Ordered Chaos

“We aren’t,” Eddie startles, almost like in his brooding he forgot where he was. Nancy catches him shifting in his seat. He’s clearly uncomfortable, biting his lip as his eyes skirt back and forth between his lap and Argyle’s in the mirror.

“Sure looked like you two were pretty into each other,” Argyle says. His tone is an honest attempt at light and carefree. It lacks the signature Argyle vibrancy. 

Eddie catches her looking in the rearview mirror, faster than Nancy can avert her gaze. He huffs, nostrils flared, though his eyes are wide with anxiety. “It’s not like that,” he tries to argue back. 

Argyle scoffs. “Seemed like Johnny thought it was.”

“Well it wasn’t.”

The boys almost simultaneously cross their arms and slump back into their seats. It’s quiet until they pull up to Argyle’s new apartment. Once out of the car, he leans back inside. Big brown eyes downcast, his hair hangs loose around his face, shielding him from view of the backseat. Nancy can practically see his heart on his sleeve when he looks at her.

“Nance, let me know how he’s doing?” The question is vague enough that he could mean any of them, but Argyle’s heart is four sizes bigger than anyone she’s met. Of course he’d care about Steve even now that he’s got his own problems.

She smiles, small and sad but hopefully reassuring. “It’s a deal.” He taps the roof of the car, moving to close the door before she surprises herself by calling out to him again. “But if you need anything, you know, maybe someone to talk to–” she hesitates, scrambling for the right words. “It’s just– I know Jonathan better than anyone, other than you, obviously. So if you want to talk, you can always call me.”

Now more than ever Nancy cringes at how socially out-of-place she always feels. It sounds like she’s placing some sort of weird claim on Jonathan, implying that he’s still somehow, inarguably hers after all this time. Even after Robin. 

She quickly gathers her wits to explain herself, wishing she could just shove her tiny foot in her mouth when he cuts through her anxiety with a smile. It matches hers from only moments ago: small, sad, but hopeful. “Sounds like a deal, Big Wheels.”

Nancy chuckles at the new nickname, pulling a more genuine smile out of the both of them. She watches as steps inside before pulling out of the lot and back onto the road toward the trailer park.

Argyle’s absence somehow only makes the tension worse. Eddie stays sitting in the back, slumped forward enough that Nancy worries he’s not actually buckled in. His head is in his hands, face hidden away. 

Her and Eddie have grown close since the final battle with Vecna, just barely making it to the hospital in time to stop him from bleeding out. Nancy, Robin, Steve, and Dustin had sat by his bedside in shifts almost every day for two weeks until he finally woke up. She’d driven him to his appointments, helped him with errands, and made an easy, detailed schedule for his medications.

They’d sat around watching shitty TV reruns. She’d smoked her first joint with him, just two of them sprawled out on the couch talking about all the shit they’d been through. Except every single time, no matter how their conversations started, they always ended with Robin and Steve. 

What started as delicate conversations turned into late night confessions. Eddie was the first person she turned to when she started questioning herself. Nancy knows she was the only person he’d told about his crush on Steve. He’d made her promise not to tell anyone– especially Robin, obviously– and she’d agreed to take it to the grave. She’s fairly sure Robin made a similar promise to Steve. Though, that didn’t stop them from constantly encouraging the boys to just talk to each other.

After what happened today, it’s painfully obvious that Steve likes Eddie just as much as Eddie likes him. Robin’s reaction to everything almost outright confirms it without Steve even having to say anything. At least, it’s obvious to most people.

“I don’t see what the big deal is– why anyone even cares.” Eddie’s words are barely discernible, mumbling into his own hands pressed against his face. He runs his hands roughly through his hair as he leans back against the seat, looking at Nancy through the mirror with wild, angry eyes. 

“I maybe get why you would be upset,” Eddie continues his rant, gesturing at her. His voice begins to rise with frustration, his movements a bit erratic– ‘worked up’ as how Wayne puts it. “You’re with Robin now, and I know you don’t feel that way about Jonathan anymore. But… It just doesn’t make sense.” 

He’s pulling at his curls, and she wants to wrap her hands in his to get him to stop. “Robin’s never been mad at anyone before, and she looked like she was trying not to hit me. She wouldn’t even let me talk to Steve, which is bullshit considering I spend just as much time with him as she does, spend just as many nights there as her. I deserve to know why he’s upset!”

She stays quiet, knowing she’ll get her moment when he runs out of fuel. He always does eventually, it’s just a matter of patience– something she’s grown a lot better at between being best friends with Eddie and dating Robin.

He slumps down into the seat, strings cut. Eddie fails to stop a stray tear from breaking loose as he tips his head back. She sighs as they finally pull up to the trailer, throwing the car in park before she fully turns around to face him. When he refuses to meet her gaze, Nancy sighs again, loud and obnoxious to get his attention. 

She puts a steadying hand on his knee and heaves herself over the center counsel, pushing herself clumsily into the back seat. Eddie yelps in surprise when her knee hits something soft, but they eventually sort themselves out. They turn to face each other, legs tangled up in the middle.

“Nance,” Eddie sighs, his quiet voice tinged with sadness, “why do I feel so shitty about a stupid kiss?”

She reaches across the seats to grab his hand, gently running her thumb across the top of his knuckles. “Do you like Jonathan?”

“Of course I do. What’s not to like?” He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself it’s true, eyes scrunched and brow furrowed. She shoots him a scrutinizing glare, and he rolls his eyes in response. “Jesus Christ, Nancy, just say whatever you want to say. You look like you’re trying to kill me with your brain.”

“No, El kills people with her brain. I shoot guns.”

He chuckles nervously, trying to pull his hand away, but she grips it tighter.

She sighs and asks him again, with pointed emphasis. “Do you like like him, though?”

“Do I like like him?” Eddie mimics her, his teasing laugh strained with sarcasm. “Never thought I’d see the day where Nancy Wheeler– my actual fucking best friend, despite the odds– holds my hand and asks if I like like her ex.”

“Which ex?” Nancy shoots back, quick as a whip.

“... What?”

“Jonathan or Steve?”

“What–” Eddie tries to pull away again, and this time she lets him– “I thought we were talking about Jon?”

Nancy hums in thought. “Are we? Is this about your feelings for Jonathan?”

Before Nancy can stop him, he scoffs and throws himself out of the car. She scrambles across the seat and follows him out. His legs may be longer, but even after almost a full recovery, she’s still faster on her feet. Nancy catches him by the wrist just as he jams his key into the front door.

“Eddie, stop acting like a child and talk to me,” Nancy says. “Don’t storm off and pretend like we both don’t know why you’re upset.”

“It was just a kiss!” He rounds on her with red fury in his cheeks, tears clinging to his lashline. “It was just a stupid, fun kiss. I shouldn’t have to feel this way because someone kissed me at a party and I kissed them back. I don’t see why it’s a big deal, it’s not like it matters.”

“Seems like it mattered to Steve.” It’s about as close as she can hint without getting into trouble with Robin. Nancy knows Steve’s still playing his cards close to his chest, but she also knows sometimes it’s best to just go all in. 

Air rushes out of Eddie’s lungs, breath punched out of him as Nancy hits her proverbial target. Although she does wish she could actually punch him sometimes. Which is why it almost feels like a small triumph when she watches the poorly-obscured implication settle over him. 

Another tear breaks from its hold. He uses the back of his sleeve to wipe his face and drag it across his sniffling nose. Absolutely disgusting, but she doesn’t say anything, even though she desperately wants to offer him a tissue from her car.

“He was just upset because of the–”

“‘The shitty weed?’” Nancy finishes for him, quoting Robin’s awful excuse from earlier. “Do you mean Argyle’s personal stash?” It’s the best marijuana Nancy’s ever smoked, although that only includes Eddie’s wrinkled joints he re-discovers in random pockets and bags.

When Eddie opens his mouth, she’s already one step ahead of his ridiculous arguments. “And don’t you dare say he was upset because he’s homophobic.”

She hears the click of his teeth for how hard his jaw snaps closed. Nancy slips her hand down from his wrist and slides her fingers between his. This time when she squeezes, he squeezes back.

“He’s straight, Nance. You should know that better than anyone.” He sniffles and– to her horror– doesn’t let go of her hand when he uses the same arm to wipe his face again. God, men are animals. At least she’s never had to watch Robin pick her nose, even though the way she flosses is pretty graphic.

She sighs, throwing her arms around him in a hug, if not to get away from his snotty hands. “Seemed pretty upset for a straight best friend.” Nancy kisses him on the cheek before pulling away, making her way back down the stairs toward her car. “But you’re right, I would know better than anyone how Steve could feel right now.”

Driving home, she hopes her message landed, that maybe she’s helped and not overstepped. Especially when it comes to Steve. She can’t bear to see him heartbroken again, up close and personal in a way she selfishly distanced herself from last time. 

