#Argyle: Oh you're in LOVE love

[jonathanbyersphd]

Actually, Jancy has been endgame since they gave themselves matching little cuts if we're being honest

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Party Animal

Steve hated parties. And who could blame him? The infamous Halloween party of 1984 left more scars on his heart than he carried from all his other misadventures. Alcohol made people say thinks they buried deep inside, but then instead of owning up to them, they'd say "I was drunk", as if that was any excuse. So yes, Steve and parties didn't go together anymore.

And yet he stupidly decided to throw one anyway.

Look, they deserved it. All of them did - Eddie, Nancy, Robin, even Jonathan and Argyle, they all earned acting like actual teenagers for one evening. Steve wanted to see Eddie, now miraculously his boyfriend, just have fun, laugh, be silly. So a party it was.

It all went great - dancing, drinking, nibbling on mountains of Argyle's homemade pizza - but eventually they all got drunk. Not Steve, he just sipped one beer and kept an eye on everyone. Jonathan and Argyle were smoking outside, Nancy and Robin flirted in the most embarrassing way possible and Eddie...

Steve heard sniffling from the bathroom and his heart sank.

He didn't want to go there. He didn't want to be told that this was all a misunderstanding, that he pressured Eddie with his flirting, didn't want to hear he's bullshit again.

But no matter how terrified he was, he could never abandon Eddie. So he went in.

Eddie was leaning over the sink, wiping at his face and trying to control his breathing. "Shit..." he muttered and turned away from Steve. "Sorry, I...uh. I'll be there in a sec."

"Eddie..." It came out as a whisper. "Are...are you okay? Did I do something?"

Eddie just chuckled and pulled hair in front of his face. "Sure did," he mumbled.

And it made horrible sense to Steve. Of course he was the reason Eddie was crying. He couldn't help fucking up, he'd tried so hard to change but apparently it was 1984 all over again. So he took a deep breath and waited for the final blow.

"You're just perfect, Stevie."

Oh.

That wasn't what being broken up with sounded like. In fact, Eddie didn't seem angry at him at all. "...sorry?"

Eddie laughed, wet and high in his throat. "Like, you...you are too good to be true, you know? You throw a party for us and then you even don't drink so we're all cared for if anything happens? You...you give your best friend a green light to date your ex who shredded your heart to pieces? You invite the guy that your ex cheated on you with and his friend? You're just so good about it. And you're funny and so bitchy that I want to kiss you all the time. And I just...I love you so much, you know? And I've never felt that way about anyone and it's fucking scary, man."

Steve's racing thoughts came to a screching halt. Where he was too busy panicking and praying he'd still have time to fix whatever he did, now his brain settled on maybe I'm not getting broken up with? "So, uh..." he muttered as he watched Eddie try fix his eyeliner, "...there's, like, nothing wrong? Or maybe...do you want me to go slower? I know I can be a lot."

His boyfriend gave an incredulous laugh. There was no salvaging the eyeliner now, it was getting caught in Eddie's early crow feet, and Steve had never seen a more beautiful sight. "No, Steve. You're not a lot. In fact, you're just enough in every single way, but knowing that you're it for me, that good things can happen...it makes me terrified. I've never put all my drugs in a single lunchbox, or whatever metaphor you want to use for it, but with you I'm just throwing all the caution into the wind. And for the first time, I..." he stopped, chewing on his lip, "...I don't want to run away when I mess up. I want to stay, face the music and fix it. You're re-writing the Munson doctrine again and again and I just...I don't want you to settle for me, Steve. You are the whole package and I'm still cleaning all my messes. I guess today showed me that and I...yeah. Sorry about all this," he pointed at his tear-streaked face.

Eddie suddenly seemed so small, so insecure, and that wouldn't do. It woke Steve up from his frozen state and he took a step forward, cradling Eddie's face in his palms. "I'm not. Settling for you, that is." He was probably smudging the black even more, but Eddie would have been beautiful to him even fully covered in grime, and there were more important things to focus on. "Eddie, you keep talking about the Munson doctrine and being work in progress, but you don't see how you've thrown all the stuff I used to do out of the window, and I'm better for it. With you, I don't feel rushed, I don't have to perform or pretend. I can just live in the moment."

As he continued his speech, something strange started happening. Seeing people cry normally had a guaranteed effect on Steve - just one tear, quiet sob and he pushed his emotions down to be dealt with later or possibly never, someone needed him, and that was the priority. But now, staring at Eddie's wet eyes and shaky hands? He felt his own face crumbling and what better place to hide it than in Eddie's Metallica t-shirt. It smelled of cigarettes, pizza and the cheap laundry detergent that had come to mean home to Steve. "Sorry," he choked out. "Shit. I was...sorry, I'm supposed to be...you know. Consoling you. But I heard you crying and I thought...I..."

Eddie shook his head and tightened his grip on Steve's waist. "Oh Stevie. Whatever that pretty head of yours thought of, it's not happening. Unless it's kissing me, which duh, that's happening, if you want to of course, and staying with me to the point that you're sick of me."

Steve just whimpered into Eddie's shoulder, something that suspiciously sounded like "Now who's perfect, huh?"

His boyfriend just chuckled. "I guess that in a way, we both are. Maybe for each other?" If he'd aimed for self-deprecating tone, he failed. Instead, it was hopeful.

Steve didn't answer, but his embrace said it all.

They remained wrapped around each other for a long while, until Eddie whispered in Steve's ear: "how about we let the others celebrate on their own, hm? They won't be driving, their stuff is already in the guest bedrooms, and I hear your bed is wonderful this time of the year."

There was a muffled "yes" coming from Eddie's shoulder, and a few adjustments and "Good night!"s later, they found themselves in Steve's bedroom. Eddie managed to remove most of the rogue eyeliner, which was lucky. The time in the bathroom wasn't the last time he shed a tear that day, because as they were falling asleep, Steve said:

"You might be the first person who is dating the real me, and I'd like you to be the last one as well."

Tomorrow, he'd hold a funeral for the Munson doctrine. But today, he was going to wrap himself around Steve like a cuddly octopus and know that even if he doesn't manage to hold on tight the whole night, Steve would be there in the morning.

[miwiheroes]

Full Airport Scene Analysis

I've seen like, a lot of people do analyses of the airport scene, but they often do it in parts when I just want to fully hone in on the whole ass scene and give it a full run-down. So, get ready for this post to be extremely long.

So, the camera pans across from Argyle and Jonathan looking super bored and tired to both Will and El, and I think this is actually very clever. Before this scene, you're not really sure who Will is in love with or who he made the painting for. The fact that the audience may remember El saying 'i think there is someone he likes' and then see how Will is holding the painting so proudly means that they subconsciously realise, oh the painting is for Mike meaning -- Will has feelings for Mike. Note how the juxtaposition between Argyle and Jonathan's demeanour and Will and El's demeanour further showcases how they feel the same way about him (supposedly).

Also this is random, but watching this scene over and over again made me realise that Will's is literally shaking so much in this scene. (WATCH HIS HAND WHEN EL IS LOOKING FOR MIKE)

Now let's talk about Mike's outfit (yes this isn't just talking about how ass it is)

So in the amazing GQ video on youtube, the costume designer talks about how Mike probably bought this outfit at the airport. He's dressing up how he thinks he should in California -- the double meaning being that he is trying to 'be more normal' as Finn Wolfhard says in another interview.

In this scene we know that Mike's trying really hard to push down his feelings about Will, he's trying to seem like he fits in, and in the GQ video, Amy Parris talks about how 'it's bright, it's not a colour Mike normally wears'. Orange and purple? Mike usually wears blue..... and yellow........... i mean what

I guess you could say that in a more surface-y way, he's trying to fit in by wearing something less edgy than he would normally wear, but if you look deeper into the colour coding of byler, he's trying to disconnect himself from Will because of him trying to deny his feelings. Will is wearing blue in this scene, but Mike's wearing orange, showing the disconnect between them in the scenes with these outfits on. I know a lot of people say he's wearing yellow, but nah, it's orange and that's actually more proof that he's trying to hide his feelings for Will.

Also this is another quote from Parris: 'he's worn teal before, so it felt like orange was the best colour that was different from his closet that felt like he was trying to make it work in california.'

And it's not like they just forgot the colour coding for byler. I mean, there's blue and yellow in this shot of Mike when we first see his outfit.

Can you spot it?

Okay moving on

In the first and last Milkvan kissing scene, it is important to note that the directors of the show are very intentional with the extras and where they move to during the scenes. During the shot of them kissing, the camera is focused on them, yes, but it is very busy. Watch the shippers try to edit this scene, the duffers really said.

Firstly, Mike is wearing a visor, he's holding a bag so he can barely hug her, he's also wearing sunglasses inside?? You can't see his facial expression, further showing this season is not in his pov. Not only that, but people are moving in front of the camera, it's very very busy. It's supposed to be a little overwhelming. I could barely take a screenshot without someone walking in front of the camera... like that is not a coincidence, they aren't filming in an actual busy airport. So so many extras walk in front of them during the whole scene, not just the kiss, but while they are speaking as well.

When El goes to hug him, as soon as she does, he makes a little noise of protest or something and is like 'careful, careful' almost like he put the flowers in front of them on purpose so there's like an excuse for them to stop hugging? They then stop hugging and he finally takes off his glasses so we can see his face.

He is wearing sunglasses only in the parts where he's being slightly intimate with his girlfriend -- eyes are windows into the soul, no? Without them being seen, you wouldn't be able to tell what he is thinking, and he needs these in these intimate moments especially, in case anyone notices something's wrong.

Okay now we go onto the flower theory thing, and there are many things to unpack here, and stuff that I personally don't believe, and some theories that I do.

What is super clear to me is that these flowers are the exact same dead flowers that El picks up at the end of season 4 to signify that her relationship with Mike is.... dead (sorry if that's kind of on the nose). However, it is also key to note that Mike says that he 'handpicked' them for her in Hawkins, which on the surface makes it seem like he made more effort, but really this actually sets up the fact that they are the same flowers that can be found on the field. If he bought them in the shop, they may not be the exact same flowers in the last scene.

So Mike says 'I know you like yellow, but now I'm realising it's too much yellow'. The writers of the show did not have to put that in, let's just think about that for a moment. What was the reason for putting this line in? And the '70-30' split line is also very very specific.

Will's colour in the byler colour coding is yellow, it has been subconsciously put into our minds ever since they started colour coding them, for example the s3 netflix icons, the shirt he wears for the majority of s4 and the lights over his head in Rink-o-mania.

Personally, I think this might be a bit of a reach, but could Mike just simply mean that he was thinking too much about Will, in his opinion? Like subconsciously he kind of added lots of yellow because he was thinking of Will when he was thinking of El.

As for the 'So I sort of did a 70-30 split thing' line, I'm not really sure what this means. It could mean that he's putting in 30% of the relationship because he also added 30% purple flowers which symbolises what he's putting into the relationship. Meanwhile, El's favourite colour of flower has a 70% weight in the bouquet, meaning she's putting more into the relationship.

It's also worthy to see that El looks at the note which has 'From, Mike' on it right as he's saying all this stuff about the yellow flowers, and the music dies down from this joyful tone to a sombre one, kind of showing how the yellow flowers are a symbol for something.

Now, before this ^^, the only problem that we think is going on in Mike and El's relationship is the fact that El's lying to him about having friends and not being bullied. But now we have a possible reason. She is insecure about their relationship and how real it is. Her face says everything, she notices it, she then tries to ignore it and tells herself everything is fine.

The audience notices this, obviously, and is like??? wait what's going on? Why does it say 'from Mike'?

They get the answer real quick.

Because right after this, is when Will bounds over.

They shot it so that he's kind of in between them, subconsciously placing a thought or idea in the audience's head about what the problem is between Mike and El, even though it's very implicit at this point. The audience should also have the slight idea in this scene that Will has feelings for Mike, and they get reminded of this fact when they see Will in the background. They're then like.... oh so that's why they having problems? Damn....

Before El even stops speaking, Mike sees Will. We can tell from the way that he literally takes his eyes off El and goes 'oh,' before doing the second 'oh!'. I bet if this was shot so you could see his face, this would be way more obvious, but they shot it so that we could see Will's initial happiness at seeing Mike instead.

Awkward bro hug... um yeah so this is one of the biggest byler proofs to me. I mean, why would you need to hug your best friend like that? When you are perfectly fine at hugging your other male friends? (He hugged Dustin in the first episode btw).

Given everything that we know so far, that Will has feelings for Mike because he made him the painting that El said is for someone he likes; that there must be problems going on in the Milkvan relationship; that Mike is hiding his face and dressing unlike normal.... yeah he's trying to repress something. He won't let himself hug his best friend. Will is acting normal, they could have made him the one not to hug Mike because he is in love with him, but they didn't.

Also, unlike the Milkvan reunion, his face and his reaction can be very easily seen here. They literally zoom in on both their reactions to seeing each other because it is more important than Mike and El's reunion. This is what the scene is about!! It's main focus is on the development of byler and the breakdown of Milkvan. There are like very little extras passing across the camera because the directors want you to focus on their reactions here and how Will and Mike are feeling.

Obviously, Will is dejected but Mike's reaction is more telling. On the right gif, he looks down. Maybe he sees Will's painting and remembers what El told him, which was that it was for someone that Will likes. In my opinion, Mike does not know that it is for him. In Finn's words: 'I don't think he knows'.

After seeing that painting, he instantly looks to other people for their reactions to the hug, maybe being like, hey guys was that normal enough? Did anyone see that? Showing how he cares about the opinions of those around him or maybe that he doesn't want to look at Will for much longer idk.

After that...

Okay so now he's ready to ask about the painting. There's a beat, then he asks 'Uh, what's that' in this kind of breathy, panicky voice. It's not a casual tone at all, it's very tense, and the audience can tell, because this makes the audience tense too. When I first watched it I was like AHHH because oh shit. He asks it like he knows something is up with it, he knows that Will made it and it's significant.

The next shot is a slide-up from the painting to Will's face. This could be in Mike's pov to show that he was looking Will up and down, and this shot is inherently kind of romantic in that way. Either that or it's simply just to focus on the painting before showing what Will's going to say so that the audience know he's talking about the painting.

You can kind of see the cogs working in Will's head in the very little time between 'um' and 'it's nothing', as he realises that he probably shouldn't show Mike the painting based on how Mike didn't hug him.

Also notice how in the gif, an extra walks by the camera as soon as Will is not entirely truthful, so why would this not be done with El and Mike's reunion scene??

Now, this further pushes the agenda that Mike didn't hug Will because of his feelings for him. The audience already knows that this painting is supposed to be a gift for someone that Will 'likes' based on El's letter to Mike at the beginning. The fact that Will no longer feels comfortable with sharing that painting means that he is more unsure of Mike's feelings now that he's seen him irl.

However, the way that Mike goes cool is supposed to be weird. It's supposed to show the audience that he's pretending. I honestly don't know whether it's bias or the directors or the writers or the actors somehow made it this way but the speed at which Mike says 'cool' kind of just implies that he was not ready for that kind of confrontation. He was not ready to confront his feelings or enter into an interaction with Will about the painting. Because it means he can't deny the fact that he's jealous of Will having a crush on some girl. So he quickly shut it down.

He doesn't want to feel the disappointment that Will just basically confirmed the painting isn't for him.

In season 3, he is very interested in knowing who Suzie is, Dustin's girlfriend, but when he knows that Will has made a painting for a girl he likes, he doesn't bother asking at all what it is or who the girl is. He doesn't want to acknowledge it.

Also, the fact he wasn't ready to feel like this and is so focused on Will is shown by how startled he is by other people breaking the moment.

Now this next part is so funny given what we have already been presented with. We already know that Mike is self-conscious about hugging his supposed best friend, and that he does not want to confront his feelings about the painting. He is trying to be someone else because he is wearing unusual clothes for him, trying to seem like a normal person in California. He didn't want to hug his best friend because he wants to seem normal. He's out of character.

"Oh no, no. It's a shitty knockoff."

Laughing my whole ass off.

This ties the whole scene together. It makes the audience go OHHH right he's just been pretending this whole time (if they have any sense). It's genius writing. Without Argyle saying this, we might never really have full confirmation on whether he is really out of character or whether this is just how he has always been. NO, he is lying to himself. He is pretending.

They did not have to make Argyle say this. Ever heard of double meanings folks?

And Mike's reaction?

This reaction has always kind of been interesting to me. How would you assume how Mike would react to someone insulting him? Usually he would scowl or look annoyed but here he doesn't, he almost looks worried. Like oh no he's just been found out lmao

After this there's an awkward moment spurred on by Argyle Mike's like 'yeah this is so awkward'.

Now, since I'm literally Mike and he is me, I know what he's doing here by saying this.

I've done it before, it's where you kind of say that it's really awkward in order to make it seem like you're not the one making it awkward, like you're blaming other people (which he always does).

But Michael, it's kind of your fault?? Like, you didn't have to do the bro tap, you also didn't have to act that way around Argyle.

