#photographer!Eddie Munson

[madaboutmunson]

And I'm sorry you were thinking I would steal your fire

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Link to fic overview and all parts

Chapter Summary: The morning after where Steve attempts to process the night before

Author Notes: Songs that were inspirational whilst writing this chapter:

Heart In A Cage - The Strokes Lovefool - The Cardigans

Tags/Warnings for whole fic: rockstar!AU; band; touring; music industry; alternate universe; drug usage; alcohol abuse; performing; enemies to lovers; road trip; stobin; platonic stobin; platonic with a capital P; canon typical violence; angst; masochism; fist fight; smut; fluff;

Word Count: 6.3K

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Steve attempts to open his eyes and manages one. The other is shut tight and stings. In fact, the more he becomes conscious, the more his entire body aches. He makes a mental note to call down for some painkillers. 

As he becomes more aware of his body and his eyes adjust to his surroundings, he finds himself not laid out on his back as usual but curled up on his side. For the first time in maybe half a decade, no one is touching him, draped across him, or snoring in his ear. It's just him and the soft cotton sheets beneath. He shifts his legs slightly and feels a little burn in his thighs but welcomes moving to the cooler area of the bedding.

His mind does a violently quick slideshow of last night. His finger subconsciously runs over his lips, and there is a slight sting when he accidentally brushes over a cut. Mine, he thinks to himself. Though he knows it was probably just heat of the moment, cock-drunk words, alone he allows himself to hold them closer than he should. He knows Eddie could never feel like that about him, not after all the trouble he caused. 

And doesn't that just fucking land the most brutal blow of all?

Steve rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. His reflection is not staring right back for a change, and he can't pick out all his imperfections, but he didn't need a mirror for that game. Most of them weren't visible anyway. At least today, his outsides match his insides. 

Sure, he built Eddie into something he wasn't. He'd ruined Eddie's life and couldn't pursue anything anyway. Not with everything hanging in the balance. But fuck if he wouldn't leap at the chance if he had it. Eddie was right. When he'd walked through the door to that meeting, he'd stopped him in his tracks entirely. Steve didn't really believe in love at first anything, not anymore, but he knew a hot guy when he saw one. Not only hot but talented and passionate about what he does. The way he talked about his ex, he probably loves ferociously, as evident from last night, rage-fuelled or not, he can definitely fuck ferociously, not that Steve had anything to compare him to, only women and the odd blow or hand job from a guy. He can already tell that sitting down anywhere would be interesting today but fucking worth it, he smiles to himself.

He'd never imagined it could be so good. The first orgasm was incredible, but that second time, he actually thought he'd died, completely lost himself for a few seconds, utterly checked out. That feeling was dangerous, addictive, even. Because if there is a sensation Steve enjoyed most, it is not being trapped in reality. This was different, though. The way his body felt so charged, then that blip of absolute stillness, then after how his skin felt like it was humming, and his head was full of cotton candy, and then all he could see, think or comprehend was Eddie.

Maybe that's what made him reach out for him? Like he was a lifesaver that Steve so desperately needed. So he'd copied him, made Eddie taste how he'd ruined him, and called him his own because he wanted it so badly right then and there.

For those final moments to last forever, so neither of them would ever have to go back to before, remember why they were fighting, or have to deal with the aftermath between them or anyone else.

He is struggling to put into words for himself what he's feeling. It's not love. He doesn't even know Eddie, not that that's ever stopped Steve from immediately thinking he was in love before, but he's had his fingers burned many times now. He knows it doesn't work that way, but he knows he wants him. Wants him over and over, more than a drink, more than a line, more than a pill, more than a fat pay cheque. But it's also more than just want. That's too crude, and it's more precious than purely some wanton lust.

And then there was after. When Eddie lay back on him, catching his breath, he looked so beautiful. He completely collapsed in Steve's arms, like he was free of everything weighing him down for a minute. Steve would have loved to have stayed longer in that bubble, but he was afraid of saying something ridiculous and genuinely worried about covering up as much as he could.

A manly fight he could get away with, but a manly fuck, no way. He'd save that thought for Robin later. She might find that funny if she wasn't pissed at him too.

Steve worries he'd show too much of his soft underbelly to Eddie. Showering with him, getting him a warm towel, asking him to stay. Maybe the positive side of that could be he wouldn't have to pretend so much around him? Well, for however long that might be. He just didn't want to be too far from him, that was all, and not in a possessive or horny way, but almost like he needed Eddie near for a little longer. Like Steve had moulted his shell, and he needed Eddie to protect his vulnerable state until a new one grew back. He usually didn't want to wake up alone purely for his ego's needs, for adoration, not safety.

He turns his head to the side, and the bed is empty. He trails his hand over the bedding where he would have slept. He picks up a pillow and sniffs at it, but it doesn't smell anything like him, not a trace of that musky, metallic, woody, leathery scent from sex, violence and cologne. The pillow just reeks of the shared products in the shower.

He holds it against himself anyway and stares up at the ceiling. He hears footsteps approaching and prepares himself for the incoming lecture from someone, slowly shuts his eyes and braces for impact.

"Ah, you're awake. Any idea where the coffee machine is?" Eddie asks, and Steve's stomach drops so hard he feels like the mattress swallows him up and spits him back out.

"What are you doing here?" Steve blurts out, even though he knows that's not what he means. He's trying to get over the fact Eddie actually stayed.

Eddie looks awkwardly around the room, adorably screws up his face, "You, um, you kinda asked me too. You don't remember?" He asks, starting to look a little worried.

Steve swallows nervously and quickly plays it off, "Of course, wasn't gonna make you walk past Buckley on your own, now was I?" He adds an extra detail, an innocent one, to ease Eddie's concerns about him being out of it or high or something. He remembered he asked about him taking anything last night. He hadn't. He was just having the fucking time of his life. 

Steve wonders if it would have mattered how he'd answered that question? If he'd said yes, would Eddie have tried to get away with something wholly debauched, or would he have stopped all proceedings. That thought makes his mouth dry, but he can't decide if the nervousness is from fear, excitement or both.

Steve tries to sit up quickly and immediately regrets it because the pain is incredible, and he's sore in places he never thought he could be. Still, he tries not to show it, just bites his lips together, "We don't make the coffee," and checks the time. It's like five in the morning. The trolley wouldn't be outside yet, but he could call it earlier. "We call for it." He smiles, dials the front desk, requests some painkillers and relays Eddie's order, "Shouldn't be long. They're really the best staff here." Steve enthuses, but his smile fades slightly when he sees the darkened bruising on Eddie's face and neck.

