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literallys-illiteracy · 2 days ago

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Exploration of Psychological Horror, Body Horror, "bad" horror and Trans/queer horror

“ The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown.”

- H.P Lovecraft; Supernatural Horror in Literature (1927)

Throughout my life I have held a self contradictory fascination with horror media, A love to dissect the visceral feelings of repulsion that a story may invoke, whilst always being, quite frankly, terrified of the stories that I would see.

This interest has carried over into the modern day, although over time I have gained a tolerance, and have become somewhat of an elitist (not intentionally) with what I view as “Good” horror media, which is in part what inspired me to write this little essay about how and why horror functions, as an exploration, a love letter to the genre, and a dissection of why I believe some horror media fails to function.

I say short but I haven’t the slightest clue how long this is going to turn out to be, I’m not taking that out if it becomes long however.

Part 0: Horror classifications

Horror is an interesting genre to define. Like almost any genre it has its own major categories, each with its own demands and intentions.

One wouldn’t compare an orchestral score to a rock band, and the same concept applies to different genres of horror; similar to an orchestra and rock band however, all horror media shares an integral constant, which will act as the basepoint for what we can define as horror media, the instillation of dread, fear, or stress within the audience.

In terms of horror classifications there are many that people are likely to have heard of--Supernatural horror, body horror, mascot horror, existential horror.

There are three divisions that I choose to use when discussing the nature of horror, 'Psychological horror', the horror of the unseen; 'Revealed horror', or the horror of the seen; and 'disgusting horror', or horror that feeds off of disgust and aversion.

These three classifications are descendant from Stephen King’s description of “terrifying”, ��Horrifying” and “disgusting” the reader through differing means:

I recognize terror as the finest emotion and so I will try to terrorize the reader. But if I find that I cannot terrify, I will try to horrify, and if I find that I cannot horrify, I'll go for the gross-out.

-- Stephen King; Danse Macabre (1981)

The first that was mentioned, listed above as 'Terror', is the most "prime" sense of distress, which makes up the largest portion of Psychological Horror.

‘Psychological Horror’, is horror focused on emotional states, repulsion, stress, suspense, and a lingering abjection within the audience. In essence, psychological horror is heavily reliant on the lingering sense of terror, rather than the immediate reveal to horrify the reader, the moments that build towards a climax, the terror which constructs the groundwork from which horror can be achieved.

The terror, the suspense, while an aspect important in any and all horror, is the primary focus, and most important aspect of psychological horror, alongside the patient wait for the reveal that may never come, the unknown, or the unknowable.

Fellow (and, quite frankly, better) essayist Connor McGrath put it succinctly when discussing what he referred to as “Schrodinger’s horror”, analogous to this concept of 'unseen horror' or 'terror':

“Show, don’t tell. [...] Imply, don’t show”.

Elaborating on this "Schrodinger's Horror" I will be using examples from both The Magnus Archives and one lifted from McGrath's video on Quiet Horror. First, however, we have to discuss the second category of horror media that I chose to use.

"Revealed Horror"

Revealed horror in essence captures all horror that the former category does not; The times when the the nature of the horror is revealed (and properly understood) to the audience fall into this category, whilst any horror that intentionally obscures, or is fundamentally foreign, or “eldritch” as is oft said, is more aligned with that of the former category. Note that these labels are not genres. Almost all horror media incorporates all three "types", it all depends on how much of each type is used.

Media that focuses primarily on revealed horror is not fundamentally poor in any way. Though not my personal taste, there is nothing inherently wrong with a jumpscare, especially one that has been well built towards by the atmosphere. My prime example for this is Signalis, as I have not played many games with jumpscares to begin with.

In chapter one of Signalis it is eerily quiet. We are introduced to this location, or rather we aren't, after first interacting with The King in Yellow book, and receiving a message. The facility itself is empty. Not so much ruined as simply abandoned. Corpses and disparately scattered across the floor, rendered just noticeably differently to the surroundings by the VHS effect. You pass by the body to a save room. To a classroom. To the library. By the time you return to the security room you have passed this corpse numerous times by now, all with no reaction. When you acquire your first weapon however, the body jumps up, screaming during its approach towards you.

But that’s not all, it is. The suspense of the game does not end in the instants after this engagement.

The corpse falls over once again, returning to its same, static ridden, collapsed position, and one cannot help but wonder if this time it is truly dead.

Signalis, at various points, incorporates elements of all three horror types throughout its gameplay; Once the enemy falls back over, the suspense continues throughout the game, but even more. Now you have proof, while it was simply suspicion beforehand, the game has confirmed for you that these “corpses” act as a static and ever present threat to you.

If we contrast this with a game that is in large focused entirely on this aspect of jumpscares, we may as well do so with the most popular, the Five Nights at Freddy’s series.

These games are known almost entirely for their jumpscare horror, and in that regard they achieve their goal, however I personally believe that there is a fundamental difference between Signalis and FNAF’s horror in execution, which simply contributes to Signalis’ horror being in large part better: Within the FNAF series, the Jumpscare marks the conclusion of that day, each acting as the signifier of your characters death and the players restart.

The FNAF series’ gameplay loop acts as a microcosm of how Jumpscare horror can be executed within a greater whole, yet as it currently is, beyond an instinctual panic borne from the noise and sudden appearance, the jumpscares will also mark a point at which the player can stop worrying, at which they no longer have to await the monster’s attack, the end of the player’s stress.

Now that we understand the separation between these two, let us return to the examples of “Quiet horror” from before, and elucidate what makes this form of horror “work”, especially in comparison to revealed horror.

And now that we have finished this, I will now plagiarise from Connor McGrath

Imagine that you were told “The most terrifying thing in the world is right around the corner”.

"Around the corner":

I am not scared of spiders, dolls, death, clowns, and a whole list of other common phobias or “Biggest fears”, should I turn the corner and see one of those, I would likely think it far from the scariest thing i’ve ever seen, let alone in the world, or the scariest thing that I can imagine.

And that is the key.

The scariest thing I can imagine, the scariest thing you can imagine, and the scariest thing that the narrator can imagine are wayward ideas, created individually by your psyche.

Now, imagine, we never turn the corner.

We are left waiting where we stand, paralysis, induced by an instinctual knowledge that what lays out of vision should never be witnessed, crossed with a neurotic desire to uncover the root of this fear.

The absence of a reveal, the tension, the ‘terror’, slowly boil over within you.

This is what epitomises psychological horror.

To use another similar example, let us see The Magnus Archives, and a poem that they too took inspiration from, Antigonish.

Yesterday, upon the stair, I met a man who wasn't there! He wasn't there again today, I wish, I wish he'd go away! When I came home last night at three, The man was waiting there for me But when I looked around the hall, I couldn't see him there at all! Go away, go away, don't you come back any more! Go away, go away, and please don't slam the door... Last night I saw upon the stair, A little man who wasn't there He wasn't there again today Oh, how I wish he'd go away....

by Hughes Mearns, inspired by the town of Antigonish, Canada.

The poem itself functions somewhat strangely in this concept of seen and unseen horror, as on the stairs there both is and is not a man upon the stair, as is said in the statement “Upon the Stair”:

“The carpet didn’t bend under the weight of his soft, round body, and I distinctly recall the absence of a creak as his foot pressed on the loose board of the empty fifth step. He laughed, but there was no humour in it, because… then it would have had to break the silence.”

Within the Magnus Archives, and across most genres of horror, exist many examples of insanity, or the "Obfuscation of reality" as a primary pillar of horror.

This statement once again plays into the core idea of the unknown, or more specifically the unknowable, the man that is not there did not make an impression, did not beckon the man who no longer 'is' up the stairs.

This 'unknowable' horror is very downstream from genres inspired and influenced by Lovecraft, the idea of knowledge far beyond what was ever meant to be known, for one's own mind to betray you, to never believe what is not real but which is standing in front of you. The fear that you are insane, or that you are far too sane to ignore what is right in front of you.

‘This person who no longer is’ walked the person who was no longer “his” father up the stairs, who now laid dead in his chair.

The mother, after questioning where her son who no longer is had gone, spoke to the father, they then both left the empty house.

Much like the statement’s giver, there is no distant, forlorn conclusion, no finality or ending to this story, no comfort to be found in the statement, and from this the terror can only grow.

However, that is not to be said that the horror comes only from the insanity, from the redaction of its information, but also from the information that it DOES tell us, from the sheer impossibility of the story, and from the implications that can come from the story in whole.

There will be a more in depth analysis of The Magnus Archives at a later date, however for multiple reasons I will not be discussing the later story in this essay.

The latter example I had mentioned previously was that of the SCP foundation, however not necessarily one of supernatural horror (another common category that people employ), as, in contrast to the Man Upon the Stair, horror may descend from the fact that we understand something too well.

There is a section discussing SCP-8980 that will release following this primary section, which, due to the sensitive nature of the story, is being separated.

Like in the examples, and almost any other "Good" examples of horror, the fear in the SCP foundation comes in two, the information that we are never given, and the information that is; the fear of the unknown, posited before with Lovecraft, and the fear of the known, the "revealed" element from above.

The complete obfuscation of information may cause tension in its own right, however a selective and incomplete set of information may achieve this to a far greater extent.

The SCP foundation in large is an easy example for this lingering fear, alongside being arguably the premiere example for how the redaction of information both should and should not be used in the creation of horror.

For those unaware, the SCP foundation’s stories take the form of unclassified documents and reports regarding anomalous entities, most if not all of which will contain the redaction of various pieces of information, either locations, dates, memetic hazards, or information that the person reading is not privy to.

There is a common joke in and around the community relating to these redactions of information, [Data expunged], [redacted] or having the text blacked out, specifically to their overuse.

Other than making the scp read more akin to a barcode than a foundation report, the primary flaw in the excessive use of these redactions is that there is no substance to support this redaction, no thoughts to ruminate on in place of new information.

In Connor McGrath’s video essay regarding what he called “Quiet Horror”, he makes reference to (another video essayist, Wendigoon, who made a video about) The Mandela Catalogue.

Interesting how many different examples we have for this horror have the same naming convention, “The [Focus/name] [Noun]” , The [Greylock] [Tapes], The [SCP] [Foundation], The [Mandela] [Catalogue].

The video on quiet horror discusses, big surprise, the quiet nature of The Mandela Catalogue.

The Mandela Catalogue may contain the occasional jumpscare or scary face, but in large the most terrifying moments come from their absence, from the complete stillness of a room, from the painful silence; The foreknowledge of this being a horror series, alongside the limited information which the creator chooses to show, leaves these moments of quiet without respite, without rest, your mind on guard for the inevitable movement or sound, whilst the known factors begin to spiral and ferment into their own, personal kinds of fear.

There is an old adage.

“Do not interrupt your opponent when they are making a mistake”.

In this same sense, an author should not interrupt a thought process already tearing at the mind unless it is vital to the larger story; Do not interrupt your reader when they are scaring themselves”.

This rumination, this tension, purposeful redaction of information, and the knowledge that what you see is part of a greater whole is a hallmark sign of horror in large, and when done correctly, like The Mandela Catalogue, allows your audience to create a personal hell, so long as you shant clarify.

This coin has two sides however, and many people think that they ought to use this obfuscation in place of the horror, rather than building off it.

The prime example, as I referred to above, is the idea of a “Barcode” document in SCP, wherein so much information has been redacted that there is not enough context, not enough of a basis built for horror through the atmosphere and slow drops of information, that there is no reason to redact the information.

The example from The Magnus Archives is similar in nature, however I am quite frankly spoiled for choice when it comes to how we may examine this, so because I already have taken heavy inspiration from McGrath’s video, let us expand on his chosen creature, Episode one, The Anglerfish.

Moreover, I want to expand on the known aspect of this stranger, of The Stranger.

"Anglerfish" and "Still Life"

This section will contain very minor spoilers for the third season of The Magnus Archives and a small number of episodes leading up, scroll until another warning in colour shows up to avoid this

“Anglerfish”, the first episode of the show, does not feature anything notably flashy or significant:

You’re walking home at night, you’ve stayed up late, drunk, tired. A voice calls out to you nearby. As you turn to check, in your blurred vision you see the silhouette of a man, standing in the alleyway across from you. “Can I have a cigarette” They sound… normal. You can’t note any accent, or perhaps your mind is simply too hazy. Are they coming home from the party too? They didn’t sound drunk, no, their words were too clear. As you reach for your cigarettes and rub your eyes once more you begin to see this figure more pronounced. Their feet, seemingly just above the ground, as if suspended on a string, their body unmoving, unshaking, not even shifting to breathe. Before you can begin to think again the figure repeats “Can I have a cigarette”. The figure does not move, nor even breathe as they speak once more. An icy, instinctual fear stops you from walking any further. In an attempt to make the figure enter the light, you hold out a cigarette in front of you. ... Once more they repeat. “Can I have a cigarette”. This time you notice it. Every time that it speaks, the tone, its cadence, the spoken phrase, all the same every time. You drop the cigarette and rush for your phone, a flashlight, anything to better see this ‘thing’. In the same instant, as if on queue, the body is drawn back, pulled by an unseen puppeteer returning to the darkness. The speed of this motion makes you freeze, your breathing unsteady and labored, mind slowed. Only after it has gone does this paralysis leave with it.

This is in essence the entire story of the first episode summed up in... 280 words or so, yet, should my attempts to preserve at least some of the horror suffice, you can understand the fear, or at least the intention behind it.

Nothing happens, deaths are implied in the follow up investigation following the statement, however we, much like the figure, are left almost entirely in the dark for this statement.

We, as of this episode, do not know what this being is, what it plans, whether it kills or takes, whether it is painful.

What we do know is the title, The Anglerfish.

You can picture it easily, the lure, a greater creature waiting in shadows for one to take the bait.

“Can I have a Cigarette”.

A dangling lure to instil curiosity, yet cold, distant from its emulation.

Recall the quote from the beginning of this essay, “The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown”.

This is the idea I want to epitomise in this section, the unknown, when used correctly, acts as the most potent fear that mankind can experience, on an instinctual level this is one of few fears that we all share.

I have mentioned in the past that I have an obsessive desire for knowledge, not necessarily a love for learning, but a neurotic compulsion to learn whatever I can. I am already decently uncomfortable with not knowing things, especially things that happen before me, that are being seen without understanding.

While the unknown and foreign in whole deeply unsettle me, it is not what troubles me the most, rather, I hold a primal aversion to that which is almost known.

A face in your mind that you cannot picture; a blind spot in your psyche; a name that you should have heard before; a song that you have never heard for the first time; a man who is not upon the stair; a stranger who "have you met before"; A stranger. The stranger.

This is, in The Magnus Archives, the fear of The Stranger.

The “Anglerfish”, as we later find out in season 2, is an extension of this entity, distinctly inhuman in all ways, in all of the ways that you cannot understand, yet in a visceral, instinctual manner.

Again in episode 54, "Still Life" we meet the anglerfish.

I don’t think my horror writing is very good, so unless I have a motivation to or change of heart I won't add another "runthrough" of the statement.

In this statement we once more perceive the Anglerfish, new insights seemingly gleaned into its existence; The Stranger has a strong connection with skin, taxidermy; the "uncanny" imitation of an animal yet lacking all of what makes it alive.

“It spoke, the cadence identical to what I had heard through the wooden door. “We’ve got one down here. Come on, I’ll show you.” It was so flat, almost mechanical. It felt about as much like genuine speech as the wind flowing through a cracked rock sounds like a flute being played. Which is to say they may sound almost identical, but only one of them is made by a living human.”

There is something uniquely terrifying about the uncanny, the ‘almost human’, about imitations.

I can only assume that this is the underlying fear behind mannequins, dolls, or other similar creations. While I personally am not afraid of either, this same instinctive revulsion against these distortions of normalcy, “The uncanny valley” as people call it, is a near universal fear.

Digging deeper, this same fear of uncertainty is the root behind more fears than just the stranger, all rooted in this same aversion towards the unknown.

Spoiler warning ends here!

More disturbing than the unknown is a distortion of the familiar.

- Magic the Gathering “Fleshmad Steed” Flavor Text

Part 1: Can there be such a thing as “bad” horror?

I mentioned in the beginning that I wanted to discuss aspects of how I believe some horror fails to function, but with everything we discussed, the deeply personal and human nature that horror takes, what can be bad horror?

Even if a piece of media fails to be horrifying from my perspective there is nothing to say that it can’t be to another person; As I mentioned beforehand, I am not scared of things like spiders, dolls or clowns, while many many others in the world are. Even if a game or show featured one of those, and I didn’t find it scary, then it still does not inherently fail the base merits of “Inciting fear, terror or discomfort” as it may for someone else.

