I Don’t Know What Those Stains Are…

You find a good stopping place to dog-ear the page of the book you’re determined to finish tonight before rolling off your bed. Bare feet hit the freezing wood of your apartment, silently cursing yourself for being too lazy to put socks on after your shower. Hopping across your bedroom using your area rugs like the floor is lava, the paneling creaks under every tip toed jump. Stopping near the side of your window, your curious eyes peek from behind the curtain, secretly hoping to see him. And when you find exactly what you’re looking for, your heart beats a little bit quicker in your chest.

His name is Steve, at least that’s what it says on his shop window that you’ve been too shy to step into since he moved in. Some days though, that you won’t admit are your favorites, the two of you share a small smile and a wave as you walk past that never fails to send butterflies tickling through the spaces of your ribcage. Making it nearly impossible to actually work up enough courage to go in and introduce yourself.

A dark brown smock is tied over the thick heather grey sweater covering his broad chest. A pair of scissors pokes out of the front pocket, the red handle facing up, probably shoved in there after hours of trimming. His dark amber, almost brown hair seems messier than usual, like he had been running his hands in it all day. And as the sunset hits your block just right, kissing everything in a pink tangerine, it makes the silver that weaves through his thick locks shine too.

Chestnut loafers cover his feet, the leather worn in from years of use with black socks that peek out from under the rolled up bottoms of his dark washed jeans. Long thick fingers hold his cigarette, a gold band around his middle gleams in the last bit of sun, making his tanned skin glow.

Thin silver rimmed glasses hang down the slope of his sharp nose, and a dusting of a five o’clock shadow peppers his strong jaw that he usually keeps clean shaven. You decide you like him best like this, something about him being a little disheveled endearing you.

The screen of his phone lights up catching his attention, and he quickly texts whoever it is back, his cigarette dangling dangerously from his plush bottom lip. His cheeks hollow as he takes another drag, shoving his phone deep in his pocket. And then it all happens so quickly, you don’t have any time to duck and hide when he looks up unexpectedly to exhale.

Heat spreads like wildfire across your skin when your gazes meet temporarily clouded from the smoke dissipating into the sky. It only gets worse when his full pink lips stretch wide revealing a perfect set of teeth.

It's so big that it pushes up the two moles that dot his cheek, and deepens his crows feet under his midnight hazel eyes. There’s a sweetness inside of it like his flowers and you can’t stop the shy one that pulls up your own in return. His kind greeting only lasts for a moment, smile dropping once he realizes he’s been smoking a cigarette right outside your apartment window.

”Oh wow, this is — this is so rude of me. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize your window was open.” He apologizes quickly, stomping out his nicotine fix on the sidewalk.

It’s the first time you’ve really heard his voice, and it drips like warm honey, helping you work up the courage to find your own.

”It’s okay, really. I should honestly be thanking you.” You manage, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth, and you swear he watches the movement.

”Oh? And why’s that?” He finally grins again, crossing his arms over his chest as he takes a step back to the edge of the sidewalk to get a better look.

Craning his neck to meet your gaze, the unruly strand across his forehead that he always seems to be pushing back flops out of his face all on its own, giving you a good look at just how handsome he really is. The realization has you shamelessly check his hand for any sign of a wedding band, your pulse quickening when you find none.

”Ever since you opened, my apartment has never smelt better. You’re actually saving me a lot of money on candles.”

This earns you a laugh that floats up the space between you, his eyes glittering with something that makes your cheeks glow.

“Yankee might be mad at you though.”

”I think I can handle their legal team if need be.” He plays along, broad shoulders relaxing a little more before finally introducing himself. “I’m Steve, by the way.”

”I had this weird feeling that might be it.” You grin, still a little nervous and thankful that he can’t see the way your hips sway with giddiness.

“Really? What gave it away?”

His lips twitch at the sound of your giggle, a pink tongue darting out to wet them.

”It’s very nice to meet you, Steve.” You say sweetly, leaning forward just a little more, sucking at your bottom lip to stop the stupid smile that tries to split your face in two.

”It’s nice to meet you too, honey.” He agrees with the slightest hint of pink dusting his stubble covered cheeks.

There’s a brief moment of silence filled with the low hum of cars returning home from work and the last songs of the birds before retiring to their nests in the trees that line your block. Steve looks like he’s contemplating what he wants to say next, and there’s a part of you that becomes unsure if you should just say goodnight.

“You’ve never come into my shop, have you?” He finally says, breaking the tension with a card of his rebellious hair.