"Eddie, can I just say something?" He asks but doesn't wait for Eddie's permission. He needs to get this out, "I don't expect forgiveness or anything. I just wanna say I'm sorry." He turns his back to Eddie as he talks, "I got obsessed with the photo, and I should never have posted my frustrations publically, but believe me when I say I was stupid enough not to understand the implications of that, and no one told me anything had happened to your business after. I just thought you were busy being successful, like me, and I couldn't work out why you continually didn't want to work with me again. I'm just an idiot, Eddie. I didn't mean any malice." He wraps his arms around himself, "And yesterday, when you said the photo was meaningless, I just lost my mind. I can't explain too much, and this also isn't me trying to make an excuse. I just wanted to give some context. It was just all I had at points. The hope that one person in the universe really saw me. Even though they were a stranger, I had the evidence in print, or so I thought." 

He turns his head to look back at Eddie, who's sitting on the other side of the bed, his back turned to him, too, "I'm sorry, I got that wrong, and if I can in any way repair anything I did, please give me a chance to do that. I know we're not gonna be buddies, but if you're happy to and they let us, maybe we can at least finish these projects civilly? Then we can both leave with something; if not, I have connections. I've got more money than I know what to do with," he laughs awkwardly and, in a panic, quickly adds, "N-not like in a charity way. Not like that at all. I just want to…If you're happy with it, try and fix what I broke."

For a while, there is quiet.

"You think they'll let us?" Eddie asks. Steve can't read Eddie's tone if he's hopeful or wants the label to give him an easy way out of this whole thing. His heart stirs groggily in its cage anyway.

"I don't know, honestly. I think there is enough contractual red tape to make it not worth their time to sift through, but, you know, at least we got some shots, and we did a bit for your book on the plane, right? It's not like we don't have anything at all." Steve forces a laugh, trying to make light of everything, even though he feels like he's collapsing inside, enduring the longest goodbye.

"Yeah. You're right." Eddie agrees. There is another patch of silence, and Steve loathes it because his thoughts are so loud. He really needs to shut off, but he doesn't have anything. He can feel himself get antsy at the prospect.

Steve gingerly shifts his position on the bed to turn to see him. "I don't mind doing a little more now if you like?" Eddie's head snaps to the side, looking slightly alarmed. Steve quickly realises how his words might be misunderstood and turns his head away. "Of the-the interview, I mean, for the book. Your book." he stumbles awkwardly over his words, a little embarrassed.

"You sure?" Eddie asks.

Steve, eager to regain any crumb of his rockstar cred that he can, snorts out a laugh, "Yeah, man, I pretty much have interviews all the time. It's part of the job, you know? Though I'm assuming you don't have any thirst tweets for me to read out?" Steve tries a little humour, and it works.

"Unfortunately not, Ha-Steve. Unfortunately not," Eddie chuckles, and Steve's heart wrestles at its bars because it didn't miss how he'd corrected himself over his name. "Could you maybe go for some background questions? Or is that too personal? I can keep it to just music if you prefer?" 

Steve's brain does prefer that. Stick to now. The music. That's what it said the project was about. It's not an autobiography. They already have two people lined up for that. But, whilst Steve knows all of that is correct, he is completely distracted by his feral withered heart gnawing at its prison, foaming at the mouth to tell Eddie anything, everything, let him know you, see you. 

"Background is fine, but there are some things that I can't tell you, ok? It's label stuff, and I dunno if someone found your tape and leaked it, it could have some real dire consequences for many people." Steve tries to sound business-like, as his mom taught him to do in stressful situations.

There is a gentle knock at the door, and Eddie jumps up to get it, and Steve has to painfully chase him down, "You aren't supposed to be here," he whispers, catching his breath, resists marginally from touching Eddie's shoulder to make him step back, but they both look at his hand braced to do so. Steve briskly turns to the door to open it. 

A uniformed young lady stands on the other side of the trolley. Fuck he should have waited. He leans in the doorway, pops his hip out, turns up the Harrington, lowers his tone and volume, and slows down. "Mornin', sugar," he drawls," Thanks for bringing this up early." He beams brightly and watches her eyes widen, her phone clutched in one hand. He gestures to it. "Do you mind if we don't? Not looking my best." He laughs charmingly, and the girl relaxes. He pulls the trolley into the room but keeps his attention on her, "You got anything for me to sign, honey?" Without tearing her eyes from his, she rolls up her sleeve and extends her inner forearm to him, "Sure thing…." 

"Angela!" She says quickly.

"Oh well, at least that's an easy one for me. You're mostly Angel, right?" He laughs at his own joke and raises an eyebrow, and the nervous, wild giggle that spills out of her is hilarious.

He takes the pen and gently holds her arm. He knows the line enough to get them all excited, not enough that it makes him look like a skeevy letch. He writes her name and repeats it for her again as he signs her skin. That's the kind of thing they like to hear. "There you go, honey. Actually, wait a second," she's busy gawping at her arm, tracing it with her finger. He quickly heads to one of the boxes in the room. He comes back with some merch, "Here you go. Hot off the press program, which is already signed, with some exclusive fan club stuff and a T-shirt they haven't released yet. Not on sale until the first show," She's beaming for a second, but her eyes trace over him again.

"Are you sure everything is ok, Mr Harrington? I could get one of the on-site medical staff?" She asks meekly.

A concern sweeps over him. Pictures will be taken of him and Eddie, both with bruises, and it will be hard to cover up, but he could attempt to get in first. He looks around, his voice falling to a whisper, and he leans in towards her, "Listen, just between you and me. I ran into some people who didn't like me very much. It got a bit physical, but my friend got me out of there, even though they suffered for that too."

"Robin Buckley?" She says excitedly, and that's when Steve knows he's got a real fan on his hands.

"Unfortunately not, if Robin had been there. I know they wouldn't have even gotten one punch in," he gives her another dazzling smile, and she nods affirmatively. "Anyway, I better get these painkillers down me. It was so lovely to meet you, Angela. Hope to see you at the show." He beams and waits for her to walk away before closing the door.

Only to be immediately confronted with Eddie, and he nearly jumps out of his skin, "What happened to I'm not supposed to be here?" he says, worry etched on his face.

