(“The freaky guy who stood on the lunch table?” 

“Really Robs? That’s what you remember him for?”

“He stepped on my lunch twice Steven, I have a grudge!” 

“He put Miss Clicks’ car in the Hawkins pool. Nevermind that whole thing with the glitter!”

“Would you two pay attention!? This is important!”

“Pretty sure our boss would say otherwise, Henderson.”) 

 --has taken his crew back to Hawkins to start a new series. In an abrupt 180 from their usual D&D content, the channel is now doing a half expose, half ghost hunting feature on all the weird shit that happened in their hometown back in the day. 

Led by their shiny new co-host, Chrissy Cunnginham, Hellfire plans on taking their viewers through all the weird government cover ups and lies, to find out what really happened all those years ago. 

Which isn’t great, but apparently, isn’t the emergency. 

They have four videos in the series so far--one, Dustin explains, is an introduction to the series and Chrissy, the second is them arriving in Hawkins while familiarizing the viewers with some of the backstory, the third is centered around the high school and the fourth--

Is a two minute video, far different from the others.

There’s no intro. 

No spooky music or jump cuts. 

There’s simply half of Hellfire standing in a hotel room, looking like they haven’t slept in days.

One of them--Gareth--introduces himself in a tight, quiet voice, then explains that Eddie and Chrissy went down into some tunnels. 

They didn’t come back. 

It’s been two days and the police won’t help them. No one in the town will help them. 

All the proof they have is a shaky, short video clip, sent in a message via Eddie’s cellphone, showing a whole lot of nothing other than screaming, cursing, and a constantly blurred image as the phone is swung wildly around. 

Gareth is talking over the footage on its second play through, calling on their, then fairly small, audience for any kind of help, as the entrance to the tunnel has been completely filled in--

And everyone in town is claiming there was never a tunnel at all.

That isn’t what freezes Robin, or makes Steve curse. 

What does is the far off, but unforgettable, rattling growl that can be heard in Eddie’s last video.

“That’s a demodog, Steve.” Dustin says, low and frantic, like they can’t all hear it. “That’s a demodog and someone in the town knows about one enough to cover it up!” 

A mystery if only because everyone originally involved in the whole mess, from the kids all the way to Hopper, have long left Hawkins. 

“We have to go get them.” Dustin says firmly, shaking Steve’s phone.

Steve just shares a look with Robin.

“Dustin…” Steve starts, voice slow, edged with something almost apologetic. He knows how much the kid liked Munson. 

Doesn't want to be the one to say that after two days, it would be a retrieval, not a rescue.

“They’re alive, Steve!” Dustin cuts in immediately, knowing exactly where Steve’s mind had gone.

“And how do you know that?” Robin asks. She’s already got her phone out, halfway through a novel SOS text to Nancy and Jonathan. 

“Because he didn’t just send a video to them, he sent one to me too. See!” 

Steve blinks at the phone being shoved stupidly close to his eyes but locks in nonetheless when Munson’s bloodied face appears in a dimly lit room. 

“Hey man.” He says wincingly, around cracked, dry lips. “Long time no talk. I know our last campaign didn’t end that great, specifically because of how I had Vecna use Kas, and I’m--I’m sorry, about that. I’m back in Hawkins for a video and I got stuck in a tunnel and for some reason I can only message a couple of people and you’re one of them so if you would be good enough to put that whole thing coffin thing behind us and send some people down to come get me, ideally before I die, that’d be cool. Thanks.” 

“He sent it to Lucas and Mike too.” Max informs the group at large, hands crossed over her chest. 

“Well that’s fucking weird.” Steve says, nose scrunching. For many, many reasons, the least of which being that he’s pretty sure that was one of the Starcourt base rooms Eddie was in, but also because there was zero mention of Chrissy.

“It’s a fucking trap is what it is!” Dustin says, imitating Steve’s own cadence. “Vecna wasn’t our last campaign! No one was mad about Kas--he was this human bard we thought was a friend but was actually a thrall created by Vecna to betray our party and the coffin thing was--”

“English.” Steve and Robin chant at once. 

“Eddie’s sending us a message! Someone is forcing him to send that video, and he’s telling me it’s a trap!” 

“And you want to waltz into it?” 

“Hello!?” Dustin once again waives Steve’s phone around. “Did I not just say someone has Eddie?!”

“Chrissy too.” Max mutters behind him. 

“Yeah, her!” 

“Dustin…” Steve says again, voice sharp with warning. Dustin puffs up, bracing for a fight, until Max cuts cleanly across him, voice cool and even.

“Mike, Will and Lucas are already on their way down to get him. I tried to stop them.” She adjusts her arms, frown slashing her face. “They didn’t listen.” 

It’s clearly immediately ‘they’ likely means ‘Lucas’ but Steve and Robin don’t have time for that given their lives just got cratered. 

Again. 

“I’ll call Hop, you call Joyce.” Steve says, reaching for his phone and switching to the store’s when Dustin still keeps it out of reach. 

“They’re gonna tell us not to go!” He protests. 

“We have bigger problems.” Max inserts once again. 

“Please don’t tell me it’s the Russians again.” Robin complains, phone to her ear. 

“Worse. Hellfire’s last video went viral. It’s not just our idiots who went down to Hawkins--a crapload of other people did to. And they all want to hunt for Eddie and Chrissy.” 

“Fuck.” Steve determined.

“Fuck indeed.” Robin repeated. 

He could turn it off. Or better yet, go home. But he sits in his car out by Lover’s Lake and he listens to Eddie detail the rumors and speculation. Listens to the callers who share their two cents and conspiracy theories—none close to the truth. 

The thing is. He’s become—fond of Eddie, of Hellfire. He doesn’t care about cryptids, isn’t interested in Big Foot, but he was captivated by Eddie. Not just him, though, it’s the whole thing with his producer, Gareth, and his two other best friends who pop in from time to time. They’re funny, nerdy, love that dork game the kids play. And if the low resonance of Eddie’s voice makes him a little melty? Well, that’s between him and 3am. 

Steve calls in, sometimes. Has called in. Just, you know, once a week or so. It's not like he knows anything about the monsters, but he asks questions, likes to listen to Eddie talk no matter if he understands.

They finish with a caller and Eddie says, "unfortunately, we'll probably never know what happened."

And Gareth cuts in to say, "Hawkins is only an hour a way. You know. If you find that interesting."

"What are you saying, Gar?" Eddie asks. "That we should go?" He laughs.

"Why not? We could do our own investigation. Maybe we'll find something the authorities don't want us to."

"Hmm, what do you think, listeners? Should we don our adventurer caps and head into the unknown?"

He doesn't remember putting the car into drive, but he knows he's speeding toward the little two-pump gas station on the edge of town and the deserted pay phone there.

The line beeps and beeps when he dials. He tries again and again, until finally there's a click, and Eddie's radio voice booming in his ear.

"Thank you for calling Hellfire," he laughs, manic. "You're--

"You can't go to Hawkins," he interrupts.

"Sweetheart," Eddie croons. "Haven't heard from you in a while. How are you?"

"I'm Fine. Stay out of Hawkins."

"You gotta ease into it a little, baby. Little small talk first."

"Eddie..."

"What do you know about Hawkins?"

"N--nothing. I've heard bad things about it. Cops."

"Cops," Eddie snorts. "I'm not afraid of Hawkins PD. Are you calling because you're worried for my well-being, sweetheart?"

"Yes." Steve doesn't hesitate.

"You're my favorite listener, you know that?"

"I'm being serious."

"It's cute."

"It's a really bad idea to go to Hawkins."

"Do you know what's funny? You didn't know what a chupacabra was, but you know about Hawkins."

"I--" he swallows. "Have specific interests."

Eddie laughs. "What do you know about Hawkins?"

"Nothing," too quick.

"Are you lying to me?"

"I can't say."

"You just keep getting more and more mysterious."

"Please, stay away. It's--there are things, people--you don't want their attention. Just, please. Trust me."

"I'll agree on one condition. Tell me how you know this."

"I can't," he whispers. "That's why you need to trust me."

"What's stopping you?"

He flashes back to an interrogation room, Hopper's stern face, the even sterner ones of the government agents, the four-inch high stack of papers to sign, again and again and again.

"NDAs."

Dead silence on the other line until Eddie asks, "wait, PLURAL?" excitement spikes through the speakers.

That's when Steve hears the distant click down the line, knows it isn't him or Eddie, knows--

The line goes dead.

"Fuck."

