all my ghosts are with me

The smallest bit of anger flares up within him, his hand bunching up the dirt into his palm. If Ozzy came to him hurt, why can't he come and help Eddie? But the anger leaves him like the wind as he thinks of Ozzy coming, helping, staying. He wonders briefly if the wolf is even alive still, heart breaking at the thought. With a broken yell he tosses the dirt into the dark, not even caring to watch as it disappears back onto the ground. He pulls his knees to his chin, hugging them. He feels like a child.

As the sun inches up in the horizon through the trees Eddie begins to try and plan. He has no food, no water, no form of communication. He lost the walkie in the boathouse, and he knows it’s a dumb idea to go back. The entire town is probably there, listening as his name is said over and over in condemnation. 

He wants his uncle. 

He wants Ozzy.

He wants his mom. 

He needs to contact the party- let them know that their NPC was forced to go rogue. For the first time all night he moves from his hidden position, hair and vest now all dry. He stretches out his stiff limbs, cringing at the many pops they emit. 

Okay Eddie, time to think.

He’s just finished forming his plan of snatching a walkie-talkie from a construction site when he hears movement behind him. He scurries back into his hiding spot with his heart in his ass and a hand over his mouth. 

“-you sure he’s here?” Dustin asks in his usual bitchy tone.

Whoever he’s talking to doesn’t respond in words but with a low sigh that’s plagued with familiarity. Eddie’s heart stutters. It feels like he’s stuck to the rock and peeling himself away as he moves to respond to Dustin’s calls, legs like liquid as that sigh replays over and over in his mind.

There’s no way…

Ozzy. . .?

“Munson?” Steve asks into the woods, not a question like Dustin’s many 'Eddie?''s but instead something full of worry. Like he already knows Eddie’s here. Something in Eddie breaks. 

“I’m- I’m here. I’m here!” Eddie plasters on a wide fake smile, stepping out from his spot just in time to see Steve shrug on a jacket over his shirt. Dustin barrels into him, nearly knocking him off his feet as sentence after worried sentence falls all at once out of the kid’s mouth. Eddie laughs nervously, eyes stuck on Steve’s unreadable expression. He tries to make sense of what Dustin is saying, but apparently not well enough. “-ddie. Eddie!”

Eddie glances down at Dustin, returning the kid’s frown with a smile.

“You okay?” It’s not Dustin to ask, but Steve. Eddie’s head jerks up, eyes catching with Steve’s brown ones. His hair shines like the sun in the woods, familiarity chokes at him. 

“Yeah- yeah- I-.” Steve frowns and Eddie can’t help but mirror it. “How did you find me?”

Dustin lets go of him. “We heard about Patrick after pulling up to Rick’s… the cops were there.”

“What happened?”

Eddie flinches slightly at the soft tone Steve had used, heart beating as fast as his mind is spiraling. “Um-”

Dustin interrupts him. “Did anything different happen? Was it the same as Chrissy?” Eddie flinches slightly at her name but the kid doesn’t seem to notice. “Did you talk to him?”

“Dustin.” Steve sighs- it sounds the same-, an annoyed clench to his jaw. 

Dustin looks back at Steve, seeming to realize what he’s doing. “Shit- sorry Eddie, we should wait to talk about it for when everyone else gets here.” Dustin digs in his backpack, pulling out a walkie and alerting the rest of the party that they're at Skull Rock. 

“I told you Steve would find him.” Robin’s voice comes through, altered by the technology. “His nose is not to be messed with.” After that Dustin scrambles away into the woods, hissing quietly into the walkie something Eddie can’t hear. 

“Your… nose?” Eddie asks, brows furrowed in confusion. 

He watches as Steve opens and closes his mouth, for the first time in the history that Eddie had known him, seemingly lost for words. “Uh- she meant she knows that we’d find you.”

Eddie blinks, narrowing his eyes. “How did you find me?”

“Skull Rock is one of the more popular hiding spots.” Steve says a bit too quickly. 

Eddie remembers why it is and can't help but laugh. “Of course you’d have the path to it memorized.” 

Steve’s tense shoulders deflate and he gives a breathy chuckle of his own, though it sounds more relieved than anything.

“They’ll be here soon Steve.” Dustin says as he comes back into the clearing. “They don’t know the way, I’ll stay with Eddie if you…”

Steve gets the hint and sends the boy a double thumbs up as he happily jogs into the woods and away from his conversation with Eddie. Eddie frowns at his disappearing back, catching only the beginning of Steve shrugging off his jacket before Dustin is catching his attention.

“You lost your walkie-talkie.” It’s not a question and Eddie feels himself cringe away from the boy’s near glare.

“I didn’t really have time to pack anything up.” It would have all been lost in the water anyways. 

“News flash, Eddie- they don’t grow on trees. If it wasn’t for Steve we would have never known if you were still alive!” Okay, so Dustin’s mad mad. “And if you were-” Dustin doesn’t say the word. “-then by the time we’d have found you- Max would be gone too!”

Eddie feels himself deflate. “I was planning on stealing one from a construction site if that’s any help.” 

Dustin opens his mouth to speak but then closes it as he processes what Eddie just said. “How the fuck were you planning on doing that?”

Eddie smiles, a small thing. “Roll for stealth and hope for the best?"

Dustin- surprisingly- laughs, a near hysterical thing erupting from his mouth and forcing him to hold onto his knees, his eyes are wide and almost disbelieving. When he stops laughing he looks at Eddie, really looks and whatever he sees makes him not say anything, an understanding crossing the boy’s features. Eddie fidgets under the scrutiny, wishing he had his DM power to make Dustin stop. But Dustin is the more experienced one here, from the pieces he’s been able to pick up- Dustin has been here through everything. It’s weird, to not feel like the adult in the (metaphorical) room when the only other person around is fourteen years old. 

‘Fifteen’ the Dustin in his mind corrects. The Dustin in front of him stares at the dirt.

They don’t speak for a while.

When Steve returns it’s with the rest of the party and bags full of food.

“Oh, Jesus H. Christ, I could kiss you.” Eddie near moans as Steve hands him a bag digging into the contents and cracking open the first lukewarm coca-cola he sees. He chugs it, hiding a burp with his hand as self-consciousness creeps up his spine.  Steve is watching him with a strange wide eyed expression, and the realization of what Eddie just said hits him. He does his best to play it off however. “What? You want some?” 

Steve sighs and shakes his head, walking over to where Dustin is staring with a frown at his compass.

They let Eddie eat before asking him any question, but when they do they don’t sugar coat it. 

