Eddie's Memory Log: Day 59
part 1 here | part 2 here | part 3 here | part 4 here | part 6 here
(ao3 link here)
Steve spends an obnoxious amount of time in front of the mirror. This isnât breaking news. If he were in that fairytale with the evil witch and her Mirror Disciple, the mirror would be so sick of Steveâs vanity by now.
The surprising part is that Steve has been in front of the mirror since five in the morning. He couldnât sleep, his mind is one channel full of reruns. And unfortunately, people donât have a fucking remote control to turn off their brains, so heâs just stuck reliving Saturday morning over and over again.
Here he is. Just staring blankly at his reflection. Yawning. The reflection yawns back. Flipping his hair to one side, thinking about Eddie. Flipping his hair to the other side, thinking about Eddie. Spraying the flyaways down, thinking about Eddie. Steve has to splash his face with water so much that heâs going to show up to the hospital looking like a shriveled-up sponge.
Heâs nearly satisfied with how itâs shaping up when Steve is smacked with a thought. A rewind in his rerun. A loop.
Itâs Eddieâs voice, that scratchy morning one that made Steveâs toes curl up in his sneakers. All he can hear now is that voice repeating the same syrupy sentence:
âFeels like cashmere nowâŠâ
Steve listens to the phrase till his knees start to wobble. He reaches up into his hair, just to experience what Eddie experienced that day. Instead, all Steve feels is hardened strands. All of it holding a sticky residue. Not soft at all. And definitely not cashmere.Â
Before the loop can start over for the umpteenth time, Steve strips off his meticulously planned outfit and hops into the shower. The water bursts out, directly onto Steveâs nearly satisfactory styling job. It breaks his pride more than his heart, washing all his hard work away so easily.
Steve never really goes out in public with unstyled hair anymore. Not after the time in eighth grade when Hailey Barnes got gum stuck in his hair mid-make out. Steve had to cut it the shortest it had ever been in his whole life. Led to a full blown Samson storyline for the rest of the school year. He still dated, sure - but barely any second dates.
Steve shakes off his biblical trauma and blow-dries for a good fifteen minutes. Look, if he canât style it, he can at least dry it out. Heâs not a complete heathen for christâs sake.Â
Itâs weird, staring back at an unstyled Steve âThe Hairâ Harrington. But this might earn him more scalp massages. Potential kisses. Potential memories. So if Eddie wants cashmere, Steveâs gonna fucking give it to him.
Heâs probably gonna be late for visiting hours, but heâs hopeful that Eddie will forgive him once he gets his vein-busted hands into Steveâs hair. Driving over the speed limit is not exactly necessary and certainly not legal, but fuck it all.
Fuck it all with the windows down.
Itâs a gross habit, but Steve starts chewing on his nail as soon as he reaches the door to Eddieâs room. Heâs gotta kick these nerves in the ass, pull his charisma out with a rope or some shit.Â
Thereâs no reason to be nervous, not after Eddie verified that Steve was reading the situation correctly. That should be confirmation enough to make Steve stop his nasty nail-biting and boost his enthusiasm to max volume.
So thatâs exactly what he does. Steve swings the door open, pointing directly towards Eddie upon arrival. âYou have some serious explaining to do, Munson.â
âQuite the entrance you got there.â Okay. Less enthusiasm than Steve, for sure. Not even half-volume enthusiasm.
âI mean, just leaving me hanging like that?â Steve lightly smacks Eddieâs shoulder. âYou really are the worst eye candy employer of all time.â
Eddieâs eyes narrow as he nods along. âSureâŠâ
The enthusiasm is dialing down to fucking mute. At this rate, Steve will have to skip the sly banter, go straight for the obvious. His dignity would be damaged if he werenât so wired.
âOh come on!â Steve shoves Eddieâs shoulder a bit harder this time. âYouâre not gonna say anything about my hair?â Steve runs his hands through it, movie slow-motion style. Then he shakes it out, flounces the ends. Anything for some sign of life at the moment.
âItâs⊠different.â
No shit, itâs different. Itâs certifiable fluff right now. Sort of like angel food cake without the icing.Â
Steve has to shift gears yet again. Maybe the straightforward path is too basic for Eddieâs liking. Maybe he prefers the smooth lines. Steve can do smooth. Smooth is his fucking specialty.
âFree cashmere doesnât come around like this everyday.â Steve sits next to Eddie on the bed, messing around with his heart monitor cord. âSo touch it all you want, Eds.â
âWhatâs gotten into you?â Eddieâs face goes siren red. He scoots away from where Steve is sitting and laughs somewhat nervously. âWas it drugs? Did you finally raid my lunchbox?âÂ
âNo. No drugs. JustâŠâ Happy to see you. A little wounded that youâre not as happy to see me. But still⊠happiness overall.  âA rare good mood, I guess.â
âIâll say.â Eddie scoffs. "You are mighty chipper today.â
âWell, yeah.â Steve gets off the bed. Heâs clearly making Eddie uncomfortable and he doesnât know why. His energy is the same as it was Saturday morning. A little heightened, sure, but Eddie thrives off intense shit. Well, he usually does. âI mean, considering what almost happened Saturday.â
Eddie holds up both hands. âWait. Time out. Saturday?âÂ
âYeah.â
âThis Saturday?â
âYeah.â
âYou were here on the weekend?â
No. No, this canât be happening. This is Eddie scribbling Steve-related notes on his arm all over again. The trap door in Steveâs stomach drops, all of his insides feel like theyâre plunging down to his feet. The blush that had settled in Steveâs face, is now being whipped around, right up to his forehead. He feels sick. He feels a migraine forming. He feels fucking robbed.
âPlease. Please tell you didnât forget.â Steveâs voice is small.
Eddie doesnât respond immediately, just studies the grim expression on Steveâs whole face. âI need you to be specific with what youâre talking about, Steve.â
âDo you remember Friday?â
Eddie looks up at the ceiling as if his memories are stored somewhere up high. âYou came over. We talked about your mixtape. Bubblegum shit. See a dentist. No insurance, yada yada.â
So far, so good.
âWe watched the Home Shopping Network for four hours.â
Three, but Steve lets that one slide. Probably felt like four hours.
âThe doctors gave me new medicine for⊠something, I donât know.â
âThat part is important.â
âYeah well, you try being on more medications than you can count on your hands.â Eddie barks back. âSee how many ridiculously long latin names you can remember.â
Look. Steve is a patient person - hasnât always been that way, but the unexplainable circumstances over the last three years has Miyagiâd the shit out of his patience levels.
Five days a week, Steve sits here. Patiently dealing with whatever unpredictable mood Eddie is going through that day. Five days a week for almost three months. Steve doesnât wanna sit here and do the math because he knows itâll be depressing numbers. So many days, hours, minutes, that he spends being the Patient Guy.
But with Eddie snapping while Steve is trying to process how such an amazing moment can simply vanish like a demented magic trick? No. Steve is no longer proficient in the art of Patience.
âYou know I didnât mean thatâŠâ Eddie mumbles, fiddles with one of the wires attached to him. Not exactly an apology.