He goes straight to the cabin. It's late enough in the morning now that he's unsurprised to see the glowing ember of a cigarette near the porch steps.

"What'd you do, kid?" Hopper asks when Steve gets out of his car.

"Called into a radio show about monsters."

The chief sighs, drops his hands to his sides, muttering. The crunch of gravel way up the long drive has them both turning.

"Guess we're in for a long day." Hopper stomps out his cigarette.

---

Steve isn't allowed to listen to Hellfire anymore. Is forbidden from calling in. And he gets it, okay, he knows. He said too much on the radio, but he hopes that he didn't get Eddie in trouble, that they don't try to come to Hawkins.

He gets a late start on his patrols one night. Took the kids to the movies, caved within minutes when they begged to go for ice cream after, Robin giving him a fond eye roll when he stops.

It's late, summer sun set for hours already, and he's driving on backroads behind the lab. And it's been--it's been a few weeks, okay, since the last call, long enough that he's stopped thinking Eddie will show, so when he sees the van on the side of the road--when he sees the van he doesn't stop right away.

It's tan and white or maybe grey, old, from the 70's or something; spiky black lettering on the side. It says Hellfire.

Steve slams on the breaks so hard the tires squeal, car skidding. He parks haphazardly on the side of the road, only grabbing a flashlight before hurling himself into the woods.

He figures Eddie and the guys will be easy to find, bumbling through unfamiliar forest, but minutes pass with nothing but his own feet crushing through the underbrush. He's afraid to yell, afraid it will draw the wrong kind of attention, but he does a kind of hoarse whisper, knowing it's not enough.

There's a small rock formation that he skirts past, mind everywhere but on his surroundings. He hears a rustle, he thinks, turns, and in the space of a breath, collides with something distinctly solid, warm, and judging by the pained grunt, human.

"Fuck. Gareth?" A very familiar voice asks.

"Eddie??" He responds. His fingers scrabble for his flashlight, illuminating the leaf strewn forest floor and some nearby tree roots.

A beam of light illuminates his chest and face, forcing his eyes down. "Who are you?"Eddie demands.

Steve finally grabs his flashlight, points it at Eddie's middle. Has a second to take in his long, curly hair, his cut-off t-shirt, pale skin and the swirl of inky black tattoos. "I'm--I--I called into your show. I--I told you not to--"

"Oh," Eddie's breath hitches. "Sweetheart. You said not to come to Hawkins and then you--you--" He blinks, seems to struggle to find words. "I didn't expect you to be so beautiful."

He smiles. "i--your show, I loved it. I miss listening to you. I miss--" He takes a step, closes the distance. Eddie smiles and it grips something in his stomach, doesn't let go.

Over Eddie's shoulder, there's a flash of movement, catches in Steve's periphery. It's an unfurling, an opening, there's a shine of saliva, teeth.

His heart stops.

"Eddie--"

"Yeah, baby?"

"I know you're here." Steve whispered, making sure all his limbs were tucked safely away under the covers. "You don't scare me."

A couple minutes of quiet, then Steve heard a scraping sound come from under his bed. He squeaked and pulled his blankets up to his nose.

A horrible, raspy laugh came from below him. "I do scare you!" said a voice. "You lied!"

"No-no you don't!" Steve said boldly. He clutched his blanket tighter, then said, "I can't be scared of something I can't see! That's just dumb."

Something dark began to slither across the floor out of the corner of Steve's eye. Oh, I'm gonna regret that, he thought.

The thing began to pull itself up, looming over Steve. It cracked a smile, and sharp white teeth gleamed in the light from his closet.

Steve screamed.

"Shut up!" his dad shouted angrily from downstairs, and Steve clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes flicking between the shadow and the door like he wasn't sure which monster to be more afraid of.

The monster crept toward him, and Steve dug his fingernails into his face, scooting away from the horror. He whimpered, not daring to close his eyes.

Then the monster began to shrink.

It shriveled away, changing color and backing up, until a little boy, about Steve's age, stood in front of him. He had long curly hair and was dressed in a t-shirt that was way too big on him. When he opened his eyes, Steve flinched, because the whites of his eyes simply...weren't there. His eyes were an onyx black.

"Hi," the boy said. "I'm Eddie."

Steve was too stunned to speak, but he did uncover his mouth.

"I'm the monster under your bed!" Eddie said. "I'm supposed to scare you, but, um-" he risked a quick look at the door "-I don't think you need my help for that."

"Why are you supposed to scare me?" Steve asked.

Eddie shrugged. "Dunno. Every kid's got one. It's just how it works. I was made to be your monster, forever!" He sat down on the edge Steve's bed, bumping Steve's shoulder against his. "Weird to be on this side of the bed. No dust bunnies or anything."

Steve giggled, forgetting his fear. "You're fun!"

Eddie grinned at him. "Thank you! None of the other monsters think my jokes are funny."

"So you have to scare me?" Steve asked. "But you're not scary. Not after talking to me."

Eddie paused. "Oh, right. I'm not supposed to talk to you. Um..."

"What if we just say you're scaring me?" Steve asked. "I'll pretend I'm really scared of the monster under my bed, and you pretend you scare me every single night. But really we're hanging out instead of scaring!"

"Ooh, I like that idea!" Eddie struck a dramatic pose. "I'll be the monster under your bed, but I'll be ready to protect you if you need it too!"

Steve stuck out his hand like he saw his dad do for business deals. "Deal?"

Eddie shook it. "Deal."

-

Steve sprinted through the forest, the kids hot on his heels. "There!" he shouted. "Everyone in!"

The kids bolted to the abandoned cabin, and Steve slammed the door shut. "Is there a bed in here?" he called. "A couch? A fridge?"

"Bed's in here!" Will yelled, and Steve followed his voice to the cluttered bedroom, complete with partially-caved-in bedframe. He gingerly took a seat on the mattress, cringing when it crackled. He did not need to know what was on this.

"Eddie?" he called, tapping on the flaky painted wood.

The shitheads crowded in, and Mike murmured. "What the fuck is he doing?"

Steve ignored him. "Eddie, come on, I need your help."

Something tall, dark, and lanky slid out from under the bed, and all the kids jumped back in fright, raising their various weapons. Steve leapt to get in front of them, raising his hands as a shield. "Chill! Calm down, this is Eddie!"

Eddie shrank into his human form, draping himself over Steve. "You had to summon me to the nastiest bed in Indiana? Really, Steve?"

Steve shrugged. "This was the closest one. We need your help, Eds."

"We?" He focused on the Party. "Well, these must be the infamous buttheads." Eddie slid into the shadows and reappeared behind the Party, inspecting them. "Dustin, Mike, Lucas, Will, El, Max, right?" he said, pointing at each one as he said their names.

"What the fuck are you?" Dustin asked.

Suddenly Eddie was under Steve's arm, wrapping a hand around his waist. "I'm Steve's monster under the bed." he said. "I'm just... friendlier with Steve than most of the monsters I work with."

Steve rolled his eyes. "You can tell him you're my boyfriend, they know I'm bi." He kissed Eddie on the cheek.

The kids all broke into gasps, except for Max, who fake gagged. "Don't be gross!" she yelled. "Demogorgon outside, remember?"

"Ah, right." Steve said. "Eds, can you-"

"On it." Eddie kissed Steve. "I'll be back."

The kids watched Eddie melt into shadows, then wheeled on Steve. "Steven Don't-Know-Your-Middle-Name Harrington," Dustin said. "You have a lot of explaining to do."

----

Steve is a firm believer in the power of small comforts, especially as it relates to the growth of his guppies. Dustin has long outgrown his baby tail belt, but he still wraps it around his wrist every morning. El and Will no longer need the seaweed and coral dolls Steve made for them when they were barely able to swim a straight line, but they still tuck them in every night.

So, when the human (Eddie, Steve reminds himself) offers up a drawer filled with shiny jewelry, Steve doesn't hold himself back. The bracelets make him feel grounded, the crown gives him something to clutch without the risk of breaking it, and the ring...

Well, the ring was more to see if Eddie's actions would match his tone. And because Steve thought it was fascinatingly grotesque. What kind of creature would have wings without feathers? Sure, the gulls he sometimes sees near the surface are confusing, but the ring depicts something even further beyond his imagination. What's up with the sharp teeth? Why must the eyes be green? Does it know it's a freak of nature?