“Uhhh, I saw Patrick die and then I did what I’ve seem to become really fucking good at: running away.” A heightened laugh escapes weakly from his lips, guilt still eating at him. 

“Do you know what time it was?” Nancy asks, arms crossed in her typical Wheeler fashion. Her and Mike are so similar, and that’s why Eddie knows they’d kill him if he ever pointed it out. “The attack?”

“Yeah uh-” Eddie looks down at his watch, suddenly glad he was wearing the damn broken thing. “I’m not the only thing that got soaked- here.” He takes it off, tossing it to her.

“Nine twenty-seven.”

“Same time our flashlights went kablooey.” Robin takes the watch, examining it and then knocking her knuckles against the clock-face before tossing it back to Eddie.

“Which means what, exactly?” Steve asks with his hands on his hips, his shirt ridden up slightly where it’s scrunched by his hands. Eddie pointedly doesn’t look as he puts the watch back on. 

“That’s when the lights went crazy at the Creel house!” Dustin exclaims, looking vaguely similar to how he always does before figuring out whatever malicious plot Eddie had put him through in a game. “That means we were right below him when he killed Patrick! Just on the other side.”

The others look pale in comparison to Dustin’s proud ‘I figured it out’ grin, though at Dustin’s realization the others aren't in fact thrilled about this his- smile falters into a grimace.

“I just don’t get it!” Lucas huffs as he glares holes into his shoes. “Why Patrick?”

“He targets people with secrets, right?” Nancy muses, glancing at Max who is looking at Lucas with an unreadable expression on his face.

Steve shifts on his feet and when Eddie glances up at him he finds that Steve is already looking at him, a pained look poorly hidden in the strain on his face. Eddie watches, confused as Steve lets out a low miserable sigh, looking away from Eddie’s probably dumbfounded expression and to the rest of the group. He crosses his arms. “If that’s the case wouldn’t the rest of us be at risk too?”

“I think it has to do with the emotion behind the secret.” Max finally speaks, her earphone perched on her shoulders as the sound of Kate Bush coming from them lightly fills the silence that follows, the party waiting for her to explain. She seems to clam up at the undivided attention. “I- um- I-”

“And if I only could I'd make a deal with God, and I'd get him to swap our places.” Kate sings mournfully from Max’s headphones. And- oh. Steve inhales a sharp breath next to Eddie, eyes wide.

“Max-” Lucas’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline, taking everyone's attention. Eddie feels his own heart give a small crack as he watches Lucas’s shatter.

She pointedly ignores his outburst, shrugging off his touch when he tries to reach for her. “I walked in on Chrissy puking in the bathrooms before the pep rally.”

Eddie blinks, a horrible suspicion making itself known. “Oh. Fuck.” He wants to puke himself, feeling altogether sick at his realization.

All eyes turn to him, but it’s Steve who he makes eye contact with.

“When she d- got Vecna’d, she was at my place for the strong stuff.” Eddie runs a hand up his face and into his hair, wishing to hide away as he watches Steve’s mind slowly understand. He turns to the others, the brown eyes that feel far too much like home overwhelming him, he doesn’t deserve the comfort that they bring him. Especially not when- “she was probably going to kill herself with it.”

“So you have to want to die for Vecna to come after you.” Robin breathes, breaking the silence before it even begins. 

Eddie glances back at Steve, following his gaze to Max who now has her earphones over her ears again, eyes looking wet as she glares at the rock behind Eddie. Lucas is still staring at her, his hands visibly trembling. 

“Patrick had a bad home life.” Steve says, grimacing slightly as the party all looks at him with varying expressions. “He never talked about it, but it was obvious. Once you know the signs it’s hard not to tell.” 

Eddie fidgets slightly with his sleeve, the burn marks below nearly gone from the years between then and now. 

“What about Fred then?” Nancy asks, her journalistic mind clearly at work. “He seemed fine for the most part.”

“What about his scar?” Robin points out, both figuratively and literally, her finger raised slightly. “I caught him glaring at it a few times, maybe whatever caused it is his reason.”

“But we don’t know for certain-” Nancy begins, only to be cut off.

“That’s still three out of the four people, Nance.” Steve interrupts, the nickname licking fire through Eddie’s insides. Despite his little plan, he feels miserable imagining them back together. “I’d take that shot.”

“Steve’s right.” Dustin pipes up, everyone but Eddie turning to gawk at the kid. Hey, Eddie’s the one who had to hear the little prick sing near love songs about the jock, so forgive him if he’s not surprised. “It’s a lead.”

“I still think we should check.” Nancy sighs, brows pinching as she thinks. “I’m worried about what Max said about him seeming stronger, what if he opened a gate?"

“A gate?” Eddie asks the same time Dustin makes a strange choking sound.

“Of course!” Dustin waves his compass in the air. “Electromagnetic fields!”

Everyone stares at him like he has grown two heads, except Lucas who seems to understand exactly what Dustin is saying. “There’s a gate! Where?!”

“Steve, you’re the one who said you invented Skull Rock. What’s directly in that direction?” Dustin points into the woods.

Eddie looks at Steve just in time to see Steve’s eyes widen, understanding dawning on him as he and the rest of them catch up- he must know what a gate already is then at least. But then all of Eddie’s wandering thoughts are squashed as Steve answers the question, a dark expression blanketing the man’s beautiful face. 

“The lake.”

Eddie once again wishes he could run.

___

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-

-

Tension escalates between period drama actor Steve Harrington and Corroded Coffin’s lead singer Eddie Munson

Just one day after the release of Eddie Munson’s new interview, the war between the metal singer and Steve Harrington gets a brand-new chapter.

Harrington was spotted this morning near the shooting location for his new show wearing a black t-shirt with the caption ‘Don’t mind me, my opinion is irrelevant’ printed in bold red letters over his chest. He smiled and waved to the paparazzi, stopped to talk and take pictures with his fans but refused to talk to the press. His message, however, was very clear.

The war between Harrington and Munson started after the actor publicly mocked Corroded Coffin’s name during an interview. Yesterday, Munson responded to it, stating the actor’s opinion is irrelevant since he has no real knowledge about their music and can’t be taken seriously. Now, this story gets a new chapter with Harrington mocking Munson’s words.

We tried to contact both Harrington and Munson, but neither of them wanted to talk. Click here to see more.

-

-

Chrissy has been weirdly snappy the whole day. Actually, if Eddie stops to really think about it, she’s been like that since the day before. He guesses she had reason to talk his ear off yesterday; he got distracted reading House of Chains back in his hotel room and almost missed their afternoon practice before the concert, but Chrissy’s anger never lasts more than a few hours when something like this happens. Her sour mood is very weird, to say the least. There has to be something else going on.