But she thinks, unlike the last time, Steve has a chance to be truly happy with someone who loves him more than anything in the world. The chance to be with someone who wants to take care of him, and be doted on in return. She’s finally found that in Robin, and she damn well knows Eddie’s the one for Steve. So if it means she toed the line on saying too much, then it’ll all be worth it if it’s the nudge Eddie needs to find his courage.

~~~

I always upload to Tumblr first but follow on ao3 if you prefer

Part 3 coming soon!

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“So it's true.” Eddie looks him over, eyes carefully cataloguing Steve's stuffy business suit and tie. “You've gone corporate.” 

Steve swallows. His body seems to have forgotten how to breathe. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

“What the hell am I doing here? Man, what the hell are you doing here?” Eddie counters, pushing himself off the side of his car and walking closer, one arm swept out to gesture at everything around them: the big house, the rich neighborhood, the expensive car, Steve and the very town itself. “You were gonna get away from all this. You were gonna follow Robin to college and live by the ocean and teach middle school. Now I find out you’re back here living with your parents and working for your dad?” 

“Yeah, I tried- we tried,” Steve says, tensing at the judgement in Eddie’s tone. “We moved to the coast, made it work the best we could for a little while but it didn't last. Working minimum wage jobs just wasn't paying the rent and the money ran out and we both had to move back home. But this- this is just temporary.” 

“Temporary,” Eddie repeats, like he doesn’t believe him. “You’ve been here a year.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Robin says you guys hardly talk anymore.” 

Steve’s chest feels tight. “Yeah, um, we just sort of drifted apart.” He shrugs, doesn’t want to get into it. There’s not much more to say anyways - and that was the whole problem, really. Steve’s life had gotten so boring and mundane he didn’t have a whole lot to talk about anymore. His humor dried up, their conversations fell flat, and eventually Robin stopped reaching out. “It happens.” 

(You would know, he almost adds. After all, he and Eddie had drifted apart too, a lot longer ago.)

“Right…” Eddie frowns. Steve doesn’t like the way he’s looking at him, searching his face like he’s trying to see behind his eyes. He looks away. 

“Look, it’s nice to see you again, but I don’t have time to keep chatting right now. I have plans,” he says, short and dismissive. It’s a lie of course, or half of one; Steve has plenty of time before he’s supposed to meet up with Tommy, he just doesn’t want to stay in this conversation. “I’m grabbing a drink with a friend in a minute.” 

“‘A friend’,” Eddie continues to question him, either not taking the hint or blatantly ignoring it, “but not Robin?” 

Steve sighs. “A coworker,” he elaborates. “Tommy.” 

“Hagan?” Eddie scoffs, predictably incredulous and unsupportive. He shakes his head. “Jesus, man, what the fuck happened to you? This isn’t you, Steve, none of this is. I know you, and this is all wrong. You can’t seriously be happy like this.” 

“You don’t know me,” Steve snaps, defensive mostly because he knows Eddie’s right. 

Because Eddie does know him, better than just about anyone except maybe Robin. They were close once, years ago, the better part of their late teens filled with nights spent laying together on the roof of Eddie’s trailer under the stars, trading secrets in hushed voices, all their fears and hopes and dreams, sometimes passing a joint back and forth but other times high on nothing more than simply the other’s presence so close beside them, the brush of their hands and the press of their shoulders. It was a deep and intimate friendship, one that teetered on the edge of becoming something more but never got the chance to, because Eddie was the one who ran away first. By the time Steve made it to the ocean, Eddie had already crossed it and they fell out of touch.

So Eddie knows him, and he’s right, but he has no right to make such a claim after leaving Steve high and dry for years. He has no right to come all the way here just to shit on Steve’s life, no matter how correctly, after so long of not being a part of it.

“You knew me as a teenager,” Steve continues harshly, bitterly. “You knew me as a stupid, hopeful, naive kid. I’ve grown up since then, Eddie. That’s what the fuck happened to me. I grew up.” 

“No, you haven’t grown up,” Eddie sneers. “If anything, you’ve gone backwards. Look at you, it’s like you’re 16 all over again. All hail King Steve - popular pointless rich kid, partying with Tommy Hagan, desperate for approval from all the wrong people.” 

Steve clenches his jaw. “I think you should leave.” 

“It breaks my heart to see you like this, Stevie.” 

“Then don’t see me. Just go. Run away again, it’s what you’re best at.” 

Eddie doesn’t seem to have a comeback for that. He deflates, starts taking a few steps back. “Your Majesty,” he relents with a mocking bow that would’ve come across as derisive if he didn’t look so goddamn sad. He turns around and so does Steve, walking off in opposite directions. 

Steve feels almost dizzy, ill. There are too many emotions swirling beneath the numbness he’d gotten so used to, emotions so long forgotten he can no longer recognize them, can no longer remember how to feel them properly, and so they gather like nausea in his stomach instead. He can smell his mother’s cooking when he enters the house, but declines her offer to make him up a plate. His appetite is gone, and besides, skipping dinner just means he’ll get drunker faster later, which sounds like a pretty good deal to him. He can’t wait to drink away all thoughts of Eddie and their conversation. 

And that’s exactly what he does. He goes out and he gets drunk. Drunk enough to hook up with Tommy’s cousin; drunk enough to convince himself he’s not thinking of anybody else when he tangles his hands in her dark curly hair. 

It does give him a start the next morning though, when he wakes up to wild curls splayed out on the pillow beside him. He sits up with a jolt, his mind slow and hungover and his eyes still blurry with sleep and for a second he thinks-- But then he blinks, his eyes adjust, and that's clearly a woman in his bed. 

She stirs at his movement, lifting a hand to her forehead and groaning. Steve sympathizes. 

“Hell of a hangover, huh?” he says. 

“Yeah.” She glances over at him and smirks. “Totally worth it though,” she adds as she props herself up. “I had fun last night.” 

“Yeah, me too.” He can't remember her name. Tabitha or Tanya or something like that. 

“Well.” She stands, starts collecting her clothes off the floor and getting dressed. “I should get home.” She tosses her hair out of the jacket she's just shrugged on. “I’ll see you around, Steve.” 

“Yeah, see you around,” he echoes, watching her leave. 

Then she's gone, and Steve sags back against the headboard. His stomach is churning and not just from the hangover. Emotions again, ugly ones. He's just beginning to be able to recall what they are now. Guilt, shame. He should've remembered her name. He should've offered her a ride home. How long has it been since he's cared about these things? 

He closes his eyes, an attempt to disconnect for a second, but these feelings won't go away. So he sighs, drags himself out of bed, and tries to go about his day like normal, tries to ignore the fact that he can fucking feel again. 

He’s doing pretty well, same old routine, until night falls and the normalcy is broken by the sound of a rock bouncing off his bedroom window. Two more follow after he ignores the first one, so he grudgingly marches over and flings open his curtains to see what’s going on. He blinks at the sight before him, but his eyes aren’t playing tricks on him this time. Eddie Munson is outside throwing pebbles at his window. As if he hasn’t already done enough damage.

Steve huffs irritably, turning on his heel and storming downstairs to meet him. “Listen, if you’ve just come back to tell me more about how shit my life is, I don’t want to hear it-” 

“Run away with me,” Eddie says instead, and Steve stops short. 

“Are you crazy?” 

“Yeah.” Eddie grins, that wild grin of his that gave him the reputation of insane and reckless when they were younger, but the gleam in his eye falls short of manic. Nervous, excited, desperate, hopeful, maybe; but not crazy. He takes a step closer and speaks like he means it. “You were right, running away is what I’m best at. But I don’t want to run from you, not again, so come with me this time.” His hands reach out as if to touch him, but then change course, gesturing widely. “We can head towards the sea, or wherever you want. What do you say?” 

“I already tried that.” Steve shakes his head. “I told you, Robin and I already tried that and it didn’t work.” 

“So you’re just never gonna try again? Come on,” Eddie urges, “Robin can come too. Call her up, apologize for being a neglectful fucking friend, and let’s all get the hell out of here. Together.” 

“Together…” Steve repeats. The three of them, like it used to be. 

“Yeah.” Eddie’s smile is so full of confidence, full of hope. “I really think we can make it this time.” 

His brightness is contagious, seeping through the edges of Steve’s doubt. That, too, is like it used to be. A self-proclaimed cynic as a teenager, but Eddie had never once come across that way to Steve. To him, Eddie had only ever seemed an endless blaze of optimism. His hope was his defiance, his way of saying, This world sucks, but not to me; I refuse. Steve had forgotten just how inspiring that is.

He's divided now. Torn between Eddie's infectious energy, the hope and want that form an ache in his chest, and the part of his mind that's still clinging to its programming, the part that feels duty bound to remain responsible, practical. The good kid, the perfect worker, the devil on his shoulder masquerading as an angel. It has one more protest to make. “But I can’t just leave. My life is here, my job…” 

“This life is killing you. You know that as well as I do.” Eddie does touch him now, taking Steve’s face in both hands. “The light’s all gone from your pretty eyes. Please let me see if I can help you bring it back.” 

The warmth of Eddie’s hands on his face spreads through his entire body, and Steve’s choice is made. Maybe it’s crazy, maybe they’re just as doomed now as they were all those years ago, but Steve has been woken up from his numbness, made to remember emotion again, all the good and the bad, and he thinks maybe with Eddie he can start to relearn to feel a bit more of the good. “Okay,” he says finally. “I’ll pack a bag. I’ll call Robin.” 

He thought he'd said it soft enough to not scare him but when he immediately bursts into loudy, snotty tears underneath his blanket, Eddie can only assume he's fucked up anyway.

He crouches down. “Hey, I'm sorry, don't freak out, it's just me. C'mon, man, talk to me, what's going on? You're scaring me.”

“I'm fine,” Steve croaks.

“Yeah…clearly.”

The lump that is Steve groans and then falls over, landing on a pile of old shoes, which he doesn't seem to notice or care.

“I don't want to talk about it.”

Okay. Now that Eddie knows Steve is upset about something, he thinks back to what they were doing before they paused the movie. Which was nothing.

“You said you'd seen The Thing before.”

Steve sniffs. “I have. At Mike's fifteenth birthday.”

“Okay. So why are you freaking out about it now?”

“Why the fuck- Uhh. Yeah. The movie. Scared me real bad.”

Eddie frowns at The Lump. So it's not the movie. Something happened when Eddie got up. Think, think, think!

“The life debt thing?”

Steve doesn't respond. He does curl into a smaller ball, which seems like an answer in itself. What it means, he has no idea. Why would that leave Steve a sobbing mess? It's not like he can undo Steve saving his life! Of course he owes Steve everything!

“Please talk to me,” he begs softly. “I'm not good at this. I'm not Robin.”

He gets a scoff. “Robin is also not good at this.”

True. Just because she's a girl doesn't mean she comes equipped to handle emotional outbursts. She's more of a ‘pat, pat, there, there' kinda gal.

“Would you tell her what was wrong?”

“Yes,” Steve admits after a short pause.

“Would you like me to go get her?”

“No,” he says, barely above a whisper. “But you don't have to stay in here with me. You can finish the movie if you want. I'll be okay.”

“Steve,” he pats what he hopes is Steve's shoulder, “I might not be good at this emotional vulnerability shit but even I know you don't leave your friends crying on the floor of their closet.”

Since he's touching Steve, he can feel the short, hitching breaths he's taking, trying so hard not to be heard.

“I'm fine. I'll be fine,” Steve tries to convince him, “I just need a bit to get over myself. Like a week or…six.”

“Over what?”

He sniffles some more. “Nothing.”

“I'm not leaving until you tell me what's wrong, dude.” To prove his point he shuffles fully into the closet and pulls the doors shut behind him. “There. Our closet breakdown.”

Steve groans, tries giving Eddie a little kick but his feet are trapped inside the comforter, so it feels more like a nudge.

“I'll be over here by this pile of old basketball jerseys when you feel like talking. Number twenty-one? Is that lucky?”

“This is so stupid,” Steve mumbles.

“Hey, you're in charge of this rodeo, just tell me what's wrong and we can mosey on out of here.”

“You sound like Wayne when you say shit like that.”

“Well, he did half raise me. Tell me what's wrong.”

“No.”

“So you don't trust me?” He says just to be an asshole, to get some kind of reaction. “We're not that good of friends I guess.”

That gets him a reaction alright, just not the one he wants. Instead of getting pissed, Steve somehow curls even tighter, near silent sobs emanating from The Lump.

All of this had had a sort of surreal, humorous quality before, finding Steve having a nervous breakdown on the floor like a toddler told to go to bed, but it's getting less cute now.

Eddie gets up and lays the opposite way, head down near Steve's. He wants to bundle Steve up and rock him like a baby, but it doesn't seem like Steve wants that. “If I'm really hurting you…if this is my fault and you want me to go, I'll go, but I don't want to. I want to fix this. What do you want me to do?”

He's quiet. Not actively crying at least. After a long stretch, he mumbles, “Is that what you've been doing this whole time? Trying to fix things? Doing what you think I want because you think you owe me?”

Okay, now they're getting somewhere.

“I do owe you, Stevie, but that's not why… That's not why.”

“Then why?”

He swallows. “Because you deserve more than you get.” There. That's fine. That's platonic and still vulnerable and absolutely true.

“And that's it?”

What the fuck does he say to that? ‘No, actually, I want to treat you like the god damned royalty that you are, not in the fake high school sense, but in the way that knights willingly followed Kings onto the battlefield?’

“What do you mean?” He asks instead, like the coward he is.

“I mean… You close all the curtains in the house when you notice I've got a migraine. You learned to play my favorite songs even though you think they're mediocre. You corral the kids when they get out of hand and start being mean to me. You invite me to family dinner at Wayne and Gail’s. We live together and make breakfast together and spend all of our time together and I guess that's just because we're friends. That's what friends do. We're just friends.” He's worked himself into a fit again.

Eddie can do nothing but stare at the blanket lump and try not to panic. Either Steve has been onto him for months and has finally had enough or…

“Stevie? Why are you crying in the closet?”

“Don't make me say it.”

