anywhere near here? What is the point of this exercise other than humiliating me?”

“Isn’t that reason enough? Can’t a guy have hobbies?”

Eddie stands, swaying, jabbing a finger in Gareth’s face- starts complaining at him again- but Chrissy interrupts them, pushing them apart and grabbing at the phone. “Wait- hang on,” she squeals. “There is a logo.”

“Where?”

“Not the store or whatever- but look, look at those big pots. On the ground?”

Eddie and Gareth squint at the phone. “Wha?”

“Those ceramics- I know that logo, that’s Kady Fire.”

They blink at her, dumbly. Chrissy sighs. She loves this shit- interior decorating stuff, artsy ceramics and custom hand-crafted mahogany whatever the fuck- Eddie’s seen her apartment, and he knows the salary she gets must be good because damn. Girlie has it kitted out real nice.

“She’s a local designer, Eddie. Wherever this place is, they’re stocking a local- and pretty small- ceramics designer. As in- Chicago local.”

Gareth whoops, jostles Eddie in celebration. The drink swirls round in his stomach dangerously, and he has to lean on Chrissy to steady himself. 

“God you reek of booze-”

“But- what does that even- who caresbout fuckin’ pots, how does that-”

“Jesus,” Gareth says, pinching the bridge of his nose, “open the schools. Use your brain, Munson- there can’t be that many shops that stock these fuckass pots if it’s a small brand.”

Chrissy nods enthusiastically, pulling up a site on her phone. “Says on her page- the physical stockists. There’s seven places in Chicago selling them, three in Indianapolis, one in Cincinnati. Your boy is probably kind of local.”

“Nice,” Gareth grins. “I was wondering how to fill my sad and single hours during tour break- this is perfect.”

“Uh- you could do your fuckin’ job maybe- write some fucking-”

“Nah. Don’t worry man,” he beams, patting Eddie’s head again. “We’ll find your cinderella.”

*

“Did you say five or six boutonniere’s?” Steve yells, distracted. He’s plastering his left thumb- he’s already stained one of the blue silk ribbons he’s been using with blood after pricking himself on a rose thorn. Stupid thorn on the stupid stem that should have been stripped. Who even likes roses- especially for a wedding. So cliche. This has to be Mrs Wheeler’s influence.

“Seven, dingus,” Robin sighs, coming in from the back door, all damp from the gentle spring rain coming down. “If you had a brain you’d be-”

“Even more irresistible than I am currently?” Steve looks at her, hopeful. 

She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t reply. He knows she’s still feeling guilty about the other day.

The betrayal.

Steve doesn’t actually care about the video, or whatever stupid shit she even uploaded with his face in it. It’s the principle of the thing. They agreed. 

A break from social media. A cleanse. 

Robin is adamant it's a waste of time- but Steve was starting to get really pissy about how much time Dustin and Mike were spending on their phones, especially when they were helping out in the store. And he’s kind of always hated it- twitter and tiktok and instagram. It's a necessary evil for promoting the store, but that doesn’t mean he’s any good at it. Or that he has to have his own personal accounts. Or that he hasn’t fallen for more than one scam- which Robin thinks is the funniest shit to happen possibly ever. 

So yeah. A Cleanse. At least at work. 

And since he and Robin live together, and Steve is incapable of leaving work at Work and not bringing it home with them- that means at home too. 

He’d first heard the notifications blowing up her phone when Robin was in the shower after they’d closed up shop- trudged upstairs to their shared apartment, rinsing off the muck. 

Steve had lost the race to first shower- Robin was lethal that day, elbowing him and standing on his foot, leaving her phone on the hallway table in her desperation to rinse off the grime. After two minutes straight of non stop pings and dull vibrations- Steve had snapped, unlocked the phone- they use the same passcode for both of theirs. 

He’d expected it to be some shit from a tinder match, or maybe finally their official store account blowing up on tiktok- but no.

Twitter.

He watched the video with growing indignation- what the fuck Robin- and was shocked to see hundreds- thousands??- of comments and likes and- what the fuck, he thought Robin had like twenty followers. Why this video? 

He’d stormed up to the bathroom, screeching at her- what is wrong with you, are you tryna piss me off- then promptly deleted the video and set her account to private. Then deleted the app off her phone.

“I mean- you didn’t even let me see the reactions!” Robin whined. “You said there were loads of replies and stuff.”

“A cleanse Robin- you weren’t even meant to have the app downloaded, shitbrain! No more twitter, no more bullying me for my enviable singing skills- and you’re making dinner tonight. Or ordering out, I don’t care. Actually- I do, order out. I want-”

“Taco bell. You want taco bell.”

“Yeah you’re goddamn right I want taco bell.”

Then he’d slammed the bathroom door and taken a very long and very necessary shower.

Fuck.

At least she’s been nicer to him since then. 

This morning she’d even gone to that overpriced hipster place one block over, brought him a danish and a coffee with loads of foam. He is Appeased. Life is returning to normal.

“You gonna be okay over the next few days?” she asks, helping him box up the last of the order he’s been working on for the Wheeler’s wedding, ready to chuck in the van and drive over tomorrow morning. Robin’s still in school- final year studying International Relations at UIC- and she’s been helping out on less and less shifts recently as finals come up. She’s away for a couple days to shadow at a company in Fort Wayne- can’t be avoided, part of a final grade, she’d sighed.

Steve is fine. Steve isn’t panicking about losing a vital amount of labour during the week of a big wedding along with a million other orders. Especially not when Mike’s big sister is the bride, and she scares him a lot. He used to be half in love with her before she met Jonathan- thinks it was kind of related to the intimidation factor Nancy packed. Now that Mike works part time for him, Steve’s spent enough time around her to realise that they would never have worked out romantically, but he cares about her- and wants her wedding to be perfect. Perfect flowers, perfect everything. She deserves that.

“I’ll be great,” he promises Robin. “Are you even packed yet? You’re hopeless. Go, shoo. I’m almost done here, gonna lock up early and drive some of this stuff over to the venue and get a head start.”

She stares at him, chews her lip.

“Buckley. Don’t make me chase you with the rake- I will,” he grins, picks it up threateningly, waving it at her. 

“You’re so fucking lame,” she tells him, then salutes, leaves.

Steve sighs. Yeah. Probably, he is very lame.

The wedding goes perfectly. 

He gets everything set up exactly how they’d discussed it- lowkey floral arrangements spilling around the place, centerpieces (with those ugly ass roses) in rippling shades of blues and greens and cream- then gets ready, pins his own boutonniere in place. Definitely Does Not tear up during Jonathan’s vows- he loves the guy. Loves how much he cares about Nance and everyone else. He eats way too much cake and Dustin spins him round and round and round on the dancefloor until Steve nearly pukes. Drinks too much champagne- but it’s fine because so does everyone else, even chats up a girl that Max works for after school- she’s cool, a year older than him- kind of his type. Nerdy, curly hair. He’s closing the deal- and then he catches sight of them. Nancy and Jonathan, slow dancing together, swaying gently. 

Steve is so jealous. 

Not of either of them personally- he’s completely over Nance, and Jonathan isn’t really his type- but just. Of that. Of the way they have each other. He wants that. Doesn’t want what the girl he’s talking to has been insinuating at him all night- a casual fling, not looking for anything serious.

“Sorry,” Steve smiles. “I- I’ve had too much to drink. Maybe we could-”

The girl sighs. “Lame.”

Yeah, figures. 

His head is pounding the next day- thank fuck it’s Sunday, and he’s closed shop. The apartment is eerily quiet without Robin storming around making a racket- he sleeps until well after noon, then sits on the balcony out back overlooking the back yard until it starts raining again softly. Wraps up in the giant blanket Joyce and El made him last year, drinks lukewarm coffee and eats stale poptarts while Gilmore Girls reruns play in the background. He starts to actually feel human again around five o’clock- showers and throws on sweats and a hoodie- needs to accomplish one thing today- the same thing he always has to do. He hurries downstairs to let himself into the store, then out back to their back yard.

They don’t sell much that actually grows here- a lot of it isn’t anything they could sell anyway, apart from the two beds he has dedicated to cut flowers. It’s a good storage area for shipments that can stay outdoors, for tools and mess. And for the food he grows out here. This back yard is the reason Steve picked out the place for the store, what he used the last of his inheritance on. It’s the reason he even got into horticulture in the first place- the feeling you get watching something grow and thrive under your care. Nurtured. 

He moves through the weeding routine mindlessly- doesn’t need to water anything outside since it rained. Picks up a basket, poking his way under protective netting- fishing out anything ready for harvest. Late April’s not the greatest time for in-season produce, but he gets some rhubarb, some (partially eaten, fuck snails) kale- there’s even a couple of strawberries beginning to ripen in the patch he’s been vigilantly guarding as it blooms. Not too shabby.

He hums tunelessly as he finishes up, locking the back door again and watering the indoor potted plants they’re advertising as needed.

He notices it then, glancing up.

A car- sleek and expensive looking, a Miata maybe? Steve isn’t much of a car guy. The windows are tinted dark, and it's parked opposite the store. He hasn’t seen it before- their block is actually mostly residential, with only two other storefronts on the street of redbrick townhouses they occupy. Rich new neighbour, maybe. 

He locks up- can’t shake the feeling he’s being watched somehow, weird. Peels off his muddy gloves- then trips over his own sneakers as he leaves the front door, dropping the gloves and the basket and the kale and the everything, landing on his ass. Lame. Street’s empty at least- and no Robin here to point and laugh at him (or film me, he thinks vindictively).

He’s gathered it all back up when he hears a car door open behind him- and yeah, Steve doesn’t want to stick around in front of some rich guy if it's Miata man- not in his muddy sweats after tripping over his own feet like a clown. He hurries back into the door leading into the stairway between the lower floor storefront and the upper floor apartment, sighing in relief. 

Minor setback, but who cares. He’s gonna make rhubarb pie tonight- make the most of his Sunday evening before work tomorrow so he can eat it on shift. Start the week off right, start the week off perfect.

*

It takes them two days.

Eddie isn’t sure if it’s through Gareth and Chrissy’s willpower or through his own deeply hidden and deeply pathetic manifestations (he did at one point consider hiring a witch off Etsy. Only considered it, okay)- but they hit gold on Sunday, store number three.

He wasn’t even going to look on Sunday- everywhere’s closed anyway- but they’d been out to brunch and Chrissy whines at him that it’s on the way home anyway, what’s the harm- not like he’s going to go in, they can just take a peek and see if the storefront matches that of the one in the video. Eddie’s not in any kind of ‘disguise’ getup- he’s dressed kind of nice with all his jewelry in and his hair down- asking to be recognised, basically.

So he doesn’t want to leave the car.

They pull up later in the day across the street, and Eddie is half-heartedly trying to convince Gareth not to get out and look through the window like a creep (at least let Chrissy do it, fucking hell- lowest chance of random recognition?) when he spies a figure in the window.

It’s a cute window. 

Filled with displays of hanging plants, vines, fancy looking pots- with the store name painted on it in metallic gold- tigerlily. The red brick facade houses a door painted mossy green with a little ‘closed’ sign hanging underneath a stained glass half-moon window- a door which opens, revealing a dude in a big blue hoodie and sweats carrying way too much stuff.

The three of them freeze mid argument, staring.

It’s him. It’s definitely him- he’s even hotter in person, jesus christ- even in sweatpants with his hair all fucked up. Eddie’s heart is in his mouth.

“It’s him!” Chrissy hisses. 

Gareth rolls his eyes. “Yes, Einstein- we got that.”

The guy stumbles as he leaves the doorway, yelping and dropping a bunch of stuff- plants? Stalks of- stuff?- all over the ground. Chrissy giggles.

“Smooth.”

“Shut up. He’s hot enough to get away with being an airhead,” Eddie sighs.

“Okay then Eddie- you’re up,” Gareth says sweetly- tries to open the fucking door.

“Jesus- Gareth, no-”

“Gareth yes-”

“Fuck off!! I’m not-”

“Be a gentleman, Munson- go swoop in and help him!”

“If you don’t let go of the door I will bite you. Don’t think I won’t.”

“Too late, anyway,” Chrissy tells them. Hot Gardening Guy has managed to retrieve his fallen items and slipped back inside another door beside the store- vanishing from sight. 

“Just as fucking well,” Gareth grumbles. “I don’t doubt you have rabies.”

Eddie drives them back to his apartment, then calls an uber to ferry them off out of there. Tells them if they approach him or Hot Gardening Guy in the next two days he will enact great and Terrible violence upon them.

“Find something better to do while I work out a fucking strategy, okay? Bye bye children,” he scoffs, then returns to his own place to drink half a bottle of wine and ruminate on the fact that he’s now faced with the prospect of a) seeing the guy again or b) risking bullying from Chrissy and the band for the rest of his days. 

I mean- it is fucking embarassing. He’s Eddie Munson. He has fucking excellent game, could probably get fucked six ways to sunday tonight if he wanted- this is no big deal. No Big Deal.

He’ll work out what to do after some time and revisit the store next week or something. Play it cool.

Eddie visits the next day.

Fucking embarassing.

He spends a truly terrible amount of time getting dressed- way way more lowkey than usual- baggy distressed jeans and his favourite black vivienne westwood hoodie and big boots. He ties his hair up in a loose knot with a rubber band since he never wears it up performing- no crazy jewelry either, just bare minimum rings and the studs in his ears (and tongue. But not like anyone’s seeing that). Wears his thin silver wire-rimmed glasses too- another accessory very rarely seen on his public persona, since contacts work for him fine. He looks- passable. He’ll be in the car half the time anyway, whatever, why is he overthinking this? The guy almost definitely knows who he is anyway if the tweet is anything to go by- surely he took it down after all the witch-hunt comments. He can just wait till the store is empty.

Google tells him they shut shop at six, so he heads over there a little before then, and waits to see if he’s in there. If he’s working. 

It’s pretty empty at that point- he sees a woman pushing a pram out of the store as he arrives at half five, and no-one else shows up after that for ten minutes.

Then Hot Gardening Guy appears outside. Starts to drag the two crates full of bouquets of blooms inside the store, Eddie can hear him whistling along to some music. Bob Dylan- clearly a fan of the oldies. Eddie breathes out through his mouth- the street is empty now, and they close in fifteen minutes. Make or break it. Or fake it- he’s good at that.

He gets out and wanders into the store- a little bell chimes overhead, but it’s empty. It smells pleasant- like the earth after it rains, and like some unknown baked good- there’s a plate beside the register with something steaming on it. It’s like a fucking jungle in here, life and colour exploding out of every corner- Eddie admires a hanging potted plant with velvety leaves in shades of dark purple and black. Goth plant, metal. Cool. Where the fuck is Hot Guy though? 

The back door is open behind the counter, and before Eddie can bottle it and make his escape (that’s enough recon for today, right?)- in he comes. In He Comes. 

He has the apron on again, and dirt on his elbows and his nose- sweat shining gently over his cheeks. Eddie wants to lick him. Gross, shut up, shut upppp.

“Oh- hey, sorry man. Didn’t hear the bell,” he smiles, gesturing at the door. 

Eddie needs to speak. Needs to open his mouth, say something, say anything- the guy is looking at him a little concerned now. 

“Um. It’s cool. All good.”

Jesus fucking christ. Like blood from a stone. He tries to recover-

“I mean- it’s my bad, if you guys are closing up? Sorry- I know it’s kinda late.”

The guy smiles at him, brown eyes crinkling at the corner (Eddie’s life is ending. The world is ending)- and resumes bringing in the crate he’s been lugging in from out back, calling, “you’re good! All good. Time gets away from me constantly, swear I’d forget to close up if I didn’t have my coworker bugging me over it. It’s a miracle I remembered today since she’s out.”