“What the hell is going on with Chrissy?” Eddie whispers to Jeff, as they watch their manager yell at someone over the phone on the bus sitting area. It’s the fourth time just this morning, and it’s barely even past 10 a.m.

“She has a lot on her plate right now, man,” Jeff whispers back, shaking his head. “Just let her be.”

Oh, Eddie definitely will; he’s not in the mood to be yelled at so early in the morning, especially since he only got five hours of shut-eye before they had to go back to the bus if they wanted to reach their next destination in time.

“Whatever, I’m gonna go back to sleep,” he yawns, kicking his friend on his way out of the kitchen booth. “Wake me up when we get to Phoenix.”

Jeff kicks him back. “Fuck you, Munson.”

“Nah, too much history between us, babe.”

He ducks down just in time, and the magazine Jeff had been reading hits the bus window instead of Eddie’s head. Eddie flips him the bird, cackling, and makes his way to the bedroom before the other man can find something else to throw at him.

Gareth is already there, sprawled on the massive bed, laughing at something on his phone as usual. How his friend can waste so much time on that thing is beyond Eddie. Especially these past few days, Gareth has been concerningly glued to his phone at all times; it’s getting out of hand, in Eddie’s humble opinion.

“Make room, idiot, you’re not the only one tired here.”

Gareth sneers at him. “Fuck off,” he says, but scoots a little to the side to let Eddie lay down anyway.

Eddie is out the moment his head touches the pillow. He’s woken a few hours later by someone shaking his leg, Gareth nowhere to be seen anymore.

“I’m up, I’m up,” Eddie groans, smushing his face against the pillow.

“Come on, Eddie, we’re almost at the hotel.” It’s Frank, the man now pulling on his leg as if ready to drag him out of bed if needed. “The manager there called Chrissy and said there’s a lot of fans waiting for us, so get the fuck up and make yourself presentable; Chrissy’s orders.”

“Let go of my leg, dickhead!”

“Then get up!”

“Fine! I’m up!” Eddie pushes himself to a sitting position, rubbing his eyes as he tries to clear his still sleep fogged brain. When he finally blinks his eyes open, Frank is still very much there by the door, staring at him. “What? I said I’m up. Get out, or I’m gonna start stripping right here and force you to watch it.”

“God, no, thanks,” Frank gags, making a face. “I don’t wanna lose my breakfast.”

“Then scram.” Frank does without much protest.

Eddie allows himself a moment to sulk before getting out of bed and rummaging his bags in search of something to wear. If there’s gonna be fans waiting for them, his ratty Metallica t-shirt and loose grey sweatpants won’t cut it. There’s a certain look Chrissy expects them to maintain when out in public, and Eddie’s current disheveled state is definitely not it.

When he gets back to the bus lounge area to join the rest of the band, Eddie has already put on his official Eddie Munson attire –black pants, black devil shirt and combat boots—and is trying to tame his hair into a bun.

“How are we gonna do this?” Eddie asks as he takes a seat next to Jeff.

“Chrissy is trying to convince hotel security to take the reporters out of the crowd,” his friend says, handing Eddie a half-smoked joint, which he gladly accepts and takes a hit. “She says we have fifteen minutes to sign things and take pictures with fans, no talking to the press.”

“Oh, yeah, because talking to those vultures is something I’m always dying to do.” Eddie takes another hit, then gives the joint back to Jeff.

Signing things and taking pictures, huh? Fine, he can do that; better than being forced to answer the most boring questions for a whole hour straight, that’s for sure.

-

-

There’s a lot more people at their hotel than Eddie expected it would. Sure, there’s always a small crowd waiting for them when they get to a new city, but there’s nothing small about the crowd waiting for them this time; security is having a hard time keeping all those people behind the crowd control barriers.

“Holy shit!” Frank mutters under his breath.

Eddie gets Frank’s awe, he really does. Almost ten years in this business, six years of life altering success, and Eddie is still floored sometimes by how many people follow their work, by how many people are willing to leave their real-life responsibilities behind just to gather in front of a hotel and wait for Eddie and his boys to show up and just wave at them. As aware as they are of their own success, there are times when the real magnitude of it hits them and it’s just… Holy shit indeed.

Their driver stops right in front of the building, so they can meet the fans. Chrissy gives them a couple of pens each, tells them to avoid any reporter that might have escaped the security check, then sends them on their way with words of encouragement, promising to meet them inside later.

The crowd was already screaming when the bus stopped, but when the doors open and Gareth, always the first one in these scenarios, steps out of it? It’s pure madness.

Eddie leaves the bus last, putting on his sunglasses and taking a deep breath before opening the best showman grin he can muster and joining his friends. By now, after such a long time together, they already have a system to deal with these fan meetings. They split, each one of them taking care of a section of the crowd so they can reach as many fans as possible.

This part is easy. With security right behind him, Eddie signs albums, magazines, posters, arms, a woman’s cleavage. He takes cellphones and snaps selfies with the fans, accepts gifts and thanks them for being there. Then he changes places with Frank and starts all over again.

Chrissy told them fifteen minutes, but with the number of fans there, it’s impossible to leave so quickly. It’s not fair to the fans; they’ve been waiting for them for God knows how long, they can’t just leave all those people to go back home with nothing after so much effort.

The security guard following him approaches Eddie a while later and tells him Chrissy is asking for them to go meet her in the lobby. That’s his cue to finish signing the last items and taking the last selfies with his fans.

He's signing yet another arm, this time a guy’s, when someone basically shoves a magazine in his face. Out of reflex, Eddie leans back, cursing.

“Eddie, your interview was so metal,” a woman, probably in her early 20s, says. She’s still extending the magazine towards Eddie, so he can sign it. “Harrington is a dumb bitch, and he can’t appreciate real music. You were right to say that shit about him.”

The other fans close to the woman yell their agreement, joining in and calling that Harrington guy some colorful names. That catches Eddie’s attention; Chrissy never mentioned if that interview he gave got published or not. Apparently, it had. And, apparently, they had included that last question about Harrington.

“You guys liked it that much, huh?” he asks, signing the woman’s magazine, then another one’s album.

More yells of agreement, more curses at Harrington’s name and his lame movies and shows. It’s kinda funny how these people can get feral about such silly things.

“Don’t let that idiot mock you again, Eddie,” another fan shouts. “Bitch thinks he’s so funny with that stunt he pulled this morning.”