He chokes on his own sob, months of being good, keeping it tucked away and out of sight, welling up in his chest and in his eyes.

He finds the end of the blanket and pulls until he can crawl underneath too, finding Steve with his head turned away, like he's still trying to hide. Eddie slides both hands onto the sides of his face and turns him away from the floor. He blinks at Eddie, looking every bit like a tragic Prince in a fairytale. Or a baby cow.

“Please,” he begs, voice breaking, “tell me why you're sad.”

Steve studies Eddie, eye roaming over the tear tracks Eddie can't stop, over his trembling lip, the blush that must be painting his cheeks. He's going out on a real limb here, betting it all, but Steve doesn't leave him hanging for long.

“I thought you were sweet on me.”

Eddie coughs out a relieved a laugh. “I am, baby. I'm so sweet on you.”

Steve's face could outshine the fourth of July. “Yeah?”

“Are you kidding? You think I'd crawl back into the closet for just anyone?”

“Oh my god,” he groans, head falling to land on Eddie's shoulder.

“Hey,” he nudges softly, “whaddya say we come out of the closet together?”

“Why do I like you so much?”

“Aww, you sweet on me, Stevie?”

Instead of answering, he throws back the blanket, bringing fresh air, and then Steve basically knocks Eddie into the door, spilling them out onto the floor of his room. He crawls on top of Eddie, pinning him down with all of his jock glory.

"I am so sweet on you."

And then he kisses Eddie. Kisses him like he's been thinking about it just as long as Eddie has, which is a real bitch of a realization. Months they could've been doing this.

He's got two handfuls of jean covered ass when Steve pulls back far enough to whisper, “We have to make up something else to tell Robin. She can't know it happened like this, I'll never live it down.”

"Let me touch your dick and I'll tell her whatever you want. You fought off a bear in the backyard and I was overcome with desire."

~*~

the next morning, steve pulls up to eddie’s huge beverly hills mansion bright and early, just as he had yesterday. he punches in the gate code, waves to the security guy on duty, and makes his way inside to the kitchen.

eddie storms in while steve is halfway through cooking another omelette, this time with tomatoes and onions and freshly grated cheddar cheese.

“i don’t care, wheeler, i’m not making a fucking appearance and i’m definitely not doing it with him,” eddie snarls into the phone pressed to his face. he hasn’t seemed to notice that steve’s in his house again.

eddie waits for whoever it is on the phone to speak before he says, “well maybe i don’t want to fix it. maybe this is it,” and then hangs up the phone. he lets out a frustrated little scream before he turns to leave the kitchen, finally noticing steve by the stove. “you’re back,” he says, voice monotone.

“i’m back,” steve smiles, sliding the plate full of food across the large island toward him. eddie looks down at it like he’s surprised. “eat,” steve tells him.

“another sweater vest?” eddie sneers instead of picking up his fork.

“i like them,” steve shrugs, still smiling.

eddie rolls his eyes. “whatever,” he mutters and then picks up the plate and retreats from the kitchen.

~*~

eddie is deeply annoyed by how good steve’s omelettes are. he practically licks the plate clean when he’s finished, which only serves to make his bad mood worse.

“can i take your plate?” steve asks from the doorway of the living room.

“jesus christ, man, wear a fucking bell,” eddie grumbles before holding out the plate, forcing steve to walk across the room to the couch and take it from him.

“i’ll remember to announce myself from now on,” steve replies. “chrissy just called; you have another meeting with the pr team this afternoon. we’ll leave here in about an hour.”

eddie doesn’t respond and steve goes quietly back to the kitchen.

~*~

eddie tries to confuse steve with the directions to nancy’s office again, mostly just to annoy him since the car has a built in gps. steve ignores eddie, leaving him to play on his phone in the back seat. the windows are tinted dark, just how eddie likes it & it lulls him into a false sense of security to where he’s almost relaxed by the time they get to nancy’s office.

the meeting is a fucking drag. it’s just a rehashing of the morning’s phone call and eddie had already made himself perfectly clear. he’s not willing to fix anything. nancy and chrissy try to double-team him, begging him to think about the tour & the album roll-out & the rest of the band. the entertainment blogs are running wild with the rumors circulating about the other night and now they’re digging up shit that he wishes would stay buried.

“absolutely fucking not,” eddie spits out. “i refuse to be fucking cordial with that moron.”

“fine,” nancy says finally. “i guess we’re done here then.” she gets up from the head of the conference room table and leaves through the big glass doors and the rest of her team takes that as their cue to leave, too.

chrissy levels him with a look, waiting until the last intern has left the room before speaking.

“eddie, i know you’re pissed right now. trust me, i would be too,” she says, using that tone eddie always hates—the one that makes it sound like she’s trying to placate a rabid dog. “but the label has invested a lot of money into you and they need you to put in some work right now. take a minute, take a breath, and then we’ll talk again. but we need to respond; we can figure out what that looks like. i’ll talk to nance… maybe we don’t need a joint appearance. maybe you can just make a statement.”

eddie knows there are a ton of people relying on this tour & this upcoming album. he knows the band doesn’t deserve the hit from this. but what is there to even say? he’s just so fucking angry about it.

“fine. i’ll make an appearance. but i won’t, under any circumstances, be seen with him,” eddie tells her firmly. he slides his sunglasses back onto his face before pushing himself out of his chair and making his way over to the door. “just tell me when and where. and make sure nancy doesn’t make me sound like a fucking idiot.”

“great,” chrissy smiles so bright she looks like a teenager again. “i’ll talk to nancy. we’ll figure it out.”

any reassurance eddie feels is washed away by a renewed sense of annoyance when he sees steve waiting for him in the lobby, still wearing his pastel yellow sweater vest, drinking a purple smoothie from a straw and scrolling on his phone. he’s laughing at something on the screen and the sunlight comes through the huge front windows just right, making him glow golden, and eddie just feels something inside him twist unpleasantly.

steve looks up then to see eddie coming, but eddie breezes past him to the sidewalk. steve jumps up to follow, handing the valet their ticket. when the car finally pulls up, eddie says, “no liquids in the car,” before sliding into the back seat.

he sees steve shrug before smiling at the valet and handing him his half empty smoothie to dispose of and a tip.

the car ride home is silent. eddie practically leaps from the car before it’s even come to a stop when they pull into the driveway. there are packages on the table in the foyer, likely brought in by the security guy at the gate. “grab those,” eddie tells steve with a wave of his hand.

steve follows eddie into the kitchen, arms laden with paper bags and boxes. most of it, eddie knows, is free product and merch, stuff he never uses and mostly stuff he doesn’t even want. steve places the packages on the counter and watches as eddie sifts through them, clearly looking for something.

“do you want lunch?” steve asks. eddie ignores him, finally finding the package he’d ordered earlier today. he flings it across the kitchen island toward steve on the other side.

steve catches the package in his hands and arches an eyebrow.

“open it,” eddie tells him, nodding at paper wrapping. he opens the fridge to pull out a bottle of water and takes a long sip as he watches steve’s fingers tear at the brown paper.

once the package is open, steve huffs out a laugh, barely a breath, before holding up a bright pink cat collar with a tiny bell attached. he shakes it in the air, making the bell tinkle. the collar clearly will not fit him.

“fuck you, man,” steve says, still smiling.

“fuck you, too,” eddie says.

When their absence hit the two-week mark, Lucius spent most of his days on the beach. He'd gaze out over the emerald waves, impatiently fisting his hands in the sand, letting the grains slip through like water.

Then, one evening, as he was taking a swim and the sun had just gone down—almost twenty days since Geta's departure—he saw white sails appear on the horizon, the familiar blue flag bearing a large fish fluttering in the wind. Lucius couldn’t contain his excitement as the ship approached and anchored, and a smaller boat emerged, drifting closer with a young man steering it toward shore.

Lucius didn’t wait. He waded through the water.

"Lucius," Geta called out as he saw him approach, dropping the paddles. He allowed himself to be dragged into the water, clothes and all, and disappeared into Lucius’s arms.

Lucius held him. He held him and held him. Long enough to convince himself that Geta had really returned and was safe, well. Lucius pulled back a little, and only then did he notice the sad glint in Geta’s eyes. In the fading light, most of his emotions were concealed, but there was unmistakable sadness there.

"Are you okay?" Lucius asked.

Geta nodded. Lucius dragged his wet palm over Geta’s cheek. "I am so glad to have you home, safe and well." He pressed his lips to Geta's, then pulled back again to look at him. "What happened out there, Geta?" he asked hoarsely, his eyes demanding, willing Geta to tell him the truth. But Geta remained silent, eyes far away.

"Did he hurt you?" Lucius asked then, not having spotted any injury but wondering if he'd missed something.

Geta seemed to mull over the question for a moment before he shook his head and mouthed a silent "no." Geta stared at him with a look Lucius had not seen before. "Oh, Lucius," He said, reaching out to cup Lucius’s face. Then Geta bent his neck and pressed his forehead against his. They stood like that for minutes—maybe longer.

As they walked back through the water in silence Lucius wanted to scream. The unanswered questions he couldn’t ask burned like acid in his mouth. What had happened out there? Why had Geta been so secretive since his uncle had appeared?

During their walk home, Lucius ran through ways in his head to break through that wall. The secret well he was being shut out of again. Pressing would do no good.

They exchanged their farewells in the halls. The brief kiss they shared there in the dark lingered like ice and fire as Lucius entered his bed chamber.

Geta's family were masters at ruining Geta's mood and fire. Lucius hated them for it.

As the days went on and it became August, Geta still barely told him anything. They spent time together, Geta ate normally, and he was looking better and better—but his mind still seemed far away. Whenever Lucius would ask about it, Geta would smile faintly and shake his head. "You wouldn’t understand." He'd say. Or, "I wish I could tell you, but I cannot. Please, do not ask again." The finality in his tone scared Lucius. "Maybe I can help," Lucius offered once. That seemed to touch something within Geta, something he couldn’t conceal. For a moment, Lucius thought Geta might cry, but he swallowed and looked away, shaking his head.

Two weeks passed. Then three. Lucius spent a lot of time with his council, which included Marcus, Augustus and the general of his army, Mantius, in the war room, as the old member of the Senate -Edus they learned his name was- continued to grow his following. The propaganda was still spreading like wildfire.

"I have to go away for a while," Lucius told Geta one morning as they sparred on the training grounds, sweat covering their skin and soaking their tunics. Geta was breathing heavily from exertion and straightened.

"Where are you going this time?" Geta turned his practice knife over in his hand. "Still fighting the rebels, or somewhere else this time?"

Lucius just looked at him. It felt strange now to tell him, since Geta wasn’t telling him anything. Anything.

"Talk to me Geta." Lucius pleaded. "Tell me about Sardinia, and I’ll let you know," Lucius said.

"It’s okay." Geta shrugged. "I don’t need to know."

Lucius shook his head and laughed a hollow laugh to himself. Then, with frustration, he smashed his practice knife into the sand. "Well, fuck this then," he bit out, before walking off, not looking back.

That night, Lucius lay in bed, boiling with frustration and anger. He felt so lost, so out of control that he wanted to destroy something. Something valuable, somthing that would break in infinite pieces when striking it with force.

Then there was a knock at the door. Lucius groaned.

If this were Geta, it was bad timing. Lucius did not think it wise to have him here when he was in this mood.

Another knock.

"Yes?"

"You have a visitor, Lucius," Laurentius called from outside the door.

Lucius groaned again. "Who is it."

"Geta."

"For fucks sakes." Lucius muttered under his breath. "Let him in."

Sure enough, Geta entered. He looked unsure, his big eyes wide, shoulders slumped. He visibly swallowed, then closed the door behind him.

He approached the bed slowly and cleared his throat.

"I’m sorry about how I’ve been acting," he said, his eyes briefly meeting Lucius’s. "I’m sorry about the distance… I didn’t mean to. It’s…" He sighed and pulled his robe a little tighter around him. "Nothing really happened… my uncle… he uhm… brought up some things from the past that disturbed me." He looked at the floor. "I really wish I could tell you, Lucius, you have to believe that. There’s nothing I want more, than to tell you." His voice was thick, and he looked as though he was on the verge of tears. "But I cannot. And I just wanted to ask… If we could forget about it all, just for tonight." He looked up from the floor. "Can you please pretend not to hate me for tonight?"

He stood before the bed, eyes full of longing and sorrow. His cheeks were wet from the silent tears now streaming down.

Lucius did not know what to say. Seeing Geta cry broke his heart, but he did not have it in him to console him now. His heart was aching too much on it's own.

Geta wiped his cheeks, eyes not leaving Lucius's. Then his hands went to his robe, he untied it and pushed the fabric over his shoulders, exposing his naked form.

'I know you do not trust me. I'm not asking you to. But please pretend you love me for tonight." He said softly. "You can have me in any way you want.'

===

Two months earlier: the night of the victory after defeating the phytians

Geta's POV, everything from here has already happened, we go back in the past.

Before Lucius departure he had kissed him goodbye. A brief kiss, nice and soft and delicious in it's simplicity. But the kiss they had just shared in the garden was differtent. What had happened there had woken Geta up and now he wanted more more more. His whole body tingled, warm and fluid, like melted butter or heated honey, yearning to mold itself around the world—or, in his case, Lucius.

Geta had never been in love before. He had lain with women, kissed a few men when he felt like it, but he had never truly felt anything beyond fleeting infatuation.

With Lucius, it was different. He consumed Geta’s thoughts, his dreams, his every longing. His body craved him, his mind fixated on him, and his intire being felt tethered to the depths of Lucius’ blue, blue eyes.

When he had been close to death after the attack, it was those eyes that had anchored him to the world. He was certain of it.

As they walked back through the garden to rejoin with the people, Geta caught Lucius’ arm and held him back for a moment. He stretched his neck and pressed his lips against the warm skin of Lucius’ throat. He smelled of summer rain. Geta stuck out his tongue and licked the skin before sucking on it softly.