BRO WE ARE HALFWAY THROUGH NOW LMAOOOO THIS IS SUCH A LONG POST

Now onto the next part, where El is talking about Rink-o-mania and she starts lying again. I have watched this scene over and over and literally Mike barely looks at her once, while he glances at Will multiple times. I feel like audience members don't catch this explicitly, but subconsciously, they can sense that there is tension between the two because of the way that Will is placed during this scene…

I counted them up in this video and Mike glances at Will..

6 Times

Just want to say before we talk about each glance, this scene is extremely telling. It tells you exactly, through subtext, what the atmosphere between Will, Mike and El is going to be like throughout the season/ the beginning of the season. It's textbook foreshadowing.

Will is standing off to the side while Mike has his arm like really tightly around El. They could have had this scene be a cute scene between Milkvan because of how close they are, but instead this scene is about Will's sadness, about how he was ignored by Mike. He's still holding the painting, so the audience are still aware of its existence and what it could imply for Mike and El's relationship.

This scene is also about El lying! Not about how 'cute' Mike and El are.

Okay so here is me talking about every single glance <3

"Wha- Really?" -- Could Mike make it clearer if he tried? I think this is the most obvious one that the audience could easily catch, if they are watching without distraction. Which is important, because it is the first one. He stutters over his words when he realises that Will is looking back at him. Sound familiar? In a much more obvious scene, he does this with the triple take in the desert... It's also kind of clear that they looked at each other because Mike and Will look down/ away straight after Mike goes 'wha-'

"Trust me" "No I trust you" -- So this one's a little more subtle and maybe to the audience it could seem like Mike's looking at El, but then the camera turns to focus directly on Will and him looking at Mike with disappointment. I don't think he's upset about Mike completely ignoring him, but he's upset about this weird little awkward dance they're doing. The reaction from Will is because of the uncertainty. The fact they focus on Will with a single shot at all instantly makes this scene about his emotions primarily. This becomes a pattern.

"Rink-o-mania..." -- This one's also super subtle. I'm not even sure why Mike looked at Will here, but it is clear that he's not looking at El, if you want to slow it down then you ig. Maybe he sensed that Will was staring at him just a few seconds prior.

"Are your friends gonna meet us there?" -- Even though he is speaking to El, he looks at Will. This kind of shows that even when he is supposedly thinking about El and what they are going to do together, subconsciously, his mind is still on Will. This can then be seen in the Rink-o-mania argument when it is revealed that he has been focusing on Will's reactions all day when the audience believes originally that he was ignoring him: "You were! You were rolling your eyes, you were moping, you were barely talking, you basically sabotaged the whole day!" Mike, Mike, Mike. Your girlfriend being bullied didn't ruin the day, Will being pissy to you did? ANYWAYS THIS ISNT ABOUT RINKOMANIA JHDGASJHDG

"Friends what friends?" -- So this fifth one is kind of ambiguous because he has his visor on, hiding his expression and where his eyes are looking. But you can see with the way his head turned, that he was looking at Will because of the way he said "Friends what friends?" This is probably just Mike being confused on what's going on, then. BUT it is another thing that makes this whole scene not about 'uwu mike and el awww' but about Will's feelings or the fact that El's lying and the unstableness of their relationship.

"Angela?" -- This one is very notable. Firstly, here is what we know: Mike knows about the fact that Will has probably done the painting for a 'girl he likes'. Mike thinks that this 'girl' isn't him because Will says 'it's nothing'. Mike maybe thinks that El's friends are also Will's friends. AND Mike does not want to ask Will about the girl he likes because he doesn't want to know about Will liking someone else/ he does not want to confront his own feelings. So, The way that Mike looks at Will with that kind of dead expression, (and he actually does a little double take) is super duper telling. You don't know what he's thinking but if you read into it, he could be thinking that Will was feeling hopeful that Angela would come and is kind of nervous for it.

Finally, El says "I want this day to be about me and you!" which is meant to be ironic. The showrunners would not have put this little line in if it wasn't supposed to be funny tbh..... like this whole scene was about how El was lying and she's suddenly saying it's just about them.

Because of what she says as well, Will rolls his eyes and crushes his painting a bit. (HEARTBREAKING)... The fact that he rolls his eyes is probably just him being annoyed about what she said, because it further makes him feel like the third wheel. The scene ends with his eye roll, emphasising how this whole scene was about how Will is feeling, not the "Main Couple Of The Show tm??" But alsoooo, he crushes the painting :(((( meaning he was also feeling heartbroken a little by the fact that they are acting very coupley and Mike doesn't seem to care about him oops, since the painting is for him.

OKAY IM DONE LMAOOOO

In conclusion, this scene is about byler in the first half, and the flaws of Milkvan and Will's feelings in the second half. This scene is meant to foreshadow the arc between Will, El and Mike which transpires in the rest of the season. The bro tap is the gayest thing I've ever seen, and did not have to be included in this scene. It could have been Will that was awkward. It shows that Mike has changed. He has changed ever since Will moved away and he had that realisation. In season 3, Mike seems confused, unaware of his feelings. But now, in this scene, in only 2 minutes, we know for sure that Mike is in denial. He knows.

Anyways

Byler Endgame.

[thewayitalknj]

Part 2 ; A continuation from my blurb which can be read here.

Quick Notes - HOLY CRAP. I honestly didn't expect that to blow up, or to get asks to write a Part 2. Thank you all so much for your support, it means A LOT. My little writers heart is so so happy! I hope you enjoy! :)

---

"Loud and clear." He whispers, staring at the top of the stairs.

"I'm...I'm going to go check on her." Everyone in the room nodded their heads as Eddie walked up the stairs. Once he reached the outside of your door he knocked three times.

You humph from your pillow, "I told you I'm not-"

"It's me." He says. Panic. Instant panic runs through your body. You immediately throw all the blankets over you and turn the other way.

"You can come in, I'm just laying down." You didn't want to be rude ; nor did you want to take out your anger on him. He did nothing wrong.

Actually, he did. Eddie Munson made you fall in love with him.

With the turn of the knob you quickly wipe your face with the bedsheet, hoping he wouldn't even share a glance with you. Each creek of the wooden floor made your stomach turn.

"I came back in to help but they told me you weren't feeling well so I wanted to check on you."

"That's sweet Eddie but I'm okay. Maybe it's just a bad stomach ache. I'm going to shower and then head to bed." You can feel yourself sinking, wishing he would just leave.

He rocks back and forth on his heels, "you sure? Want me to make you a s'more?"

"No thanks. But thank you."

"...okay. Well, I hope you feel better." He sighs closing the door, not being able to find the words to comfort you. The moment it shuts you begin crying again.

This sucks, this really fucking sucks. Out of all the times you have been there for Eddie yet this time the roles are reversed and he can't be there for you. You knew wallowing in your sorrows wouldn't help, or be beneficial to your mental health. So you took your shower, did your daily night routine and headed straight to bed. No goodnights, no see you in the mornings, no sweet dreams.

Tomorrow would start a new day, a day where you would have to find the courage to finally get over your feelings for your best friend.

As Eddie entered the kitchen he looked defeated, guilty even. Argyle and Jonathan joined the rest of the group inside, now all caught up on the situation.

"Is she okay?" Jonathan asked.

"Yeah..she uh, is going to wash up and then go to bed."

"Dude, you gotta tell her."

______

When the alarm clock goes off at 9am you practically slam your fist down on it and groan in your pillow. "Ed?" No response. You pick your head up and see his bed empty. Odd, because the last few days you've always woken up together. After brushing your teeth and making yourself look decent for the morning you head on downstairs.

It's quiet, too quiet. You're confused, so very confused. You walk through the living room, you check your friends bedrooms. Nothing. No one was to be found. The fuck?

Walking into the kitchen, Eddie is sitting at the counter with a cup of coffee. "Morning." He says.

"Um...hi?"

"Why the face?" You turn around and look back at him.

"It's just...where is everyone?"

"Oh, they left."

"They-What?" You stutter.

Your baffled. Bewildered. Unbalanced. Because in this moment, you realized, once again ; you are left alone with Eddie.

Quick Notes - ...so, uh...part 3 anyone???

Click Here to Read Part 3

[flowercrowngods]

@steddie-week

part 1 (bc this is one big 7 part story)

day 02: bittersweet & angst

1 new message

eddie The Problem munson: engagement party on saturday babyyyy 🥳🥸🕺

Steve’s been staring at the message for two days now. It's sitting in his notifications, staring at him like a painful reminder of what happened exactly seven days ago. A week. It's only been a week, and Steve somehow it feels like it was both only one day or seven months ago.

It's an almost liminal experience, walking through life without texting Eddie every second of the day – because texting him would mean opening his message. It would make this real.

And that's the last thing Steve wants.

"I'm not going," Robin declares as they're cuddling on the couch, wallowing in their misery as Mayday Parade's Oh Well, Oh Well is playing for the eighth time on repeat. "Tell me you're not going, Stevie."

"Robbie," he sighs, squeezing her tighter as she tries to wriggle out of his arms to glare at him.

"Steve."

"I can't not go."

"Yes you can." She pokes him in the ribs, but he doesn't budge. She pokes him again. "Not going to things is literally the easiest thing in the world. It's a hundred times easier than going to things. You should try it sometime, trust me. You go to too many things, and–"

"Bee," he hums to get her out of the rambling spiral before she can get lost in it.

"What I'm saying," he interrupts herself dramatically, "is that you can't do this to yourself. They're engaged. They're getting married. We're going to keep our distance until our brains and hearts and the traitorous little chemicals in our bodies catch up to reality, and then we get over them, and then we can go back and see them ever again. That's the logical thing to do, Steve. But you can't... You can't just go and get your heart broken and talk yourself into thinking it's the right thing to do. It's not."

Steve sighs into her hair and buries his face in her neck. He knows that. Technically, logically, he does.

But not going feels wrong. Wronger than anything else that's been hollowing out his chest and leaving nothing but emptiness and the ghosts of every smile, every touch, every baby, love, sweetheart, sunshine. Every imaginary future, every scenario where Eddie meant it. Meant those words, meant those smiles, meant it when he took Steve's hand to hold it.

But Eddie did mean it. Every time, he meant it; because he calls Argyle and Jeff and Gareth baby and sunshine and sweetheart, too. He takes their hands, too, leans in to kiss their cheeks and just holds them when he needs to. That's just the kind of person Eddie is. Always has been.

To go and assume he never meant it would be unfair.

To go and hope it could ever mean more when Chrissy has always been right there would just be stupid.

Well, good thing Steve has that kind of reputation with a few people anyway, so it's not even a statistical outlier, that one. It's not even worth a side note.

"I know," he rasps, his eyes beginning to sting as the next lyrics are carved into the empty space of where his heart used to be.

Oh well, oh well I can't live with myself As I'm climbing in your window to get to your bed.

And I'll be what you need, You can call me anything. Just as long as we're still friends.

Tears prickle in his eyes and he doesn't bother to hold them back. Not now, not with Robin. They've both been crying on and off all week, even though Robin took it better than him.

"I know," he sobs, wrapping his arms around her even tighter as she lets herself be held because she knows that's what he needs. "I know, I know, I know. But I have to. I can't just... I can't just stop, Bee."

"I know," she sighs, climbing out of his hold eventually to wrap her arms around him in return as he cries into her shoulder.

The world (read: his Spotify playlist) makes it worse by playing Sum 41's With Me next, ripping out even the newly carved words.

Robin holds him for the rest of the night, even as he finally opens Eddie's message and types out a reply.

—I'll come!

And especially when there's a new message immediately.

—hot 🥵❤️

He leaves Eddie on read after that.

~*~

Saturday rolls around in a haze, and suddenly Steve finds himself looking at the front door of the little house Chrissy inherited after her mother passed a few years ago. It's a nice little house. Quaint. Perfect. Everything Steve could ever dream of, actually. And she deserves it. All of this and more.

There's noise coming from the garden, where people are laughing and having a great time. A happy time, celebrating their friends and all the good things in life that come with a love well placed.

God, what is he doing here? He can't do this. There is no way.

He's just about to pull out his phone and call Robin, tell her he's coming home, or ask her to tell him everything's gonna be alright, when–

"Steve!" Chrissy hurries towards him, throwing her arms around him in a tight, warm, perfect hug. God, he loves her so much. He melts right into the embrace, wrapping his arms around her middle to spin her around with a grin.

She giggles in delight and tells him to let her down again, which only makes him spin for another round, his grin turning into a genuine laugh.

"No, I hate you!" she laughs, but still doesn't step away from him when he puts her down again. Instead, she leans up and brushes a kiss to his cheek. "Hi, asshole."

"Hi."

He grins and takes her hands in his, just smiling at her for another moment before his eyes trail down to a ring he's never seen her wear before. Ah. Right.

"Oh shit! That it?"

"That's it," Chrissy says, looking down at her hand to look at the ring with a fond, happy little smile, her cheeks flushing red. It breaks Steve a little, but it also fixes something inside him to see her so truly, genuinely happy. "Pretty huh?"

"Very," Steve breathes, hiding the lump in his throat with a sound of awe.

Chrissy hugs him again for good measure and then takes his hand to drag him into the backyard the same way she just came out front, through a little gate off to the side instead of through the house.

Steve loves their backyard because it's always covered in sheerly endless colourful strings of light that are wrapped around decorative arches or poles, framing the back doors and the canopy swing set on the lawn, and just give it the most homey and comfortable atmosphere.

"Stevie!" Eddie exclaims immediately and jumps off from his chair, interrupting a conversation he's apparently been having with Argyle and Nancy to run up to him with such a giddy expression that Steve wants to cry. His heart leaps in his chest, coming back to life and saying one last goodbye at the same time.

"Hi," he says, hugging Eddie close before he can so much as think about what he's doing. But no matter how hurt he is, there will never be a world in which he won't want to hug Eddie Munson. "Sorry I'm late."

"No sorries, it's fine," Eddie murmurs into his neck, staying in the embrace endlessly, and Steve takes the chance to breathe him in. He smells so good. So, so good. It clogs his lungs and renders him unable to speak.

But who needs to speak when they have Eddie in their arms? Who needs to speak when all they have to do is never let go?

Eddie squeezes him a little tighter, and Steve wants to cry. He slowly, gently pushes away from the hug and turns towards the other guests, greeting them with a grin, a hug, or a handshake if they're not familiar.

When he gets to Wayne, the man eyes him with a look that Steve doesn't want to read too much, and his embrace is just a little longer, just a little stronger than usual.

“You look tired, son,” he says by way of greeting, and Steve can’t help but snort and shake his head a little.

“Good to see you again, too, old man.”

Wayne eyes him for one moment longer, then breaks into a small smile and pats Steve’s shoulder before stepping around him to go grab another drink.

After that, the night passes in a blur of talking to his friends, trying to understand what the hell it is that has Nancy and Argyle arguing so profusely, but with smiles on their faces. He fails. But it’s good to see them again, so he just basks in it for a while.

Or, he tries, because every second that he’s not talking or listening to someone, his eyes flick back to Eddie. Eddie, who’s lifting Chrissy from behind and smacking a loud, wet kiss to her neck, her jaw and her cheek, accompanied by her delighted squeals and laughter.

Eddie, who’s looking larger than life, a happy grin permanently plastered on his face as he reminds their guests that Chrissy was his bisexual awakening.

“I swear, she just swept me off my feet after years of thinking I was only into dudes. Knew I had to marry her, but man, I don’t know why she said yes.”

“I’m settling, honey,” Chrissy calls from the other end of the table they’re sitting around. “Only in it for that rockstar money and all.”

The whole table laughs at that.

“Hear, hear,” Eddie snorts, lifting his glass in a toast. Steve and the others lift theirs, too, even though Steve’s hand and arm and whole body feels numb and he’s not entirely sure he’s breathing.

A while later, he grabs a drink and retreats to the canopy swing, illuminated in the soft pink flow of the fairy lights wrapped around it. Eddie’s eyes land on him for a second and Steve thinks that he’ll come over and join him — but then one of Chrissy’s friends says something that distracts him and seemingly makes him fall into a monologue of sorts.

Steve watches, feeling only loss and longing as he does. Eddie is a force of nature. A spectacle. Something beautiful, something powerful, something secret that only a select few get to witness. To know. To appreciate.

Staring as he is, blind to the rest of the world, he startles a little when the swing jostles with another weight settling on it. He didn’t see Wayne coming to join him, and he’s not quite sure whether he should be grateful for the company or apprehensive of what the man who’s like a father to him might have to say.

“How are you doing, son?”

He frowns. “I’m alright.”

Wayne only hums, and Steve’s frown deepens. There’s a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that tells him Wayne knows something. That he knows.

“Y’know,” he continues after a while, not looking at Steve but rather at his nephew and his fiancée. “I always figured it would be you.”

Steve crumbles. Yeah, me too, he wants to say, but that would be a lie. Watching the way Chrissy sits on Eddie’s lap with his arms around her, his chin on her shoulder as he tells her something that makes her laugh that cute, pretty, adorable laugh that Eddie then can’t help but join — that’s just something Steve would never compare to. Nothing he’d ever want to come in between.