God they’re alone in here, Eddie panics. And it also- it doesn’t seem like the guy has realised yet? Worked it out? That Eddie is the freak who caused half a million people to bombard his twitter (or his coworkers twitter?) over him acting horny on main?

He tries to come up with something clever to say, something suave or funny to keep his attention- also tries really hard not to check out the guy’s ass as he bends over the crate but. C’mon. He’s in these snug fitting blue jeans and his muscles are flexing as he lifts pots out of the crate- he’s so broad, looks like he could pin Eddie against the wall and-

“Was there- is there anything specific you’re after? Or- I can leave you be to browse if you want, I don’t mind-”

“Uh- I’m- a plant? Potted plant?”

Eddie wants the ground to swallow him. 

“Yeah?” the guy says, standing up and peeling off his gloves, shoving a hand through his floppy brown hair. “I can do that,” he smiles. His teeth are so white.

God kill me now, Eddie thinks. Just please- mercy. He can feel the flush rising in his cheeks- has to look away from Hot Guy before it gets any worse, has to try and rally a bit.

“My friend- she’s just moved into a new place, so…”

“Housewarming! Cool. Is she like- a floral kinda gal? We have orchids? Or is she more likely to kill anything living in the house- we have some really nice succulents and cacti in at the moment, maybe that’s better.”

“Definitely the latter,” Eddie replies, thinking of Chrissy and the fact she’s barely home in that apartment when they tour. Obviously he can never give her this hypothetical cactus, because then she’ll know. Know that he came back, and embarrassed himself in front of the hottest guy Eddie’s ever seen. So.

“Okay- we keep em’ over here, this bit. Everything on the top shelf is eight bucks, the ones below- they depend on each plant and its pot, so just give me a shout if you see one you like.”

Eddie nods, and Hot Guy returns to unpacking his crate, humming under his breath. 

Okay. Pick a plant, and then get the fuck out of here and Never Return. That’s the new gameplan.

He finds a tall looking one in a dark blue pot, and is about to pick it up when he sees it. Behind one of the smaller plants- a D20.

“Dude,” Eddie grins, entirely forgetting to be nervous. “You lose any dice?”

“Sorry?”

“Your- is this yours? The D20?” He lifts up the little orange plastic die, and the guy stands up and walks over, squinting. Oh, maybe Eddie fucked up. Maybe this is a random-

“Oh,” he says, sighing. “Yeah. That’s- my deeply irritating children trying to convince me into-”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. Hot guy has kids? Maybe he has a baby face.

“-uh not my children,” the guy assures him, pink in his cheeks. “Just- couple of the younger guys who work for me. They’re trying to convince me to play this… thing with them, hiding these around the store until I give in. It’s called-”

“Dungeons and dragons,” Eddie grins. “Yeah. You play?”

“Well- to be honest no, but I think Mike- one of the guys I mentioned- he’s going to start actually threatening me with violence if I don’t join in. I did try before, kind of,” he grumbles, making this ridiculously cute face and wrinkling his nose, “but there’s just so many. Numbers. Sounds so dumb- I’m a lot better at growing-” he gesticulates around to the back of the store- “growing stuff, than math. Not that I’m that bad at math! I won’t like, shortchange you, or whatever.”

Eddie cracks up- in the last ten seconds, his nerves have bled away down the drain. They’re replaced entirely with a new kind of warmth. This guy is fine as hell, blushes in a really attractive way, and plays (potentially will play?) DnD? Fucking wet dream. Now all he needs to do is ensure he never finds out Eddie’s identity, and also confirm if he actually likes men. Cool, easy.

“It gets a lot easier the more you play. Like- you learn on the go sort of thing.”

“You play?”

“Not as much anymore- wish I did though. I used to, loads, back in high school.”

He tried once to play on tour with the band- wrote a mini campaign- but it was hard between practices and travelling and everything else to keep track, to find the time.

“There’s local clubs and stuff,” he continues. “If- your friends want to learn. Like in gaming cafes. Or podcasts you can listen to.”

The guy smiles at him warmly. Put that away, Eddie thinks, jesus christ. Dangerous smile, that.

“Yeah I think I’m gonna cave anyway. Mike’s desperate to get more people, they only have three at the moment, so he’s hellbent on annoying everyone we know into joining.”

“Cool,” Eddie says. “I hope you- yeah. You’ll find it fun. Probably- most people do.”

Then he realises he’s staring- they both are, maybe (or is that wishful thinking?), and it’s quiet for a minute- he feels his cheeks heat up again, glances away bashfully. “Uh- this one? Can I pay for this?”

He picks up the dark blue pot, and the guy blinks. 

“Oh- yeah, sure. I’ll ring you up.”

He gets to the counter, punches stuff in at the register. He’s still pointedly looking down at the counter as he asks- 

“Is she moving in around here then? Your friend?”

“Uh- kind of, yeah. She’s nearby.”

The guy nods, bites his lip. Fucking hell, why does the air in here feel so dry? Jesus.

It smells really good up at the counter. The plate of Mystery Baked Good is no longer steaming, but Eddie peers at it anyway while the guy points to the card machine, says it’s ready to tap. He notices Eddie’s gaze.

“Eating on the job,” he smiles. “Unprofessional, I know.”

Eddie puts his phone up to pay, waits for the ping. “Nah, not at all. Smells fuckin’ unreal though, you make that?”

“Yeah. It’s pretty old school- I’ll put anything in a pie if it grows out back, even rhubarb.”

“Rhubarb?” Eddie inquires.

“You haven’t- you’ve not tried rhubarb before? I think it’s more of a thing in like, Europe to be fair. It’s just easy as fuck to grow. Tastes real good stewed or in pie or cake.”

Eddie nods. Rhubarb. He’ll be investigating this Rhubarb later.

“Do you- want to try some?”

Eddie blinks. So does the guy- it kind of looks like he asked that question without meaning to, because his face freezes and then goes all red. 

“I mean-”

“Yeah. If you’re offering.”

Is that weird? It’s probably weird, to accept pie from a random dude in a store that could have god knows what in it. Especially when you’re technically a celebrity. But weird is kind of his MO, so fuck it. 

The guy pushes the plate towards him, fork dangling off the edge. It’s untouched, still warm. 

He tries not to overthink it as he scoops a chunk off the edge, puts it in his mouth. He sees the guy's eyes widen ever so slightly. Fuck this pie is good- the flavour is sharp, tangy, the pastry crust sweet and soft. Unreal.

“You have a tongue piercing,” the guy blurts out. Eddie stares. Swallows the pie.

“Uh. Yes?”

“Cool.”

And then-

“I’m Steve, by the way.”

Critical hit! Name unlocked.

“Well, Steve,” Eddie grins, “that’s the best fuckin’ pie I’ve eaten in a long time. And I’m Eddie.”

Chapter Text

“No I don’t think you understand the gravity of the situation, Robin,” Steve hisses down the phone. It’s past midnight now- they both have work in the morning, but frankly he could give two fucks. This is a dire emergency, a fucking-

“-dire crisis, Robin! What if he doesn’t come back? I didn’t even get his number. And he probably thinks I’m deranged- why the fuck did I offer him pie like some-”

“-Steve-”

“-and he was like- the hottest guy I’ve ever seen- he looked like a fucking off duty model-”

“-Steve, please-”

“-and the piercings? Robin how am I supposed to-”

“Dingus I swear I will hang up on you if you don’t let me BREATHE for a minute,” Robin interrupts, exasperated. “Stop your gay panic, please- let’s analyse the situation, okay?”

Steve sighs. “Okay.”

“So he- he came in, and bought a plant.”

“Yeah. For a friend. A girlfriend? He definitely said friend. Oh god he probably doesn’t even like men-”

“Hmm. You mentioned ear piercings, long hair? He’s either queer or one of those performative-matcha-drinking men- let’s revisit that later. And then what, he found the dice?”

“He found- yeah. And then I couldn’t shut up, Robin it was bad. Truly. I told him I was bad at math.”

“You are bad at math.”

“Yeah but he doesn’t need to know that! Anyway, that wasn’t the bit where I- then I rang him up, and I asked him- like, does your friend live close by? So unsubtle, right?”

“No, no I think that’s good, I think that could be off the radar.”

“Well- he said yes, anyway.”

“How did he say it?”

“What?”

“Did he- was it like yes, she lives very close by,” Robin says, voice low and suggestive, “or more like- yeah, I guess. Like did-”

“Jesus christ I don’t know- he just said yes. And then-” Steve cuts off and moans. 

“Then I offered him pie. Like some fairytale witch luring someone into a castle. Like- hansel and gretel?”

“That’s breadcrumbs, not pie.”

“Irrelevant? Actually? Help me?”

“Well- he ate it, right?”

“Yeah, and then my brain blanked because I saw his tongue piercing. His tongue piercing-”

“Yes, yes we get it. Okay- and then what?”

“Then I told him my name, like he cares, and he- god he smiled at me. Robin,” he wails, “help me.”

“But he told you his name?”

“It’s probably an alias so I don’t track him down to try and force feed him more pie with weird stalks I grew in my back back yard.”

“Jesus you’re melodramatic tonight Steve. Chill out- from my long distance lesbian vibe check- I actually don’t think you fucked it. I think he’ll come back.”

“Really?”

“If I say yes will you let me go to sleep now?”

“No,” Steve scoffs. “What do I do if he does come back?”

“Steve- why are you acting like you’ve never done this before? I’ve seen the evidence from the one night stands, you can pull fine-”

“This guy is not normal levels of hot,” Steve groans. “How do I- fuck. I need to be careful here, I can’t scare him off. God I need to make sure I gag Dustin if he comes back while he’s on shift-”

Robin hums thoughtfully. “Wait- go into my room a sec. To the little tray with my jewelry and shit on the dresser.”

Steve frowns but complies. “Your room is a tip, Buckley.”

“I’m helping you dingus, be nice. See the little badges there? There should be a pin, a metal one.”

Steve pokes through the tangle of necklaces and rings- finds a few small enamel pins. There’s a little one depicting a bisexual flag. 

“How come you don’t have a lesbian one?”

“That isn’t mine. A girl left it here last year- that sorority chick? The one after-”

“Yeah, gross, got it. Are you keeping, like- trophies?” Steve asks, wrinkling his nose.

“No,” Robin hisses, “you are such an ungrateful little-”

“So you think I should just wear it? And hope he comes back?”

“No, I want you to put it in the next pie you bake him.”

There’s a moment of silence.

“Steve- in case your brain is still misfiring, that was a joke- yes, wear it.”

“God,” he huffs, “tell me how you really feel.”

“I really feel tired, dingus,” she groans. “Good night you massive disaster bisexual.”

As tetchy as Robin is when she’s stressed and not asleep past midnight- Steve decides her advice might be worth something. Maybe.

He pins the badge to the little pocket on his apron, just above the embroidered tigerlily logo. Not like he gives a fuck about anyone else seeing it or making any kind of judgement- the way the two of them kit the store out during pride should already be enough to deter any god-fearing souls anyway. 

He frets a little more over his hair and what he wears the next day- just in case. What if the guy decides to return the plant? Or needs to ask Steve care instructions? You just never know. And Steve’s alone on shift for the next two days until Dustin comes in, so this may be the perfect opportunity. He even bakes (pathetic. pathetic) after work, strawberry muffins this time.

Except he doesn’t show up. Eddie, that is. Not on either day- and Steve has to force himself not to mope over a guy he spent less than seven minutes with, a guy who probably thought he was a little strange and probably wants to avoid in future. Seek his botanical needs elsewhere.

But of course- as fate often allows- he does come in on the one day Steve was hoping he wouldn’t. When Dustin is on shift.

Dustin is ecstatic today, after Steve finally caved to his demands and agreed to play the stupid nerd game he and Mike spend half their time in here raving about. 

“It’s just as well, anyway,” Dustin tells him. “Mike was in such a bad mood after you banned ‘social media’ in here like some prehistoric fossil- honestly Steve, it’s such a lame move on your part. But he’ll totally forgive you after this!”

“I thought Mike didn’t even use stuff like tiktok? Or twitter?”

“Yeah but he’s always on Reddit, and you deleted that off his phone, remember? I think he still uses it at home- you’ll have to try real hard to convert that one,” Dustin tuts. As if they aren’t the same age, and as if Dustin was any less glued to his phone before The Cleanse began. In Dustin’s defence, Steve is pretty sure most of that was Candy Crush, but still. Bad.

“Okay, well- I’ll need you to help me with the character stuff anyway. I googled it and it was way overwhelming, way too many options. Too much to read.”

“Your attention span is appalling,” Dustin scolds. 

“Your attitude is appalling,” Steve snarks in return. 

He sighs. “C’mon and help me out back, it’s dead in here anyway.”

Dustin brightens. “Can I use the hose?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever. Just be careful.”

It takes literally thirty seconds for Dustin to stop Being Careful. 

He steps backwards as he’s spraying the second raised bed, and trips on a kneeling mat like it’s a cartoon banana. Steve would ordinarily find this hilarious- except Dustin drops the hose, and it ricochets everywhere before spraying him full in the face- soaking his apron and his shirt, leaving him spluttering, spitting water everywhere. 

He charges Dustin, tackling him to the ground- gets him in a headlock, both of them kind of covered in muck and water- yelling at him and scrubbing at his hair- and then he hears a cough.

He and Dustin freeze from where they’re rolling around in the mud like piglets and look up. 

Eddie stands just beyond the counter, mouth slightly agape, eyebrows raised.

“Bad time?”

Sweet jesus kill me, Steve thinks. 

“Sorry- the bell- I-”

“Steve get off,” Dustin grumbles, shoving at him. “I’m so sorry about him, he’s very unprofessional. Can I help you with anything?”

Steve gapes at him. “No you can’t help him with anything you little- stay out here and clear up, yeah? Jesus, Henderson-”

He stands and brushes off his knees- not that that’s going to change anything- and tries valiantly not to look like a three year old who got into the back yard shed and made a mess. Hopes his face isn’t too red and that the apron is covering up his white shirt- likely see through at this point, fucking disaster.

“Honestly dude- I can come back-”

“No- no you’re good. I’m all good, just a minor… incident.”

“I’ll bet,” Eddie grins. 

Steve follows him back in, shaking his hair like a dog first- leaning back to avoid spraying Eddie. Who looks very pretty and put together- hair tied back again, with his bangs loose around his face, and a grungey looking band t-shirt on. Steve doesn’t recognise the band- Robin is constantly telling him to update his ‘grandad’ music taste.

“How’d the cactus go down?” he asks, hoping Eddie isn’t entirely put off by the earlier gladiator-esque display in his back yard.

“Good, yeah. She liked it- we’ll see how long it stays alive though.”

“They’re pretty tough to kill, honestly. I might actually be more impressed if she does manage to kill it,” Steve chuckles. He leans against the counter, dripping water everywhere.

“You guys tryna cool off or something?” Eddie teases.

Steve groans. “That’s- yeah, something like that. That’s one of the shitbrains I just agreed to play that dungeon game with.”

“Lucky you.”

“I’m always goddamn babysitting, so guess an extra shift doing that won’t hurt,” Steve says wryly. He glances up at Eddie from where he had his head hung low- catches Eddie’s eyes trained on his apron. Maybe it’s just the muddy wet material he’s eyeing- or maybe it’s the pin. Could be the pin, he was staring at that area-

“So you back for more? Plants?”

“Oh no. More pie,” Eddie replies, eyes twinkling. Steve blushes, (predictable, and nevertheless humiliating.)

“All outta stock I’m afraid,” Steve grins. “I- I swear I’m not trying to like- foist my baked goods off on customers. But-”

God he is butchering this. He’s so eternally grateful Robin isn’t here- she’d be standing behind Eddie right now if she were, mouthing you suck at him.