Lucius groaned, his hands threading through Geta’s hair. “Not here, Geta,” he mumbled. “Not here.”

Geta whined softly but obeyed, straightening himself. Lucius smiled. “I will go in first. Wait outside for a few minutes before entering, so we don’t raise suspicion.”

Geta nodded, watching as Lucius disappeared inside to rejoin the festivities. He sat down on the stone steps and stretched out his legs. The light had almost completely faded, and the torches flickered like stars in the night. Finally, the oppressive heat had begun to fade, and Geta sighed in relief as a soft breeze played with the fabric of his tunic and his hair.

Suddenly, he heard footsteps approaching from his left. He looked up and saw a man drawing near.

As he came closer, recognition dawned on Geta. He had seen this man before. His mind sifted through memories until it clicked—his mother’s older brother, Aelius. They had visited his island when he and Caracalla were thirteen, shortly after their mother had died.

Geta frowned. Why would his uncle visit unannounced, without a herald? It was unusual, and unease curled in his stomach. He didn’t remember much from that visit nearly fifteen years ago, but he did remember the palpable fear that had clung to Aelius’ court. He and Caracalla had hardly slept during their two-night stay.

“Geta,” Aelius greeted, extending a hand to help him up.

“Uncle.” Geta rose, eyeing him warily. Aelius had not changed much. Dressed in deep blue, his white hair and short beard stood in stark contrast.

How had his uncle recognized him so quickly?

“To what do we owe this visit?” Geta asked, keeping his chin up.

Aelius scrutinized him before his gaze lingered on the scar along Geta’s collarbone. “I heard you were injured.” He placed a hand on Geta’s shoulder. “I wanted to check on you.”

Geta slowly nodded. “I’m fine. It happened a while ago—I’ve recovered well.”

“I see. You must have good healers here.” Aelius’ eyes drifted to the pillars behind Geta. The sound of laughter and music still spilled from within. “A feast?”

Geta nodded. “We defeated the Phytians. They attacked our trade routes.” The words had barely left his mouth before he realized his mistake.

Aelius tilted his head. “We?”

“I meant—they.”

Aelius’ frown deepened. “What are you still doing here, Geta? Are you being held captive?”

Geta shook his head.

“Then why stay? Are you part of the new Senate?”

“No.”

His uncle took a step back, studying him again. “You look well-fed, so they must treat you well. But what is it that keeps you here?” It was not a simple question—Aelius knew more than he let on. Geta already hated this game.

“They do treat me well. I like it here.” Geta answered simply. He did. He felt protected, cared for. He had time to read, to play with Marcella, to wander through the gardens and along the shore. His lack of political power no longer bothered him as much as he had once thought it would.

“And how did they treat Caracalla?”

Geta’s expression darkened. He avoided thoughts of his brother, knowing they would only lead to endless grief. Every mention of his name sent a dagger through his chest. “It was an accident,” Geta murmured. “It wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Who told you that?”

“Lucius.”

“And you believe him? That it was an accident?”

“I do.”

“Why?”

“I just do.” Geta’s patience frayed. What gave his uncle the right to question him like this?

“Tell me—what is Lucius like?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I’m worried about my cousin.”

Geta shook his head, leaning back against a pillar, arms crossed. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I am not. I want you to come with me to Sardinia. You don’t belong here, Geta.”

“Who says I don’t?”

“I do." His uncle scratched his chin impatiently. "What influence do they allow you here? Do you attend council meetings? Are you trusted with information?”

“Yes!” The word burst from him instinctively.

“You attend council meetings?”

“…No.”

“He trusts you with information?”

Geta looked away. Lucius did trust him with information. Right? Geta was done with this conversation. “Is there anything else? I have no interest in moving to Sardinia, Aelius. Please don’t ask again. I’ll stay here as long as I wish.”

Aelius nodded slowly. “Very well." He bit the inside of his cheek and tapped his foot. "Then at least visit. Please?”

Geta remained silent.

“I’ll be gone for a few weeks, but when I return, I’ll send someone for you. There’s something I want to show you—something of value." When geta did not take the bate he added, "It was important to Caracalla.”

“What is it?”

“You’ll see.”

“I’m not coming.”

“Yes, you will.” Aelius tapped his arm. “Now, rejoin your festivities. I’ll take my leave.”

Geta didn’t move, arms still crossed, watching his uncle disappear into the night.

====

A few weeks later, and Lucius had just left to check the repaired forts. Geta felt restless, wondering when his uncle would send someone to pick him up.

A week went by and Geta waited at the gate as Lucius and his soldiers returned from the raids on horseback. As Lucius dismounted, Geta fought the urge to run to him, to pull him into a desperate kiss. But they had agreed—it was best to keep their bond discreet.

As they walked inside, a young man approached, dressed in the same deep blue as Aelius, his robe embroidered with silver fish. His blonde hair gleamed under the morninglight.

“Geta,” the young man called.

“Yes?”

“I have a message for you—from your uncle.” He handed over a sealed letter.

Geta frowned, straightening his shoulders. He had known this day would come, yet he had pushed it to the back of his mind. He could feel Lucius’ eyes on him, sharp with worry. Lucius was never truely relaxed, never trusted anyone, he was always prepared for an attack.

Geta broke the seal quickly read the message.

A ship is ready at the beach.

Remember what I told you. I have something of value to you.

Then on the bottem of the page:

Dondus awaits you on deck. Keep this to yourself.

Geta’s breath hitched for just a moment before he swallowed, folded the paper, and handed it back to the messenger.

He nodded curtly. “I’ll be ready in the morning.”

He did not tell Lucius what was in the message. Why, he did not know precisely. Lucius wanted to know, it was evident. But he did not ask, which Geta appreciated.

===

As Geta entered the ship, indeed a small monkey came rushing to climb his leg, up to his shoulder. Geta could not believe his eyes.

'Dondus?' There was a thin satin band around his neck, but other than that he looked the same. The monkey made a small sound and ran from one arm to the other.

Geta's mind started racing. He had often thought about Dondus and what had become of him. He knew the monkey had not been with Caracalla when he was captured, but beyond that, he knew little.

"How is this possible?" Geta asked, shaking his head in confusion. "Where did you find him?"

"Dondus was taken by Agrippa just before Caracalla got captured. Do you remember him?"

"One of Lucius's prison guards?" Geta did not remember their names or faces too well. There had been too much going on. Too much pain and sorrow to focus on.

The young man nodded. "Besides that, all I can say now is: Caracalla's death is a bit more complicated than you might have been told."

Geta wanted to ask more, but nodded.

"The sea is quite unruely this time of year." The blonde man told him. "Please do sit down your highness."

Geta nodded and walked to the back of the ship, looking out over the horizon.

===

Two days later, they approached the coast of Sardinia.

As Geta was welcomed inside the lavish villa, his eyes widened in amazement. Unlike Lucius' understated and sober residence, this place was opulent—almost a palace. Paintings adorned the ceilings, and intricately carved sculptures lined the halls.

He was led to a room in the east wing, where his uncle was waiting.

"Welcome, my dear cousin," Aelius said, gesturing to a chair in front of him. "Please, make yourself comfortable."

Geta sat down reluctantly.

"Before we join the celebratory feast to welcome you to the island, I must ask you a few questions," Aelius continued.

Geta nodded. "Go on."

"The questions I am about to ask form an easy riddle—one I’m sure you’ll solve quickly."

Geta shifted uncomfortably in his chair. This felt like an interrogation. His heart pounded in his chest, the hairs on his neck standing on end.

"What have you been told?" His uncle asked him calmly, crossing his ankles as he sat down in front of him. "How did Caracalla die?"

Geta cleared his throat. "He was elbowed in the temple."

"Have you seen the body? Did he have any injuries besides the one to his head?"

"No. I don’t know." Geta clenched his jaw. "Why are you asking me this?"

"Did Lucius see the body and confirm the cause of death?"

Geta sighed in frustration, his palms sweaty as he wiped them on his tunic. "I don't know."

Aelius tutted. "Why did you not ask to see the body, Geta? The details here are important."

Geta turned his gaze to the window, watching the waves lap against the shore. "I wouldn't have been able to handle it," he admitted, suddenly feeling nauseous. Where was this conversation headed? What had he missed?

"You haven’t solved the riddle yet," Aelius sighed. "I'm disappointed." He paused, then continued, "Let me ask you another question. Why was Caracalla elbowed in the temple, and by whom?"

"Tibirius," Geta answered hesitantly, "after Caracalla stabbed him in the eye."

"Well done. Almost there." Aelius patted Geta’s head before turning toward the door. "Tibirius, please enter."

A man with feminine features and an eye patch stepped into the room. His hair seemed indigo in the eveninglight.

"Tibirius," Aelius said smoothly, "would you be so kind as to explain precisely what happened that day?"

Tibirius scratched his jaw. "I was part of a rescue operation that went... wrong."

Geta’s eyes widened. This could not be true.

"I was supposed to get Caracalla out," Tibirius continued, "but he didn’t recognize me. He had forgotten that I was once part of his protection guard before I had joined Lucius's."

Geta shook his head in disbelief. His midriff hurt, right where the arrow had hit.

"Caracalla stabbed me when I tried to extract him, so I had to knock him out. But then I lost consciousness myself from the injury and blood loss. When I woke up, I was in the infirmary."

Tibirius paused, glancing at Aelius before continuing. "Agrippa—who was assigned to protect you, Geta—was also part of the plan. He found Caracalla. Laurentius was also present."

Geta shook his head again, over and over. "No." The next words came into his ears as though he was underwater. everything slowed.

Tibirius pressed on. "Laurentius, believing Caracalla had no pulse, agreed to let Agrippa take him to sea, to set his body adrift on the open waters."

Geta's breath came in ragged gasps. He couldn't get enough air. The room spun around him.

"Caracalla is alive?" he whispered.

"As far as we know, yes... but—" Tibirius hesitated, glancing at Aelius for permission.

"Yes," Aelius said, "tell him."

Tibirius nodded. "As Agrippa tried to bring him here, they were intercepted by the Alamanni. By then, word of the empire’s overthrow must have spread. As far as we know... he is still there, being held captive."

"How do you know?" Geta’s voice sounded high and strained.

"I have an alliance with them," Aelius interjected. "They allowed me to speak with him briefly a few months ago."

"What kind of alliance?" Geta demanded.

Aelius shook his head, smiling slightly. "Patience, cousin. All will be revealed in time. Let’s take it one step at a time, yes?" He studied Geta's pale face. "You look ashen."

Geta shook his head. "I need to know. Please."

"You will," Aelius promised. "I will tell you over dinner."

Please let me know your thoughts in the comments. :)

“Good morning,” Geta smiled and stretched out his arms.

Lucius came closer and let Geta wrap his arms around his waist, pressing his cheek against his stomach.

“Good morning,” Lucius replied, placing a hand on the back of his head. When Geta let go, Lucius took his chin and tipped his head up, making him look at him.

“Where on earth did you go last night?” he asked, trying his best to keep his tone neutral. “I was worried about you.”

Geta looked up at him. “I ran into my uncle. He wanted to talk to me.” His was voice still rough from just waking up. “I asked Laurentius to find you and update you on my departure.”

Lucius frowned. Laurentius had done no such thing.

“What did your uncle want?”

Geta lifted a shoulder. “He heard I had been injured. Wanted to check up on me.”

“It has been months since the incident,” Lucius noted.

Geta nodded, furrowing his brow. “I know. I thought it was curious too.” Geta rubbed his temple.

“Is everything alright?” Lucius asked, not wanting to press but endlessly curious about Geta's family and who he was beyond the one version he got to see.

Geta nodded. “He just wanted to know who I thought had attacked me, how I was treated here.” Geta looked away briefly, then back again. “He invited me to come to his villa after he returns from a trip to the south.”

Lucius searched Geta’s eyes but found nothing but a hint of genuine confusion.

“Okay,” Lucius said, stroking Geta’s skin with his thumb absentmindedly, sinking deep in thought.

“Were you close with him? Your uncle?” he asked after a moment of silence.

Geta shook his head. “Not at all.” His eyebrows knitted together. “He lived in Sardinia throughout my childhood. As far as I know, he still resides there. I met him maybe once." Geta leaned back a little. "He’s my mom’s brother, and she was… a cunt, so…” He smiled tightly.

“How so?”

“She just was. Believe me.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek.

“She died?”

"When I was eleven."

Lucius was quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I don’t miss her.”

“I meant about her being a cunt.”

Geta looked away. “Ah.”

Lucius wanted to know more. The fact of the matter was that Geta’s life remained a big mystery, no matter how much time they spent together. He sighed softly and let his hand slide into Geta’s hair as he bent forward. He took his face in his hands and pressed his lips to his. Geta opened his mouth, eager and wet.

He moaned in frustration when Lucius pulled back slightly. “I have a council meeting in five minutes,” Lucius said, pushing a curl from Geta's forehead. “I just came back to check on you.” When he saw the disappointment evident on Geta’s face, he added, “If you feel up to it, I’d like to start our lessons later this afternoon.”

Geta nodded, pressing his open mouth into Lucius’ palm. “Yes,” he mumbled.

“Great,” Lucius replied, aware of the wetness he left there and wanting nothing more than to just stay.

Later, he told himself, letting Geta rest his cheek against his fingers.

“Feel free to do whatever you want. I’m in the left wing if you’re looking for me.”

Geta smiled at him, then dropped his hands and leaned back on his elbows. Lucius pressed a brief kiss on his forehead before leaving the room.

—-

“So, what we do know is,” Marcus began, his hand resting on the edge of the map, “there’s a group forming in the northern provinces—small for now, but growing quite rapidly.”

Mantius, who had been informed about the recent events and knew more about the matter nodded. “No clear leader, no fixed location, just whispers of discontent and old loyalties.”

He leaned back against the table and crossed his legs. “But as we know, those are enough to spark rebellion. And, from what we've found out so far, this has already been happening.”

Lucius scratched his chin. “Which means the propaganda of the former senate is working.”

Mantius nodded. “But they’ll need supplies, weapons, and safe houses. Those leave trails. We should send scouts to the north immediately.”