Eddie and Chrissy are perfect. They’re happy. They fit, they match, they work. They worked so hard and treat each other so right.

They look giddy and serene at the same time, and it makes Steve’s eyes sting. Because he can never make Eddie look like that. He can never make Eddie look at him like that.

I always figured it would be you.

But he couldn’t. That bubbly kind of love, the sunshine kind of love. He knows that’s not for him. Steve’s too much for that. He would never be enough for Eddie — even if without Eddie, there’s nothing left of him.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Wayne continues, unaware of Steve’s thought spiral. “I love that girl, I do. Always will. I think she’s too good for Eddie. Don’t tell him I said that,” he adds hastily, and Steve smiles through the tears that threaten to fall again.

“They’re perfect,” he rasps, laughing wetly as Chrissy starts chasing Eddie, who’s hiding behind a very distressed Argyle, who just wants his brochachos to chill!

Maybe it’s a laugh, maybe it’s a sob. He doesn’t have it in him to find out or care.

“They are. Doesn’t mean they’re right, son.”

Steve sighs and tears his eyes away from Eddie. “Wayne.”

“I know, I know.” He lifts his hands in defence. “Shutting up.” After a long pause of holding Steve’s eyes, he asks, “Will you be okay?”

No, he thinks immediately, the lump in his throat too big to say anything. So he just shrugs and swallows. “Sure.”

Maybe. Hardly. Probably not. Definitely not.

"No matter what happens, you'll always be a son to me. You’ll always have a home with an open door with me, you hear me?"

"I’m not going anywhere, wayne," Steve says, though for the first time ever he doesn't really believe that. Maybe he needs to leave. To leave Eddie behind. Get over him. Cut out his heart and leave it here, run away to heal somewhere else, come back as a new person, or just stay away forever.

The thought makes a tear spill as an empty kind of desperation spreads it’s ugly wings inside his chest, and he's too frozen to wipe it away.

"You hear me?" Wayne repeats, gentler this time, but no less urgent for it.

"Yeah," steve rasps. "Thanks."

Another tear falls as Eddie gently pulls Chrissy closer to him and kisses her in the soft glow of the fairy lights above and around them. Their friends cheer. Steve wants to cry his heart out again.

“I—“ he swallows, wiping at his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. I can’t do this, he wants to say. For the first time, that’s what he wants to say. “I think I’m gonna head home soon.”

“You bring your car?”

He shakes his head, feeling foggy and dazed and empty and endlessly, endlessly sad. “Was gonna, uh—“

“Let me drive you.” There’s no room for debate or argument there, and Steve wants to crumble again, but still he shakes his head.

“Wayne, no—“

“I’m taking you, son. Make sure you get home safe, or I won’t be able to sleep tonight. Don’t wanna keep your old man up all night, do ya?”

Steve concedes with a fond eye roll and a grateful smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“That’s what I thought.”

They sit like that for another ten minutes — and if Steve leans into Wayne’s side a little, then that’s nobody’s business but theirs.

The car ride is quiet, but it feels weighted even as Wayne pretends not to see the way Steve keeps wiping at his cheeks as the silent tears keep falling, leaving him powerless to stop them.

I can’t do this, he keeps thinking over and over again.

“Just a little warning,” Wayne speaks up again as he pulls up to Steve’s building. “I think he’s going to ask you to be his best man, Stevie. Don’t do anything you’re not ready for, okay?”

I can’t do this.

He nods, numb again.

“I’ll do anything for him,” he breathes.

“That’s what I’m afraid of, yeah.”

He gets out of the car before he can find out what exactly Wayne means by that. The car stays where it is until the front door closes behind him, until he’s up in his bedroom and finds Robin already asleep.

Ten minutes later, he cuddles close to her and tries hard not to cry, but tonight’s memories have burned themselves into his mind. And he shouldn’t have gone. He knows. He knows.

I’ll do anything. I can’t do this. I’ll do anything. I can’t do this.

He can’t breathe, and Robin holds him through it, whispering sleepily to him as he cries himself to sleep, wishing for a world where he’s not absolutely and utterly in love with Eddie Munson, but failing to imagine one.

I’ll do anything. Anything but this.

tagging: @sexymothmanincarnate @mcneen come back tomorrow for idk which prompt | read part 3 here

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR FOURTEEN

in which eddie finally offers you an honesty hour. which is great, until you learn you've bit off more than you're capable of chewing. (oh, and we find out more of what happened at steve's infamous party)

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, eventual smut, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 5k+

→ a/n: there is still one more bit of the memory left for steve's party!! i broke it into three bits because otherwise it would be too long as one giant clump lol. sorry this is being posted so late... but hey! it's here! see y'all again thursday lol thank you to everyone for continuing to be so kind about this story and show it so much love

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

14:00 ────────ㅇ─────── 24:00

SIX MONTHS EARLIER 

It’s Eddie. You only know because when Nancy opens the door, she greets him loudly, letting her drunken squeal echo down the hallway and into the kitchen. 

“Munson! Finally!” her voice carries, and you fight the urge to try and move to peek through the doorway to see him, “Took you long enough!” 

Eddie's voice is too quiet for you to hear his reply. He’s not drunk, not fueled by reckless decisions and overflowing affections like most of the other friends were already. 

There’s a terrible twisting in your gut at his arrival, and you know it shows across your face when Robin looks at you apologetically. As if for a moment, they had forgotten they way you and Eddie avoided each other. As if for a moment, they had all pretended that the entire group could convene and it could be easy, and that was on them instead of you or Eddie. But it wasn’t on them. That blame could never fall on them.

It was on Eddie, you decided. He was the one who more ardently avoided you rather than vice versa. He was the one with a sharper tongue between the two of you, always snappy, always irritated with you. It was on Eddie. It should be on Eddie. 

Except, you still felt bad about the Chrissy ordeal. He may have acted as if he disliked you for no reason before, but now he was hating you with reason. You can’t blame him; you’d do the same thing.  If he ruined a date like that, stomped all over possible potential and threw it away without even considering your feelings involved, you’d be out for blood.

You sort of needed to apologize, and needed to apologize soon. 

“Eddie, my man!” Argyle calls out from the couch. It captures your attention just in time to look over and watch as Eddie enters the room, his back facing you, his shoulders slack beneath his leather jacket. 

He’s relaxed. You’re immediately sure that he doesn’t know you’re here yet. 

“Hey, man,” he greets with a gravelly voice, an edge of fatigue to it you’re familiar with. It’s the kind of tiredness that follows long weeks, as you two had spoken about that first night. For a second, you wonder if he’s still having those. And if he is, how often they happen, if he ever comes home from them and thinks about that night, if he has anyone to call when it’s late and they haunt him.

You know you don’t. Neither Steve nor Robin are ever awake that late, or at least don’t answer the phone at that time of day, and you don’t feel close enough with the rest of the group to burden them like that.

There had been a time where you would wonder if Eddie could have become that person, if the type of conversation you two had at the bar the first night could ever translate over phone lines. But that time had been early on, and was long dead. It laid in an unmarked grave with all your other ponderings of what a friendship with Eddie might look like. 

“We can keep you two apart,” Robin whispers, or at least tries to whisper. She’s loud, “He said he had work and wouldn’t make it. We… We thought he wasn’t going to come, so we invited you instead.” 

Oh. 

Oh, what a knock to your pride. Robin means nothing harmful of the words, they should be neutral and just an explanation offered to you. But your mind takes them in its grasp and runs, runs, runs. 

“We thought he wasn’t going to come, so we invited you instead.” 

You’re the backup plan. You see it now, and it sucks, but you press your lips into a cellophane smile that Robin can’t see through in her flurry to distract you with an offering of you two plus Steve having another round of drinks. You decide to take a straight shot of the nearest bottle of vodka, swallowing it down to drown your already sinking heart. You fake laugh when Steve tells bad jokes, you make up lies about your dates of the last few weeks, deciding you no longer care if you add in more details to look less pathetic. 

You’re the backup plan. So you’re sure they won’t notice when you spin a new version of yourself.

This version of you that spews from your lips has gotten lucky more times in the last month than you have in the last year. This version of you is always the one having the last say in conversations, the one leaving men on read rather than the tables being flipped as they were in reality. 

Robin says nothing, even when she notices some of the things you say not aligning with what you’d told her earlier that week.  She only side-eyes you as Steve drinks in every detail, only disrupting to suggest another shot. 

At some point, she gets too drunk to side-eye you. 

“Fuck,” Steve sighs, throwing his head back as he glances out to his living room, where Nancy, Jonathan, Argyle, and Eddie have taken to sitting in an oblong circle around on his and Robin’s furniture, “I need some fresh air. Anyone else?” 

“Me,” Robin responds so quickly, you would have made fun of her if you didn’t notice the sickly shade of green creeping up on her. 

Steve looks at you, raising an eyebrow, but you only shake your head. It makes the room threaten to spin. Maybe, just maybe, you should have slowed your roll with the vodka shots. Maybe.

“I’ll stay in here, hold down the fort,” you promise, letting your eyes fall shut before you inhale deeply through your nose, exhaling softly through parted lips. 

No way. You hadn’t drunk nearly enough tonight to excuse getting sick as Robin was seemingly about to. 

Robin and Steve leave you be as you compose yourself. You think you hear them extend the offer to everyone in the living room, but you can’t make out who agrees to go and who stays. But as you listen to all the footsteps making their way out the front door, Steve calling out that they’d be back soon, you start to become convinced you’ll open your eyes to an empty apartment. 

You open them to an empty kitchen. So far, so good.

But then a voice clears their throat from the living room, just as you pull your phone out of your pocket. You open it to find the cursed dating app still open, your messages with the bartender still staring you back in your face. The bartender you thought you’d hit it off with. The bartender that had stood you up the night before. 

Fuck him, you think bitterly as you turn to find Eddie entering the kitchen. Because of course, given your luck, Eddie was the only one who stayed back. 

“Those apps fucking suck,” Eddie notes, using the neck of his beer bottle to gesture in the general direction of your phone. 

You look between him and the lit up screen for a moment, finding half the mind to click out of the private messages, “You’ve used them in the past?” 

“Nope.”

You wait for a second, giving him the chance to elaborate. But he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t, he’s Eddie. If he explained himself to you, that would just be too easy. 

“Okay,” you sigh, squinting at the page and past the vodka, trying to fumble your way back onto the screen that would show you eligible bachelors in your area, letting you swipe and judge them by solely looks as if they weren’t actual people on the other side of the phone. As if they weren’t more than a reservoir of attention at your fingertips. 

Maybe that had been your mistake with the bartender ��� you let him become a real person to you.

“Why are you even still on them? I heard you’ve been having a shit time with the guys on there – quite the opposite of what you’ve been telling Harrington tonight, might I point out.” 

It’s something in the way he says it. One moment, you’re looking down, ignoring him. The next, you can’t help but lift your head in shock. The words all felt sharpened and poised for a kill, ready for an attack you hadn’t expected so early on in the night. 

“I-” you don’t know how to defend yourself. You don’t know whether to stick by the lies you’ve told tonight, or to be concerned with who was telling Eddie about your love life, “You win some, you lose some. It’s the nature of the app.”

Eddie grins and leans on a counter across from you, “You haven’t made it sound like you’re losing at all tonight. I nearly started a drinking game with Nance where we took a swig every time you said you managed to pull another ‘fuck ‘em and leave ‘em’. Quite the body count you’ve got there, player.” 

You’re drunk. You tell yourself that’s why you take his words straight to heart – you’re drunk, and therefore, you’re sensitive. 

“You’re bluffing,” you snap, “You couldn’t hear me from all the way over there.” 

“We could.”

“No, you couldn’t.”

“Yes, we could.”

“You’re lying,” you spit finally, crossing your arms defensively. Your emotions were rising too high, too quickly, and you blame the vodka. You blame the vodka and you blame the drink Steve had made you. You blame the bartender who stood you up. And most importantly, you blame Eddie. 

“I’m lying? You’re the one who’s been telling Stevie nothing but lies tonight,” Eddie narrows his eyes at you, as if he expects you to shrink in cowardice when he stands up straight and takes several steps across the kitchen to be closer to you, “Why do you need to even lie about all that, anyways? It’s not like the truth would be any more pathetic than the act you’re putting up. Everyone strikes ou-”

“I’m pathetic?” you scoff and interrupt him, not even paying any attention to where he was going. The tips of your ears are starting to flame with a red tinge, “Just last week, you lied to the group. You were trying to avoid being where I’d be and told them you had to walk your neighbor’s dog.” 

“I did!”

“Your apartment has a strict no pet policy, Eddie.” 

He freezes up entirely, grin faltering before your eyes, “How do you know that?” 

“I didn’t, but Nancy did,” you roll your eyes at the cracks in his composure, “It’s all I had to hear about the entire night. How she wishes we could get along, how she hates when you lie to her. Thanks for that, by the way.” 

“It’s not my fuckin’ fault you go out with my friends,” Eddie grumbles, reserving himself back to his side of the kitchen. If someone came in and squinted closely, they’d find that imaginary boundary between the two of you, an invisible line that would not be crossed. Not here, not tonight. You wouldn’t touch Eddie Munson with a twelve-foot pole if you could help it. 

“And it’s not my fault that you don’t.” 

You can see his agitation spreading like wildfire across his face, in the tick of his jaw and the twitch of his eyes. You can practically see the words that linger on his tongue as he bites down on it – it is your fault. 

“Whatever. Why are you lying to Steve?” his voice goes monotonous as he crosses his arms, and the muscles strain against his shirt. His leather jacket has long been discarded, probably thrown over the back of the couch or a chair in the living room. 

You mirror him, crossing your arms, letting the screen of your phone press into your side, “I’m not lying.”

“You are. With Steve, and with me at this very moment,” his eyebrows furrow and you consider the consequences of chucking your phone at him. 

Your irritation, your own agitation, is all bubbling beneath your skin. If it wasn’t for the vodka mingling with it, you would have been squirming from the discomfort. Usually, he doesn’t get to you. Normally, his off-handed comments come with a sting that can quickly fade. 

None of the jabs are fading tonight. They only seem to linger. Because he’s right, and you hate that he’s right. 

“How the fuck do you even know how my dating life is going?” you uncross your arms, waving your hands wildly into the empty air between you and Eddie, “We aren’t exactly friends. Did Robin tell you? Did Steve tell you?” 

Eddie swallows hard, and you can watch the words wash over him, but you’re unsure of which of your drunken slurs specifically got to him. You weren’t wrong in any of your statements, you weren’t outlandish in either of your guesses. But your words have frozen him up all the same and you aren’t sure why. 

“You’re right,” when he physically melts, the deathly chill remains in his voice, “We aren’t friends. But Rob and Nance are, and Nance and me are. See where I’m going with that one?” 

It’s in the way he says it, confirms it. 

We aren’t friends.

He hisses it out as if it were a painful reminder, as if saying those words burn him eternally. He says them as if they are capable of sending ice through his veins and bones alike. 

You know why he froze now, and it’s too late. 

“Well-” you pause, unsure of how exactly to respond. You’ll be having a talk with Robin, surely. But technically, Nancy was your friend, right? Surely, she was allowed to know the drama of your love life, wasn’t she? “You say that as if Nancy and I aren't friends.” 

“Are you?” he tilts his head tauntingly, as if he knows something you don’t. 

“We… are.” 

He catches the hesitation; he runs with it. He finds the handle of the knife you’d tried to keep so hidden, and he twists as hard as he can.

“Would Nancy agree if we asked her?” he hums, as if he were seriously contemplating this, as if it were a mediocre debate rather than a question of if you had friends or not, “Do you even have her on Instagram?”

“You, her supposed best friend, don’t have her on Instagram.” 

“Because I don’t have Instagram, full stop.” 

“Instagram isn’t the normal gauge of friendship,” you defend yourself, “Some people can have thousands of followers and no friends.” 

You don’t have Nancy on Instagram. You don’t follow her, she doesn’t follow you. The most she’s acknowledged your presence on the app was tagging you in a photo on a night out once. 

“It’s not about follower count,” Eddie shrugs, “It’s about mutual followings. That’s how Hollywood dictates whether celebrity couples are still together these days, yeah? If they follow each other. If you’re friends, you’d follow each other.” 

The vodka makes you bold. Bold enough to mutter out, “Oh, fuck you,” in response to Eddie’s prodding. 

“Wait, I-” you watch an unfamiliar emotion pass over Eddie’s face, something kin to regret. But his words are already out in the air, he’s already twisted the knife in your gut fully. He’s already spilled your blood in the middle of Steve’s kitchen, with no one around to witness it. He did it for himself – he did it for his own pleasure, his own enjoyment.

He enjoys hurting you. 

“Save it,” you mutter, slowly deflating as you turn your back to him, facing the counter to grab your drink to nurse your wounds. 

If you looked close enough in the corner of the room, you would have seen the shovel you should have used to bury away your hope of a friendship with Eddie. You should have piled the dirt over the casket, should have put 6 feet of soil and earth and worms between you and that fruitless yearning. 

But you didn’t. He hadn’t taken it quite far enough yet. 

Yet. 