Eddie has no idea what stunt they are talking about, so he just nods, smiles and finishes signing a few more items; he can ask Chrissy later. When the security guard approaches yet again, Eddie thanks the crowd for coming to meet him and finally follows the man into the hotel lobby. The silence there is a stark contrast to the madness outside; the only ones in the room are hotel employees or their band staff.

Jeff and Frank are already there talking to Chrissy at the front desk, while Gareth is still with the fans. Eddie joins his friends, waving at the receptionists and offering them a smile.

“All your things are already in your rooms,” Chrissy says. She hands a key card to each one of them. When Eddie tries to snatch his from her hands, though, she pulls it away and gives him a serious look. “For the love of God, Eddie, don’t destroy anything this time.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “It was an accident, Chriss, I told you that. There was a fucking cockroach in the bathroom.”

“Then call security and ask them to take care of it. I don’t wanna have to pay extra again because you broke a mirror and a shower box trying to kill a roach.”

“Fine, okay, gee. Stop talking about this.”

His friends, being the assholes they are, take the opportunity to mock Eddie all over again for the cockroach incident, before leaving to their rooms. Eddie curses at them as they go, not really caring that the hotel staff is probably gonna gossip about it as soon as he turns his back.

He keeps Chrissy company as they wait for Gareth. Luckly, they don’t have to wait too long; their friend soon shows up, with the last security guard following close behind. Chrissy gives Gareth his key card, then, and they can finally go to their rooms and sleep.

At least, that’s what Eddie is planning to do, as he takes the elevator with Chrissy and Gareth, the man talking non-stop about this fan that tried to kiss him right before he got inside the lobby.

“She pulled my hair so hard I think I lost some of it,” he chuckles, massaging the back of his head.

“Tell me security didn’t beat this woman up,” Chrissy sighs. “I just know there were reporters hiding in the crowd, and we really don’t need this kind of publicity right now.”

“Relax, Chriss, I got her to let go before anyone could do anything.”

It’s the mention of reporters that brings to Eddie’s mind the interview that fan was gushing about earlier.

“Hey, Chriss, did my interview get published?” he asks, as they exit the elevator and make their way down the hall. “The fans were talking about it, but you never told me anything.”

It’s really fast. If Eddie hadn’t been looking at Chrissy, he’d never have noticed it, but he was looking at her. The moment the question leaves his lips, Chrissy’s eyes widen the tiniest bit, and she bites the inside of her mouth, her hands curling into fists as her whole body goes rigid with tension. But it’s just for a second. All the tension and surprise are gone in the blink of an eye. Eddie, however, has been best friends with her long enough to know the telltale signs of Chrissy’s anxiety.

Eddie stops in the middle of the hallway, crossing his arms. “Chrissy, did they publish my interview?”

Beside her, Gareth clears his throat, so obviously avoiding Eddie’s gaze that his suspicions only get worse. “Well, I think I’m gonna let you guys—” he starts saying, only to be interrupted.

“Oh, no. You’re not going anywhere, mister. Don’t even think about it,” Chrissy reprimands, gripping Gareth’s wrist tightly and bringing him back to her side before he can escape to his room. She then turns to Eddie. “And I’m not having this conversation in the hallway, Eddie. Too many eyes and ears around for this.”

She basically drags Gareth by the arm the whole way to Eddie’s room, Eddie watching their interaction with a mix of wariness and curiosity. They are hiding something from him; there’s no way they aren’t. The question is what exactly it is that they are hiding to get that kind of reaction out of Gareth? And how does his freaking interview fit in all this?

Once they get inside Eddie’s room, and the door is safely locked, Chrissy lets Gareth go. The room is huge; there’s a living area, with nice leather couches, rugs and armchairs, a desk with a chair and lamp, and floor to ceiling windows to let in natural light. The bedroom and en-suite are separated from the living area by double-doors made of light wood. Usually, Eddie would spend a great deal of time snooping around and going through all the fan gifts their staff piled on the sitting area, along with his bags, but he’s too curious.

“Alright, now spill,” Eddie demands. He sits on the backrest of the couch as he watches his friends fidget awkwardly. “The hell are you two not telling me, huh?”

There’s a silent conversation happening between them as both Chrissy and Gareth exchange a look before joining him in the living area. Gareth takes the desk chair, while Chrissy opts to lean against the backrest beside Eddie. They are trying to look casual and nonchalant, but their posture is too stiff; they’re not fooling Eddie for a second there.

“So, the magazine published your interview,” she starts, voice careful.

“And?”

“And they may have used what you said about Harrington in a way that seemed as if you were responding directly to him,” Chrissy grimaces. “They cut out the part where you said you wouldn’t answer anything because there was no way of knowing if the rumors were true and just used the part where you said his opinion was irrelevant. Made it look like you were mocking Harrington back.”

The idea is so stupidly absurd that Eddie just sits there and waits for the moment Chrissy and Gareth are gonna start laughing at him for even considering it. Except that they don’t; they’re just looking anxiously at Eddie, as if bracing themselves for his reaction.

“Is this some kind of joke?” Eddie inquires, leaning his head a little to the side.

His confusion just seems to make his friends antsier; Gareth can’t stop fiddling with the hem of his shirt, Chrissy is once again biting the inside of her mouth.

“Yeah, we wish it was,” Gareth mourns. “The fans have been going nuts since yesterday because of this interview. I had to turn off my notifications because social media is, like, a war zone right now.”

“Our fans?”

“And Harrington’s too.”

Silence falls in the room, then; heavy, oppressive, like the final quiet moment before a storm breaks loose. Neither Chrissy nor Gareth dare to break it, but Eddie has no qualms about doing so.

“You’re telling me that those journalists straight out lied and distorted all I said in that interview and published it? And that both of you knew about this, all this time, but I had to find out through our fucking fans? Is that what you two are telling me?”

“You see,” Chrissy tries. “When you put it lik—”

“I am asking if that iswhat you’re telling me. This is a yes or no question, Chrissy, I’m not asking for explanations.”

“Come on, Eddie, don’t be a dick,” Gareth protests.

And Eddie can’t help himself; he laughs. “Oh, I’m being a dick, now?” he asks, getting up from the couch, hands pointing at himself as he steps closer to where Gareth is. “You two lied to me and I’m the dick. Did anyone already tell you to go fuck yourself today, Gareth? Because if no one did, consider it done, then. FUCK. YOU.”

“Eddie, stop,’ Chrissy calls, pulling the back of his shirt to get him off Gareth’s face. “You’re overreacting.”

It’s a good thing Eddie still has enough sense to remind himself it’s Chrissy there, because if it were any of the guys he’d have punched them square in the mouth. He does turn to face her, though, and pulls the fabric off her hands a little too forcefully.