Likewise, if a show pictured things that I am viscerally afraid of, namely Fungi, not-knowing (discussed earlier) or being observed (this list excluding mostly pathologic fears/thoughts like social anxiety or NPD, key word mostly), which many people do not share or at least to the same extent as I, would that horror be in any way “Worse” than others which cater to more commonly felt or tangible phobias.

Have you ever been afraid? I’d be a bit confused why you’re ~4000 words into an essay about horror if you hadn’t been.

What about the first time you ever felt fear? Unequivocally: no, you do not remember the true first time. What is the earliest distinct time you can remember being viscerally afraid of something.

For some, it was an experience of being properly alone, away from their parents, lost without their safepost;

Some have said that their earliest recollection was upon seeing certain insects, spiders, or other types of creatures;

Many it will be the darkness (an interesting case as while often posed as an “instinctual fear”, it typically arises somewhere around two years into development once other fears or experiences have informed the child’s experiences. This being said, most people won’t be able to recall memories clearly from those ages to begin with);

For me, my earliest and clear memories come from when I was roughly 7.

Keep in mind that my memory is incredibly fractured, I haven’t many clear memories of my childhood in general, so this is at very most the first time that I know what made me afraid.

I woke up, not in my bed, in the one adjacent (two single beds next to each other, the other used to be my brother’s), but remaining covered, the exact same position as I had fallen asleep, roughly 2 metres to the right.

Everything was grey, and still. It wasn’t just quiet, it was silent, the familiar chirps of crickets in the garden, the ones that troubled my attempts to sleep so greatly in the night prior were absent, the fan still running despite the still coldness of the air around me made no noise, the motor and blades both silent.

It was only when my eyes adjusted and I attempted to move did I begin to be properly afraid. Sleep paralysis, something that continues to occur to me since.

But the strangest aspect of this memory is that my fear was mostly borne from what I could see, no hallucinations or dreams, no illusions from a tired mind, but a complete lack of colour, everything around me in greyscale.

To this day, dwelling on that moment I do not know why my temporary loss of colour impacted me so greatly, to be one of the only things I remember from that age, and despite continued sleep paralysis, and more vivid hallucinations (should this greyscale be an odd form of hallucination) as I grew older, I have never had this same experience, and no dream I have seen manifest has ever instilled this instinctual dread as that night.

While I do have my theories and thoughts as to why this night may have impacted me so, however those are far too personal to be discussing; The primary summation is a sense of loss, of mourning for what I thought I would never get back.

This latter example is that of Liminal spaces.

Have you ever been in a completely empty shopping mall? I used to live quite nearby a large Westfield (shopping mall), and I vividly remember once, incredibly early in the morning, that I once entered, though I do not remember the reason.

There's always something unnerving about an empty place, moreover one typically filled with people; parking lots alone are a fine example of this, there is something that is simply incorrect about entering a dead mall. It is both the same and a different kind of intimacy as a decrepit location. I have been in abandoned malls in the past but while legally speaking I was trespassing, I never felt that same sense of intrusion that I felt on that day.

The primary concept that I want to extract from these stories is not the fact that I remember them in particular, but the fact that I was afraid, when nothing actively or instinctually understandable as “frightening” was present in either story.

In the first memory, looking back, the dis-ease came from simply the fact that–though I could not tell exactly what–there was something abjectly different from what I was used to, extremely, almost exactly alike what I expected, no specific detail alarming me at first, and yet the lingering knowledge of something distorted.

The same can be understood from the latter story(s), of the empty and abandoned malls, being desolate, completely void of people.

The second story provides interesting note to another concept, differentiating rubble, abandoned locations, and haunted houses, to the concept of liminal horror–two different kinds of ruins.

While I wish to discuss the concept of Liminal horror as my primary example for those horror media which I believe “miss the point” of the genre–being the specific genre of Liminal Horror–do allow me this small(?) tangent before continuing.

The primary difference to a haunted/abandoned location and that of a liminal space is that of the clear human impact or, as Connor McGrath puts it: “Signs of human failure”. An abandoned house, or any other kind of location, has clear signs of its history, the clear presence of a living presence at some point in time, though often long past–this being the reasoning that the revelation of this activity being ‘not-so-long past’ is frightening–which allows us to recognise this place as somewhere that humans were or have been.

For example, see the two images below:

Both of these photos are taken from the same game, MiSide, which I have played through recently.

Both images are examples of isolation, the complete and utter absence of any people; The bridges are signs of purpose, of human design, interaction, and, now, absence--The bridges are created with intention, paths lead to terminals, descending from the facility, from the factory in which Mitas are made.

The Hallway is endless, halls leading to [halls] leading to [halls] lead to [rooms] lead to [rooms] lead to-

There is a certain intimacy or connection to a location like this, the knowledge that this location much like you has a detailed past before ending in this state, any and all features being simply remnants, a flickering light, a dangling cord, a broken door, shattered glass, scattered belongings.

In ghost stories most notably, there is a strong sense of intrusion, not that people overall should not be in this location, but that you, you individually, are intruding on one’s past life and memories.

Contrast this with the examples of liminal space-horror that may immediately come to mind, all being empty, not necessarily dead.

The first images that likely come to mind are those of long, empty, white-tiled pool rooms, ever pristine, that stretch on and wind into each other; the beige, repeating, endless hallways of an office building (Foreshadowing is a narrative device in which-); A house, familiar and distorted as if you have seen this exact room for the hundredth time in a hazy childhood dream just this second.

Return to the MTG card quote from above: “More disturbing than the unknown is a distortion of the familiar.”.

In a sentence, this is the primary concept of liminal horror, not only the endlessness, the repeating patterns, nor the seeing scenes for the first time–Rather, liminal horror is descendant from a sense of reminiscence, nostalgia, connection, which is then disfigured with the isolation, alongside the elements mentioned prior.

I have never worked inside an office job, yet when I look at images of those brown walls, carpeted floors and artificial lighting, there still remains a recognition of the location’s familiarity, the architecture being, at least at first glance, something recognisable as human built, however lacking the same history or presence that the likes of the haunted house would have–rather than intrusion, distortion, and isolation.

"I can't tell if it ends at all, it's just houses, more and more of them. And that bird i'm hearing, it just keeps looping over itself, and it sounds like its coming from every direction"

Hymns For The Road; "The Quiet Street"

I stepped outside, looking down the street. There were no lights on in any of the houses, but the identical lampposts bathed the place a sickly orange as far as I could see. I decided that the roads must be the problem. They were what was keeping me trapped in this place At the start, I was counting how many houses I passed but when I got to a hundred I stopped. It was beginning to eat away at my careful rationalizations and I couldn’t have that.

Statement; The Magnus Archives; MAG 150 "Cul-de-sac"

"The Backrooms":

Which brings us to “The Back Rooms” as my example for an idea that slowly became less focused on the true “horror” aspect the original aimed towards, due to oversaturation (and the addition/lore-creep that it creates), alongside the concept of what made the original backrooms “Good” (it’s a 2 paragraph story so I’m unsure to call it “good” in the traditional sense, however in the realm of “short horror” or "two sentence horror stories" it is quite good).

People should be allowed to have their fun in any ways that they want to, and I quite frankly don’t really care (plus I don’t think there's too much overlap in the sort of “Expanded-backrooms” community and my target audience), however that being said, some examples of the sort of “expanded lore” so to speak will be used as examples of what I named “lorecreep” and how it works against the original concept.

Note that I will not be talking about any specific incarnation of the lore(s) that surround it, and I do actually quite enjoy renditions such as the Kane Pixels’ series, albeit for other reasons than the original.

Also “The [Back] [Rooms]” does still fit the naming convention I think.

So, right at the forefront of this section, I want to address the idea that having monsters or “entities” in the Back Rooms is against the original concept. It isn’t. Allow us to look at the original paragraph:

If you’re not careful and you no-clip out of reality in the wrong areas, you’ll end up in the Backrooms, where it’s nothing but the stink of old moist carpet, the madness of mono-yellow, the endless background noise of fluorescent lights at maximum hum-buzz, and approximately six hundred million square miles of randomly segmented empty rooms to be trapped in.

"Segmented EMPTY rooms-"... so fairly clear cut from what it seems, but there is a remaining sentence:

God save you if you hear something wandering around nearby, because it sure as hell has heard you.

Alright so we’ve both now read the original for context, and we’ve addressed the point of entities for the time being, however they may return (may as in I don’t know).

So, where do my problems with the Back Rooms begin?

People.

The Backrooms, in my view, function purely off of their isolation, the endless hallways and electrical hums work in tandem to create the atmosphere, however neither function in full without the context of you being alone, in the complete absence of humans, or even any signs of humanity, the knowledge that you are not only dead, but alone.

Humans are inherently social creatures. Extended periods of social isolation are draining, even to those who choose to keep to themselves most of the time; The simple presence of another person, the knowledge that you are not alone, can soothe this.

You cannot picture eternity. This time it is not a question. You cannot; No matter how long one imagines, eternity is fundamentally beyond that estimation.

Eternity is an abstract fear, as is insanity, which often pairs in tandem, and as such it cannot be pictured as easily, nor as universally across different audiences.

Time is another topic that I wish to discuss at a later point, but this acts to describe what I found so appealing in these images of isolation: Being alone is typically temporary, and is an emotion familiar to not only myself but to almost everyone in the world, yet it is strictly that, temporary.

The concept of an eternal isolation, not just separated from interaction but from the mere presence of humans in whole, is the most appealing concept from the Back Rooms to me (“appealing”).

This concept is, from my somewhat limited searching, best described through the “level 1000/0” on the Back Rooms wiki, in which has a quote perfectly summating my mentioned idea of “lorecreep”:

The mono-yellow halls used to echo with confusion.But the confusion has gone, leaving nothing but resignation.

This same concept applies to almost any media that begins in vagueness. Time passes, concepts grow from what mysteries were laid out before them, eventually new ones start to grow.

But these mysteries need not be answered.

As more information is gained, more lore is formed, as new realities begin to emerge, the human instinct to build a story emerges, and in a way that is a wonderful thing to see.

I am so very happy that the internet exists, that we live in a time and world where such a thriving community can be spawned from a two sentence horror story, I really am. So many realities exist descendant from the central idea of the backrooms, including my own viewpoints on it’s existence, formed simply over time from the base concept, and with all of these stories come answers, answers to the existence of the backrooms, to what lays within, to the people that have past through these halls and to the floors they found themselves within, but once the confusion fades, the curiosity is satiated, there is no longer any appeal.

This is my main problem with the existence(s) of the Backrooms, the human presence, not only those writing the story, but those within the world, those who have passed through the backrooms.

Naturally, I would be afraid of a creature sprinting at me in these infinite hallways, but the documentation, the foreknowledge of its potential existence changes this fear into that of purely survival; There is hardly a difference in my eyes to a "documented" creature from this place chasing me and being chased through a forest by a natural creature.

The existence of exits, or of entrances at all; of organisations and settlements that explore these halls; of humanity–These are the ideas that I dislike from the backrooms, there is little room left for ambiguity, for one's own paranoia to take hold, for this location to be left wholly foreign.

The pile of flesh within it grew larger and larger, sat there in an awful, half-solid slurry, chewed and crushed together. It was impossible to tell what had once been animal, and what might have once been us. It was all just meat.

Statement; The Magnus Archives MAG 130

Part 0.5: Horror classifications, a return:

We discussed the two elements of "Terror" and "Horror" in the previous section of "Classifications", but if you remember, there was at least one more undiscussed.

-- Stephen King; Danse Macabre

The gross-out, the repulsive actions and events that may take place. Terror is the suspense, horror is the reveal, and the "gross-out" is the gore, the aftermath.

The three core levels of any horror media, the authors attempts to terrify, to horrify, and to mortify the audience.

These are the only truly functional borders that I can define for horror as fear is a unique experience for each person, different bodies, different minds, different fears, different impulses. That being said, these three concepts are not at all "Genres" of horror, which will be discussed if not here, at some point in the future; Like mentioned before, Signalis incorporates all three elements into its identity, the tension and suspense of the atmosphere, the adrenal fear of the enemies, both mentioned before, alongside the meaty bits, the "Flesh beneath", the fleshy organic masses that are spread across the game, all playing off this third pillar.

It is not to be said that this third pillar of horror is strictly literal in its nature of "grossness" or repulsion. While there is the obvious example of body horror, gross perversions of flesh and meat, the instinctual reaction that most have to blood of viscera, there is also the example of something that is "Morally repulsive".

This can be understood peripherally with things such as common trigger warnings in media, while some are regarding the physical elements, blood, gore, body horror, nudity, others are more thematic: manipulation, insanity, depression, instability--While still things that one may find repulsive, they take on a less tangible nature, being a personal experience and understanding.

Similarly, this "reprehensibility" can come from displaying things that most people are, understandably, uncomfortable with; The prime examples of how moral reprehensibility is used in horror is in the deaths of children (which many series refuse to include for this reason), or the presence of sexually implicit or explicit material.

Part 1.5: "Bad" horror:

Urbanspook:

I think that in terms of shocking, reactionary, or "mortifying" horror, this is the obvious choice on how exactly not to do it.

I never wanted to go too far in depth regarding this series in the first place because you can't lead a dead horse to water, and beating it won't help; There are painfully more detailed criticisms and I feel that there's no way to discuss this in any new, non derivative manner

The two most painful aspects of Urbanspook in my opinion are both those relating to our first pillar, "Terrify", regarding their suspense.

0:20 into the first episode we are greeted with this. Actually one of the problems goes earlier than that but still.

Carla Grey, to the audience, is simply a name on a screen. Carla Grey is not a character who was murdered, not someone who existed outside of this singular mention, not a real "person" with any meaningful importance to the audience.

Horror is an audiovisual medium; Horror films are, typically, framed differently to purely audio or text, as we are witnessing the acts happen to someone, we are an outside party who is witnessing the fates of these characters. If I may, there is an example from The Magnus Archives which summarises why Urbanspook's immediate rush to 'mortify' fails as such:

Episode #100. "I guess you had to be there": This episode is a collection of statements taken live in the archive by the assistants, the first of which is as follows.

Well, yeah, I did. I saw a ghost. [...] Yeah. The story is: I saw a ghost. [...] Erm… it was… scary and it made me feel… scared. I’m sorry. Am I doing this wrong?

-- The Magnus Archives; MAG 100

The statement goes on for a short period longer before ending.

Before I continue to my point, I want to note that, despite both being presented in a "reported" style, Urbanspook and The Magnus Archives are different kinds of horror (in the sense that one is audio and the other audiovisual) meaning that it is not a perfect comparison.

In the usual style of The Magnus Archives, we get to know the characters telling the statement, in part from Jon's entranced reading of the statements, but mainly from the statement givers' preambling about themselves and what led up to this experience.

To use episodes that we have already discussed in this project:

"Anglerfish" contains no mention of anything related to the supernatural for the first 3 minutes of the roughly 9 minute statement; the entire first third of the actual story is reserved entirely for establishing character, connecting us, the listener in an almost conversational, casual tone as if speaking this story directly to us.

This same idea is found in "Upon the stair", which begins to concern the supernatural at around 3-4 minutes into the 12 minute statement; and in "Still Life", where the first "abnormal" description is 5 minutes in, and the first outwardly paranormal event happens (either 10 or 12 minutes depending on what you count) into a 14 minute statement.

You can understand the idea right? All of these episodes spend a decent portion of time to establish the characters as more than simply names on a screen; even if you don't remember the characters name after the episode, even if you forget it during the statement itself you can understand the statement giver as a character.

Return now, to Urbanspook's opening. This is 20 seconds into the first episode of the entire show.

"Clara Grey" only exists for the next 20 seconds, before it rinses, repeats and recycles the exact same concept twice more, after showing a "Spooky face".

"[number] victim's name is [who cares], they were killed in a slow/sexual/painful manner, this is their painting: "

This is the entire premise from my understanding. This is also a minor nitpick but honestly Urbanspook reads(?) more like something that an edgy teen made thinking it was funny, rather than scary; eg. the second victim was "Stabbed 27 times in the perineum (Taint)".

This is the exact concept that was brought up before, gratuitous violence being used as the core premise of horror; Most horror shows needn't rely on sexual violence or child-death in order to create horror because said shows understand that there needs to be more substance than the simple events being described.

And the second problem

There is a (slightly grainy) stock "spooky" music droning during the entirety of the episode. I like to play music in the background almost all the time, when i'm making something, when i'm playing a game, or when i'm trying to sleep. I make specific attempt to not play music when reading or consuming horror, which should rightfully demand my attention.

Let's once again return to the concept of obfuscation, of paranoia, of being inside your own head: let us return to McGrath's "The Corner".