But then he had to cross that invisible barrier. He just had to walk across the kitchen, come up behind you, and not mind his own business. He just had to look over your shoulder just as you opened the bartender’s profile again, if for nothing else than to further hurt yourself for the night.

You were so caught up in your own disappointment, you never saw the flash of recognition that crossed Eddie’s face. Only the anger that followed.

—

HOUR FOURTEEN - 5:00 AM 

You don’t bother with putting pants back on, only Eddie’s sweatshirt. At this point, pants were just beginning to feel like a nuisance when it came to the two of you. A nicetie, as one might put it.

What were the points of niceties with him if he could never hate you? 

You have the entire five minutes he spends in the bathroom to try and compose yourself. To try and desperately ruminate through these feelings and detach them from everything that was transpiring. The emotions didn’t belong here, there weren’t twists of guilt and sorrow of loss involved for Eddie when he was fucking you. 

So why is that all you could feel right now? 

He could never hate you, but he had spent the last year doing exactly that, hadn’t he? 

“Hey,” he reappears in the entryway of the kitchen with the worst possible timing, right in the eye of the storm that had begun to cloud over your mind. He holds up a pack of cigarettes you can only assume he’d snagged from his room, “I’m, uh- I was gonna grab a smoke out on the balcony. Join me?” 

There’s something of desperation in the way he asks you. All the words are casual, but his tone is an undermining plea; please say yes, please join me, please let me in. He knows something’s wrong, and he’s not just turning a blind eye and ignoring it this time. 

You stare at the pack of Marlboro Reds for a few seconds before shrugging, “Sure.” 

It’s certainly not as enthusiastic as you’re sure he was hoping for, but he smiles at the small victory nonetheless.

The first thing you notice about his balcony, aside from the clustered furniture, is the view. You’ve never thought your city to be very charming, always looking at it from a pedestrian’s view or through the lens of a tired, crabby college student embarking on another late night. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d step foot on a higher floor of a building like Eddie’s, one just tall enough to see over the rooftops of most of the mundane buildings, one that could peer right over the skyline and show a new dawn breaking. It’s a flourish of pink, orange, and violet, each shade stealing away another breath. The sun is just barely yawning over the horizon, just finally awakening. 

God, you’re going to regret not actually sleeping during this time.

“What’s got you scowling?” Eddie mumbles the question out around a cigarette, pausing with his lighter in midair.

You turn your head, and- just like that, all the anger and confusion melts away. He’s painted in the same shades of the sunrise, in a golden light that almost seems to be emitted from him rather than the waking sun. He is all soft edges and tired eye bags, a stubble that you can imagine the itch of against your palm if you were to reach out a hand to hold his face. If you were to kiss him right now, you fear he might dissolve all over your tongue, leaving nothing but his sweetness behind to remind you it was all real. 

It’s real. Even if it doesn’t make sense with what you guys projected before tonight, even if it doesn’t align with how your lives will continue on, tonight was real. You were here, he was here, and what happened…. Simply happened. 

I could never hate you. 

You get it now. Because in this lighting, with a soft breeze tugging your hair and mind alike, you know you feel the same way about him. And you know it contradicts all you have shown him in the past. 

You could never hate him. He could never hate you. It’s unfortunate that that’s what you’d been calling it before tonight – hate. 

“It’s going to really suck,” you breathe out half a sentence. Two endings before you: letting this night go or, “Not sleeping for a full twenty four hours.” 

You don’t know how he does it, how he looks at you like he knows you had something else to say. But he gives you those eyes, and they almost elicit the truth from you. 

Almost. 

He throws his head back in laughter, and the pinks and purples and all the fights wasted are now trailing down his neck, “Yeah, it is, isn’t it?” 

He’s much better at pretending than you are. You know that now. 

“Seriously,” you turn and walk to the railing, crossing your arms against the metal grate before he joins you at your side, “I’ll probably ditch my classes on Monday. I’ll have to sleep twenty four hours straight to even the score.” 

“God, I wish I could fuck off for Monday,” Eddie groans. He’s throwing his head back again, and you can’t help but wish you could replace the golden rays with your lips. You wish your warmth could sink beneath his skin like the sun’s does. 

“You can’t?” your voice cracks with the question as he finally lights the cigarette between his lips. 

He takes a long drag, shaking his head with the exhale of smoke, “Nope. I work Mondays at the shop.”

“The shop?”

“Myo’s,” the way his lips curl around the filter of his cigarette as he fights his grin burns a hole in the middle of your chest. Burning and erupting, yearning and longing, ignored and buried, “The auto shop on Main street.” 

You know by the way he looks at you that the name should ring a bell, but considering you don’t own a car, you don’t have the slightest clue what his job is, “Oh, so you’re a mechanic?” 

“I- Yeah,” he nods slowly, “Yeah, I’m a mechanic,” he pauses and you can see that he has more to say, it just takes him a moment. He looks off the balcony, shifts his weight between his two feet, takes another drag of nicotine. When he finally gathers his thoughts, you’re patient and waiting, biting back a small smile the moment he whips his face towards you, “Have we seriously never talked about that before? I swear I’ve told you I’m a mechanic.”

“Nope, seriously. Never.”

“There’s no fuckin’ way.”

“There absolutely is a way,” you laugh, letting your head fall backwards and not catching the way his gaze falls on you. The sunrise paints you in just as beautiful of a lighting as it had him. If someone asked you, you’d say that you doubt he noticed, but he did. He noticed. He always noticed, “Usually, by now, we’d be at each other’s throats.” 

“We sort of were,” he shrugs, eyes still glued to how your collarbone peaks out from beneath his sweatshirt, “Surprised we didn’t leave more hickies.” 

The topic you’d been avoiding. The topic he seemed indifferent about. 

I could never hate you. 

You decide to put his words to the test.

“Are we going to talk about it?” you ask, looking down now and picking at flakes along the metal railing, still not noticing him noticing you, “About…. what we just did?” 

“Are you always this straight to the point?” he chuckles nervously. In your peripherals, you catch the way he leans and mirrors you, side by side on the railing. His light cigarette hung loosely between indifferent fingers. Indifference, indifference, indifference. 

If you’d just look at him, you’d see anything but indifference written across his face. 

“Only when it matters,” you reply, breathing in his secondhand smoke, “Only when it’s important.”

His pinky is within reach of yours once more, just like at the parking garage. Even after feeling the entire expanse of his bare skin against yours, you still crave more – you crave for the intimacy that comes from hooking pinkies as grown adults, from knuckles curling into each other like hinges of a door of possibility. 

You don’t see the way he swallows hard, or how he nods subtly to himself before he says, “Alright. Let’s talk about it.” 

Those words make you look at him quickly, taken back and not expecting for him to give so easily. If you had noticed him noticing you, it would have been the expected reaction; if you’d seen the way his eyes traced over the pink and orange shadows of your features, you’d know he can’t really say no to you. Not anymore. 

“Yeah?” you only ask for the confirmation because you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He won’t let it. He holds it tightly, just nodding, “Yeah. I… You deserve my honesty.” 

You deserve my honesty. 

I could never hate you. 

“I’m starting to get a bad feeling of deja vu, Eddie. We don’t have to do honesty if you don’t want to-”

“Ask me anything. Right here, right now. I’ll answer with the full truth.” 

You flashback to hours before, when he’d offered his honesty this willingly and you’d only thrown it back in his face. But right now isn’t that moment, the two of you aren’t in the heat of an argument, there isn’t an impending doom on the horizon and the weight of the night no longer rests on either of your shoulders.

You don’t care as much about why he hates you now, or what he meant by never hating you to begin with. You don’t care much about the porn magazines and you don’t care what changed that first night. 

They’re all petty details that have had too long to gather dust. 

You do care about his job, you do care to know why he chose to fix cars. You do care about if he still takes night classes, and if yes, which ones. You care to know his favorite color and you care to know how he takes his coffee in the morning. Maybe you even care to know if he has a favorite coffee shop. 

You care to know all the new petty details you’d never uncovered about him. Miniscule bits and pieces of him you crave to hold in your hands, if only just for tonight- or today, at this point. 

But you need a baseline question. Something that won’t throw him off, but really doesn’t twist around your heart as severely as the others. Something that does neither damage nor nurture to the vines and blooms still occupying your chest. 

You suddenly remember a small detail that had been revealed to you by a third party tonight, “Okay, um, well…” you ponder on phrasing, and Eddie edges ever so closer to you, “At that bar we went to tonight, the bartender – Frank – mentioned how you’d been going there for about six months.” 

Eddie pales, but he nods nonetheless. Maybe the question is more loaded than you’d anticipated. 

“I guess... I…” you continue to stumble over your words and it only leaves Eddie more time to panic, “I’m just curious why you started going? Yeah, yeah. That’s… that’s my question,” you tilt your chin up, try to be seem more confident in your question. 

Even in his panic and sudden blanching, Eddie looks ready to laugh at you as his eyebrows scrunch. Somewhere between the wrinkles, you swear you could find something like affection, “That’s your question? Why did I start going to a bar that’s conveniently close to my apartment?” 

Maybe it is a good baseline question. Maybe he was just nervous from the other possible questions you could have asked about your time spent together at the bar. 

“That’s my question,” you confirm. 

The color isn’t returning to Eddie. His hand shakes when he brings his cigarette to his lips. His breath is evidently shaky on the exhale as the smoke puffs out unevenly. 

It’s not a good baseline question. 

“I…” he won’t meet your gaze, and all your gut can do is twist, twist, twist in anticipation, “I got kicked out of my last bar I was a regular at.” 

“Got kicked out? Why?” 

It’s ripping the bandaid off the wound of honesty, and neither of you even realize it. Neither of you notice the blood of your history catching up to you. 

Eddie sighs and rolls his shoulders before looking at you, “I got into a fight.” 

Your twisted gut stills. A fight? Why is he freaking out so evidently over a fight? Does he think you’ll judge him that harshly? 

“A fight?” you echo your thoughts with a soft laugh into the morning air, “You… Why do you say that like it’s a bad thing? Jesus, did you go to jail that night? That would suck, but… Eddie, I won’t judg-”

“I didn’t go to jail,” he interrupts, “I mean, they should have called the cops on me, but they didn’t. They gave me a second option of leaving immediately, and being banned for life, effective the moment I stepped out of the building that night. I took the ban.” 

“Well,” you relax your shoulders, looking over at the rising sun, “That’s nice of them, I guess, right? I’m sure whatever mean drunk swung their fist at you deserved to get their ass handed to them-”

Eddie interrupts you with a soft utterance of your name, making you look back to his hues of gold instead of the sky’s, “I swung first.” 

Oh. Maybe that’s why he still looks so wrecked with nerves. Maybe he thinks that’s the piece you’ll judge him on – it has to be the reason you can see sweat gathering along his eyebrow, just beneath his bangs. “Then I’m sure whoever it was deserved it? I-”

“He did,” he interrupts one final time. You’re about to finally snap at you, telling him to just let you speak, to just accept that you weren’t going to judge him over some bar brawl, when he drops the final bomb of an answer. Here is the honesty, you both realize at the same time, as his words slice through you, “It was about you. I got banned because of you.” 

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taglist is now closed.

[lilpomelito]

“What's wrong with Pop music?”

Eddie stops mid rant and spins around. Steve is sitting upside down on the sofa, staring at the ceiling, his silky hair touching the floor.

“I mean,” Steve continues, his voice a little strained by his position, “if so many people like it, there has to be something good about it, right?”

Eddie shares a look with Jonathan, hoping to find an ally, but the man looks zonked out of his mind. Argyle really brought the good shit with him.

“That's not the point, Stevie,” Eddie explains as he sits down on the floor next to the guy's head. “It's popular because it's the only shit the big corpos are pushing on the radio. It's what everyone listens to, so everyone thinks they have to like it to be liked. To be accepted. And it's not even good music! Where's the artistic merit in cheap studio synthesizers mixed with braindead lyrics like wake me up before you go go?"”

Steve frowns. “Not all popular music is like that. Also what's wrong with wanting to be liked?”

“Do you not like Freddie Mercury?” Robin gasps, lifting her head from Steve's stomach, and she sounds heavily offended.

Eddie blinks for second, confused as to where the conversation has suddenly turned. But Steve nods, apparently following her line of reasoning.

“Yeah, man. Queen is like, the most popular band in history. Do they not have artistic merit?”

“No, of course not, that's not what I–”

“And the government is not conspiring to push pop music, Eddie, we've seen they're too busy experimenting on children and opening portals to a parallel dimension,” Robin says.

“What about Bowie?” Steve says. “You loved Labyrinth. Didn't shut up about it for like a week. He's pop!”

“The point,” Eddie insists, flustered, avoiding to watch directly Steve's upside down smirk, “is forced conformity. Queen are all nerds! Bowie is a huge nerd. Where would they be now if they had played high school football?”

Jonathan nods slowly, but doesn't comment.

“What about astronauts?” Nancy asks, from where she's sitting at Johnathan's feet. “They're nerds, yes, but they also have to be in great physical shape. I bet most of them were athletes in school.”

“Yeah, totally!” Steve nods. “Remember Casey Johnson? He was captain of the basketball team when I was a freshman. He was valedictorian, and I think he went to Standford on a sports scholarship!”

“Yeah, I remember him,” Robin says, rolling her eyes. “One of my friends had a huuuuge crush on him.”

Steve's cheeks go red. He incorporates himself, despite Robin's protests, and sits on the couch like a normal person.

“Whatever. He was a nerd and an athlete. What's conformist about that?”

Eddie stares at him, narrowing his eyes. “Nothing, I guess. Or everything. He succeeded at academia, which was designed to shape kids into exploitable workers under capitalism—”

Jonathan groans behind him.

“—and made captain in a sport that's basically throwing balls into laundry baskets and calling it strategy. Praising people for that to the point where schools are giving scholarships is a little too much.”

“You try it, then, man,” Argyle calls from where he's laying on the rug, star shape style. “I bet you ten bucks you can't win at throwing laundry into baskets against Steve. Or my boy Lucas.”

Robin laughs maniacally. “Oh, I want to see that! Steve please destroy him, his ego needs a little humbling.”

The conversation moves on after that, since everybody looks like they're already over Eddie's rant. He doesn't mind, really. It's fun to ramp up the dramatic indignation against The Man, or whatever. It always causes a reaction, and even people who agree with him somewhat eventually hit a limit. Eddie likes to stick his finger and find that limit.

But not Steve. He's looking at Eddie like he's fascinating.

“You're a hypocrite.”

Eddie falters, biting down a smirk. “How come?”

Steve scoots a little closer. “You want to be a rockstar. You don't just want to live off making music. You want to be famous. You want people to like you.”

Eddie stares at him for a second, frozen in place.

“That's not—”

But Steve smiles, gentle. “That's alright. We all do. And you want to know a secret about being popular?”

Eddie can't resist. For all he protests about popularity and conformity and being so normal everybody likes you, he does wonder what it feels like to be on the other side. So he nods.

Steve smiles sadly. “It doesn't actually change anything. You think it means more people like you, but it just means more people are aware of you. What you do, what you say. Who are your friends, who you date. Where you go, when you go there. And at some point you feel like you can't escape it. And yeah, you do start to conform to the norm. Not because you think it's what's best but because you're so aware of people's opinions of you that you always choose the path of least resistance.”

Eddie... has never considered that. He moves a little closer to Steve as his voice goes quiet.

“You think it was fun to run into a random suburban mom in the grocery store and have her be furious at me because I was dating Susan Davis? Who apparently was her daughter's cousin, and she had a crush on me, and was planning on asking me to prom? How on earth was I supposed to know that? And she was double mad that I didn't even know who her daughter was. Like there's two hundred kids in Hawkins High. I can't know everyone!”

Eddie tries not to laugh, because Steve seems upset by this, but the situation is kind of ridiculous.

“And I think they got into their heads that because they knew of me I was supposed to also know them. But they didn't actually know me. I made prom King, people were mad. I was captain of the basketball team, people were mad. I then turned down being captain of the swim team and was just co-captain, people were still mad. I took a job, and people made fun of me. I lost that job because the mall caught on fire, people also made fun of me. I took another job, and people say I'm "wasting my potential", whatever that means. I don't know man. I think you can never win with people.”

Eddie grabs Steve's hand, touching softly his palm. It seems to work, and Steve relaxes a tiny bit under his touch.

What Steve said sounded exactly like what Eddie was talking about: the pressure to be what society wants, not what you want. He can tell it's a touchy subject for Steve, who has been under the crushing spotlight of being a relatively small town's golden boy.

So Eddie doesn't push any further.

“You got me there, though,” he says.

Steve smiles again. “Yeah?”

“Yeap,” Eddie nods. “I do want to be a famous rockstar. I do want to be known and liked and admired. I've never had that. But I guess you're right. We can't have it both ways.”

Robin, who up to that point had been discussing with Argyle the difference between an oboe and a clarinet, jumps in. “It's the horrifying ordeal of being known.”