"I know, and you aren't, but the thing is, she saw me, and if what you said about my fans is true, that they don't like you, and they see you fucked up too, which they will by the way because this place will be crawling with photographers tonight, then they are gonna put two and two together. Whereas now, we've got in first. So, there will be at least two sides to it. She'll post about all of this now, and it'll go viral. She'll love the attention. She'll get haters and people on her side," Steve says reassuringly, "One side will think you saved me," Steve says, accidentally searching Eddie's eyes for a second before quickly turning to the trolley and pushing it through to another small seating area, that didn't contain his last night events staged area. "Go get your stuff, dude," Steve says, trying to sound impatient, but he doesn't look at Eddie except to watch him leave the room.

Steve takes the opportunity to ease himself into an armchair and grab a coffee and some painkillers. He looks at the breakfast spread of actual food. He can't remember the last time he actually ate breakfast. He pours a coffee for himself and ignores it all for now. He hadn't meant to say it like that, not saved me . He meant stepped in or got me out of there. He thinks about the choice of words and wonders if that is a subconscious thing. Does he feel saved, or at least is he starting to?

Eddie barrels back into the room. With a small notepad and dictaphone at the ready, he gets totally distracted by the trolley and nearly trips over the coffee table. "Jesus, dude, watch where you're going!" Steve exclaims, quickly reaching out and grabbing the back of his t-shirt, stopping him just in time.

They both look at where Steve is holding onto him, and he lets go, "Help yourself to whatever, man. Just don't brain yourself in the process." Steve says it like he's reprimanding a kid. A tingling sensation rushes from his hand that had been bunched in the material up his arm, and his mind flashes to how he'd wound Eddie's T-shirts around his fingers to pull him closer last night. He quickly shakes it off and wraps his hands around his coffee mug instead, waiting for his insides to stop backflipping.

"You not hungry?" Eddie asks, piling some food on a plate, and though he tries not to look, he feels compelled to, like if he doesn't, it might be the end of the world. He shakes his head in a no and then watches Eddie do something entirely mundane, but Steve is completely transfixed, taking in every detail he can, like Eddie's moving in slow motion. 

Steve's watching Eddie's dexterous fingers selectively pick apart the breakfast trolley, like he'd plucked at the worn ties holding Steve together last night, watches him taste small samples with that mouth that trailed over him, made him bend to its will, swallowed up his sounds of ecstasy for its own, and he's desperately trying not to watch it work around a fresh strawberry. Eddie wields his weapons like he doesn't know they're lethal.

"You sure you aren't hungry, man? Is it-Is it because someone normally fixes you a plate?" Eddie looks at him, a little confused, "Do you need me to fix you a plate?"

"Huh? No, um, I don't normally eat breakfast. Buckley usually brings me my breakfast , but it's a little early." Steve says with an awkward smile, air quoting around breakfast. 

Eddie's nose scrunches up, and it's impossibly cute, "Then why do you order the….ohhhh got it. For your guests," Eddie laughs, then goes a little quiet, sits on the floor next to the coffee table and begins wolfing down his food, almost at an alarming rate.

Steve laughs, "Are you worried someone's gonna steal it, or is it just that good?" he teases.

"No!" Eddie says with his mouth full, then dabs his mouth, finishes his mouthful and starts over, "No. I'm just in a hurry because I wanna ask you more stuff, but I'm also so hungry I could eat a mammoth." His hands and arms animate his words, his eyes are wide with exuberance, and Steve adores that completely. Is this him? Is he seeing a genuine part of Eddie now? He tries to keep hold of the moment.

"How about we put the recorder nearer me? You ask your questions, and I can still answer if you're eating. Rather that than you choke to death on….what is that?" Steve says, confused, looking at his plate.

"Well, it's, er, you know, a half pancake, half-waffle, bacon, hash brown, strawberry and maple syrup taco-thing, of course" he pushes out a fake laugh like Steve should know what this is.

"A what now?" Steve says, even more confused.

"It's a piggy-spud-berry breakfast taco," he says with a grin, taking a much smaller nibble.

"Well, first of all, wow, that sounds insane, and second of all, this is all vegan, so it's a non-piggy-spud-berry breakfast taco." Steve corrects, still with a bit of concern in his voice.

"We'll colour me impressed because I did not know this was fake, and the only insane thing about this marvellous creation is the taste. Flavour town population me!" He takes another bite but stops with a smile, "Wanna try it?"

"No!" Steve replies like it's the most ridiculous thing he's ever been asked. He watches the mischief spread over Eddie's smile.

"Oh my god, you so do wanna try it!" He laughs.

"I'm quite happy with my coffee, thanks." Steve frowns and shakes his head.

"Ok, ok. Fine." He presses record on the dictaphone and pushes it in front of Steve, "So I know you were born in Indiana like me, but where did you grow up?"

"Hawkins," Steve answers, and Eddie's head snaps towards him. He frowns at first and then shakes his head.

"No. Not possible," he says, turning back to his breakfast monstrosity.

"What do you mean? Not possible. I was born in Hawkins. I left my first junior year of high school." Steve laughs at Eddie's audacity in telling him his own history was impossible.

Eddie turns to him again, "Because I lived in Hawkins, too! Moved in with my uncle in middle school. Left when I graduated. First time, I might add, which no one saw coming" Eddie raises his eyebrows at Steve, "So you can't be from Hawkins. Otherwise, I would have known you. I had my own metal band. We would have been friends, acquaintances for sure!" He laughs.

"A metal band in Hawkins? How old are you?" Steve asks quickly.

"I'm a year older than you, dude," Eddie answers, "Anyway, I'm interviewing you, so tell me where you really grew up."

"In Hawkins! I just told you that. Wait, wait. We're you in…uh…. don't tell me….Constricted Coffin?" Steve says, wracking his brain.

"Corroded, and how the fuck did you know that?" Eddie says, turning to him again.

"Because I was there! There was a cheer performance, and when we moved up to high school, they would be our cheer squad possibly, so we over dramatically decided all of us had to go to support them because eventually, they'd be supporting us or some bullshit like that" Steve says cringing a little.

"Wait…us… were you a fucking Jock?" Eddie says, his mouth wide open in surprise.

"Yeah, well, kinda, I guess co-swim captain, played basketball," he shrugs.

"Holy shit!" Eddie says, staring at Steve and taking a bite from his breakfast taco, "So ok, now we've established this is absolutely insane. Why did you leave?"

"I got scouted by a modelling agency whilst drowning my sorrows." 

"In your junior year?"

"Yes! I was seeing this girl, she went a bit weird on me," Steve lies, but it's not Eddie's business, that is top secret shit, "I wanted to apologise, climbed up to her window and she was already trying to get it on with this other guy. I'm an idiot, so I stomped to my car and told my friends. They tried to wind me up about fighting with this guy, and then they suggested going out, and the rest is history."