âNo please, continue to use me as your emotional punching bag. Itâs one of my lifeâs greatest joys.â Steve leans against the wall, all casual and relaxed. But his words bite just as hard as Eddieâs did. The way he looks and sounds are total contradictions to each other.
Eddie rubs hard over his eyes. âShit, Steve. Iâm being an asshole.â
Fucking christ, thatâs still not an apology. âWhatever. Just tell me what you remember after the doctor gave you the medicine.â
Eddie sighs. Looks back up at the ceiling while he talks. âI got really sickâŠâ
âYeah.â
âYou were here.â
âPer usual.â
âBut I passed the fuck out once the fever went away.â
âAnd thenâŠâ Steve motions his hand for Eddie to keep going.
âAnd then?â
Goddamnit. âYou donât remember.â
Eddie stays silent. Searching the whole room now for memories that do not exist. Memories that have expired. Memories that are one-sided.
âYou donât remember any of it.â Steve whispers to himself.Â
His impatience gets distorted with all of his feelings for Eddie. Everything is barbed-wire sharp, cutting up his throat. He doesnât want to talk about it anymore, the answers are too unfair. The reality is too bleak. Steve doesnât deal with his own mental hurdles most days - he canât add new psychological pitfalls to his life.
Steve is holding his forehead, urging the headache to go away with fingertips and delusion. He opens his eyes momentarily to see Eddie staring back. He looks worried. Powerless.
That makes two of them.
âSteve.â Eddie is almost whispering. âWhatever it is⊠Iâm so sorry that I donât rem -â
âDonât do that.â Steve interrupts. âDonât apologize for having head trauma, Eddie Munson.â
âAlright. I wonât.â
Steve crawls through the barbed wire, gets muddy and messy with the truth. âLook, thereâs a lot of other shit you should feel sorry for. Like lashing out at me all the time. And never asking how Iâm doing with my⊠life and shit.â
âThereâs a vending machine down the hall that you could fill with all the reasons you should feel sorry. Might as well make a fucking profit off of your remorse.â Steve tacks the dark joke on at the end because he can. Because itâs Eddie.
âBut your recovery process is not one of things you should ever feel sorry for. Okay?â
âYeah.â Eddie gulps. Nods. âOkay.â
Steve is standing at the foot of Eddieâs bed, hands gripped around the plastic railings. His knuckles are the same sterile white as the rest of this god awful room. Steve has become a chameleon to this place that somehow manages to feel haunted by more than just lingering mortality.
âI think Iâm gonna head out.â Steve says it without even trying really. The words just stumble out.
Eddieâs mouth opens, forming an âohâ in reply, but no sound comes out with it.Â
âYeah this just isnât⊠I donât know.â Itâs a lame thing to say but itâs true. Steve has no fucking clue what to do anymore. âI donât think I can do this today.â
Eddie doesnât look at him. âGot it.â
âSorry.â
âDonât be.â
Steve takes those few painful steps to the door. His limbs feel heavy. Like guilt and confusion are weighing him down.
No words fit this moment. This departure. So Steve throws a few out there in hopes that itâll be enough:
âJust⊠hang in there.â
Itâs not enough. Not even close.Â
âWill do, Harrington.â Eddie still doesnât look at him.
The door shuts, but Steve thinks he feels it slamming all the way down his spine.
Day 60:Â
Steve doesnât go to the hospital today.Â
Itâs Tuesday.
Day 61:
Day 62:
Day 63:
Day 64:
Day 65:
Steve hasnât really talked to anyone since Monday, not even Robin. She called him once on Wednesday to see if he wanted to grab dinner with her and Vickie, but he politely declined. Didnât even bother fabricating an excuse. Just stuck with good old-fashioned âno.â Why reinvent the wheel with rejection?
Heâs in dirty clothes and watching an Andy Griffith marathon, when the phone rings. He almost ignores it - except he needs to get more onion dip from the fridge anyways, and the phone is on the way there. Might as well pick it up.
âHarrington residence.â His voice drones. âSteve speaking.â
âShit.â
Shit. âEddie?â
âYeah. Hey, man.â
âWhatâs wrong? Did something happen? Are you okay?â Apparently, Steve cannot switch off the caring portion of his heart.
âEverything isâŠâ Eddie holds out the âsâ sound for a while. âI just needed to apologize.â
âRight.â
âAnd to thank you.â
Steve lowers his eyebrows. âFor what?â
âBeing here⊠when you were.â Eddieâs voice sounds dried up. Like he hasn't spoken much in days. âI know you havenât been back for a few days, and thatâs my own damn fault.â
Most of the behavioral stuff is his fault, yeah. But the icing out bullshit that Steve is pulling is cowardly. Heâs not doing anything productive with his free time. Heâs deadlocked. Stranded in uncertainty.
Eddie continues. âBut for all the days you didnât give up on me⊠I guess I didnât know how much I needed that. So thank you.â
âThatâsâŠâ Steve is about to say âunnecessary,â but decides against it. Dismissiveness solves nothing. âYouâre welcome.â
âEven when I was being Kathy or Hyde or Grendel or whatever else you managed to come up with behind my back.â
Steve didnât. He thought up a lot of spiteful shit, but he never said any of it out loud. Okay, maybe some it slipped along the way. Heâs not perfect.
âI wouldnât blame you for never coming back to visit me.â Eddie is talking faster now - which is basically normal Eddie speed. âBut if you didâŠÂ I have something I wanna to give you.â
Steve groans. âNot a mixtape, right?â
âNah, Iâve tortured you enough with my own vocal ridicule.â Eddie snickers, Steve joins him. âItâs nothing much, but yeah. Itâs here if you want it.â
âOkay⊠yeah. Thanks.â
Steve smiles, very briefly. His mind reminds him far too soon that nothing is fixed. Sure, heâs not pissed off at Eddie. The apology was genuine. Beside, it takes way too much brainpower to hold grudges.Â
But Eddie doesnât remember what Steve will never forget. Thatâs still very real.
âHey, Eddie.â Steve checks again. Just to be certain. âYou really donât remember Saturday?â
Thereâs a pause. âI really am sorry, Steve.âÂ
Yeah. Sucks just as hard as it did on Monday.
âI know you said not to be sorry for my memory, but I am.â
Well⊠Eddie remembers their fight.
âGlad you remember that part.â Steve finds the positive. Even if it tastes bitter, itâs positive-ish. âThanks for calling, Eds.â
âThanks for not hanging up.â
âOh, there was deep contemplation about hanging up.â
Eddie lets out a single snort. âGood. At least youâre consistent.â
âI figured there would be lots of bad karma for hanging up on a dude thatâs bed-ridden in a hospital.â
âUndoubtedly bad karma. Theyâd put you in karma jail for such actions.â
âGlad I decided against it then. Iâm way too pretty for karma jail.â
âYouâre way too pretty for any iteration of jail, Steve Harrington.â
The conversation becomes a stream of easy jokes and harmless insults. Steve prefers it this way, feelings or no feelings. He likes the relaxed discussions that he can have with Eddie. He likes how Eddie will run wild with a topic, so that he can just listen. He likes that Eddie will gladly shut up if Steve wants to interject.