Lucius frowned. “Too risky. A single misstep, and we confirm their propaganda—that I rule through force, not unity.” He started pacing back and forth between the map and the table. “What about here in the capital? Who’s funding them?”

Mantius leaned forward. “The old Senate is the obvious place to start. Some of them never accepted your rule, and from what we’ve found, they are not only responsible for spreading propaganda but also financing the rallies. If anyone’s funneling coin to the north, it’s them.”

“Then watch them,” Lucius ordered. “Carefully. Follow the money. Someone is supporting this rebellion, and I want names if you can find them.”

Mantius gestured to the map. “And the north? Rebels don’t organize themselves. We could send someone able to move among them, gather their trust, and report back.”

Lucius hesitated. “If this person is discovered, it could escalate the situation.”

“And if we do nothing, it will escalate anyway,” Marcus stepped in.

Lucius exhaled sharply, glancing between his two advisors. “Fine. Marcus, investigate the capital. Discreetly. Mantius, choose your best for the north—no soldiers, just eyes and ears. I want to know how these rebels think, how they operate, and most importantly, who’s leading them.”

Marcus nodded.

“What about Geta?” Mantius asked suddenly. “He is not involved?”

Lucius’s voice softened. “He knows nothing of this; it’s not him who’s fueling this. Trust me.”

"He won't have been able to achieve much in the past months." Marcus agreed, then turned toward Lucius.

“But again,” Marcus rubbed his forehead. “Don’t be too casual about these recent developments. He will have an opinion.” Marcus sat down on a chair, restless energy oozing off him. “He might find truth in their ways. These might be people he has worked with directly.”

Lucius raised an eyebrow. “So you think I should share this with him? Since when do you trust him so?”

“I don’t. But he will find out, and it will be worse if he finds out through one of his own than through you. You keep regarding him as a puppet who has been moved around while on the throne, but don’t mistake his gullibility for idiocy. The man has a brain. Don’t underestimate it.”

Lucius wondered if Geta had perhaps already been informed by his uncle and if he had completely misread Geta’s demeanor and character.

“I know he’s intelligent. But from what I’ve seen, this wouldn’t interest him much. He loves reading and poetry. If he hadn’t been born into royalty, I doubt he’d be involved at all.”

“Yes, you’ve mentioned that. All I want is for you to be cautious. Don’t stop using that sharp mind of yours. You’re smarter than this.” “I’ll talk to him,” Lucius agreed. “Good.” Marcus’ gaze returned to the map, his expression shifting. He stood up and tapped it with his finger, concluding: “This has to end before it begins.”

After the meeting, Lucius went to find Geta.

He was in the garden with Marcella, who was teaching him to play the lyre. Lucius watched them from a distance for a moment, then walked up to them. He greeted Marcella, then turned to Geta.

‘Ready?’

Geta gave Marcella her instrument back and thanked her, jumping up on his feet.

“Absolutely.”

“Follow me.”

Instead of heading to the training grounds, he led Geta to his horse. Helping him up, Lucius climbed on behind him. He noticed that Geta had gained a bit of weight which satisfied him. “Hold on to me.”

Geta obeyed, wrapping his arms tightly around Lucius’ torso, pressing close. Lucius urged the horse forward. They rode for thirty minutes until Lucius brought the horse to a halt. He dismounted, stretched out his arms to help Geta down, and led him to the river.

“We’ll start with the basics.” Lucius stopped at the even riverbed. Nature around them was lush and vibrant. It had rained that morning, and the world smelled fresh and clean. The silence was broken only by the sound of the water. Lucius waited patiently as Geta took in the mountain air, his eyes closed. Once he was ready, Lucius handed him a wooden sword. “Alright, look at me and mimic my stance,” Lucius instructed, dropping into a combat posture. When Geta copied him, Lucius stepped over, adjusting his posture here and there. He placed a hand on Geta’s abdomen.

“Your strength should come from here. Keep this tight to absorb blows and to strike effectively.”

Geta nodded. Lucius tapped Geta’s foot. “Since you're right-handed, your left foot should be slightly forward, with your knees slightly bent.” Geta followed the instructions silently. “Relax your shoulders,” Lucius said, circling around him to assess his form. Finally, he stood in front of him. “Good. Now, eyes on me.” Geta lifted his chin, looking Lucius in the eyes, a small smile playing on his lips. He was clearly enjoying himself. Lucius grabbed the hem of his own tunic and pulled it over his head, exposing his torso. “I’m going to show you where to strike and hit me.” Geta’s gaze remained forcefully on Lucius’ face, which made Lucius chuckle.

He demonstrated by placing a hand on his own neck. “Throat area—either thrust or slash here. Cuts off their breathing.” He pointed to his windpipe, then to both sides of his neck. “The carotid arteries lead to a quick death.” Geta nodded, listening intently.

“We’ll work on the technique later,” Lucius added, placing a hand on his abdomen.

“A deep thrust here might not always be fatal, but it will weaken your opponent significantly.” Lucius lifted his arm.

“If their arm is up, strike into their armpit; they’ll lose blood rapidly.” Geta grimaced, imagining it. As Lucius continued explaining the weak points on the body, Geta remained still, absorbing every word.

“Can you take off your tunic?” Lucius asked. Geta nodded, setting the sword down and pulling his tunic over his head. Lucius moved behind him, pressing his fingers under Geta’s ribs on his lower back, making him inhale sharply in surprise.

“A stab here, or on the other side, will puncture the kidney, causing severe internal bleeding.” Geta gave a quick nod. Lucius ran his thumb along Geta’s spine, down through his shoulder blades. “Anywhere near the spine is effective too.” Lucius moved back to face him.

“Alright, now show me what you’ve learned.” He gestured for Geta to prepare.

“Let’s start with the hamstrings,” Lucius instructed. “Stay in position.” Geta circled him, pressing the wooden sword into Lucius’ upper leg.

“Good. Now, the left artery.”

“Left for you or me?”

“You.”

Geta stepped to Lucius’ side, pressing the sword against the side of his neck. Their faces were close now, and when Lucius noticed Geta’s dilated pupils and parted lips, he shook his head and gently pushed him sideways. Geta nearly lost his balance.

“Hey!” he huffed indignantly.

“Never get distracted, Geta,” Lucius warned.

“Not even by me.”

“Not fair.”

Lucius shrugged. “It never is.”

“You’re no fun,” Geta groaned softly.

“Not when it comes to your safety.”

Geta rolled his eyes. Lucius let Geta practice until the sky darkened, and Geta’s breathing grew labored. When Geta bent forward slightly, Lucius steadied him with a hand on his arm. “Are you alright?”

Geta nodded, breathing quickly. “I still get winded easily.”

“No need to rush,” Lucius assured him, squeezing his arm gently. “Let’s head back. Looks like it’s going to rain again anyway.”

Geta glanced at the darkening sky and nodded. Lucius helped Geta onto the horse. “Sit in front; I’ll hold you.”

They didn’t make it back before the rain began, and by the time they reached the gates, they were soaked through. Thunder rumbled, and lightning flashed. They hurried to the bathhouse, where they found three women bathing, their skin glowing blue in the evening light. Leaving them in their quiet private world, they retreated to Lucius’ private quarters and entered the dimly lit space with the smaller heated bath. Lucius started peeling off the soaked fabric clinging to his skin, then helped Geta do the same. He was aware that Geta had never seen him fully naked before and noticed his gaze wandering over his body, lingering below his waist more than once. Lucius chuckled. “What?” he asked.

Geta’s eyes snapped back to his face, a bit sheepishly. His cheeks were flushed pink, a sight Lucius found delicious. “Nothing,” Geta murmured with a soft smile. They slipped into the hot water, steam curling around them. “Ahh,” Geta sighed as he submerged his chest, muscles visibly relaxing. Lucius sat on the wide stone ledge, watching Geta. The warm water lapped just below his collarbones. He pondered when would be a good time to discuss the earlier conversation with Marcus but decided now wasn’t it. He pushed the thoughts aside.

“Come here,” he said, softly rippling the water with his fingers. “I’d like to hold you.” Geta turned and waded toward him. Lucius spread his legs, letting Geta settle between them. “Lean back against me,” he instructed, and Geta obliged, resting his head on Lucius’ shoulder. Geta groaned softly in contentment, nestling more firmly into Lucius’ embrace, the soft skin of his butt pressing against Lucius’ groin and thighs. Lucius wrapped his arms around Geta’s torso, pulling him close. He pressed a kiss to Geta’s jaw. “I like holding you like this,” Lucius admitted, feeling warm and content. Geta made a small sound of agreement, sagging further against him. Lucius held him until Geta’s body grew soft and his breathing deepened. He loved the sensations of the rise and fall of Geta’s chest, his head resting heavily on his shoulder. “Don’t fall asleep,” he whispered, smiling.

“I’m not,” Geta replied, eyes still closed. “Good.” Lucius gently stroked Geta’s lower abdomen and turned his head, pressing a kiss to the wet skin of his neck, then another, and another.

“Do you feel safe with me?” he asked then, the question important to him.

Geta inhaled. “Yes.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Lucius opened his mouth, sucking gently on Geta’s neck—not to bruise, but simply because he couldn’t resist. To him, Geta was irresistible. Geta’s breath hitched, and he turned his head to give Lucius more access, exposing the length of his throat. Lucius groaned at the display of vulnerability, licking his way up to Geta’s ear. He took the earlobe between his teeth, tugging softly before sucking on it, relishing the soft moans and whimpers that escaped Geta’s lips.

“Stay still,” Lucius ordered as he licked down toward Geta’s pulse point. Geta whimpered, struggling to remain still.

“You do like ordering me around,” he mumbled, making Lucius smile against his skin.

“I do.”

“What if I don’t like it?”

“Then you’re free to order me around instead.”

Geta grinned. “I like the sound of that.”

Lucius’ hands stroked the length of Geta’s arms. He then bit Geta’s neck gently.

“You taste like honey,” he murmured, sucking the skin into his mouth again. Geta’s arms slid up around Lucius’ neck, fingers threading into his curls. Turning his face, Geta found Lucius’ mouth and kissed him—wet, open-mouthed kisses that deepened and slowed until they couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. Geta sucked Lucius’ tongue into his mouth, his hands fisting in his hair and pulling—too hard, but Lucius didn’t mind.

Make me hurt, he thought.

I don’t care.

Whatever feels good to you.

When he sensed Geta’s exhaustion returning, Lucius gently turned him around in his arms. “Let’s go to bed,” he murmured into his damp hair. Geta sagged against him. “Thank you,” He whispered into Lucius’ neck.

They climbed out of the water, dried off, and headed to the sleeping chamber. They lay down, still naked, barely covered by the thin sheets. The doors to the garden remained open, letting in the sounds of the rain and thunder. A cool breeze stirred the fabric at the door. They both drifted into a light sleep. When they awoke, it was still dark outside. Lucius head rested on Geta’s thigh, giving him a view of Geta’s ankle and foot.

Despite trying to fight it, Lucius’ mind kept returning to the discussion he’d had with Marcus, playing it over and over.

Geta turned, grabbing a book from the bedside table. He yawned, stretched leisurely, then opened the book where he had left off.

“Poseidon has struck their well-rigged ship on the open sea,” he read aloud, “with gale winds and crushing walls of waves, and only a few escape, swimming and struggling toward the shore, their bodies—”

He stopped as Lucius pushed the sheet down, exposing Geta’s flat stomach, and began kissing his skin.

“Keep going, I’m listening,” Lucius mumbled. Geta whined softly but continued.

“But once they reach dry land, their terror breaks; their knees give way, relief and joy flood their hearts—”

Lucius started licking his skin lower, nuzzling his nose against the soft hairs on Geta’s lower belly. He tried to focus on Geta’s words, his body, the way he smelled, but his mind kept drifting to Marcus’ words, feeling the weight of the conversation they needed to have. The more he tried to push it away, the heavier his conscience felt. No matter how he turned it, he would have to bring it up eventually.

“She burst into tears,” Geta continued, “running to Odysseus, flung her arms around his neck, kissed his face, and cried out: ‘Odysseus—don’t flare up at me now, not you, my ever-faithful, ever-gentle—’” Lucius sighed against Geta’s skin.

“I have to tell you something,” he mumbled, almost unintelligible.

“What?” Geta paused, looking down at him. Lucius lifted his mouth slightly and repeated himself.

“I... I have to tell you something.”

I'd love to hear what your opinions in the comments!

The drive to Hawkins from the city had felt like forever, in the backseat listening to his daddy’s music and paging through a book even though staring at the words and looking out the windows made his tummy feel queasy.  He didn’t know his Uncle Wayne very well.  He knew that Wayne was his daddy’s big brother and that they got into a lot of fights.  He knew Wayne used to drive big rigs across the country, but had settled in the town they’d grown up in when their dad, Eddie’s grandpa, got sick.

He remembered the last time Wayne had visited for Christmas, bringing Eddie some books from the secondhand store that looked practically new, that he’d been quiet.  When Eddie had complained that putting together a new toy was too hard, he’d said that sometimes doing things the hard way was what had to be done, that he should do hard things if it was the right way.  And Eddie had been able to tell that Wayne wasn’t really talking to him.  His daddy had started yelling and Wayne had raised his voice too, and then mama shouted at both of them.  And then it had been quiet until dinner time.

It had been a couple of years since then, and Eddie found himself excited to see Wayne again, despite the fight that still played in his mind sometimes.  He was relieved to tumble out of the car around sunset, into the last rays of warm summer sun.  His tummy settled pretty quickly and he was scooped into a tight hug by Wayne.  It was a good reminder of something else about Wayne.  He gave really great hugs.

Eddie kept a lid on his chattering long enough for Wayne to welcome them inside, show them around his trailer, and get them all a drink.  He had a small collection of mugs in one cabinet and Eddie was fascinated immediately.  He stood on his toes to see the ones on the higher shelf until Wayne pointed out his hats and Eddie’s attention was taken by them.  Wayne said he had one from almost every state.

“Even Hawaii?”

Wayne chuckled and ruffled his hair.  “Hawaii wasn’t a state when I was your age.  Maybe I’ll go someday and get a new hat.”

“Cool.”  Eddie gave him a toothy smile, showing off that he had all his adult teeth now.  Last time he’d seen Wayne, he’d still had gaps in his smile.  The last one had grown in just a few months before.