"So you were underage drinking, and a modelling agency picked you up?"

"Yep. That's about it."

"You were a very young man in a bar, and someone much older than you said, 'Hey, wanna be a model?' And you were like, 'Yeah', and they emitted some evil laugh, I suppose and dragged you into the night? Is that what you're trying to tell me?" Eddie asks sarcastically.

"Well, it didn't quite go like that. I got their card, called them the next day, and got signed up," Steve shrugs.

Eddie narrows his eyes and pinches the thumb and forefinger of his hand together tightly, "Do you have any idea how dangerous that could have been? Hmmm? That could have been some rapist maniac serial killer." Steve just laughs. 

"Well, they weren't. Otherwise, I wouldn't be here, now would I? I'm a big boy. I can take care of myself," Steve says, laughing at Eddie's concern for his past self.

"Says the big boy who won't eat his breakfast," Eddie shakes his head. Now, when he said big boy, that sounded a lot different, at least to Steve's ears and heart rate anyway.

"God, you're such a fucking nag!" Steve pretends to be annoyed and leans towards the plate again, "Go on then, let's try this culinary horror show." Steve makes a show of rolling his eyes, but his heart is pounding being this close again. He hopes it doesn't show. Eddie excitedly starts cutting him up a piece, making sure there is a little of everything and stabs it with a fork.

"Here we go," Eddie says with a huge toothy grin as he moves the fork towards Steve's mouth as if he is going to feed it to him. Steve looks a little confused, and Eddie seems a little nervous.

Steve gently takes the fork from his hand, brushes their fingers together minimally and feeds the mouthful to himself. Eddie watches him the entire time.

"Well? The verdict?"

Steve has been chewing over the sickeningly sweet morsel with the occasional blast of bacon flavour and the odd texture combination tumbling over in his mouth. But his face doesn't show a modicum of disgust because not a metre from his face is a wide-eyed, encouraging, beaming, handsome man making his imprisoned heart pound so hard in his chest it is bending the cage bars with each one. Steve doesn't want to peel his eyes away, but he also can't stare blankly like a maniac, so he pretends to mull over the flavours, pulling faces of thoughtfulness, surprise, alarm, confusion, whatever he can think of, and each one seems to make Eddie smile more until he laughs, and with his prize won Steve settles back in his armchair. 

"I think it might be an acquired taste." Steve smiles into his coffee cup with his secrets, and there is a quiet patch. Steve hates it. He wants to say so many things, wants to ask so many things, none of which he can permit himself to, of course. He hears a click, and his eyes shoot to Eddie's hand on the voice recorder.

"Wanna get our story straight?" Eddie asks, not looking at him. Steve almost blushes and laughs at his wording because whatever they hope to hide with this story, it sure as hell is not straight. 

"Is the interview over, then?" Steve questions carefully. Keeping to the subject at hand, but that isn't really what he's asking.

Eddie pushes the remaining food around his plate and replies, "I figure if we don't fuck up the cover story, they'll believe us, maybe? Then this doesn't have to be over, does it?"

Steve's brain knows Eddie is talking about their respective projects, but his rabid heart is bending back the bars of its cell now, trying to squeeze itself through, clawing at the air towards Eddie, but it can't quite make it. It tuckers itself out and is left panting on the floor of its cage.

"I guess the easiest thing to go for is sports, right? Drunk people fight about the stupidest things. Maybe you slated The Bulls or something?" Steve suggests with a shrug, and Eddie looks at him wide-eyed like he's trying his very best not to burst out laughing but folds his arms instead.

"What could I have said about your precious Bulls that would have instigated a physical fight between us?" he asks with a smile.

"That they were shit last season," Steve says matter-of-factly, and that pulls a low hearty chuckle from Eddie.

"No one is gonna buy that, dude," he laughs, waving his hands in front of himself.

"Eddie, I've been playing this game of hide and very little seek with the label, the fans, and the media for some time. The simpler, the better. Trust me," 

"And what if they grill me on that, huh? Then what?"

"You frown at them like they're complete weirdos and say, I don't fucking know, I was drunk," Steve smiles broadly and quickly turns it down a few levels.

"You seem well-practised," Eddie says, returning to his food. Steve detects a hint of something, surely not jealousy, resentment maybe.

"At lying to people that hate what I am, yeah, at tidying up hotel rooms only to stage a mess, no," that gets him a side glance from Eddie. He leans over and clicks to start recording again.

"So your modelling career is fairly well documented already, but how did you jump ship into music? Has it always been something you enjoyed?" Eddie asks in his best news anchor voice, and Steve ducks his head down to hide his smile before replying.

"Well, here's an exclusive for you. They asked me to join a boyband first," Steve chuckles, and he looks over to see Eddie's mouth dropped wide open in shock.

"No fucking way. There is no way that's true!" Eddie folds his arms, but a colossal smile erupts on his face.

"I swear, dude. I swear." Steve can't help but mirror him this time, and the laughter is spilling out of them both now, and it feels so good. Almost like friends. Almost like two guys that hadn't tried to knock one another out less than twelve hours ago.

"I just can't imagine it, you all like," Eddie makes some vague, robot arm movements, and Steve can't hold back any longer. The laugh that bursts from him is loud, unashamed and unreserved.

"Please do not tell me that is what you think dancing is," he manages to say between laughs, trying to catch his breath, clutching his sides.

"You don't like my moves? Consider me crushed!" Eddie clasps his hands together and punches himself in the chest.

He's a jester, Steve thinks as he barely holds on to his mask. The smile of fondness warming his cheeks, the giggles threatening just behind the surface that he is sure his heart might use as a crowbar if he lets them happen. He swallows them down and clears his throat, quickly turning away from Eddie's newly trailing gaze and pleased smirk.

Clearly, he likes to entertain as much as the next person in his own way. "Insults aside, Steve, what happened with the boyband?" 

"I think they went with someone else in my place after I turned down the opportunity. I can't say too much because of NDAs and the like, but all I'm saying is they've done very well for themselves!" Steve sips his coffee and notices Eddie looking at him with wide wonder. If he'd been on a seat, he'd be on the edge of it right now.

"And then what happened?" Eddie bores the question into Steve's eyes with his own gorgeous, huge brown ones. He'd think they almost looked innocent if he didn't know the truth. It makes him feel unusual as if he has something to lure Eddie in with now.