“-but, I made way too many muffins last night. If, you know. You want one?”

He holds his breath, but Eddie’s smiling at him again. Jesus christ he is ridiculously pretty- he’s all dimples and big twinkly eyes and cheekbones.

“You must get repeat customers lining up round the block man, handing out free food like that. Is it- are they rhubarb too?”

“Strawberry.”

“I can’t say no to strawberry. Pretty sure it’s illegal, actually.”

“Very sure,” Steve agrees solemnly, and he retrieves the tupperware he’d stashed under the counter, pulls out the (slightly squashed, very squidgy) muffins. 

“I did actually come here to purchase your wares, don’t worry,” Eddie tells him, taking a muffin. Steve watches the flash of silver from his rings- one on almost every finger, chunky and gothic looking. 

“Oh?”

“Yeah, won’t leave you out of pocket.”

“Another indoor plant? Cactus?”

“Uh… flowers, this time.”

“Oh.”

Hmm. Flowers. Could mean nothing- could mean a myriad of unrelated and unimportant explanations such as congratulatory gift, funeral, sick relative- but could also very well mean something else.

“Any particular kind?”

“Um. I don’t really know much about-”

“Is it for- do you know the person’s taste?” Steve ponders. Then takes a leap of faith, asks, “For a girlfriend?”

Eddie’s eyes widen slightly. “No. Definitely not.”

“Cool,” Steve says. Then because he’s suicidal apparently, adds, “boyfriend?” in a would-be-casual but kind of squeaky tone.

Eddie’s definitely looking at him now, his gaze is a lot more focused. He has the barest hint of a smile playing over his mouth as he replies-

“Nope.”

And then adds as a rushed afterthought, “I’m single.”

His pretty face colours then, dark pink flushing up his neck and over his cheeks. Steve’s stomach somersaults a bit. 

“Right,” he says, biting back a big smile. “So… any reason for the flowers? Or just want some for the kitchen table? Because I fully respect that.”

“They’re- also for a friend. Just a friend. I think- do you have anything with tulips?”

Tulips he can do. In season right now and everything.

“For sure we do, yeah. So- these bouquets are all pre-done, prices on the little cards, and these bottom three all have tulips. But I’m happy to put together something custom if you’d prefer, that’s easily done.”

“No worries dude. Bottom middle looks perfect- just what I’m after.”

“Okay cool, I’ll ring you up.”

“Do I know you?” Dustin says from the back doorway, slightly accusatory. 

Eddie freezes up. Steve spins to look at him, spitting. “Dustin what is wrong with-”

“Uh- it’s okay. I get that sometimes- I think I just have one of those faces, y’know?” Eddie laughs nervously. 

Dustin nods, shaking water out of his curls. The droplets splatter across the brown paper rolls Steve has on hooks nailed against the back of the door, and Steve grouches at him under his breath.

“I’m gonna take five,” Dustin announces. 

“You do that, champ,” Steve grumbles, punching the amount Eddie owes for the flowers into the register.

“And just know Steve- tomorrow I will be bringing the character sheet. It is inevitable and needless to prolong your suffering.”

Steve sighs. Eddie glances at Dustin, asks, “you the DM then?”

Dustin blinks at him.

“No. I’m a player.”

Steve snorts, mutters sure you are under his breath. 

“Ignore him,” Dustin says. “You play?”

“I dabble.”

“You DM?”

“Once upon a time, yeah.”

“You in a campaign now?”

“Not since last year, no. My level eighteen druid kicked ass though- circle of the moon is god tier when you get up to that stage, still pissed I died before I hit level twenty. Endless wildshape, y’know?”

Dustin stares. 

“Steve, who is this guy?”

“He’s a customer, Dustybun- I thought you were on break?”

“I am. I’m talking to the customer I’m befriending while I’m not on shift. Hello, nice to meet you- I’m Dustin Henderson. I’d shake your hand but you really don’t want to do that because you’re all clean and I’m under the mercy of Steve Harrington’s employment.”

“Why are you giving out our full names like-”

“He’s cool,” Dustin reassures Steve. As if he hasn’t exchanged like, less than ten words to Eddie. Like Steve isn’t the fucking moron who’s been baking Eddie muffins like a lovesick teenager hopping to audition for the role of Eddie’s housemaid.

“That I am,” Eddie agrees, crossing his arms. “Promise not to dox you- cross my heart and hope to die.”
“So how come you don’t play now? Or you stopped playing?”

“I have to… travel, for work. Got less time- at least I did before. I miss it though.”

“What about now? Are you travelling now?”

Steve’s ears prick up, and he fiddles with the cash register, as if he isn’t focused on every word Dustin’s saying. Finally some useful information.

“Uh- not at the moment, no. Off season.”

“Great,” Dustin beams. “Wanna join our party?”

Steve blanches. Bad idea, letting Dustin at him this early on, bad idea-

“Uh-”

“Please feel free to ignore him,” Steve grits his teeth, glaring at Dustin. 

“You’re just scared because you’re gonna eat shit during session one,” Dustin snickers. 

“I mean- I can? Play? If you really are looking for more people.”

Steve stares at Eddie. Has Dustin just… 

“Cool! You’re not like- a serial killer or anything?”

“Dang,” Eddie says flatly, “you got me.”

Steve giggles. And then kicks himself, because what a pathetic response to an arguably poor joke. But Eddie’s smiling, pleased, so who cares.

“Nice- can I get your number then?”

Eddie blinks at Dustin.

“To organise the session?” Dustin says, slow- as if this is very obvious.

“Sure- I’m Eddie, by the way.”

“Oh yeah, names. Names are good. I’m Dustin. I already said that, didn’t I? Here- let me-”

They exchange information after Eddie pays for the flowers, and Steve just stands in mute shock and horror. 

Dustin got the guy’s number. 

Dustin got the guy’s number.

This is arguably more humiliating than Steve getting rejected. Or Steve not asking at all.

Dustin.

They bid Eddie adieu as he steps back out into the afternoon sunshine, and the rest of Steve’s shift passes in what could be hours, could be minutes. He doesn’t register anything further until he’s on the phone, dialling Robin.

“Hello?”

“Robin.”

“...Steve? Why do you sound like that?”

“...”

“Did he come back today? Did you ask him? Get his number?”

Steve laughs, half-hysterical.

“No. No I did not. That would be Dustin actually- Dustin did.”

*

Eddie’s luck has to be karmically influenced at this point. 

He cannot keep getting away with this. It’s absurd- deranged, even- the fact Steve is still blissfully unaware of who he is and what he does. What he did to begin this entire debacle. 

It had come close, when the teenager Steve employs had narrowed his eyes at him- Eddie’s heart had plummeted, well this is it, game’s up- and then miraculously- recovery. Not just recovery but- a way in. A way to spend more time with Steve. Added bonus of potential new DnD group also. Very cool.

He’s tactical, after that- visiting Steve. Steve must think Eddie has a spending problem, or a lot of friends in dire need of botanical gifts- he goes back three times the next week- always waits and watches a moment until the store is empty, till it looks like Steve is alone in there. Steve can never know the truth about the purchases, never. Steve can never discover how truly Lame and slightly Deranged Eddie is acting at the moment. Because Steve is just… the dream. The Dream.

He always has something delicious smelling sitting about in the store, always offers it to Eddie- always turns pink when he does so (which is arguably the best part about the whole deal). Always looks stunning in his snugly fitting jeans or his fucking overalls (Eddie had died. Literally died and ascended to heaven, at the debut of the dickies overalls), his dorky polo shirts and loose t-shirts (although privately Eddie thinks nothing is ever going to compete with the soaked-wet-see-through white tee Steve had been in on their second meeting- straight in the spank bank, that one.)

And he’s so easy to talk to- he opens up quickly around Eddie, complaining about his co-workers and his family (his mom is called Joyce, Eddie’s worked out- and he seems to either have a mormon-level amount of siblings or a lot of teenagers he babysits?), his shitty car and his back yard. Steve loves his back yard- he gave Eddie the tour on his third visit, and Eddie had to reign in the staring as Steve rambled on excitedly about the fruit trees and in-season produce and his rigged-up homemade slug traps, pink-cheeked and smiling. 

Eddie has to spend a lot of time and effort cultivating the way he responds to Steve’s questions that he asks in turn- he works in entertainment. He does travel a bit, yes- not so much at the moment. He talks about Wayne, and even mentions Chrissy and the guys- co-workers, Eddie had said as he complained about their meddling, and Steve had nodded sympathetically. 

“Mine’re all nightmares,” he replies. “Especially my roommate.”

Eddie meets Robin on visit Five.

He miscalculates, thinking Steve is alone in the store- and a minute after he arrives, a girl pokes her head in from the back yard. She’s sweaty, light brown hair in disarray, freckly and tall- Chrissy’s type, come to think of it, Eddie muses. She looks him up and down, assessing. 

“Robin,” Steve says quickly, looking slightly panicked. 

“Hello,” Robin says, smirking slightly. “Can we help you today?”

“Uh-”

“This is Eddie,” Steve interjects. “I mentioned him? The poor soul Dustin’s kidnapping for his stupid game?”

“Oh- Eddie, of course! Yes,” Robin says brightly, snapping her fingers. “Yeah- Steve’s mentioned you. Once. A few times, maybe. Actually quite a lot, he-”

Steve tackles her, bright red in the face, and pushes her back outside into the yard, shutting the door on her giggling.

“Please ignore her,” he says, smiling tightly. “And I mean that very literally, not just today- if she ever tries to talk to you, tune it out. It’s better for everyone that way.”

“RUDE!” Robin calls, muffled through the door.

Eddie grins. “I’ll keep your sage advice in mind.”

He asks Steve about his day, content to listen to him chat about Dustin and Mike- who’s sick apparently (or skiving, according to Steve), been off for a while now- about the peas growing in, how sweet they are- and about the bread Steve baked for today. He’d mentioned that two days ago, when Eddie had last been in.

“Oh- right,” Eddie says, gathering his nerves. He pulls out a greasepaper-wrapped package of cured salami, and a little wedge of cheese. “Maybe I got ahead of myself but- figured you can’t grow sandwich fillings back out there, unless you have a cow I don’t know about. And the deli round the block from me is fuckin’ awesome, so… I guess, to go with your bread. If you like?”

Eddie’s visited the deli a total of Two times before in fact- he can’t cook for shit. But Chrissy is a regular there- this entire thing is her scheme, her idea. She’d been shocked when he’d told her about the free food Steve’s been gifting him, with nothing in return- threatened to show up herself if he turned up empty handed again. 

“Oh nice man- thank you, yeah.”

“You’re not vegetarian?” Eddie asks, kicking himself for not checking.

“Nah. It’s so cliche, but I can’t go without bacon- when I can afford it. I eat a lot of vegetarian shit but- cheaper. You know how it is.”

Eddie does not know how it is. Eddie makes a frankly upsetting sum of money now, regardless of how much he donates or gives to financial managers to stow away- Eddie would like for Steve to have as much bacon as his heart desires. Anything, really. 

“This is good stuff, thanks dude. If you wait a minute- I’ll grab the bread, have you eaten?”

“Not since breakfast, nah. I feel bad that you’re always playing host,” Eddie smiles. 

Steve laughs and tells him it’s no bother- Eddie’s feeding his ego, Eddie’s eating his leftovers- and leaves to go up to his apartment. Eddie would eat Steve’s leftovers for the rest of his life if he had the choice. 

Robin re-emerges, eyes trained on the food on the counter. Eddie feels weirdly defensive- but she smiles at him.

“He makes the best bread, you’re lucky,” she tells him. Yeah. He is lucky. It’s finite, this luck- it will end when somebody who actually listens to decent music shows up- but it’s still in play for now, still running on as Steve re-emerges with slices of sourdough, making them up sandwiches. Eddie warms to Robin quickly- she’s very fast to make it clear she’s gay, very gay. 

“That makes two of us,” he tells her through a mouthful of sandwich. Steve glances at him quickly. 

“Full queer house,” Robin says cheerfully. Eddie’s heart soars- he had noticed the pin, but you can never be too sure. Never know, really. 

As soon as he lets it slip to Chrissy about Robin however- it’s over. The brief peace he’d been enjoying. 

“I’m coming next time,” she tells him over drinks that evening. 

“Me too,” Gareth adds. Eddie waits for Jeff and Doug to add something, but they both look at him blankly. 

“Neither of you are going near this,” Eddie groans. “Need I remind you that it’s doomed? Entirely doomed? Given that I’m lying about my entire identity- which includes you guys?”

“You’re not exactly lying,” Chrissy muses. “You’re just- omitting things. I mean we are kind of co-workers,” she gestures around to them all. “And what do you think is gonna happen- I’m going to ruin your superhero reveal as soon as I walk in the door?”

“Yes?”

“Oh ye of little faith,” Gareth says sadly. “Please, Eddie. I’m fucking bored out of my mind and I’m nosy. It’s only fair, if you’re leaving the sad and single club behind-”

“I’m not doing anything of the sort, dipshit-”

“Yeah you will if you fuckin’ lock in-”

“Gentlemen,” Chrissy interrupts. “No more bickering. Come on Eddie, enough foreplay- you’ve been yapping about him for two weeks now and it’s clear something is happening, pleeeease can we come by? You’re going tomorrow, right?”

“Probably,” Eddie says glumly. He’s given up on pretending in front of Steve that he isn’t a sad sad man who pathetically shows up at his store every day, spending money on a wide assortment of plants and flowers. 

He sighs. “If you guys come- you have to fucking behave. I’m so serious. Like- nothing about the band, at all. And we aren’t staying long, okay?”

“Aw mom,” Gareth whines, “what if he doesn’t offer us free cake?”

“You’re not getting any of his cake-”

“Yeah you wanna keep that all for yourself, don’t you? Oh I’m sure-”

Eddie facepalms. “Just don’t make me fuckin’ regret this.”

They pull up at half five the next day, Gareth vibrating with excitement- it’s actually kind of sad, how invested he is. Eddie needs to find him a nice girl to settle down with to stop this behaviour.

Chrissy looks stunning as usual- her blonde hair is sleek and smooth, pulled into two braids, she’s in a powder blue blouse and her lips are pink and glossy. Eddie hopes Robin’s off, honestly- she might get eaten alive, the mood Chrissy’s in right now. Lesbians are scary.

Robin is not off. Robin is behind the counter, and she makes a strangled noise in greeting as they enter the store, staring at Chrissy. 

Great. Fucking wonderful- if they start fucking that’s yet another complication added to the already very Complex Situation.

Steve appears from out back- he’s dazzling, the yearning in Eddie’s chest reaches toothache levels of pain. He has a roll of mesh net under his arm, and gardening tools tucked into his apron pocket- he’s in the overalls, this is incredibly unfair. Mean of him, Eddie thinks. Wish he’d come over here with those tan biceps he’s flashing under his red tee, pin me against the wall and act even meaner to me. 

“You’re drooling,” Gareth whispers under his breath, and Eddie remembers that they’re here and everything is about to go disastrously wrong. 

It actually goes reasonably okay. 

Eddie introduces them, stands on Gareth’s foot every time he tries to say something clever, and Chrissy succeeds in making Robin blush like a summer tomato- they chat at the counter while the rest of them wander out back. Steve and Gareth get on upsettingly well- Gareth is straight as an arrow, but Eddie still Dislikes their instant rapport a little- it’s going to lead to bad places, he knows it. Steve-less places. They bond over movies- music is carefully avoided as a topic, and Gareth’s asking him about the latest Marvel movie showing in theatres right now- just fucking comes out with an invitation like its nothing. Like it’s not something Eddie would tie himself in knots over- asking Steve to a movie. 