Wayne gave him a mug of water with ice cubes floating in it and sent him to the couch to sit by his mama.  He knew what that meant.  Wayne and his daddy were going to have a grown up conversation and pretend he couldn’t hear them.  He was good at pretending not to hear, so he sipped his water and his mama told him about Hawkins.

It was supposed to be safer than their neighborhood on the edge of the city, there would be more kids to play with and more places to run around.  And there was a library, she said she was sure Wayne would let him use his library card.

Eddie paid close attention.  He wasn’t looking forward to being away from his mama and daddy.  He loved them a lot and knew they loved him too.  But he understood that mama was sick.  She was always so tired now, Eddie sometimes had to take care of her on the really bad days.  There were a lot more of those than there used to be.

Eddie leaned against her, letting her pull him in close like she did before bed sometimes.  She sang to him, and he knew in the back of his mind that they were the same songs that were on their favorite records, but when she sang them, they were different, they were her songs that she sang for him.  He didn’t think anyone else could sing them right.

She sang until the shouting from behind them stopped, and then she sang a little longer.  When his daddy and Wayne came over to them, she squeezed Eddie just a little tighter and kissed his hair.  “You behave for your Uncle Wayne, you hear me?  I don’t want to hear about any bad behavior when we come get you at the end of summer.”

He hugged her tight.  “My best behavior,” he promised.  He meant it this time, didn’t just kind of mean it like he usually did.  He was a mostly good kid, he’d be on his real best behavior.  His daddy scooped him up next, picking him up like he was littler than he was, even if it made him groan.  “Hey!  Put me down!”

“Listen here, Hurricane Eddie.”  Eddie’s daddy held him upside down, making him shriek with giggles.  “You give Wayne a hard time and he’s gonna make you sleep outside with the bears and the coyotes.”

“No!  I’ll be good!”

“That’s right.”  He was holding Eddie around the waist and Eddie flailed, giggling still.  “You’re gonna listen and not make him repeat himself, you’re gonna clean up after yourself, and you’re gonna stay out of his hair when he tells you to.”

“I promise!”  Eddie held out his arms and caught himself when his daddy finally let him go.

“Now give me a proper hug, boy.”

Eddie sprung to his feet and threw his arms around his daddy.  “You’re not gonna forget me at the end of summer?”

“Couldn’t forget you if I wanted to.”  Eddie’s daddy leaned down, his mouth against the top of Eddie’s head.  “And I wouldn’t want to.  Be a good boy.  We’ll see you in a few months.”

Eddie didn’t cry as his parents left, but he sniffled a little bit and didn’t shy away from a hand on his shoulder as Wayne pulled him in a little closer on the porch.  “How old are you now, Ed?” Wayne asked.

Eddie wiped his nose with the back of his hand.  “10.”

“10.”  Wayne whistled.  “Time is flying by.  You hungry?”

“Yeah.”

“My good friend Benny’s got the best diner in town.  You like cheeseburgers?”

“They’re my favorite!”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

Eddie was on his best behavior for the first couple of days, just like he’d promised.  But Wayne was at work during the day, he’d told Eddie that he usually worked at nighttime, but changed his shifts so he’d be around more.  But it felt like Wayne was always at work.

Eddie got bored of the tv before the first day was over.  Wayne didn’t have many books to flip through, though the automotive magazines were a little neat to look at.  He’d told Eddie not to wander too far, so he didn’t go far enough into the woods to find anything interesting.  The other kids at the trailer park were either a little too old to want to play or too young to keep up with Eddie.

So by the end of the week, he was going what his mama called “stir crazy”.  “There’s nothing to do here,” he complained over a bowl of canned chili.  “I keep getting yelled at for running.  Even when I’m outside!”

Wayne chuckled and tried to hide it behind a bite of chili, but Eddie saw through it and glared.  “You wanna run around, is that right?  I heard one of the guys at the plant talking about some summer programs.  Sounds like it’ll be for kids around your age.”

“Really?”  Eddie perked up.  “My age?  Not little babies?”

“Not little babies.  Why don’t we take a drive after dinner, see if we can’t find out more?  We’ll find you somewhere you can run around all you need to, get you a little extra supervision so you don’t get lost.”  Wayne sipped from his mug.

“That’s why you don’t want me going far?”

“Mhm.  Kid gets lost in these woods, who knows how long it would take to find them.”

“I’m tall!”

Wayne let out a surprised laugh at that.  “Is that right?”

Eddie nodded.  “I’m tall!  If I got lost, you’d find me!”

“Son, if Benny got lost in these woods he’d be hard to find.”

“Oh.”  Eddie frowned.  He didn’t like the idea of being lost in the woods.  He twisted to look out the window, staring out at the treeline and imagining wandering without knowing where he was.  Not being able to get back to Wayne.  To his daddy and mama.  Being scared and feeling tiny.  “I won’t get lost.”

“That’s all I ask.”

They went on their drive around town and Eddie watched out the window with rapt attention so he could memorize the town.  Summer breeze blew in his face through the cranked down windows, knocking his curls around.  Hawkins was nice, it was quiet but alive and Wayne seemed to know everything about it.

Wayne had the next day off work, so they went to a local park on the other side of Hawkins. Eddie kept his eyes narrowed as he kept a running list in his head of street names. He was going to know Hawkins like the back of his own hand by the end of the summer. After all, he was getting along great with Wayne! He'd probably want to come visit again sometime.

The park was smaller than Eddie was expecting, just a playground, a basketball court, and a baseball diamond in a clearing between trees. There were so many trees in Hawkins, everything was just completely surrounded by them. He didn't hold Wayne's hand when they got out of the truck, but he walked close to him.  On the basketball court, there were several kids and their families and Eddie was immediately unsure of how to fit in.

He'd never been... great at making friends. It felt like he didn't know how, like there had been a book on making friends that he'd never read, or rules he hadn't learned. He glanced up at Wayne, who gave him a nudge between the shoulder blades.  "Go mingle, Ed. You'll be seeing these kids a couple times a week, get to know them."

Eddie braced himself with a nod, but still hesitated just a moment.  Then he broke away from Wayne and squared his shoulders like his daddy had taught him. If he looked confident and acted confident, he would feel confident too. So he marched right up to a boy with a gap toothed smile and freckles all over his face. "Hi."

The boy looked at him curiously for a long moment. "Hi. I'm Tommy, I haven't seen you around before."

"I don't live here. I'm only here for the summer, my uncle thinks I need to run around more."

"Do you like basketball?"

Eddie shrugged. "I've never played it. I only really play games in gym class at school, I like reading and drawing more."

"It's a lot of fun! I'm really good at it." Tommy looked around before waving a hand in the air. "Stevie! Carrie! C'mere!"

A boy and a girl had been playing in the grass, the girl tearing up handfuls and shoving them in the boy's face, and they looked up when Tommy yelled for them. The girl shoved the boy's head down and cackled when he struggled to get up. She brushed grass off her shirt and hurried over to them with a wide grin. "Who's this?"

Tommy looked at Eddie expectantly and he straightened his back again, though he'd already been standing up pretty straight. "Eddie. Munson."

"Eddie Munson, I'm Carol Perkins. And that's Steve Harrington. He was my friend first, don't listen to Tommy."

Eddie giggled a little, watching as Steve came running over and tackled Tommy to the ground. Tommy shrieked and Eddie and Carol watched them roll around in the grass. She looked at him and shrugged. "They do this all the time, Steve never wins. But Tommy never beats me."

"Steve looks taller."

"Yeah, but he doesn't like hurting anyone and Tommy plays dirty." She gestured as Tommy sat on Steve and rubbed torn up grass and clovers against his face. "See?"

Eddie nodded. "Can't fight dirty like that against a dragon, though."

Steve sputtered and sat up, pushing Tommy off. "A dragon?"

"Mhm. Gotta fight them with honor and integrity!"

"What's that?"

"Integrity? It's like- it's like honor. Being honest and true and noble."

"Cool." Steve stood up and shook grass out of his hair. "Are you good at basketball? You're really tall, you should be on our team!"

"I've never played, but Tommy said he's really good too."

Carol scoffed. "He's just okay. You'll pick it up quick. You can't carry the ball and you have to keep bouncing it when you run. Oh! And you can't touch anyone when they have a ball."

Steve nodded, expression serious. "That's a fowl and it lets the other guy shoot the ball without anyone trying to stop him. Twice!"

"That's a lot of rules." Eddie felt his nose scrunch a little. "But that makes it harder, doesn't it?"

Tommy shrugged and shoved his shoulder against Steve's. "Yeah, I guess. If it was easy, though, it wouldn't be fun."

They all looked up when a man blew a loud whistle and gestured for all the kids to gather around. "That's my dad, he's running everything." Carol put her hands on her hips as they went over to him. "So I know where he put all the snacks."

“Your sister up, too?” Steve asks the kid in his lap so quiet, and so gentle, as he lets her burrow in his arms, hide in the crook of his neck like a fucking natural; like it’s definitely not the first time he’s done this. Been this—which makes sense. Of course he never grew out of what it means to keep watch over the sheepies.

“She’s more brave,” the little one shakes her head, sniffles a little, then hides further into Steve’s neck where he rubs her back like a pro, knows exactly how to make the tension in her start to uncoil, obvious even to Eddie’s inexperienced eye.

“Oh, you’re both plenty brave,” Steve tells her with authority, planting a kiss atop her hair; “but more?”

And Eddie’d been too entranced by just how beautiful Steve looked like this—always; Eddie wasn’t gonna lie to himself on his fucking deathbed here, he’s always known Steve was kinda fucking gorgeous, all the more so these last days as the man measured well past the myth of just being real fucking pretty, but right now, like this with this tiny human, he…Eddie doesn’t know what it is, but it’s something other, something new—but Eddie’d been wholly distracted.

He only then notices a second girl in the doorway, clinging to the frame and peering in, as frightened as her noticeably-younger-but-only-just sister: must have been a sound, something scary against a window maybe, rather than a nightmare, he thinks, but then Steve’s bumping his nose against the side of the girl in his arms’ head.

“Don’t be so sure.”

And Lulu, she looks up at the gentle nudging and finds her sister with such big eyes, such innocent childish surprise, it just…

Eddie chest clenches with it, that’s all.

“Kiki, come on,” Steve calls over to the doorway, all warmth and comfort, as he reaches one hand her way; “we’re having a party up here.”

Much like her sister, the second girl hurries to the bed and jumps up just a little more gracefully, her legs that little bit longer, and then they’re both holding on to Steve, but…

Now they’re all taking up enough space that Eddie’s included by proximity. Both girls with a limb against Eddie’s side, one with an arm consciously, intentionally looped through Eddie’s at the elbow, Steve leaning into him when the girls pile on and the weight shifts his center of gravity enough to trust, trust Eddie to hold him and like fuck he’s about to fail him, like fuck.

So he holds, holds for Steve and tries like hell to hold for all of them because it feels right; despite everything that makes no sense, this feels so right.

“You guys want a story?”

Eddie blinks, the words not quite registering save that they’re kind and soft and wholly woven of comfort: maybes it’s the tone, or maybe it’s just Steve, something Eddie had already learned well over just the course of days, but either way—

The girls are turning their big eyes on Eddie then, and Eddie chances a glance in Steve’s direction; there’s something apologetic at the base of the encouraging glitter of his gaze and right, story, and staring at Eddie, and what’s Eddie good at as a rule, music and what else, but…oh.

Well, fuck.

Fuck, but if Steve Harrington is his whole-ass future, as much as it feels like; as much as it seems? If this is where he’s headed, in bed with this man, tangled in his sheets, babysitting through the generations, an absolute ball of putty for that look?

On the off chance that this could…possibly be real, that this could possibly be anything but a fever dream, a fantasy tied to the last gasps of his whole-ass soul, he, he’s, just…

Eddie’s heart flips on itself behind his ribs because…he never really thought about a tomorrow that felt warm like he feels now, even without any context, just in this space with these people, with that golden glow leveled at him from those molten eyes.

Eddie never considered—not seriously, at least—a future for him that was bright.

And sure: it doesn’t make sense that this is the future, like a real, tangible thing. Most probably this is just his brain doing the neurons’ equivalent of what chickens do when you cut their heads off: running wild until the last remaining bolts of who he is peter out in the ether.

But, like—and he knows this is probably another check in the wish fulfillment in the last seconds you’ve got column, he’s dying, not fucking stupid—but see, he’s…he’s been kinda stuck on the pretty-boy image of King Steve for years, sure, but it’s not like he knew the guy, and he sure as shit didn’t know anything that would imply that the guy he admired wholly lustfully from a distance was anything but a fucking douchebag. He’d had a handful of days to prove those assumptions wrong as fuck, but…that’s not enough to imagine a house, and warmth, and a feeling of connection so strong Eddie cannot deny its significance, can’t have just pretended up that weight, with not-their-kids coming to them for comfort in the dark, like they’re trusted by default to comfort, to protect and Steve, yeah, that makes perfect sense, but the way they’d lit up, the way the older one—was it Kallie, no; Kiki, yes, she’s Kiki and he, they…

They were a…a family. With family. And they kept their people safe. Those girls were scared and of course they’d come to Steve, that’s a given. But the fact that they’d even consider turning to Eddie…

What even is this? How…how?

How could this be where he’s headed?

But then: he’s not headed anywhere. He’s here, and those girls are asking for a story.

It’s a good fucking thing Eddie, in any time or universe, knows how to rise to that occasion more naturally than breathing.

He weaves a tale that’s half Tolkien, half D&D, about halflings getting into all sorts of mischief with a glut of baked goods nabbed from the kitchens, getting giggles from both little ones when he points out a stray cookie crumb on one of their collars, that he knew to look for because now that he’s not freaking the fuck out—or: not just freaking the fuck out—he can smell chocolate chips from somewhere beyond the bedroom, faint like it’s been a few hours but…there was baking.

Eddie apparently lives—lives?—in house, a home that welcomes its people, that makes its own sweet eatables, that…that loves.

The girls. Their parents, clearly; nothing’s changed there. And Steve…

Steve, with…with him?