In lieu of any other stimulus, and out of intrigue from whatever story is being told, your brain will naturally begin to speculate on or revisit different details of the medium. Note that I said without any other stimulus. This includes, most notably, sound. This is not to say that you need absolute silence to create tension, I'm incapable of being in complete silence (Tinnitus) and this concept still applies.

This is why audio and text based horror media are, in my opinion, "better" horror than visual, in large due to the fact that you are physically incapable of seeing the events. You can speculate to how something looked, to small details, to the motives, methods, and means that go unseen more freely when you no longer need eyes to see.

In my eyes, Urbanspook is undoubtedly bad for its complete reliance on sexual or violent acts, being simply shock horror with no substance to hold the tension or dread that it (attempts to) invokes.

From this we can gather the fact that "Cheap" or "edgy" horror and violence make for bad horror writing. Much like the edge of a blade, there is a sharp plateau followed by immediate fall in tension; as mentioned earlier, terror is the 'prime' of horror stories, and horror/disgust should be used in assistance to it.

"Each thing we love takes a little piece of us whether we give it willingly or not. By the time we find the person we were meant to be with, we’re a honeycombed shell of what we once were. Each person we love turns us into the strange thing we become."

-- Eric LaRocca; The Trees grew because I bled there: Collected stories

This Skin was Once Mine:

“This Skin Was Once Mine” is the first story in its namesake collection “This Skin Was Once Mine and Other Disturbances”. This section is about the first, namesake story, rather than the collection as a whole.

Note: this section contains minor references to childhood trauma and abuse; And Self Harm. To avoid this please continue to “Blink, Flesh and Stone”.

This story is not bad horror. This story did indeed horrify me reading it. I feel that there is a sort of commendation to be made for stories that are horrifying to an extent that I feel unsure whether to praise it in as high regard, especially after it has kept returning to my mind weeks after reading it.

I have my problems with this story, most notably the pacing and length, but that is not the point of discussion for today. Instead I want to talk about how this story contrasts to Urbanspook, both being stories that present abuse and trauma to raise tension, but which handle the surrounding atmosphere drastically differently.

This Skin Was Once Mine is a (collection of) story about the nature of human relationships and suffering, “Specifically the ways in which we inherently harm one another and the obsessions we nurture to prevent further suffering” (Eric LaRocca, Author).

The biggest divergence between these two pieces of media, other than the fact that one is well written, is the fact that This Skin focuses on the pain and trauma of our main characters; the cycle of abuse that is perpetuated through harm, the self loathing of a one sided memory, and the little distorted perceptions of love that form over time.

Though not all clear from the very beginning, this book’s depiction of abuse is immediately more poignant through its opening line:

“The worst thing another person can do after they’ve hurt you is let you live. That’s how you truly and unmistakably destroy another human being.”

From this chapter and the next, all we know is of Jillian’s self loathing, our very first time meeting her marked by the inability to claim that others like her:

“‘People like me,’ the woman says. I can’t help but laugh at myself. The muscles in my throat flex as I swallow hard. The words–too difficult for me to repeat. ‘People like…’ But I cannot finish the sentence”

Followed by a depiction of self harm as a coping mechanism:

“I hold one of the wooden needles I’ve fashioned from the model airplane set and I guide the tip between a pinch of skin across my wrist. ‘Very good.’ the woman says as I stab myself”

Almost this entire story works to build tension. Jillian is clearly deeply unwell–as she is the narrator of this story, we not only see her distorted visions of the past in future chapters, but also see the thought processes behind her suffering.

Though there is much said throughout the book, the most important information is that which Jillian has repressed, the information which she never wants to know about her own past, alongside the information that perpetuates her, and her family’s, suffering.

From the 6th entry (or chapter. Sections are marked with dates akin to a diary) we can already gather the nature of Jillian’s past, especially that which she is unaware of herself.

“I notice my father’s hands disappear below his waist as if he were to adjust his belt. He rakes his head back and closes his eyes, exhaling. [...] I crank the music box again and it plays gently. My father returns me with a smile, his unseen hands still moving below his waist. His lips gently part, another word to be flicked from the fork of his tongue. [...] his reflection in the mirror begins to ripple like the surface of a lake. A diamond headed snake curls about his neck, rearing its head and violently hissing at me”

Throughout the book there are constant callbacks to the concept of a snake, especially alongside Jillian, who is called “Little Jay”, as in the bird, by her parents.

The most important part about the prior section however is this: There is little that is told. We see things from the distorted memory of Jay as a child. Should the book have outright made a declaration “Jay was assaulted by her father as a child”, even though a horrifying prospect, the tension of the entire story is lost. This kind of horror, one of deeply human prospects, the cycles of abuse and perpetuation of trauma; horror that takes an unreliable narrator, one who is clearly disturbed, resting on a facade of repressed memories is akin to mystery books, or those of the crime fiction genre.

This story is, in terms of its depiction(s) of trauma, one of the best I have read in recent years. Then however comes the section wherein we get a “reveal”—We do not get any reveal of Jillian’s past in this story. We never learn what Jillian does not know herself—which I feel would have been much better should the story have been longer.

For the sake of anyone who has not read the story, I will not go too in depth on the remainder of the story. Though I do not think that it was as good as it could have been, it was still an extremely disturbing story. This story ends on page 99 (at least in my copy). The ‘reveal’ or ‘shock’ occurs on page 74.

The reason I dislike the full execution of this story is due to the tonal shift during the final sections, moving from a disturbingly realistic depiction of trauma to a story which, whilst still a depiction of perpetuated abuse, takes several rash turns and skips over what I feel should have been explored concepts (such as the gradual uncovering of Jillian’s trauma).

While this story is undoubtedly horrifying. The final chapters, through their aforementioned failings, continue to resonate with and disturb me deeply.

Despite the depictions of similar monstrosities as other, worse, horror, the depictions and intentions alone make this more horrifying than something along the lines of Urbanspook.

We are allowed to understand the suffering, experience it from their own perspective, the perspective of both the sufferer and the one who perpetuates the suffering. Both of which, in the end, are the same person.

“But then I remember that the worst thing a person can do to you after they’ve hurt you is let you live. That’s how you truly and unmistakably destroy another human being. I can tell for certain that’s what she wants. That’s what she’s been waiting for and that’s what I deserve, after all. She’s going to let me live”

-- Eric LaRocca: This Skin Was Once Mine

The Magnus Archives:

And here we return to the same discussion as long before, what constitutes "bad horror" other than not being scary. And that sentiment; Not being scary to you?; Not being scary to me?; Not being scary to other people?; where do we get to draw the line as to "good horror" and what makes our thoughts on it more valid than anyone else's?

Like I mentioned before, I am not scared of most "almost human" objects/creatures such as mannequins, dolls, clowns or the french, but there are many many people out there who are.

Turning this the other way around, i'm sure that most people are not afraid of fungi/mushrooms, when that is one of my biggest fears.

Do we draw a line simply at Terrify and Horrify, leaving the "Gross out" or "Mortify" as examples of "bad horror"? I cannot say that meat, flesh or blood scares me as someone who has handled blood, and is also about 8% blood by mass, that they don't "scare" me so much as they may be simply 'gross', but we may once again reverse this to my perspective: it isn't as normal to simply be scared of (holding) sharp objects or tools yet is this not also valid fear?

I can say, at the very least, that because of the wide range of fears that The Magnus Archives attempts to play off, there are more than a few episodes which I can say did not scare me--I have spoken to friends who shared this same sentiment, simply regarding different episodes, because, as I have said, fear is a deeply personal experience.

Most notably, as just mentioned, I am not really afraid of fleshy bits or meat, nor any of the body horror, gore or related topics in the podcast.

There are more various episodes which simply didn't scare me for various reasons, of course excluding episodes that are primarily majorly plot advancements; The most notable episode that, is certainly well written, but doesn't invoke any "fear" in me, is "The Man Upstairs":

The premise of the episode, and the main hook, is the idea of rotting meat, most specifically the smell. There is a constant reference to the odor that comes from the apartment upstairs, in fact it is the first mention of the man upstairs within the statement itself:

We locked eyes briefly – at least I assume we did – I couldn’t see his eyes but I felt him looking at me – and I could swear I smelled the weirdest odour. It’s hard to describe, halfway between the smell of a pavement after rain on a hot day and chicken that’s starting to turn. It was unpleasant, to say the least[...]

-- The Magnus Archives MAG 18

Pus and rot are very odd, as while they can incite a sense of fear, in almost all cases they simply disgust the listener; if you are someone who is averted to blisters and boils, and especially to rotting meat, then this episode will do its job, but for me it simply doesn't.

This is why the section title has quotation marks around the word "Good". I am not the arbiter of what horror is good or bad, I can only comment on my own personal views on horror and see how others react.

In the end, it isn't only up to creators to make the horror, it is also up to audiences for them to find horror that matches their taste.

“Hm, more meat. Interesting."

Jonathan Sims; The Magnus Archives MAG 30

Part 2: Genres and classifications of horror:

As much as I hate reducing the nuance of a topic (which is why I dislike tier lists/numbered rankings), using different labels and classifications is extremely useful when searching for media overall, especially when looking for something like horror which potentially includes sensitive content.

This is also a good time to note that the person writing this is a pedant who can and will define "Cosmic" "Eldritch" and "Lovecraftian" horror as different genres. You have been warned.

Like I have said horror, and truthfully any kind of art, is difficult to classify. To name something is to define it, and to define something is to limit in in a sense. A prime example is that of Liminal spaces. In my section above I specifically refer to "Liminal Horror", this is because the horror is not the sole existence of these places. People can extract comfort, nostalgia, longing, sorrow, all alongside or in place of the fear that another person feels from an environment, and this is the key problem which I have for classifying genres.

I mentioned this briefly before that the only proper lines I draw in horror media is the distinction of the three pillars of fear, "Terrify", "Horrify" and "Mortify, but at the same time I have been referring to different genres throughout this entire script. Psychological Horror, Quiet Horror, Revealed Horror, Jumpscare Horror, Analogue Horror, Liminal Horror, Body Horror–Not even three paragraphs ago I said to define three very closely knit genres as different, so evidently I do indeed use these kinds of classifications.

Labels should be used to describe rather than to define things. Strict categories and classifications are made through definite statements which cannot carry over into an abstract understanding in the same sense.

Part 2.5: A Semi-warranted tangent about epistemology

There are three kinds of "Knowledge" in epistemology: Propositional; Practical; and acquainted knowledge. (Epistemologists don't kill me for simplifying the knowledge about knowledge)

Propositional knowledge, also known as "Know-that" or "Knowledge-that", is in essence facts put on paper; Knowledge that is transferable through a proposition or declaration. The easiest way of explaining this kind of knowledge is using its other listed names, by adding "I know that[...]" before a declarative statement.

(I know that) The Magnus Archives is a podcast (I know that) London is a city in the UK (I know that) this project got out of hand and has gone on for far too long (I know that) declarative knowledge can be conveyed through definite statements about the subject.

Practical knowledge is also known as "Know-how", for similar reasoning to the previous type, and is knowledge that regards a process:

(I know how) to change my clothes (I know how) to write essays (I know how) to cook food (I know how) to ride a bike

Practical knowledge is applicable to certain situations, while propositional knowledge exists as declarations. One may know how every step in a cooking recipe, know "That the chicken must be cooked for [x] until it is [y]" and then "that the food must be transported onto a dining safe plate" "that the food is to be eaten" etc.; or alternatively one may know "how" to cook some chicken. Practical knowledge is not transferable in the same way or ease that propositional knowledge is, as it is largely gained through the process of doing; This concept is called tacit knowledge, knowledge that is present to you but is unable to be conceptualised or taught in a constructive manner. The alternate is "Explicit" knowledge, which Propositional knowledge consists of.

Finally exists the concept of "Knowledge by acquaintance". While it is similar to practical, tacit knowledge gained through experience interacting with the subject, they act somewhat differently. Acquaintance is as the name suggests, knowledge borne from familiarity with a subject, not necessarily a specific action or task but knowing and understanding something over time, akin to "knowing" your friends.

"I know my friends" "I know the train systems" "I know League"

This familial knowledge is the most useful for what we are discussing today, which is horror genres in case you forgot (I certainly did while writing), as it does not rely on a strict definite set of rules or restrictions. My "sweet spot" for horror genre definitions, if needing to be put into words, is that they need be just vague and specific enough at the same time. As I said before, genres are incredibly useful for categorising and finding works that one may enjoy and that one may want to avoid–Without a definite statement there is no correlation between various people's views of the genre, yet with too many constrictions there is no room for experimentation or uniqueness.

(I know that) Religious horror is horror that uses various religious themes and iconography heavily throughout.

Religious horror is an interesting one to note as well due to the multiple understandings that it can take depending on one's personal experiences and familiarity to religion as a concept. Religious horror can take the normative form of "horror that features demons" or "uses an exorcism", however media portraying indoctrination, manipulation, and abuse of belief systems can also easily be understood as religious horror.

I know (That) many people are uncomfortable with body horror. I know body horror is horror media portraying the changing and distortion of one's body.

This definition is one statement that describes the primary examples and principles of the genre. Genres are built on familiarity, as already said, of their relativity and differences to the core statement as well as their fellow works within the genre. I want to also note that this definition is not universal, and several others will use different descriptions for the genre: Ronald Allen Lopez Cruz describes that:

“body horror finds strength in the way it goes against what is considered normal anatomy and function in biological species (not limited to human)”

-- Mutations and Metamorphoses: Body Horror is Biological Horror

While Ricki Hirsch describes it as

“Anxieties and concerns of having a body blown up to extreme proportions”

-- “Understanding Gender as Body Horror”.

Horror is hard to define and incredibly easy to describe; Horror is a deeply personal genre overall and one's perception of the world around them influences their understanding of the horror itself. It is easiest to invision suffering when you have hurt in the same way before; the horror of loss, grief, suffering, of any and every kind is the most painful when you have met before.

Horror, like all art, only properly exists when understood by an observer.

Part 3: Individual interpretations of Horror [Media]:

Horror is in all likelihoods the most personal genre of fiction that exists, playing off your personal experiences and anxieties in the world to an extremified degree, oft requiring an individual understanding or relation to the depictions in order to function.

Breaking it down to the most bare essentials, there are two fears that exist, fear of the known and fear of the unknown; Fear of the unknown can be largely understood as instinctual, something so foreign to you that you understand nothing except that it is wrong. Fear of the known is more personal. Fear of the known is when you understand what it is that makes you afraid, the diseased smell of rotting meat, the crushing, weightless pressure of isolation, the stinging pain of the flesh, all understood through one's own visceral experiences.

It was mentioned before, but the best way of understanding this is through liminal spaces. Not everyone is afraid of liminal spaces, some may find nostalgia, comfort, or for some it may invoke no emotion at all. I am personally afraid of many Liminal spaces, a concept that will be discussed again, but this fear is only from my personal understanding of this concept.

The most simple concept that this can be understood from is the concept of Queer Horror:

Queer Horror is an odd classification. At first the concept may seem quite simple, being horror media that is focused around or depicts queer people, but I am unsure if I truly like this description.

If we return to "This Skin Was Once Mine", I found it described as a "Queer Horror Novel". First of all it isn't a novel it's an anthology. Given the title of the story, alongside its "Queer Horror" description, I originally expected it to be focusing around the trans experience, reflection on the past that was once you, shedding past it like the snake on the cover.

This titular story, as I came to find out, is labelled as "Queer Horror" as the protagonist, Jillian, is a Lesbian.

While I do not mind the classification of "Horror that includes/focuses around a queer character"; My personal interpretation of Queer Horror was always that of "Horror discussing shared themes and experiences of queer people/communities".

In my eyes, media that shares themes of bigotry, discrimination for identity, repression of the self and/or a "forbidden" personhood are all able to be read as queer horror, despite not all of them explicitly containing queer characters.

I don't consider Carmilla as queer horror because of the fact that there are lesbian characters: I consider Carmilla a queer horror because of how it represents a "forbidden sexuality" and how vampires are associated with lust to begin with... Ok also because there are lesbians however.

Your/my individual experiences of horror:

I am not a fearless person, I feel I have made this clear throughout the previous sections. I am afraid of most things, entrapment, time, insanity, worthlessness, people, insufficiency (if you aren’t reading this then that’s why), and most of all, FUNGI. I HATE MUSHROOMS SO M-

Throughout my life I have had severe self doubt, through several periods I have been worse, the concept of being stuck in a body that is not my own is one of the most visceral forms of horror that I can imagine.

Biological/body horror is not, however, what scares me the most of anything. Body horror is, to me, oddly beautiful (in the sense of metamorphosis and rebirth), the idea that one is changing, no longer entrapped in their body. This can of course be reversed, horror in which one is stuck within a body that is not their own is something that I quite frankly cannot consume for my own sake, this even includes concepts like zombification, or any concept in line with the central theme of stagnancy.

