Despite being a hopeless romantic omega Steve thinks that the whole true mates thing is bullshit. Your true mate is supposed to smell like home. But Steve can't imagine anyone ever smelling like the Harrington residence. The big, empty house reeks of stale air and cleaning supplies, artificial and chemical. Acrid and acidic almost reminiscent of the way an omega in distress smells. But it's just bleach keeping the unused kitchen counters pristine and the cold hallway tiles spotless. Steve really can't imagine anyone's scent smelling like that. Scent blockers are mandatory at school and Steve doesn't really interact with enough adults to be 100% certain but from the few scents he has smelled, none of them have had that hint of bitter bile.
Nancy smells like geraniums and gunpowder in the air like sparklers lit ten seconds to midnight on New Year's Eve, like possibilities and giddiness. Even after they break up there is some comfort in her scent. It's the first time Steve learns that an alpha's scent can be soft and gentle and not smell sharp like burned milk and suffocate the entire room the alpha is in.
At some point Steve becomes glad that his father is never home, relishing being able to breathe. His mother's scent isn't any better. Where is father's scent is biting, hers is overtly sweet. So sweet it's almost sickening. Something's always smelled off about it, fake too. Like artificial violets and stevia. Not that artificial always smells bad.
Robin's scent is a mixture of blue raspberry and newly bought books and Steve hopes that whenever he finally has the guts and the means to move out his next apartment is going to smell like her. They'll never be true mates, he knows that. But as far as platonic soulmates go Robin definitely is the one.
By far Steve's favorite but also most confusing scent is Eddie. Because Eddie smells just like his trailer. Like literally exactly like his trailer. Any room he walks in instantly fills with the scent of fresh coffee and beans on toast. Sun-warmed air and hints of weed. Laughter, if laughter had a smell. Drug store brand hair products and denim and leather. Corduroy cushions and cold crispness that nightfall at the end of summer brings. It's lovely and always mixed with the kids' scents or Nancy's or Robin's. Occasionally, Jocye's and Jonathan's too. For some reason, it all just clings to Eddie like cookie crumbs to syrup-soaked, sugar-sticky fingers. Steve never met anyone who's smelt so much like other people. When he mentions it to Robin she gives him an odd look.
"I think Eddie smells just like Eddie?" she says before adding slowly. "But ya know, beta nose, I don't smell much."
"But you agree that he smells exactly like his trailer right?" Steve asks. Robin's look grows even odder.
"People don't smell like the place they live in," she says slowly. "Scents are more complicated. Maybe Eddie's place just smells a lot like him because it's small and stuffy and he is always in."
"The trailer isn't sticky!" Steve has the need to defend Eddie's trailer. Robin has never been at the Harrington house when Steve's parents have been home, she has no idea what stuffy means.
Robin just hums and thinks for a second. "Does the trailer ever smell like Wayne?"
Wayne smells like gasoline and tobacco, laundry detergent and asphalt that has been rained on, what did Dustin call that smell? Petrichor? It's as comforting as a blanket and hot chocolate during a thunderstorm, reassuring words and fairy tales read in silly voices. Wayne smells like a childhood Steve never had. But the trailer doesn't smell much like Wayne. There is always a faint hint, the same way there is always a faint hint of the rest of their mismatched pack. But that's only because Eddie smells like pack and Eddie's trailer smells like Eddie. Just like Eddie!
Steve tells Robin exactly that and she grows quiet. It's always worrying when she grows quiet, usually always so quick to chatter. She doesn't share her thoughts, says she only has a thesis, not ready to share it yet. Or maybe Steve is not ready to hear it yet. He gets an idea hough of what her thesis might be when they lock up family video.
"You headed straight home after dropping me off" Robin asks as she puts the last returned tapes back on the shelves.
"Yes, Eddie said he is making chilli, so hurry up," Steve says, his stomach already growling.
"Is he cooking at yours?"
"No, at the trailer, why would he be cooking at mine?" Steve asks, wondering where Robin got such a weird idea that Eddie might be - oh. Steve had kinda referred to the trailer as home, hadn't he? It's like a row of dominos toppling over, revealing a beautiful picture once the very last one has fallen. Eddie is at the trailer. The trailer, which Steve thinks of as home. Home, that Eddie smells of. Steve is well aware of his feelings for Eddie. Has been crushing on him since Eddie pressed a bottle to his throat, but somehow despite the smell of alpha in distress filling the boat house, there had been something comforting about Eddie's scent. Something familiar, like coming back as an adult to a place you last visited as a child and the smell of memories hanging in the air. The buzzing feeling sitting at the bottom of Steve's spine, I have known you before.
Steve has never rushed so much to drop Robin off before breaking several speed limits on his way to Eddie's trailer. He basically runs inside, not bothering to knock, knowing the door is open. The smell of home engulfs him like the arms of a beloved would. Steve's beloved stands at the stove, string chilli, looking up and smiling so sweetly at Steve as if Steve's presence has been that one missing piecing, the special ingredient, all along.
"Hello sweetheart," Eddie says and it makes Steve's breath stock.
Eddie calls him sweetheart all the time, it doesn't mean anything. But what if it does? Steve is always quick to throw himself at danger, the pack gets hurt over his dead body. He takes it all, the punches, the drugs, the monsters. It makes him seem brave. Self-destructive, self-sacrificing, stupid but brave. Only that he isn't brave, not really. He loves too much to think twice about things, but if he took his time, weighed out whether he should really jump in front of a gun, Steve would be shaking with fear. Fortunately, there is no gun in Eddie's hand aimed at him, only a wooden spoon and the ask to taste, see if anything is missing. Steve lets himself be fed, has to suppress a moan because the chilli is perfect. It only makes Eddie smile more and despite Steve's breath becoming shallow he decides to be brave.
"Hey, what do I smell like to you?" Steve asks. It's a taboo question, frowned upon by most people, you don't just ask about your own scent. But Eddie isn't most people and happily indulges Steve.
"When I still lived with my parents," he says as he starts plating their food. "My mum would take me to this diner around the corner every time she and my dad would have a fight. There was this waitress, Franny, she'd always come over and bring me a piece of apple pie and crayons and coloring books while she was trying to talk my mum into leaving my dad probably. I don't really know, I was busy coloring. Like I knew something bad was happening and things were shitty for my mom, but I loved going to the diner. It was my little bubble of comfort when I was a child. That's what you smell like: apple pie heavy on the cinnamon and crayons. Little bit over strong filter coffee every now and then too. You kinda smell like..." Eddie stops, suddenly realizing what exactly Steve smells like.
He looks at Steve, mouth gaping slightly. There are tears in Steve's eyes. All his life he thought he smelt just like his parents' house. Like murky water and dust-covered floors. Like the rot of something falling apart. Like something broken. Eddie is crossing the room in an instant, gently wiping Steve's tears away with his thumb.
"You smell like home to me too," Steve confesses and suddenly he no longer is the only one crying.
He is in the arms of the alpha he loves, the alpha who loves him back, surrounded by the smell of home. They don't say I love you, don't have to. You are home already conveys all the emotions they are otherwise unable to put into words. Instead Eddie almost shyly asks,
"Can I kiss you?" And when Steve nods and Eddie's lips meet his, Eddie finds out that Eddie tastes just like home too.
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