Eddie’s never felt his stomach drop in such a fucking good way, like when you go down a hill at top speed and the exhilaration of it floors you—but then the way his heart flutters in all the space that’s opened up like that, hips to throat, just galloping like a fucking fool, dizzy and wild because Eddie can’t even process something this sweet, something this good, god, god, he’s gonna fucking cry—

“Wanna stay here or head back to your room?”

Eddie jumps back to the moment at the call of Steve’s voice, just the softest murmur as he reaches wide, gathers both girls close enough to kiss the tops of their heads as he asks them where they want to be, how they want to be cared for, and it’s…

Eddie’s not strong like this, right? Like, he’s not built—as if anyone is, or could be, but Eddie is especially fucking weak for the way Steve is soft and sure and the girls lean to him, automatic as they list, as they yawn and blink slow, slow, slow and they look at each other, wiggle around a little like they’re settling in for the night, choice made, before Lulu startles upward like lightning’s struck and squeaks:

“Mr. Snuffly!”

And Steve’s smile…fuck. Fuck, if Eddie’s thought he was a puddle at just the tenderness he was showing them before—and yes, yes he was; is—but the way he smiles now, this…radiant thing that’s all embers and glistening sunbeams on still waters at dawn and Eddie…

Eddie kinda can’t breathe, y’know?

“Oh, we can’t let Mr. Snuffly get lonely!” Steve scooches to the edge of the bed, slides off and reaches hands out for each girl to take, and they grab, hold on fast, look happy and settled and like being scared of anything at all is a distant memory. Eddie feels like he maybe didn’t know the definition of the word melt until the thing that’s happening in his chest started, just now, watching this scene unfold.

“Night Eddie,” Lulu appears at Eddie’s side while Eddie’d been focused on watching Steve lead the way out the bedroom door, and she’s climbing half back onto the bed to kiss his cheek; “love you.”

“Love you too, sweetness,” Eddie finds himself saying, a little hoarse but…he didn’t even have to think about it. Lulu tips her head a little—he worries for half a second that he remembered what Steve called her wrong, maybe it was weird, maybe he shouldn’t have—but then she’s beaming at him, sweetness personified indeed, and her gap-toothed smile is just…Eddie feels his heart swell and trip for the unfamiliar bulk it expands to fill, and it’s a devastating mix of wonder and pure fucking want because he doesn’t think he’ll survive it when this all falls apart and his consciousness fades like it’ll have to, finally, as he bleeds out enough onto that filthy ground; when it all proves not to be true.

She bounces away, and Eddie…Eddie doesn’t know which fucking way is up because his skin feels too small for the size of his body all of a sudden, and he’s maybe a little lightheaded just sitting in bed, and it doesn’t get less fuzzy, less sparkling when he lies back, doesn’t dim down when he closes his eyes, and he didn’t think a heart could, like, thump happily but fuck if that’s not the only way he can even possibly describe the giddy little gallopy thing happening behind his ribs and holy shit, holy fucking shit—

“You’re not my Eddie.”

Eddie’s eyes snap open from where he’d just been lying stretched long across the bed, hand on his chest like he was trying to memorize the feeling of his own pulse like this, etch it into his bones—or else, not like, that’s basically exactly what he was trying to do—and he looks to Steve, who’s standing just shy of the bed. Too far.

Eddie wants to reach. Wants to…he wants to be the Eddie who’s allowed to reach.

“How do you figure?” is what he ventures to lead with. He can’t lie to Steve, he feels that in his blood. But he…

He’s not ready to cop to not belonging here, when he’s never once in his whole goddamn life felt more like he fits.

“How don’t I figure,” Steve snorts a little, but slides in next to Eddie, reaches and rolls Eddie over into his arms, chest-to-chest this time.

“But sure, I’ll pick one,” Steve says as he drags the comforter up around them. “Lu and Ki, they love you to pieces,” and he leans, kisses the bridge of Eddie’s nose with no hint of hesitation, despite acknowledging Eddie isn’t, isn’t…

“Normally you fight to comfort them first when they get scared like that,” Steve tells him, so fucking fond; tucks Eddie’s hair behind his ear.

“Do I call her ‘sweetness’?” Eddie asks small, needs to know what her little reaction meant, if it meant anything; needs to know about these children like any of this is for him, like he can have it, like he can keep it.

“Lucy-Lu? Not normally,” Steve shakes his head and Eddie feels something in him wilt, but Steve’s grinning so broad that it doesn’t stay shriveled too long.

“You call her your mighty warrior princess, and she adores it,” Steve says so goddamn enamored that Eddie thinks he might drown in the feeling of being the subject of that much…naked affection, and nothing less.

“She loves it when I call her ‘sweetness’, though, so,” Steve shrugs, taps the crest of Eddie’s cheekbone; “she’d probably be thrilled to hear it from you.”

And something Eddie didn’t know was even in his chest to glow starts to build like embers, because…he did that. He might not be the right Eddie, this might not even be real.

But he made that perfect little girl smile. She loves him, and already he knows he loves her, just like he knows he loves her sister, just like he damn well knows he loves Steve with every cell in his body, and then some.

It’s this…painful but still incredible feeling. Knowing that in his bones.

Knowing that it’s fleeting, and illusive.

“You’re weirdly, umm,” Eddie licks his lips, tries like fuck to swallow, maybe manages half of what he hopes: “weirdly chill about this?”

And yeah it comes out as a question, his heart’s behind his goddamn teeth: fucking sue him.

“Figure I’ve seen plenty of crazy shit over the years that this doesn’t even really crack the top ten,” Steve huffs with a smirk, before he raises an eyebrow pointedly:

“Also, I wasn’t done.”

Eddie blinks at him, not comprehending what…else, exactly, could even be said about this particular insanity; the reality that Eddie doesn’t belong here, that this fantasy isn’t really his, that it’s not fucking real and Eddie’s heart’s gonna break before it stops altogether for good, which is fucking cruel, really, fuck that shit.

“You’re not my Eddie,” Steve tells him, voice pitched low and it’s syrupy-warm and melty and it shouldn’t be so beautiful when it’s saying what it is, when it’s confirming everything sour in Eddie’s gut, heavy in his chest—

“Yet.”

Eddie frowns, not quite understanding, but Steve’s just looking at him; drinking him in in the most whole and full sense of it all.

“I think I remember this you,” Steve runs the pad of a thumb under his lash line. “Your eyes soften, babe,” he whispers, bubbling over with nothing less than—maybe more than—love; “you aren’t strung so tight, you don’t look for the nearest exit like you used to, ready to run if it all went sideways.”

And the way he says it: it’s a marveling thing. It sees Eddie down to his core and it wants all of it, all of him.

Fuck, if Eddie wasn’t already dying, losing this is going to kill him anyway.

“You’re,” Eddie splutters a little, heart in his throat over all of it, fucking…all of it, but then he trips, his heart leading the way for it as he rasps a little:

“Babe?”

As if finding himself in the same goddamn bed—both of them wearing the kind of threadbare clothes to sleep that spoke of safety, and comfort, and home—hadn’t made it painstakingly clear, but…hearing it.

Hearing it spoken, to him, by—

“Mmm, babe,” Steve teases a little, eyes sparkling. “You told me about this, you know, but you thought it was just a dream,” Steve tilts his head that way Eddie’s already noticed, and noticed how much it fucking does to him.

“So when you wake up, don’t hold back, yeah?”

“Wake up?” Eddie repeats dumbly, tongue thick in his mouth because it’s all…so much. It’s so much, and…wait, wait, he’s dead, he’s almost dead, so what the fuck does Steve even mean—

“I don’t think telling you things is gonna break the timeline, else it would’ve been broken from the beginning,” Steve chews at his lip a little, considering before he does this smiling-pouting thing at Eddie apologetically, that fucking doesthings to Eddie’s insides, goddamn; “but I hope you’ll forgive me in the long run if I don’t want to risk it,” and he leans in, grabs to cup Eddie’s cheeks; draws him in and kisses between his eyebrows in the most delicate, intimate fucking thing Eddie’s maybe ever known in his life.

“If you’re still here in the morning,” and Steve’s lips drag so sweet against his skin; “I’ll call Dustin, see if he thinks it’s safe to tell you more, okay?”

“Okay,” Eddie gasps out because his heart’s jackrabbiting away, so fucking full and so fucking scared because what it’s full of right now is…is stupid, foolish, unrelenting hope.

And Steve’s kissing his temple before he’s pulling Eddie back down to lie like how they started, Steve’s arms around him, a circle of safety and affection and something no less than cherishing against his thrumming pulse and Eddie can’t move, he doesn’t know what to do—

“Closer, Eds,” Steve whispers against the shell of his ear, and Eddie shivers; can do nothing but exactly what he’s asked.

“Night, baby,” Steve mouths against the nape of his neck, where he kisses him one more time; “love you most.”

And Eddie thinks that’s highly fucking debatable—he’s not sure where it comes from, because it’s a little out of place, Eddie didn’t say anything but maybe he’s just that transparent, the heart of him so quickly, so completely, and if that’s the case then it’s entirely fucking debatable because Eddie thinks he’s going to burst, splinter like a starburst, glorious in the unmaking for how big this thing that’s building in him feels, how certain he is that it’s about to break his ribs and he fucking looks forward to it, so no: Steve doesn’t love most because he can’t, because Eddie is overcome with this feeling and he, he—

He’s drifting, because Steve’s heat is a heady fucking drug, and his heartbeat’s a metronome, a lullaby against Eddie’s back and it’s instinct, it’s unquestionable when he shimmies tighter into Steve’s hold and sighs the weight of the world out between his lips because…

Because goddamnit, this feels right.

>>> part two (???)

for @penny00dreadful 🖤 and I am so fucking sorry it's this late

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @estrellami-1 @finntheehumaneater @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here @pukner @ravenfrog @sadisticaltarts @samsoble @sanctumdemunson @shrimply-a-menace @slashify @stealthysteveharrington @swimmingbirdrunningrock @theheadlessphilosopher @theintrovertedintrovert @themoonagainstmers @theohohmoment @tillystealeaves @tinyloonyteacups @tinyplanet95 @warlordess @wheneverfeasible @wordynerdygurl @wxrmland @yourmom-isgay @1-tehe-1

“Hey, Munson,” Steve said, standing there in a trademark striped polo and dark jeans.

“Hey,” Eddie said back, settling his jacket over his front. He gave a strained smile. “Uh, I’m all out for the night. Sorry.”

Steve hadn’t always bought from Eddie, and he never seemed to mind when Eddie sold at his parties. But he rarely bought by himself, usually serving as the bank from which his friends funded their drug habits.

“No, I was actually wondering if I could ask you something.” Steve rubbed a hand at the back of his neck, unable to meet Eddie’s gaze. “Upstairs, if that’s alright? Alone?”

This was a bad idea. It was one thing for Steve to associate with him in the anonymity of the crowded mall, but there were only certain thoughts that went through people’s minds when Steve Harrington took people upstairs toward his bedroom.

And Eddie was not one of those people.

More like the opposite.

“Five minutes,” Steve promised. “I’ll even walk you out.”

“Not necessary, Harrington.” Eddie rolled his eyes and stepped past Steve, his beeline for the stairs serving as his answer to Steve.

They weaved past the drunk and/or high partygoers lining the stairs. With Eddie going first, he assumed that the strange looks he was getting was less than he if he’d been following Steve.

Who knew who had seen him go straight into the King’s bedroom.

He took a place in the center of the room, hands tucked firmly in his jacket pockets and backpack on his shoulder. Steve closed the door behind him, but he didn’t notice Eddie’s highly-raised brows, instead heading straight for his dresser.

Steve picked up a wide, white box and turned, holding it straight out toward Eddie.

“I didn’t know we were doing a gift exchange,” Eddie said.

“It’s just…something I thought you’d like.” Steve shrugged one shoulder, still holding the box. “I don’t expect, like, reciprocation or anything.”

Eddie peered at the top of the box, where a line of blue text spelled out ‘Bloomingdale’s.’ Eddie leveled his gaze at Steve, but all he got in return was seeing Steve nervously bite at his lower lip.

Eddie took the box.

He heard Steve swallow hard as Eddie worked off the fitted cardboard lid, taking it before Eddie had to ask. Letting Eddie see the garment inside in all its surprising glory.

“It’s—”

“They had one in black, like you’d said.” Steve pointed to the gift, as if Eddie couldn’t see exactly what he was holding.

It was the jacket from that day at the mall. Stiff, because it was new, but clean denim with bright silver buttons on the breast pockets and down the front. The only difference: black, instead of blue.

Eddie dragged his hand across the fabric, remembering how warm the one he’d tried on had been. The warmth that came from nicely made stuff.

“You actually remembered that?” he said.

Steve fucking shrugged again, like he just went around remembering random bits of trivia from people he should never be associating with, much less buying Christmas presents.

The worst thing? Eddie wanted to keep it.

It would be a lot harder for Steve to try and take the gift back if Eddie had it safely in his own closet. Refusing the gift meant Steve could just return it.

Was Eddie supposed to refuse it?

He knew one thing for sure.

Steve Harrington was confusing the hell out of him.

“I’m planning another party. For New Year’s,” Steve said, breaking up the silence of Eddie’s indecision. His hand still on the jacket, Eddie looked him, mouth surely hanging open. Steve pursed his mouth, seemingly unsure of his own words. “If you want to plan…to be there.”

Eddie would have been there regardless. Didn’t usually get an invite to these things.

He narrowed his eyes toward Steve, who he was sure hadn’t not looked nervous since he first walked up to Eddie in the living room.

“I’ll think about it,” he said slowly. He lifted the jacket from the box, officially accepting the gift and tossed the bottom part onto Steve’s bed. As he headed for the door, he added, “And, thank you. For the jacket.”

“Don’t mention it."

(But he still heard screams from a bus in the junkyard when he slept. Felt fear lick down his spine as he charged in, knowing he was the only thing standing between three dumb kids and a painful, shitty death. 

But he still heard Dustin, full of conviction, tell his friends that Steve was the only person he could find. 

But now he had a “bad” shoulder, a “twinge” in his ribs, and a head that was plagued by migraines, all of which made him look in the mirror and ask himself “What if I hadn’t gone with them?) 

…you couldn’t be there for someone, couldn’t protect someone, if you were too busy playing high school bullies with your friends. 

Robin would likely argue these were simply the reasons he wanted to be a better person, but Robin now ranked as one of Steve’s top 10 personal regrets--even if he was pretty sure they’d become best friends.

Because Steve was the oldest. He’d graduated high school for fucks sake, he should have shut Dustin down the second he realized what was happening was legitimate. 