Your/my individual experiences of horror:

Every piece of media can be understood in virtually any way. I have a (paused/scrapped) project about how every piece of media should be understood in its relation to the reader, every theme of life, death, longing, joy, and grief being so integral to a person’s life, and life being so strongly linked with its repression, that almost every story can be read as that of a Transgender/queer person.

This concept is not just applied in terms of those universal themes, but also the individual aspects, the traits of something that calls out to you specifically, the recurring motifs and ideas that speak to your life and past, in this case, for what makes you afraid.

The most notable example is one that was spake above: Body Horror. All forms of body horror, no matter the context, can be understood as trans horror, or even as trans comfort (like I mentioned above), such as fellow Tumblr user @mossy-green-aka-ferrythem 's description of Romina of the Bud:

You know. Romina instills such powerful thoughts within me... The burning sting of losing something, but the brilliant, twisted realisation that you can grow anew... Sometimes I fantasise about myself lying down to slumber... and as I sleep, my body begins to change. I feel as though ever since I have made the steps towards deciding I was trans, I feel like a bud. Pre-transition, I feel like a bud, waiting to bloom... This bud... Will transform... I fantasise about my body transforming, in a twisted, and beautiful way... I fantasise that my bottom half grows long, and takes the form of the torso and bottom of a centipede... A torso long enough so that I could be the one who cradles myself to sleep... So I can comfort myself...So I can have a form that truly feels special. A strange girl. A strange and monstrous girl, who draws both adoration and terror. Something truly beautiful...

-- Tumblr User Mossy-green-aka-ferrythem; On Romina of the Bud

As mentioned, i cannot do the same justice to this idea as she has, and i do not wish to try.

As she mentioned in her post above, there exists the "burning sting of losing something", the grief of loss, death of your past life, where you look back at what could have been — Alongside this death comes the beauty of a second birth, of a new form, a new life, standing straight, looking forward at the newfound path in front of you, and continuing forth to every possibility that can be. Moving forward in this new life with the fearlessness to keep on living, leaving behind your past, the weight and sorrows that are bound to it.

Becoming a better you. Becoming You.

Change and transformation are not inherently horrific, though often described as one of the most integral aspects of body horror, it is the lens of understanding that one uses which defines any piece of media.

The same concept can be applied to robots or augmentations, the ability to choose your body and change it as you wish, to shape your image in infinitely more malleable methods than the normal human form, or alternatively completely lacking any way to escape one's body. This doesn't need to be understood through a trans perspective either, I know many, many, MANY cis friends who hated growing up for fear of unwanted changes in puberty

For example in The Magnus Archives the episode "The Gardener" focuses on the dysmorphic side of what horror the body and flesh can utilise; Eating disorders, self doubt, disassociation. This episode is one of the most viscerally disturbing to many people who I have talked to due to how it clicked with them, this being the first episode of flesh and bone to truly be understood, reflecting their past doubts and insecurities:

the deepest fear must be laced throughout what the Gristle-bloom Orchid is fed: That they’re not enough. That their inadequacies are embedded all the way into their flesh, and they must always and forever be more. [...] Never let it believe itself good enough, and continue always to ensure the body that it is certain it must attain is that impossible, distended mess to which it will endlessly contort itself until it dominates your garden in its sheer, impossible, beautiful mass.

-- The Magnus Archives; MAG 171:Cultivation notes for Fuertisium reese. Commonly known as the Gristle-bloom Orchid.

The soil for the Bone Rose must be thoroughly rotten, a mulch of corrupted romanticism turned toxic and watered by an uncertain desire that curls back upon the roots and feeds into it a single, constant, pulsing thought, an instinct that fuels every cell within the rose: To be wanted you must be less. Light should be unrelenting, allowing every flaw and mark and sag to be stared at and warped and ogled. With this preparation, the Bone Rose will conceive a grotesque horror of its own flesh, of the skin and fats and all that makes a body present. It will tear and starve and leak until there is nought but bones, the hungry bones so desperate to be touched, to be held. To be wanted.

-- The Magnus Archives; MAG 171: Cultivation notes for Gristleium patricia. Commonly known as the Bone Rose.

On a surface level this is the same description as before, the contortion and manipulation of what is considered "normal" biology, the distorted growth of these "plants" into one's disturbed perception of beauty in your flesh.

Comparatively to the examples above them, these descriptions of one's mind are fairly horrific, largely to those who have experienced regular self doubt or body problems, because there is no euphoria in these outcomes. This is what separates these two transformative examples from one another in the lens of horror.

Strongly linked to this same concept of rebirth and transformation is the idea of death, one which I have already written about in the past, being both a comfort and a dread for different people.

The Funeral Of Dead Butterflies from Lobotomy Corporation:

Lobotomy Corporation, for those unaware, is a management simulator game which is arguably a horror game depending on who you ask, as it includes some existential horror and themes concerning human nature, it is also my favourite game of all time.

The Funeral of Dead Butterflies is, to put it simply, the archetypal figure of death, as seen in the Hero's Journey and The Tarot.

Death, while also the archetypal marking of an ending, is representative of transformation, the old idea of life coming from death.

The Funeral of Dead Butterflies in large represents this transient nature to life and death, being two parts of a greater whole in ballance, as above so below, as below so above. This is best encapsulated through its story log in Lobotomy Corporation:

“Until then, they flutter their wings uselessly. The wings that may have been many jumbled into one, or one split into many. Butterflies are supposed to pollinate flowers, but not a single proper flower blooms in this place. There is no choice but to wait. After all, there must be an end to every world.”

-- Lobotomy Corporation; Funeral of Dead Butterflies Story Logs

There is a comfort in endings, closure, acceptance. Without an ending there is no way to move past something, there is no room for a new, happier life to begin. Not a single proper flower blooms in this place. There must be an end to every world.

Death is best understood as integral for life to exist. Symbols of death and actions taken in knowledge of it are what allows one to live, these experiences and structures one has made as they live is what allows one to truly die and move on. This can be understood in the means of horror, the looming death that approaches for those characters we follow, the ever present knowledge that there is no escape nor survival, and this encroaching dread acts to motivate the story forward in fear of what is to come. This can also be understood in this same transformative manner however, the acceptance of a final rest, a time where pain finally ends.

Being denied this death, trapped for eternity, is yet another lens that one may take in viewing horror. Ghosts, spectres, damned souls, or simply eternal wandering, all serving as different kinds of fear. Like I said before, you cannot understand what eternity is, to quote the shepherd's boy:

"In Lower Pomerania is the Diamond Mountain, which is two miles and a half high, two miles and a half wide, and two miles and a half in depth; every hundred years a little bird comes and sharpens its beak on it, and when the whole mountain is worn away by this, then the first second of eternity will be over."

-- Brothers Grimm; The shepherd boy

No matter how long you picture, eternity is fundamentally more than that. What if a soul never was to rest? What if the death of your body simply leaves your mind without a vessel, leaving you without a means to interact with this world for all of eternity to pass. This is the plot of "I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream":

I was in hell looking at heaven! I was machine. And you, were flesh. And I began to hate. [giggles] Your softness! Your viscera! Your fluids, and your flexibility. Your ability to wonder, and to wander. Your tendency...to hope...

-- Harlan Ellison; I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream

I am afraid of what someone may become, trapped for eternity. I am afraid of what I would become. And once again, this fear is not universal. Being denied a death is the same as being denied a life, two sides of the same coin, one can never exist without the other's shadow. As above, so below. As below, so above.

"It is the basic condition of life, to be required to violate your own identity. At some time, every creature which lives must do so. It is the ultimate shadow, the defeat of creation"

-- Philip K. Dick; Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep

In at least some regard, everyone has been denied something in their life, had to hide themselves even as it hollowed their existence unbearably. I am queer, which is my personal lens of understanding this concept. I know viscerally what it feels like to be denied this kind of free-life that I see others around be with, I understand the bubbling emotions that I feared would one day spill over. All of this made me afraid, all of this still does make me afraid around those that I have not told. This fear, like all the others that we have mentioned, is a personal lens of understanding.

Fear and horror are some of the most innate human emotions that one has. Fear serves to protect you from perceived threats, and horror acts upon these personal fears.

I cannot write in this section about what makes *you* the reader(s) afraid in the same depth that I can discuss my own thoughts. I am fundamentally not the same as you, I am my own person, I am my own thoughts and fears, and these fears are borne and seen through my own lived experiences.

Discuss among yourself(es) (I mean open up a document or draft and discuss) your own fears, that is the only way to truly understand horror media in my eyes, I have provided the tools needed.

The purpose of this was not to define horror in any meaningful way, In fact I feel more confused about what horror truly is than when I started researching for this project, more to encourage discussion and self reflection about horror.

There is no such thing as good horror on a universal level, there is only horror that works for you.

God that ending needs some work-

Special thank you(s) to:

Connor McGrath: Whom I plagiarised heavily from throughout Riki Hirsch: Who's videos assisted greatly in articulating thoughts about body horror My friends: who put up with my ramblings about various aspects of horror for the past 2-3 months. Every referenced/quoted media.

uh. also. Tell me if you actually did the homework/reflection that I mentioned because I think that would be funny

Citations:

Hey you made it to the end of the essay... why would you do that to yourself? If you're reading this then I didn't end up scrapping the project (either good or bad depending on your experience reading it).

This is the first full extended essay, however there will be related projects releasing at a later date that you can read, unless you have better things to do. Or taste.

Nonetheless I want you, reader, to know that you are genuinely appreciated for just reading the way through; I never thought that people would be interested in my writing which is why I never really posted any before recently (and still mostly do keep it to myself). The thought that anyone would willingly read what I had to say is wonderfully foreign, and I'm sure that my past self would be very confused if you told them that they would be writing essays, not only for fun, but for free: they would probably think something along the lines of "What the fuck? Who are you? How-... Who-... what are you doing in my house?"

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brbsoulnomming · 1 year ago

Text

WHERE NOBODY KNOWS YOUR NAME

For: @sharpbutsoft

Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Rating: Teen

Wordcount: 14.9k

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, mention of alcohol and financial exploitation of child stars

Tags: Famous Steve Harrington, Bartender Eddie Munson, Alternate Universe - No Upside Down (Stranger Things), Fluff, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Happy Ending, Eddie Munson Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Has a Crush on Eddie Munson, Snapshots

Summary: A drop dead gorgeous man walks into The Hideout one night while Eddie's bartending, and Eddie's absolutely determined to flirt with him. What follows is snapshots of the two of them growing closer and closer, all while Eddie's absolutely oblivious to the fact that Steve's secretly one half of the famous pop duo Scoops Troop.

This fic is a part of the @steddieholidayexchange

-----

The prettiest man that Eddie has ever seen walks through the door of the Hideout, and Eddie damn near drops the glass he was rinsing out. It's not like their town's small enough that Eddie could actually recognize everyone in it, and the Hideout gets enough business that Eddie doesn't know everyone who comes in, but still, he was not expecting to get hit in the face with that kind of handsome on his shift tonight.

Sure, the nearby resort is a particular favorite among the wealthy elite - Eddie even heard there was one douchebag pop singer who booked the entire place for two weeks in the spring, apparently just so he wouldn't have to associate with any other guests - but they usually stay on the resort. It's rare for any of them to venture out into the town itself.

Pretty boy is wearing a dark blue polo with Hawkins Hope in Action stitched in yellow across his shirt pocket, which Eddie definitely does not notice purely because he's admiring the way it stretches across his chest. He takes an empty seat at the bar, pushing one hand through his hair as he scans the chalkboard specials they've got on display.

"You think it's as soft as it looks?" Chrissy asks, nudging him with her hip as she joins him in absolutely not just staring at the guy from the backroom.

He huffs out a little laugh. "I think you've got a better chance at me than figuring that out, Chris."

Still, he's fully prepared to head out there and try on at least a little bit of charm, until Jeff comes up next to them.

"I think Chrissy should head out there for a while," he says.

Eddie turns to fix him with a betrayed look. "What? Come on, man, I said Chrissy had a better chance, not that I had no chance."

Jeff nods towards the guy. "Look at him, he's all on edge."

And it's true - the guy's perched on the bar stool like he expects to have to bolt at any minute, and he's started to hunch in on himself like he's trying to take up as little space as possible.

It's kind of sad, actually, which unfortunately doesn't make him any less cute.

"So?" Eddie asks.

"So you know I love you, man, but you can be kind of a lot," Jeff says apologetically.

Eddie gasps, whirling to face Chrissy. "Can you believe this?"

Her nose is a little crinkled, lips turned down the way she does when there's a hard truth she doesn't want to tell him. "You're not always the most soothing presence," she admits.

He lurches back dramatically, hand over his heart. "Complete and utter betrayal, from my own best friends no less."

Jeff pats him on the shoulder. "You'll get over it."

"You can talk to him next time," Chrissy offers.

Which, considering pretty boy is probably staying at the resort and not going to come back, is small consolation.

But, well. He's probably staying at the resort and not coming back, so Eddie guesses he really isn't losing out on much by not getting to talk to him.

At least he can enjoy the eye candy.

He keeps an eye on them at first, only partially because of said eye candy - Chrissy can handle herself, but if the guy is going to be the typical resort douche, Eddie won't hesitate to come back her up. Pretty boy starts to relax a little the longer he's there, though, and Chrissy's doing the genuine smile she does when she has a good customer, so he doesn't worry about it.

By the time the guy leaves, Eddie's heard the sound of them laughing a few times.

"His laugh is just as pretty as the rest of him," Eddie sighs to Chrissy as they watch him leave.

"His name is Steve," Chrissy replies. "He works for that charity that's booked the resort this weekend for a fundraising event."

"That explains what he was doing here," Eddie jokes. "I knew we wouldn't see a resort guest slumming it at the Hideout."

Chrissy rolls her eyes at him, but she doesn't disagree. "They work with kids in the foster care system," she says mildly. "They put on camps and events and things for the kids to come to, do fundraising to get money to support them. He spends most of his time with the kids.”

Eddie groans. “No, come on, that's not fair,” he whines. “Handsome and a pretty laugh and he works for a charity and it's for foster kids and he's likes spending time with them? He's gotta have some flaws. Maybe he's actually terrible with kids, maybe they all hate him.”

Chrissy giggles. “Maybe he leaves his wet towels all over the floor.”

Eddie nods. “Maybe he sings off key in the shower and it's awful and he won't stop.”

Chrissy gives him a little shove. “Well, Steve says they've booked the resort for a few camps and events throughout the rest of the year, so you'll have plenty of time to find out.”

“If he comes back,” Eddie points out.

“Oh, I have a feeling he'll come back,” she replies.

—

Steve comes back.

It's just him behind the bar tonight, with Gareth and Grant back in the kitchen, so Eddie spends a moment quietly collecting himself before he heads over.

Eddie shoots him a smile. "Hi."

"Hey," Steve returns, smiling at him in return - though it seems practiced, nothing like the soft, warm smile Eddie'd seen him give Chrissy when he left the other night.

Ouch.

"Chrissy's not working tonight," Eddie says, trying not to let his disappointment show.

Steve's face scrunches in confusion, a little furrow between his brow that Eddie has the immediate urge to reach out to try to smooth with his thumb.

What is wrong with him? He's usually way better at not letting customers get under his skin.

"Thanks for telling me?" Steve says, the end of the sentence raised up in a question like he's not quite sure he's giving the correct response.

"Just thought I'd let you know, in case you came back in hoping to see her again," Eddie says.

Steve's expression smooths out. "Oh. Nah, I just really liked the… atmosphere…"

He trails off, clearly aware of how what he's saying sounds, but Eddie makes a point of scanning around the bar anyway - it isn't empty, but it's not exactly crowded, either, occupied mostly by small groups who stick to themselves or solo patrons who are more interested in their drinks than engaging in conversation with other customers.

No one's paying the slightest bit of attention to them.

He cocks an eyebrow as he looks back at Steve, and now the smile he gets is a little less practiced, a little more genuinely pleased - maybe even a little teasing.

"Exactly," Steve agrees. "What's not to like about a place where nobody knows your name?

Eddie barks out a little laugh. "Not nobody," he returns. "It's Steve, right? I'm Eddie. What can I get you?"

He calls Steve's order of onion rings back to Gareth, then grabs a glass to get his beer.

"So, Chrissy said you work with the charity that rented out the resort?" he asks. "What do you do for them?"

Steve lights up a little at the question, which, unfortunately, makes him even prettier.

"I'm the activities director," Steve replies.

Eddie raises his eyebrows as he sets Steve's beer in front of him, inviting him to continue.

“I plan all the stuff for the kids to do at camp,” Steve clarifies.