Steve just likes him. Likes Eddie.
They talk until Eddie takes his nighttime meds, promptly falling asleep. Snoring into the phone speaker. Steve stays on the line a little while longer. Waits until he hears the heart monitor beating out a steady rhythm.Â
He hangs up and heads to bed himself. Forgets all about his onion dip and the Andy Griffith marathon.
Day 66:
Itâs six in the morning. The sun is gradually hitting the horizon, but Steve is wide awake regardless. Heâs a fairly competitive person, but Steve definitely shouldnât be competing with things like nature, goddamnit.
He picks up the phone, the same one he used last night to talk to Eddie. Swears that itâs still warm from being pressed to his cheek for hours.
He calls Robin. Itâs inconsiderate as hell to call this early, but sheâs the only one of his friends that might answer at this hour.
Might being the key word. Thereâs no answer.
Steve sucks in a deep breath. Decides to be extra annoying and calls again.
âHello?â Thank god itâs not her dad.
âMorning, Buckley.â
âBye.â
âWait!â
Robin swears under her breath a few times. âWhy? Why must you insist on having the sleep schedule of a farm animal, Steve?â
âTrust me, itâs not by choice.â
âI donât trust anyone that calls me before noon.â She yawns the last few words of her sentence. âSomething must be wrong with you.â
âNothingâs wrong with me. Nothing you didnât already know about anyway.â Steve does want to chat and get his mind off of things, but he also needed to hear his friendâs voice. âJust wanted to check in.â
This is what they do now. They have to. No one else is going to check on them because no one else even knows that they literally threw flames at a demonic entity. So they call or show up whenever they can.
They have to.
âIâm hanging in there.â Which is seemingly better than âIâm here.â That phrase is an emotional grenade. âHow about you?â
Steve laughs, then sighs. âObviously sleep is a fuckshow. But yeah. Hanging in there too.â
They shift to lighter subjects. Movies theyâre excited to see. Plans to try the new Italian restaurant on Main Street. All the petty town gossip they can think of.
Robin talks about Vickie too. Apparently, they have the same top four favorite novels. She mentions that three times in the same breath, so that must be a pretty big deal. Steve can hear her smiling through every ordinary detail she shares, which makes him happy. Heâs glad his best friend has found someone that makes the ordinary shit seem like an adventure.
It selfishly makes him think of Eddie though. How badly he wants to bring him up after every other sentence. How random words remind him of something stupid Eddie said or did.
Heâs doing so well with holding back, until Robin asks. She says his name, and Steve fucking shivers at hearing it. Eddieâs name, right in his ear.
âHavenât seen him in a weekâŠâ Steve tries to toss it in there casually, despite how un-casual it is.
âDoes that mean his memories are back?â
âNot exactlyâŠâ
Robin hums into the speaker, catching on quickly to Steveâs un-casualness. âWell, the coffee is already brewing. Might as well tell me what the fuck happened.â
He goes over everything in random order - whatever hits his mind first. The argument, the spending the night, the arm scribbles, the almost-kiss, the phone call. Steve sounds just like Robin talking about Vickie. Very little breaths and stupidly smiling over all the good parts.Â
He doesnât really elaborate on the fact Eddie is a guy and that heâs attracted to him anyways. Thereâs so many other complicated factors, that part has seemed secondary since the beginning. And honestly, heâs sort of grateful for that. Steve doesnât want to overthink this. He just wants to see where this will go.
Itâs painfully quiet for a while once he gets through everything, even the weirdly erotic hair-massage bit. Heâs starting to think theyâve lost connection when he hears Robin crunch her breakfast. Loudly.
âSoâŠâ Steve urges. âWhat do you think?â
Sheâs chewing her toast even closer to the phone. âAbout you being in love with Eddie? Itâs weird.â
âIâm not in love with Eddie.âÂ
âIâm sorry - you just told me that his heart monitor beats to the rhythm of a song while heâs sleeping.â
âPatiently.â It's Steve's favorite Journey song.
âPop the champagne and prepare the gondola, my friend.â Robin exclaims. âCause that is love.â
âWhatever.â Steve grumbles. Sort of despises how valid her point is. âCanât believe he doesnât remember.â
âItâs not like heâs cherry-picking his memories, dingus. This wasnât on purpose.â
Steve clings to that fact. Robin is hardly ever wrong and he loves that about her. âCanât believe he mentioned Scoops⊠that fucker.â
âOh I can believe it.â
He holds his breath for a few seconds. âWhat the hell does that mean?â
âEddie was there loitering samples as much as baby Sinclair.â
âNo, he wasnât.â
âUh.â She sounds totally annoyed with him. âYes. He was.â
âI think Iâd remember seeing a frizzy-haired hyena at Scoops fucking Ahoy, Robin.â
âYouâre so wrong about this, my friend.â Robin is giggling now. Steve never knew a giggle could sound so villainous. âEddie only came to get samples while you were scooping at the back counter.â
âOkayâŠâ Steve says.
âYou know⊠to enjoy the show.â
âItâs too early for this.â He huffs. âJust spell it out for me, Buckley.â
The villainous giggle returns. Might be more evil this time. âPretty sure the middle-aged divorcees nicknamed it the Below Deck Viewing Party.â
Steve finally gets it.
Oh fuck. âMy ass had a fan club?â
âAfraid so.â Robin says. âAnd Eddie Munson was one of its most loyal admirers.â
Steve feels like running in circles. Doing burpees or jumping jacks. Maybe heâll just start clapping over this brand new information thatâs illuminating the horniest parts of his mind.
âHow have you never told me this?â Steve questions, still sizzling with energy.
âAnd make your big head even more insufferable?â Robing drones. âUgh. Gag me.â
That checks out. Steve is going to be so intolerable now, especially when he wears those laundry day khakis that Eddie pretends to hate. Maybe Steve should wear them today, just for the hell of it.
They chat until Robin has to head out to work. Neither of them call much attention to the fact that Steve is crushing on a guy, so Steve assumes his brain was right along.
Itâs not a big deal. Thereâs so much more pressing matters at hand - like the fact that his crush doesnât remember holding his hand all night long.
Thatâs way more pressing than crushing on dudes.
Eddie isnât in his hospital bed.
Eddie isnât in his room at all.
Those realizations clog Steveâs lungs until he feels them caving in. His mind is flooded with the time that Max wasnât in her hospital room months ago. The time she coded and nobody fucking knew until they were all standing there in a Max-less room.
Steve slumps against the wall, the weight of his lungs and his premonitions are too heavy for him to stand straight.Â
Heâs about to crouch down, get his blood-flow to restart, when two nurses and Eddie walk through the door. Theyâre guiding him on either side, although he seems fairly stable on his own.
Steve is so relieved. Almost as relieved as the time Max came back after coding. Almost.