Gareth and Chrissy excuse themselves when six rolls around- but before Eddie can follow them out, Steve grabs his arm. The contact burns, he’s branded across his tattooed forearm where Steve touched him with his big warm hand.

“Uh- sorry,” Steve starts, blushing. “I just thought- isn’t it crazy we don’t- we haven’t exchanged details? Haha? I mean- if I have your friends, and even Dustin has your number…”

He trails off, looking away bashfully. 

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, smiling at him. “Pretty weird, huh? Let’s remedy that- gimme your phone.”

Happy hormones fizz through his veins as he inputs his number, texts himself and saves the contact as: eddie 8)

“You must think it’s kinda weird we all text,” Steve rolls his eyes. “Like- that I didn’t ask for your insta or whatever, or Dustin.”

No, Eddie thinks- I actually think that’s a divine act from god- but do go on.

“Nah. I’m old school too,” he says. Not necessarily untrue, that. If you discount the hours lurking on twitter.

“Really?” Steve beams, “I- actually banned social media in here. Like some middle aged dad, I know- but that’s why none of us use it. It’s just for a while,” he adds, “like a cleanse or whatever. Like a break- Dustin actually talks to me on shift now, although I’m really starting to regret that change.”

Eddie’s smile is frozen in place.

Well that explains a lot. Fucking almost everything, maybe- Steve is offline. One of those unicorn type hot men that don’t have hundreds of waiting followers lurking in their DM’s- god that actually greatly increases his sex appeal. Eddie hadn’t thought that was possible.

“Well- I’ll text you,” Steve promises, and he looks at Eddie, smiling his all-american-boy smile with his soft brown eyes. Eddie swallows.

“Yeah. Please do. Anytime.”

*

“Are you in love, Steve?”

El’s brown eyes are wide and inquisitive as she takes him in, stuttering and stammering as they loll about on the plush rug in Robin’s (newly and begrudgingly tidied up) bedroom.

It’s Girls Night.

Which used to be a tradition Nancy and Robin began when El started getting shit at school, started coming home withdrawn and upset- only to hear about it secondhand through a concerned Max. So the two of them and Max started up girls night. Steve can’t actually remember when he started getting dragged into it- last year, probably- but at this point he anticipates the monthly ritual of them covering his face in clay-coloured goo or burning popcorn in the microwave or whatever else they have planned in his apartment with less dread, more resignation. Sometimes it’s even kind of fun.

Robin is ruining Girls Night. 

“I thought we weren’t meant to discuss boys during girls night,” he gripes. 

The subject of Lucas, Mike- even Jonathan, for a while (Nancy isn’t here tonight- she’s on her honeymoon, oooh)- is a banned one, a sacred rule that none of them ever break. Which is why it’s royally unfair that Robin’s decided Eddie is tonight’s prime gossip material.

Steve can’t even escape, because Max and El are both holding his hands hostage, and painting his nails in a questionable range of colours. Great, really-

“We don’t know Eddie though,” Max comments. “So he doesn’t count yet.”

“He is a boy,” Steve points out. A man, actually- a very attractive and somewhat life-ruining man Steve already spends a distressing amount of his day thinking about, but whatever.

“Has he asked you out?”

“Have you asked him out?”

“We’re just friends,” Steve rolls his eyes, then glares pointedly at Robin. 

“Is he hot?” Max asks frankly. Steve blinks. 

“Yeah.”

“Hotter than the guy who works at the diner on West Madison?”

“Hotter than Pedro Pascal?”

“Pedro- he’s like forty years older than you,” Steve sputters, while Max and El giggle. 

“You guys should see Steve when he comes into the store, he gets sooo disgusting- he’s all oh Eddie let me show you this flower I’m growing and look Eddie can I offer you a cookie just for breathing the same air as-”

Steve kicks Robin, then apologises as El chides him for jerking his hands around.

“You’re going to ruin the design,” she complains. 

“Wow,” Max comments, peering thoughtfully at the index finger El’s been working on. There’s a little daisy painted on it, the rest of his nails blue and yellow. “Pretty.”

“Pretty,” El agrees. 

Steve glances at the hand Max has been painting. It’s a lot more abstract- 

“Did you have a colour scheme in mind there, or did you close your eyes and pick at random?” he asks, dryly. His nails are an assortment of orange, red, pink, purple. 

Max narrows her eyes. “So why haven’t you asked him out?”

Steve groans. “Give it a rest, Mayfield.”

“When are you seeing him next?”

“Can we meet him?”

“Do you have a photo?”

“What does he look like?”

He sighs. “I’m seeing him tomorrow, Dustin’s finally pulled this DnD thing together after work. And no, you can’t, no, I don’t, and- he. I don’t know. He’s got curly brown hair. He’s pretty. And smart too.”

Max and El share a knowing glance.

“You have a type,” Max says lightly.

Then she paints his thumb black.

Steve cleans like a vengeful housewife the next day. Like he’s covering up a crime scene, like he’s a college student preparing for a dorm check from a particularly vindictive RA. He gets Dustin to man the shop for a few hours, heads upstairs and clears out their tiny living room, dragging the beanbag out from his room and re-arranging chairs and cushions, fills up bowls with chips and homemade cookies (silently cursing Robin for her cookie comment yesterday. He’s just trying to find new and inventive ways to use up the last of the rhubarb, and rhubarb-white-chocolate cookies are a good combo, okay?)

It’s just him, Eddie, Dustin, Lucas, and Will tonight. Mike is sick- Steve feels bad now, for doubting him. Apparently the bug he caught after the wedding was not an I’m-avoiding-work-excuse after all, and is pretty nasty and relentless- he’s been out of action for a few weeks now, but is beginning to come out of the other side, on the mend. 

Max calls an hour before, and demands to be added. Claims she already has a character sheet and everything, claims it’s purely educational. Nosy twerp. 

But it’s too late to overthink anything, so he focuses on Not panicking, Not overthinking, and generally remaining calm. Also Not killing Dustin, who is intent on driving him demented all day with snide comments about his character sheet. So what if Steve picked a druid so that he could transform into a tiger? Seemed like an easy and obvious pick.

Eddie appears just before they shut shop, and Steve’s made a conscious effort this time not to finish up the day covered in any kind of grime or sweat. He’s changed into his nicest wool navy pullover and the set of cords Robin got him for christmas last year, styled his hair so it flops nicely over his forehead. Dustin gives him a Look when he re-appears back in the store looking like that, but Steve threatens him with the promise of a long gardening tool shoved up somewhere deep inside if he opens his mouth, so. All good.

He’s rewarded for his efforts with Eddie’s very minute and well-concealed expression of surprise when he enters the store- eyes widening slightly, raking Steve up and down lightning fast. If he hadn’t been paying very specific attention he might have missed it, but it’s hard not to feel smug after that. To turn away to the back so he can grin like an idiot for a split second, pump up his bravado so that he can execute the plan he has after this fucking nerd fest game. Because tonight is the night.

Steve’s gonna ask him out.

Got to, at this point- either he is massively misreading things, or Eddie is at least somewhat interested in him- god knows why, because while Steve can acknowledge he’s kind of attractive in that generic way- Eddie is drop dead gorgeous. So he has to try. Take a leap of faith, hope he and Robin are correct in their very thorough and overly discussed assessment of the situation. The horse is bones at this point, they can’t keep over-analysing- he’s going to take action.

“My good sirs,” Eddie greets them in that playful tone he gets sometimes. He’s kind of a dork, now that Steve thinks on it- why does that make him even more attractive? It’s fucked up.

He gives Dustin a sweeping bow and pulls out his character sheet with a flourish. 

“So who’s the DM then? This famous Michael I keep hearing tales of?”

“Mike’s sick,” Steve replies. 

“Will the wise is stepping into his boots for tonight. We’ll just play a oneshot for now, pick up the real game once Mike’s better,” Dustin adds. “Steve, can we like- lock up now? It’s almost six, I highly doubt customers are going to lodge complaints.”

“Slacker,” Steve ruffles his hair fondly, but smiles, nods. Dustin leaves the store to gather the outside displays and bring them in.

He approaches Eddie, who’s staring appreciatively. Steve feels a bit giddy.

“Lemme see,” he says, plucking the sheet out from his hands. He hums, thoughtfully.

“Very- interesting. Lots of… your wisdom is very high. Very wise.”

“You don’t know what half of those mean, do you?” Eddie quirks an eyebrow, smiling as Steve squints at all his modifiers. Steve rolls his eyes.

“I know you’re a… a dwarf?” he reads, locating the box for race and smirking. “Wow- you’re shorter than my character then.”

He stares at Eddie for a minute, enjoying the pink flush creeping across his cheekbones- steps closer into his personal space and raises his hand, runs it over the top of both their heads. 

“Maybe in real life too,” he grins. Eddie scoffs and grabs his wrist, repeats the motion Steve just did. 

“Dream on, Harrington. Might not be much but I’m inching you out- I’m definitely taller.”

“Bullshit. If you are at all it’s because of your boots, anyway- docs have a wedge.”

“Yeah but your hair adds like two inches- let me bring you back down to earth-”

He ruffles at Steve’s fringe, laughing when Steve protests.

“There,” Eddie leans forward, pleased. “Told you- I’m towering over you now. DnD character height is irrelevant.”

“Your strength is higher than mine on your sheet too, wanna test that?”

Steve pushes at his chest, grinning when Eddie stumbles a little.

“Anytime, big boy.”

And oh- okay. Yes. This is- they’re flirting now, right? Eddie is definitely flirting- he looks coy, still flushed- Steve wants to step closer. Wants to push him back against the wall and mess him up.

“When you guys finish your dick measuring contest can we like- go?” Dustin interrupts, re-entering the front of the store loudly? Steve flinches, turns to snarl at him- but Max stands right beside him, and the look on her face- Steve narrows his eyes. Do not piss me off Mayfield, don’t fuck up my chances here.

She smiles innocently and widens her eyes like what? Butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth? 

“Okay dipshits, let me lock up here, yeah?”

He lets Eddie out, turns off the light and locks up the storefront. They wander upstairs- Will and Lucas trailing at the back, chatting to Eddie. Will is looking at him very wide-eyed, pink cheeked- someone has a crush, Steve thinks sympathetically. It’s deeply understandable.

“This is unusually clean,” Lucas comments as they enter the apartment- Steve yelling shoes off shitbrains- Henderson that means you.

“Yeah Steve, this place is a pigsty normally- you didn’t clean for us, right?” Max asks sweetly. Steve swats at her. “Can’t a guy host properly? What is wrong with you people, jesus,” he grumbles, herding them into the living room. 

He’s about to offer them drinks- offer Eddie one first- when Dustin emerges from his kitchen, drinking pepsi from the 2L bottle from the fridge. Steve glowers at him.

“Dustin-”

“What? I was thirsty.”

“Dude, who raised you? My god. Give me that.”

Steve swipes at it and fetches a bunch of cups. 

“Beer?” he offers Eddie quietly. 

“I’m good with pepsi. Gotta drive after,” he smiles.

Steve nods, and they gather round the table, Will at the head. Steve is hyper-conscious of Eddie next to him- it’s like he can feel him there even though they aren’t touching. Warm and alive and pretty and in Steve’s apartment, in his living room. Hopefully not for the last time.

Dungeons and dragons is- predictably- really not his game. 

He takes an eon every turn to work out what to do if they’re in combat, and is very clunky during all the roleplay stuff- the only saving grace is that Eddie seems content to sit next to him and explain in a low voice what numbers to add to the stuff he’s rolling, what dice to use. It’s very distracting, actually- especially when their legs brush against each other when he leans in close.

Eddie is really good.

He’s engaging, outgoing- interacts easily with everyone’s character, asks inquisitive questions and makes split second decisions in combat that always deal the highest amount of damage out of all of them each turn. Dustin and Will gaze at him, starstruck- Steve would find it cute if he wasn’t kicking himself for also mooning over Eddie the same way they are- and getting caught doing it, Max catching his eye with a smug little expression on her face. 

Since it’s a oneshot, Will seems to up the ante towards the end- the monsters get scarier, the hit points start draining across the board. Lucas dies first, using his reaction to try and save Max’s character, which is very sweet, and finally provides Steve a reason to smirk at her instead. 

Dustin dies next, whining about cursed ‘death dice’ on his third failed death save. Steve is sad for him, but Dustin doesn’t appear to care much once it’s over, and goes straight back to ribbing Steve over his questionable combat decisions. 

Steve’s on his last legs at this point, only 3 hit points left. Max and Eddie are marginally better, but Max takes another round of damage on her turn right before Steve- and Steve can tell from the micro-expression that flits across her features that she’s disappointed. Wants to kill the baddie before she goes out- Max is competitive like that. 

“I’m gonna- can I cast this spell? Healing word?” Steve asks Will.

“Yeah- go for it. Roll your d4 and add your spellcast modifier- it’s that number in the lower- yeah, that one.”

“Cool- so… seven? Total?”

“Okay, add that to your hitpoints then. Do you want to do anything-”

“No, sorry- for Max? I wanted to give it to Max’s- what’s your name again? These dumbass names, I can’t remember.”

“Lady Guinevere, right,” Eddie says, smiling at Steve. There’s an unreadable expression across his face.

Max blinks at him. “Thanks,” she mumbles. 

Steve dies pretty quickly after that- but Eddie and Max do manage to vanquish the last of their enemies and the session finishes up on a positive note, everyone cheering. It’s very nerdy but Steve feels warm, pleased. Eddie looks happy as well, and there’s something kind of heart-aching in the way he gets along with the stupid twerps Steve spends half his time caring for. 

Will goes to switch off the music he’s gently been playing through Robin’s little portable speaker for ambience in the background, but Dustin stops him, whining about letting the track finish. 

“You’re such a nerd,” Lucas snickers. “I can’t believe you listen to this stuff outside gameplay.”

“Yeah because your taste is sooo cool and refined, Lucas,” Max scoffs, rolling her eyes. 

“Sorry I’m not pretentious enough to listen to your indie-”

“Guys,” Dustin interjects, “let’s just all agree Mike’s taste is going to be worse when he actually DM’s.”

“I kind of like some of the stuff Mike listens to,” Will says. “He linked me the spotify for that band he was going on about recently, there’s a couple of cool tracks.”

“Didn’t take you for a metalhead, Byers,” Steve grins, ruffling Will’s hair. He feels Eddie stiffen beside him. 

“‘M not. He doesn’t only listen to metal, he listens to softer rock too. I like some of the whiny emo stuff.”

“Teenagers,” Steve sighs. 

“You sound so old, Steve,” Dustin tells him flatly. “And your music taste is actually the worst of all, so-”

“Okay shrimp, enough of that,” Steve grouches. “Your chariot is here anyway, I can hear Hopper’s car outside.”

They scramble up and out after that, bickering and complaining as Steve corrals them back out of the door. Eddie’s quieter than normal- he’s lacing up his boots after the kids leave.

“You have to go?” Steve asks. It is kind of late. Steve isn’t sure what Eddie’s work hours are like- he’s kind of cagey when it comes to discussing his job- but maybe he has to be up early. 

“Yeah dude, gotta hit the hay. This was really fun though- getting to play again after a long break.”

“Cool. Yeah- thanks for joining. Makes me feel like less of a babysitter,” Steve smiles. “And I’m sure Dustin will bug you again soon for the real campaign.”

“Maybe.”

Steve holds his breath, and then takes the plunge.

“Do you- are you a fan of Italian food?” he blurts. Smooth, very smooth. You suck.

Eddie blinks at him.

“Who isn’t?”

“Right,” Steve agrees, ducking his head. “It’s just- I know this place. Kind of nearby, it’s sort of hidden- but they do the best fucking aubergine parmigiana you’ll ever eat. And the tiramisu keeps me up at night, swear- and they have this little rooftop bar? You can eat open air, it’s real nice in the summer. So I was wondering- maybe we could-”

“Steve,” Eddie interrupts. And fuck. He looks- Steve heart plummets down two stories into the storefront, because he looks kind of sad. Shuttered.