“I am not overreacting, Chrissy,” he growls. “I am fucking pissed. You lied to me! All of you! Because the rest of the band knows too, right? Of course they know, and the staff knows, and the fucking fans know, Chrissy. The fans!! Everybody knew about this shit, except for me!”

“But it’s not as bad as you’re thinking. There was not much they could use, you didn’t give them a lot to work, so it was mostly the irrelevant thing, nothing else.”

“I don’t fucking care!” Eddie yells. “I don’t care if they had or didn’t have anything to work with because I didn’t even want to do that fucking interview to begin with. You made me do that, even though I told you time and time again to send someone else. And this fucking thing with Harrington is exactly why I never want to talk to those fucking assholes, Chrissy. It’s never an innocent interview; there’s always something else.”

“I know, Eddie, I know. But we still need to promote the tour if we want to keep it a success, we need those fucking assholes.”

“No, we don’t.”

“Yes, we do! Social media can only get us so far. We need the mainstream media talking about the band so we can reach people outside our fanbase. And I know you hate them, believe me, I’m not fond of them either, but dealing with ill-intentioned reporters is a necessary evil in our jobs, you know that.”

Objectively? Yes, he does know, but he doesn’t have to likeit. Eddie doesn’t have to like the fact that both his friends kept him in the dark about what was happening either. That is what makes the whole situation worse. Journalists taking his words out of context and using it to get clicks and sell magazines sucks ass, yes, but his friends being aware of what the press was doing and consciously keeping the information from him is what really stings.

A frustrated groan leaves Eddie’s lips as he paces. He can’t trust himself too close to his friends, so he walks to the other side of the room, kicking blindly the first thing that gets in his way; a standing lamp. He curses when the thing shatters against the floor, glass flying everywhere.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!!”

He needs to clean that up. No, he needs to call someone to clean that up. No, no, no, he needs to think. He needs answers. He turns to face Chrissy and Gareth and startles a little when he finds both of them closer to him than they were before, although still safely out of his reach.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? For how long you were planning on keeping me in the dark about this bullshit? Did everyone else in the band really know but me?”

“We were gonna tell you, man.” Gareth aims for reassuring but ends up sounding way too hesitant for that. “We just didn’t find the right time.”

Eddie glares at him. “Are you fucking with me? The right time was the moment you found out those jerks were using my name to publish lies.”

He sees the exact moment Chrissy decides she’s had enough. Her eyes are on fire as she steps around Gareth and crosses the rest of the room until she’s right in Eddie’s face. For someone almost a foot shorter than him, Chrissy does know how to be intimidating, Eddie will give her that.

“Wanna know why we didn’t tell you sooner? Because we know you. We knew you would get angry the moment you found out, we knew you would throw a fit and we couldn’t risk you saying something that would make the situation worse,” she says accusingly, pointing a manicured finger in Eddie’s face.

“Oh, so now it’s my fault my friends were lying to me?”

“Yes!” Chrissy yells, her cheeks red as she gets angrier and angrier. “We had a concert, and we didn’t have time to wait until you calmed down. We needed you on that stage and we did what we knew was best at the time. But if you want to be all mad at us, be my guest.”

“We wanted to tell you,” Gareth adds, in a rush. “But we couldn't. It was too close to the concert when we found out. We had no option.”

“Bullshit.” Eddie spits. Maybe he’s being a little unfair, he tends to do that when he’s hurt. That doesn’t change that fact that he’s fucking hurt and disappointed with his friends. All of them. So excuse him, but he’s going to be fucking unfair if he fucking wants to. “You know what? I think we’re done here. You did what you came here for, I already know about the article. Thank you, Chrissy, Gareth, for finally informing me. Now get the fuck out of my room.”

“Eddie—” Gareth tries to reach for him, but Eddie slaps his hand away.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he hisses. “I said we’re done. Get. Out.”

Gareth clearly wants to argue, to try and make Eddie understand their side of things, but Chrissy is way too smart to even bother with that.

“Let him be, Gare,” she says, her eyes never leaving Eddie as the words leave her mouth. “We’ll try again when he’s not throwing a tantrum anymore.”

Eddie gives them his back before he can say anything else he’s going to end up regretting later, and stomps towards the bedroom, slamming the double door behind him. Moments later, he hears the sitting room door click shut as his friends finally leave.

Letting himself fall to the floor, Eddie hugs his knees close to his chest and rests his head against them as he finally allows himself to take his first real breath since their fight started.

-

-

-

-

It’s Gareth who sees the article first.

The band is gathered at the venue they are supposed to perform that night, waiting to start their afternoon practice. They should be practicing already but, being the diva that he is, Eddie’s late as usual.

Jeff and Frank are testing the equipment with their staff, as Chrissy tries to call Eddie for the eight-hundredth time in ten minutes. Gareth refuses to join any of them because, one, Eddie’s gonna join them when he wants to and, two, he’s gonna make them test the equipment all over again when he finally shows up so doing it now is a waste of time. Instead, Gareth uses this time to do what he likes best; absolutely nothing.

He picks a spot on the stage away from where his friends are working, throws his backpack on the floor and lays down, using the bag as a makeshift pillow; not exactly comfortable but it’s far better than wasting his energy waiting for Eddie to grace them with his presence.

With nothing else to do, Gareth fishes his phone out of his pocket and scrolls around his social media. Why not? It’s not like he has anything better to do right now. Gareth’s scrolling down his Instagram feed when he sees it.

On a fan page —because, yes, Gareth loves following these fan pages so he can watch all the cool videos and edits they make and interact with their fans— he sees a post about Eddie’s interview from last week. The page used on the post a black and white picture of Eddie from the photoshoot they did to promote their last album; he’s in full Eddie Munson persona, leather pants and chains and rings, his hair a crazy mess of curls as he gives his best manic smile and shows both his middle fingers to the camera.

Gareth’s seen this picture before; it became a special card on their Deluxe Edition. But the original picture did not have the bold red ‘IRRELEVANT’ written under Eddie’s rude gestures.

“What are they talking about?” he mutters to himself as he rolls down the post to read the text.

It doesn’t say much, just the usual fan rage about that Harrington guy. It’s not the first time this guy’s mentioned; Corroded Coffin fans have been saying a lot of shit about him since he made the rookie mistake of saying he didn’t know who the band was. Now he’s facing a backlash Gareth does not envy, but it’s still very entertaining to follow on social media.