âYouâre back.â Itâs bordering on a question - the way Eddie says it.
âI got him,â Steve waves off the nurses. He takes Eddieâs left arm and holds it tight. Balancing both of them in entirely separate ways. The nurses thank him and he starts directing Eddie to the side of the bed. âWeird to see you standing again.â
He hasnât seen Eddie upright sinceâŠÂ
Steve clears his throat. âYou definitely lookâŠâ Hot. âTaller than I remember.â
While thatâs vaguely true, it is definitely not at the forefront of Steveâs mind. He's touching Eddie again, not in a bed and not to detach all his hospital machinery. Heâs just touching him, keeping him steady with his arms, and itâs so fucking nice.
They take a few more steps and the sleeves on Eddieâs hospital gown slips off his shoulder. Steve cannot look away. Thereâs a gray-ish bruise right on top, extending down to Eddieâs shoulder blade. Itâs been healing for months and itâs still discolored. Steve is fixated on the shadowy hue, how Eddieâs pale skin almost glows underneath it.Â
If Steveâs hands werenât busy being helpful right now, heâd touch it. Watch the colors ripple under the pad of his finger.
âWell⊠glad to refresh your memories then.â Eddie tugs the sleeve back up, covering the patchwork skin that Steve couldnât stop staring at. âBut isnât that your job? To refresh my impoverished frontal lobe?â
Steve redirects his focus. âImpoverished Frontal Lobe would make a good band name.â
âShit, youâre so right. Dibs.â
âYou already have a band, dumbass.â
âTrue - but every lead guitarist needs a backup band name. Everyone knows that. Fallouts are a disease to the music industry.â
Eddie remembers he plays guitar. Not accordion.
âYou can have Impoverished Frontal Lobe if I can have Hometown Slut.â Steve shrugs to one side.
âCanât have whatâs already yours, Stevie.â
Steve finally releases Eddieâs arm, no reason to still be holding it. No medical reason anyways. He catches himself smiling at the natural return of their banter. Even though Steve left, his attraction to Eddie didnât budge one goddamn inch.
Picking up the visitation routine is easy. Steve settles into the same well-worn chair, turns on the same daytime tv shows, chews the same minty gum that Sam leaves for him at the check-in desk. Itâs all the same. As things should be.
Where Steve is supposed to be.
âItâs good to see you again.â The phrase - Eddieâs words - it all reminds Steve of holding shells up to his ears at the beach. âSorta got used to you being here.â If Steve listens close enough, thereâs an I missed you somewhere inside.
âSame.â Thereâs an I missed you too inside Steveâs words as well.
âAnd since your backâŠâ Eddie does a drumroll over his thighs. âI can give you your gift.â
âYou didnât mention on the phone that this was a gift.â
âThought it was implied.â Eddie bends down, drags a basket out from under his hospital bed. He pushes it over to Steveâs chair. âHere.â
Steve is beaming right away because itâs so tacky and gaudy, all synonyms that relate to Eddie. The basket is painted gold, sort of cracking around the splinters of wood. Itâs oversized - much bigger than it needs to be for the items sitting inside of it. The clear plastic around it has a silvery glint and itâs so fucking noisy when he moves it around.
Itâs not something Steve wouldâve ever picked out to give as a gift. But the whole thing screams Eddie Munson, which makes it perfect.
âYeah yeah, I know. Itâs just one of the baskets from the hospital gift shop.â Eddie gestures broadly around the present, smacking the crinkly plastic a few times. âBut I emptied out all of the lousy shit. Even replaced it with all of your vending machine preferences.â
Itâs a gentle jab at Steveâs vending machine metaphor from last week. The basket is stacked with Steveâs favorite chips and candy - the ones he still chooses week after week.
Eddie remembers that Steve loves Utz potato chips and Junior Mints.
Thereâs a few sodas thrown in there too. The bottom layer is littered with the sugar packets that Steve hoards for his cafeteria coffee breaks.
But underneath all the snacks and sugar and sodas, thereâs a card. It says âFeel Better Soonâ on the front.
âOh yeah, that came with the basket.â Eddie flicks at the edge of the card.Â
The greeting card hits Steve harder than it should. Eddie has no memory of all the monstrous fuckery Steve has witnessed. So, he canât even begin to know how much Steve needed that silly little reminder. That Steve needs to get well soon, feel better, hang in there. All of those corny sayings, Steve needs all of them.
âI did write something in it though.â
Steveâs eyes shift up to Eddie. âYou did?â
Eddie nods. âDidnât know if youâd wanna talk to me again after last week.â
Eddie still remembers Steve storming out on Monday. (Itâs the first time Steve wishes Eddie would forget something.)
Steve opens the card, but Eddie leans over to grab it out of his hands.
âDonât read it here.â Eddie fans himself with the card. His hair wisps around, reminds Steve of a windstorm. âEven the freak is susceptible to the occasional embarrassment, okay?â
Steve gives Eddie a thumbs up and looks back over the items. None of them are expensive or luxurious or anything like. Itâs all stuff Eddie could scavenge around for. But all of it is thoughtful. Significant.Â
âSo⊠how are the memories?â Steve asks.
Eddie fills him in while they munch on their mountain of goodies. Music is still the strongest remedy. He tells Steve that if finishes physical therapy, heâll be approved to play his guitar. Both of them are hopeful that will help unlock his past even more.
Steve pokes fun that Eddie always skipped gym class. He bets Eddie twenty bucks that heâll play hookie at least once.
Eddie says âmake it fourty.â They shake hands on it.
They catch up and get stomachaches from all of the artificially sweetened crap they just ingested. Or maybe they just feel sick from laughing at all the stupid infomercials on tv. Whatever it is, theyâre both sore and smiling by the end of the day.
âGuess I should head out.â Steve can already see the gears turning in Eddieâs head, wondering if heâll be back. âCool if I return to my usual schedule?â
Eddieâs chest falls. His shoulders relax. âAs long as itâs not out of pity.â
âI donât pity you, Eds.â Steve says. âThe nurses, howeverâŠâ
Eddie rolls his eyes. âAlright, alright. Youâve made your point, dickwad.â
Steve canât bring himself to hold Eddieâs hand, not really sure why. Things have been mended, but maybe not enough. Maybe itâs all still too fresh.
Instead, Steve rubs the material of Eddieâs blanket. He smooths it out between his fingers, imagining that itâs the material of Eddieâs hospital gown.
Steveâs eyes stay on the fabric in his hands. âIf you remember anything after you took that new headache medicine⊠youâll tell me, right?â
Eddie knocks his knuckles onto Steveâs hand. Steve lets the fabric go. He looks at Eddie, who is happier now. Warmer.
âDefinitely.â
âGood.â
Steve doesnât wait to read Eddieâs letter. He flips open the card as soon as he gets in his car.
The handwriting is pretty terrible, similar to all of Eddieâs arm scribbles. But Steve mustâve developed an overnight supernatural ability to decode Eddie Munsonâs illegible penmanship because he can read every word perfectly:
Steve,
The card says âFeel Better,â but that seems insufficient.