“Sorry,” Steve says, “I didn’t mean to-”

“No- no, Steve- that’s not it,” Eddie sighs, leaning against the doorframe and shoving a hand through his bangs. He always wears his hair up, Steve thinks. Wonders what it looks like when it's down loose over his shoulders.

“That sounds- amazing, honestly. Really good. I would love to- it’s not that. It’s-” he cuts off, hiding his face in his palms. “You’re gonna think I’m so weird,” he moans. 

Steve is curious now, peers at Eddie through his splayed fingers. 

“You don’t- you do wanna go out with me?”

“I do. Really badly. If you’re- if this is you asking me out in a non-platonic-”

“It’s non-platonic,” Steve confirms softly, smiling at how red Eddie’s ears have gone. “It’s most definitely non platonic.”

“It’s just… I can’t really do anything that public,” he mumbles. Steve furrows his brow.

“Like around people?”

Eddie pauses, then nods silently. Steve softens- maybe it's an anxiety thing? 

“That’s okay,” he says gently. “There’s no pressure.”

“I just- I need to work through something, first,” Eddie sighs. 

Oh. Maybe it’s- maybe he isn’t out? 

“Yeah, well there's no rush,” Steve re-assures him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He thinks for a moment as Eddie comes out from hiding behind his palms. Makes a split second decision. 

“Are you free anyway- next Wednesday, maybe? Like after work?”

Eddie blinks at him, nods.

“Cool,” Steve grins. “Come over, then.”

*

“The secret identity thing is beginning to become less romcom and more concerning at this point,” Chrissy comments. “You have to tell him today, Ed. This is probably a first date situation-”

“It’s so not,” Eddie groans, emptying half his wardrobe on the bed to rifle through shirts. “I told him before we couldn’t go out. He probably just wants to hang out in the yard like normal. Or maybe his place- and I can’t fucking do that Chris- I’m gonna want him to make a move on me but I also cannot in good conscious fuck a guy who doesn’t even know who I am! Or why I came to his store in the first place! I’m so doomed.”

“You’re not doomed,” she consoles him. “You’re just, like- really stupid. I’ve been telling you that for years.”

“Yeah.”

“And that’s why I’m here to help you. Try on the black shirt, the one you’ve actually ironed. With the little chain at the collar.”

“Yeah.”

“Plus what I’m about to tell you is gonna ruin your mood, so-”

“Yeah. Wait what?”

Chrissy sighs. “Don’t be mad,” she pleads. “Remember the charity thing I was meant to get you guys out of this weekend? On Sunday?”

“The one you said you’d sorted out months ago??”

“Yeah. Turns out I didn’t really- they’ve been very stubborn. And initially it was Jeff’s request not to play it since he wanted a real break after tour, but he told me yesterday he’s happy to play, so-”

“Fuck Jeff! What about me- I’m not happy to-”

“Look, Eddie,” she huffs. “There’s not getting out of it. We announced it late on anyway, and it’s a relatively small venue- it’s really not a big deal. Just a quick show. And it’s for charity!!”

Eddie moans, sinking to his knees. “But Steve-”

“You have to tell him, Eddie,” she says softly. “He’s a big boy. He’ll handle it fine.”

Eddie narrows his eyes at her.

“Have you told Robin-”

“No. I haven’t- to be honest with you, we have been texting but our first date isn’t till Friday. We’re going out for drinks after her shift,” Chrissy smiles, biting her lip. 

Eddie is happy for her, really he is. He’s furious, too- but happy for her.

“You’re going to tell her.”

Chrissy groans. “I’m not going to lie, Eddie- I can’t, I’m shit at lying anyway. But I will tell her that she needs to keep it to herself until you tell Steve, okay? Although I reeeally think you need to tell him tonight. It’s only fair.”

He turns away from her and back to the floor length mirror, buttoning up the crisp black shirt. Rolls up the sleeves, but leaves it untucked from his jeans. He huffs.

“You look hot,” she praises. 

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Miss Cunningham.”

*

Steve seems to have closed up shop when Eddie shows up- it’s past eight to be fair. He stays in the car when he texts him, because he’s dressed more ostentatiously than normal and really doesn’t want to let the proverbial cat out of the bag via random fan screeching at him in the street outside Steve’s front door. He’s wearing little silver crosses in his ears, little chains, and a shirt that has made its way on stage once or twice- but he knows he looks good in it, so. Sue him.

The sun is just beginning to set in the sky, soft tendrils of pink and purple creeping across the clear empty expanse, cloudless and warm. It’s beautiful, an early summer evening. Steve appears from his front door, waves at him- then turns to unlock the store again. Eddie gets out, curious. So they aren’t going up to his place? Probably a good thing, but also- disappointing. 

Steve looks beautiful, which is normal, fine- predictable at this point. He could wear a bin bag and Eddie would still drool over him. He’s in a fine-knit dark green three-quarter zip, faded black jeans. Eddie wants to eat him, eat him right up.

He grins at Eddie as he approaches, then gives him a once over- slow and syrupy, there is no misreading that look, jesus. Eddie’s blood is fizzing in his veins- Steve’s pupils have dilated a little as he takes him in.

“Well,” he mumbles, opening the storefront door. “You clean up real pretty.”

Don’t blush like a fucking virgin, Eddie prays- to absolutely no avail, he can feel the heat in his face instantly. Curse my pale skin, he thinks. 

“What, this ol’ thing?” he jokes, plucking at his shirt and trying to pass Steve casually. Avoiding those hungry brown eyes, the heavy gaze- he’s been in the door for less than a minute and he’s already concerned about popping a boner. What the fuck.

The store is dark and cool inside- the atmosphere feels strangely tense, Eddie’s tongue feels heavy in his mouth. He holds himself back from opening it and letting words spill out unplanned- questions, queries, marriage proposals. Sexual propositions- mostly sexual propositions if he’s really being honest with himself.

“So,” Steve clears his throat, breaks the silence. He meanders up to the back door and opens it, cocking his head at Eddie in a come hither motion, smiling. Eddie swallows.

The back yard is… transformed.

Eddie steps out, mouth agape. 

All the usual clutter of crates and tools and pots and shop stock have all been stacked into one corner, and the courtyard has been swept, then covered with a big patchwork quilted picnic blanket, mismatched cushions littered around the edges. There’s fucking candles scattered around the raised beds, and two little sets of fairy lights strung up in the fruit trees- and a big brown basket to one side, wine bottle sitting in one of those frozen-chiller sleeve things. 

Eddie can’t breathe.

There’s a pull in his chest- his heart is in his fucking mouth- no one’s ever- no one has ever-

“Uh- ta-da,” Steve says lamely, makes a little jazz hands motion. It’s so cute that Eddie’s emotions redirect from panic to I want to run around and bite things, he’s hit over the head with a veritable wall of cuteness aggression. Fuck. Fuck my life, fuck. 

“Steve,” he breathes. “You-”

“I just figured- I’m not gonna come close to the food at Vite Estiva, but- I’m a decent cook, when I try. And who needs an open-air rooftop bar when you have casa harrington, right?”

Eddie blinks, and tries very hard to summon the power of speech. He fails, and nods instead, staring at Steve, who looks away, red in his cheeks.

“Are you hungry? I have some stuff out here already, kept mains in the apartment to keep warm.”

Fucking hell, why has he picked this moment to go nonverbal? He just nods again, following Steve’s lead and sitting down on the quilt. Fingers the fringey edge of the velvet cushion he’s sat against. It’s just- Eddie’s been on dates. A fair amount of dates- he’s been on really good ones and everything. But most of the time it’s been kind of standard- him organising, always him paying ever since the band had started to take off (which he doesn’t care about whatsoever). But he’s never had- whatever this is. Someone listen with absolutely no judgement, then pull off something so spectacularly sweet and thoughtful and romantic- 

“How are you single?” he blurts, finally capable of speech again. 

Steve blushes, rolls his eyes. “It’s a backyard picnic man, I’m not springing for luxury. I just wanted… I wanted to take you out. This is out, right?”

“This is… something else, Steve. Like- seriously.”

“Don’t make me blush.”

“Think that ship has sailed, buddy.”

“Don’t call me buddy on our date,” Steve scoffs, but he’s even redder now. He pushes a wine glass towards Eddie, then pours out a little stream of white wine.

“It’s very much mid tier I’m afraid,” he adds, “neither me or Robin know much about wine, other than the bottom shelf tastes like ass and the top shelf’s too expensive. I like this one though, so- but if you want a beer instead? Or are you driving?”

“I can go one glass, all good. What is that?” Eddie queries, peering at the weird bulbous vegetable Steve has removed from the basket. It looks like a strange little prehistoric creature. Steve laughs bodily when he tells him that- the sound makes Eddie’s stomach flip-flop.

“It’s an artichoke,” he says. There's a little dip in a dish, and Steve shows him how to pull off a leaf, dip and eat the meat off the bottom. “Maybe you won’t like it, sorry- it’s just, most of the time I’m cooking with stuff from the garden, and that’s what’s in season right now.”

“I’ve had artichoke dip before, I think. Just never seen it in its true form. What a powerful aura.”

It tastes pretty damn good- maybe that’s mostly from the copious amounts of buttery lemon dip Eddie coats it in, but still. It’s fun, a weird new food. Cool that Steve grew this.

“It’s so fucking cool that you just grew this. Like- right there, and now we’re eating it.”

Steve hums, pleased. “Tastes better when you grow it yourself.”

“You’re a regular Martha Stewart,” Eddie grins, “he cooks, he cleans… he bakes.”

“I look good in an apron, too right?”

“You looking fucking great in an apron,” Eddie laughs. He catches Steve’s hand after he drops a leaf on the discard pile, admiring the messily painted nails. He glances at Steve, who’s blushing again. “Your handiwork too?”

“Definitely not. I think you met the artist the other day- Max, and her friend El. The badly painted hand is Max’s doing. El at least bothered to stick to a scheme.”

“I don’t know, I think I prefer the left one. It’s kind of punk.”

“Yeah? I don’t know if I’d describe myself as punk.”

“You’re punk as fuck, Steve. Growing your own food, off grid offline? Very fucking metal.”

Steve beams, pleased. 

“They’ll do your nails too if you’re not careful. Spend enough time around this place and you’ll fall victim to the whims of many irritating teenagers.”

“So- are you actually related to any of them? Or do they just imprint on you like puppies?”

Steve snorts. Tells Eddie about his unconventional family- it’s like something out of a found family adventure novel- he actually isn’t related by blood to any of them. Disowned by his parents when he turned eighteen, moved in with his grandpa- Eddie can relate to that, heart squeezing as he thinks about Wayne. His grandfather passed two years later, leaving Steve a small fortune- he’d also been the one to encourage Steve in the garden, and to get him to enroll in community college to run a small business. He’d met Joyce on the same course, and she’d half adopted him by the end of it- he’d been neighbours with the Henderson’s at that point, and Dustin’s mom seemed to have taken pity on Steve too, feeding him multiple times a week. It all seems to expand from there- their strange little group of companions is close knit, hangs out regularly. Steve bought the store when he turned twenty two- two years ago, wow, young- he and Robin had been running it since, although Robin doesn’t plan on doing that long term. 

“She’s so smart,” Steve tells him. “It’s so weird, because we practically have the same brain, but she’s also blessed with this crazy ability to play like- five instruments and speak a billion languages. We definitely don’t have the same ears,” he laughs. 

“Do you play anything?” Eddie asks. Like an idiot, poke the fucking bear why don’t you.

“Nah. My mom tried to get me piano lessons as a kid, but I don’t have the patience or whatever for practicing. How about you?”

Yes, Eddie- do you play? You moron? Why did he initiate this conversation- he’s not ready to tell Steve yet, not prepared.

“Guitar,” he admits. Nothing weird about that- loads of people play the guitar. “And bass. And synth.”

“Woah,” Steve grins. “You gotta play for me some time.”

“Mhm,” Eddie squeaks, “maybe.”

“I’m gonna run inside really quick- bring out dinner and stuff.”

He leaves Eddie to curse himself and his future bloodline, panic texting Chrissy. I’m blowing this, I’m fucking it up- he’s perfect, he’s so perfect, I want to keep him so badly but I’m an utter disaster, help me help me-

“Man I think I made like- way too much pasta,” Steve wrinkles his nose, unpacking the basket again. Two plates, and a big yellow ceramic dish filled with something that smells fucking excellent. Teeny tiny little pasta tubes, tiny green peas, herbs, slivers of what looks like crisped bacon. 

“Damn, you sprung for bacon? You must really like me, Harrington. Cards on the table, huh?”

“Oh I went above that- it’s pancetta. Trying to keep a kind of Italian theme- plus I can’t keep up with the amount of peas we’re growing at the minute, and they’re so good. Super sweet. Actually, before you eat- one second.”

He stands up and reaches up to one of the twining plants on a pole behind a web of green mesh net, retrieves a pea pod, pops it open.

“Try that. The peas- they’re like sugar sweet. I eat them all day, it’s addictive.”

They are so sweet, crunchy. Springtime in your mouth. 

“That’s the best pea I’ve ever eaten.”

“You eat a lot of peas?”

“I’ll level with you here, Stevie- I actually don’t eat that many vegetables. Before this, I think I maybe ate something green once a month- unless lime jello counts. Or pickles.”

“Oh- you’re one of those people…”

“Hey- no judgement here! I just can’t cook. I never get the time- my body runs off instant noodles most of the year. Anyway,” Eddie pokes him, lifts a forkful of pasta from his plate, “you’ve converted me. These pea pods are going to visit me in my dreams now. I still daydream about that rhubarb pie, man.”

“You can come raid my garden any time,” Steve smiles- and then turns fire engine red. 

Eddie snickers. “Yeah? I’ll be sure to pay looots of visits. Sample everything you’re growing.”

“Just eat the damn pasta.”

It’s fucking excellent pasta. But then again, everything Steve makes seems to taste good, so Eddie’s beyond surprise at this point- just moans like a whore when he tastes the first mouthful of salty-pancetta-sweet-pea-lemon-pepper-pasta goodness. Good fucking lord, holy mouthgasm.

Dessert is similarly sinful- little creamy pots of panna cotta with blueberry compote on top, blueberries from the bush Eddie sees Dustin raiding on every other shift. 

“I think you’re in the wrong business,” he tells Steve. “I’m gonna need you to open a catering business. And by that I mean- I’ll be your main customer. Your only customer. I’ll keep you very busy, I promise.”

“Good pay?”

“Oh very,” Eddie purrs, “wait till you see the benefits package.”

Steve shoves at him, laughing- complains about how terrible that line is, but he’s blushing so, who’s the real winner? Eddie. Most definitely, in every conceivable way right now.

It’s pretty dark by now- you can’t really see that many stars that clearly, because they’re in the middle of Chicago and light pollution yada yada- but it’s still super pretty. Nice to lie back, stomach full of the best home-cooked food Eddie’s had in donkeys years, look up at the purple-blue sky. Steve’s had music playing very gently in the background for a while now, off that very terrible speaker of Robin’s that Eddie simply must replace. As soon as possible.

He’s humming, and Eddie realises with a jolt what the song is. Wild Horses.

“You like this song?”

Steve turns his head to look at him- wow, okay. He’s close, they’re a lot closer than Eddie realised. Face to face now. Eddie can smell wine and vanilla from the dessert on his breath.

“Yeah. My grandpa used to sing along to it all the time. S’one of my favourites.”