Steve reclines more in his seat, "And then, they left me alone for a while. Got invited to some awards show I had no business being at. The red carpet question was about secret talents. I said I could play the guitar, and my agent's phone blew up as soon as it aired. So, it's not really the hard work playing dive joints that most rockstars go through. I asked you to, you know, but the money wasn't there, I guess? I know that fucking pisses people off too, but I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere until the fans, like you said, move onto the new thing."

He sees Eddie's expression fall to something like regret, and he knows he's said the wrong thing.

"Eddie, I didn't mean to bring that up like that. I just meant that's just how it goes in the public eye. You ride the wave of popularity as long as you can before you fall into obscurity, and then, if you're lucky, someone uses one of your old tracks in a cover, show, movie, or social media trend, and you get a renewed interest in your stuff and can get back on the surfboard for a while. So many artists have been through it now. It would be madness to think it wouldn't happen to anyone."

Eddie doesn't seem won over by his words, but before he can apologise, there is a click at the door, and Steve freezes in his chair.

"Mr H?" Buckley's voice rings out, and he instantly relaxes.

"Yeah, come in, Buckley," Steve says, and Eddie quickly scurries to standing. He looks terrified, so he lets his old instincts win and moves to stand in front of him, but Buckley glares around him intensely.

"Still here, I see?" She sneers at Eddie.

"Stand down, Buckley. It's ok. It was pretty even. Look at us," He gestures between himself and Eddie, and he doesn't miss the tiny twitch at the corner of Eddie's mouth when their eyes meet for a fleeting moment. Maybe he hadn't totally blown it.

"Yeah, well, it makes me look shit at my job, so forgive me a little annoyance!" She says, setting down the small case that instinctively makes Steve brush the end of his nose and lick his lips discreetly.

He thinks he can already feel the judgement from Eddie, and Buckley is already pissed, luckily most of it seems to be directed at Eddie, so he tries something to appease them both, "Might save that until after we get hauled in, Buckley. I had some actual breakfast this morning," he awkwardly laughs and hopes for the best, as Buckley stops in her tracks.

As she turns, she looks between them, and her expression softens before returning to something tougher again, "Sure thing, Mr H."

"Hey, I should get going," Eddie says, quickly gathering up his things and almost stumbling over the furniture as he retrieves his bag from the other room.

Robin waits until he's fussing out of sight. She gestures after him and whispers, "He stayed? I thought you'd snuck him out somehow."

Steve looks bashfully at the floor and then back up at her, "I asked him to," he says quietly.

"Steve, what is going on? What happened? Oh my god, did it happen? Like it?" She's still whispering but much more animated and getting closer. Steve cannot bring himself to look at her, but the jingle of Eddie's wallet chain breaks him out of his embarrassment and makes her retreat from him into her military stance.

Eddie comes into view, backpack on top of his jacket, and looks between them, "Ah, so yeah, um, I, er, gonna go," he juts his thumb at the door.

Steve notices the cut-up t-shirt in his hand, and something like envy rises in him. Yes, it's Eddie's T-shirt, but he wants it. He made it what it is. He should be allowed one keepsake. It should be his. He can still see clearly in his mind how the blade sliced through it so effortlessly, fell open to reveal the man underneath it, and lost in thought, he finally catches himself staring at it. 

He looks up into Eddie's eyes. He can feel this is goodbye in his bones, which must be what emboldens him because he soon finds himself stepping towards Eddie and taking the t-shirt out of his hands, "I can take care of that for you, man. Don't want anyone getting a shot of you leaving here with that, you know? You said it wasn't sentimental, right?" Steve asks, knowing, or at least hoping, his words send Eddie back to that moment.

Eddie nods and rubs the back of his neck, "Yeah. Thanks. Saves me dealing with it," he half-smiles, "I'll, um, get yours back to you," he looks up at Buckley, "somehow." and with that, he turns to leave, and Steve grips the cotton in his hand tightly, until it hurts, because he needs to put his feelings about this heart-cracking goodbye somewhere. Eddie opens the door but stops dead in his tracks just before stepping through it. He looks over his shoulder at Steve, "I'm sorry," he says and leaves.

Robin closes the door, waits a little while until Eddie's footsteps can no longer be heard, and then turns to Steve. He looks him up and down, "How bad of a situation are we in?"

"Oh really fuckin' bad," Steve says with a half smile as Robin wraps him in a hug.

[morganbritton132]

Someone posts on their Twitter account, “I walked pass this restaurant on my lunch break and there was this gay couple on the patio, oohing and awing into a phone about seeing their little girl. When I walked past them, they were FaceTiming a cat.”

Jonathan replies to this tweet with a picture of Steve and Eddie at a restaurant and he asks, “Was it these idiots or is someone else in the same layer of hell as me?”

They reply, “Yeah, that was them.”

[nerdnameddinkey]

worked on the designs of spicy six for my Night School steddie AU! 👀

here’s them separately!

[a-lilguy]

[strangersatellites]

It had all started in Photography 101. 

All he had needed was one more elective added to his schedule for the fall semester to be considered a full-time student. It was Robin who had suggested photography.

Steve had never had that great of a memory to begin with, the numerous blows to the head from juvenile high school fights certainly doing him no favors. Sometimes the amount of time it took to jog Steve’s memory surpassed the time it would’ve taken to simply tell him the story as if he hadn’t been there himself. 

He was always able to grasp the memory eventually, but sometimes they were slippery in his mind. 

He and Robin had found that his memory was ten times better if he had something to look at. Sometimes that was a souvenir from a trip, sometimes it was a takeout menu with his order circled in red pen, sometimes it was a physical scar on his skin from some silly injury. But most of the time it was pictures. 

Steve took to taking photos of everything. His friends, his food, the landscape, a book with a pretty cover, anything he wanted to be able to remember.

The walls of his room grew to be covered with polaroids and prints, some staged, most not. Many blurry and out of focus, but in the moment just the same. 

So when Robin suggested Photography 101, Steve saw an opportunity to take something he did for his own benefit and turn it into something he really enjoyed, something he was good at. 

The semester was a breeze and Steve flourished under the attention of his professor. He was constantly drowning in compliments about the movement in his photos and his eye for composition. 

(Robin would tell him on several occasions that she had never seen him enjoy something this much.)

By the time the semester was coming to a close, he was left with one final project. The professor had been intentionally very vague in her description of it throughout the semester, so Steve was a little on edge. 

Sitting in the front row of the small classroom, he twirled the strap of his camera around his fingers while he daydreamed. The room slowly filled and the professor settled in behind her desk. 

About five minutes after class was supposed to have begun Steve noticed they were all still sitting in silence. Glancing at the professor he saw her brows furrow and a frustrated lilt to her lips as she looked at her watch.