”No.” You smile sheepishly, before adding, “I’ve been meaning to but it always looks so busy, or I’m on my way to something.”

They sound like excuses, because they are.

”Well how about you come down now, and I can give you something that’ll get that nasty cigarette smoke out of there. I mean, I just trimmed some lavender and lilac for a wedding. No crowd cause we’re all closed up for the night.”

He’s full of reasons not to say no, and the playful wiggle of his thick eyebrows stops your conscious effort not to let your smile split your face in two. So with cheeks pushed up so high they almost hurt, you don’t.

”Let me put on my shoes.”

You’re not expecting to feel this shy when you meet him at the bottom of your staircase. But having him standing right in front of you and not waving from behind the shop window makes him feel a lot more real.

Steve is somehow even more handsome up close like this, the kind of handsome you only see in old Hollywood movies. Smoke with a hint of amber cling to the fabrics of his clothes, mixing with the sweet scents of the flowers he mentioned, and it’s intoxicating despite the way they clash.

”Hi, again.” He smiles, white teeth gleaming in the golden glow of dusk.

”Hi.” You smile back, stomach swooping at the sight.

He sticks out a large hand for you to shake, warmth unfurling over every inch of your skin when you slide your palm into his, watching his fingers envelope your hand completely.

“Maybe now you won’t be such a stranger.” He winks, shaking your hand a few times before letting you go too quickly for your liking.

”And now, maybe you won’t smoke under my window.” You add with an arch of your brow, trying desperately to regain your composure.

”Look, I don’t know how else to apologize for this besides forcing you to take some of the flowers I just spent the last three hours trimming.” He laughs softly, something playful in his stare. “I hope my physical labor is enough to show you just how truly sorry I am.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” You tease him with your own wink, relishing in the almost bashful way he shakes his head, before side stepping to open his shop door.

”After you.”

Stepping in, the entrance bell still rings, echoing in the dimly lit shop as a heady earthy smell surrounds you. The misters quietly hum, keeping the soil damp for the lush green ferns and pothos that spill out of their pots lining the walls. Flowers hang from the ceiling, their petals still vibrant in the low light making you realize why the smell was always so strong in your home. It's impossible not to take a deep breath to try and soak it all in.

”Wow Steve, it's really beautiful in here.” You gape, taking in every inch of it with wonder in your eyes.

”Thanks honey,” He says shyly as he closes the door behind you. The lightest press of his palm finds your lower back almost making you jump before your body begs you to lean into it. “Let me wrap those up for you and I’ll be right back.”

Walking away, Steve’s fingertips feel like a whisper dragging across where his palm just was, leaving goosebumps pebbling in their absence. You use this moment alone to let out the deep breath you’d been holding, as you watch this casual crush barrel down the path towards a real one. Tugging nervously at the bottom hem of your loose fitting sweater, your eyes trail over his front desk area nosely.

A half-drunk ‘Hawkins Tigers’ coffee mug sits on a stack of paper work leaving a dark brown ring on something you hope isn’t important. Next to it are a few half sharpened pencils scattered over what looks like wedding schedules, with a pile of pink eraser shavings next to it, like he had just had to change something. From the looks of it, something big. That’s when a small Polaroid tapped to his laptop right next to the mouse pad catches your gaze.

Glancing towards the back area where he’d disappeared through thick foggy plastic, you lean forward to get a closer look. It’s a younger version of him beaming with tears in his eyes next to a curly haired boy on what looks like graduation day.

The boy clings to him like you would with someone who is important in your life, and by the way it looks iron clad, you’d say the person who means the most in it. Sucking your bottom lip between your teeth, the sweetness of it all tugs at your heart and the edges of your mouth.

”Okay, I hope this is enough.” Steve says distractedly, coming out of the back still mid paper wrap, making you jump, because the bouquet he’s holding is so big that it nearly covers his entire head.

“Enough?” You gasp incredulously, “is there any left for the wedding?!”

This makes him snort, moving the flowers to the side so you can see his handsome face again.

“They’re in full bloom, it looks like way more than what it is. I promise there is plenty left for the wedding.” He grins, waving you off setting the bouquet down on his desk.

Steve holds the end of it with one big hand while pulling a roll of beige twine from his smock with the other. His knuckles move underneath his tan skin gripping the stems tighter as starts to twirl the string around pulling the flowers together. His sleeves are shoved up to his elbows, forearms flexing with each movement, and once he can let go, he replaces the twine for his scissors.