Eddie nods gently, words deserting him again as he’s swallowed up in Steve’s gaze. His eyes are flecked with a greeny kind of hazel in places. There’s a crop of very pale freckles over his nose, browbone, cheeks. 

“I’ve never asked you what kind of music you like,” Steve whispers. “I always see you in band shirts- I’ll admit, I don’t know any of the names. You look like you listen to rock. Do you?”

Eddie’s eyes flutter shut. He’s overwhelmed- there’s a wave cresting, about to crash. About to devour him. Whether it’s panic or desire- he won’t know until it breaks.

“I listen to lots of stuff,” he replies softly. “Loads of genres.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Bet you have good taste.”

Eddie smiles. “I have the best taste.”

And he leans in.

Their noses bump, just before touchdown. Eddie feels- rather than sees- Steve’s smile, exhales gently. Then Steve brushes his lips against his own- soft, plush, warm. He presses forward, and Eddie feels a great swoop in his stomach, reaches out a hand and curls it into Steve’s pullover, tugging him forward, kissing his lower lip, then licking at the seam of Steve’s mouth until he opens up, panting a little. Steve reaches both hands up to cup his face, cradling his jaw, sliding fingers into his hair, roving over his neck- his touch is all consuming, desperate, red-hot. Steve tugs his hair gently and Eddie lets out a soft sound like he’s been punched- the air around them seems to thicken then, desire flashing through him as Steve groans into his mouth, then shifts forward to roll on top of him, kneeling, pressing him down and kissing him slow, thorough. Regardless of the chemistry Eddie’s felt with him from day one- Steve is also a fantastic kisser. He takes the lead effortlessly, pulls little sounds out of Eddie as he licks into him, then kisses over to his jaw, his ear, biting gently until Eddie lets out a whoosh of air, moans softly.

Eddie slides his hands up under Steve’s shirt, over the expanse of soft skin, hot-to-touch, reveling in the little gasp Steve lets out against his neck. His eyes roll back slightly- fuck his body is ridiculous. Does gardening require abdominal muscles? He’s not overly muscular, but lean, toned- powerful- the entire experience is beginning to strain the already deeply comfortable situation in his jeans-

“You’re so- you’re driving me crazy,” Steve pants, voice low and rough. Desperate. “I’ve wanted this for-”

“-weeks,” Eddie rasps, hips bucking as Steve bites at his ear again, moves to suck a bruise just below it. Chrissy’s going to kill him for this, he hasn’t even- he needs to-

“Weeks, yeah, fuck,” Steve moans, “I- jesus. I don’t normally- I just- I need to fuck you so badly Eddie, I wanna-”

Jesus H christ- Eddie’s mind whites out a little- he whimpers, clutching at Steve- brain emptying entirely of the previous train of thought he’d been going down- all he can think about is Steve, Steve pinning him down, holding him in place, driving into him, fucking him stupid-

“-I wanna- make you feel so good, wanna keep you, Eddie- I wanna know you better than anyone-”

When Eddie was in middle school, there’d been an online challenge going round that everyone in his class had participated in. A charity one, a hashtag- the ice bucket challenge. Eddie had stood outside the trailer while Gareth filmed, Wayne watching on in silent judgement as Jeff had dumped a huge plastic tub full of icy water over Eddie- his head still shaved at the time, only a year out from living with his dad. That sensation- of standing there in the sticky summer heat, skin damp with humidity- then the plunge, the instant and all-encompassing shock of the cold- it’s the only experience akin to this, to when Steve says those words. 

Know you better than anyone.

Because Steve doesn’t. Steve, who has poured himself open for Eddie like chilled summer wine, Steve- who wears his heart pinned to his fucking apron, open, take me, have me. Steve- who shared his family with Eddie less than a month into knowing him, who cooks him food that he grows by hand, planted from seed, nurtured in the soil he tills, the water he gives every day, touched so intimately, life in Eddie’s belly.

Eddie feels buried. He’s among the roots of Steve’s fruit trees- deep and away from Steve’s sunlight, his air. The hourglass is empty now, the bomb in his chest has detonated- it went off weeks ago- it went off the moment he stepped foot into Steve’s store- his life- the moment Steve looked at him with his warm brown eyes. Unaware and unassuming.

Steve has stopped.

He gazes down to where Eddie’s frozen in place, lip quivering. He can’t, he won’t. He isn’t going to, he’s going to manually dictate the actions of his tear ducts if it takes every iota of self-control within him.

“Eddie? Are you okay?”

Eddie exhales harshly. 

“I- I need to go.”

“Oh- god, I’m-”

Steve rolls off him as if burned, a look of mortification flashing across his features.

Eddie reaches for him- desperate. Always so fucking desperate, reaching like one of Steve’s plants, leaves ever-pointing towards sunlight.

“No- it’s not you- Steve, I’m sorry. I just-”

He doesn’t know what to say. What the fuck do I say? I’ve been lying to you by omission for the entirety of our knowing each other? I worry you don’t know me at all? I think I’m in love with you?

All of this is true, and none of it is helpful- he staggers to his feet- he can’t even look at Steve. 

Coward. Fucking coward.

“I need to- go. I’m so sorry- this was-”

He bites his lip, eyes squeezed shut. “This was everything.”

And then he leaves, does what he does best. Runs away. 

Chapter Text

Chrissy knows something’s wrong the moment Robin steps into the little tapas bar. She looks hot- Chrissy wants to kiss the gloss off her lips, peel off her cuffed black jeans and lick in between her thighs. 

But it’s a first date, and Robin looks kind of like a thundercloud. A really pretty thundercloud.

“Hey,” she smiles weakly. She’d bet every cent she’s ever made off of Corroded Coffin’s catapult to fame that this anger is from a very specific source. One with shitty under-conditioned curls and no fucking brain between his ears.

“Hi,” Robin says shortly, sitting down and picking up the wine menu.

Chrissy sighs.

“How is he?”

Robin doesn’t look up from the menu. She stays silent for a minute longer, then orders a glass of Malbec. Chrissy waits. She’s nothing if not patient.

“He’s bad, actually. He’s- your friend is a complete-”

“He’s really slow, yes.”

“Why?” Robin asks, anger colouring her tone. “I thought- it seemed like he really liked Steve. And Steve is- he’s fucking gone on him, you have no idea-”

“I do,” Chrissy tells her, sipping her own drink. “I really do. And-” she groans. 

“Can I preface this by saying- please don’t judge me too harshly for the company I keep? I’m about to tell you something that’s going to make me look even worse than I am now- and I think you’re really hot. And funny. So-”

Robin blinks at her. There’s a little colour beneath her freckles now- but her eyes are still cold, stern. 

“Yeah. I’ll try.”

Chrissy exhales. 

“I mean- you work with him, right? I guess I can relate to the idiot coworker thing a bit,” Robin concedes, tugging at a curl of light brown hair by her ear.

“I manage him,” Chrissy replies. “Gareth too. I manage their band.”

Robin frowns. “He said you guys work in entertainment, but-”

Chrissy pulls out her phone, pulls up Corroded Coffin’s instagram.

Robin scrolls for a moment. Her eyes go very very wide. She pulls out her own phone, putting Chrissy’s on the table. She’s googling- Chrissy can tell. Googling the band, googling Eddie. Maybe even googling Chrissy.

“Okay. Fuck.”

Chrissy nods. 

“What- how?”

“That’s actually- only part of what I wanted to tell you.”

So she tells Robin the rest of it. The video, the tweet. Steve is still viral across twitter, tiktok, reddit. “It’s actually a miracle no one else has worked out where you guys work, honestly- you’re really lucky I’m big into niche ceramic artists.”

Robin is speechless, so Chrissy continues. “Eddie has wanted to tell Steve. It’s not even like- a fame thing. It’s just him being a moron and building it up to some big thing because this whole ordeal started when he thirst tweeted under that video you uploaded- and to be honest? He does have a pretty hardcore fanbase. He’s never dated anybody publicly, but even when he’s incorrectly linked to people- other celebrities, influencers- people go feral online, act really fucking weird. I honestly don’t know how they might react to somebody more… normal, like Steve. Who is a total sweetheart, by the way- he’s too good for Eddie,” she rolls her eyes, sips her wine again. 

“This is fucked,” Robin says. “This is like- tenth degree fucked, actually.” 

She picks up her wine glass and drains half of it. 

“Jesus I think we might need more than wine, Chrissy,” Robin chokes, grinning hysterically. “So what- you’re telling me- even if they get together, Steve is like- is he going to get stalked? Oh god please say no, I’ve watched like- way too much true crime. So many podcasts too. And I live with him, just to be clear- I kind of assumed the main negative of them getting together might be overly loud morning sex-”

“He won’t-” Chrissy sighs. “I can’t promise that- I mean yeah, it would be a big change, I guess. Not to dampen their honeymoon phase but he’d need to meet with our publicist, sign a few NDA’s-”

“What is going on,” Robin wails. “I mean- to be honest? I kind of did recognise Eddie. Like maybe subliminally. But Dustin said the same thing to me, and told me Eddie just said he had one of those faces- none of us are really into rock…” she trails off, frowning.

“Has Eddie met Mike yet?”

“Uh. I don’t know? I don’t think he mentioned him if he did.”

Robin laughs. “Yeah- Mike’s been sick for the last few weeks. You’re right about luck- that’s divine intervention. Mike listens to all these kinds of bands. Not sure where I might have seen him before.”

“He’s on a billboard just past Navy Pier. I mean- the band is.”

“Well yeah. Fuck. That’ll do it,” Robin replies dryly. 

“Look- I know this is all crazy- but can you please promise me one thing?”

“No- Chrissy please don’t-”

“Just for like- a day! Two days, maximum!”

“Chrissy, I live with him. He’s like… he’s like an extension of my brain, that’s like asking me to keep a secret from my left arm!”

“Please,” Chrissy begs. “I can promise you- I have talked some sense into Eddie. He wants this. He wants Steve- he is going to tell him, he told me he’s going back into the store tomorrow before you guys shut at twelve. I gave him till the end of the weekend- can you wait until then? I swear if Monday comes and he’s still acting like a lunatic you can tell Steve, and then come and beat both of us with hammers.”

“Steve has a baseball bat,” Robin sniffs. “For intruders.”

“With that, then.”

Robin sighs. “Okay,” she begrudges, “till Monday. But only because I think you’re really hot. Can we start drinking something stronger now?”

*

The bell rings out loud and brash in the silence of the store when Eddie walks in on Saturday morning. 

The steady thrum of nerves is violent in his veins- but he needs to do this. He wants to at least apologise to Steve- give him some kind of explanation. Then maybe he’ll tell him, or maybe he’ll wait a little longer- until the charity concert is over tomorrow. Fresh start, fresh break.

He hears Steve rushing in from the back door, yelling- “sorry- just coming!”

His face freezes when he sees Eddie, and Eddie’s heart wrenches. There’s bags under his eyes, and he looks like a deer in Eddie’s crosshairs. 

“Oh,” Steve says, voice a little smaller than usual. “Hey, Eddie.”

“Steve,” he says, vocal cords uncomfortably tight, “I- I just wanted to-”

“Don’t- if you’re here to say sorry,” Steve interrupts, waving his hands and ducking his head. “I mean- you don’t need to. Honestly- I’m sorry, if I made you uncomfortable- if I moved too quickly-”

“You didn’t,” Eddie urges, “not at all. I fucked up- I really want to just… I just wanted to say I’m sorry for leaving like that, it was really uncool. I had a really good time, an amazing time.”

Steve stares at him, blinks. His shoulders sag a little, Eddie can see the tension dissipating a little.

“I’m glad,” he smiles. “I thought maybe I’d like- given you food poisoning or something.”

Eddie groans. “I did run out of there like a fuckin’ madman. I’m sorry, Stevie- I can’t tell you how sorry I-”

“Hey- no more of that. Seriously- we’re cool. We’re all good,” Steve says firmly. 

Eddie relaxes a little, wanders further into the store. They chat for a while about meaningless things- “you just missed Mike, actually,” Steve adds. Eddie winces, but it goes unnoticed because Steve is focused on pulling up something on his phone to show him.

“He isn’t working today- just came by because he’s better now and he’s all excited over some concert tomorrow.”

There is no way. No fucking way, no-

“I haven’t heard of them of course because I’m apparently ‘way uncool’, but I think he feels bad about missing so many shifts- he’s dragging me along. Well- he told me that, but I know for a fact it’s because Dustin and Will both turned him down first,” Steve scoffs. “I figured it would be fun, going in blind y’know? I haven’t actually heard their music yet- total fake fan, right?”

Eddie is trying very hard to listen to the words Steve’s saying, but it's not Going In. Not happening, not when he’s flashing the digital tickets to Eddie’s own concert tomorrow. 

“He was really chuffed that he even got these, actually- apparently they only went on sale the other day, and he’s actually not been on social media much so it’s a total coincidence he saw them go on sale.”

He really needs to speak, like now. Needs to reply to Steve, who’s blinking at him concernedly.

Say something. Say: cool, interesting. Say-

“You know- I’m actually going to be there,” he blurts. 

And well- fuck it, at this point. Let’s commit.

“Really?” Steve asks brightly.

“Yeah. Really.”

“That’s so cool- what a coinkidink.”

Then he blushes, because only white men over the age of fifty and Steve Harrington use the word ‘coinkidink’.

Eddie just smiles at him, fondly. He looks really fucking beautiful right now, even with the pale purple smudges below his big brown eyes.

Eddie leans forward, takes his chin in one hand- feels Steve inhale slightly- then kisses him soft and sweet. Gentle. They sway there a moment, holding onto each other's arms, Steve standing in a shaft of warm sunlight from the window. Eddie breaks the kiss, presses his forehead against Steve’s.

“Come find me, then. Tomorrow.”

Steve sighs softly. “Yes please.”

“I’ll be at the front.”

“At the front?”

“The very front.”

“I can try- we’re standing, I think.”

“Yeah you are, says on your ticket, doofus.”

Steve smiles. “You sound like Robin.”

“But I’m prettier, right?” Eddie asks, fluttering his eyelashes. Steve rolls his eyes, and kisses him again. 

He leaves an hour later, and Steve tells him he’ll see him tomorrow. Smiles hopefully with his hair flopping in his eyes.

“I’ll text you,” he says. “I’ll try and get to the front.”

“I’ll find you,” Eddie promises. “Don’t worry about that, sweetheart.”

*

Something is severely wrong with Robin. 

She’s actually batshit crazy- far more manic than usual. 

When Steve tells her about the concert, she stares at the ticket for a solid minute, unspeaking. Then she bursts out laughing, and won’t stop until she’s doubled over, silent wheezing, tears tracking down one cheek. 

“Is this because I don’t look like- a rock concert kind of guy? Like I’m not cool enough?” he asks, genuinely concerned.

“Oh my god,” Robin moans. “What is my life- Steve this is too much. You’re too much.”

“What did I-”

“Nothing, babe. Like really- you didn’t do anything. Jesus. I’m going to- wait here.” She returns five minutes later with two bottles of beer.

“Okay. So- when is it tomorrow?”

“It’s an afternoon thing I think, some charity gig. I’m meeting Mike at one.”

Robin nods.

“Can you wake me tomorrow then? Say- eleven.”

“You hate getting up before twelve on Sundays. You told me it was against your religion.”

“Tomorrow is an exception, dingus. Promise me.”

“Sure. Why the fuck is everyone acting so weird today?”

“Everyone?” Robin asks, narrowing her eyes. 

Steve swallows. “Eddie visited. We- he apologised. We kissed, again,” he says, unable to stop the grin spreading across his face. Robin blinks at him, then downs half of her beer. 

“Yeah,” she says hoarsely, “I’ll bet. Did you mention-”

“The concert, yeah I did. He’s actually going as well, I said I’d text him when we get there. It’ll be nice for him to meet Mike. As long as Mike isn’t acting like a little shit.”