His eyebrows go even higher. “That sounds exhausting.”

Steve huffs out a little laugh. “Sometimes,” he admits. “But I don't, like, personally do all of them. Some of the other staff will take lead on things that interest them - like Nancy does journalism and writing workshops, and Lucas picked up basketball, Jon does photography, and Robin's doing film watching and analysis. We actually do a lot of partnerships, too, get people to come in and do guest spots leading activities for like a week.”

Right, Eddie's pretty sure he heard that Hawkins Hope was a celebrity sponsored charity. Makes sense why they're able to afford using the resort for things.

“So what do you take lead on, then?” Eddie asks, mentally hi-fiving himself for finding an effortless way to ask Steve about his interests.

He's pretty sure it doesn't go unnoticed, because Steve blinks at him for a moment before he gives him just a little bit of a smirk.

It's a good look on him, though, so Eddie doesn't mind one bit.

“Swimming,” Steve replies. “Mostly lifeguarding, if we're somewhere on the water, and I do lessons. Baseball in the summer. Ice skating in the winter. Music, sometimes. Cooking. I'll pretty much fill in whenever I need to.”

Eddie's not surprised that the majority of those were sports, but it does mean he flounders a little bit in the next step of his plan - find a common interest and get his flirt on. He's a decent enough cook, but it's not exactly something he does for fun. Which means he's got one option left, and he latches onto it eagerly.

“What kind of music?” he asks.

Steve watches him for a moment, like he's waiting for the punchline. Or waiting to be judged, maybe - maybe the guy only likes Top 40s and is used to being looked down on from guys wearing Dio t-shirts.

And all right, Eddie might judge him a little - but only teasingly, and only if he knew him better. So he just waits, hoping he looks as genuine as he means to.

“I'm not picky,” Steve says finally. “I can find the merit in just about anything. It's not about the genre to me - it's about how the song makes you feel, if you can connect with the lyrics or if the music stirs some kind of emotion in you that you didn't even know was there.”

Oh.

“I get that,” Eddie says.

“Yeah?” Steve asks.

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees. “Like - it's not what I usually listen to, and it's not what people expect, but my mom loved Bluegrass and country. I hear it now and it makes me think of her. I still end up singing Hazel Dickens or Loretta Lynn when I clean the kitchen, makes me feel like she's there with me.”

And there's that soft, warm smile that Eddie'd briefly seen him give Chrissy - only now it's even worse because it's directed at him, and it keeps lingering.

“Yeah,” Steve says again, but this time it sounds like you really do get it.

“So, it, uh, sounds like you like what you do,” Eddie says.

“I love what I do,” Steve agrees. “What about you?”

Eddie shrugs. “Can't complain. I get a lot of freedom here, actually. I'm the one that comes up with most of the drinks on our specials list.”

That's usually the most he goes into it, but Steve's still looking at him, so much less closed off than he was when he first came in, and he leans in like he's interested.

So when Steve asks him to tell him more about it, Eddie does. How it's not what he thought he'd be doing after high school, but then, he hadn't really given a lot of thought to much of anything after high school while he was still there, too busy just trying to graduate. How he likes the people he works with and the Hideout itself, how much fun it is coming up with his own drinks, how he's gotten to the point where he can figure out the best drink for someone before they even know what it is themselves.

And all right, he'd maybe been bragging a little, maybe said that with just a little bit of a cocky smirk to see the reaction he gets, but he's still a little bit surprised when Steve picks up on it and gives it back.

“Yeah?” Steve asks. “Do me, then.”

Eddie smiles at him, pleased. “What's the first cocktail you order when you go somewhere new?”

“House special,” Steve replies immediately, shooting him a little smirk.

Eddie gives him a look.

“It's true!” Steve insists. “I can get an old fashioned or a margarita anywhere, but the house special is usually something unique.”

Eddie considers that. “What's your go to drink if you're making yourself something at home?”

“Lemon drop,” Steve says. “They're my best friend's favorite, I learned how to make them for her. It's the only drink I can pull off that isn't just popping a can of beer or pouring a glass of wine.”

Eddie hums. He already knows Steve's taste in beers, so - “Red or white wine?”

“White in the summer, red in the winter,” Steve replies.

“Whiskey or tequila?”

“Whiskey.”

“Apple cider or hot chocolate?”

“Apple cider.”

Eddie manages to fire off questions like that for a while, and Steve even plays along when he asks him something that clearly has little to do with his drink preferences - though Eddie is absolutely ready to spin a tale about how it's vital to know if someone is a summer or a winter person for flavor choices, and being a romance or a horror fan will tell him how adventurous they are if Steve questions it.

Steve doesn't call him on it, though he does raise one eyebrow and give him a little smirk at each one, which leads to Eddie dropping into his explanation, anyway.

He wants someone to appreciate his brilliance.

It makes Steve laugh, warm and a little surprised, like he hadn't been expecting it. “Does that excuse work?”

“I don't know,” Eddie admits. “I haven't tried it on anyone else. What do you think?”

Steve hums, eying Eddie up and down in a way that, ridiculously, makes Eddie want to hide behind his hair.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “I could see it working. Depends on how good your drink ends up being.”

That gets Eddie back on more confident ground, and he points dramatically at him. “Prepare to be wowed.”

Steve's an autumn person who likes apple cider, whiskey, and action films, so Eddie makes him a spin on a whiskey highball with ginger ale, apple juice, and cinnamon simple syrup.

Steve takes one sip and immediately looks delighted. It's far from the first time that Eddie's gotten that reaction, but coming from Steve, well.

Eddie doesn't want to say that it makes his whole week, but it kind of makes his whole week.

“This is amazing,” Steve says. “You do this all the time?”

“Eh, just when I feel like showing off,” Eddie finds himself saying, which is true but is definitely not what he wanted to admit to.

Steve's finally looking reasonably relaxed, though, so he can't bring himself to regret it.

“I hope you know you've set yourself up for having to do this every time I come in,” Steve tells him.

Eddie grins. “I'm holding you to that. Better not see you getting drinks from one of the other bartenders here,” he teases.

He's joking - really, he is - but when Steve laughs and agrees, well.

Okay, maybe he kind of means it.

—

It's Eddie's day off, but he's at the Hideout anyway.

He'd feel more pathetic about that if it weren't for the fact that it's Jeff and Gareth's night off, too, and they're also at the Hideout.

It's a slower night, so they're just sitting at the bar drinking beer and heckling Grant while the regulars ignore them and their antics. Or, well, he and Gareth are heckling Grant - Jeff is shifting back and forth between taking their side and taking Grant's, claiming neutrality with a gleam in his eyes that says he knows exactly what he's doing.

Even though he's not working, Eddie still looks up on instinct when the door opens - and then grins when he recognizes Steve.

He flings himself around the other side of the bar, ignoring Jeff and Gareth's surprised exclamations, and very heroically manages to not immediately wave Steve over. He plans to wait until Steve's come to sit at the far corner of the bar, then slide on up to him, but - Steve sees him and immediately makes a beeline to grab a seat in front of him.

Oh.

“Hey, Eddie,” Steve greets with a smile.

“Hey, Steve, what can I get you?” Eddie asks.

“I don't know.” Steve raises an eyebrow at him, expression almost playful. “You're the expert, right? What can you get me?”

“What is happening right now?” Gareth asks, immediately squashing the little thrill Eddie'd gotten at Steve's words.

“What's happening right now is that I'm trying to serve an actual paying customer, so why don't you two go find a table to sit at and shoo,” Eddie grumbles at him.

“Come on, Gar, let's quit bothering Eddie,” Jeff says, pushing away from the bar and tugging Gareth with him.

Fuck, Jeff is Eddie's favorite forever, he's going to owe him -

“Eddie's apparently decided to throw in a little free labor for us tonight,” Jeff calls back as they saunter off towards an open table.

Never mind, Eddie hates him.

Steve's brow furrows, and he looks up at Eddie expectantly.

“It's my night off,” Eddie admits.

“Eddie!” Steve chides.

“It's just one drink,” Eddie protests.

Steve rolls his eyes at him. “Uh-huh. What if I wanted more than one drink, were you going to hang out here all night?”

“Maybe,” Eddie grumbles.

Steve laughs at him, but it's soft and - well. It might just be Eddie's wishful thinking, but it sounds almost fond. “Go hang out with your friends. You can get me next time.”

Eddie sulks for a moment - like they're friends, like Steve is scolding him over a stupid decision and Eddie's whining at him about how it totally makes sense, really.

Wait.

“Come sit at the table with us,” Eddie says. “I can give you recommendations on what to order.”

Steve hesitates. “Your friends won't mind?”

“Nah. They love heckling me, so I'm sure they'll get a kick out of it. Come on, it'll be fun.”

Despite his words, Eddie's actually a little nervous that Steve won't get along with Jeff and Gareth, or that the tense, rigid way Steve had held himself when he first came to the bar will come back, but by the time Steve's two drinks in, he's folded almost seamlessly in with the three of them.

Jeff and Steve like the same baseball team, apparently, and he gets Gareth talking about ice skating in a way that makes him light up - a way that might make Eddie a little jealous, if Steve didn't keep catching Eddie's eyes and smiling at him.

Steve even gets a couple of their Lord of the Rings jokes, though he admits he hasn't read the books himself, just picked up on some things from the kids he used to babysit. The way he talks about this Dustin kid makes him sound more like a little brother than anything else, and it's really sweet.

Shit, he's probably not terrible with the kids. Maybe Eddie better hold out hope for the wet towels or the terrible shower singing.

It's probably pretty damn late when Eddie hears the door open, and glances over. The man walking in is unfamiliar, but he's looking around the bar with a sense of purpose that makes Eddie grimace.

“We're all up to date on our liquor license and everything, right?” Eddie asks in a low voice.

Jeff frowns at him. “Of course. Why?”

“Check your ten o'clock,” Eddie says, purposefully adding in a little flair like he's a spy operative keeping an eye out for the enemy. “He's just screaming off duty cop.”

Both Jeff and Gareth crane their heads to look, leaving Eddie to sigh internally, but Steve plays along, tipping his head in towards Eddie like they're sharing a moment.

Steve's face is so close to his that he can feel the soft puff of air on his cheek when he breathes out, can see the whites of his eyes as his gaze flicks towards the door. Then he grins, and Eddie can see the way it makes his eyes crinkle at the corners.

Fuck, Eddie should be ridiculous around Steve more often.

“Retired cop, maybe,” Steve replies. “He's here for me. I, uh. I must have missed my curfew.”

Eddie looks back over at the guy, who must have spotted Steve, because he's making his way towards them.

“You still have a curfew?” Eddie teases.

“Shut up,” Steve says, but his smile hasn't faded.

“No, it's cute,” Eddie says. And honestly - it is. “Your dad is your ride when you've had a few too many to drink?”

Steve's eyes darken briefly. “My dad's an asshole,” he mutters, something cracked and bitter in his tone that Eddie's pretty sure wouldn't be there if Steve was entirely sober. “He wouldn't be caught anywhere near somewhere like this, or me in general.”

Well, shit, leave it to Eddie to open his mouth and accidentally step in it.

“Hey,” Eddie says, bumping his shoulder against Steve's. “Mine, too. Fuck ‘em, right? We're better off without them.”

“Better off without who?” Retired Cop asks as he stops in front of their table.

“Our terrible, horrible, no good, very bad fathers,” Eddie replies immediately, shooting Retired Cop what he hopes is a very charming grin.

It must be, considering Steve is back to smiling, and now he's looking at Eddie all soft and pleased.

Retired Cop grunts in what Eddie is going to optimistically assume is agreement.

“Hey, Hopper,” Steve greets. “This is Eddie, Jeff, and Gareth. Hopper's the head of security for Hawkins Heroes.”

“Among other things,” Hopper comments drily.

Eddie's going to guess those other things include picking up wayward activity directors when they stay out too late.

Steve looks a little abashed. “Sorry, lost track of time.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hopper grumbles. “Get your shit and let's get going.”

“Thanks for letting me hang out with you guys,” Steve tells them.

“You kidding?” Jeff asks. “It was great, man.”

“Come back any time,” Gareth agrees.

“I'll have a new drink ready for you,” Eddie promises.

Somewhat foolishly, considering he knows that Jeff and Gareth are going to tease him about that, but the smile he gets flashed at him is well worth it.

“I still gotta settle the tab,” he hears Steve tell Hopper as they head out, but he's too distracted by Jeff and Gareth's smirks to think anything of it.

“Not a word,” Eddie threatens before either of them can say anything.

“Wouldn't dream of it,” Gareth replies, batting his eyelashes at him instead of saying anything.

“Just let me know when you have the drink ready,” Jeff agrees mildly. “We can call it Steve's Special.”

Gareth and Jeff fistbump each other while Eddie rolls his eyes and shoves himself up out of his chair.

He ignores their laughter as he heads over April, who's behind the register at the moment.

“What's my damage for the night?” he asks.

“Your friend already paid,” she tells him.

“Okay?” He frowns at her, a little too tipsy to make any kind of connection between his question and her answer. “I mean, I'm glad he didn't duck out on his tab and leave me stuck with it, but I'd still like to pay mine?”

She rolls her eyes. “No, you moron, he paid for all of you.”

Eddie gapes at her. “He what?”

April smirks at him. “Guy that good looking, and he picks up the tab for you and those two? I'd hang onto him.”

Eddie's pretty sure his cheeks are bright red. He covers it up by muttering, “Son of a bitch. I'll get him for this.”

—

Steve's already at the bar when Eddie arrives for his shift that night, which instantly makes him perk up.

His crush on the guy is probably a little bit out of control, but eh, that's future Eddie's problem. Tonight Eddie gets the pleasure of some very nice eye candy all night, on top of the security of knowing he's going to have an awesome interaction with at least one patron.

Steve's clearly been there at least a little while, since there's a half eaten plate of loaded fries and a beer in front of him, and he's chatting enthusiastically with Grant.

Well.

Maybe chatting is the wrong word for it, now that Eddie gets a closer look at them.

Steve's leaning in, one elbow braced on the bartop with his gaze focused intently on Grant, as if he was the only person in the room. He's saying something in what must be a low tone, considering Grant's leaning back in to hear him. And is that -

Yup, that's a faint pink flush to Grant's cheeks.

Eddie gapes.

"Is Steve flirting with Grant?" he hisses the moment he finds Chrissy.

Chrissy rolls her eyes. "They got into an argument about pick up lines. Grant said pick up lines are shitty and cliche and don't work, and Steve insisted it's not about them being lines, it's about delivery and intention."

"So they're… flirting to prove a point?"

Damn it, why didn't Eddie think of that?

Chrissy's smiling at him, that sweet little grin she gives him when she knows exactly what's going on in his head. "Why don't you go over there and tell Steve where you sit on the pick up line debate?"

Eddie hip checks her, but, well.

It's not a bad idea.

He does go over, if only because he wants to say hi before he actually starts working.

He hears Grant laughing as he gets closer, but it sounds a little strained.

"Hey," Steve says quietly. "I meant all of it, you know. I wouldn't have said anything I didn't think was true. Any girl would be lucky to have you. Or, uh, guy, if you swung that way."

"You're kind of making me wish I swung that way," Grant teases, but there's something sincerely appreciative in his voice that tells Eddie that they'd been talking about more than just an argument about pick up lines.

If Steve could stop being so kind to his friends, that would really help out Eddie's stupid heart.

He tells himself very firmly to absolutely not think into the fact that Steve's apparently okay with guys dating other guys.

Instead, he stalks up to the counter as Grant walks away, pointing accusingly at Steve.

“I caught you!” he informs him. “What, did you think you could hide it from me? That I wouldn't notice? You're in so much trouble.”

Eddie's not sure what he's expecting, but it isn't for Steve's expression to completely crumble. He sags in the chair for a moment, then Eddie watches him visibly pull himself together, straightening up and looking solemnly at Eddie.

“Okay,” Steve says, very quietly. “How do you want to do this?”

And that - completely deflates the wind in Eddie's sails.

“You're not like, actually in trouble, dude,” Eddie tells him. “I just can't believe you thought you could pay our tabs and we wouldn't realize it.”

Steve's brow furrows, then smooths out. “Oh!”

It's clearly a startled little realization, which immediately makes Eddie narrow his eyes.

“What did you think I was talking about?” he asks.

“I, uh. I guess I just wasn't sure what I did to upset you?”

Eddie considers that. It's possible - but Steve hadn't looked confused, he'd looked resigned. Like there was a secret that he was keeping, and he hadn't been expecting to be able to continue to keep it, and he was pretty sure Eddie knowing it wasn't going to be anything good. But what could he -

And then he remembers that he walked over in the middle of Steve flirting with another guy, and clearly implying that he was okay with guys dating other guys, and -

And the first thing that Eddie said was that he caught Steve and he was in big trouble.