What are we waiting for? 

She stood and dusted off her pants before clapping her hands together.

“Well,” she began, “I guess we can go ahead and get start–”

The door at the back of the room swung open and knocked against the wall with a resounding slam.

“Shit! Fuck! So sorry I’m late. Traffic was a bitch.”

Steve is so caught off guard by the man who just burst into the room that he barely even registers the words he’s saying. 

He’is tall and all lanky muscle, dark curls and jewelry, tattoos and the smell of smoke, chains and leather and everything Steve’s not. Everything nobody in this class is.

He’s even more caught off guard when his professor laughs and pulls the man into a tight hug. There are only five other students in this class, surely he’s not the only person confused.

He keeps an arm around her shoulders as she introduces him to the group.

“Guys, this is Eddie. He’s a family friend and he’s going to be your subject for your final project.”

Steve’s own eyebrows furrow as he tries to understand how this was the project she has been keeping under wraps. They’ve had plenty of portrait sessions this semester, with models and subjects of their choice alike.

The guy, Eddie, claps a hand to his chest in a dramatic show of faux humility. 

“Thank you for having me, Joyce. It's such an honor to be here.”

She smacks at his arm and carries on.

“So, Eddie is your subject and you have no parameters. The only requirement is that he is the inspiration for your shoot. This can look like a standard portrait session, this can be contemporary urban street photography, whatever you like. Eddie does not even have to be in the photo! He just has to be the inspiration for it.”

Steve's brain is already running a mile a minute, conceptualizing shots faster than he can keep up. 

Dingy bars, backseats of cars, details of his eclectic style.

But one idea sticks out from the rest. As Steve lifts his eyes to Eddie once more and meets his own twinkling with mirth and smirking back at him he makes his decision.

He’s going to take his mugshot.

*****

“I want to take your mugshot.”

They’re at the campus coffee shop. Joyce had scheduled a few hours for Eddie to meet with the other students during their class time so they could talk through their projects.

Eddie barks out a laugh. “What, man?”

Steve twirls his straw around his drink and tries not to bristle at the reaction.

“Look,” he starts, running a nervous hand through his hair, “I don’t really know where the idea originated but once I had it, it stuck. I just saw this vision of the shot in my head and it was sick, dude.”

Eddie leans back in the booth, one of his boots knocking into Steve’s foot under the table. He crosses his arms and tilts his head. 

“Thought this shoot was supposed to be inspired by moi,” he says, gesturing a hand towards himself. “You saying I look like I should be in jail?”

Steve groans and puts his head in his hands. “No. I already told you I don't know where i got the idea–”

But that’s a lie isn’t it. He knows exactly where he got the idea. It was somewhere between the chains dangling from Eddie’s jeans and the handcuff belt he was wearing the day they met.

He put his hands together on the table between them. “Okay. No, I’m not saying you look like a criminal, Eddie. I’m saying I think you want to look like one.”

Eddie blinks at him for a moment before his face breaks into a slow smirk. He huffs a quiet laugh and leans closer. “Guilty as charged, Stevie. Besides, I was arrested once actually.”

Steve gawks while Eddie laughs. He is unfairly attractive when his dimples pop and Steve is going to have such a hard time holding it together behind the camera. 

*****

Steve takes his shoots very seriously. Every detail has to be perfect, even the ones not relating to the subject of the photo.

So it is wildly convenient that his professor happens to be married to the chief of police back in Hawkins. 

One quick phone call from Joyce and Steve and Eddie were granted access to the booking room at the police station. You know, for the sake of realism. 

Steve’s setting up his tripod while Eddie takes a chalk marker to the placard and writes up his own booking ID, a long series of random numbers with E.M at the end. 

Steve would be lying if he said Eddie’s choice of clothing wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind. 

He’s wearing a ratty, old band t-shirt for some group Steve’s never heard of. There’s his usual black leather jacket and the silver chain around his neck. His ripped black jeans and fingers covered in rings and black nail polish. 

It's perfect for the shoot. But Steve’s sanity is struggling.

He gets the camera and the lighting set up just as Eddie steps into place in front of the height measurement wall. 

Steve puts his hands on his hips and gives instructions.

“Okay, so I know you’ve done this before–”

“Hey! It was one time!”

“So you know how this goes. We’ll do one forward and then one to each side.”

Eddie shakes out his hair and rolls his shoulders back. He holds the placard up in front of him and levels the camera with a dead-eyed stare.

He looks good. 

Steve is less than shocked that he looks even better on camera.

He lines up his shot. Click.

Eddie turns to his left. Steve gets a little distracted by the line of his jaw.

Click.

He turns to the right and of course only now does Steve notice his ear piercings. 

Steve takes a deep breath and focuses.

Click.

Before he can even look through his shots Eddie is dropping the placard on the desk.

He’s halfway out the door before he grabs the frame and leans back in. “One second pretty boy, I have an idea.”

He’s back before Steve snaps out of his stupor at the nickname. This time, he has a pair of handcuffs swinging from his index finger.

Steve snatches them out of his hand. “Where did you get these?”

Eddie crosses his arms over his chest and shrugs. “I know a guy.”

He rolls his eyes. 

He’s already picking up the placard and setting up some detail shots when Eddie grabs his wrist and stops him. He freezes for more than one reason.

“Hey, uh. Not to step on your toes or anything, but I actually have another idea.”

Steve is about to start on his spiel about ‘not messing up his flow’ when Eddie rubs his thumb over the inside of his wrist. Gentle and reassuring. 

“Do you trust me?”

Honestly Steve has no reason to trust him, he’s basically a stranger.

A pretty one. His brain supplies.

But he does. Trusts him enough to let him take Steve’s creative liberties and throw them out the window apparently.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Eddie’s smile is blinding. He turns Steve’s hand over and drops the handcuff key into it.

“Don’t lose this big boy,” he says as he snaps the cuffs around each of his own wrists.

Steve laughs, loud and shocked. He waggles his eyebrows at Eddie. 

“Well, now didn’t this take a turn.”

Eddie rolls his eyes this time and lifts his hands as much as he can.

“Don’t try to sexualize my creative prowess, Steve. I am a professional.”

He nearly trips on his way back to his place in front of the wall and Steve has to hide his laugh into a cough.

Steve’s back behind the camera, hands back on his hips when he asks, “Alright, what’s the plan?”

Eddie smiles and says, “You just shoot, Harrington. I’ll do the rest.”