Anyway, the jewelry helps. Steve uses it to distract himself from the sheer agony screaming from his tail when Eddie lifts him out of the cramped tub. He thinks about which bracelet he'll give to which guppy (Robin will get the crown) when the edges of his tailfin graze against Eddie's legs as he confidently walks across a plank connecting the two ships. He closely studies the featherless wings on the ring to avoid thinking about what's to come when Eddie sets him down on a large, surprisingly comfortable bed in another private cabin and starts gathering a needle and thread.

There's not much left to distract him when Eddie kneels next to the bed and looks up at him, his eyes reminding Steve of his guppies when they've done something bad and need him to clean up the mess.

"This is gonna hurt," Eddie tells him, his voice soft and gentle and full of regret as he grabs a bottle from the table next to the bed.

The liquid inside is clear, and Steve would think it was water if his nose hadn't been hit with such an astringent scent when Eddie opened it. Before he can fully process the smell, Eddie tips the bottle and pours the liquid onto Steve's tail.

An involuntary screech rips out of his throat, a burning sensation clawing along the cut and making his scales buzz. Without thinking, Steve grabs Eddie's wrist and yanks it away, his lips pulled back in a snarl that reveals sharp teeth. Despite the physical pain, Steve thinks the worst part is that he let himself get distracted by small comforts and warm brown eyes and Eddie's soft voice.

He should know better.

"Shit," Eddie mutters, quickly dropping the now-empty bottle to the floor. It cracks but doesn't break, and he looks up at Steve. "I should've explained that better. Holy fuck, I'm sorry, sweetheart, but I had to clean it. If I sewed it up without doing so, it might get infected."

Steve narrows his eyes, his grip tightening briefly as he studies Eddie's face. He seems genuinely apologetic, and Steve understands his intentions once he's processed Eddie's words. Steve had to do something similar when Mike and Lucas bothered a shark too much. Their wounds weren't nearly as bad as Steve's, but they'd still cried and shouted when Steve and Robin had to pull teeth and bits of coral out of their wounds before wrapping them in seaweed.

"I'm done with that part, though," Eddie says, his voice practically desperate for Steve to understand. "You can squeeze my shoulder or something while I sew it up."

A few seconds pass before Steve nods once, slowly letting go of Eddie's wrist. As Eddie starts threading the needle, Steve places his hand on his shoulder, bracing himself for the upcoming pain by squeezing the crown in his other hand.

Eddie takes a deep breath as he glances up at Steve. He licks his lips, looking back at the top of the cut. "Okay, I'm starting now," he says, waiting long enough to see Steve nod before starting the first stitch.

The alcohol hurt. The stitching is a fucking bitch. But, honestly, none of it is as bad as when that first disgusting human dragged a dagger through Steve's tail. He still hisses, gripping Eddie's shoulder tighter and unable to stop his nails from digging into his skin. Despite how it must hurt, Eddie doesn't flinch, and Steve feels a little better.

"You know," Eddie says, mostly focused on keeping his hand steady and his stitches even, "I wish I knew your name. I can't keep calling you sweetheart."

He could. Steve wouldn't mind it. But he also knows it isn't entirely fair that Eddie doesn't know he can speak. They'll need to be able to talk, Steve thinks, if they're going to be around each other for a while longer.

And Eddie has been kind enough that Steve wouldn't mind being around him for however long it takes his tail to heal.

"Steve," he says.

To his credit, Eddie doesn't drop the needle. He does tense for a moment, his hand pausing as he looks up. "What?" he asks.

"My name. It's Steve."

"You can talk."

"Why wouldn't I?"

Eddie hums, looking back at the cut as he starts stitching again. "You didn't say anything before," Eddie says.

"The last human who saw me mutilated my tail," Steve replies.

"Fair. Is, uh, is your name really Steve?"

"That's the closest translation to your language."

"What's your name in your language?"

Steve hesitates for a moment before clearing his throat. He feels his gills flutter, trying to create the bubble pattern that accompanies his name as he lets out a rhythmic series of squeaks and clicks with a short hiss at the end.

A few seconds pass after he's done. And then Eddie nods once and says, "Steve it is. How'd you get caught, Stevie?"

Ignoring the slight urge to point out that Eddie said his name wrong, Steve frowns slightly. "One of my guppies got caught in that ship's net. I got them out but was caught myself."

"One of your...guppies?"

"Yes. You would call them...children, I think?"

Eddie has nearly reached the middle of Steve's tail by now, and his hand falters once more. "Children? Aren't you...a little young?"

Steve bristles, glaring at Eddie. He's heard that same question plenty of times from members of other pods before, and he's tired of it. "What does it matter if they are happy and healthy?" he asks.

"Sorry," Eddie whispers, glancing up at Steve. There's something he can't quite read in Eddie's eyes. "Do you raise them alone?"

"What? No, of course not. My partner, Robin, raises them with me. We have seven guppies, with an eighth on the way."

"An eighth?!" Eddie asks, sounding strained as he pauses his stitching once more to look up at Steve. "Shit, man, shouldn't you give Robin a break?"

Steve blinks, tilting his head slightly. "Why would she need a break?" he asks.

"She's already popped out seven!"

Suddenly, Steve realizes what the disconnect is. He blinks once more and dissolves into laughter. "Oh!" he says, the exclamation broken by a giggle as he tries to calm himself down. "No, no, she is my partner, not my mate. Besides, she doesn't even like mermen."

Eddie seems to relax at Steve's explanation, his shoulders dropping and his voice significantly lighter as he starts stitching again and says, "Oh, I see. Then whose kids are they?"

"Technically, they belong to the pod," Steve explains, gritting his teeth as Eddie reaches the tailfin. He feels warm all over, his nerves jumping and his scales feeling half-ready to just fall off. "Each pod has at least two caretakers. Mates have a guppy and let caretakers raise them while they focus on their own roles within the pod."

"Do you like being a caretaker?"

"Yeah," Steve says, managing a shaky smile despite the tugging on his tailfin and Eddie's fingers pressing against his scales. "They're my guppies. I'd drain the oceans for them."

"And, uh, what about your mate? Do they mind you being so...devoted to the guppies?"

It's not at all subtle, but Steve finds it oddly endearing nonetheless. He slowly exhales, forcing himself to loosen his grip on Eddie's shoulder. "I don't have one."

Just like before, Eddie seems to relax some at the answer. He also finishes stitching, tying off the thread with a secure knot before carefully cutting away the excess. "Well, uh, we'll get you healed up and back to your guppies as soon as possible," he says, looking up at Steve.

"It needs to be wrapped in kelp. And, uh, I'll need a tub. You know, with seawater."

Eddie nods along, flashing a reassuring grin. "Don't worry, Stevie, I'll get you anything you want," he promises.

"Anything?" Steve asks, leaning forward some as he tilts his head.

"I already gave you my favorite ring, sweetheart."

With a smile you approached with your warm cup and coordinating plate, letting it touch the glass table, taking the opposing spot. The sleeves to his yellow jumper were pushed to his elbows, resting them as the paperback balanced one of them.

“Thank you,” You greeted, pulling the back of your brown sweater down, straightening up, “I’m Y/N.”

“I’m Steve,” He introduced, the tips of his nails trailing against the rim of the small plate, “what brings you here?”

Black tea in your mouth, you swallowed it despite the burn, grabbing a small packet of sugar. Flicking it back and forth, you ripped the white paper, dumping the containments inside. 

“A friend of mine has family here, had an extra ticket,” You explained, stirring your drink into a swirl, “you?”

“Graduation gift.” He quipped, internally wincing at how pretentious that could sound, but you only nodded, “I brought a friend too.”

Knitted blue yarn made up your sweater paired with a white skirt and black tights paired with black flats that began to peel near the sole. Ripples crafted in the spoon you blew on, tasting the now sweeter drink.

“Looks like we’re two halves of a similar story,” You mused, the silverware touching your plate in an unpleasant noise, quickly moving it to the napkin beside it, “what long are you staying?”

An awkward slurp came from his mouth as he finished his cup, cheeks growing pink as he set it down, anxiously wiping his clean mouth with the back of his hand. His right white Reebok bounced beneath the table, running his spare hand against his jean-clad thigh. 

Foreign jitters rattled inside his chest, tightening as you smiled at him once more. Dates had slowed down since high school, fumbling with the ladies more often than not, but the feeling of pleasant uneasiness was one he hadn’t felt in a long time.

It felt foolish as you had been before him for only a minute, tucking your ankle behind your other and taking in your surroundings. He had been doing the same until you approached, he didn’t think to look at anything else.

“We’ve been here for four days, we leave in three. My best friend, Robin, had been with me every day, but had something today.” He waved off, “You?”

