#break up no make up

[formosusiniquis]

Price of Fame

Written for @steddieangstyaugust Day 31: I'm not going to beg you to love me

T | WC: 1044 | No Archive Warnings Apply; Break up, No Makeup; Hurt No Comfort

AO3

It had been grueling, that's what Eddie thinks he's supposed to say. Blood, sweat, and tears. They got big by being lucky, the humble answer. They had been in the right place at the right time after working their asses off and now they're bigger than the biggest. Corroded Coffin is a household name used in the same sentences as Metallica and Sabbath.

And the honest answers to those interview questions about success, he always knew they fucking would be. It was a foregone conclusion in his mind, everyone else just had to catch up. They worked for it, blood and sweat that part probably is true. But what is it they always say? If you love what you do you never work a day in your life, Eddie thinks there's some truth to that too.

It's hard being on the road. But they got big and they stay big by touring, so Jeff wracks up a nasty bill at every hotel they manage to get calling the wife back home, Gareth keeps a girlfriend in every state, and he doesn't know what Freak's deal is. But the perk of being queer as a three dollar bill, Eddie can spend his nine months a year on the road and come back to Steve like nothing's changed. It's different with guys, with them. Cause Steve gets it, he's always been their biggest supporter. He knows the music comes first, the guys are Eddie's family, and he doesn't complain or ask for anything more than the time Eddie is able to give him.

It'll be a longer stretch at home this time, nearly a month, and Eddie is pushing open the door to the apartment he keeps for Steve already thinking about all the ways they can spend the time.

All to trip over a bag in the floor. Dropping his behind him with a thump, the old army surplus duffle that's been as faithful to him as his boyfriend hitting the ground with a smack that brings the man of the hour out from the bedroom. He's got another bag over his shoulder, something expensive looking and stylish that Eddie wonders if he bought.

“Did I forget to tell you I was coming home?”

“Well it wouldn't be the first time,” Steve's voice is sharp and clipped. Face pinched in a way that conjures memories of his mother, the one time Eddie met her.

“If you've got a trip with Robin planned change it, I'll only-”

“Be in town for a few days?” Steve asks. “So I should keep putting my life on hold for the few minutes that you can pencil me in? Change my plans because you've blown into town and just like always Eddie Munson's plans are more important than anyone else's.”

“I thought you'd be happy to see me?”

The question brings a quiet like the eye of the storm, he can already feel the whipping wind starting to push back in around him, smell the ozone in the air; but those words halt everything for a second.

Then Steve breaks.

“I am happy, Eddie,” there's a wet shine in his eye and he knows better than to think Steve is going to give him the satisfaction of letting a single one fall. “That's the worst part. I'm happy every time you walk through the door but I can't fucking survive only being happy one week out of every nine.”

A DM at heart, he can't stand a problem that no one will bring a solution to. Spits the way he would when Gareth would bitch about combat balance, “Then fu-”

“Call a hotel you haven't left the number to?” Steve is vicious, stealing the satisfaction of the curse from between his still pursed lips. “I spent my whole fucking childhood doing that, and I'm not doing it anymore. I-”

He looks down at his feet, at Eddie's, the sprawl of the pristine leather suitcase he moved in with years ago, his grandfather's Eddie remembers. Rather, he remembers the fond way Steve had talked about it.

“I'm done,” he says more to the kicked over luggage than he does to the man he is leaving. “I'm gonna stay at Robin's, she's waiting.”

Desperation claws at the back of Eddie's throat, but what makes it out is his father. “You can't leave.”

Fury lurks at the bottom of the water in Steve's red rimmed eyes. An anger Eddie can feel as they snap to his. “Why not? There's no prenup, no lawyers to get involved. I can walk right out the door you're standing in the way of and you can keep on being Eddie Munson, mysterious bachelor of Corroded Coffin.”

“There is no me without you,” he tries, but even saying it he can hear how it rings hollow off the barren hallway walls.

Steve likes to yell, likes to get loud, has told Eddie it's the only way he could make sure that there was life in the big empty house he grew up in was to make sure he could hear his bouncing off the walls. So he's ready to be yelled at. Ready for whatever Steve wants to scream in his face before they move back into the kitchen or to the bedroom where they'll find normal again.

So he almost doesn't hear the whispered way his relationship slips away. “I'm not going to beg you to love me. I can't do that again.”

“Steve, no, Stevie I do. I do love you. Of course I love you, all of this is for you. All of everything is for you, we can work this out. Just stay.” He begs, babbles, pleads as Steve moves with a silent assuredness close enough to pick up his bag.

“Goodbye, Eddie, I really am so proud of you.” Sincerity rings through in every word, just like he can feel that bittersweet love in Steve's last kiss to the corner of his mouth.

The door clicks shut between them and Eddie is alone. Alone holding the scraps of a broken heart he won't be able to write a song about and with an answer he can't give to his least favorite interview question. What's been the cost of your meteoric rise to fame?