He cuts it so quick that if you blinked you’d miss it leaving himself a little slack before shoving it back in the front pocket he grabbed it from. His thick fingers move expertly, using them to tie a simple knot that's just tight enough to keep them in place. Lifting his handy work to his face, he adjusts the twine with the pads of them so it wraps perfectly stacked, finally handing it over to you once he’s satisfied.

”These are — wow, these are so pretty Steve. Thank you.” You whisper in awe of them up close.

Your fingers brush together during the pass off, the contact sending an electric jolt thrumming through your veins. A deep blush kisses the tips of his ears like he felt it too.

“It’s no problem at all sweetheart. I’m sorry again.” He smiles softly, hands hovering instinctively for a second to make sure you have a good grip.

“All is forgiven.” You whisper with your own smile, taking a big whiff, looking up at him from between the petals.

His eyes linger on you for a moment, taking in the lines and dips of your face like he’s trying to memorize this before clearing his throat.

“Now, you better start coming in to say hi. Or I’ll be forced to leave flowers at your doorstep till the guilt eats away at you.”

His joke takes you by surprise, earning a deep bellied laugh that lights up his whole face.

“I promise I’ll start saying hi.” You grin, adjusting the bouquet so you can see all of him while he’s still in front of you.

The two of you stand there, somehow so close the tips of your shoes touch. A charged silence falling between you as something new sparks and catches fire.

“I- I should get going.” You stutter out, tearing your eyes from his full mouth that you swear begs to be kissed.

“Yeah - yeah, of course. I’ll walk you out.” He coughs dryly, catching himself doing the same.

You try not to overthink how his palm finds the small of your back again. Or the way he lightly scratches at your spine when he says his final goodbye on your way out. The two of you stand at your respective doors, bumbling out one more flustered goodnight before you finally disappear behind yours.

Because the plan is to make the Upside Down go boom, permanently. To light the fucker up, to ensure Vecna and the Mind Flayer can’t get a sixth go at this. 

But before they do… Steve has to get him back. He can’t leave him there anymore. It’s been eating him alive, since the plan was made. Who cares if he’s nothing more than bones, Steve’s beyond worrying about that. He’s lived with the guilt – his plan, his demand, without so many words, that a man who genuinely believed he had nothing to live for do whatever it took to keep Dustin safe – every day since he died, and the thought of failing him one last time… Steve can’t live with it anymore. 

Eddie. 

Red lightning pierces the violet skies. The Upside Down version of Forest Hills creaks, and the only other sounds are Steve's huffs of exertion and his shovel hitting dirt over and over. 

But… but there’s still no Eddie. Steve’s dug a dozen holes and there’s no Eddie and he doesn’t understand. He and Nancy had buried him shallowly, not wanting to just leave him, but knowing his body couldn’t be explained to anyone normal, and not wanting the government goons to take him away on the Rightside Up and never give him back – or worse, give back some false horror, like they tried with Will. 

But Steve has dug and dug and dug, and there’s no trace of him. 

He throws his shovel down and he sits on the mound of dirt and buries his face in his hands. Tears come; hot tears of guilt and regret and grief, everything he’s bottled up and pushed down for over a year. Since 1983, if he’s being completely honest. 

Something rustles and air whooshes past him – Steve jerks his head up, heart beating wildly, gaze searching, but he only sees the gloom and the long shadows amongst the weird dead trees. 

But then he looks down… and there’s a Bopper, laying between his feet. Like an offering. 

“Who’s there?” he calls, picking it up and standing. Stupid, he thinks. The who’s there person always dies in the movies. 

For a moment, everything is silent, but then Steve hears another rustle and he follows it to the edge of the treeline. 

“Anyone?” he demands. He looks down at the Bopper on his hand. “Thank you for this,” he says, gentler.  

The shadows rustle again. “It’s okay,” Steve beckons. Some buried instinct tells him everything is alright, that he’s not calling to a demogorgon or something equally bitey. 

It melts out of the shadows like it was made of them – like he was made of them. Steve sucks in a sharp breath. Hope flares dangerously. 

“Eddie?” he breathes. 

Eddie flinches back, there’s a flash of overly long incisors and the shadow of wings flaring out. Steve follows, reaching out, cupping Eddie’s cheek with zero fear. Eddie doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t move either, so Steve does – he wraps Eddie in a fierce hug. Everything that’s felt so wrong for eighteen months finally feels corrected.