Black lashes fluttered before reaching his gaze, “I’m ending my week, today is my last day, but my friend also had something today.” 

Irony dripping from your words, Steve grinned, “If it’s at Covent Garden too, I might lose it.”

Mouth covered in amusement, he gaped, “No way, is your friend there too? Some record store event?”

You confirmed, head bobbing as Steve sunk back in his chair in shock. It felt like filling a glass up to the brim, it would’ve been fine lower, but it’s always a pleasant experience to get the extra taste. 

“What’s your friend's name?” Steve questioned, resting his chin on his hand. 

Tables had cleared beside you as the lunch break period concluded, but you remained in front of him. Processing that they were clean, it didn’t dawn on you that you could readily rest beside the window as you hoped. The boy with hazel eyes had taken your attention with an iron grip, melting into the hold.

“Rodney,” You began as Steve felt his heart hit his gut, too sure that it had to be a boyfriend, “I’m not his type, don’t worry.”

The obscure bashfulness flooded him again, yet your look was not full of taunting, but rather warmth. Air turned colder outside, scarves joining the getup of many, however, Steve realized that if he stood close enough to you, he might not even need his.

“I doubt that.” Steve hummed, shuffling through his stack of dusty King Steve remarks, ones he hated to recall, but was desperate to continue the conversation.

“Oh no,” Taking the turn to be flustered, he watched you pick the corner of the square napkin, “Believe me, not his type at all.”

Initial disbelief dissipated as he picked the context clues he often gave when describing his own best friend. 

“Robin, my best friend,” Steve began, watching the faintest bit of complex emotions on your face, “I’m not her type either.”

A grin crawled onto your face slowly as Steve held eye contact, both of you erupting into giggles at the pure absurdity of the scenario at hand. 

Panic that had become all too familiar punched him in the gut, knowing this had been too perfect to be true. That suddenly a man twice his size and twice as attractive would come out, carrying you off into the busy streets of London while he watched your blue sweater become a speck.

A similar slurp sounded from your mouth as your tea ran dry, moving the cup to the edge of the table. Steve prepared for the departure, hand on the small book as he braced himself for rejection.

Taking a glance out the door, he watched an older man gift a woman yellow tulips, pleased as she smelled them and held the bouquet close to her chest. Mundane as it may be, he took it as a kick, that maybe it’s worth trying to keep it going if rejection lurks anyways.

“Forgive me if I’m being too forward,” He joked with sincerity, “I don’t have anything going on today, would you want to hang out? Walk around for a bit?”

Teeth pulled in the inner skin of your bottom lip, repressing the overdramatic response you urged to give, “I’d love to, Steve.”

Holding open the black door, you both left the coffee shop to rejoin humanity, met with the smell of cigarettes and the smoke of construction. He expected a sour look, yet you only beamed brighter amongst the chaos, like a flower growing between cracks in a sidewalk.

“Have you been to any museums?” You asked, walking with a hand on the top of your purse that hung around your shoulder.

Shaking his head with a straight mouth, you gawked with a smack to the arm, electrifying his restricted chest. It bounced to his stomach and then to his throat, coughing away the slight itch.

“We could go to the National Gallery, they have some iconic pieces,” You explained, though your excitement backpedaled when glancing over, “Or we could, um, do something else too! I’m flexible.”

The confirmation that you were nervous too aided his cause, shaking his head, “I’d love to, let’s go.”

Footsteps trekked down the sidewalks of Soho, yours walking in tandem to the boy beside you, who took the spot closest to the road. Brown curls fell in front of his eyes, his fingers running through the thick locks.

Steve’s feet fumbled as a woman stormed past, a grimace on her face as she forced his body against yours. 

Before the apology could form, you scoffed, making a quip about how she must be in a rush. He agreed, rolling his eyes as he heard a man shout at the woman, both of you turning to see her knocking over a man’s newspaper.

Proceeding forward, Steve mocked the face of the guy who seemed too up in arms about fallen paper while you attempted to sympathize with them both. 

“She was probably having a bad day and he wasn’t expecting it!” You rationalized, amusement evident as you both turned the sharp corner.

“She probably was, but I’m sure a man who sounds like Mr. Bean yelling isn’t helping!” He jested, a rupture of laughter aiding his blooming confidence. 

The large white pillars at the top of the stairs came into eyesight, a large red banner listing a current exhibit in white font. Seemingly unconsciously, he watched as you sped up, picking up his pace to watch as you got your ticket. 

Service must have been high quality as he was hoping to pay for your ticket, but the woman had already given you a small white ticket. 

Signaling him over, Steve walked over to you confused as you handed him a pass, walking towards the first room.

“Hey, let me pay you back!” He insisted, examining to see if there was a price, but you shrugged. 

“It’s free, bud.” You smirked as you both walked between two security guards in black sunglasses.

“Oh, I knew that.” He confirmed falsely, making you look at him skeptically. 

The first portion was filled with classical paintings, mostly with natural elements like water and grass. Ranges of ages stood behind the small black wire a few inches from the floor to observe.

Museums hadn’t been Steve’s thing, finding most in Indiana fairly boring and the ones his parents dragged him to were even more insufferable. 

Though, between the large walls in the new city, he noticed the strokes of a paintbrush older than most buildings. The smudges of oil paint that blended into other colors on top of canvas secured in extravagant frames. 

“I like this one,” Steve began as you joined his side, the strangers beside him having wandered off, “reminds me of my sweater.”

“A Van Gogh fan?” You inquired, following as he began to read the information card in the corner.

“Vase with Fifteen Sunflowers by Vincent van Gogh,” He concluded, eyebrows lifting at the discovery that it had been around 100 years since the paint dried, “Guess I am a fan.”

“It’s incredible,” Glancing at his yellow jumper that matched the work before you, you scolded your heart for wondering what you could stare at longer, knowing it probably was the one made in this century. 

“I really liked seeing his one over here,” You guided, the boy on your trail, “it’s simple, but it just does something for me.”

The face of a woman was designed in dim colors, her face covered in hesitance, titled The Peasant Woman.

A few steps back, Steve looked at the shades of brown above the woman’s head, appreciating the intricacies of such a simple work. Yet, he found himself much more intrigued by the curve of your nose and plush of your cheeks.

The self-guided tour continued, most in silence as you took turns reading the occasional description. The stroll was brisk as he struggled to keep up with you, not because he couldn’t be quick on his feet, but because he liked to look at you and could get away with it if he was farther back.

“If you want to slow down, let me know,” You announced when standing in front of Monet’s The Water-Lily Pond, “I just don’t read all the cards, I like to think what it could possibly be then only check if I really want to know.”

“I’m okay,” He assured, flexing his hand after the urge to touch your arm came, “I do think this is a pond though.”

Joke landing, you chuckled, continuing on to the next floor. His eyes caught an abstract painting of shades of blue, making out a boat on the water with no firm lines. A sunset burned in the back, searing into the open sky in contrast to the calm water.

“He’s so cute.”

Steve felt his gut jump, fixating on the emotionally ambiguous artwork instead of the reality at hand. Fearing your new discovery, it dawned on him how art could affect him. 

Boats on the water never moved him, but he saw a reflection of his mood in it now. 

Finally turning, he noticed you affectionately looking at the gentleman on the bench with a sketch pad in hand. Likely in his 70s, he formed the portrait of Venus and Mars ahead of him, hands shaking as he balanced the spiraled book on his knee. 

Soothing his dreary headspace, his lip twitched at the sight, marveling that someone with such talent sat without recognition. It seemed cruel that no one had his pictures on the walls, gawking at the straight lines done by hand or the blending of charcoal. 

Yet, as Steve saw your face, he realized that if anyone looked at him that way, he would sit on wooden benches without a known name for years.

“He is.” Steve agreed, scratching the back of his neck, the other man pushing his glasses up his nose to get a better look.

The beauty of the gallery captivated you both, but half of your brains focused on the other, watching as the other absorbed another masterpiece. 

Between the 18th century section, Steve’s hand brushed against yours, initially coy until you trailed yours against his. Taking a leap of faith, he held your hand in his, his heartbeat plunging through his wrist against yours. 

Walking down the staircases, fingers interlaced as you whispered about the passing artwork. 

You learned he was from Hawkins, Indiana. An only child who graduated last year, but postponed the trip after his old job burned down, where he also met his best friend, Robin. He has a few friends, some of who are freshmen that he befriended after dating one of their older sisters. (You could see his visible panic at the mention, so you brought up a past boyfriend of yours whose sister you kept up with.)