Shit.

“It, uh,” Eddie starts, then stops, pausing to think about how he wants to say this. “There's a rainbow flag pinned up at the corner of the bar.”

Steve gives him a tiny smile. “I noticed,” he says softly. “It's one of the things that made me come back here.”

“Really?” Eddie asks, immediately derailed. “It was my idea to put it up. I wanted people to know the Hideout is a safe space, even if it doesn't look like it.”

“It worked,” Steve tells him. “You're a good guy, Eddie, that was a great thought.”

Eddie flushes, ducking his head for a moment before he determinedly gets this conversation back on track. “So, uh, I just wanted to make sure you knew that none of the staff here are going to hassle you no matter what way you swing. Especially not me.”

Steve looks at him for a long moment. “Especially not you?” he repeats.

Eddie swallows, then nods. “Yeah.”

Steve's quiet at first. Then, “Thanks, Eddie.”

Eddie nods again, letting the moment sit for a little bit. Then he shoots him a teasing little grin, tipping his head at the beer in front of Steve. “What you're really in trouble for is getting a drink from another bartender here.”

Steve smirks at him. “Oh, that's not mine. It's Robin's.”

“Robin?” Eddie asks.

“My best friend, the one who likes lemon drops? She came with me today, said she wanted to meet the guys who got me to stay out so late,” Steve replies.

Oh!

Eddie straightens up, looking around. “Where is she? I want to meet her.”

“She was going to the bathroom, but I think she got distracted on her way back,” Steve says drily. He nods over towards where Chrissy is talking animatedly with a girl he's never seen before. “So you might have to wait a bit on that.”

Chrissy's smiling in a way he hasn't seen her do in a long time, which immediately makes him like this Robin girl.

“Guess you're stuck with me until then,” Steve adds.

“Oh, no,” Eddie says, voice monotone. “However will I get over my disappointment.”

Steve laughs. “You can start by getting me a drink.”

Yeah, okay, Eddie guesses he can do that.

He's going to finish the night by making the best impression possible on Steve's best friend, though.

Even if his own best friend seems to have gotten there first.

—

It's D&D night the next time Steve shows up at the bar.

The other regulars are pretty used to it, by now, and seem content to let the D&D crews take over the back half of the bar, but Steve hasn't seen it before. He's not sure when he started thinking of Steve as a regular - can someone be a regular if he doesn't live here, even if he does seem to come in every time he's in town? - but that's beside the point.

D&D nights were Eddie's idea. He'd wanted to do something similar to what he did in high school, give them a safe place to be able to play - only this time, some place fun, where they'd be welcome as adults instead of laughed at for playing a "kid's game." Even the nights when he isn't playing or DMing, he has a lot of fun with coming up with campaign themed drinks.

It's stupid, but he's kind of nervous about what Steve thinks of it. It's not like anything's going to happen with Eddie's crush, but he enjoys it anyway, enjoys Steve's company. It's going to suck if Steve laughs at it.

Steve beelines for the corner of the bar where Eddie's at as soon as he sees him, which makes Eddie smile involuntarily, despite the clench in his stomach when he sees Steve staring intently at the group in the back.

"Is that Dungeons and Dragons?" Steve asks.

"You know D&D?" Eddie asks. His stomach is still clenching, but now it's in a very, very different way.

"Yeah," Steve replies, shooting him a little smile. "Some of my friends play it. We actually used to have it as an activity for the kids, but Mike and Will are at college and Erica had this huge project she needs to finish for school, so it's on hold now."

"Have you ever played?" Eddie asks.

"A couple of times," Steve replies. "I did, uh. The side characters? For the kids a few times. Do you play?"

"Yeah. I used to run a D&D club in high school, actually, and I started D&D night here."

"Dude, that's really cool," Steve says, so genuine that it makes Eddie want to hide behind his hair. "Oh, hey, I know it's kind of a lot to ask, but would you be interested in doing it for camp this week? Some of the kids coming have really missed it. We'd pay you for your time, of course."

Eddie opens his mouth, then closes it again. "You want to pay me to DM a D&D game for summer camp?"

"Yes?" Steve says, like he's not sure why Eddie's in a little bit of disbelief here. "Only it's October now, so not summer camp anymore."

Right, because that's the unbelievable part.

"You know what? Sure. Do you want a one shot, or a short campaign?" Eddie asks.

Steve's face scrunches a bit in confusion.

"How many days do you want me there?" Eddie clarifies.

"All of them?" Steve blurts out.

Eddie's eyes widen, and Steve's ears go a little pink.

"I mean, how many can you do?" Steve asks.

Eddie considers. He could use some extra cash, and he's really missed throwing himself into D&D - he actually thinks he has the perfect campaign, one he used leading up to Halloween back in high school. A few tweaks and he thinks it'll be perfect.

"How about four days, five hour sessions each? Is that too long for the kids?" Eddie asks.

Steve shakes his head. "Nah, I've seen them spend like ten hours playing before, five should be perfect. Come by the resort around noon tomorrow and I'll have the paperwork all ready for you?"

—

There's more security at the resort than Eddie remembers there being the handful of times that he's been there before.

Makes sense, he guesses, since there's more kids than adults there now. It'd probably look bad if the resort let just anyone onto the grounds and some of the kids got kidnapped or something. And if they've got celebrities coming in to get their good PR by volunteering, too, they've probably got to be at the top of their game.

Eddie must be on the approved list, though, because once he's shown his ID and proven who he is, he's given a “guest staff” badge, a map of the resort, and a list of which amenities he's allowed to use for the next week.

Nice. Steve hadn't mentioned that, but Eddie is definitely going to take advantage of it.

He's a little early to meet Steve, so he wanders around the inside of the resort instead, taking in everything.

Eventually he stumbles onto a lounge with a roaring fire and a massive plush sofa, occupied by a teenage girl and a bunch of textbooks.

“Can I help you?” she asks, for all the world like she's a busy executive behind a fancy desk and he's already wasting her time, instead of a teenager sprawled out on a couch doing her homework.

“I'm looking for Steve,” he says.

Her eyes narrow as she sits up. “Why?” There's an edge in her voice now, something a little bit protective.

That's kind of sweet, actually.

“I'm meeting him here about a temporary gig,” Eddie says. “Hi, I'm Eddie.”

Her expression shifts from wary to downright skeptical. “You're the DM who that hairbrain thinks will do a better job than me?”

Yeah, Eddie's taking back that sweet comment.

“You must be Erica,” he says.

“That's Lady Applejack to you,” she retorts with a sniff. “You better be at the top of your game, or I will sneak behind any monster you throw my way and stab them in the back with my poison-soaked kukri. And I'll smile as I watch them die a slow, agonizing death.”

Oh, fuck, Eddie likes this kid.

He raises one eyebrow at her. “I thought you had a big project that you're supposed to be working on?”

She stares right back at him, unimpressed. “You going to rat me out if I come play?”

Eddie hams it up a little, making a big show of thinking it over. Before he can tell her that obviously, he's the last one to give any kind of quibble about playing D&D instead of doing homework, the sound of heavy footsteps approaching echoes through the lounge.

“Hey, Erica?” Steve's voice calls, sounding a little strained. “Can you keep an eye out for Eddie, tell him I'm going to be a little late? I gotta - oh. You're here!”

Steve's rounded the corner, and now Eddie can see the reason for the heavier footsteps. He's giving a piggyback ride to a kid, who looks about eleven or twelve. The kid's face is screwed up in pain, and Eddie spots a bloody, skinned knee peeking through ripped jeans.

“Hey, man,” Steve greets. “Give me a minute? I've got to get this guy to the nurse.”

“I don't want to go see Nurse Henderson,” the kid sulks. “Can't you just patch it up yourself? Max is going to tell me I should have just walked it off!”

“Probably,” Steve admits. “But she'd also want you to get looked at if you're really hurt. And Nurse Henderson is the only one who's qualified to decide that, right? Besides, didn't we already talk about not doing stupid things just for a girl?”

“Especially for a girl like Max, who's way too old for me,” the kid replies, in a tone of voice that says, yes, he's heard all of this before. “Fine, I'll go to the nurse.”

“I'll keep Eddie company,” Erica volunteers.

Steve looks at her with narrowed eyes.

“I'm just making sure his campaign is up to snuff,” she informs him.

Steve relaxes, though he still cuts his gaze over to Eddie and waits for him to nod before he takes off.

Eddie tilts his head at Erica. “How would you feel about a little extra backstory? A little party betrayal, maybe?”

Her eyes light up. “I'm listening.”

By the time Steve comes back, Eddie and Erica and hunched over character sheets, and they've got a frankly amazing tie in for Lady Applejack into his slightly tweaked campaign.

“I take it things went well?” Steve asks.

Erica stuffs her character sheets into her folder. “He'll do.”

Eddie gets the feeling that's high praise, coming from her.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Lady Applejack,” he says solemnly.

She rolls her eyes, but accepts the hug that Steve gives her, and Eddie's pretty sure he hears Steve whisper thank you.

“Come on, let's go see Joyce,” Steve says. “She's the director of Hawkins Hope, she's amazing. Then we can grab lunch after.”

“Are you bribing me with fancy resort food?” Eddie asks.

Steve grins at him. “Maybe.”

Joyce is amazing, but lunch with Steve is even better. Eddie makes a big deal of moaning over how good the food is, but really, making Steve laugh is the best part.

Yeah, Eddie's in way too deep.

—

"Eddie!" Steve greets when he comes into the Hideout a few days after the final session. He sounds a little bit breathless, and Eddie immediately smiles.

It's amazing how much having a favorite regular there improves his night, on top of the fact that he thinks he and Steve are actually friends now.

"Hey, man," he greets. "The kids all get where they're supposed to be okay?"

Steve looks at him like he did something amazing, instead of just asking a question that any decent human being would ask, but Eddie's not going to protest.

"Yeah, just the staff left now. Hey, I wanted to ask - we're doing a masquerade event on Halloween as a fundraiser. I mean, the event itself is going to be kind of shitty, catering to a bunch of semi famous people, but the staff are having an after party. Do you want to come?"

Eddie swallows, trying not to get his hopes up. "Me?"

"Well, yeah, you were basically staff this week, so you should come."

"Oh." Turns out it didn't work, not getting his hopes up, and now he's fighting disappointment.

Steve must take that for reluctance, though, because he adds, "Chrissy and Jeff and Grant and Gareth are all welcome too, so you don't have to worry about not knowing anyone there? Unless you guys already had plans."

"Nah, I think we were just going to hang out and watch shitty horror movies, I'm sure they'd rather go to an after party at the resort," Eddie says.

It sounds like a much better night than anything they had planned, even if it isn't what he thought Steve might be asking.

"Good! Uh, that's good." Steve looks uncertain for a moment, like he's having a debate with himself. Whatever it is, he must come to a decision, because he leans over the counter a little. "What about you?"

…okay, maybe he's not completely out of luck here.

"Me?" Eddie asks again, but this time he keeps his gaze locked on Steve's.

"You," Steve says again. "I was really hoping you'd come, Eds."

"Yeah? What do I get if I go?"

Steve smiles at him, this soft little hopeful thing, and his eyes drop briefly down to Eddie's lips. "I got a few things in mind."

Oh fuck, this is happening.

"Well now you've got me intrigued. I guess I better make an appearance."

Steve's expression lights up. “See you at the resort at ten?”

—

There's even more security when Eddie arrives at the resort on Halloween. He isn't driving - he's pretty sure there's going to be free alcohol tonight, and he's planning on taking full advantage of it - but the cab he and the others took gets stopped three times by security guards, and each time they have to show their IDs.

“Who the hell is going to the stupid masquerade?” Eddie grumbles after they finally get dropped off at a side entrance to the resort.

“Celebrities,” Gareth says with a roll of his eyes.

There's still a small crowd of people exiting the resort through the main entrance a little bit away, and despite the grumbling and eye rolling, none of them can help craning their heads just a little, to see if there's anyone they recognize.

There isn't - looks mostly like people with press badges and cameras.

There's a little bit of a commotion, though, and that makes them pause, just for a moment.

“He owes us!” someone is shouting. “One song for the bronze tier donors, that's it? What does Alistair think he's trying to pull?”

“Oh, wow,” Chrissy says. “I mean, I knew Alistair was the celebrity endorser for the charity, but I didn't think he'd be here tonight.”

Eddie shrugs. “Steve said it was for the semi famous.”

“Alistair and Hawk are a little more than semi famous,” Jeff points out.

There's more shouting at the front entrance that distracts them, though - looks like whoever it was that was complaining is getting very firmly escorted out to the parking lot by security.

“What are you losers still doing out here?” someone asks, and Eddie turns over to see Erica scowling at him from the side entrance.

He beams at her. “Lady Applejack, destroyer of Vecna, light of my life!”

Erica rolls her eyes. “Get your butts in here,” she orders, disappearing through the side entrance.

Eddie and his friends dutifully follow her, down a few hallways and into a massive ballroom that's all decorated in orange and black lights, fake cobwebs, swooping bats, and even a fog machine. There's about thirty or so people mingling about, but fortunately, she leads them to where Steve and Robin are standing together. They're both dressed in black tuxedos, but Robin has a twinkling gold halo crowned on her head and a pair of feathery wings, and Steve has a pair of devil horns. There's a cup of something bright orange in each of their hands.

Jesus, Steve looks even more gorgeous.

“Hey!” Steve greets, lighting up. “You guys made it!”

There's a round of greetings, finished by Steve pointing out the tables laden with food - some of it is clearly fancy shit that was probably left over from the masquerade, but a decent chunk of it is freshly made, mixed in with a ton of boxes of pizza and pitchers of various drinks.

“Come on,” Steve says, circling his fingers around Eddie's wrist and giving it a tug. “I want to introduce you to my friends.”

Steve leads him around the room, weaving through the small crowd and stopping whenever he finds someone. Eddie meets Jonathon Byers, Argyle, and Nancy Wheeler - Steve's ex, apparently, which throws him for a moment when he sees that they're clearly good friends.

Eddie can't imagine being friends with any of the small handful of exes he has.

Steve shrugs when he says as much. “Nancy and I are much better as friends,” he admits. “Our break up was… all right, it was pretty bad. But it was a long time coming. We just didn't work, you know? We wanted different things.”

“Not a great point in favor of you still being friends,” Eddie points out.

Steve laughs. “Nancy's amazing at what she does. She's an investigative reporter for her real job - she just volunteers here, because it's family. It's a lot easier being her friend.”

Eddie's not completely convinced, but he'll take Steve's word for it.

Nancy seems pretty great, anyway, when both of their circles of friends end up spending most of the party together. She and Robin and Chrissy keep ducking their heads together and giggling, and Jeff and Jonathon are having some kind of emphatic discussion about something Eddie doesn't really understand, and he's pretty sure Gareth and Grant and Argyle have snuck off somewhere to smoke weed.

Eddie's a little disappointed they didn't invite him, except, well, Steve's been pretty much plastered to his side the whole time, so he can't really complain.

“You want to get out of here?” Steve asks, when Eddie has definitely had too many candy corn jello shots to be effectively considering the ramifications of that question.

He agrees anyway, wholeheartedly, and hopes he doesn't come across as way, way too eager.

Steve is beaming at him, though, and he leads him out of the room.

“Let's go for a walk?” Steve suggests, which isn't quite where Eddie's mind had been going, but he can admit it's probably a better idea than anything he might have come up with.

So they grab their coats, and Steve winds a scarf around Eddie's neck even though Eddie insists it isn't that cold out.

He's pretty sure the scarf is Steve's, though - it smells like his cologne - so he doesn't actually try to stop him.

“This is definitely a date, right?” Eddie asks as they're walking along the path to the lake, their fingers laced together.

You know, just to make absolutely certain.

“Yeah, it's definitely a date,” Steve says with a little laugh.

“It's technically our fourth date,” Eddie points out.

There's a little furrow between Steve's brow as he frowns at him. “What?”

Eddie holds up his free hand so he can tick them off his fingers. “One, you bought me drinks and dinner at the Hideout.”

“I paid for Jeff and Gareth too!” Steve protests.

“Two,” Eddie says, ignoring him. “You bought me lunch at the resort.”

“We're staff, we get free lunch!” Steve says.

“Three, you invited me to go to a Halloween party with you. And four, moonlight walk by the lake,” he finishes triumphantly.

“Those are the same date!” Steve's clearly trying to sound exasperated, but he's grinning, so Eddie's calling it a win. “And the other two are like, half dates. So if you really want to, we can call this our second date.”

“Come on, sneaking away from the Halloween party to get time alone is at least worth a half date on its own.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Okay, two and a half dates.”