He leans down to finalize his camera settings and line up his shot. When he finally looks through the viewfinder his jaw drops. Because while Eddie was clearly joking about being a professional, if Steve didn’t know any better, this shot would have him believing it.

Eddie’s got both of his pinky fingers tucked in the corners of his smile, tongue bitten between his teeth. His thumbs are raised along with his middle fingers, while he’s got his nose scrunched and one eye squeezed shut. The cuffs hang right under his chin and accentuate his silver jewelry in a way Steve never would have anticipated.

Click.

Click. 

Click.

The next is a close-up of the booking placard between his teeth.

His hands twisting to unlock his own cuffs.

He’s a natural, and Steve’s camera roll can attest to the fact.

It wouldn’t be until Steve was reviewing and editing the shots that he caught on. The booking ID on the placard looked long because it was. It was Eddie’s number.

*****

Steve got an A. 

He got an A, an endless stream of compliments from Joyce and a dorky hot boyfriend. 

The rest of the class went the route Steve expected them to.

Dingy bars, backseats of cars, details of his eclectic style.

But Steve’s mugshot series stood leagues above the rest.

Later in their lives, when one of their friends would see the photo in Steve’s wallet they would ask when Eddie got arrested and why.

It quickly became a game between the two.

He’s been arrested in high school for selling drugs (True.)

When he was twenty for public indecency.

At twenty-two for arson.

Thirty for contract killing. This one was followed up with the claim that he was in witsec and was now going to have to change his identity and flee the country.

But the real when and why Eddie got arrested is because when he was twenty-one Joyce told him there was a nice boy in her class that she thought he should meet.

[ghostlyfleur]

♡ eddie discovers he is shy!photographer’s muse

secret pictures. developing film. confident eddie. flirting. blushing and stuttering. two loners in love. heart shaped eyes. sharing lighters. tucking hair behind ears. enjoying each other’s company. reading sci-fi. shy smiles. hand holding. pinky promises. sharing all comfortable silences. tasm!peter parker taking secret photos of gwen stacy vibes.

[urhoneycombwitch]

Heyyy! Just a quick little request that has been TAKING over my mind. GN!Reader that LOVESSSSS photography x Rockstar!eddie. LIKE Reader will be taking photos of him whenever because he’s just so goddamn pretty playing his guitar. And Eddie will snatch film and shit for them. I’d like to think that they both have Polaroid pictures of each other. Bonus points if reader doesn’t like taking pictures of themselves but LOVES taking pictures of Eddie. I DONT KNOW I JUST THINKS ITS CUTE AHHHHH. if it’s fluff, smut, whatever, you do you! :D Byeeeeeeeee

as a film photographer myself i feel uniquely qualified to add to this tysm anon 💖

gn!reader, +18 mdni

Eddie absolutely gets you the good shit. he makes it a habit to visit the local camera stores at every city when he’s on the road, shells out for high-quality film cuz you taught him right and he actually listens when you talk about your interests!!

constantly surprising you with new gear. he’s never had money like this before and the fact that he can actually buy his partner things is so fucking thrilling. if his baby wants a vintage Rolleiflex with Planar lens that’s what’s getting boxed up for ‘em.

once you and Eddie settle on a house, he sets up a whole darkroom on the lower floor- lets you pick out all the details, hires a plumbing guy to hook up water so that you can do your own film baths. Jonathan Byers is equal parts green with envy and grateful that you’re willing to share the space w/him whenever he comes out for a visit 😇

before you, Eddie never really liked his picture taken, tolerated the ordeal at best- Wayne showed you an old photo book one time, groused about his nephew making odd faces and being squirmy in front of the lens even as young as 4 years old. you’ve made up for it a hundred times over, tho- Eddie learned quick that you wouldn’t take no for an answer when it came to your new muse.

you’ve got probably over a thousand pictures of him by now, in different states across the country, some on stage in full makeup shredding on guitar, a few that are widely recognized as Corroded’s album covers- but most are quiet, intimate. there’s this one you keep in your wallet, makes your heart flutter every time: Eddie leaned back in the grass on his elbows, soft sunlight filtered through the magnolia tree in your backyard, eyes crinkled at the corners and fixed on you behind the camera.

he’s got a bunch of you, too, of course- mostly Polaroids that are decidedly not for public eye. keeps those like a true gentleman safe in a shoebox under your bed at home: images burned into his brain by this point to take with him in memory while on the road. the soft shape of your thigh against a downy duvet, gleaming pearlescent with his cum. another of his hand wrapped around your throat, rings digging into gentle flesh under the blissed-out smile of your mouth that makes him ache somethin’ fierce just thinking about it.

there are others that he does keep in his wallet, more tame but just as searingly intimate, ones he’s taken after cajoling you in front of the lens or having won a tussle over whose turn it was to shoot whom. one of you with guitar cables looped neatly around either arm after a gig, nose crunched and mouth halfway to telling him off, irritation and fondness captured in bright flash. another of you stretched out in the front yard, one hand at your forehead to block the afternoon sun, the other resting placid on your stomach as you looked up at him.

“This one’s mine,” Eddie always says when asked about you, showing off the latest picture with a deep well of love and pride. he may as well start carrying an album for all the photos he carries of you.

[archivequinn]

Long hair Joseph Quinn, I admire you.

[madaboutmunson]

I Think I Could Have Been Someone - Summary Post

What if Steve was the rockstar and Eddie didn’t make it?

In his early 30's, Steve is riding a wave of established fame. He is a household name. He’s everyone’s favourite blue-collar, all-American, stadium-filling rockstar. Eddie doesn't make it successfully into the industry, though it remains a massive love of his. So he pursues another creative outlet to get him as close to that as possible. He became an event photographer, specialising in live music.

Years before this, Eddie covered a job for one of his photographer friends. This gig happens to be during Steve’s debut tour. That night, Eddie takes many photographs, but one captures the significance of that night for Steve, and it becomes a point of obsession for them both, but for very different reasons.

Author Note:

Key things to note. There is a 15-year time shift. Eddie and Steve are in their early 30’s. Neither of them had to face the horrors of the Upside Down. They haven't officially ever met one another before. This is a mature story with explicit elements, definitely 18+ only.

Tags/Warnings: rockstar!AU; band; touring; music industry; alternate universe; drug usage; alcohol abuse; performing; enemies to lovers; road trip

Chapter/Part Links

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7a | Part 7b | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 |

Ao3 Link

[morganbritton132]

Before the start of Corroded Coffins’ Friday night show, the band is live on Eddie’s Tiktok account. The phone has been passed around and each member has talked or shown off something, but they’re all really just waiting. Finally, when Jeff is in the middle of talking about their set list, you can the door to their dressing room open and Steve step in to surprise Eddie.