Sounds of children leaving school filled the tight roads as you walked hand in hand with no end in mind. The back of Steve’s socks began to slip, but he barely noticed until a blister began, popping into a convenience store.

Sat on the grass in a park, Steve unlaced his shoes to put the band-aid on, the only bandages left being purple and pink ones. Struggling to turn his lifted foot in his denim, he huffed, a stray piece of hair whipping up.

“Here.” You chuckled, grabbing the small plastic wrapper and opening it. Crumbles of wax paper sat on top of your purse, focused on putting the sticker right over his reddened skin.

Far from pure, Steve still felt his ears warm at the benevolent touch as you pressed down to secure it in place. Thanks were whispered under his breath, pulling his socks up and tying the laces.

“I used to work at this camp and kids got hurt all the time,” You laid back, resting on the clean grass, “It was never anything too bad, but I bought the character ones with Mickey Mouse or He-Man on them. I carried them on me forever, but I gave my last one away a few days ago when I saw a mom and her screaming toddler.”

Back resting beside you, the fabric covering your shoulders touched, Steve looked at the gloomy London sky. 

Such weather used to agitate him, wishing it were sunny enough to wear a shirt or shorts, but the past few days made him enjoy the lack of sweat when walking and relaxing outside.

“What character was it?” He asked, looking over at you who met his eyes. 

“It was Jeannie from the I Dream of Jeannie cartoon, they were on sale.” You muttered, preparing for the groan that came from boys when discussing the supposed girl’s cartoon. 

What you didn’t expect was his mouth to hang open, scoffing, “And I didn’t get one? That sucks!”

Noting your pleasantly surprised expression, he added, “So, I didn’t have siblings growing up, but I had cousins. The one closest to my age is Riley, she’s two years older than me, and when we were young, she loved that show. So much, that she made me watch it constantly.”

A hollow feeling resonated in his chest at the memory coming into view, his face directed toward the sky, “She understood when my parents would argue and shit, so she’d put it on really loud so I wouldn’t hear… Sorry that was a bit much, it’s a cool cartoon!”

“Don’t apologize, Steve, not for being open with people.” You smiled, not moving your stare at his face. With little space between the two of you, you noticed the array of freckles on his nose and cheeks, some lighter than others.

The tips of his lashes touched them when he closed his eyes, scrunching together when his nose twitched which was rosy from the biting cool air.

Peering over at you, he shifted to his side, not caring if any dirt ended up on his white shoes. Mimicking his stance, you propped up beside him, stunned at just how many things had to happen for you to end up here.

“I almost went to the coffee shop up the street.” You revealed, plucking the longer strands poking from the ground, twisting them.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” He disclosed, “I don’t want to sound crazy, but I really like you.”

Blood rushing to your cheeks, you initially tried fighting back your joy, weighing your burden of a plane tomorrow before it. Nevertheless, his bronze iris’ made you feel dizzy, hoping the sun would never set.

“I like you too, Steve, but I leave tomorrow.”

Already handed this information, it still sunk in his gut that you had to get on that plane tomorrow, that it wouldn’t magically be rescheduled to the day he left or you’d show up in Hawkins. 

Life passed Steve by for as long as he had experienced it, focusing on getting through or ignoring the things too big to be processed with ease, something he couldn’t do anymore.

“I know, but please, give me tonight.” He pleaded, “We can call out friends and say we’ll be back whenever and just spend the rest of the time roaming. I just don’t-”

Your answer was shown with your lips on his, tasting the free mints given to you at the cafe and chapstick. Hand cupping your cheek, he deepened the affection, withholding the urge to explore at the recollection you were in public.

Parting ways, you looked at him shyly before standing up, reaching out a hand to help him up. Grabbing your bags and each other's hand, you ventured onward. Steve moved to your left side to be closer to the traffic once you reached the main sidewalk.

“Want something to eat? We could stop by the shopping area down this way.” You suggested, feeling the curling of your tummy after a few hours of walking. Or the nerves you succumbed to around Steve. You weren’t sure. 

Thoughts coinciding, you headed down the brick lane, the wind tickling your ears. You wondered if the passing strangers assumed you were in a relationship, a piece of you aching at how nice it would be to begin again.

Steve held an analogous notion, considering what his life would be like if he lived in a city where no one knew him or his parents. How they wouldn’t know King Steve and his plethora of mistakes that lived within the walls of his high school. 

Maybe he belonged somewhere he wouldn’t have even fathomed, smelling the perfumes crafted in petite bottles exclusively in the town or pastries those in Hawkins would never know. 

Past hours led him into imagining you in his life, and that if you ran the other way, he wouldn’t forget a second. Each holiday or celebration, he would wonder what the girl in the coffee shop was doing as he stared out his family's window, reality over his shoulder in the crowded living room.

Warm air surrounded you both as you entered the small deli, an elderly woman preparing paninis that smelled too delicious. Humming in delight, you both examined the menu, picking out which ones you preferred.

“Ham and cheese for you and the gentleman with two bottles of water.” 

You both got the same thing.

Steve made sure to grab his wallet before you could, hands occupied with sandwiches to reach in your purse. He ignored your protest, handing the woman a few pounds, and putting the rest in the small tip jar accented with ribbon.

“Steve!” You whined as the door shut, the faint ring of the front bell behind you, “You didn’t have to.”

He grinned cheekily, grabbing his sandwich from your hand in order to hold it in his left and your hand in his right. “I know.”

Thankfully, the area was close to a field, choosing to sit against the damp grass, watching children play in front of you with traffic existing to your rear. 

The first bite made you both look at each other, knowing that this was heavenly and a great decision. The bread was fluffy while the cheese was stringy, complemented by the flavorful pork inside. Due to hunger, you sat in silence for a few minutes, watching two little boys attempt to climb a tree.

“I really hope they don’t fall.” Steve mentioned as the boy’s shoes slipped down the bark, close enough to the ground not to hurt.

Nodding, you watched as the one on the branch yelled to the one on the ground, seemingly frustrated with his inabilities. 

“I couldn’t climb trees,” You recalled, “could you?”

“Yeah, I was pretty athletic, and did a lot of sports to get out of the house.” He thought, knowing he realized that much later, “I still work out sometimes, but nothing like I used to.”

“I used to go outside with chalk all the time. I can’t draw for shit, but it was fun.” You disclosed, memories of pink powder covering your elbows and jeans, usually getting a scolding from your parents for a mess that would come out in the wash. “My parents could afford for me to do a sport a year, but by the time it came to do it, I overheard my parents stressing about swim camp. The next morning, I told them I completely lost interest, asking for sketchbooks instead to keep me busy in summer.”

Aware of his privilege, there were still small things Steve never thought about. That the small sum of a camp was a large amount for others. It sounds ignorant in his head, but he recalls Robin mentioning how she and her mom would split sandwiches when going out when growing up.

Sensing the discomfort he tried to hide, you nudged him, “I can draw a mean stick figure though and I eventually learned how to swim.”

He laughed, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head. He felt word vomit bubbling up, seeing your kind expression chopping away at his guarded exterior.

He wished he had a diary that he could let you read, and find every aspect of himself he loved, hated, and felt neutral about. Just so he could ask if you still like him. The thought terrified him, the answer, but also that he even contemplated it.

Bird noises came from the kids in the park, screeching as the one jumped from the branch and onto the brown and green leaves beneath him. The crunch matched your bites, filling your ears as you savored the moment.

“Do you like kids?” You asked, watching as the boys ran to see a girl sitting with dolls, her growling at their attempt to touch their sparkly dresses with their dirty fingers.

Scoffing, “Yeah, they seemingly are pulled to me. I have a few munchkins I watch after back at home.”

“I like kids too, I used to babysit,” You trailed off, a thought creeping in, “I don’t know if I want kids of my own though because I’d really want to be a good mom. I wouldn’t want them to ever have any doubts that I was there for them, you know?”

A shatter blasted through Steve’s chest, “Yeah, I have this dream that I have, like, six kids. But sometimes, I think about if I’d really be a good dad or not. I like to think I couldn’t be worse than my own, he mainly threw money my way and went off to work. But then I think about having a kid that's my own blood, it’s happy and sad.”

The words spewing from his loose lips had never been uttered to another, yet you agreed, letting your leg brush his as they outstretched on the ground. He looked to see your meek smile, an empathetic one, yet your eyes read a rawness he didn’t see often.