Just better? Nah. That doesnât cover all the bases (look see? I threw in a sports term just for you, champ).
A trust-fund catalog model that spends the majority of his week with a metalhead who has an affinity for nerd shit?
No way. That kind of person deserves so much more than feeling better.Â
You deserve to feel worthwhile.
Yours truly,
Eddie/Kathy/Hyde/Grendel/HSN Conspiracy Theorist
ps. Sorry Iâm so bad at simple apologies. Everything has to be torturously difficult with me, which you already know.
pps. Well shit. I never even said it properly.Â
Iâm sorry.
Steve is overwhelmed by all of it. Even Eddieâs little doodles on the back cover are causing him shortness of breath.
Itâs a sloppy skyline of mixtape-skyscrapers. The tallest one is directly in the middle. Sprawled across the bottom is the word âMunsonopolis,âand in quotations underneath it says, âfeaturing the Ed-pire State Building.â Thereâs an exaggerated amount of arrows pointing at the one in the middle - just in case it wasnât clear which one is the featured tower.
Not subtle, that one.
Steve is vibrating with energy the whole drive home. Eddie made so many references to past memories in that letter. Some were running jokes, sure. But others? The trust-fund dig? The sports joke? Steve has so many bullet points to add to the binder. So many things to notate. So much fucking progress.
But he doesnât write down any of it. Instead, he staples the card to the notebook paper labeled âDay 66.â Everything heâs ever needed to know is in that card. That ironically perfect card.
And it the faintest penciling, Steve writes one bullet for himself:
Robin was right. Definitely think Iâm falling for him.
Day 67:
âApology accepted, by the way.â Steve tosses a jello cup onto Eddieâs table. He snagged one at the cafeteria on his way in - just so Eddie doesnât wrongfully assume he wanted pudding yet again.Â
Is it cheating to give away the answers? Yeah. But Steve is falling for this guy, so heâd buy an entire fucking factory of gelatin if Eddie requested it.
âSo you read the card?â Eddie viciously tears open the jello lid. Sniffs it. Weird.
Eddie remembers writing Steve the letter.
âRead it. Marinated on it. Read it again.â Steve automatically moves the chair close to the bed. Fuck distance. âMaybe I should make deep annotations on my upcoming reread.â
Eddie grumbles. âIs this how it feels when I tease you about jock shit all the time?â
Eddie remembers their banter. Huh.
âSure does.â And Iâm totally obsessed with it.
âAre you willing to change topics?â
Steve peers over to examine Eddieâs mixtape collection. A sideways grin takes over his face. âWanna tell me why my mixtape is at the top of the pile over there?â
âUhâŠâ Eddie whips his head over to the tower. âYou know what - the apology card mockery wasnât so bad after all.â
âOh really?â
âIn fact, I enjoyed it.â
Steve teases Eddie for the rest of their visit, completely unforgiving about it. Payback for two months of this.
Heâs pretty sure Eddie likes it more than he does.
Day 68:
Eddie is in and out of the room for physical therapy today. Steve is unfazed by the lack of quality time because any time Eddie does return, Steve gets to help him to his bed. Gets to touch Eddieâs arm, his back. Sometimes his shoulder.Â
Itâs becoming Steveâs hospital equivalent to the whole, âyawn and stretchâ move from all those movie theater dates.
âYou donât have to do this, Steve.â Eddie says it every time. âI can walk eight feet on my own.â
âJust in caseâŠâ which directly translates to, I want to do this.
Steve asks the same question at the end of every visit now:
âCall me if you remember.â
And Eddie always assures him that he will.
Day 69:
They are playing cards when Eddie brings it up. âWhat if I never remember?â
âRemember what?â Steve discards one of his cards to the pile. Grabs a new one from the deck.Â
âThe thing that makes you all twitchy at the end of every visit.â Eddie does his best twitchy-Steve impression. Itâs insulting, at best. âWhat if it doesnât come back?â
âItâll come back.â Steve is so sure of it. Easygoing.
âHow do you know?â
âI just do.â
âHow original.â
Steve flips his cards down on the table. He reaches down to the binder thatâs an extension of his determination these days, flips through the pages. Pages full of breakthroughs. Even on the lousy days, even when Eddie occasionally backtracks. The pages are still full.
âThis is how I know.â Steve holds Eddieâs eye contact after shutting the binder. âI see the progress. Itâs not linear, not all the time⊠but I see it.â
Eddie reaches out. Runs his fingers across the binder, back and forth. Steve stops him the third time, places his hand over Eddieâs. Thereâs a hitch in Eddieâs breathing when he does it, so Steve slides away, doesnât linger too long. He listens in to the heart monitorâs cadence for insight on the mood theyâve created.
Not the same as last Saturday. Not the tempo Steve is looking for to take initiative. Not yet.
âI win, by the way.â Eddie announces, flipping his cards over. Smiling that bonus type of smile.
âDamn right you do.â
Day 70:
Eddie is singing one of Steveâs mixtape songs, using his thermometer as a microphone. Itâs purposely off-key and heâs implemented some exaggerated accent to it.Â
This isnât the first time heâs done this demented-karaoke routine. In fact, Steve has had to suffer through Eddie butchering pop classics since Day 26 of these hospital visits.
He always does it to get Steve to crack - lose his temper or threaten to leave. Steve usually humors Eddie with one of these reactions because itâs fun. Itâs a lighthearted habit that they formed after hard days. Pain infested days.
But this week has been good. Surprisingly adequate. Steve is back and Eddie hasnât thrown up, not once. He only complained about the flavorless cafeteria food on Tuesday, instead of every other day. That alone is an immediate call for celebration.
So today⊠Steve doesnât stomp his foot or swear under his breath. Today Steve claps. Encourages the mediocrity of it all.
âOh, so you like it when I vocally murder your precious pop tunes?â Eddie laughs. Constantly making himself laugh.
âNo, I donât like it.â Steve folds his arms into his chest. Eddieâs laughter is contagious, Steve catches it as he speaks again. âI like you.â
Eddieâs mouth clamps up. His expression drops. His heart monitor skips two beeps in its pattern.
âCanât believe I finally found the off-button on you.â Steve glides over to the bed. The upperhand is making him fucking fearless. âOnly took me seventy days to find it.â
Steve swipes his thumb under Eddieâs jaw, watching his throat muscles tense at the pressure. Eddie gulps, barely anything goes down. Steve can feel that.
âIâŠâÂ
âDonât tell me what you think I wanna hear.â Steve checks the clock. Visiting hours ended four minutes ago, and he doesnât need to get himself into another spending the night incident. As much as he enjoyed the wake-up call, Steve fucking despised the aftermath of reality.
âSteveâŠâ The way he says Steveâs name - as if someone took his vocal cords and dipped them in sweetener.
âI gotta go.â Steve reaches down and squeezes Eddieâs hand one more time before releasing it. âCall me if you remember.â
He turns around to leave, but Eddie hooks his finger into Steveâs belt loop, tugs rapidly on it. Steveâs cheeks flush right away, he canât even hide it.