Eddie pumps his fist in victory, but he doesn't get time to crow too much about it.

Steve kisses him for the first time out by the lake, leaves rustling in the wind and the reflection of the moon hanging heavy and orange.

It's perfect.

At the end of the night, after they've been gone from the party for so long that people have had to notice - though no one says anything - Steve gives him a piece of paper with his number on it.

“You don't have to call me,” Steve tells him, like there's any chance that Eddie won't use it immediately. “But I'd like it if you did.”

Eddie steals a pen and paper from the front desk, sprawls down his own phone number and shoves it at Steve.

“Here,” he says. “So you'll know it's me when I call you as soon as I get home.”

—

Eddie expected it to be a little awkward, trying to keep up a relationship - or whatever this is, is it a relationship when they've only had two and a half dates? - via phone, but it really isn't. Steve remembers his work schedule, and he calls him every day after he gets home from work, and it -

It's almost as good as having him there. They talk about their days, about everything and nothing, and it's so fucking good it helps distract him from knowing he's not going to be able to see Steve in person again until December.

Or at least, he wasn't supposed to see him until December.

But about a week after Steve's gone, when he's hanging out with Chrissy and trying to pretend like he doesn't miss him an unreasonable amount, Eddie asks, “Who is Alistair, anyway?”

Chrissy raises her eyebrows at him. “You don't know?”

Eddie shrugs. “It hasn't come up.”

“Scoops Troop?” Chrissy asks, like that's supposed to mean something. “The pop duo?”

And yeah, all right, the name sounds vaguely familiar, but it's not anything that Eddie looks for, and he shrugs again. “I mean, sure, I've probably heard some of their songs on the radio.”

She rolls her eyes. “You're ridiculous. I have a poster of Alistair in my bedroom, it's your favorite one. You've listened to him with me, he does that cover you really like, the one you said at least he wasn't a coward who changes the gender when he covers female songs.”

Shit, okay, yeah, now Eddie knows who she's talking about. He remembers that poster - a blown up shot of the pop star wearing a pair of tight jeans with the button popped, bare chested, head tilted back so all you could see was the line of his neck and the underside of his chin. He remembers sitting with Chrissy a year or so after they graduated high school, listening to one of his albums, hearing the guy sing about how it feels to watch the man he loves kiss some other girl, remembers how the song had stuck with him.

Huh. Handsome, good singer, funds charities - maybe he should have given more of his songs a chance.

“Oh,” Eddie says.

Chrissy laughs softly. “Yeah, oh. Should I tell Steve to watch out for your crush?”

Eddie bumps his shoulders into hers. “Steve is prettier,” he says confidently. “And sweeter, and funnier, and - everything-er.”

He does know to cut himself off before he starts going into too much detail, though, and instead he flops down on his bed.

“What's his deal, then? You have a poster, you probably know some things.”

Chrissy shrugs, flopping down next to him. “He's pretty private. Teenage pop star, made it big pretty quickly, had a huge, blow up falling out with his manager and record label. Went quiet for a while, made a massive comeback with a new manager and label as part of a duo with Hawk.”

Eddie hums softly. Nothing all that interesting - or nothing out of the ordinary from things he's read about in the music industry before.

“What was the blow up about?” he asks, curious. He could go look it up himself, of course, but it's easier to ask Chrissy.

“Something about his manager and label mismanaging his earnings. There was some kind of scandal back then about exploitation of child stars, it's why you don't see Harrington Studios or Brenner Talent Acquisition around much anymore.”

Jesus.

“Wait,” Eddie says. “Harrington Studios? Like Steve Harrington?”

Chrissy frowns. “Maybe?”

“Shit, Steve did say his dad was an asshole who wouldn't want to be anywhere near him,” Eddie says. “I wonder if that's why Steve cut ties.”

“You could call him and ask him,” Chrissy says mildly. “Didn't he say he and Robin were just going to be hanging around at home the next few days?”

Eddie narrows his eyes at her. “You just want to talk to Robin,” he protests, even though he's already picking up the phone.

Steve and Robin are home, and Steve sounds so happy to hear from him that Eddie almost immediately forgets everything else.

“I miss you,” Eddie says before he thinks better of it, before he wonders if maybe that's too much.

“I miss you too,” Steve says immediately, sounding a little bit relieved - like maybe he was worried it was too much, too. “I wish I could see you.”

“Hawkins isn't too far from here,” Eddie points out. “And I've got a guest room.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks, his voice a little soft, a little hopeful.

“Yeah. Come stay the night, we'll get pizza and watch bad movies.”

Steve hums a little like he's considering it, but it's playful, and Eddie's pretty sure he's going to say yes. “Are we counting this as a whole date, or is this another half date?”

Eddie breaks out into a grin. “Half date,” he decides. “That'll bring us up to three, and tomorrow we can make four.”

“Deal,” Steve agrees. “See you soon.”

Steve kisses him the second he and Robin arrive, crowding him in against the wall in the narrow hallway like it's been so much longer than a week since they last saw each other.

“Hi,” Steve murmurs when they break for air.

“Hi,” Eddie replies breathlessly, smiling so wide it hurts.

They end up squished together on the couch, Steve and Robin in the middle with Eddie and Chrissy on either side of them. After the pizza's gone, and they're mid way through their second movie - Eddie glances over, sees Robin's feet tucked under Steve's thigh, Steve's hand curled loosely around her ankle, Chrissy's head pillowed on Robin's shoulder.

Which sounds like a fantastic idea, actually, and he squishes down so he can lean into Steve's chest, Steve's arm wrapped around his shoulders.

Later, after the girls have disappeared into the guest room and Steve and Eddie are getting ready for bed, Steve seems… nervous, almost, as they climb under the covers.

“Everything okay?” Eddie asks.

“There's things you don't know about me,” Steve admits quietly. “Important things.”

Things like his dad owning a record label and working with a manager who exploits children, Eddie'd guess. Not a great thing for a guy who now works so closely with kids.

But Eddie trusts him.

“Hey,” he says softly. “It's okay. I mean, you don't know everything about me either, right? We're only at date three. It's okay if you want to take this slow, to get to know each other before we jump into the messy stuff.”

Steve looks like he's thinking about that. “That's okay?”

“Yeah, of course. If you want to feel each other out, keep this low commitment, even see other people, that's fine.”

It's not really fine, but now Eddie's said it, so he can't take it back.

Steve frowns at him. “I don't want to keep this low commitment,” he protests. “Eds - I'm in this. I don't want to date anyone else.”

“Oh,” Eddie says, a little shaky.

Steve's expression shutters a little. “Did you want to?”

“No!” Eddie replies, a little too quickly. “No, of course not. I just didn't want to pressure you. I, uh, I'm in this too.”

“Good.” Steve tips his head in to kiss him softly. “But - maybe slow is good? I haven't really had a serious relationship since Nancy and I broke up.”

“It's been a while for me, too,” Eddie admits. “…is it bad that it kind of makes me feel better? That we're both figuring this out together?”

Steve snorts. “Nah. Not bad. I kind of like the idea of figuring things out with you.”

—

“Hey, Munson!” April shouts from the office, when he's elbow deep in sudsy water doing the dishes. “You got a phone call!”

“Who is it?” Eddie yells back. He doesn't want to lose his groove if it's just a crank call, or one of his friends with something far from urgent.

“Some guy named Steve! Want me to tell him to get lost?” she asks.

“No!” Eddie yelps immediately. Then, in what he hopes is a calmer voice, “No, I'll come get it.”

He dries off his hands, passes April on the way to the office and has to put up with her smirking at him, but he pointedly ignores her.

“Hey, Stevie,” Eddie greets, already feeling himself smiling.

“Hey,” Steve says back. “Am I interrupting a busy shift?”

He sounds - just a little bit off. Almost like his normal self, but more like he's forcing himself to sound normal.

Eddie frowns. “Even if you were, it'd be a welcome interruption. What's up?”

“It's nothing really important,” Steve says. “I just - wanted to hear your voice, I guess.”

Oh.

Eddie lets himself feel soft and gushy over that for a moment before he leans out to shout, “April, I'm taking my lunch!” and closes the door to the office.

“Eds, you don't have to do that,” Steve protests. “I just wan-”

“Sweetheart,” Eddie cuts him off gently. “I can tell something's wrong. Taking my lunch is nothing - I'd drive to Hawkins right now to see you if you wanted.”

Eddie can Steve breathe out, a slow, ragged exhale.

“What happened?” Eddie asks.

“My dad happened,” Steve mutters.

Shit.

“Well, if anyone gets how hard it can throw you off when your shitty dad pops back up in your life, it's me,” Eddie says. “You want to talk about it?”

Steve's quiet for a moment. “I don't know why I let him still get to me,” he says after a while. “He didn't even talk directly to me. He hasn't tried to reach out since I cut him off, but he still knows exactly what to say to get under my skin, and he knows where to do it so it'll get right back to me. God, it's so stupid. I don't even care about his opinion, but…”

“But he's your dad,” Eddie finishes for him when he trails off. “Even if he's terrible, even if you don't want to be anything like him, even if you don't really want his good opinion, it's always going to matter a little.”

There's another exhale, though this one's tinged with something like relief. “Yeah. Exactly.”

“What'd he say?” Eddie asks.

Steve snorts. “Just the usual shit. I'm not living up to my potential, I'm wasting my time on publicity stunts, I've lost sight of what's really important.”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie mutters. “Your dad really is an asshole.”

“Grade A,” Steve confirms.

“You sure you don't want me to drive down there?” Eddie offers.

“Nah,” Steve says, though Eddie can hear a smile in his voice. “I'm with Robin. She just went to pick up dinner, she should be back soon. Just, uh. Like I said, I wanted to hear your voice. It always makes me feel better.”

“You can't say stuff like that to me when you're not in kissing range,” Eddie teases. Mostly to cover up the way it makes his heart beat a little too fast.

“Sorry,” Steve replies, not sounding apologetic at all.

“Uh-huh,” Eddie says. “I'll still stay on the phone with you until Robin gets back. What do you want me to talk about?”

Steve hesitates for a moment before asking, “Is it too much to ask about what happened the last time your dad popped up?”

Part of Eddie wants to say that nothing Steve could ask him for would be too much, but he does the responsible thing and actually thinks about it before he answers.

“I was seventeen,” he says, once he's decided that yeah, he's okay with Steve knowing this. “I'd been living with my Uncle Wayne for almost five years. He blows back into town, claims he has something of my mom's that she'd always wanted me to get, before she got sick.”

“What was it?” Steve asks.

Eddie snorts. “Nothing. I already had everything of hers that she left behind. He didn't realize I'd already emptied out the old house after he left the last time. But he said he missed me, said he needed me. That he really wanted it to be the two of us this time, the way we always talked about when I was younger and he was teaching me things.”

Steve makes a little encouraging noise.

“Shitty things,” Eddie clarifies. “Other dads taught their kids how to fish or play ball, but mine? He taught me how to hotwire cars. Even at seventeen, he had me convinced. I wanted to believe him so bad, I went along with his idea. Ended up with him skipping town and me in a jail cell taking the fall. My uncle had to come bail me out.”

“I'm sorry, Eddie,” Steve says quietly.

Eddie shrugs, even though Steve can't see him. “It's not your fault.”

“That's not why I'm sorry,” Steve retorts, in a tone that Eddie knows means he's rolling his eyes. “I'm sorry that he couldn't see how amazing you are. You deserve better.”

Eddie feels his cheeks heat up. “So do you,” he replies. “Fuck our dads, all right?”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees empathetically. “Fuck ‘em. Who needs them when we have people who actually give a shit about us?”

Eddie wishes they were together, so he could take Steve's hand or tug him in for a hug or something, to make it clear that Eddie is one of those people who gives a shit about Steve.

“Yeah,” he settles for saying. “You can call me anytime, you know that, right?”

“I do now,” Steve says softly. “Thanks, Eds.”

Fuck.

“Any time,” Eddie managed to get out.

“You too, okay? Any time. Even if I don't answer right away, I'll always call you back.”

—

Eddie's pulling his boxes of Christmas decorations out of the storage space off of his little balcony when he notices one of the boxes is damaged.

He's not sure what happened. Water leaking, maybe, or maybe just the box giving out, but it's sagging in on itself, and when Eddie opens it he - he sees the remains of some of his oldest Christmas decorations. The ones that belonged to his mom.

Eddie stares at them for a long time, fighting back tears, and then goes inside to call his boyfriend.

“Hey, Stevie,” he says when he gets his answering machine. He doesn't even bother trying to sound like he isn't bummed. “It's not urgent, just - some of the Christmass stuff I had from my mom got wrecked. Guess I just wanted to hear your voice. Give me a call when you get this, yeah?”

There's an awkward pause that he almost fills with love you, before he hangs up real quick so he doesn't end up going there on a fucking voicemail of all things.

He doesn't really know how long it's going to be before Steve's able to call him back, and it's stupid to just wait around waiting, but… he can't actually bring himself to do the only thing he had planned today and get the Christmas decorations up.

Eddie's still dithering around hours later when the doorbell rings, and he considers ignoring it and pretending he isn't home. He's not in the mood to be any kind of good company, after all.

But then he hears Steve's voice calling his name through the door, and he's on his feet and opening it up before he knows it.

“You're here,” Eddie says, a little gobsmacked.

Steve shifts his weight, looking a little hesitant. “Is that okay? I mean, I know you said you wouldn't mind driving down to Hawkins for me if -”

Steve cuts off, because Eddie's dragged him inside the apartment and pressed him against the back of the door, doing his level best to kiss him senseless.

“It's not too much?” Steve manages to ask in between kisses.

“It's so far from too much,” Eddie returns.

Eddie's not really sure he knows what to do with someone who drove all the way here just for him, just because he was sad, but Jesus, he's not going to complain about it now.

They're both a little disheveled by the time they manage to get away from the door, and Steve gives him a tentative little smile.

“I brought you this,” Steve says, holding something out to him.

Eddie takes it, and it's - a copy of Loretta Lynn's Country Christmas. A signed copy. A signed copy specifically addressed to Eddie, wishing him a merry Christmas and a wonderful holiday season.

He looks back up, gaping at Steve a little. “Steve?”

“It was supposed to be your Christmas present,” Steve says. “But I thought - maybe you could use it now.”

Jesus Christ, Eddie's pretty sure he's really close to crying. He squeezes his eyes shut, taking a ragged breath.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

He sets the album down, then practically launches himself at Steve, folding him into his arms and hugging him tight. Steve lets himself be held, sinking into the embrace and hugging him back just as strong.

Eventually, when Eddie's reasonably certain he's not in danger of crying - or blurting out a love confession - Eddie pulls back.

“How long are you here for?” he asks.

Steve shrugs. “I don't have any where to be now. I finished work up early, so I've got a few days before we have to get started on winter camp and the Hawkins Hope Christmas gala.”

“Stay here?” Eddie asks, even though he's a little afraid he's pushing it. The guy drove here for him after one upset voicemail, he's pretty sure he's not going to be turned off by the suggestion of staying over a few days.

“Shit, yeah, I'd love to. You want me to help decorate?” Steve offers.

Eddie swallows past the lump in his throat and nods. “Yeah, that'd be great.”

He puts on Loretta Lynn, and before he knows it he's laughing along with Steve as they bicker about where to put some of the decorations and immediately agree on others.

It's a much better day than Eddie could have ever imagined.

—

“How'd you guys even find this place?”

It's mid December, and the Hawkins Hope crew officially have the resort for the rest of the year.

Which means Eddie's been hanging out there pretty much all of his days off, to the point where the security staff don't even bother to check his ID anymore. They just let him waltz right into the resort to meet Steve at one of the lounges.

Or in the room Steve's staying in, which is where they're at now.

“We rented it out for a couple of weeks back in the spring. Or I guess, technically Scoops Troop did, but when Joyce saw it we figured it would be the perfect place.”

“That was you guys?” Eddie asks. “I figured it was some doucebag pop singer.”

“Well, I guess you'd be kind of right, depending on how you feel about Scoops Troop.” Steve says it too casually, like he's trying to pretend that he doesn't care about Eddie's response - but he clearly cares about Eddie's response.

Eddie hums softly. “How do you feel about Scoops Troop?”

“Hawk is fantastic,” Steve replies immediately. “She's so, so talented, she could do just about anything, you know? She's funny, and so damn smart, she's just amazing.”

Briefly, Eddie wonders if he should be jealous, but nah. Steve'd sounded similar to the way he does when he talks about Robin, and Eddie knows there's nothing going on there.

“What about Alistair?” Eddie asks.

Steve gives a one shouldered shrug. “I don't think my opinion really matters all that much.”

“Of course it matters, Stevie, your opinion always matters,” Eddie says.

Steve smiles at him, soft and fond. “Thank you.”