“My parents paid for this trip, but I’ve tried using my own money for everything I’ve done since I got here. They gave me this credit card, but didn’t come to my graduation.” He sighed, “But that sounds ridiculous because money is important! I have a nice house and clothes-”

“It doesn’t buy parenthood or happiness though, Steve.” You concluded for him, watching him try to explain his sentiment, but you knew. 

When you saw Steve, you didn’t see a spoiled rich boy. Truly you weren’t sure exactly what you saw. You knew he had hazel eyes and chestnut hair, gentle hands with a ring on his index finger, soft lips, and a pink bandaid on the back of his ankle.

His lips greeted yours soon after, a gentle peck that felt intimate, like two lovers who knew each other's bodies like the back of their hand and their souls like it was embedded on their own. It made your cheeks hot. 

“Yeah, I want my kids to know I love them and how to make a mean stick figure.” He joked, making you chuckle, taking the final bite of your panini.

Standing to throw away your trash, Steve joined you, taking your hand and swinging it. The nearby bus stop had a few people beside it as the red vehicle approached and stopped.

Reaching to his bag, he grabbed his wallet where two bus passes were placed in a folder. Neither of you cared to check where it was exactly going, walking up to the second level and sitting as the engine kicked into gear. 

Trees and street lights blurred as you drove along the route, the sun beginning to set into a beautiful orange and blue mesh. Steve’s arm was slung across your frame, resting your head on his shoulder. 

“We should just stay here forever.” Steve teased, but too foolish to immediately agree if you had said yes. That he would run the credit card dry and work every moment to make sure you were taken care of. 

“We should,” You sighed, seeing the faint outline of your breath in the chill air, “but I would miss my cat.”

Laughing, he rubbed your bicep, looking around at the scenery. Big Ben was in sight, pointing at the building in awe as the clock's black hands ticked on.

Days and nights in the London air made your heart swell, eyes burning in unshed tears as you were reminded of the ticking clock. 

A jolting stop signaled you both off, walking into the busy alleys as strangers conversated after a long day of work. 

“What do you want to do? Work wise.” You asked, looking at the men in business casual clothes, drinking a Guinness with their sleeves rolled to their elbows. 

Shrugging, he bit the inside of his lip briefly, “I don’t know. I’m trying to figure it out.”

“How exciting.” You responded, his face dropping at his initial thought that you were ridiculing him, but he saw your warm smile. “Not knowing can be exciting, I mean it, you have so many options that you haven’t even heard of.”

Ears turning pink, he ran his fingers through his hair, “I guess so, thanks. What about you?”

“Figuring it out.” You quipped, fingers skimming over his knuckle, “Oh, we should probably call our friends. Do you know the number to your hotel?”

The red phone booth could only fit one person as you went first, spinning the dial as you held the scribbled-down numbers. Steve fished out the hotel's business card with Robin’s handwriting on the back, the room number, and the phone number.

He heard your boisterous laugh through the thick glass, catching your glance when you turned towards him with a smile, soon placing the phone back up.

Steve took his turn, holding the plastic phone to his ear as the dial tone rang. The receiver picked up, immediately speaking.

“Hello?” 

“Rob, it’s Steve.” 

“Oh, shit Harrington! Where are you? Did you get lost-” She began listing off, mind going to the worst as she untied her shoes in their room.

Groaning, “What, no! I’m fine- I’m great. I’m not going to be back till early morning though-”

A whine filled the speaker as Robin’s foot hit the ground, loud enough to be picked up, “You’re getting laid and I’m not? I thought Europe was progressive or some shit-”

“I’m not getting laid!” Steve gritted, making sure you weren’t overhearing the conversation. He caught you speaking to the florist on the street, smelling the lilies and roses they had picked. 

“So you’re just hanging out outside?” Robin squinted, though alone with no one to witness, but Steve knew her well enough to read her expression through tone. 

“No! No, I met someone-”

“Always meeting someone, never meeting a job-”

“Robin!”

“I’m just messing with you! Sheesh, anyways, who is it?”

“I met her in a coffee shop this morning and we just hit it off. She leaves tomorrow morning and we’re going to walk around through the night… I really like her Robin, I haven’t felt this way since Nance.”

“Oh, wow,” Robin sighed, knowing the emotional rollercoaster her friend experienced, “I’m happy for you, just be safe, call me if anything happens.”

The duo joked around more often than not, but she knew he didn’t open up to everyone. So if he felt strongly and even admitted it, it was a big deal.

“Will do. Love you, dude. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Stepping out from the stuffy box, he wrinkled his nose at the cold air, approaching you as you paid for two flowers. Practically skipping towards him, you put one behind his ear, a white daisy, with an identical one behind yours.

“You’re so beautiful, Steve Harrington.” You muttered, looking at him so lovingly that he wanted to curl in a ball.

“And you’re ethereal.” He smiled, cupping your cheeks in his hands, kissing your forehead as you laughed, “What?”

“You so got that from the word of the day thing in the newspaper.” You accused, knowing the local paper had that in large print, making Steve huff playfully.

“It must have known I was meeting you.” He saved himself, smirking as he watched you become bashful.

Pushing his chest, you looked down, “Sap.”

Wandering brought you to the riverside, a gathering happening of people dancing to jazz music the performers played. The sound of the saxophone made your feet tingle, heading toward the strangers.

It had been the weekly performance for the band, a jar with pounds inside that you both added to. 

Neither of you were classically trained dancer, but the upbeat rhythm of Beyond The Sea was infectious, making him spin you around. Steve sang in a theatrical manner, recalling the days his grandfather would turn on a Bobby Darin record when he taught him cards.

A few songs zoomed by, one of you knowing a tune the other didn’t, joyfully ignoring the ache in your shoes as the moon came into full view. 

A chilling D cord signaled from the group for a song, finally, you both knew. The other pairs grew closer as they swayed back and forth, but you and Steve stayed frozen as We’ll Meet Again began.

It felt too cinematic, as the lyrics of a crooning voice simmered into your consciousness, the kind eyes you knew only briefly left you hypnotized.

Nearly stumbling, you rested your cheek on Steve’s chest, hands around his neck as his went around your waist. He leaned his head against your hair, indulging in the scent of your perfume. 

Words could be spoken in vain, stories of how you both could meet up and live together forever somewhere. The future was unwritten, however, no promises could be made to soothe your aching hearts. 

The band thanked the crowd before cleaning up, both of you continuing on to the journey ahead. The song had left you both speechless, not an easy feat for him, and the stars assisted the illumination of your skin. 

“What time is your flight?” Steve inquired, his watch showing it was already past 3 in the morning. 

“It’s at 7:30, I’ll need to get there by 5:30.” You respond glumly, “My friend is bringing my bags though, so we can head straight there- If you wanted to go all the way there with me?”

An L shape going to his chin, he stroked his imaginary beard as he hummed, bumping into your arm. You scoffed, pushing his body away, laughter bubbling between the two of you.

A stone-covered bridge came before you, wandering over and stopping to watch the fish below. Steve looked at your profile in the moonlight and wished he had a photograph, giving him an idea for later.

“Are you scared of planes?” He queried, his own memory of Robin hyperventilating for the first hour of the flight replaying in his mind.

“I’m neutral, I’ve flown a few times before, but I’m not super comfortable.” You revealed, “What about you?”

“Same here. I used to hate them because it meant my dad was on a business trip that I’d be dragged along to, but now I can do it for funner reasons.”

Nodding, a smirk formed on your face, “I don’t think funner is a word, gorgeous.”

Ignoring the pet name that made him flustered, he pouted, pushing away from the edge to walk forward. 

“It is to me!” He argued as you caught up with him, though he grabbed your hand within seconds. 

The area was now familiar as he and Robin had wandered these streets on their first day, excited to be in a new place for the first time. 

A few strangers wandered the roads, a cigarette lit between their lips as they trotted. Though, Steve had his sights set on the building at the corner of the two roads, a photo booth there. 

Before you could question his motive, he dragged you in, squeezing onto the plastic seat, the bright light overhead. Popping a euro in, he paid for two film strips.

“Okay, what are we doing?” He asked, looking at you hopefully, the first photo accidentally going off, “Shit!”

Through giggles, you pulled him closer to look at the camera with wide grins, then a silly one. For the last one, he didn’t ask or follow your lead, he grabbed your warm cheeks and kissed you.

The final click was ignored as he continued to move his lips against yours, your nose slightly cold against the frigid air. Breathless, he pulled away, forehead against yours for a beat.

Returning outside the curtain, you each got your film strips, smiling at them in your grasp. The film shined under the streetlights, a glossy finish on the paper, placing it carefully in your purse.