When the post doesn’t explain much, just says how proud they are about Eddie’s not taking shit from that posh idiot Harrington, Gareth goes to the profile tagged at the end. It’s a magazine’s official page; apparently, the one that published Eddie’s interview.

It’s easy for Gareth to find the article. They used the same picture the fan page did, sans the red “IRRELEVANT” added by the fan post. Halfway through it, Gareth already knows they’re gonna have a long day ahead of them; Eddie’s gonna be pissed when he hears about this crap.

“Chrissy!” Gareth yells, standing up from his resting spot to go look for their manager. She’s close to where the staff put the drums, still on her phone even as she gives directions to the staff. “Chrissy!!”

The woman turns, phone still pressed to her ear. “What? Have you heard from Eddie yet?”

Gareth gives her a flat look. “He’s not even picking up your calls, what makes you think he’d pick up mine?”

“Then what?”

“You need to see this.” He hands her his phone without another word of explanation and just waits.

It’s impressive how Chrissy’s face can go from confused, to baffled and then to really fucking angry in less than thirty seconds.

“Are they fucking kidding me?” she groans, finally putting her phone in her pocket so she can focus on the more urgent matter. “They didn’t tell me the interview had been published. How did you find this?”

“On a fan page. It just popped up on my feed.”

“Oh, that’s just great, the fans are already spreading this everywhere.” She takes back her phone and opens her own Instagram app to check if what Gareth’s saying is true. It is. Every fan page on her feed is talking about Eddie’s interview and mocking Harrington somehow. Fantastic. “And the fuckers called me Eddie’s assistant, what the hell? Almost ten years managing your careers and working my ass off to make you guys one of the most successful bands out there and they call me an assistant. I’m calling these fucking assholes right now.”

Is her fury justified? Fuck yes. Even Gareth is insulted by how dismissive people usually are of Chrissy’s importance in their band’s success, but she’s not paying attention to what’s more pressing there.

“Chrissy, focus,” he calls, snapping his fingers in front of her face. “If you didn’t know the interview was out, Eddie doesn’t know the interview is out. He’s not gonna be happy when he sees they’re taking his words out of context.”

“Who’s not gonna be happy?” Frank asks, joining the conversation and trying to peer into Chrissy’s phone to see what the deal is.

Chrissy shows him her phone screen. “Eddie. They published his interview and are framing his answers as if he was responding to that Steve Harrington thing.”

“Oh, he’s definitely not gonna like it,” Frank grimaces as he reads the article. “They called you an assistant, what the fuck?”

“Thank you!”

“We can’t let Eddie know about this shit before the show tonight,” Gareth says. “He’s gonna get all moody and probably say something in between songs that will only make things worse.”

“He barely uses social media. The only way he’s gonna know about this is if someone tells him.”

“Then you guys talk to the staff,” Chrissy says. “Gather everyone before Eddie gets here and explain what’s happening. Inform them they’re not supposed to mention any of this until after the show or else I’ll be forced to do something about it. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

“We’re on it, Chriss.”

“Great,” she nods. “Now you guys excuse me, but I have some phone calls to make.”

-

-

As annoying as they can be, Steve is forced to admit Corroded Coffin fans are impressively loyal to their idols, especially to Munson. It’s been two weeks since his interview came out and they are still sending him hate and making posts calling him some very creative names; he’s never seen a fanbase this dedicated before. It’s kind of amusing, if he’s being honest.

“You laugh because it’s not you that has to deal with the PR team,” Robin hisses when he mentions it.

Filming was brutal that day; they started early and spent seven hours filming the confession scene for episode six. The director kept interrupting Steve and Nancy all the fucking time to make adjustments and to give them directions about where to look and how much feeling they needed to show. The man claimed it was because they needed the scene to be perfect, but Steve thinks he’s just a perfectionist freak who’s never satisfied with anything. Not that Steve’s ever gonna say that to the man’s face; he likes having a job.

But now they have wrapped up for the day and Steve just wants to drink his beer, eat his pizza and catch up with the latest episode of Yellowjackets. He refuses to leave his trailer for the rest of the night; he’s earned these few hours of rest.

“What did I tell you? Tell them to fuck off, this is just fans being fans and getting emotional over their idols. They’re gonna forget all about me soon enough.”

With an annoyed exhale, Robin takes a seat next to Steve on the couch and steals a slice of pizza from his plate. “I hope so, because I can’t take one more week of these pricks pestering me about bad publicity and how the studio might be affected by this shit.”

“Bad publicity is still publicity,” Steve says with his mouth full of pizza, earning a disgusted sneer from Robin. “Did my numbers drop these past weeks?”

“Not really. Your name has been trending along with Corroded Coffin’s, and you’ve gained a lot of followers on every social media. I thought you’d lose followers, but it seems like you and Corroded Coffin have very different audiences, which, fair, not many people are into sappy period dramas and heavy metal at the same time.”

“Hey! My shows are not sappy, they are romances. You’d know the difference if you had a single romantic bone in your body.”

“Yeah, yeah, keep telling yourself that,” Robin says dismissively.

She munches on her pizza, but she’s clearly not happy. Steve gets it; dealing with the studios’ higher-ups and PR teams is not an easy task. They tend to make a big deal out of things that shouldn’t be important at all, like his last interview for instance. He’d be in a bad mood too if he spent so much time hearing people complain non-stop about stupid things.

“Come on, Robs, stop with the grumpy face,” Steve tries to cheer her up, bumping their shoulders together. “It’s been two weeks already; sooner or later people are gonna get tired of talking about my interview and move on to the next gossip. They always do.”

“Maybe,” Robin concedes, even if a little reluctant. She polishes off the pizza, then lets her head fall back on the couch rest with a deep sigh. “I guess all these meetings with the PR team these past weeks wore me out more than I thought. I’m so fucking tired I’m really considering crashing on this couch instead of going back to my hotel.”

“You can, you know. We can watch Yellowjackets together, then the couch is all yours.”

“Noooo, you’re way ahead of me. I’m still in episode four, I don’t want spoilers.”

They end up watching The Bear because neither of them has watched it yet and they can start from the very beginning. It’s nice having Robin around like this; off the clock in a makeshift sleepover not that different from what they used to do when they were teenagers. Steve loves working with his best friend, he really does, but sometimes he feels like working together is all they do nowadays. They’re always so busy that these quiet moments of companionship are getting rarer and rarer.

After the first episode ends, Steve gets up to grab them fresh beers and more snacks as Robin goes through his things in search of a change of clothes she can use to sleep. Steve is contemplating if the bag of chips he has is going to be enough for a whole episode, or if he should order something else to go along with it, when Robin calls him from his bedroom.