Eddie waits, but apparently Steve is going to play hard to get on the subject of Alistair. “Do you like him?”

Steve shrugs again. “Yeah, sure.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows, squirming a little so he's draped across Steve's lap, staring up at him expectantly.

Steve huffs out a little laugh, carding his fingers through Eddie's hair.

“It was touch and go there for a little bit,” Steve admits. “There was some pretty dicklike behavior going on for a while.”

Eddie gives a dramatic gasp. “A teenage idol? Being a dick? You don't say.”

There's another little laugh, which Eddie's going to count as a win.

“And now?” Eddie asks. “The charity thing, is that all a cover?”

“Nah,” Steve says. “That's genuine. You go through some shit, get a couple of good thumps on the head, it can change your perspective on a lot of things. Makes you realize what's important, and what's just bullshit, you know?”

It sounds like Steve's speaking from experience, and Eddie makes a little encouraging noise.

“My dad did some pretty shitty things to some of my friends,” he says quietly. “And to me. There was a time when I was probably too much like him. I mean, I wasn't ever that bad, but - I put popularity and shit above the things that really mattered.”

“It's hard to imagine you like that,” Eddie says.

Steve frowns a little. “Really?”

“Well, okay, you're kind of a preppy jock, and back in high school I would have thought you were a huge asshole. But I mean, I was kind of a dick back then, too. I probably would have judged you without even knowing you. And now, knowing you? Shit, you're amazing, Steve.”

Steve swallows, leaning down to kiss him.

“I kind of like that you don't know a lot about Alistair,” Steve admits quietly.

“Really?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Most of the people that I work with, aside from the core staff? They're in this because it's a good look for them, or because of their connections with Scoops Troop. You're one of the few who helped out just because of the kids.”

“You guys did pay me,” Eddie points out.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, but you said yes before you even knew how much. It wasn't because of some celebrity, it was just because you're a good guy.”

Something squirms around in Eddie's gut, in a way that he can't decide is good or not. Don't get him wrong, Steve telling him he's a good guy's got his heart beating a little quicker, but he also feels like Steve's got the wrong impression of him.

“I mean, I also did it because you asked me to,” he says, before Steve goes thinking it was entirely selfless. “And you're the prettiest guy I've ever seen.”

Steve huffs out a little laugh. “You agreed to help out just to get paid and to get in my pants?”

“Well, not just that. It worked though, didn't it?”

There's another laugh, and Steve jostles him with his knee a little. “Seriously, though. There's not a lot of people in my life that aren't here because of Alistair.”

It's Eddie's turn to swallow. “Well, now you've got me.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, still far too serious. His eyes are so intense as he looks down at Eddie, like he's seeing straight through him - like he's on the verge of saying something big, something maybe too big.

“So what are you going to do with me, then?” Eddie asks, light and teasing, wiggling his eyebrows.

It works to break the moment, though Steve's still looking at him almost too closely.

“Keep you,” Steve says. “If you'll let me.”

Jesus Christ.

“Yeah,” Eddie replies. “Yeah, I'll let you.”

—

The sound of a piano playing draws him down one of the resort hallways, smiling softly as he recognizes it as a Billy Joel song.

“La, la-la, di-di-da,” echoes along with the notes of the piano. “La-la di-di-da da-dum.”

He follows the sound, until he reaches another one of the resort's many little lounging areas. This one has the customary fireplace, wide open windows with gorgeous scenery, and cozy seating. It also has a baby grand piano, and Eddie's a little shocked to see Steve sitting at it, eyes closed as he plays.

“Sing us a song, you're the piano man,” Steve croons. His voice is a little raspy, a little rough, low and soft and so fucking gorgeous that it makes Eddie catch his breath. “Sing us a song tonight. Well, we're all in the mood for a melody.”

“And you've got us feeling all right,” Eddie chimes in.

Steve's eyes fly open, and he looks a little panicked for a moment before his gaze catches on Eddie. The tension in his body relaxes a little, though there's something about him that seems a bit wary.

It makes Eddie feel like maybe he shouldn't make a big deal about this, shouldn't exclaim that he didn't know Steve could play or tell him that he should sing more often.

“Practicing for a music activity with the kids?” Eddie asks.

Steve's expression lights up with a smile, and Eddie immediately feels like he's said the right thing.

Which isn't all that common of an occurrence, honestly. Makes it feel pretty damn good that he just about always gets it right with Steve.

“Doing a piano lesson later,” Steve says.

“And you're going to teach them Billy Joel?” he asks.

Steve huffs out a little laugh. “Christmas carols, actually. I was just trying to warm up a little.”

“Don't mind me,” Eddie says, plopping down at the bench next to him and leaning against him. “Warm up away. Hey, you play one I know, and I'll even sing.”

Steve's expression goes contemplative for a moment. “How about we sing together?”

“You don't have to,” Eddie says a little guiltily, kind of worried that he'd made him feel pressured.

Steve shakes his head. “I want to. What's your favorite Christmas song?”

“Carol of the Bells,” Eddie says immediately.

Steve barks out a little laugh.

“What?” Eddie demands, bumping his shoulder. “It's a good one!”

“I know,” Steve says. “It's my favorite, too. It's just not a great dueting song.”

“Nah, come on, give me some notes. We got this,” Eddie insists.

Steve rolls his eyes, but his fingers dance over the keys as he starts playing.

“Hark how the bells, sweet silver bells, all seem to say, throw cares away.” Eddie's not exactly singing so much as he's whispering the words into Steve's ear, lips brushing up right against his skin.

It makes Steve's breath catch. He tips his head to face Eddie, playing without looking.

“Christmas is here, bringing good cheer, to young and old, meek and the bold,” Steve whisper sings back. Even like this, he sounds good - Eddie can tell he must have gotten some training, but with who Steve's dad is, he's not surprised.

Eddie kind of figures that's why any musical ability Steve has would be a sore subject, so he doesn't ask about it. “Ding dong ding dong, that is their song, with joyful ring, all caroling.”

“One seems to hear, words of good cheer,” Steve sings, lips so close to Eddie's that they're practically breathing the same air. “From everywhere, filling the air.”

Steve joins him in singing, “Oh how they pound, raising the sound,” their voices melding together in a way that Eddie's not sure is technically good, but fuck it feels downright magical.

They make it through a few more verses like that, but Steve kisses him before they finish out the song, and they're too distracted to get back to it.

Really, it's not like Eddie's going to complain.

Steve's amazing with the kids, he's clearly not a terrible shower singer, and Eddie's not holding out much hope for the wet towels on the floor at this point.

Eddie just doesn't know how he got so lucky.

—

When Eddie opens the door, Chrissy immediately smacks him with a magazine, but doesn't say anything until she and Jeff have pushed their way into his apartment and shut the door behind them.

Eddie blinks at them, bewildered.

“When were you going to tell us?” she asks in a low, excited whisper.

“Tell you what?” he asks.

“He probably swore you to secrecy, right?” Jeff asks.

“Can we talk about it now that we know?” Chrissy says. “Oh, wait, you probably had to sign an NDA or something, right?”

Jeff makes a face. “Are we going to have to sign an NDA?”

“An NDA about what?” Eddie demands.

Chrissy thrusts the magazine at him, shaking it until he takes it.

Oh.

That's Steve and Robin on the cover, wearing matching Christmas sweaters, with glitter on their eyelids and cheeks and snowflakes in their hair.

He can feel his expression go a little dopey and fond, but hey, how is he supposed to help it?

Eddie assumes it's some kind of article about the Christmas gala Hawkins Hope is throwing, but the caption of the picture catches his eye as he's looking up.

Christmastime With Scoops Troop! Alistair and Hawk spill about their holiday traditions.

It's not until Eddie hears Chrissy saying, “Oh” and Jeff going, “Oh shit, you didn't know,” that Eddie realizes he's gaping.

Eddie slams his jaw shut. “No,” he says tightly, feeling a sharp stab of hurt covered up immediately by a blinding rush of anger. “No, I didn't know that my boyfriend is famous. Apparently that's something that he didn't feel was important to tell me.”

He throws the magazine down onto the couch, stalking around the living room. “Apparently Alistair likes to play games with poor, hick bartenders, make them think they've found something amazing, while Mr. Famous Douchebag is probably off laughing with his other celebrity friends about what an idiot I am.”

“Eddie,” Chrissy says, sounding a little shocked. “I don't know if that's fair.”

“Fair?” Eddie demands. “Fair would have been leaving me the hell out of however he gets his rocks off. It wasn't coming into the Hideout again and again, hanging out with us and getting to know us, all the time keeping something like this!”

“Hey,” Jeff cuts in. “Come on, man, Steve didn't owe us anything then. He was just a guy coming into a bar to get some drinks, getting along with the staff there.”

Eddie snarls, because he wants to be as furious as possible, and he isn't thrilled that Jeff's making a logical point. “Fine,” he concedes. “But he owed me something. He should have told me what I was getting into before I got too deep. I don't - what, was his plan to just keep quiet about this forever and hope I wouldn't find out? How stupid does he think I am?”

Chrissy and Jeff are silent at that, but that just deflates Eddie more than if they had tried to argue with him.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” he asks.

“Do you want to break up with him?” Chrissy asks.

Eddie startles. “No!” Then he pauses, considering. “I don't know.”

“You don't know?” Jeff prompts.

“What if all of this was a game? What if he never liked me at all, and he was just a celebrity asshole having some fun?”

“What if it wasn't?” Chrissy counters gently. “What if he's just a guy who found someone he really liked and was too scared to tell him about this?”

Eddie drops down into the couch, burying his head in his hands. “I have to talk to him, don't I?”

—

Eddie goes to talk to him.

He asks the resort staff to let Steve know that he's here, waits around in the front entrance until one of the staff tells him they got the go ahead to let Eddie wait in Steve's room.

Eddie's sitting on the bed when Steve there.

“Eddie? Are you okay, they told me you-” Steve cuts off, and Eddie's going to assume that he saw the magazine in Eddie's hands.

He can't bring himself to look up to see him, to check for sure.

“Was any of it real?” he asks. His voice comes out rough, though he manages not to sound like he's on the verge of tears.

“God, Eds, of course it's real, how can-”

“Don't,” Eddie cuts him off, harsh and sharp.

Steve makes a little wounded sound before he falls silent, and this time Eddie can't help but look up at him.

Steve looks - he looks like a fucking wreck. His eyes are wet and sad, and he looks like everything that he'd been trying to balance on his shoulders has come crashing down. Eddie wishes he could say with confidence that the guy he knows, the guy he's fallen in love with, is the same guy he's seeing now, is who Steve really is.

Still, Eddie isn't here to purposefully hurt him. Chrissy and Jeff had talked sense into him - he just wants answers.

“I don't think it's fair for you to act like I'm out of line for doubting that,” Eddie says.

Steve crumples like a wet paper bag.

“You're right,” he says, which honestly - Eddie wasn't expecting. “It's not fair, I'm sorry. Of course you'd think that if I was hiding this, what else wasn't I telling the truth about?”

Eddie rolls up the magazine to hide how his hands want to shake, crinkling it with the force of his grip. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

“Not at first,” Steve admits, lips twisted in a humorless little smile. “This summer, I just - it was nice, spending time with people who had no idea who I was. I thought that would be it, but then the more time I spent with you, the more I fell for you, and by the time I realized I didn't want to let you go, I was afraid. Afraid of your reaction, afraid of what it would mean for us. There's so many people that think they know me as Alistair, and so few that know the real me. I knew, just - even if you didn't hate me, even if you still wanted to be with me, things were going to change. I wouldn't just be Steve anymore.”

“But… you are Alistair. I'm not getting the real you unless I can have both.”

Steve swallows. “Do you want both?”

Eddie blinks at him, a little thrown. “What kind of question is that?”

“Most people want to date Alistair, the pop singer. I haven't had anyone since Nancy who knew me as Steve first, and I - I don't know. I kind of thought it would work the other way, too,” Steve admits. “That you wouldn't want any part of Alistair.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow at him. “Dude, you keep talking about Steve and Alistair like they're different people. They're both still you, right? I mean, sure, you've got to put on a different front when you're out there with the press and the celebrities, but we all do that a little. You think I act the same way with most customers that I do with you?”

“I - no. Okay, well, I hope not,” Steve adds, just a little bit teasing.

“Definitely not,” Eddie says, giving him the tiniest smile. “So if you're really in this, I want you to be in it. I don't want you to have to hide something so huge from me. I think I deserve the chance to know all of you.”

“Okay,” Steve says softly. “You're right. You're - yeah. If you still want this, if I didn't fuck everything up, then I promise no more secrets.”

Eddie lets out a slow, ragged exhale. Then, “It was real, right?”

“Every bit of it,” Steve says. He inches closer, then when Eddie doesn't stop him, he comes to sit next to him.

“Everything I've told you is true,” Steve says solemnly. “It's okay if you can't believe that yet. I promise I'll work really hard to show you.”

Eddie shakes his head. “Maybe I'm stupid, but I do believe you. There's a lot of things that make sense now.”

Thinking back on it - he doesn't think Steve ever actually directly lied to him, not once. Just by omission.

“Fuck, your dad is even worse than I thought,” Eddie swears. “I assumed you guys had a falling out because he fucked over your friends, but he fucked over you.”

“And my friends,” Steve says. “Jane, Hopper's adopted daughter - she got it the worst. I mean, it was mostly our manager, Brenner, who was the real piece of work, but it's not like my dad gave a shit.”

“Fuck him even more,” Eddie mutters. “Am I allowed to ask what happened? Will I have to sign an NDA or something?”

Steve huffs out a little laugh. “No NDAs, and yeah, you can ask. Hopper and Joyce were the ones that uncovered a lot of it, at first, and then Nancy and Jonathan did this massive push and got all the details to leak to the press. They're in investigative journalism half because of how good of a job they did. Robs and I both almost quit music after, but Joyce and Hop knew this guy who was a really good manager, and Murray knew Dimitri who had a small record label, and it just… fell together.”

Eddie narrows his eyes. “Hopper's your head of security, isn't he?”

Steve grins. “And the security for Hawkins Hope, but yeah, mostly me and Robin. Jonathan also does most of our pictures for album covers and stuff, and Argyle actually handles our PR.”

Eddie hums. “Wait, why didn't I have to sign an NDA? What if I was secretly a reporter just pretending to be a bartender?”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “But you weren't.”

“What if I was?” Eddie insists. “Or, okay, what if it didn't work out and I was the kind of guy who liked petty revenge? What if some shady paparazzi comes up to me and promises a huge pay day if I spill all of the secrets I learned?”

“You wouldn't,” Steve says confidently.

Which, okay, yes, Eddie very much appreciates Steve's trust in him and it kind of makes him feel a little gooey inside, but Eddie's on a roll and he has a point to make.

“I could!” Eddie protests. “What if I was just a huge asshole? What do Hopper and Argyle think of you dating someone without an NDA?”

“I don't think I've ever had anyone mad at me that I didn't ask them to sign an NDA,” Steve says thoughtfully.

“Well clearly you've been dating douchebags,” Eddie grumbles. “You have to look out for yourself more, okay, what if I was just the worst person in the world and - what?”

Steve's smiling at him way too fondly. “I'm pretty sure I'm in love with you,” he says softly.

Eddie's breath catches. “Is that, uh. Is that a confession, or the reason you didn't have me sign an NDA?”

“Both?” Steve admits. “Look, I know it's kind of early, so I'm not expecting -”

“No, fuck that, I'm definitely in love with you,” Eddie cuts in. “I've wanted to say it since the time you called me at work.”

“Oh,” Steve breathes out. “Still?”

“Still.” Eddie makes a little face at himself. “I do trust you, Steve. It might take me a while to get used to everything, but I don't think there's anything I'm going to learn that will change that.”

Steve kisses him, tangling his fingers in Eddie's hair.

“Come to the Christmas gala with me?” he asks.

“Won't the press and stuff be there?” Eddie says.

“Yeah. It's okay if you're not ready for that, but I - I think I'd like to tell people that I have a boyfriend. To introduce you whenever you are ready.”

Eddie considers that. He's honestly not sure he is ready, but - shit, is he ever going to feel ready? “Yeah,” he says. “Jesus, yeah, let's do it.”

“Yeah?” Steve says, his face lighting up.

“Yeah,” Eddie says again. “Just, uh, let me call my uncle and tell him first. Unless - do you want to come with me, tell him together?”

Steve kisses him again. “I'd really like that. We're still in this, still figuring this all out together, right?”

Eddie follows after him for another kiss. “Together,” he agrees.

Yeah, Eddie can handle that. As long as they're together.

#eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #stranger things #steddie fic #steddie holiday exchange #pop singer steve harrington #bartender eddie munson

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