With his hand in yours, you continued on, the wind whistling through tree branches and against thin window panes. The roads twisted and turned, passing by restaurants whose lights had been out for hours. 

“I really enjoy spending time with you.” You mumbled, resting your head against his arm, “I wish I didn’t have to leave-”

“Hey, c’mon, don’t think about that right now. We have a few hours left.” He consoled, though sadness dripped from his words as he felt the same dread.

“I’m going to write you a letter, but you can’t open it until I leave tomorrow.” You announced, shuffling through your purse, ripping two pages from your small notebook, and grabbing a pen.

“I want to do one too.” Steve added, taking a sheet and your spare pen. 

Taking a seat at a nearby bar, you sat at different tables outside, covering your words with your forearm despite the distance. Occasional playful sneers were thrown each other's way before smiling. 

Both of you resisted the urge to tear it open, seeing what the other truly thought. Part of him doubted you fell for him, convincing him he’d hear the painful words that it was bullshit. Part of you doubted he fell for you, another boy taking your feelings and crushing them. 

Folding them neatly, you exchanged your messages, leaving a lip gloss-covered kiss on yours. Your eyes locked as you stood still, letters in each pocket, it seemed like a trance. It was broken by the speeding of a yellow cab, swinging the turn like the cops were after him.

“We should probably call a cab,” Steve suggested, looking at his time as it taunted both of you, approaching the side of the building near a payphone, “I have some coins if you need-”

Glossy lips touched his slightly chapped ones, molding against one another in bliss as you ignored his words, back bumping against the brick wall.

Not the most abrupt, the quiet of the night made you bolder, knowing that even if someone was around, they were likely wandering or going straight home. They didn’t know you and they didn’t know Steve, you were just two strangers kissing under the dark sky.

His hands went around your waist, pulling you closer with a grunt, hand covering a portion of your bottom. His gorgeous locks were soon woven in between your fingers, feeling how soft they were. His teeth caught your plush lips in a whimper, gasping when he pulled away.

“Fiesty.” He teased, making you whine, dropping your head onto his shoulder. Remembering his hands were on your ass, he pulled away, reaching for the red door to call the taxi.

The operator sent him forward, looking back at the street name and the building you were in front of. The man’s gruff voice was hard to understand, practically smelling the cigarette smoke through the speaker.

“Trying to get rid of me.” You sighed as he walked out, arms opening and engulfing you despite your quick wit. 

Arms around one another, you stood in the sounds of your accompanying breath, hearing his heartbeat through his sweater. 

“Are you cold?” He worried, rubbing your arms lovingly as the stillness of your bodies made the temperature settle.

“I’m okay, don’t let go.” You mumbled against his chest, feeling vibrations of his stifled laugh.

A taxi whipped around the tight corner, bright lights shining in your faces. He relinquished his hold to open the door, hand meeting the small of your back to guide you inside to sit.

The London lights blurred together as you rested your head on his shoulder, secretly inhaling his scent and hoping you’ll be able to remember it. 

Shapes in various sizes were drawn against the skin on your knee with his fingers, cheek pressed against your hair. 

“God, I hope he remembered everything.” You sighed with humor, but also worried your friend would forget any essentials. Thankfully, you planned on spending most of the day out so your bag was pretty much packed. 

“I hope he doesn’t, make you stuck here longer.” He smirked, squeezing your thigh.

The sound of the wet pavement froze as you entered the drop of section, people bustling towards the front doors of the airport filled with exhaustion and stress. 

Steve unbuckled and opened the door for you, paying the driver before you could. 

Mouth open to complain, he yanked you forward to kiss your lips, hands around your waist as yours went behind his neck. 

Over dramatic and much more public than either of you typically preferred, there was nothing that could remove your lips from one another. Except Rodney. 

“Dude!” A high pitched male voice let out as another taxi driver tossed the luggage onto the ground, a skinny man standing on the sidewalk with messed up hair. 

Your frame left Steve’s grasp as you went to the baby blue suitcase on the ground, sitting it upright. 

“About time, bitch!” The boy snapped, but there was familiarity behind it, “Ugh, girl, that was the worst car I’ve ever been in, smelled like piss- Wait who’s the cutie?” His voice dropped lower to avoid lingering ears at the last comment.

Scratching the back of his neck at the compliment, Steve let you introduce him, “Rodney, this is Steve, Steve this is my best friend, Rodney.”

“Hi.” He chuckled, “Sorry I stole her for the last night of your trip.”

“No, no, I see why she stayed.” Rodney smiled, nudging you who was more bashful than Steve had seen, “It’s nice to meet you, Steve. I’ll go ahead and get in line so you guys can say bye.”

Rodney walked off with all the baggage, a pep in his step despite the sun having yet to make an appearance. 

Steve finally ripped his attention from the boy walking inside to you who looked to the road, tears already coating your eyes, “Hey, don’t cry, it’s okay.”

With a laugh, you subconsciously rubbed your nose, “I don’t know why I’m-“

“Oh no, trust me, I probably will cry too.” He eased your distress, embracing you in a final hug.

Each grip was tighter than the last for your hugs, this one nearly mending each body together. A peck left on the warmth of his neck, you lifted your head for a last kiss, his eagerness at an all-time high.

When your lips stopped moving, it took a moment to pull away as neither of you wanted to. A burning sensation reached your throat and behind your eyes, toes curling within your knitted socks.

“As cheesy as this may sound, I’ll never forget you, Steve. I’ll see you again- Unless you don’t want me to-“

“Don’t even finish that sentence because I am one bad decision away from hopping on that plane with you.” He quipped, leaning back enough to see your face. 

“I’ll see you?” You murmured, not caring how stereotypical it sounded.

In romance movies, you’d groan at the common tear-jerking goodbyes, but as you stood in the midst of an airport goodbye, you understood. You got why they’d run back to the lover’s arms and never leave. You knew if you ran into Steve’s arms again, you’d never leave. 

“Not if I see you first.” He mustered, kissing your forehead before revoking his arms from you, already burning with desire to reattach. 

As the cotton fabric left your touch, you smiled at him through tears, turning on your heels and into the clear doors. 

In the flurry of people, you turned around, waving at the boy who was right where you left him, and if you squint hard enough, you think you could still see your heart in his hands. 

Steve waited until you joined Rodney, watching as the boy gave you a hug with a soothing hand on your back. Swallowing the influx of emotions, he walked away with lead-filled shoes, utilizing every ounce of self-control to keep going. 

The tube station nearby ran to Piccadilly Circus, close enough to walk to his hotel from there. Securing a white stub, he found a seat on the nearly empty cart, a crunch sounding from his pocket.

Quickly taking the note covered in lip gloss out, he traced his thumb over the way you wrote his name. As the engine began, he unfolded the thin paper, taking a soothing breath. 

Dear Steve, 

Right now, you’re sitting at a metal table at a closed bar and I don’t think anyone’s looked more beautiful. My gut is dropping to my toes in fear that you don’t feel as strongly, but I think you do, that hasn’t happened to me before. 

I’m not the best with words, but I love your hair and eyes and sweater and shoes and pink bandaid on your ankle. You’re incredibly kind and smart and memorable. You’ve given me more joy in these few hours than I’ve had in months. 

I hope to see you again soon, gorgeous, I need to teach you how to draw one badass stick figure. My phone number and address are on the back of the paper, but don’t stalk me. Or do, I think you’d make your presence known anyways. 

Love, Y/N.

The sounds around him went mute as he felt the unfamiliar sting of tears, something he never let himself embrace. But the words made his heart soar high enough to punch his nose, setting his emotions ablaze. 

Meanwhile, you sat in the window seat on a full plane, Rodney already dozing off beside you as reached steady enough air to relinquish mandatory seat belts.

Your hand finally reached your bag, holding the paper from your own notebook that was covered in writing belonging to the boy at the cafe. 

Dear Y/N,

I didn’t have any idea how this trip would go, but I’m glad you showed up at that coffee shop instead of the one down the road. 

To start, you’re fucking beautiful. A kind of beautiful where even if you didn’t speak a word to me this morning, I would’ve talked Robin’s ear off about you all day anyways.

You’re so nice, like so nice it gives me cavities. (Just kidding, perfectly healthy teeth- That was very stupid, sorry) And you are so gentle and caring, I want to spend more and more time seeing it because even when you weren’t looking at me, I felt my cheeks getting red. 

I hope I don’t sound too dumb when I say this, but you made me feel very happy. I hadn’t felt a need to spend so much time with one person in a very long time, to open up to someone like I did today. But it felt natural, like anything else would’ve been a crime. 