“Dingus, Dustin is calling you!”

He instantly forgets about the food. “What? Why?”

“I don’t know, he’s not telling me.”

Steve tries not to think the worst, but it’s hard not to. Dustin hardly ever calls him; they text each other all the time and Dustin loves dumping tons of random information he learns from the six hundred documentaries he watches every week, but they almost never call. Calling is for special occasions like birthdays and Christmas and for emergencies, and Steve is sure he’s not forgetting any special occasions.

He leaves the beer and snacks on the counter and crosses the trailer towards the bedroom just in time to hear Robin chiding at Dustin over the phone.

“Calm the fuck down, Henderson, he’s coming. Jesus!”

“Gimme here,” Steve says. He doesn’t even wait for Robin to pass him the phone; he just grabs it from her hands. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

Steve doesn’t know what he had expected when he asked that question; nothing good, that’s for sure, but he had not expected Dustin to completely ignore his worries and ask, “Why are you publicly fighting with Eddie Munson?”

Two weeks ago, he wouldn’t have recognized the name. A lot has changed in these past two weeks, though, so of course Steve now knows exactly who Dustin is talking about.

“Uh? I’m not publicly fighting with Eddie Munson.”

“What!?” Robin startles, but Steve ignores her.

“Yes, you kinda are,” Dustin insists. Steve can hear a faint noise in the background, someone singing a song he recognizes from one of the dozen musicals Robin’s forced Steve to watch when they were in school. Dustin must be at Suzie’s. “You said that shit about his band to the press a few weeks ago and now he’s saying shit about you to the press too. It’s all over the internet, dude.”

“The hell is he saying about me?”

“Some shit about yo—”

“Put Henderson on speaker, for fuck’s sake!” Robin says, slapping her friend hard on the arm. “I need to hear this too, you idiot.”

“Okay, okay! You don’t need to hit me,” Steve glares at Robin just to earn a glare back as he taps on his phone and puts the call on speaker. “Okay, Dustin, Robin’s listening too. Spill.”

“Munson gave an interview to some magazine,” Dustin explains. “One of the reporters asked him about your interview and he said, ‘Why does this shit matter? His opinion is irrelevant.’ The journalist said Munson got so angry that he refused to answer anything else after that question.”

“Bullshit.” Because it has to be, no one would seriously get offended by something so stupid like that article; at least not offended enough to respond to it publicly.

“It’s not bullshit, everyone is talking about it online. Your name and Munson’s have been trending for the past three hours. Like, every Corroded Coffin fan page is posting about it and making edits mocking you. How the hell aren’t you seeing this?”

“I was shooting all day with Nance, I didn’t have time to check anything today,” Steve groans at the same time as Robin lets out a nervous laugh.

“That’s fantastic!” She says, voice tight with anxiety. She buries her hands in her hair, just to let go a second later and start pacing around Steve’s tiny room. “That’s so fucking great. That’s exactly what we fucking needed right now.”

“Is Robin okay?” Dustin asks warily.

“What do you th—” Robin starts to say only to get interrupted by Steve.

“She’s gonna be fine, Dustin,” he says loud and a little nervous too. But Dustin doesn’t need to be aware of everything happening in his life right now, especially not about how Robin’s probably gonna bite his head off in, like, two minutes probably. He takes the call off speaker quickly. “Thanks for the heads up, man, but I gotta go. Talk to you later?”

“Sure.” The little shit is laughing. “Good luck dealing with Robin, I think you’re gonna need it.”

“Yeah, thank you very fucking much.”

“Bye, Steve!”

When the call ends, the room is dead silent and that is what makes Steve nervous. Because Robin is loud most of the time, but when she gets quiet like that it’s a sign she’s not just mad, she’s livid.

“You know, it might not be that bad,” Steve tries. Does he firmly believe it? Nopes. But one can try, right?

“Not that bad? Really, Steve? Right now?”

“Robs—”

“No, do not Robs me,” she finally snaps. “This is exactly what I was trying to avoid when I told you you should make an official statement and clear things out, but no, you had to be stubborn about this. Now congratulations, you managed to piss off a man whose fanbase is just feral and won’t leave this shit alone for God knows how long. And all of this because you just don’t listen to me! Are you proud of yourself, Steve?”

Robin is panting heavily by the time she finishes, her face beet red and fists balled tight beside her body.

“Do you feel better now?” Steve asks softly when his friend’s done, and the words seem to drain all the anger out of her small body.

Robin lets herself fall seated on the bed with a tired sigh. “Actually, yes,” she admits, hiding her face in her hands for a moment. “What are we gonna do, Dingus? I don’t wanna deal with those PR pricks anymore, they are driving me crazy.”

Steve joins her on the bed, draping an arm over her shoulders in a half-hug. The fact that Robin doesn’t swat him away and just leans against him instead is proof of how tired she really is.

“Well, I think we can first check out if what Dustin said is true or in the press is just making things up again,” he suggests. “For all we know, they can be getting Munson’s words out of context just to stir things up. You know they love doing that.”

“I guess. But what if Dustin isright and Munson really is mad at all this mess? I know you’re not very familiar with him, but that man is unpredictable. He can just say some shit about you and be done with it, but he can also hold a grudge and get his fans even more feral. There’s no way of knowing what his reaction’s gonna be.”

Steve might not be familiar with Munson or his apparently bad temper, but he is familiar with how the press loves twisting things to make a profit out of it. They can’t blindly trust anything they publish just because it’s trending.

“If this is the case and Munson really is pissed about what I said, then I promise you I’ll make that official statement to clear things out,” he says, even though the idea still doesn’t sit right with him. “Maybe you can contact Munson’s manager and see if I can talk to him and explain everything?”

“Hm, I don’t know if he’d agree, but I can try if it comes to it,” Robin replies, deep in thought. “I think Jonathan must have Cunningham’s number, he worked with Corroded Coffin last year when they started promoting their tour. Worth asking him at least.”

“That’s settled, then. First, we check what’s really happening. If it’s bad, you talk to Jonathan and get this Cunningham guy—”

“She’s a woman.”

“Fuck, sorry. You ask Jonathan for Cunningham’s number and see if she can convince Munson to hear what I have to say. Sounds good?”

“Good is a strong word. But I think it’s something, which is better than nothing.” Taking a deep breath, Robin frees herself from Steve’s hold and stands. “I’m gonna go get my iPad so we can take a better look at this whole mess. Can you order more pizza? If we have to do this right now, we’re gonna need the calories.”

“Extra cheese?” Steve asks, already looking for the pizza place’s number.

“Definitely.”