“That,” Robin sighs, “is the least of your troubles Steve. Fuck me. I need to go to bed.”

Steve frowns. “What? It’s eight o’clock. And you haven’t told me anything about your date with Ch-”

“Nope! I need alone time right now before I do something insane. Be good. Tomorrow. Eleven. Drag me out of bed, kicking and screaming, okay dingus? Night.”

And she stands- takes her own beer bottle- and then his, for good measure- and returns to her room, slams the door. 

“What the fuck,” Steve whispers to the empty hallway.

True to her word, Robin kicks him when he tries to get her up at eleven. She’s terrifying in the morning, but after five minutes and the smell of coffee she becomes lucid enough to roll out of bed and march Steve into his own room again, sits him down.

“Right,” she says. “Let's begin.”

Steve is dressed and undressed over and over like a veritable kendoll. Robin refuses to tell him why she’s so invested in this- he’s already stressed out over his outfit in front of Eddie before previous interactions and she hadn’t cared then, so why now? 

“Maybe it’s not just Eddie’s attention you need to worry about, okay? Just shut up and put this on. No- not that one, the black one. The slutty one.”

She puts him in his nicest drainpipe jeans that fit tight over his ass, low slung on his hips with red boxers peeking out. A black t-shirt with a faded red graphic printed on the back that Steve never wears because it’s honestly too small for him now- there’s a flash of skin showing below his stomach. Then she marches him back into her room, and clips on one of those wallet chains to his belt- “what the fuck am I supposed to be, an egirl?”, messes around with his hair for a painful twenty minutes, and then threatens him with violence until he lets her painstakingly smudge black pencil liner around his waterline, over the top of his eyelid. 

“I look weird.”

“You look hot, Steve.”

“My waist is out!”

“That’s the point, dingus.”

“And the makeup- why?”

“Just- trust me, okay?”

She exhales, and puts her hands on his shoulders. 

“Are you in the right headspace to receive information that could possibly hurt you?”

“What is wrong with you?”

She giggles manically. “I’m just letting you know- if we get stalkers? Your fault. You’re dealing with it, and you’re cleaning the blood off the baseball bat.”

“Robin, what-”

But then Mike’s banging at the door, yelling at Steve to hurry up, the uber’s here moron.

“Go get em’ tiger,” Robin says flatly, slapping his back as he leaves, bemused.

Mike looks him up and down, wrinkles his nose. “What are you-”

“Just- can it, Wheeler, okay? Get out of the hall, move,” Steve orders, pushing him and rolling his eyes. He pulls on a pair of black boots and follows Mike out and into the uber. 

Mike chats at him nonstop as they pull up to the venue- it’s mobbed already, doors open in ten minutes. Steve can tell he’s angling for praise over the staying-more-offline thing, which is sweet, but also annoying. Mike has always been kind of annoying though- in a whinier way than Dustin or Max. Whatever. 

“I can’t believe you didn’t listen to any of their stuff before this though Steve,” Mike complains. “I feel like I’m wasting the ticket on you.”

“I thought it would be fun to go in blind,” Steve shrugs. “I doubt it’ll be my thing anyway.” 

“Probably not, but I bet you’ll think the two lead guys are hot,” Mike snickers. Steve elbows him. 

“Sorry, sorry- I hear you’re a married man now, anyway,” Mike whines, rubbing his ribs where Steve had caught him. “When am I meeting the guy? I gotta give him the shovel talk, even if Dustin says he’s cool.”

“Today, hopefully- he’s here as well,” Steve says, scanning the crowd. He’d texted Eddie when they got to the venue, and all Eddie had replied was: c u soon. get 2 the front!! <3

“Think we can worm our way forward?” Steve mutters to Mike as they file in, people lining up to stream inside the final section of the venue. 

“You wanna go for barrier? Cool,” Mike grins. 

They’re lining up when it happens for the first time. A guy walks past Steve- blue hair gelled up into spikes, and he glances at them, double takes. 

“No way- gardener boy,” he grins. “Cool.” 

Then he walks on, as if that was a Normal interaction. 

Steve is nonplussed, just shrugs at Mike when he stares. 

As the crowd thickens around them in the queue, it happens again. 

It’s two girls, the next time- one of them gasps, squeals. “Oh no way! That’s so cute that you’re here to see him play.”

Steve blinks at them. “Um… thanks?”

“I loved your singing, by the way,” one of them giggles, and then they’re pulled away into the line. 

“Am I like- tweaking?”

Mike just stares at him. “Maybe they think you’re someone else?”

Maybe. Maybe Steve has a doppelganger- one that multiple metalheads seem to be intimately aware of, because as they move into the venue and push forward in the crowd, the comments just keep on coming. Little gasps, sometimes. Things like- ‘hey pretty boy’, and- ‘look! gardener guy is here’- there’s even a ‘what’s he like in the sack?’ yelled out which is especially confounding. Is it the store? Did they somehow go viral on tiktok against Steve’s knowledge?

“This is so weird,” Mike hisses at him. “Why are you like- why do they keep saying that stuff?”

“I don’t know,” Steve snaps, “how should I know that?”

He’s a little thrown off by it all, to be honest- and to make matters worse, Eddie has stopped replying. By some miracle, they really do make it all the way to the front- under the right hand side of the stage, where Eddie said he was. But when Steve peers around hopefully he can’t see him- no curly ponytail or topknot, no pretty cheekbones. He sighs. Maybe they’ll just have to rendezvous after the show. 

Mike is wired, charged up and excited. He hops up and down next to Steve, pissing off the big guy behind them enough that Steve eventually puts a hand on his shoulder to make him stop moving. It works for the ten minutes they have to stand around waiting for the support act to come on stage- they play a short and very loud set- Steve is kind of regretting being so close to the stage now, because it’s pretty deafening. The atmosphere is cool though, charged and excitable. He feels his phone vibrate in his pocket during the last song- checks it as the support act files off stage. 

eddie 8): I c u. wtf u look so hot wtf steve wtf wtf

Steve glances around, desperate. 

“What?” Mike hisses. “Where the fuck is your boyfriend, anyway?”

His phone goes off again. 

eddie 8): ur so cute, god. r u looking 4 me?

steve <3: yea, where u @?

eddie 8): u will c me soon. promise

Steve is bewildered. Eddie’s nowhere to be seen- he’s scanned the crowd around him multiple times to no avail, how is it he can see Steve? He’s frustrated, amused- is this some kind of magic trick? 

The crowd surges with noise then as the lights dim, smoke filling the stage. Mike shrieks like a tween girl, and Steve snorts, laughing at him vibrating with excitement. “That’s them,” he hisses, “they’re on!”

Steve can see four figures making their way through the smoke, hears the crowd cheer and shriek, scream in anticipation. The mood is getting to him now despite the fact he doesn’t know any of their songs- he’s keyed up, excited. He’s sad though, too. Disappointed he couldn’t find Eddie in time, couldn’t reach him. Would have been fun to share this with him, to hold his hand or press his back up against Eddie’s chest as the crowd sways a little. 

He hears a loud strum rip through the smoke, and the cheers surge in volume. Steve grins.

The smoke clears, and the lights dip low and red- and then Steve looks up.

It’s like a bolt of lightning straight to the chest.

Eddie’s eyes are on him as the smoke drifts away, unblinking, unbreaking- frenzied, there’s something there in his gaze, dark and hot and needy. 

Steve is stuck, frozen in place- he feels as though the very blood in his veins is stationery. Shock isn’t a strong enough word. There are no words capable of describing this, describing any of it- it feels like he’s stepped outside of his body, watching it take place in third person as Eddie smiles at him. 

Mouths hey sweetheart.

“He’s looking at us!” Mike squeals, tugging Steve’s arm, “the guitarist, look!”

Look! As though Steve has been able to do anything but that. Steve isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to look away, ever be able to break his gaze. 

He hears- as though from a great distance- the singer introduce them, hears the drummer open the first song with a crash of rhythm, rapid and violent. 

Eddie springs into life.

It’s as if the guitar is a missing limb. He moves around with it so fluidly, shredding and strumming, head bopping to the beat, jumping about around his mic- wild and erratic, more alive than anything Steve’s ever seen. Than anything he’s ever grown in his garden.

His hair is a living creature- flying about around his shoulders, flipping forward as he leans over his guitar, fingers flying across- jesus christ, is he playing that? Is that Eddie, playing the solo? 

Mike is screaming appreciation as Eddie plays- Steve is still standing almost stationery, mute with shock, awe.

He sings, on the second track. Backing vocals- his voice is rough, desperate. He keeps eye contact with Steve every single time he sings- Steve’s mouth is still hanging open, tongue dry. Because- it’s kind of like- not only is it Eddie- who Steve is already crazy about and half in love with- but also- it’s an entirely different category of drug, having the focused attention of an actual godforsaken rockstar focused on you. To have their eyes- dark, heavy lidded, intense- hold you in place, gaze unbreaking- to feel like every word is directed at you- it feels fucking depraved, actually, like every word is a caress, or a slap. Both. Steve is simultaneously aware of the fact that he actually hasn’t breathed since the second song started, and that he’s rock hard. Like- raging boner- his skin feels on fire- he’s actually losing his mind. Jesus christ, Steve thinks, spit in my mouth, please.

Eddie jumps around the stage over the next two songs, abandoning his vocals to jump up on a raised platform behind the drummer and fall to his knees, wrenching out a lightspeed-fast and very complex sounding solo, head thrown back- neck bare. I gave him a bruise there, Steve thinks. He’s marked. He’s mine.

He plays up close and personal with the bassist, both of them strumming their guitars and leaning against each other. The energy across the stage is wild, borderline sexual- the crowd howls, screams along to the lyrics. Steve is buffeted this way and that, losing himself in the music for a little while, always returning to gaze up reverently at Eddie. 

Sweat drips down his torso towards the end- he’s in a black tank top with the sides all cut away, displaying a host of tattoos Steve intends to get to know very intimately. His jeans look painted on, ripped all up the front, tucked into a chunky pair of boots Steve’s seen before. He wore those on our date, Steve realises, and he actually has to stifle a moan, feels a wave of pleasure crest over him. His dick is aching in his jeans- he has no idea how to dispel that issue when this torture/erotic experience comes to a close. 

Eddie’s stage presence is just- something else. He’s clearly a fan favourite- they roar his name, chant for certain songs, for pieces of him- Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. 

“Isn’t that your boyfriend's name?” Mike yells in Steve’s ear, tugging him close to his face to make himself heard over the crowd. Steve just laughs, laughs until Mike gives up and shrugs him off.

There comes a point where the crowd around Steve seems especially revved up- some kind of Moment, a ritual, a tradition is about to occur. 

“Try and jump to catch it if he throws something,” Steve hears the guy behind them say.

Eddie walks backwards away from the lead singer, then reaches behind him and pulls out the long silk bandana he’s kept stuffed in his back pocket for the duration of the gig. He jumps forward, leaning down and swinging it around suggestively, grinning coyly. 

The crowd screams- reaching, hands grabbing in the air. Eddie shakes out his mane of curls, then walks straight over to the edge of the stage just in front of Steve and Mike. 

Steve is so so red now- doesn’t think he could speak if asked- starstruck isn’t covering this experience. Heart attack might cover it, in the loosest sense of the term. 

Eddie leans down, smiles at Steve like a fucking shark- flutters the bandana in front of him.

“Come on,” he says in a low voice- he’s mic’d, Steve realises, they can all hear him. “Come and get it, big boy.”

Mike is yelling- everyone is yelling actually- Eddie just looks at him with that unbearably fond expression he gets sometimes, his brown eyes twinkling dangerously. Steve reaches out, shaking, takes the bandana. He feels like- like he’s floating away. Sinking into a dream.

Eddie winks at him, then whirls away back to the stage, dancing around. They’re all staring at him, Steve realises- all three of his bandmates. The drummer has a shit-eating grin on his face- is that Gareth??!- he waggles his fingers in a little wave at Steve before he starts the next song.

Mike is yelling at him, something in his ear- Steve has no fucking idea what he’s saying. His brain has lost the ability to actually process speech- its melting out of his fucking ears. The next song is a total blur, Eddie singing again- singing and gazing at Steve as if he’s fucking serenading him. Steve wishes now that he’d listened to their music before this. That he’d opened his eyes- it just- nothing makes sense, nothing about any of this makes sense.

He’s panicking a bit now- is this an elaborate prank? Is he being filmed for some show? Are people going to- jump out, say gotcha- is that why those people made those comments? Oh god it is a prank, Steve is going to be sick, he can’t breathe-

“Hi,” Eddie says suddenly into the mic, smiling. He’s facing the crowd now- he hasn’t actually spoken all night the way the lead singer has. “What’s up, Chicago?”

The crowd loses it- screaming and hollering in response. An animal kingdom, gazing up at the lion.

“Before we do our encore- I got one more song to add to the setlist. Lil’ request, actually-”

The screaming revs up again, drowning him out, and Eddie throws his head back laughing. “Yeah, I know. It’s not in our usual repertoire, guys- but show some love. This is a special song for an important person, okay? Don’t fuckin’ drown it out, yeah?”

The crowd cheers again, then quietens. Steve is still kind of panicking- trying to suck down lungfuls of air while Mike freaks out next to him.

It takes the first few chords before he realises. He knows this song- the cover Eddie’s playing is a pretty different sound- wilder, a little faster, a blend of his own sound with the familiar twang the Rolling Stones. The lead singer stands back during it, playing backup instead- it’s all Eddie’s voice, rough and beautiful, belting out the words. Eddie plays the first verse facing out to the crowd, but his eyes find Steve’s during the chorus. They lock onto him, gazing down with that fiery desperation burning there once more- wiiiiild, wild horses- couldn’t drag meee away.

The panic melts away out of his bones- Steve stands with his mouth closed again, lip trembling. He’s going to cry, in this stupid concert with all of these stupid people around him and Mike fucking Wheeler standing on his foot. He’s going to ruin the smudgy eyeliner. 

Eddie looks… pretty gone as well actually, his voice breaks during the final chorus, and he blinks rapidly, as if shocked by his own sound. Steve feels a yearning within him like no other, like nothing he’s ever felt before- a fervor, a feverish need to reach Eddie. He’s a dying star, burning out and ready to implode- needy, sweaty, gross- he needs to touch him- needs to tell him so badly it’s physically painful. I love you, he thinks. I’ve known you for five weeks, I’ve known- whatever version of yourself you were wearing in front of me, and I love you anyway, madly, painfully- I love you. 

I love you, he mouths, and Eddie’s hands stutter on the guitar, the sounds discordant for a moment. He glances away, head bowed as he plays the last chord, and when he looks back at Steve his eyes are wide, desperate. 

Steve needs this to end. The fucking concert, the people, the crowd- fuck all of it. Needs it to finish up so he can get to him, touch him, touch him, hold on and never let go.

He’s strangely grounded now- no more panic, no more shaking- nothing. A sense of calm- dissociation too, he’s no stranger to that feeling. The band file off- Eddie fucking legs it, he’s running off the stage, and Steve lets out a breath he might have been holding for the entire duration of the concert. 

“They were unreal,” Mike gushes, “I’m so ready for the encore. I can’t believe you got his headband Steve, what the fuck!”

Steve squeezes the bandana, closing his eyes. It’s like a little connection to Eddie, like if he squeezes hard enough Eddie might feel it, his feelings might reach him.

The crowd cheers and whoops again as the lights dim for the encore- but no figures re-appear yet- Steve opens his eyes and peers up, searching for Eddie.