âWhat if I call you anyway?â Eddie plays along. âMemory or no memory?â
Steve removes Eddieâs hand. Heâs about to set it back down when the last bit of caution is finally thrown out the window. Steve lays a quick kiss on Eddieâs middle finger, the finger thatâs most injured. He squeezes his palm once, then returns Eddieâs hand back to him.
âMaybe Iâll call you first, Munson.â
He leaves before getting a good look at Eddieâs reception to the hand kiss. Steve has never kissed another dudeâs hand before, and thereâs a good possibility that he mightâve been laying the charm on too thick. Smearing it all over the moment like goddamn jelly.Â
But the whole thing was just too irresistible. And Fully Flustered Eddie is a rare sight to behold, so Steve had to do something charismatic. His self-discipline hasnât improved that much since high school.
Eddie ends up calling first. He calls nine minutes after Steve gets home.
Clingy bastard.
âBeat you to it, Harrington.â
âNot everything is competition, you know.â
âIs that so?â Eddieâs sarcasm is heavy. âHuh. Guess you do learn something new every day.â
âEasy for you to say. Your mind still has the training wheels on it.â
âTouchĂ©.â
Day 71:
Itâs Saturday morning. Steve sleeps in - well, Steve does his version of sleeping in. Which basically means, the sun is fully up by the time he wakes up. Small victories.
His phone and alarm clock go off almost simultaneously. Which one:Â freaky. And two:Â annoying.
He walks over to his desk, eyes half-open, and picks up the phone.
âHello?â Steveâs voice croaks into the speaker.
Thereâs no response, just a few heavy breaths.
Steve is more alert now. âWho is this?â
âI remember.â
Oh fuck. âEddie?â
âYou told me to call when I remember.â Eddie repeats. âI remember, Steve.â
âHoly shit um⊠okay.â Steve rubs the last bit of sleep from his eyes. Searches around his room for his keys or clothes or fuck - he really doesnât know what heâs searching for.Â
âYou coming to see me or what?â
âItâs Saturday. Henderson comes to see you on Saturdays.â
âCall and tell him to take a raincheck.â Eddie demands. Rightfully excited. âCause I fucking remember.â
âOkay, okay.â
âI remember!â
Steve is cackling at the excitement. âI fucking heard you!â
âGet your ass over here before I say it again!â
âAlright alright!â Steve hangs up. Never gets ready so fast in his whole damn life. Almost forgets to put on underwear or style his hair.
This is what heâs been waiting for.
Eddie remembers.
Itâs the first time Steve feels anxious walking into the room. Heâs keenly aware that both of them are in on the secret. No more whispering around the unrequited attraction. Steve is entering a space that is laid bare. No curtains or subtle implications for either of them to hide behind.
As soon as he opens the door, thatâs all in the past.
âOh shit.â Steve isnât expecting to see Eddie in the chair when he arrives. Heâs wearing gray sweatpants under his hospital gown. Steve is pretty thankful for that - not sure the effect that Eddieâs exposed thighs would have on him in this detrimental state.
âTook your seat.â Eddie is all smug. Head to toe smugness.
âI see that.â
âYou can take mine, if you want.â
âIâll pass.â
Eddie winks. âHope thatâs the last time I hear you say that today.âÂ
âOh yeah?âÂ
âYeah.â
Thereâs a stool that the doctors use in the corner of the room. Steve takes a seat on it and rolls over towards Eddie. He stops right in front of Eddie's knees and leans his face in his hand. Tries to downplay his anticipation as much as possible.
âWanna tell me what you remember?â
Eddie takes a deep breath. He swings his arms out to the side and lets all of his air out in one go. âMy tattoos - I remember when I got them.â
Steveâs shoulders drop. Shrink.
The tattoo thing happened several days before the almost-kiss. Day 52.
âAm I wrong?âÂ
Steve doesnât really say anything. Thatâs confirmation enough.
Eddie smacks the top of his head. âShit, Iâm wrong. Made you drive all the way out here to be wrong, jesus christ.â
âHey, hey.â Steve murmurs, keeps his voice kind. âNot entirely wrong.â
His heart feels likes a crunched-up soda can, but whatever. Yeah, Steveâs hope were set way too high, but he canât blame Eddie for that. Eddie regained some crucial memories - that should be a good thing. It is a good thing.
âTell me about the tattoos.â Steve rests his hand over Eddieâs knee. Itâs been bouncing incessantly, but stops the second Steve touches him. âMaybe weâll get lucky and uncover all of it by talking through it.â
âSeems stupid now.â
âHey.â Steve is stern. âGaining bits of yourself back is never stupid. Thatâs your fucking history, goddamnit.â
Steve doesnât mean to use his coaching voice, but he does.Â
It works though. Eddie stares at him for a long time before admitting that Steve is right. He gives a long sigh before continuing. âI know where and when I got all of them.â
âFantastic.â Steve gets as comfy as he can on this small, metal stool. He flips open the binder, clicks his pen. He flips it into the air -Â just cause.
âTell me all about it,â He says, catching the pen with ease.
Eddie starts out pretty deflated. He starts off in chronological order, which Steve is impressed by. Steve even tries to cheer Eddie along any time he recalls specific details like locations and dates.Â
The support seems useful. Eddie stops frowning long enough to retell the story about getting a fake ID, just for tattoos. Not for drinking or for getting into clubs. Eddie wanted to be the only sophomore with tattoos.
Steve has never been interested in getting tattoos, thereâs nothing heâs ever liked enough to prick needles into his skin. However, he really likes seeing them all over Eddie. All the dark lines and the passionate stories that go with them.Â
They take a lunch break and snack break, both of them equally improving Eddieâs crabby mood. Eddie gets sort of winded after talking for too long, so Steve helps him to the bed.
âYou donât have to do this.â Eddie says, sticking to his usual response.
âThought it was obviousâ Steve pulls the cover over Eddieâs arms, fluffs out the sides of his pillows. âIÂ want to.â
âDidnât know you were such a gentleman.â Eddie observes. âCourting the sickly is a weird move though.â
Steve takes his seat back, moving it next to Eddieâs bed. Always closing more distance than he did the last time. âGood thing youâre not sickly then.â
âCourting the freak is still a weird move.â
âWell, say the word and Iâll lay off.â
Eddie mimes zipping his mouth shut, tossing the invisible key into the trash bin.
âLooks like weâre all done with your tattoo summaries.â Steve glances over the bullet points, folds the binder shut. âAnything else you wanna do?â
Heâs waiting for Eddie to take his turn. Steve has been leading the affection for days, so heâs cautious about any further touching. Needs physical permission to continue.
âActuallyâŠâ Eddie shakes his head. âWeâre not done with my tattoo summaries.â
âWeâre not?â
âI have six tattoos, Stevie. Not five.â
That canât be right. Dustin told Steve all about Eddieâs tattoos weeks ago. This must be Eddieâs mind messing with him.