Steve laughs. Eddie can't help it, his laugh is too contagious. He can't understand how people in this hellscape of a town ever looked at this boy and thought "he's not enough." With him? He gets it. Eddie's list of failures is a mile long. But Stevie? Sunshine incarnate, puppy-eyed, bitchy beautiful and smart Steve Harrington? There's nothing to complain about.

[glisten-inthedark]

Why it wouldn't make any sense for Byler not to be endgame (Applying only logic to the equation)

Ok, I know that some people might be concerned and I won't sit around and pretend that I'm not. I will, however, point towards a few things that, to me, would mean that everyone in that writers room had terrible lapses in judgment if they ended up not making Byler canon so buckle up because this will be a long post.

Will's misbilief and how he believes he will never find love.

At one point, Will claims he will never fall in love but we'd later learn that surprise surprise, we can't control our hearts.

But it's not that Will assumes he won't find love, it's that he assumes he's not worthy of it. He stated that he sometimes feels like he's a mistake, and that the only person that makes him feel like he isn't is Mike.

So the subtext that we have is that he doesn't believe he'll have a happy ending, he doesn't believe he'll get to find love and be happy. So say the Duffers decide that Byler won't be endgame, what exactly was the purpose of this entire plot line? Torture a kid some more?

Like seriously, he's been through so much already, why do this?

Because doing gives Will, the character we're supposed to root for, a depressing ending. A ending that tells him: you'll never be happy, you're doomed to be forever in love with someone that will never love you back. You don't get your happy ending, you don't get to have what you want.

But not only that, this would be the message the show would be sending the viewers: So one of characters has been through the ringer, has foud out he's gay but oh sorry, he will never be in a happy relationship or find that actually he can be happy. And that's it folks, thanks for watching our show.

2. What Will wants and needs.

I noticed there's this tendency of people downplaying Will's love towards Mike. Maybe because he's young and we have the tendency to assume that the feelings with have around that age aren't lasting, or maybe it's something else, however we need to point out the fact that Will loves Mike Wheeler.

This isn't a crush, this isn't limerence or lust. No, this is love. The writers made a point of showing us that Will loves Mike truly and selflessly. They made a point of showing us that Will already assumes his feelings are and will always be unrequited, so what he wants/what he needs it's to have Mike back in his life.

He was willing to push Mike towards El out of love for him and for her, because he wants Mike to be happy and he doesn't think he could ever give him that, nor does he think Mike wants Will to be the person who gives him that.

The writers showed, through their writing, that Will's feelings are real, are everlasting and unshakable. That Will himself doesn't think he'll ever get over Mike (El - I - Need you and she (I) always will).

So whether you like it or not, Mike is the love of Will's love. So if the writers present some random person as the love interest (which they could've easily done considering they gave us Argyle and the fact Will was in California which is far more accepting than Indiana) it's never going to be enough, because that's not who Will truly loves.

So again, it would send the message that he'll never be truly happy, because the person that makes him the happiest wouldn't be by his side.

3. We have no actual clue about what's happening to Mike

We can chalk it up to lazy writing, or to a character that's all over the place, or maybe, just maybe, to a Mike Wheeler that is complex, that has layers and dimensions.

I don't think it's a coincidence there has been a shift in Mike in the last 2 seasons, because if you pay attention, we have nothing of his inner thoughts. The entire focus of his character has been about El, and maybe that's no accident.

Maybe we don't know what's going on because he's hiding something? And whenever we are presented with facts about him, we don't have all the information.

I already talked about how Mike focusing on El makes sense, because when Will disappeared Mike had to deal with a lot and when Will got back, all these things he buried tried to get back to the surface.

People seem to have a hard time understanding Mike, or acting under the guise he doesn't care about Will or that Will deserves better or seem to think the writers dropped the ball on his character, but maybe there's a reason?

Maybe Mike is a lot harder to grasp? Maybe he's the boy who watched his best friend bike away and not come back? Maybe he's the boy who thought his friend was dead (even for a while).

Perhaps he's the kid who so desperately needed to protect and shield and comfort his friend because nothing in the world was right if his friend was hurting?

Maybe Mike is the boy who doesn't really feels what he should for his girlfriend? Maybe she kisses him and he's confused, doesn't close his eyes because it doesn't feel right?

Is he the boy who was so afraid of what it meant to care so much for another boy, that he decided to compartmentalize so he felt less? Because losing Will once almost destroyed him, and sometimes it's easier if we do the pushing away ourselves?

Maybe he latched onto El because it was easier, it was safer, because it's right to like girls and not boys.

And maybe the Mike of season 2 already had an inkling but didn't know for sure, but when posed with the same thing in a different time-frame was hit with another, deeper meaning.

If we can feel empathy for Steve, or if we can acknowledge Max's trauma, or if we can understand Joyce's one track mind or Hopper's temper or Jonathan's distant behavior, we should grace a child/teen that has no one to turn to with the same grace.

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

A/N: This wasn't supposed to turn into a ficlet, but everywhere you go there, you are! I firmly believe these two swap genders back and forth. Eddie makes them special pins.

I love the idea of Eddie being the dad, but these two are definitely platonic pseudo parents. They're definitely mom and dad vibing. At one point, they have said to the kids, when asked separately:

"Go ask your mom," Robin would say.

"No, ask your dad," Steve said, scowling. "You never help with the kids."

"Hey, I work and go to school. Is it so bad that I want a little time to myself?" Robin asked.

They continue on with the fake argument until the kids leave them alone. Of course, Eddie hasn't realized that Robin is the 'dad' until Eddie and Steve tell everyone they're dating.

"So, now you don't have to do this single mom thing by yourself," Eddie joked.

"Excuse me?! Single mom?!" Robin exclaimed.

"Uh, sorry, Eddie. Robin is our dad," Dustin said.

"What?! What does that make me?!" Eddie asked.

"Mom's special friend," Dustin said, growling and wiggling his eyebrows.

"That is your pseudo mother and my platonic partner!" Robin said, hitting him over the head with a rolled up newspaper. "Gross!"

"Okay! Okay! Fine, that makes you our step dad and Vickie, our step mom," Dustin said.

"What about me?" Argyle asked.

"You're, uh, the fun uncle!" Dustin exclaimed.

"Yes! Suck it, Jonathan!" Argyle said and pulled out his wallet. "You know, fun uncles usually give out money, don't they? Oh, wait, I spent it all on finding those puppies' new homes. Sorry, little dudes."

"I told you, those were baby squirrels," Jonathan whispered to him.

"God, I love our weird ass family," Eddie cackled.

[stevesbipanic]

@steddiemas Day 29: Holiday Parties

Steve knew how to throw a party. The ragers he threw in high school mainly to piss off his dad could attest to that fact. These days however, Steve's parties were much more lowkey, keeping to the tight knit group he'd acquired after getting his head on straight, or we'll head on bisexual he guesses.

His favourite party besides showering each of his friends in love and affection on their birthdays, was his Christmas party. This year was the first time the party wouldn't feel small, now with the addition of Vickie, Eddie and Argyle, seven people felt like a proper party and less like a movie night in sweaters.

Steve was nervous about Eddie coming, not because of giving him a present, they'd give those out at Joyce's ok Christmas day. No, Steve was nervous because Robin had convinced him they should play spin the bottle solely so she might kiss Vickie.

"You're literally dating, why do you need the game?"

Robin shrugged, "Because I never got to play it in high school and now I know a girl will kiss me."

Steve wasn't going to deny her the opportunity to play a game he knows got him plenty of action in school. He was regretting it now looking at Eddie sitting across from him, bottle pointing right at him. They'd agreed at the beginning of the game that they were all friends here and wouldn't mind no matter who it landed on. Steve had already gotten a peck from Argyle on the lips and a forehead kiss from Robin who said kissing her brother on the mouth was a crime.

"Looks like I'm your lucky partner, Stevie, don't be shy."

Steve took a deep breath and shuffled over to him, he looked even prettier up close, those big cow eyes and pink lips. He leaned forward slightly but just before they met in the middle Steve stood up abruptly, "I, I can't, not like this," he said quickly and darted out of the room and outside.

The air was crisp out in the back porch, it did little to soothe him. Eddie probably hated him now, or thought Steve was weird about gay guys or a whole number of reasons why the number one reason being the fact that Steve ran from him.

"Hey, sweetheart, are you ok?" A tentative voice said behind him. Steve turned to find a worried Eddie standing behind him.

"I'm fine, I'm sorry, I was being silly, I'm sorry."

Eddie took the last couple steps to him and put a comforting hand on his arm.

"Hey, Stevie, it's just a game I don't mind that you didn't want to kiss me."

"I did."

"Did what?"

"Want to kiss you."

Eddie's eyes widened in surprise, "You did, but why did you run then?"

Steve took a nervous breath, eyes darting away from Eddie, "Because I didn't want the first time I kiss you to be because of a game."

Eddie's face grew into a soft smile, "Oh sweetheart, all you had to do was ask."

"Really?" Steve felt his nerves from earlier melt away. "Could you kiss me now?"

Eddie held Steve's face gently, "Of course, Stevie, would be my pleasure."

The next time they played Robin had to pull the two of them apart just so they could continue the game.

Ao3

[findafight]

I want Argyle to meet Steve in Hawkins and go "oh man. You MUST be Steve, that hair is absolutely bodacious."

And Steve is like. "???? Thank? You? Who are.... You're hair is actually amazing omg it's so silky smooth...I don't know your name. How do you know mine?" Because Steve doesn't think Jonathan would mention him enough to warrant this cool new guy to remember his name let alone recognize him On Sight.

And of course, it wasn't Jonathan who talked about Steve and his hair. Of course it wasn't. "Nah man." Says Argyle, "I'm Argyle. But Jonny didn't really mention you. My little hair care pal Ellie did though."

Because of course it was El, who Steve had tried to help with her hair after November of '84 and bonded over figuring out a style she liked that would grow out nicely, who talked about her friend Steve who was really good with hair, Argyle. His is different from yours but it is still very pretty. I think you'd get along. Maybe you can meet if we visit Hawkins someday! When Argyle had offered to braid her hair a couple times. :') and thus a beautiful friendship was born, based on hair care tips and the mutual love of a teenager who can mindfight demons.

[libraryofgage]

Addams Family Steddie Part 5

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

The fact that we're on part five is wild to me

Anyway, here's the wedding! It's probably the longest part so far lol

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;)

Wedding planning was, unsurprisingly, a stressful process. Planning for a wedding only two weeks before the event was even more stressful. Thankfully, Steve wasn't planning alone; he was in charge of finalizing the guest list, sending invitations, and catering while Eddie was in charge of floral arrangements, music, and decorations for the ceremony.

Steve had felt the division of labor wasn't fair, but Eddie insisted he'd be able to do everything himself.

And Eddie had been right. He'd kept the cemetery just creepy enough to still feel right while decorating it with flowers and ribbons and surprisingly comfortable chairs considering they look like they're made of bones. Everything leads up to an altar right on their shared cemetery plot, where Eddie's Cousin Itt is standing in front of their tombstone to officiate the wedding.

It's all very nice, and Eddie did a wonderful job of setting everything up, but Steve can hardly appreciate it right now. He's too nervous. Not about marrying Eddie; no, he's excited and over the moon for that. He's nervous about meeting Eddie's family, his stomach upheaving over the idea that one of them may not like him.

"You're worrying over nothing," Eddie whispers, his lips brushing against Steve's earlobe before playfully tugging on it with his teeth. He wraps an arm around Steve's waist, the reassuring weight helping him feel grounded. "They're gonna love you."

"Your cousin has been glaring at me since she saw me," Steve whispers back, turning to look at Eddie and letting their noses brush.

"That's just Wednesday. She glares at everyone."

"Does she always glare at people like she's planning five ways to cook them for dinner?"

"Only the ones she likes."

Steve snorts, taking a deep breath and letting his head drop onto Eddie's shoulder. "What would she do if she didn't like me?" he asks, glancing down at the bouquet in his hands. The rose stems have been clipped of their flowers, leaving only the thorns and white lilies.

"She'd kill you," Eddie says bluntly.

"What, no torture?"

"She only tortures the people she loves."

"Oh," Steve says, glancing at the pale man next to Wednesday, "that's why her partner looks like that."

Before Eddie can start cracking up, the sun begins to set and El begins playing the piano, a low and haunting version of the wedding march. "You ready, sweetheart?" Eddie asks, his smile matching Steve's in love and joy and sheer excitement.

"Of course," Steve replies, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before letting Eddie lead him down the aisle. The left side of the aisle is filled with people who give off the exact same vibe as Eddie: mysterious, kooky, and altogether ooky. Wayne is standing on Eddie's side of the altar, looking two seconds away from tears of joy. On the right side of the aisle, Dustin (a black velvet pillow holding two rings in his lap) and his friends are filling the seats, along with Jonathan (an old friend from high school, sort of; it's complicated), his partner Argyle, and Nancy (Steve's ex-girlfriend from high school, part of the reason his friendship with Jonathan is complicated, and now making eyes at Robin). Robin is standing on Steve's side of the altar, practically buzzing in her dark green pantsuit.

When they get to the altar, standing almost perfectly centered on their plot, Eddie can barely put any distance between them. Steve is the one who has to smile at him reassuringly while taking a small step back, keeping a tight hold on Eddie's hand. Eddie squeezes tightly enough that Steve is almost worried about bone fractures, but Eddie wouldn't do anything so fun in front of others.

Steve glances at Cousin Itt when he starts speaking, his words unintelligible, high-pitched noises that Steve is somehow able to follow. They're the general officiant stuff: dearly beloved, marrying two men, joining them in unholy and downright sacrilegious matrimony. Honestly, Steve ends up blocking it out at some point, too busy getting lost in Eddie's eyes.

He looks handsome in his black suit with blood-red accents, his fingers uncharacteristically devoid of all rings except the engaged-to-be-engaged ring from Steve. When Steve had asked, Eddie grinned at him and said he didn't want anything to distract him from the ring Steve was about to give him. His hair is pushed out of his face, too, just barely tamed into something the humidity will destroy after about two more minutes. Strands are already falling back into his eyes. Steve likes it, though, and he reaches up to gently tuck one of the strands behind Eddie's ear.

Eddie catches his hand, bringing Steve's palm to his lips and playfully biting. "Stevie," he says, and Steve suddenly realizes they've somehow gotten to the vows when he wasn't paying attention, "I would kill for you. I would die for you. I would live for you. You haunt my dreams and bless my nightmares. Your voice is music to my ears, a symphony of love and passion to which my heart beats. Sweetheart, you will have my undying love for the rest of eternity and whatever may come after. Ask anything of me, and I will do it without question. I would wear pastels for you. I would dive into a rainbow ball pit. Darling, I would drive kids to scout meetings in a minivan for you. There is no truer happiness to me so long as you smile and say you love me."

Somehow, Eddie manages to go the entire time without a single tear shedding, but Steve isn't nearly as lucky. His eyes watered from the moment Eddie called him Stevie, and tears would be staining his collar if Eddie weren't wiping them away with his thumbs before they could fall. "You're so romantic," he mumbles, unable to help a short laugh at himself.

"What can I say? You're inspiring," Eddie replies, winking playfully.

Cousin Itt says something more and then looks up at Steve, bending forward slightly to indicate that it's his turn to recite vows. Steve takes a deep breath, steadying himself and gathering his thoughts. "When you first knocked on my door, I wasn't sure what to think of you, Eddie Munson," Steve says, reaching up and placing his hand over the one Eddie has on his cheek. "But you romanced me, completely swept me off my feet, and helped me feel more comfortable showing love in a way that feels right. Every time I look into your eyes, I fall in love all over again. When we're together, the entire world fades away. My love for you is as unwavering as the tides, as all-consuming as a black hole that would swallow the universe."

From the crowd, Steve can just barely hear a man's voice saying, "Tish, they're almost as romantic as us."

"Oh, Gomez, you always do love competition," a woman responds.

Steve has to keep himself from laughing, suddenly looking forward to meeting Gomez and Morticia.

Eddie notices his barely contained smile and nearly buzzes with the want to kiss it. He glances at Cousin Itt, jerking his head in Dustin's direction and raising his eyebrows. Cousin Itt garbles a response, something that sounds like a scolding but is quickly followed by a slight bow toward Dustin nonetheless.

Dustin jumps up and walks over to them, holding up the pillow. As Cousin Itt starts his version of exchanging the rings, Eddie picks one up. The band is an inky black with tiny, multi-colored gems scattered across the top like stars. Inside the band, Eddie's name is engraved in red. "Now, you'll always have me with you," Eddie says, grinning at Steve as he slips the ring onto his finger, nestling it against the engagement ring.

It's a snug fit, just tight enough for Steve to know it's there and wonder if it's impossible to take off. It's perfect.

Steve picks up the identical ring with his own name engraved on the inner band. "And you'll always have me with you, too," Steve replies, sliding the ring to rest against his engaged-to-be-engaged ring.

What follows is Dustin quickly retreating and Robin yanking away his bouquet while Cousin Itt bows slightly to the both of them and happily squeaks out one last sentence. Steve barely braces himself for Eddie pulling him close, spinning him into a dip, and kissing him breathless. Steve can't help laughing into the kiss as he wraps his arms around Eddie's neck, brushing his tongue along Eddie's lips and tasting cyanide punch still lingering behind his teeth.