He absolutely should not have let Robin get involved and Erica--

He can’t even really think about Erica, no matter how much Erica herself argues elsewise. 

At the very least, Steve can admit to himself he protected them in the end. 

Got beat to shit and had to fake his death alongside Hopper to do it, but they all got out. 

Alive.

Unscathed.

Hopefully to put this whole fucking thing past them once Owens finished cleaning house in the government. 

Unfortunately life--and Eddie fucking Munson--was not ready to put anything to rest. 

Munson in fact, seemed hellbent on disturbing what he could--and Steve, wholly haunted by the fact the kids always came to him, couldn’t let him do it alone.

At least, he thought with grim distaste, as he followed Munson’s weaving path to the ruins of Starcout,  he was getting his car out of it. 

xXx

Uncanny valley doesn’t do Steve’s feelings justice. 

Starcourt was laid out in a giant L, and coming at it from the outer edges like he and Munson did means everything looks disturbingly normal. 

Off putting, if only because it’s 10 in the morning and not a soul is in the mall, but otherwise? 

Like nothing ever went wrong.

As they move closer to the center, things begin to unravel. 

It’s not noticeable at first. Not unless you’re looking. The litter on the floor, the little piles of weird looking debris. 

The stains.

Nothing that outwardly screams “something horrible happened here” but it's coming--and though Munson is creeping along just as quietly as Steve is, he knows the guy isn’t on edge in the same way. 

Why would he be? Nothing Steve said had managed to deter him, and given Steve can’t exactly explain what happened or why he’s playing possum, Munson was plenty confident about going forward with his little B&E. 

At least not until they finally turn the corner, and the destruction hits them full force. 

Glass and chunks of plaster cover the ground like confetti. Lights hang sideways or lay smashed on the floor, as do pieces of doors (and railings and half of the entire upper floor.) 

The place looks like something out of a disaster film--which Steve supposes, is exactly what it is. 

If the disaster was supernatural in nature, and also caused by a giant monster made out of the melted flesh. 

(God, his life was weird.)

“What the hell happened here?” Eddie said, eyes wide as he took in the damage. 

Steve tried to imagine what it must look like for him. Looked at the scene and tried to pretend he was someone who wasn’t in the know, who thought the mall had been destroyed by a fire and subsequent structural collapse.

Could almost convince himself one could buy it--if it weren’t for the smears of blood that still stained the floor. 

He stared at said smears, trying to match up which puddle was the one Billy died in, in comparison to all the other stains that the feds hadn’t bothered to remove. 

Recalled the way Max screamed, fighting her way towards her step-brother when he finally fell.

The yell Billy himself had let out, when he’d managed to shake off the Mindflayer, long enough to give El the time she needed. 

Steve hadn’t really thought about it until now. 

Billy’s death.

 Hadn’t really had time too, given Owens had pulled him and a handful of others out of the ambulance and forced them into hiding.

(From the fucking Russians still hanging around, apparently, though that had been Owens flimsy excuse. Murray and Hopper and long guessed it was something far closer to home. 

“You ever think about how weird that was? That Russians made it to Hawkins and no one ever noticed?” Hopper had asked, a beer in the same hand that had an IV sticking out of the back of it. “Given the lab was right across town you think they’d be watching for that kinda thing.” 

“Please Jim, I am begging you, for once, to use your head. They didn’t get here without assistance and they certainly didn’t do it without help from our own government.” Murray had scoffed in return. 

He held two lit cigarettes in his hand, and was reaching for a third.

“Why the hell would the US military let in Russians?"

“An excellent question, and I’ll return it with one of my own. If we assume we are being lied too, and all the Russians are actually gone, why would Owens still need to hide us?"

“...Fuck.”

“Fuck indeed.”)

Now, Steve found he had all the time in the world to contemplate Billy Hargrove and his mostly unnoticed possession. His supposed sacrifice. 

 Had it redeemed him, the way movies and TV shows always said that kind of death, did? 

Steve imagined the sneered grin on Billy’s face that night at the Byers. Felt phantom knuckles brush across his face, the fury that had ignited within him when Billy hadn’t gone for him, but for Lucas.

Compared it to his own fight with Jonathan in ‘82. 

The words he’d allowed Tommy to spray upon the theater sign regarding his own girlfriend. The camera he’d destroyed. 

The demogorgon in the Byers house, lights flashing as it tore through the wall. 

If things had been different, if Steve hadn’t survived back then--would people wonder the same things about him? Would they ask themselves if his sacrifice was worth it--if it proved he was a good person, under it all? 

“Harrington?” 

Steve jumped, startling when Munson nudged him. 

“You good, man?” He asked, and Steve almost laughed at him because no, he definitely was not good. 

He can’t say that though, and so he does what he always does. Shoves the thoughts down, puts the feelings back inside a box in his mind. 

Lies. 

“Yeah--fine.” He said, brushing off his staring. “Come on, Scoops is that way.” 

He gestures, ignoring the concerned look that’s overtaken Munson’s face. 

Panicking he knows, will not get his keys back, and neither will it help him learn what idiot is poking around the Upside Down this time. 

Because for all of Murray's conspiracies, he doesn’t actually think the feds are Munson’s benefactor. Owens had been inclined to agree, when Steve first reported this entire situation back. 

It’s definitely not his parents, who are conveniently overseas in London. 

That leaves very little options, including a disturbing possibility of a new player to the game, and given all the green goo Steve had seen, the way they all know it does--something, to help power the gate... 

It’d be nice to get ahead of things for once, instead of scrambling to catch up. 

(Screw Hopper and Owens and everyone who told Steve to stay out of it.

He knew damn well Munson wouldn’t listen to his warnings. 

Wouldn’t back off and definitely wouldn’t leave it alone.

Hopper’s half-delirious (and morphine fueled) rants about this finally being a wakeup call for Munson if he didn’t listen wasn’t going to make up for the blood on Steve's hands if the guy went in there without him and died. ) 

Walking through Scoop's is almost more unnerving than walking through the mall itself. Likely because Steve spent time here, and seeing it in it's destroyed state--lights off, ice cream melted and fouling the air with the a rancid stench do him no favors.

The You Suck board is laying haphazardly on the floor.

Steve forces himself to walk by it, and breathes only through his mouth.

“Your locker, my liege!” Munson crows as they enter the back part of Scoop’s, throwing out an arm at it like he’s presenting a game show prize. “Shall we see if the treasure we seek is behind door number one?” 

Steve rolls his eyes, but remains quiet as he steps up and enters his combination. 

It swings open as easily as it ever had, and there, hanging from the crooked hook, is the car keys Steve is so desperately after. 

Munson throws his hands in the air, like Steve’s just shot the winning basket of a game. 

“Score!” He yells, and Steve grins reflexively even as he shushes him. 

“Now," Munson says dramatically, "the hunt begins for our second prize.”

Steve rolls his eyes.

“I told you I don’t have a class ring.” 

“And yet they have me searching for one anyway.” Like a hound zeroing in on a trail, he immediately orients to the back of Scoop’s, waltzing through to the backrooms like this was everyday for him.

Given his confusing and handwaved excuse of how he got involved in this, Steve suppose it could be. 

(He had decided, sometime between the first and fifth time he’d tried to get Eddie to explain how, exactly he’d been roped into this little mission, that the man could never meet Dustin.

Henderson was already too good at steamrolling over Steve, explaining nothing other than the facts that would force them all to do what the little shit wanted, all the while leading them further into trouble.

He didn’t need to befriend someone like Munson, whose mastery of the same bullshit had him doing, well.

This.) 

To the end of the hall Eddie skipped, and Steve kept his eyes on his jacket. Some sort of demon thing was posed on the back, a shirt that had been ripped up and resewn to be a backpatch. 

It was better than looking at anything else back here.

It took them no time at all to reach their destination. 

The door down had a shiny new lock on it. A big thing, with chains so thick Steve briefly wondered if they were worried about containment. 

Had they pulled something through the gate, before it had exploded?

The base was large--larger than Steve had seen, and he'd passed room after room when running around down there.

No one had the time to explore, and one would assume any and all monsters had been removed from the premise but there was always that little tickling feeling.

The one that chanted 'What if...'

Unfortunately, the lock did nothing to detour this little jaunt. 

Munson dropped to his knees in front of a door, hair pin in hand. He fiddled with the lock for a moment and Steve took it to visualize how different things might have been if the older teen had been there with them. 

How much easier some of it would have been. 

(Not that Steve wanted to involve anyone else in this mess.

He'd carry the guilt of dragging Erica and Robin both into it for the rest of his life, not matter what either had to say about the matter. Dustin he knew he couldn't stop, but then, Steve doubted they'd have even made it that far without the girls.)

A click sounded, and Eddie looked up, eyes bright with a wild grin on his face. 

“Open sesame.” He purred as he stood, the door opening under his hands. He pushed on it, revealing the dark gaping maw of a stairwell.

Dread hit Steve like a wave.

“We shouldn’t go down there.” He said.

They had already had this conversation, but Steve felt the overwhelming urge to revisit it on grounds that he still isn’t sure how exactly, Munson got him to agree to come in the first place, and also, now that he was thinking of it, because the guy reminded him of Dustin.

“We shouldn’t be here at all.” Munson countered, springing back to his feet. “But some of us need this little thing called money.”

He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, as if Steve needed the extra visual.

“If you’re giving me the car--and the car keys--what's the point of going after the ring?” Steve tried, staring down the stairwell before him. “Aren’t they gonna like, not pay you for not finding anything?”

Munson made a dismissive noise, waving his hands in the air like he was dispersing smoke. 

“Eddie.” Steve said, and knew by the way Munson looked at him that the use of his first name hit as intended. “I mean it, man.” 

There was no point in going through with the rest of it. No point at all.

“And I told you I was given a side mission to my main mission, and a little industry secret for ya here Harrington,"

Steve watched as cheshire-cat like grin lit up Munson’s face, in a way eerie similar to Dustin’s gummy smile. "the side missions always pay more.” 

“What's under there isn’t--this isn’t--it’s not safe.” Steve fired back, hating how he fumbled the words, like a ball slipping through his hands. 

Munson scoffed.

“Life ain’t safe.”  

“This is different.” He tried to argue and hated how stubborn Munson was being about this.

It almost made him feel bad about all the time’s Robin had protested. 

(Idly Steve wondered if this was how she felt. Like she was getting dragged along--like she had to go. 

Did her insides feel scooped out? Stomach hollow and head hurting?

Or had the excitement blinded her too much to feel the way the walls seemed to press in?)

Steve’s gut clenched with worry, and he shook his head to clear the anxiety.

Met Munson's gaze and desperately thought of something to say to convince him to walk away.

Some of that must have bled onto his face, because Munson was giving him an odd, searching look.

“I’ll make you a deal, Steve-O." He said. "You give me two good reasons why we shouldn’t go down there, and if they’re really convincing, I might agree to skip it.” 

“I signed NDAs.” Steve sighed, because this was an argument they’d also already had. 

Twice in fact--once, when Eddie first found him, alive and very much not dead as reported, and the second time when he approached Steve with his “retrieval project.” 

(Both times at the goddamn gas station, which Steve would now be avoiding for life.) 

On eyebrow raised. “Over a mallfire?” 

“I think,” Steve said dryly, gesturing around to the destruction that surrounded them, “that you’ve figured out it wasn’t a mallfire.” 

Technically he wasn't even supposed to say that, but then, Steve had long stopped caring if he actually broke the stupid thing.

The real issue was that the story sounded like something out of a bad horror film--fake and ridiculous. If he tried to explain it, Munson would assume Steve had finally cracked.

Or, more likely, decide he was being made fun of, and react accordingly.

(They couldn't afford to fight here, and neither did Steve want Munson storming off.)

“Well duh. But then, you’re the one who won’t say what really happened here.” Munson waggled his eyebrows in a way that was so cartoony Steve was mildly impressed a person could pull it off. 

He sighed a second time. 

“You wouldn’t believe me.”

“You keep saying that and you keep not trying me.” Eddie leaned against the door frame. “Come on Harrington. Two reasons.”

Steve tried.

Ran through what might convince Munson to leave it all alone. 

Figured the guy was kind of like Dustin, in that he couldn’t be too vague (because it would just intrigue him) and he couldn’t be too honest (because any idiot could see Munson would be all over some kind of government conspiracy.) 

“The fact the building might pancake on us at any moment isn't enough?" He asked, unsure if sounding desperate was the right move here (an equally unsure if he could hide it if it was.)

He’d hadn’t tried this route before--hadn’t thought Munson would go for it. 

Not when he'd waived off every other attempt Steve could think of, to stop this.

“Nah, I trust my source, this place will hold.” Munson leaned forward, deep into Steve’s space and though Steve waivered back, he let the older teen get close. “You’ve been off ever since we came in here, Harrington. I want to know why.” 

“I was in the fire. Munson. I did almost die."

He still had a bruise left to prove it.

"That ain't it and you know it."

"I don't know what else to tell you then." Steve said, angry. why was the guy making this so hard? Why couldn't he just fucking listen!?

“Not even two reasons?”

“There’s not--” Steve closed his eyes, frustrated. “I’ve given you far more than two reasons!” 

“Not any good ones.” 

“I don’t know what you want from me. "Steve admitted finally. "because I told you, you wouldn’t believe the rest of it--” 

Munson didn't let his rant pick up steam. instead he pulled himself back, interrupting Steve.

“Then down the rabbit hole we go, Alice!”

Quick as a flash he was  down the stairs and Steve bit back a curse as he rushed to follow.

“Munson--come on, wait!” He yelled back.

Eddie, of course, did no such thing. 

It took everything he had in him to rush after, but Steve did it anyway.