A long way over to the right, below the stage and beyond the barrier they’re all pressed up behind- a little black door flies open. One of the cameramen and a security guy jump back, yelling- Eddie Munson bursts out- there’s a blazing look in his eyes. The air leaves Steve’s lungs again, dry and heavy- people are yelling, screaming, reaching out again, calling his name. Eddie’s eyes don’t leave his, he marches over- pulls at Steve’s t-shirt, he’s yelling something- christ is he yelling at me? Steve thinks- he is, he’s yelling at Steve- yelling and laughing and crying? and pulling Steve up- climb over, sweetheart, come on- just climb up, push, Stevie- come here, come here-

Steve is so detached from it all that he obeys without thinking- he looks at Mike, who just stares at him in mute shock, open mouthed, and then looks at Eddie, frantic and scrabbling at him, guitar still slung over his shoulder. He’s ripped the mic off at least- Steve tries to climb up, but all the strength seems to have left his arms, he’s shaking like a newborn calf. Adrenaline isn’t enough- he’s going to collapse, he’s so overwhelmed- and then he’s lifted- the big guy behind them scooping him below the arms and helping him drag his knee over the barrier, sweaty and sliding and shaking and skitterish- he tumbles over, straight into Eddie’s arms. 

“Got you,” Eddie mumbles into his hair, over and over again, got you, got you, got you, arms pulled tight around him. He grabs at Steve’s hand then, entirely ignoring the surge of hundreds of hands reaching for them, the phone lights blinding them, cameras flashing- and he tugs Steve forward towards the door, pulling him backstage. 

The hallway is empty, dark, mercifully cool. 

As soon as the door closes Eddie pulls him against his chest, buries his face in Steve’s neck. He’s shaking worse than me, Steve realises. He’s breathing raggedly as if he’s just finished a marathon, half collapsed against Steve, sweat sliding between their skin- his guitar is pressed uncomfortably into Steve’s stomach, the pain is good- grounding.

Steve hears- muffled, from a great distance- the crowd cheer again, the lead singer boom into the microphone. Thank you Chicago- our guitarist is out of action for now, but let’s hear it for our last fuckin’ song!

Our guitarist. 

Eddie’s shaking begins to slow, decrease- his weight slumps a little more into Steve, and Steve hears a muffled choking sound- a little strangled sob- as he presses closer into his chest, squeezing him frantically. Steve sighs a little soft oh as the pain from the sharp metal intrusion from Eddie’s guitar in his rib spikes- it’s pleasure, pure pleasure, twisted and bright and sharp.

He tries to speak, to summon the words- to clear his throat and move back a little.

“Ed-”

“Steve,” Eddie chokes, “I- I have to tell you something.”

He leans back, clutches Steve’s face between his hands. His brown eyes track back and forth across Steve’s own, desperate, scanning, searching.

“I- I kept every single plant I bought from you,” Eddie blurts out in a rush, panting. “Every flower- everything. Even the first cactus.”

Then he squeezes his eyes shut and presses their foreheads together.

“And- they’re all dead,” he confesses, imploring. “All of them- in my apartment.”

Steve makes a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob.

“Even the cactus?”

“Even the cactus.”

Steve crashes their mouths together, pinning him back against the wall, groaning into Eddie’s mouth and raking one hand up through his sweaty tangle of curls, one up his torso, sliding down to grab at his hip, bruising, forceful. Eddie tastes of cheap cigarettes and tennessee honey whisky- his mouth is hot, spit slick- it’s a violent, messy kiss, all tongue and teeth, saliva everywhere- Steve tastes blood as he bites at Eddie’s lip, makes him whimper and grind forward, pushes his thigh between Eddie’s legs, frenzied. His mind flashes him an image- a memory- Eddie’s long slender neck, bared to the crowd mid performance- Steve wrenches his head to the side, starts to suck bruises down the column of his throat, grinding his thigh between Eddie's legs until he goes limp, pliant, mewling and whimpering Steve’s name over and over, pleading.

It’s an utter disaster- anyone could walk in on this, literally anybody- there’s a crowd of potentially upwards of a thousand people meters away, including Nancy Wheeler’s little brother- but Steve is incapable of rational thought- of any kind of thought now other than Eddie, making Eddie feel good, making him choke out Steve’s name again.

“You were- fuck-” Steve gasps, grinding his own cock against Eddie’s thigh, rutting against him like an animal in heat, “that- god I want to blow you- so bad- let you spit in my mouth- want to fuck you dumb, Eddie-”

Eddie shakes and quivers against him, stuttering, little ah ah ah noises spilling from his mouth, face screwed up in pleasure. 

“You- did you mean it?” he moans, tugging Steve closer still, like he’s trying to open him up, crawl into his ribcage, “when you said- when you-”

“I love you,” Steve croaks, “I love you-”

Eddie keens, throws his head back and thunks it against the wall- twitches violently as he comes in his jeans, mouth dropping open in a sigh. It’s almost enough to bring Steve close to the edge- he swears, panting, unbuckles his jeans to get a hand down there- Eddie slides down suddenly onto the ground, hands clawing at Steve’s thighs- Steve wraps a hand round his cock and he slides over it, soaked with precome- bites down on his other hand to muffle a groan.

“In me,” Eddie begs, “in my mouth- please-”

That’s all it takes. That- and sliding his cock roughly over Eddie’s tongue piercing.

Steve pushes into him- wet heat, drool everywhere, thrusts forward a little, and shoots down Eddie’s throat, coating his tongue. It feels like it’s never going to end- he squeezes his eyes shut, thrusts forward again, moans low as Eddie licks him after, wipes a stray droplet of drool and come from his chin. His eyes are gone- pupils blown wide, black makeup streaked down his cheeks in teartracks- gazing up at Steve as if in prayer.

He’s breathing heavily as he tucks himself away, sinks down to meet Eddie on the floor. Kisses him again, soft this time- Steve can taste himself now, absolutely obscene. 

“You’re a mess,” he whispers. 

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Eddie goes quiet. “It’s- a long story. I wanted to,” he breathes, “I wanted that more than anything. Wanted to show you.”

“You showed me,” Steve laughs softly. “Jesus, Eddie. That- yeah.”

“You still want me?” Eddie asks- he’s trying to pass it off as wry, humorous- but his eyes give it away. Vulnerable. Afraid.

“I want you,” Steve breathes, closing his eyes. “I’ll always want you.”

Eddie kisses him again. Kisses him so slow and sweet that they forget where they are for a moment, until the sound of the crowd begins to rev up again- first cheering, and then dropping back to a murmur, movement- the concert coming to a close. 

“We should- we need to sort that out,” Steve smirks, poking his jeans. 

Eddie huffs. “Take responsibility, Harrington.”

“I am, dumbass- come on. Do you have, like- a dressing room?”

“Of course I do,” Eddie scoffs. “I’m a rockstar.”

Steve bursts out laughing- Eddie looks so indignant there, still on the floor, Steve’s come on his chin. 

“You’re so cute,” Steve coos, and Eddie slaps his hand away, blushing pink.

“You weren’t this put together when you saw me on stage,” he grumbles. “I was worried you were gonna pass out, y’know. You went like a statue for the first five songs.”

“I mean jesus- give me a break,” Steve wheezes, bending over. “Thought I was going to die when I saw you. Or come in my pants. Both.”

“We’d match, then,” Eddie snorts, standing shakily and moving down along the corridor, leading him down the empty hall. He turns in- there’s a guy there, fuck, a stagehand- but he ignores them as Eddie pulls him into the third room they pass. The dressing room is a state- clothes and bottles and instrument cases and wires everywhere. 

Eddie grabs a plastic water bottle and drains it, then offers one to Steve before rifling through a big black duffel bag on the floor. He pulls out a pair of black sweats, sighing.

“Give me a sec,” he says, vanishing into another door to the left of the room to clean himself up.

Steve exhales, shakily, and then tries to process what the fuck just happened. 

Unsuccessfully. 

He hears footsteps and voices approach the door and hastily backs up a little- what if people think he’s broken in? Some random crazed fan? 

The door bangs open and the other three members of Eddie’s band spill into the room, loud and raucous, panting and sweaty. The singer blinks at him. Gareth grins.

“STEEEEEVE!” he yells, and throws himself at Steve. All the air rushes out of Steve and he collapses back into the dressing room, bottles and makeup clattering to the floor. 

“Gareth,” he chokes, squeaky, “hello.”

“Hey, man,” the singer says, grinning at him. “I’m Jeff. Gareth- let the guy breathe, please- fuck.”

“I’m Doug,” the bassist adds, nodding curtly at him. 

“Cool. I’m Steve,” Steve says warily.

The three of them share a look. “We know,” Jeff snickers. “Eddie hasn’t shut up about you since-”

Eddie bursts out of the other room, snarling at Jeff. “No more of that,” he growls, stuffing the jeans into the duffel bag. He shoves his hair up into a knot with a black claw clip, scowling at them.

“Don’t bitch at me,” Jeff grouches, narrowing his eyes. “I’m not the one who missed the fucking encore.” 

Eddie rolls his eyes. “You guys played fine. You’re all very talented- probably don’t even need me for half the songs anyway.”

Gareth peers at him suspiciously. “Where are your jeans? Why-”

Eddie slaps a hand over his mouth. “Not another word. Or I’ll tell Chrissy about the incident.”

Gareth’s eyes go wide. 

“Tell Chrissy about what?”

Steve glances to the open door- Chrissy stands there, smiling at him. She looks very clean and put together- decidedly un-sweaty and disgusting.

“Tell Chrissy how much we love you,” Eddie croons.

“Aww,” Chrissy simpers, “even after I kick your ass for the stunt you just pulled?”

“But I did it for love,” Eddie pleads, batting his lashes and throwing his arms around Steve, who yelps and crashes back into the dressing room table again.

“That’s not gonna hold up in court, honey,” she sighs. “You owe me- big time.”

Steve just pats at his head, says “there, there,” in a patronising voice while Gareth cracks up. 

“I sent Robin a video of the whole thing,” Chrissy tells him. “Steve- your face was so funny, I’m so sorry. You had your mouth open for half the set,” she giggles. 

Eddie laughs, nuzzles his face against Steve’s neck. 

“I wouldn’t laugh too hard, loverboy,” Chrissy smirks, “you looked even more pathetic. This is gonna end up more viral than the video that started all of this shit.”

Steve blinks. “Video?” he asks.

They all stare at him, open-mouthed.

“Eddie,” Chrissy says in a strangled voice. “Eddie, please tell me you-”

“Can we have the room?” Eddie asks, pleading. 

Jeff just sighs, shaking his head- they file out, and Steve is left, bewildered, staring at Eddie.

“What-”

“I kind of forgot. I got really distracted when I saw your dick through your jeans, Steve, I’ll be honest- you’re hu-”

“Don’t try and deflect with my dick please,” Steve replies, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah. Okay, that’s fair.”

Eddie exhales slowly, and then opens his phone, fiddles with it- hands it to Steve. 

Steve watches in horror. 

“Oh my god.”

“Yep.”

“Oh I am going to murder her.”

“Well- before you do that- consider this- it’s actually her fault that we even met? Or her doing, I guess.”
Steve stares, nonplussed. 

“You know she posted it to twitter?”

“I- yeah, I saw that. But I deleted it. Is that how you- that’s the first time you saw me?” Steve exclaims, heat rushing to his cheeks. 

“I kind of… replied to it. In a somewhat horny manner. On the band’s official account- entirely by accident,” Eddie groans, face in his hands. He peeks at Steve through his fingers, who’s jaw has dropped open for what could easily be the hundredth time today. 

“Wait- so that’s why… people kept yelling at me- I thought-”

“In the crowd?” Eddie asks, face apologetic, reaching for him. “God- that was careless of me Stevie- I’m so sorry-”

Steve lets Eddie pull him into an embrace, murmuring words against his ear gently. He’s not really registering anything again though- has to take a minute before he withdraws, pulling Eddie back by the shoulders to look at him in astonishment.

“Wait. Are you telling me- you knew who I was? Before you bought the cactus?”

Eddie nods.

“You- you saw Robin’s video, and you…”

“Kind of stalked you like a creep, yeah.”

“You- the song- it-”

Eddie blushes. “It’s not… exactly something I would normally cover, I guess.”

Steve’s brain is shutting down. Like- for real this time- he’s going to have an aneurysm. Or a stroke.

“Steve? Please say something. I’m kind of freaking out here.”

“So- the entire internet knew you were into me before I did?” he asks, breathless- tries to keep the note of hysteria from bleeding into his voice but is entirely unsuccessful.

Eddie grimaces. “I really really wasn’t using my brain when I tweeted that. Or when I… tracked you down. Or when I didn’t tell you who I was initially. Or when I ran out on you because I realised I was actually pretty fucking gone on you and you still hadn’t worked out I’m charting in the top forty every week. Or when I let you come to my concert without telling you so that you were at risk of harassment. Or when I left my own concert early to try and blow you backstage-”
Steve doubles over, bursts out laughing.

“This is- you swear this isn’t some kind of elaborate prank? I’m not being punk’d? Ashton Kutcher isn’t gonna like- jump out at me from that bathroom?”

Eddie coughs, choking. “What?! No. No! You’re not being punk’d- jesus Stevie, what-”

Steve lets the fit of hysterics overtake him for a little while longer, wheezing, sides aching- there’s tears rolling down one cheek. Eddie just looks at him, bewildered. He looks a bit mad, Steve thinks- with his fucked up makeup and his hair everywhere and hickies all over his neck. He looks like- a complete mess, actually. Steve really really likes him. Loves him.

“You’re really weird,” he sighs, eventually, holding Eddie’s hand and smiling at him. He presses a kiss to it, impulse driven, glances up as Eddie inhales sharply.

“You don’t- you still want to do this?”

“Do what, Munson?” Steve grins at the face he’s making. “Do you? Definitely, I do still want to do that.”

“You’re a regular comedian,” Eddie says, deadpan, but he steps closer. 

“I meant- there’s kind of like- baggage now. That comes with me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Paperwork- I guess maybe it’ll be easier since you’re so offline, but still-”

“Paperwork, hmm.”

“Yeah. And- NDA’s, probably.”

“I’m quaking in my boots.”

“And I can’t promise you- your store… I have a lot of really weird fans-”

“Oh?”

“And when I’m on tour… I mean, you can come with me. Whenever you like. Or you can stay and I’ll call you all the time. I’m really clingy. It’ll probably drive you up the wall.”

“Whenever I like, huh?”

“Steve- you need to take this seriously-”

“I’m taking it so seriously, baby. Deadly serious.”

“Don’t- stop trying to kiss me, I’m trying to warn you off me.”

“Please- continue.”

“So- the tours.”

“Yeah.”

“And- you’ll have to spend more time with Gareth.”

“I like Gareth!”

“That’s an indicator of bad taste. The whole band, actually- they’re so interfering-”

“I think I’ll live. You’ve already been exposed to Dustin, so.”

“And I- I make bad decisions. Like all of the time.”

“Really? That’s news to me.”

“All of the time- I’m such a mess. My apartment is a mess when I’m home.”

“I’ll help you clean it.”

“And I can’t cook.”

“I’ll cook for you whenever you like.”

“And I’m impulsive. And an airhead. And I drink too much, sometimes.”

“Eddie.”

He holds Eddie’s face in his hands again- tries to get Eddie to maintain eye contact as he rambles, panicking. Eddie squeezes his eyes shut- eventually opens them again, glances back into Steve’s.

“I want you.”

“Even after all of that?” Eddie whispers. “After everything? You’re not- it didn’t put you off?”

Steve smiles at him, kisses him softly. Then pulls back, picking up the water bottle and holding it like a mic. “Even after all of that,” he affirms, then leans into Eddie’s space, sings off-tune- “wiiiild, wild horses-”

“Jesus christ,” Eddie groans, “you’re terrible-”

“-couldn’t drag meeeeee away!”