Wolf whistles (Robin and a few of Eddie's cousins), cheers (Wayne and the rest of Eddie's family), and exaggerated exclamations of disgust (Dustin and his friends) surround them as Eddie bites his bottom lip before breaking the kiss. Steve grins at him, playfully tugging on a lock of Eddie's hair as he asks, "You gonna let me up, handsome?"

"You could poison me and I'd only hold you tighter, sweetheart," Eddie tells him.

"Promise?"

Eddie grins and pulls Steve out of the dip, keeping him close as he turns to the crowd with a happy smile. "Okay, everyone," he says, his hand dropping down to Steve's lower back, "the reception is over by the Sheffield Mausoleum. Stevie and I will be joining you shortly."

Steve reaches out for Eddie's left hand as the crowd rises and disperses towards a mausoleum behind the altar. The wedding ring pairs nicely with the engaged-to-be-engaged ring, and the gems on both reflect the last, soft rays of the setting sun and the lamps hung all around them so guests can still see in the dark.

The only one who hangs back is Dustin, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Eddie notices him and gently pulls his hand from Steve's so he can hold an arm out. Dustin lights up and barrels straight into them. "You're, like, my brother now!" Dustin says, looking up at Eddie with stars in his eyes.

"Gee, was I not doing a good enough job?" Steve asks.

Dustin snorts, poking Steve's ribs as he pulls away. "Sorry, man, you're just not as cool as Eddie."

"Woah, woah," Eddie says, maliciously ruffling Dustin's hair, "that's my husband you're talking about. I won't tolerate a single bad word about him."

"Oh, gross, you're gonna be even worse now," Dustin whines, slapping Eddie's hand away.

Steve can't help laughing, about to make a similar joke about brutalizing his husband only to be interrupted by a familiar and dreadful voice coming from his left.

"Steven?"

Every muscle in Steve stiffens, his entire body becoming straight as a board against his will, and he sees the exact same thing happen to Dustin. He doesn't want to, but Steve still forces himself to lean forward so he can see around Eddie.

There are two people standing right on the border between the green grass with clean tombstones and the stubborn weeds and vines climbing up worn stone. Both are middle-aged; the woman has blonde hair perfectly curled to frame her face and brown eyes, and the man has dark brown hair carefully styled with just barely too much gel and dull green eyes.

Steve feels his palms grow clammy as a spike of white-hot anxiety shoots up his spine. He glances at Dustin, reassuringly pats his shoulder, and pushes him closer to Eddie. His husband (he should be feeling much happier when referring to Eddie as such, and the fact that he doesn't fills him with anger and frustration equal to the anxiety caused by the man and woman) clearly has questions but doesn't say anything. Eddie just places a hand on Dustin's shoulder, the same spot Steve patted.

Steve takes a deep breath and turns, plastering on a smile so fake that it makes his stomach churn. "Mom, Dad, what are you doing here?" he asks, walking over to the two but staying on the brown and ancient side of the grass.

His mother raises a single, perfect eyebrow at him. "We received news of the wedding from our secretary," she says.

"Honestly, Steven, what else are we supposed to do when our eldest son gets married?" his father asks. And for a brief moment, Steve thinks they'll be supportive. Maybe they'll pull out a small but thoughtful wedding gift and mingle with the rest of the guests. He's wrong, of course, but it was a nice delusion while it lasted. "Of course, we had to come and stop you from getting married to this Munson character."

His mother huffs softly, her fingers twitching like she's about to reach for a cigarette even though she claimed to stop smoking years ago. "It seems we're a little too late for that, though. No matter. We're friends with a judge, so come along, Steven, we'll get this marriage voided before morning."

Honestly, Steve is surprised Eddie managed to go so long without inserting himself. The moment his mother threatened to void the marriage, however, Eddie definitely isn't able to hold himself back any longer. He steps forward, wraps an arm around Steve's waist, and asks, "So sorry, but who are you, and why are you intruding on our wedding?"

The sheer offense on their faces almost makes Steve feel better as he places a hand on Eddie's chest right over his heart. And he says almost because the offense is quickly followed by his mother saying, "We are Steven's parents, and you are about two seconds from legal action."

Eddie actually laughs in her face, and Steve feels the tension drain from him at the sound. "Please, go ahead. We Munsons love a good court battle. They've yet to make any charges stick, you know," Eddie says, his grin nearly feral and sending a thrill from Steve's scalp down to his toes.

He grips Eddie's shirt, gaining his attention and flashing a suggestive smile. "Eds," Steve whispers, briefly forgetting about his parents and the rest of the world, "what charges?"

That feral grin somehow widens, bringing Steve's attention to the too-sharp canines that he wants to drag his tongue against until it bleeds. "Would you like the list in chronological or alphabetical order, sweetheart?" Eddie asks, leaning close until their lips are just barely touching.

Steve licks his lips, tongue brushing against Eddie's teasingly, and watches as Eddie's eyes darken into something hungry and insatiable and terrifying and thrilling.

"Oh, gross, seriously?!" Dustin cries from behind them, throwing his hands in the air. "Save it for the honeymoon."

That seems to break Steve's parents out of whatever stupor had overtaken them. "Steven!" his father warns, voice low and threatening and utterly laughable. "Step away from him this instant. Is this the kind of example you've been setting for Dustin? We promised his parents to raise him properly when we took him in."

Oh. That's the card they're going to pull now. Steve sighs, whispers, "Later," to Eddie, and turns to look at his parents. Eddie buries his head in Steve's neck, teeth playfully brushing against his skin despite the audience. "One, he's my husband," Steve says, raising a finger for each item that follows the first, "Two, any example I set will be far better than the one set by your absence. Three, I suggest you leave before you find yourself stuck in this cemetery indefinitely."

Eddie huffs softly against his neck, and Dustin moves closer to Steve's side, grabbing his sleeve tightly. "You haven't raised me at all," Dustin tells them, his voice prickly and indicative of the hackles that would be raised if he had any.

"That is enough," Steve's mother snaps, effectively shutting up her own husband as she takes a single step forward. It's the first one she's taken since they started speaking, but she still avoids stepping over the line made by the grass. "Steven, if you insist on this...mistake, we'll simply have no choice but to cut you off. We'll also have to take Dustin since you clearly aren't the good influence you promised to be."

Steve should probably be angry. In fact, he is, but that anger is overshadowed by the undeniable urge to laugh in her face. Which he does. Loudly. "I haven't used your money for myself in ages," Steve tells her, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the house, "In fact, it's all gone toward house payments and bills. So, sure, take the house. Eddie and I will get a new place with an even bigger room for Dustin who, by the way, is going fucking nowhere."

"Oh, I love it when you curse," Eddie murmurs, kissing a line up Steve's neck to just below his earlobe.

Despite himself, Steve grins a little. And then Dustin tugs on his sleeve, gaining his attention before saying, "I really don't want to go with them."

"You won't," Steve promises, continuing before either of his parents can say anything, "because you're sixteen. I'll make sure the custody case drags itself long enough for you to turn eighteen, and then they won't have any say over you."

"That would be very expensive, Steven," his father says, taking on a gentler tone like he's suddenly trying to play the good cop to his wife's bad cop. "I don't think you realize that supporting yourself won't be easy."

This, apparently, is what truly offends Eddie. He finally pulls away from Steve's neck, narrowing his eyes as a cold wind suddenly picks up. "Stevie won't have to support himself because I'll support him. You missed the beautiful and hauntingly romantic vows we just spoke, but Stevie won't be wanting for anything as long as I'm around. And that extends to the people he considers family."

As he speaks, the lamps around them seem to change, casting ghostly shadows over the cemetery. Something whispers in the wind, voice drawling and unintelligible but still threatening. An overbearing pressure begins to cast itself over the area, sparing Steve and Dustin but pressing down relentlessly on their parents. "Now," Eddie says, "unless you've suddenly become interested in the local real estate, I suggest you leave."

"Are you threatening us?" Steve's mother asks.

"Not at all," Eddie replies, his voice low and dark and that honeymoon can't start soon enough, actually. "I'm making a promise."

The wind shifts and howls, kicking up loose dirt and weeds and swirling around Steve's parents. Their faces drain, becoming increasingly pale, and Steve's mother looks ready to try speaking again only for his father to place a hand on her shoulder. At least he's smart enough to know when they've lost.

Steve watches them retreat, the wind following them until they've left the cemetery, and then turns to Eddie. "You look so beautiful when you threaten people," he says, grabbing Eddie's collar and yanking him down into a searing kiss that his husband happily returns.

It doesn't last long before Dustin interrupts, literally shoving himself between the two. "They won't come back, right?" he asks.

"Well, they might," Steve says, reassuringly messing up Dustin's hair, "but they won't be taking you anywhere."

"Yep, you're stuck with us," Eddie adds, picking up Dustin and throwing him over his left shoulder. He grins as Dustin squeaks. "Now, let's go party."

Steve snorts and grabs Eddie's right hand, leaving his left free to hold Dustin, as they walk towards the reception. Now that he's paying attention, he can hear the band playing and laughter-filled conversations filling the silence of the cemetery. He can also smell a whiff of something delicious, his stomach suddenly growling as he realizes how hungry he is.

Thankfully, a plate is shoved into his hand the moment they reach the outskirts of the crowd by a short man with greased-back hair, a wild glint in his eyes, and a cigar hanging from his lips. Next to him, a hand on his shoulder, is a tall and pale woman with blood-red lips and a knowing smile. "There you two are," the man says, removing the cigar as Eddie drops Dustin to the ground and shoves him towards the crowd. "Took you long enough."

Dustin sticks his tongue out at Eddie before running off, leaving them in the dust to join his friends. Steve shakes his head at the kid as Eddie smiles brightly at the two. "There was some trash to take care of," Eddie says, shrugging as he steals a roll from the plate in Steve's hand.

"I assume it's been properly disposed of?" the woman asks, an eyebrow rising slowly.

Eddie shrugs, holding the roll up to Steve's lips so he can take a bite. "For now. Might need to make good on a few promises, though," he says, biting off a piece after Steve.

The man laughs, clapping a hand on Eddie's shoulder. "Just let us know if you need any help, old man," he says, his grin wide and his eyes excited, "I always did love a good hunt."

Steve swallows the bread in his mouth and smiles at the two, finally getting an idea of who they are. "Gomez and Morticia, right?" he asks, his guess confirmed by Gomez's widening grin and Morticia's approving nod. "I've heard a lot about you. Thanks for the cutting from Cleopatra, by the way. Nix has been a great addition to the family."

Morticia straightens slightly (Steve didn't even realize that was possible). "You've named her Nix," she says, nodding once, "Fitting. How's her health?"

"She's gotten big enough to need three pounds of meat per week."

"How wonderful. She's almost matured. You've been taking very good care of her, then."

"Tish does love her plants," Gomez says, placing an arm around her waist and pulling her close in a familiar gesture. Maybe it runs in the family. "She grows the thorniest rose stems, you know."

Steve is about to respond when Eddie lights up, clearly seeing something that Steve doesn't. "Well, Stevie is haunting on the piano, not to mention how well he can swing a bat," he says, his chest puffing out slightly.

"Impressive! Tish is a killer at knitting and keeps her needles incredibly sharp."

"I remember she knit Pubert's onesies," Eddie says, and Steve swears he can hear a young man groan in the distance. "Stevie makes wonderful traps. I never see them coming until I'm hanging from the air and losing my breath."

Ah. Steve suddenly gets it. He looks at Morticia, silently asking if this is common, and her amused smile says it is. "Steve, walk with me while our husbands play together," she says, holding out her hand.

Steve nods and presses a quick kiss to Eddie's cheek before pulling away and offering Morticia his arm. She leads him around the crowd, staying on the outskirts. "I'd like to officially welcome you to the family," she says, his voice steady and reassuring and lingering. "You seem to fit in quite well."

"Oh, uh, thanks," Steve says, feeling that anxiety from before starting to churn in his stomach again. At least it distracts his stomach from the hunger. "This isn't, like, a threatening thing, right?"

"Would you like it to be?"

"Not particularly."

"Then, no. Not for now, at least. I don't see you requiring any threats, though. Everything I've heard about you tells me that you'll have no trouble adjusting to the Munson family and its Addams relatives. Just know that we watch out for our own, dear, and we gladly feast on those who would subdue us for we are always hungry."

Steve nods, finding that this aligns well with everything he's seen from Eddie, Wayne, and El. "I've always wanted a big family," he admits.

Morticia smiles at him, and it feels warm despite her initially cold demeanor. "And now you have one," she says, looking up and waving to someone in the crowd. "Speaking of, I'd like you to meet my children."

Three young adults slip out from the crowd, two boys and one girl. Steve already knows them, and he smiles, the expression only returned by the boys. "Wednesday, Pugsley, and Pubert, right? It's nice to meet you."

"We'll see about that," Wednesday replies, her voice dry and devoid of any inflection.

Pugsley, meanwhile, smiles brightly and claps Steve's shoulder. "Nice to meet you, Steve! Welcome to the family. How do you feel about explosives?"

"Good for some jobs, but lacking subtlety for others."

"I told you," Pubert says, shoving Pugsley aside to stand in front of Steve instead. "What about daggers?"

"Easy to hide but too subtle for some messages."

Pubert frowns slightly at this response but doesn't argue. Wednesday, meanwhile, stares at Steve for a few intense seconds before saying, "What are you afraid of?"

"Eddie being out of sight," Steve replies, not even needing to think of an answer. He glances over to where they left Eddie and Gomez, happy to see his husband is still there. Though, the two seem to have engaged in a sword fight at some point.

"How sickening," Wednesday says.

Steve looks back at her and grins. "Don't be jealous, Wednesday. I'm sure your partner feels the same," he says playfully.

She tenses slightly, seemingly unused to this kind of backtalk, but quickly relaxes. "You're interesting. I'll be keeping in touch." And with that, she turns on her heel and walks back into the crowd.

"Aw, man, she still has my kidney," Pubert says, quickly chasing after her. Pugsley shrugs, looking like he'd rather not be left out, and quickly follows Pubert after waving goodbye to Steve and Morticia.

"They like you," Morticia says, sounding pleased. "You should come visit us after your honeymoon. Where are you planning to go?"

"Paris and Rome. I want to see the catacombs in Paris, and Eddie wants to visit this museum in Rome where all the decorations are made with the bones of monks."

"Oh, how romantic," Morticia says, glancing to the side as the sound of swords crossing grows louder. She waits a few more seconds before saying, her voice staying the same volume as always, "Gomez."

The fight immediately stops, and Gomez seemingly materializes next to Morticia. He takes her hand, pressing kisses along her knuckles and up her arm. "Yes, cara mia?" he asks.

"How long has it been since we danced?"

"Hours," Gomez replies, grinning brightly as he pulls Morticia away and to the dancefloor.

Eddie appears next, wrapping his arms around Steve's waist from behind. "Stevie," he whispers, breath tickling the back of Steve's neck. "We haven't danced, either."

Steve snorts, places his plate on the nearest chair, and turns in Eddie's arms. "Well, lead the way."

With an excited glint in his eyes, Eddie drags Steve to the dancefloor as the band begins to play the waltz. A few other couples have begun dancing together, but they all make room as Eddie leads Steve to the very middle of the floor. He pulls Steve close, one hand on the small of his back and the other holding one of Steve's hands. Their fingers interlock, and Steve lets Eddie lead him around the dancefloor in graceful spins and flourishes.

"So," Eddie says, his voice quiet but immensely clear to Steve as the rest of the world fades away, "other than that brief interruption, how did you like the ceremony?"

"It was beautiful," Steve replies, sliding the hand on Eddie's shoulder to wrap around his neck and playfully tug on a lock of hair. "We should get married again."

"How does next month sound?"

"I was thinking of a wedding in Paris and one in Rome. Just for us, nobody else, with ancient bones as our witness."

"You say the most romantic things," Eddie says, his voice slightly dreamy. "I love you."

The waltz comes to an end as he says this, and Eddie leans down to kiss Steve as they continue dancing through the break in music. Steve smiles, letting his eyes slip shut and trusting Eddie to make sure he won't fall or trip on anything, and pushes his tongue past Eddie's lips.

"I love you, too," Steve whispers when the kiss breaks long enough to allow words. He's barely finished speaking when Eddie pulls him back in, drowning Steve in love and passion and promises of later.

Steve finds he doesn't mind the idea of never surfacing again so long as Eddie's lips never leave his own.