Steve doesn’t even get a word out before Eddie attacks him. You can tell they’ve done this exact thing a lot because no one reacts and Eddie protects Steve’s head as he shoves him into the wall and kisses him. Robin sticks her head in after him and waves, “We’re here too.”

<- Last Post | Next Post ->

[lazer-meme]

thinking about steve leading eddie by his necklace like steve walk him like a dog harrington yk

[imnotgonnafightyou]

Seeking a fic that I started and never finished and have now lost that is Steddie and Steve is a teacher who starts doing some photo modeling for Eddie on the side and it’s largely like kink photos someone pls help

[mispatchedgreens]

tequila sunrise, bloodshot eyes

the cowboy eddie munson brainrot is terminal

[syddsatyrn]

hii i love your fic “photograph”! its great, and i love seeing the love between everyone in the gang so far 💖 im following it closely~ have a great day!!

I'm so glad you like it! I really wanted to write something wholesome and fluffy. Next chapter will be out in a day or two. 💕✨

[rebelsanju]

Hello ,Friend We are Image post production & Outsourcing based company . Our popular services are :

Clipping Path ,Background remove , Transparent High end Retouching , Model ,Porno , Lifestyle , E commerce Glamour , Product,Masking ,Neck join ,

Jewelry : Basic , Polish , Artificial , Natural , Color adjustment , Diamond change . I am hoping to get an opportunity to work with you We have 300+ image production available in 24 hours. Emergency deadline production is given. thank you

[eiightysixbaby]

eddie in a reindeer costume. that’s it, that’s the post. oh and he’s just like, chronically horny for you.

“Oh, look at you!”

The figure that steps out of the dressing room has your eyes lighting up, your mouth twitching as you hold your laughter off. The person on the other end of your delight is… not so delighted.

“I cannot believe this.” Eddie stands with his hands on his hips, looking down at the holiday monstrosity that is his costume.

He’d lost a bet with Steve, and they’d decided that the loser had to be the final piece to Nancy’s holiday charity event being held at Starcourt Mall.

She already had a Santa, thanks to Chief Hopper. She was going as Mrs. Claus, while you, Robin, and Chrissy had pitched in to be elves. Jonathan got off the hook easy as the designated photographer.

The only thing missing… was Rudolph.

You bring your fist to your mouth, the knuckle of your index finger between your teeth to prevent yourself from erupting into a laughing fit.

A pair of opaque brown tights clings to Eddie’s legs, a matching brown tunic of sorts on his top half. There’s a fluffy patch of white fabric at the belly, and a thick red belt around his middle. A red collar adorned with gold bells rests around his neck, and to top it all off, he has a pair of antlers on his head and a red foam ball on his nose.

The only thing that looks remotely Eddie, are the black combat boots they allowed him to wear on his feet.

“Come on, you look adorable!” you say, pinching at the meat of his bicep.

He groans, shaking his head. “I am not going out there like this. This is humiliating!” he grits, his voice coming out somewhat nasally thanks to his fake nose.

“It is not!” you insist, though your giggling gives you away.

“You’re laughing! You can’t even look at me with a straight face!” he pouts, taking in the elf costume you’re wearing.

“Okay, you look hot as fuck in your costume. Like damn, sweetheart,” he says, eyeing you up and down. You flush at his wandering eyes, giddy with his praise — even if he looks ridiculous while giving it.

“The red and green’s really doing it for you? And the hat with the built in elf ears?” you tease, knowing he just likes the way the outfit hugs you in all the right places.

“Babe, like, it’s not even fair how good you look. If I had known Wheeler was gonna put me in a pair of tights, I would’ve literally killed Harrington if it was my only way to win that bet.”

You cradle his cheek in your palm, letting your thumb rub over his skin. “Baby, it’s for the kids, okay? It’s just a few hours.”

“My entire evening is not just a few hours. These tights are gonna cut off all circulation to my fuckin’ dick by the time we’re done here,” he complains.

You shove him playfully, the bells on your outfit jangling with your movement. But he’s not done with the theatrics.

“Oh god,” he says after a pause. “I’m gonna be out of commission. I’m gonna have no dick, they’ll have to amputate.”

“Eddie,” you roll your eyes. “You are so dramatic. The tights are not gonna kill your dick.”

“How do you know that?” he asks, pulling you into him. His big arms wrap around your back, hands holding your ass loosely. “What if wearing this costume means I can never fuck you again? I think I’ll have to tell Wheeler I can’t do it—”

“Eddie!” you say again, scolding him lightly. “You are going out there, whether you like it or not.” You stand on your tip toes, pressing a kiss to his frowning mouth.

“Whyyyyy?”

“Because, it’s for the kids. Like I said. We have to do this.”

He seems entirely unconvinced as he gazes down at you, those big doe eyes of his heavy-lidded as he stares at your red lips.

“What’re you thinking about, Munson?” you ask, recognizing the growing playfulness in his eyes.

“Think we have time for a quickie?”

You press your palms to his chest, shoving him off of you with a laugh.

“I am not fucking you while you’re wearing antlers. Or that big ass red nose.”

“Okay, rude!”

He doesn’t have time to protest any further, because the rest of the group has come to find you. You hear a muffled chuckle from behind you, and you spin around in your green elf boots to face the culprit.

“Aw, well aren’t you just the beacon of holiday spirit!” Steve says, grinning like the devil at your boyfriend.

“I’m actually going to murder you. In cold blood,” Eddie retorts, scowling at the only person not in costume, save for Jonathan. “This isn’t even fair. I have to wear this and Steve just gets off the hook?”

“You lost the bet, Eddie,” Robin chimes in. “A deal’s a deal.”

“Come on, Rudy,” Jonathan pipes up. “We’ve got some Christmas cheer to spread, so get your best smile on.”

“I hate all of you,” Eddie deadpans.

“Yeah, yeah,” Nancy says, motioning all of you in the direction of your photo-op setup. “You’ll get over it.”

You link your arm with his, squeezing. You stop him from walking ahead, tiptoeing to get your mouth level with his ear.

“As soon as this is over, you can have me however you like,” you whisper. “But you better be the holliest, jolliest one out there tonight, or no deal,” you add, before pulling away in a flash and skipping ahead to catch up with Chrissy.

“Oh god, you can’t be putting that in my head right now!” he groans from behind you.

You hear his collar jingling as he starts to move.

“Wait up!”