âMy memory isnât faulty, not this time.â Eddie taps over the binder before yanking it away. âI do have another tattoo, Stevie. Youâve just never seen it.â
This dirty chess game just got way more interesting.Â
Thereâs no point in playing it safe now. Both of them are taking risks, playing offensively. All guards are down, miles away from Indiana.
âProve it, then.â Steveâs cheeks warm up. He can feel the blood all over, in his ears, in the tip of his nose. âShow me.â
Eddieâs teeth look sharper when he smiles this time. Like Steveâs dare has turned his bones into blades.
âAre you gonna wig out if I lift this stupid gown up?â
Yes. Steve would never admit that, but yeah. Internally, heâs wigging out so fucking hard right now.
âYouâve puked all over me, dude. If I didnât haul ass after that, Iâm not gonna haul ass after seeing your skin.â
Eddie glares at him. âCouldâve just said no, but whatever. Be a smart ass.â
âTakes one to know one.â
Eddie twists onto his side, bunching up the material and settling it under his arms. Right over his rib cage, is the sixth tattoo.
Itâs a birdcage, one thatâs been mangled. The metal bars are all crooked and the cage door is wide open. One of Eddieâs demobat scars goes diagonally through the body art, like those creatures were the ones to slash it open. Destroying Eddieâs body in a multitude of ways.
Steve wants to touch it, feel the healing claw marks that look so much like his own, but deeper. He hides his own scars every day with sweaters and jackets, so itâs easy to forget how connected they are. How much pain they are forced to wear. Mutated skin and mutilated minds.
One battle with death and darkness has made them more alike than society ever would have.
âWhereâs the bird?â Steve finally asks, mainly to stop his hand from reaching over, brushing the black lines and red scars.
âDidnât have a chance to get it done.â
âNo?â
Eddie contorts his face. âI got this part done back in January. And I was planning to get the bird inked up on the opposite side once I graduatedâŠâÂ
The last word gets all strangled in Eddieâs throat. Steve barely hears it, doesnât really need to hear it though. He figures it out by the way Eddieâs hands become fists. How he screws his eyes shut, refusing to let the anger fuel his tears.
Steve gets it. Most of his anger turns to sadness these days too. He knows heâs not a weak person, he knows that. But when those two emotions whisk themselves into a twister, Steve feels puny. Pathetic.
He lets his fingers circle the birdcage design on Eddieâs ribs. A cage on top of another cage. Heâs pretty sure Eddie did that on purpose - the guy is obsessed with wordplay. Steve makes a spiral shaper over Eddieâs skin, letting the pattern get smaller and smaller as he reaches the center of the design.
Eddie just watches him do it, Steve can feel the stare, the attention. His breathing is shallow, almost stopped. Almost like heâs holding his breath until Steve finishes whatever heâs doing.
âIt suits you.â Steve says, moving his palm over to the scar now. Letting the damaged parts of Eddie receive just as much recognition as the tattoo. Eddie didnât choose to have these markings, but it doesnât matter. Theyâre here now. May as well acknowledge them. Engrave them into his history.
âThe tattoo?â
Steve looks up. âAll of it.â
âSteve.â Eddie tugs on Steve's arm, nails digging in harder than they need to. He almost makes the gesture feel like a question.
Steve answers it. He sits on the edge of the bed and settles one arm over Eddieâs body for support.
This is exactly where they were one week ago. Sharing the same breath, sharing the same tension.
But the resemblance to their sleep-driven moment from last week stops there. Theyâve constructed something new, better. Thereâs anguish from the past and thereâs breakable desire for their present. Last week was surreal, dreamy. This week is unrefined.
Steve canât comprehend why he likes the rawness of today so much more.
âAm I reading this wrong?â Eddieâs hand lifts up to Steveâs cheek, thumb stroking the corner of his lips.
Steve chuckles, whisper-level laughter. âYouâre stealing all of my moves here, Munson.â
"What moves?"
"I said the same thing last week."
âWait.â Eddieâs huge eyes somehow defy science. Get bigger. âThat wasnât a dream?â
âWhat wasnât a dream?âÂ
âThat really happened?â
Steve is only half listening. âWhat are you talking about?â
âWell.. almost happened, I guess I should say.â Eddie is starting to ramble. "The nurses told me that I was having batshit crazy dreams all weekend long. I just assumed there was no way that could've been real."
âCan you please tell me what weâre talking about?â
Eddie is grinning, bouncing in the bed like a spring-loaded toy. âI canât believe I thought it was a dream this whole fucking week!â
âFor the love of god, Munson. Just tell me what happened in this stupid dream!â
Eddie cups Steveâs face and pulls him into a kiss. Kisses the glower right off Steveâs mouth. It only takes a split-second for Steve to react, leaning into it. Steve controls the pace to keep everything soft for Eddieâs sake. Calm hands, smooth lips, slow movements.
Thereâs a small cut on Eddieâs upper lip, Steve can finally feel it now. He opens his mouth enough to lick over it. Pay extra care to the fragile parts.
Eddie whines a little, his hands dropping to Steveâs collar, dragging him into his chest. Steve lets him, lets the kiss get rougher. Sloppier.
Itâs clear that Eddie does not share Steveâs careful approach. Heâs so grabby, so possessive. His teeth mash into Steveâs bottom lip. He takes the opportunity to bite and tug, makes Steve yelp. Teeth and kissing is usually a turn off, but god, Steve is obsessed with how Eddie does it. How greedy he is.
Steve dips his mouth in, opens up enough to let Eddie bite and lick as much as he pleases. Be greedy. His free hand is planted on Eddieâs waist, just above his bird cage tattoo.Â
âCome here.â Eddieâs breath is warm, tinged with the chocolate they had on their snack break. Heâs pulling Steve harder now, never breaking the kiss for long.
Steve scoots another inch, slides his hand all the way up to Eddieâs neck. âIf I get any closer, Iâll be on top of you.â
âI know how physics works, Harrington.âÂ
âYour super-senior status says otherwise.â
âPlease, shut up.â Eddie kisses him harder. His skin is extra pink everywhere Steve has pressed against him. For someone that kisses so madly, he looks so soft. Fresh-laundry soft. âCloser, baby.â
Steve sucks all of the air out of the kiss, totally startled by the nickname. He makes a sound, hopefully nothing too whorish or breathy. But Eddie definitely heard it because heâs smiling against Steveâs lips.Â
Getting closer isnât really an option with all of the wires and the unlocked door. So Steve drags his lips under Eddieâs jaw, down his neck. Improvises a way to feel closer, explore deeper.
âHoly shit, youâre good at this.â Eddie hisses, tangling his hands into Steveâs hair.Â
Getting compliments on his kissing technique makes Steve preen, has to fight the urge to mark up Eddieâs already bruised neck. Explaining fresh hickies to an army of doctors would not be a pleasant task. So Steve flattens his tongue, runs it diagonally across Eddieâs collarbone. Pecks kisses over all the wet spots.