---

Tag List

(Tumblr has a limit, so I couldn't get everyone who's requested a tag, but I did try to get as many as I could)

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[bit-odd-innit]

"Oh hell yeah." Argyle tips his head down to hang between his knees, clapping reverently and in time as he rises to the next song on Jonathan's mix. "Let's fuckin' goooooooo." Jonathan's nose scrunches around a laugh. "You don't strike me as a John Denver fan." Argyle's arms are up above his head, swaying elegantly in sync with the wind-swept branches above them. Robin is on her feet too, mimicking him, looking like an ancient aunt at a wedding attempting the YMCA. "As far as I'm concerned, dyood," he grabs Robin's wrists and maneuvers her to be somewhere in the neighborhood of the rhythm. "Anyone who's cool with the Muppets? S'cool with me. COUNTRY ROOOOOOADS—" Tonight was meant to be a relaxed night, an evening where the older kids could unwind, but there's an unshakable Finality to it. Jonathan and Argyle are shipping back to California in a few days, and it's a matter of weeks before Robin and Nancy head east for college. Steve's parents at last sold the house (well under asking, his mother loves to remind him) so he's crashing at Eddie and Wayne's Bright Shiny New Ranch for the foreseeable future. Steve's chest sinks. He's never going to be with these people, in this place, ever again.

Beside him, Eddie giggles.

"You amused, Munson?" He asks, rolling his head to the side. They're all more than a little high and more than a little drunk, but Steve and Eddie are the only ones who have fully laid back in the high grass behind the Hopper-Byers home. Steve thinks, briefly, of ticks. The bonfire he and Jonathan cobbled together flares orange, illuminates Eddie's cheekbones. Steve watches his plush pink lips silently mouth the words of the song, eyes closed. Steve's heart clenches. "Big fan of the Muppets, I assume," he says instead of you're everything to me. Eddie's whole face pinches in on itself, caught. "Are you surprised? I'm friends with Henderson, am I not?" Steve's laugh pulls him upright, his fist twisted in Eddie's tee shirt dragging him along for the ride. He's more than a little worried about ticks. Eddie follows him, still giggling, face pushed into Steve's shoulder. Across from them Nancy and Jonathan slow dance. There's something mournful about it; Nancy's hand curved around the back of Jonathan's neck, eyes and jaw hard; Jonathan rubbing his thumb on the small of Nancy's back, eyes watery and set somewhere far in the distance. Nancy's arm flies out and Robin is there at once, curved into her side. Argyle is there too, crushed against Jonathan's back, one hand still wrapped around Robin's wrist.

"Where you from?" Steve asks, feeling as stupid as the question sounds. Eddie squints. "Where d'ya think I'm from, baby?" And ah, God, fuck, shit. Because baby started as a joke. Baby built off their goofy innocuous teasing of darling and sweetheart and my love because they're friends and friends tease, but Eddie called Steve baby and his entire circulatory system collapsed, could only recalibrate by calling Eddie honey, watching his dark eyes go liquid soft, his body melting against him. They're friends. "You're from..." He gestures vaguely. "Not here?" Eddie laughs again, his breath warm against his collarbone.

"I'm from Kentucky," he lets his voice dip into his natural accent and Steve shivers. "I moved here in middle school when Wayne got the job at the factory."

"You miss it?" He tips his head so he mouths the question into Eddie's hair, in the space above his ear. Eddie hums and Steve digs his nails into the underside of his thigh to stop himself from jolting. "I don't remember enough about it to miss it," he says. "But I love this song, and it makes me miss something I don't think I ever had. Does that make sense?" Argyle, who is the closest he's ever been to the East Coast, tips his head back to face the canopy of trees and screams, "WEST VIRGINIAAAAAAAAA—"

Steve leaps to his feet, dragging Eddie with him.

"Dance with me."

Eddie's fingers curve around Steve's. "What about your girl?" "She's fine." Behind them, Jonathan Nancy and Robin kick out the square dance they learned in middle school gym class. Robin is one step behind, dragged along by the elbow Nancy has hooked around her bicep. Argyle watches, nodding and fascinated. Steve pulls Eddie in, chest to chest, hand crawling up to cradle the back of his skull, and murmurs, "take me home..."

He doesn't remember a lot after that. He remembers the thrust of Eddie's body, the soft press of his mouth. He remembers Nancy's squeaky "Oh!", Argyle's affirmative hum, Robin's hyena-like cackle that said he was going to get destroyed tomorrow, and the buzz against his lips. Eddie giggles, pulls him closer. "Take me home," he sings, and Steve thinks, we already are.

[thewayitalknj]

Part 4;  A continuation from my blurb which can be read here.

Quick Notes - This is the final part I promise LOL. Thank you all again for your love on this! :)

Warnings - SMUT ; 18+ Please! ; [p in v] this is the first time I've written smut so bare with me, I did my best!

-------

"I'm in love with you." You feel chills run through your body, he can't be serious, right?

The setting? Romantic. The way he's looking at you? Romantic. The way it just casually came out without hesitation? ROMANTIC.

Even so, it still has to be a joke.

"Psh, yeah okay. So that's the lie. Okay so my turn-" But that's when he grabs your hands. You stare down at them, hoping this wasn't a dream and you sure as hell didn't want to wake up.

"It's not the lie. None of this is a lie. I'm in love with you." He looks up at you, those brown eyes looking deep into yours. Just a few short hours ago you wanted the bed to swallow you whole and now you feel like you're drifting on a cloud.

You whisper, "Eddie-"

"Look, I didn't know how or when I was going to tell you. It's been long, so fucking long and I just couldn't wait anymore. And then I heard what you said in the kitchen a few days ago and I just knew it had to be the right time, a sign right?"

You whisper again ; "Eddie-"

"It's just I always knew, ya know? You're my best friend and I thought I would never fall for you the way I did. It all just happened so fast, I almost didn't believe myself because I thought I was nuts but I knew there was no denying it. Even Wayne pointed it out one night after you left, like it was that obvious."

You lean in, "Eddie-"

"Plus the gang leaving us alone all the time? I loved it, I always hoped they would and they did. I didn't know if you thought or felt the same way but I always went along with it just incase it was something. And some of them have known, mainly just Jonathan and Argyle though."

You lean in more, speaking louder ; "Eddie-"

"And damn I wanted to kiss you so bad back at the playground. It was literally a picture perfect moment, like something out of a movie and then this storm rolled in and ruined how I wanted the rest of the night to go but-"

This time you took matters into your own hands, jumping onto his lap and straddling him. Grabbing his face with your hands you scream his name ; "EDDIE." He finally gets some sense knocked into him when he realizes the way your positioned. He looks down, then up, trying to catch his breath from rambling. "Just, shut up."

And that's when it all happens, all at once ; Lightning strikes, thunder sounds, the wind picks up and you kiss him. You kiss him so hard you knocked even more of his breath away. At first he didn't know what to do, or even think. This has been a moment you both have been waiting, dreaming, wishing for. And he sure as hell wasn't taking this moment for granted.

He fades right into the kiss, immediately wrapping his arms tight around your waist just incase you had any intention of parting. Wasting no time you tilt your head and wipe your tongue asking for entrance and the moment he lets you in he flips you on your back moving his mouth to your neck. "Christ I've waited so long for this."

"We both have." You breath out, reaching for his shirt and tugging it up. He lifts himself up to toss it across the room. "Watch the candles!" You scream.

He looks back down at you, wide eyed. "...Sorry. Ruined the moment?"

"Fuck no." You laugh, pulling him by his guitar pick necklace and moan as he dives right back into you, pushing your hips up to match his rhythm as he moves with you. "Mmf, fuck stop teasing."

"Me? You haven't even taken anything off yet."

"Oh, excuse me." You clutch the bottom of your shirt and pull it off so fast Eddie does a double take of your chest.

"Holy shit." You reach for bra next ; "wAIT wait wait." You stop looking up at him puzzled. "Please, let me." You nod your head as he repeats his actions. Starting from your mouth, to your cheek, to your neck, down to the center of your chest. His hands slowly move under your bra over you breasts, taking in every sensation he can feel. You shiver with anticipation as he slowly reaches behind you to unclasp it. Eddie takes his time so he can take in every moment ; He never wants to forget this, he wants this etched in his brain for enterinty. When your bra is removed and thrown behind you his mouth finds your nipple, taking in small laps as he moans ; hips moving upward again and you can feel his hard-on. Your head falls back as so much emotion takes over you.

"Eddie, please-"

"I know baby I know. Just taking things slow. I want this to last as long as possible." He kisses your other breast before his hands find your pants, reaching under the hem and pulling them down along with your panties. After he crawls back up you do the same ; pulling down his boxers and pants at the same time. You both take a moment and stare, astonished as if you have never seen the human body naked before. "So much for taking things slow huh?"

You laugh as he comes back down to kiss you ; before you even have time to answer you feel the tip of his cock grazing your entrance. You push your hips up again and he laughs into your lips, "eager are we?" Wasting no time you reach down and grab it yourself, bringing it across your wet folds that have been aching for him, slowly beginning to stroke and the moan that escapes his mouth is unheard of. "Okay okay but I don't have a-"

"It's fine."

"But-"

"Eddie, please. We've been so patient with this crazy ass situation and we both deserve this." He nods his head, looking into your eyes for one more confirmation. You nod back, as he lines himself up. Slowly, slowly, slowly...

"Ohhh..."

"You're telling me sweetheart. Fucking hell.." Both your words are dragged out as he continues to push in and out. Your neck stretches out from your head bobbing back and he buries his head in the crook, breathing heavily as his movements continue. The pain from his teeth sinking in is far from your mind as the pleasure takes over.

Any outside sounds seems to drown out. You don't hear the wind, rain. It all seems and feels like a dream.

Before you can find the words to speak he starts to pick up the pace and you smile, realizing that you didn't even have to say anything because your bodies are so in sync. Your hands wrap themselves in his hair, moving down to his neck and back, leaving small scratches from digging your nails into the skin. One of his hands finds your waist lifting you up while his other balances on the blankets below.

It's not long until you feel your walls caving in.

"Oh god I'm so close-" Your moan is so loud as the thunder comes back into the distance.

"Me too baby." Eddie whispers. "Wh-"

"Inside Eddie, please." He smirks, smiles? You can't even tell because you're in such a blissful state. His lips find yours as his thrusts become forceful.

"I love you."

"And I love you." As the whimpers filling the room drown out with the rain, you both cum at the same time. The moment lighting strikes the skies above you again, the sudden realization hits you that this actually happened. You just had sex with your best friend, the man you have been in love with for so long ; and he loves you back in return.

Coming down from your high Eddie collapses on-top of you, heavy breath heaving from his lungs. You kiss the top of his head, moving your hands to pet his hair.

You both lay there for a few minutes before he lifts himself off, disappointment now fuels you emotions and it shows with the whine that comes from your mouth. He looks down at you and laughs, kissing you all over before getting up. "Where are you going? You can't just leave me here."

"I'm getting a cloth and water. Sit up for me babe." Your smile comes back as you sit up against the couch, wrapping yourself in a blanket as he returns with a wet cloth. You thank him as you clean yourself off and he sets the waters on a small table beside you. He crawls back under the blanket with you, resting his head on your shoulder. You both sigh at the same time, and then you feel his arms wrap around you ; bringing you back down. You maneuver to where you're laying on his chest, both facing a window to watch the storm and it starts to disappear.

"I'm so glad you told them to leave." You state, and he chuckles again.

"I know, me too. I can't believe we both played along to their sick little game for so long."

"You're telling me." And because you can't help yourself, your sarcastic nature kicks in. "And to think we've been missing out on this incredible sex the whole time?"

"Hey," he pokes your side making you sequel. You sit up to meet his eyes, "there's more to me then just good sex babe. But you're gonna have to stick around to find out."

"I've waited this long." You lean back in, and whisper, "I don't plan on going anywhere." One last kiss to seal the deal, but so many firsts to come.

And you sure as hell couldn't wait.

~

Quick Notes - Again, I can't thank you all enough for the love on this little series. I've loved writing it and reading all your comments. Love yall! :)

[superblysubpar]

We'll Call It Love masterlist | It Had To Be You masterlist

the song: Drops of Jupiter (Tell Me) by Train // It Had To Be You playlist

warnings: this story is a part of the series We’ll Call It Love, and much of it would be spoiled if you read this first. It’s linked above, and I hope you love it! | series warnings pertain

2.8k words

A/N: After finishing this chapter, I highly recommend reading the one shot "You're Still The One" linked here, before reading the last story in the It Had To Be You collection | Also, as always, thank you to @rebelfell for her Halloween Party blurb about Eddie in this universe - you can read the story here which is hinted at in part of the story below

“This was a bad idea.” 

He drags his feet, shaking his head behind the girl dressed as Morticia Addams. 

“Oh my god, I did not listen to you talk about grand gestures and this movie for an hour while you changed in and out of the costume six times, Steve.”

“But-”

Leigh spins, resulting in Steve almost smacking right into her. She crosses her arms and huffs, “Did you or did you not say that if you show up in this costume maybe she would see how sorry you are, see how you really feel, see-”

“I know! But I really don’t think it was a good idea any more. She threw a beer in my face last time. Plus, I…I made my choice.” Steve goes to run a hand through his hair, remembering he has this stupid costume on and rests his hands on top of it instead. He kicks at the brick wall, avoiding Leigh’s perceptive gaze.

“Right. So then get inside. Tell her you’re a pirate. I don’t care. But I did not get dressed up for you to stand outside this bar all night and wallow.”

Leigh slaps at his chest, two quick pats and then spins him and pushes him into the crowded and dimly lit bar. 

“Drinks?” Leigh leans in, shouting over the throbbing bass playing, squinting in the purple neon light and strobes hitting her face. 

Steve nods and follows, glancing around, pretending he’s not looking for one person in particular. He needs to apologize, he needs to tell you what’s going on, he just needs…you. But when he finally spots a red dress, he’s suddenly finding it a little hard to breathe because you did come as Buttercup, and you’re more beautiful than ever. 

It feels a little like the first time he saw you at Argyle’s all those months ago. There’s a spotlight hitting you, and there’s suddenly a reprieve in the thrumming music and it feels a little like Steve is walking through jello to get to you. And when you engulf Robin in a hug, and your face is pinched in pain over her shoulder, every part of his body aches. 

When you separate, and face the bar, he watches the looks of bewilderment cross each of your faces, and he blurts out the first thing he can think of when Leigh elbows him in the ribs. 

“Well, there isn’t much money in revenge.”

Smooth, idiot. 

Steve doesn’t hear Robin at first, or watch Leigh. All he sees is the anger and hurt flash across your face at the sight of him. There isn’t an ounce of you that cares he’s in this costume for the reason he is. 

You hate him, and it’s too late to change that. 

“...if you want to ditch Dingus here…”

Steve’s too hot in this damn costume and he glares at Robin, because he can’t be mad at her for complimenting Leigh, but the way your face twitches when she does means it’s clearly not helping and he can’t say so…so…

“Seriously Robin? Are you being serious right now? Where’s Nancy?”

When Leigh asks you where your dress is from and you look like you want to answer but then spin to the bar and blurt out the name of the most expensive drink, Steve wants to throw up. It was all a  big mistake. 

“Robin, where is Nancy? And Eddie? I wanna wish him luck before they go on!” Leigh loops her arm through Robin’s tugging her away from the bar. It’s not lost on Steve when she looks over her shoulder and Leigh points to you, mouthing ‘Talk to her’ with a frown and glare. He rolls his eyes and waves her away. 

Standing next to you, in this costume, not talking, hurts more than he thought possible. It’s like words sit on the tip of his tongue, ready, needing to come out, but he’s too afraid to say them. And what happens if he does say them? Will you suddenly be a fan of relationships? Will you suddenly be able to tell him everything about yourself? Will this suddenly work?

Maybe, if he pays for your drinks, it’ll be the open doorway he needs. Start the conversation.

But you ruin that plan as you push crumpled bills over the bar quickly when he pulls out his card, and he sighs. 

“You’re not seriously wearing that.”

Steve’s not even sure you realize you said it. It comes out soft, timid, like you haven’t spoken in hours and aren’t sure you remember how to. Which makes sense, because he feels the same way, like not talking to you for the last few weeks has made him incapable of doing so all together. 

He watches your pulse on your throat like some crazy obsessive vampire-like guy, he memorizes the twitch in your jaw, the inhale and exhale making your chest rise and fall. He traces each dip and curve of your face, hardened and closed off when you finally look at him. Steve swallows, searching the entirety of your face for some sort of hint that you get what he’s trying to do. That you get why he’s in this costume. A sign. A nudge. A promise that if he keeps trying, it won’t happen right away, but you’ll try too. 

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” 

“Are you fucking kidding me Steve? After everything, after what you said at the game, you’re really gonna stick to not admitting what this is?”

You gesture to his whole body and something inside of him starts to bubble, sick of you not admitting it either. How you know why he’s in this costume. You have to know. And instead of facing your own feelings about it, you’re blaming him. 

“I’m just a pirate. I don’t know what your problem is.”

Steve stares at you and you glare at him and he wonders if it’ll ever be okay again. Will you ever give him a chance to talk and will he be brave enough to spit it out if you do and will you ever be willing to do so yourself. 

It’s this horrible, painful, awkward, long moment of him not admitting and you not admitting that you’re definitely wearing a couples costume embodying truest love - that you both know he’s not just a pirate - when a random asshat claps Steve on the shoulder and says “Oh nice! As you wish, dudes!”

As you flip Steve off, he decides to be the bigger person, to apologize, to try to explain why he’s in this costume even if it puts his heart out there for you to step on. But you’re already retreating through the crowd before he can, weaving in and out of it and towards the exit. 