-

-

They spend two hours going through hundreds of posts and they still don’t cover even half of it. Dustin really wasn’t kidding when he said it was all over the internet.

They’re in opposite sides of the couch, each one with an iPad as they thoroughly search every social media platform they can. The empty pizza box is abandoned on the coffee table, along with a bunch of beer bottles and the bag of chips from earlier. The TV is still on, but just for the sake of background noise; neither one of them has looked at it for the past hour.

“Did you find anything about any band member liking or sharing this stuff?” Robin asks, though her eyes don’t leave the screen.

“No, it’s just fan accounts and gossip pages. Munson follows, like, eight people and his last post is from a month ago. The others are more active, but it’s all work related; just their concerts and stuff.”

The longer they look into it, the more convinced Steve gets that the press is making shit up; at least most of it. Steve’s read the original article, published on the magazine’s official page, then went to their website and read the whole interview just to make sure. The only offensive thing he found there was the blatant lie the journalist told Munson when they mentioned his own interview; he did not mock the guy’s band and he’s definitely not been talking badly about their work, Steve’s never even heard their songs!

“Robin, I think it’s safe to say they are twisting the man’s words,” Steve says, putting down his iPad in order to look at his friend. “If this was serious, they’d have shared something about it, but there’s nothing. Other than crazy fans and gossip pages, there’s nothing much.”

“Yeah, I can’t find anything either.” She groans, putting down her own iPad and resting her head on a hand. “Why are they doing this? I know you and Munson are famous and this shit sells, but you guys don’t even know each other. Your audiences are completely different, it makes no sense.”

“But it does, Rob. If we have different audiences, then something like this is gonna reach a lot more people than if I was fighting with someone from my line of work, or if Munson was fighting someone from another metal band. They get a lot more money this way.”

Because, at the end of the day, that’s all this is about, isn’t it? Money. These journalists and gossip pages are using his name and Munson’s to make as much money as they can, doesn’t matter if they’re clearly taking things out of context or making things up; if it’s making their profits grow, it’s all justified.

“Fuck, what are we gonna do, then? You’re not gonna make that official statement, are you?”

“No fucking way.”

“Yeah, thought so,” Robin makes a face. “This might die down after a while if neither you nor Munson say anything else, but I wouldn’t count on it. Someone can easily make something else up and post it just to keep the gossip going. Especially if they’re getting money out of it.”

That is the main problem; neither Steve nor Munson has any control over what’s being published. As big as their platforms are, there’s no way they can fight against big-ass corporations who’ve been controlling the media’s narratives for decades. If Steve stays silent, the press can keep making things up to milk this story for a long time; if he publicly apologizes, the press can easily say he’s only doing so to avoid losing fans and contracts, even though Robin says his numbers have been steadily growing since…

Steve turns his head so fast to face Robin that his neck makes a loud cracking noise. “Robin, are my numbers still growing?” he asks.

“Uhm, wait a sec,” she says, typing on her iPad for a moment before nodding. “Yep. Still growing. You got almost 30k new followers on Instagram alone since this afternoon. Why do you ask?”

“Okay, this may sound crazy, but what if we give them what they want?”

Robin frowns. “What are you talking about?”

“Bear with me, alright?” Steve says. He abandons his side of the couch and gathers closer to Robin, so she can see his tablet’s screen. “You said so yourself, my numbers are growing since this whole thing started, right? Guess what, so are Corroded Coffin’s and Munson’s.” He hands her the tablet. “Their main account got 15k new followers in the last two hours and Munson’s is getting even more than that. And all of this thanks to the shit ton of posts mentioning both of us.”

“So? What does this have to do with anything?”

“If we keep the gossip going, we can increase our platforms. Meaning, we can use it to try to get better contracts. You told me once studios won’t give me serious roles in drama shows or thriller movies because these kinds of roles don’t fit with my branding, right? But what if we change that? What if I’m publicly fighting with the leader of a famous metal band? That doesn’t fit with my branding either but it’s happening anyways. Playing our cards right, we can get a bigger platform than we already have and the chance to prove to all those studios that have turned me down that I’m not just a pretty face with really good hair.”

Robin’s face lights up in realization, her eyes widening as she stares at Steve in disbelief. “Are you seriously saying you want to use the press to provoke Munson on purpose so you can get more followers and influence? Have you lost your mind?”

“No, Robin, you’re not getting it.” He takes the tablet out of her hands and puts it down on the coffee table, grabbing his friend’s hands and pulling her until they are face to face. “The press is going to keep talking about this regardless of what I say or not, you said so yourself. They’re gonna milk this for as long as they can to get as much profit as they can, you know they will. I can’t control if they are gonna publish shit about me or not, but this way I can control what they are gonna publish about me. It’s not about provoking Munson, it’s about provoking the press into publishing what I want.”

He pauses and gives Robin a moment to absorb everything he’s just said. Steve admits this may sound a little crazy, but it makes perfect sense. The gossip pages, the fans, the press, everybody is going to keep talking about him and Munson anyways, at least this way he can have a little bit of control over what’s being said; at least this way Steve’s not going to be caught by surprise the same way he was two weeks ago.

“If we’re doing this,” Robin starts, crossing her arms. “And I’m saying if, okay? What are we gonna do about the PR team? They’re not gonna be happy.”

“They will be happy when you show them with a bunch of those graphics of yours how much my platform is growing and how much influence and attention I’m getting with this whole thing. Meaning, every one of my following projects are going to get even more publicity. Come on, Robin, you know the PR team is just like these gossip magazines. If you show them this story with Munson is capable of increasing the studio’s profit somehow, they’re not gonna care about what we’re doing anymore. They’re finally gonna get off your back.”

And that is what convinces Robin. Not the idea of pranking the press or using this story to their advantage, no. What convinces Robin is the idea of being free of the PR team for good.

“Okaaay, this might not be so crazy,” she says, finally relaxing. “We can try doing it your way, but if the PR team isn’t convinced after I talk to them, you’re making that official statement and you’re calling Munson to apologize.”

Fair enough.

“Fine,” Steve agrees.

“Thank you. So how are we gonna do this? You said you’re not gonna insult Munson directly or whatever, so what’s the plan?” Robin squints suspiciously at him. “Do you even have a plan, Dingus?”

“Oh, I have a plan,” he laughs. “And you gotta help me with it. We’re shooting tomorrow in the city, there’s gonna be a lot of paparazzi there waiting to get a good picture of me.”

“And?”

“And I need you to find a place where we can get a custom shirt made so I can wear it tomorrow morning. We just have to work on the design first.”

-

-