Eddieâs hands drift down to Steveâs chin, lifting his focus back up. âSteve.â
âYeah?â
âYouâre justâŠâ Eddieâs eyes dart all over Steveâs face. He's breathing hard, his heart monitor and his pulse are at war right now. So many rhythms in their shared space. âYouâre very pretty.â
âYou think so?â
âThe universe thinks so.â Eddie kisses Steveâs cheek - feels like tiny embers over his skin. âIâm just confirming it.â
Steve smiles, takes a minute to catch his breath. Heâs finally realizing how little heâs been breathing for the last few minutes. His lungs ache the way they would after swim meets. Rattled and burning.
"I like you too, by the way." Eddie kisses Steveâs other cheek, makes it even. âJust to clear things up.â
Eddie remembers Steve spilling his heart out yesterday.
âConsider things clear.â Steve laces their fingers together, under Eddieâs blanket. Each of them staring at the connection, both highly aware it means so much more than helpless support this time.
It means absolutely everything.
Steveâs back in the stupid chair that will never be close enough to Eddie. They lower Eddieâs bed so that Steve can rest his elbow on the side, play with Eddieâs hair just like he did with Steve last week.
Heâs infatuated with how different their hair textures feel. Eddieâs hair is all frazzled and knotted. Still soft, but not like Steveâs hair. If Steveâs hair is cashmere, Eddieâs hair is woven wool.
âSo you thought last Saturday was a dream, huh?â Steve questions.
âI have some crazy vivid dreams.â
Steve shakes his head. âBut all that stuff I said to you. Why did you act so confused?â
âThe headache medication knocked me out.â Eddie explains. âI thought you heard me talking in my sleep⊠saying embarrassing shit and you and your hair.â
âSo you thought I was mocking you?â
Eddie hums. Very hushed.
Steve untangles his hand from Eddieâs head and sighs. âYou shouldâve just told me what you were thinking.â
âI know that now.â
âWe couldâve been making out all week.â
âGuess we should make up for lost time then.â Eddie hooks his index finger into Steveâs sweater, tugging him closer. Always tugging.
Steve angles himself to meet Eddie in the middle, kissing him sweetly this time, less urgency. Eddieâs lips are still puffy from Steve sucking on them. He wants to do it all over again, keep them puffed-out and swollen.
The kiss is so slow and so good, that Steve only breaks away when his neck muscles start to tighten up. Too many awkward kissing positions in this hospital room - Steve wants to get Eddie into his car or his bed. The floor might be good too.
âSo,â Steve threads their hands back together. âCare to fill me in on your little âlater, sailorâ comment from last week?â
âYou did work at the finest ice cream chain to ever grace Hawkins, did you not?â Eddie retorts.
âYeah. But of all things, how did you remember that?â
Eddie pokes to the top of Steveâs head with his free hand.
âMy hair?â
âYour hairspray or product or whatever you use.â Eddie ruffles it and Steve tries not to become liquid at the touch. âApparently smells can trigger memories almost instantly.â
âWoah.â Steve makes a mental note on that.
âVery woah.â
âAnd what aboutâŠÂ the club?â
âWhat club? Hellfire?â
âNo, not Hellfire.â Steve playfully pinches the inside of Eddie's palm. âThe Below Deck club.â
âFucking hell, you know about that?â Eddie covers his face. âSomebody please, end my suffering. I canât go on. Not like this.âÂ
Steve is cackling now, keeling over in his chair, almost tearing up from how much heâs laughing. And each time Eddie tells him to knock it off, he laughs harder. This is a better ab workout than heâs ever had at the gym, he should just cancel his fucking membership.
âAll Iâm hearing is that my ass is unforgettable.â Steve wipes a laughter-induced tear from his eye.
âCruel.â Eddie mumbles into his hands. âThis humiliation is cruel.â
Steve flips back onto the bed, yanking Eddieâs wrists away from his face. âItâs hot.â
âDrooling over an ice cream employee is hot?â
âYou drooled?â
âDear god, stop this madness.â Eddie grabs the tv remote and aims it at his face.
âWhat are you doing?â
âTrying to rewind my mouth from saying stupid shit.â
âEddie, chill out.â Steve takes the remote, hiding it behind his back. âIâm just glad you remember me. Even if my ass is the most memorable feature.â
âThese are pretty memorable too.â Eddie smushes Steveâs cheeks, forces his lips to pucker out.
âOh yeah?â
âAnd these.â Eddie squeezes Steveâs biceps. Steve rolls his eyes and wraps Eddieâs arms around him.Â
They fall back into a long kiss. Visiting hours are about to end, and Sam is off on the weekends. No one is here to let Steve stay the night. So he kisses Eddie like time isnât a factor. Steve kisses him slow and nice. Eats up any sugary sounds that leave Eddieâs mouth. Whispers how crazy he is about him any time they come up for air.
âI wish you could stay.â
Steveâs heart rips around the edges hearing Eddie say that. Christ, he wants to stay too. So fucking badly. Wants to stock up on chapstick and water so they can make out all night.
âMaybe I can come back tomorrow?â Steve suggests. âGive your bandmates the day off?â
Eddie nods, nuzzles into the crook of Steveâs neck. âHey, Steve?â
âYeah?â
âWhat if I forget about this?â
Steve hugs Eddie tighter. âDonât say that.â
âIt could happen.â Eddie peers up at him. âFuck, I donât want it to happen, but it could.â
âHey hey, stop it.â Steve clicks their foreheads together and closes his eyes.
He canât lie. He canât tell Eddie that forgetting is impossible. But Steve can keep his eyes closed and savor every minute of today. He can hold Eddieâs kiss-warm cheeks and just hope that everything will be okay tomorrow.
Steve opens his eyes. He sees the Hawkins senior-class ring on his hand, and it gives him an idea.
âHere.â Steve plucks the ring off of his left index finger. He leans over and places it in Eddieâs drawer, right next to his dice collection. âIf you remember what happened tonight, youâll know where that ring is. Put it on tomorrow, so I can visually know that you didnât forget. So I know itâs okay to come in here and kiss you stupid some more.â
"Like this?" Eddie kisses Steve noisily and they laugh, ignoring the shitty alternative for just a minute longer.
âAnd if I come in and you donât have it on⊠well, Iâll be on my best behavior.â Steve gets up from the bed, crosses his fingers over his heart. âNo surprise make out sessions or lewd comments, I swear.â
âYouâll be okay with that?â
Thatâs a tricky question, Steve doesnât have a âyes or noâ answer to it. Heâll be disappointed, thatâs undeniable. But heâs so far into this with Eddie. The notes and the recovery and the feelings. Everything is netted together. Steve couldnât separate it even if he tried.
âI meant what I said yesterday. IÂ like you, Eds.â Steve puts on a brave smile.Â
âSo yeah. If you forget, then itâll be a pleasure to restart with you.â
Steve swipes Eddieâs bangs to the side so that he can give him a kiss right in the center of his forehead. Kissing the place where all of Eddieâs memories are tucked away, even the lost ones. Wishing and aching for the memories of tonight to lock into that place, stay safe and secure.Â
Just stay.
Donât get lost in there.
Please.
572 notes
·
View notes