Steve watches you blatantly ignore Eddie and that bubbling irritation inside of him starts to grow at the thought of Eddie coming to your rescue again. At the thought of you turning to him for comfort. 

“Dude, where are you-”

“I need to talk to her. Just…don’t let Robin see.” Steve pushes at Eddie, vaguely taking in the costume involving fur and glasses and the letterman jacket he can’t even begin to piece together, before he’s following you outside. 

The air is cool against his skin, forgetting how good it felt to not be inside that bar in only a few minutes. There’s a bouncer smoking, a few people down the block, and Steve pulls at the suffocating mask and hat when he spots you walking away. He reaches out for your shoulder, calling your name. 

“Don’t touch me, Steve.” 

When you yank your shoulder from his touch, the tone of your voice, something inside of him shatters. 

How can he be the reason you sound like that? How can he be the reason your face looks like that?

He holds his hands up in surrender, deciding he’ll just leave tonight. It was too soon. 

“Look, I just want to make sure you’re okay. You can-”

When you interrupt him, when you tell him he’s not your boyfriend, the irritation he’s been keeping shoved down begins to grow from its small simmer. And when you can’t help but get closer to him despite the words coming out of your mouth, despite telling him he’s not your friend, he knows he’s about to say things he can’t take back.

“You’d like that right?” That’s it, case closed. Y/N calls the shots and decides everything…” 

Maybe he doesn’t want to take it back. Maybe he needs to say this. To make it clear he’s not the one fucking this up. You are. 

“...You’re a spoiled brat who’s mad because you’ve lost a toy.”

If he acts like it doesn’t hurt, maybe it won’t. 

Your scoff and eye roll punctuate your words, “Me? The spoiled brat? Excuse me, Mr. 50th floor and Daddy’s Credit Card. Take a look in the fucking mirror, Steve!”

What the fuck do you actually have to be mad at him for? It’s not like you love him. It’s not like you care about him. It’s not like this was anything more than sex to you, right.

Right?

When he shouts, when he pleads for you to tell him what you have to be upset with him for, and your chin quivers and your eyes get glassy, he thinks you might admit it. He thinks maybe you’ll say it and he’ll say sorry and you’ll tell each other right here, right now, everything you’ve been holding back. 

And then you shove him. 

And you tell him he’s a hypocrite.

And a liar. 

An asshole. 

Bullshit.

Each word accompanied by a shove to his chest he doesn’t even try to defend himself against. He doesn’t even try to argue. Because are you wrong?

And when you tell him to lose your number, and he searches one last time for any sign of you feeling the opposite of what you just shouted at each other, he says the only thing he can think to say at that moment. 

The only thing to convey how sorry he is. 

The only thing to possibly tell you how he feels despite you breaking his heart right now. 

“As you wish.”

“This was such a bad idea,” you groan, tying a ribbon around a little mesh bag for the fifth time in less minutes. 

You sit in your living room on the carpet. The lights are off save one lamp glowing behind the couch, shining on Inigo passed out in his dog bed just under the blue glow of the TV screen.  Piles organized by category for the little favors to be left on plates for guests take over the entirety of the room and Steve stands in the dining room.

He swipes his wrist over his forehead, staring at his suit hanging from the overhead light fixture. Steam from the iron in his hand swirling around him as he grimaces at the stubborn wrinkles in the fabric. 

“I told you not to volunteer for that. Should have made Eddie do it. He hasn’t done a thing.”

It’s the hottest night of the Summer so far, and he stands there in only his boxers and a plain white shirt, barefoot, you in a sports bra and boyshorts, both surfaces of your skin glistening with sweat despite the AC running overtime. 

The way you both are wearing next to nothing would normally have you finishing the job, tangled limbs and messy kisses, cooling off in the shower together. 

Normally, a wedding of your best friends would have someone grow closer to the person they’re dating and living with. Surrounded by all this planning, all this public devotion, all this love, should make a person imagine themselves in the same situation. 

You’re not normal. 

You hum, starting to go around to the piles, collecting hershey kisses and disposable cameras, chapsticks and pencils as you respond, “Eddie isn’t the maid of honor or the best man.”

If you were to look up, you’d see Steve watching you closely, see the way his brows knit together when you roll your eyes at the customized tic tacs. 

“Jesus,” you mutter under your breath, “This is exactly what’s wrong with weddings. I can’t believe Robin and Nancy are into all this.”

Steve sets the iron down, the newest but certainly not the first comment against weddings rubbing him the wrong way.

Again.

“Into telling everyone how much they love each other?”

You snort, shaking your head as you tie another bag closed and toss it in a bucket to bring to the venue tomorrow.

“I don’t think you need chocolate and lip balm and sunglasses and beer cozies to tell people how you feel.” 

“Sure,” Steve runs a hand through his hair and you look up, finding him leaning against the kitchen island, arms crossing over his chest as he keeps going, “Maybe they don’t need all  of that but-”

“I don’t think they need any of it, Steve,” you clarify before he can get too going about the beauty and meaning behind the day you’re all about to have tomorrow. 

Again.

“There’s nothing wrong with them wanting to tell everyone in any way possible they can, that they love each other.”

You sigh. “I don’t get why they need to tell people in the first place, Steve.”

Aside from a laugh track on the TV, it’s silent and you keep your eyes on your fingers tying green ribbon around pale pink bags. 

Steve finally breaks first, his voice soft when he asks, “What do you mean you don’t get why they need to tell people?”

Shrugging, you avoid his gaze you can feel on the side of your cheek as you start on another bag. “I mean, I don’t get why they need to tell people.”

“Like the entire wedding? You don’t get why they’re having a wedding?”

Your shoulders rise and fall in a shrug again. 

Steve’s heart hammers in his chest while yours pounds in your ears as his voice tries to remain even, but you hear it crack as it rises in volume. 

“You don’t think they should be getting married? You don’t think they should have a wedding?”

“No, I didn’t say that. I just don’t get why weddings exist. Does anything really change? Suddenly you have a legal piece of paper? Cool? After, what? Thousands of dollars. Stress. Bad food. Shitty music. I mean, we’ve watched Robin and Nancy fight over stupid shit like cake flavors the past year. How is that good for anything?”

Steve steps closer to you, his hand running through his hair making it stick up all over the place as his cheeks flush pink. 

“But they love each other and they want to tell everyone that-”

“Why do they have to tell everyone? Shouldn’t everyone already know? And why do they have to spend all this money and throw this big party? That’s all I’m saying.”

You stand again, going to grab the bucket of favors to bring it to the car so you don’t have to in the morning but Steve is shaking his head, volume and his thoughts ramping up.

“They want to throw this party because they love each other so much they just wanna scream it any way they can. Because they want it to be legal. Because they want to have fun with all the people they love and celebrate something so beautiful and unique and strong like their love. I don’t understand how you don’t understand that.”

You stand in front of him, holding the bucket, and maybe it’s the weight of the favors or the way his voice is getting louder and the apartment is getting hotter or the way his eyes seem to have you under a microscope that you snap back a little mean, that you get a little loud yourself.

“Because I don’t understand it, Steve, like I said! I don’t think you need to-”

“It’s not a need. They want to-”

“Fine! Want then! I don’t understand what possesses a person to want a wedding!”

Steve steps closer to you, his brows pinched and his hands running wild through his hair as he yells, “A fucking marriage! A partnership! A way to tell the world ‘hey this is my person, I love them’!”

“I don’t see why you need a wedding for any of that to be true!” You shout right back. 

You stand there facing each other, with ragged breaths that move your chests up and down almost in sync. 

Steve’s swallow is loud, his inhale louder. Time seems to stretch on forever as he stares at you, as his eyes soften into something you can’t quite describe, as flashes of the words he just said and what you said back swirl around you, almost tangible. 

You stand there, in a sea of pink and green, of things that are emblazoned with Robin and Nancy’s names and the words love and forever staring you down as Steve’s voice comes out sharp, cracked, vulnerable, loud. 

“You wanna marry me, right?”

[eddies-artofsuffering]

Part I: Sweet Tooth

(Part II)

Eddie stares down at his wristwatch. One minute to noon. Just one more minute.

“Want us to clear the path?” Argyle claps him on his shoulder and squeezes. “It’s almost time.”

“I don’t – I don’t know. Maybe you guys could stand behind the kitchen doors? You can see through the windows, right?” Eddie scrunches his nose.

He can feel it, he’s been conditioned to it by now, the familiar pit of anticipation. Other people may call it butterflies. Eddie thinks it’s more like pterodactyls breathing fire inside his stomach. He desperately needs someone to hold his fucking hand during this hardship.

But he also really, really doesn’t want anyone up close to witness him making a fool of himself in front of Hot Steve - a new regular customer at their cafe. An incredibly attractive guy who works at the bookstore next door.

Eddie can NOT fuck this up. It only happens once a day, for a maximum of three minutes.

“Maybe today’s the day you ask him out,” Jonathan smiles. Dude never smiles with his eyes. It’s kind of unsettling.

“Absolutely not, have you seen Hot Steve?” Eddie groans. “There’s no way he plays for my team. He’s –“

The doorbell chimes. Eddie’s head snaps towards the entrance, mouth falling open. Hot Steve is walking towards him, holy shit. It’s go time. Eddie shoos his coworkers away with a frantic wave, straightens his name tag, and rests his chin on his palm and bends over a little, elbow on the counter.

This is always the way he greets Hot Steve. It’s his signature move. Although, it hasn’t really worked yet. If it worked, Eddie would’ve won Hot Steve’s attention by now. But this is the best he got at the moment, damn it.

“Hi, Eds, how are you doing?” Hot Steve is wearing a baby-blue button-down today, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His name tag pin on the left side of his chest glints.

Eddie loves that Steve came up with that nickname on his own, despite only having seen him here at Cafe Byers for, like, two weeks now.

“Better now that you’re here.” Eddie gives him a cheeky smile, If Argyle and Jonathan were here, they might’ve been impressed with how smooth it sounded; they always comment on the way he flirts, the things he says. If you ever said shit like that to me, I’d be hella blushing, brochacho. You know you got game, right?

What they don’t know is that these lines are rehearsed in his head, so many times. It’s all Eddie ever does: practice pickup lines for Hot Steve.

“Right out of the gate, huh? You're makin' me blush,” Hot Steve smiles, and honestly, it’s hard to tell if he’s blushing at all. Or if he’s even flustered. Hot Steve's always so confident. “I’ll get a latte. With oat milk, please?”

“Oh?” Oat milk? That’s new. Steve didn’t care last time what milk he was getting. Interesting. Or is it? Eddie decides to file that information away for later. “Yea, coming right up.”

“Thanks.”

Another thing about Hot Steve that really does something to Eddie’s overworked pterodactyls, is that he never has a phone with him. Or on him. If it is, it's never visible.

Which is odd, because the entire café is littered with folks who cannot tear their eyes away from their little gadgets and devices, especially their phones; most people can’t even wait for their drinks without looking at them, checking something constantly, emails or texts or whatever. 

And, well, Hot Steve never does any of that. He always waits at the end of the counter, patiently watching Eddie making drinks. It always makes him feel so self-conscious. Eddie’s burnt his hands under hot steam a couple of times, actually.

But these two, maybe three minutes of Eddie making a fresh beverage for Hot Steve – this is the only time he gets to make small talk with him. Each time, he learns something new about him, or confirms something that Eddie’s already inferred. The grand question of the day is: “So, who’s the drink for?”

Hot Steve blinks rapidly, as if coming out of a daze. “Uh – what?”

“Whose drink is this?” Eddie says, tamping the coffee grounds. “I’m assuming it’s not yours.”

“How… did you know it’s not mine?” he narrows his eyes.

God. It’s really telling, isn’t it, that Eddie’s noticed these things? “First time for you to ask for oat milk, so. I don’t know, I figured,” he shrugs.

Hot Steve opens his mouth as if to say something. Then he doesn’t. In the corner of Eddie’s eyes, he sees him nodding with pursed lips, with a hint of a smirk. It’s so distracting that Eddie almost heats up regular milk despite this whole conversation being around someone’s (not Steve’s, apparently) preference for plant-based milk. Oops.

He finishes making the latte and walks over to the cash register, handing over the drink. Steve receives it with a small thanks. 

But Eddie knows Steve's not quite done here today. Because, when you have a tiny (massive) crush on a near-stranger, you just, kind of look for patterns. That’s just how human minds work; Eddie has been carefully collecting all the little information about Hot Steve, just based on the few minutes that he spends at the café at noon.

Which is how that Eddie’s almost certain (almost, because there’s always room for anomalies) what Hot Steve’s about to do when he asks, “Is that it for today?”

“Oh – um,” Hot Steve scans the glass case of assorted desserts and baked goods, subconsciously wetting his lips. “Actually, yea. Can I have the blueberry crumble, please?”

This is one of the very few predictable things about him. Eddie doesn’t know why Hot Steve even looks at the shelves of sweets each time as if he’s ever going to make a different choice, because it’s always the same, the only constant pattern besides his entrance that he’s ever shown Eddie: the house blueberry crumble, the ones that Eddie bakes himself.

And every time Hot Steve asks for it, Eddie has to turn around and flex his arms, letting out a silent scream of victory, because Hot Steve is fucking hooked on those things. It’s truly incredible to know that he wants it. Eddie pours his heart and soul into those.

“Of course, babe,” he swoops down, takes a small square piece out with tongs, wraps it in a pocket of parchment paper. “D’you know I bake these every morning?”

“You – it’s you?” Hot Steve’s eyes widen comically. “Wow. I thought they were, like, shipped over from a bakery or something.”

“We do have an oven,” Eddie points behind the kitchen with his thumb and looks back, makes a mistake of drawing attention to the door, only remembering then that Argyle and Jonathan are probably watching this whole thing. Really hoping that they’re being discreet. 

“That’s amazing. I – I love them,” he says, not at all looking behind, thank God. “Guess you’re good with your hands.”

Eddie could practically hear the angelic chorus from the sky. Holy shit. Hot Steve loves his crumbles. Fuck. He could cry. 

But, you know. Everything always comes to an end, and that’s usually how far their conversation goes. Nothing more than just small talk, and then Hot Steve would pay for the stuff, go back to the next-door bookstore where he works. And until the next day, it’s as if he doesn’t even exist. A mythical creature that only appears during those three minutes in time and space, then vanishes afterwards. 

So he tries, just one last time before he leaves. “Steve?”

“Yea?” Hot Steve looks up, batting his lashes. They’re – so – pretty. So long, delicate. Such a fucking contrast to his muscular arms and chest that his thin blue shirt does nothing to hide, sleeves and buttons ready to pop. It’s sinful.

Fuck, and time’s ticking, yet there are so many things Eddie wants to ask. What is your drink, then? ‘Cause you never get the same drink twice.

Why is it always at noon? Is that your break?

Where are you from? When does your shift end? You do work at the bookstore, right?

When are you free?

All of these are more or less reasonable, if not a tiny bit creepy questions. But any of these would’ve been so much better than what Eddie actually blurts out, so out of the left field that he surprises even himself: “So, uh, how much do you bench?”

Oh, fuck. Where the hell did that come from? Eddie cringes hard inside, unsure how those words, that kind of vernacular even came out of his mouth, please, he wants to rewind time - 

But it's spilled oat milk. Guh. He crinkles his nose to prepare himself to apologize. Sorry. That was so – I’m not a gym bro. I’m not! Look at me! He's about to say, but:

“You wanna know?”

Hot Steve has a shit-eating grin on. That’s a first. There might even be a faint blush on his cheeks. Holy shit. Hot Steve took the fucking bait. Not that it was bait – it was just Eddie being a fucking disaster – but he nods all the same, stupidly. Of course he wants to know. He’s committed, now.

“Let’s see.” Hot Steve’s now circling around the counter to take a closer look at Eddie, eyes travelling up and down. It feels like Hot Steve is undressing him with his eyes. It’s kind of insane that they’re doing this in public.

Hmm. 140, 145 at the most – Hot Steve mutters under his breath. “Oh yea. Easy,” he says, still smiling wickedly.

“What do you mean, easy?” Eddie croaks.

His breath hitches when Hot Steve leans over the counter, inches away from Eddie’s face. “Probably could do twenty reps of you,” he whispers, winking.

Eddie’s brain short-circuits. He stares open-mouthed at Hot Steve, unable to move until he exits the café with the drink and a brown bag, fading away from view. Gone for the rest of the day, rest of the evening. Rest of the next morning. Only to return the next day at noon, like a fucking reverse-Cinderella.

“Why were you guys whispering?” Jonathan appears from behind, nudging him on the arm. “What did he say? Did you finally ask him out?”

“I’m about to ask him out myself if you don’t,” Argyle says lazily, earning a sharp smack from Jonathan. “Just joking, man, you know you’re my main dude,” he squeezes a squirming Jonathan on the side.

“He… “ Eddie gulps, closing his eyes, and pictures Hot Steve’s tantalizing smile. “He winked.”

Continue reading on Ao3

Read the sequel: Savour