thinking about stevepop.
steve is all angles and muscles. he is rough around the edges and angry to his core. it shows in his appearance and even his clothes. his hair is locked in place with grease. a sharp, strong nose, angular eyebrows, a mouth that’s most often scowling. denim on denim; he’s encased in the tough fabric.
soda is different. he wear his heart on his sleeve, unafraid to laugh or cry or yell. he feels everything so intently. his face is always crinkled in some kind of emotion, whether he’s grinning with excitement or thinking hard, with his eyebrows furrowed. he’s been called soft his whole life, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling. from living. his movie-star features are softer and more delicate, and the flannels he loves are always soft and warm.
soda is labeled a bawl-baby, a pretty boy.
steve can’t remember the last time he cried, and nobody has ever called him pretty.
steve is afraid of hurting soda with all of his sharp edges, afraid of crushing him under the weight of his anger.
but soda is more than his softness, and he knows steve is more than his anger, too.
he is determined to show steve that it’s okay. it’s okay to be tough; the world hasn’t been kind to him, but soda will be. it’s okay to let people in. it’s okay to sit with your emotions— all of them.
soda kisses the bumpy, broken bridge of steve’s nose and calls him pretty and wears his jean jacket and steve can almost feel himself melting.