My grandpa loved this Frank Sinatra song called Bewitched, I don’t remember the words, but I know the feelings when I thought of someone caring for me that way and I heard it as we danced a few hours ago. You’ve bewitched me.

My address and phone number are on the back, I just really hope you can read my terrible handwriting. 

You mean a lot to me. 

<3, 

Steve. 

“Honey, you okay?” Rodney whispered, watching your wet cheeks be wiped away with a napkin. 

Nodding, you folded the note and put it in your purse, “I’m okay, Rod,” You sniffled, staring at your shoes that had reminisced of dirt from the grasses and sidewalks you strolled. 

“I think I could be a witch.” You declared with an elbow to his bicep, his snort was subtle as he grabbed your hand and squeezed it. You longed for Steve’s. 

“Hey,” You alerted the boy to your right, “Want to go to Indiana?”

Eddie couldn’t quite pinpoint what about Steve made him want to get down one knee, but he knew the omega was out of his league. The two of them had never even spoken before, but something in him couldn’t be convinced to make smart decisions when it came to Steve.

Fortunately, Gareth caught him staring and was able to remind Eddie where exactly they both fell on the social totem pole (they were just about on the ground). His friend cared about him enough to stop him from asking Steve out.

Afterall, according to Gareth, Steve was bound to have a whole harem of alphas trying to court him. The numbers just weren’t in Eddie’s favor. He didn’t stand a chance.

So he tried to move on.

Really.

Eddie only allowed himself to stare at Steve on days that ended in ‘y.’ The alpha attempted to reign in his obvious infatuation with the king of the school.

He doesn’t want to be a laughing stock. He just wants Steve.

It’s not something he’s fully been able to reason out, but good luck telling his inner alpha that he’s not found his future mate in the prissy omega who always has a vaguely disgusted look on his gorgeous face.

Either way, Eddie manages to control himself for a few months until he overhears a conversation between Steve and his beta friend in the stairwell between classes.

He’s never quite understood their friendship, but she seems to be the only person that Steve is truly nice to and Eddie’s too curious not to watch from above them on the stairs, wanting to learn everything and anything about the perfect omega.

“I don’t need a date to prom, Robin. You and I can just go together, it’s fine.”

She winces and starts picking at her nails nervously.

“Right, right! Only… what if I have an actual date?” Steve looks heartbroken at that and Robin rushes to fix it. “Or not! I can just tell Chrissy that you need me to go with you.”

The omega takes a breath before pasting a fake smile on his face. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“It’s fine, Robs. I can… just go alone or whatever.”

She reaches out a hand and squeezes his shoulder. “Hasn’t anyone asked you, Stevie?”

He hesitates before shaking his head shyly. He’s clearly embarrassed to admit it to her.

Eddie’s heart breaks at that. How has Steve not been asked to prom? Are the kids at this school really so stupid that they’d not be interested in the most beautiful omega he’s ever seen?

His mind is made up right away. Eddie needs to ask Steve. Even if the guy rejects him, at least he might feel better knowing someone cared enough to ask. And, hey, maybe he’ll get lucky and Steve won’t outright laugh in his face!

Eddie goes home that night and gets to work. Prom is in a week and there’s only so much time to win Steve over.

He spends the weekend preparing.

As much as he knows how likely his plan is to fail, he can’t help but fantasize about how great it would be to hold someone in his arms who’s as perfect as Steve is. His fluffy hair, his cute nose, the way he gags when someone walks by in an ugly outfit.

He’s a fucking prize.

“What in the hell are you doing, Eddie?” Gareth asks him, getting in the alpha’s van on their way to school and eyeing the things sitting on the floor of the car with trepidation.

Eddie just hums along to his music.

Today is the day. It’s Monday. He’s got five days to impress Steve.

Step one is sneaking poems into the omega’s locker. That one is easy since he cuts class all the time. Timing it out so he has a place to stand and watch Steve open his locker is trickier, but he does it.

Getting to see the omega’s face when he reads the notes written about how amazing he is makes Eddie have to hold back a smile of his own.

Despite Steve’s attempt to keep his cool, his face lights up when he reads the poems through before carefully folding them up and placing them in his pocket for safekeeping.

It confirms everything Eddie needs to know.

Steve isn’t against the idea of being courted, in fact he clearly likes someone gushing about him and saying how cute he is. It’s just his goddamn attitude problem that makes alphas too nervous to ask him on a date, let alone take the initiative to court him properly.

Good thing Eddie has no self preservation and nothing to lose. It’s hard to care about the social ramifications of being rejected when he’s already on the bottom of the food pyramid of high school. But he has everything to gain.

Specifically, one perfect omega, Steve Harrington.

No. Oh no. There's no way Eddie actually-

He rips his phone away from his face to open twitter, and realizes two things simultaneously. One, Jeff is right, he had posted it to the band's account. Not on his private, locked, personal account, but on the account that's actually open and free for literally anyone on earth to look at.

The second thing he realizes is that their notifications are currently flooded with responses to Eddie's tweet, somehow racking up into the thousands in the few hours it's been since. 

Jesus Christ.

“Eddie?”

The metalhead jerks back into the moment and put Jeff on speaker so he can scroll through the horde of replies, says “Fuck, I fucked up. Are we gonna have to do damage control on this?”

In the mess is a reply from Gareth's own personal account: @ corrodededdie stop tweeting from the band account challenge 🙄🙄🙄

”Maybe. There hasn't been any type of response from Harrington or his people, but they might ask us to take it down if it blows up too much.“

Eddie hums, thinking they might be too little, too late about it blowing up too much, and flips over to his main account so he can reply to Gareth's little jab appropriately. He isn't surprised to see that he has a couple of new messages, probably from other people wondering just what the fuck Eddie was thinking, but when he goes to check them-

He's never been happier that he turned on messages from followers only, because then he would have missed this, missed Steve Harrington's little profile picture beaming up at him from the screen of his phone, along with a new message request.

”Jeff, I gotta go,” he says, not even realizing he's cut the other man off.

“Eddie, what-

”Harrington messaged me. I'll call you back.“

Eddie doesn't wait for a response as he hangs up on Jeff, and his hands definitely aren't shaking as he opens the message from Steve. And listen- Eddie is a fan of the guy, that much should be obvious. 

Steve had grown in popularity around the same time Corroded Coffin had; he’d gotten some part in a drama film that had skyrocketed him into stardom, and Eddie fell in love the moment he saw that gorgeous face on the silver screen for the first time. He's never had a chance to interact with the guy, has been in the same place a few times but always missed him, like ships passing in the night, but Eddie's been fine with pining from afar, just like every other person on the planet that's even remotely attracted to men.

Besides, even with how popular Corroded Coffin has gotten over the years - a couple of Grammy’s here, a dozen chart topping metal songs there - Eddie doesn’t expect Steve to just. Know who Eddie is.

With all of this in mind, Eddie is expecting some kind of semi-casual request to take the tweet down, that it's not a good look for his image-

Anything other than what Steve actually sent.

'If you're puppy baby boy, does that make me Master? Or Daddy?'

And Eddie- 

Eddie slides down, sinks into his couch cushion as all of the blood in his body suddenly shifts, rushing to fill his dick like it's a fucking race. The phone almost slips out of his hand and he fumbles it briefly before taking a deep breath. 

Is Steve serious? He wouldn't send that if he wasn't serious, right?

This could be it, could be Eddie's one chance to impress Steve, to get his foot in the door of Steve's interest. He bites his lip and types out a reply, something quick that he sends before he can change his mind.

‘I’m open to either, actually. Do you have a preference, sir?’

He doesn’t expect the typing indicator to come up immediately, and just knowing that Steve is somewhere right now, typing out a response to Eddie, is enough to have him nearly vibrating in his seat.

‘I’m partial to Daddy, myself.’

Fuck fuck fuck.

Eddie takes a breath, tries to think of a response that isn’t just ‘Please, Daddy, can I sit on your massive dick that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since that one indie film you did that just had all of your junk out in the open?’

Steve saves him by sending another message.

‘But maybe we could start with Steve, and possibly dinner? Though I’d be happy to see where things go after that.’

He- What-

Eddie must have stopped breathing, because the next time he takes a breath his lungs burn, his mid races because there’s no way Eddie’s long term celebrity crush just asked him on a date. He sits there long enough that the screen goes dark and he scrambles to turn it back on, sees the message still there, real and unchanged.

There’s no way he can say no to this, to Steve, and his hands shake as he types out a response.