written for @steddiemicrofic | prompt: ‘three’
[title from 'past lives' - børns]
rated g | 333 words | no cw | tags: domestic bliss, existential crisis
He first says it like a joke, tossed across the living room like it’s nothing more than another stupid Harrington-ism, something to make Eddie snort and call him drama queen.
“Three lives,” Steve mutters, hip-bumping the coffee table straight while sweeping guitar picks and loose change into his palm. “King, babysitter, and whatever the hell this one is.”
This apartment wears them well: laundry in limp mountains on the couch, Eddie’s favourite mug sweating on the windowsill, Dustin’s spare key hanging beside theirs in a crooked row. A grocery list on the fridge, old ink beneath the fresh scrawl where Steve kept changing his mind about who they are now, what they need. Whole milk, low-fat, lactose-free. Life one, life two, life three.
King Steve lived in mirrors, in the sheen of a car hood and the hollow clamour of parties that never felt like fun. Babysitter Steve lived in bat-splintered knuckles and Eddie’s van, in the thud of sneakers racing down cracked-open suburban streets, and in the terrifying knowledge that he loved kids who weren’t his and would kill monsters for them.
This Steve lives here, in the dip of their shared mattress under Eddie’s weight, in the three towels that hang in the bathroom - one for him, one for Eddie, one permanently stolen by Dustin when he crashes. Now-Steve lives in the click of three locks on the door each night, counted off under his breath.
“One, I’m not at my parents’ house,” he says, thumb brushing the deadbolt.
“Two. I’m not in the Upside Down.”
He hesitates on the third, palm pressed flat against wood grain.
Eddie’s voice comes from the bedroom, lazy and sure. “Three, you’re here. With me.”
Steve exhales - it feels like shedding old skin - and turns back toward the soft bedroom glow, scattered guitar magazines, a man waiting for him with his hair tied up and his heart uncluttered.
“Yeah,” he answers, leaving his past lives at the door. “Third life’s the charm.”
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