Just Another Steddie Side Blog

“Jesus Christ!” Eddie yelped, throwing his arms around Steve’s neck and hanging on for dear life. “A little warning next time?”

He could feel Steve’s answering chuckle vibrate in his chest. “Why, scared I’ll drop you?”

He was, in fact, but Eddie was more distracted by the logistics of his current predicament. He wasn’t sure what to do with his legs, having never been carried like this before, and he definitely didn’t know what to do about the increased blood flow to his dick. Sue him, it was hot knowing that Steve could pick him up and throw him around a little.

The bedroom door was already open, so it didn’t take much effort for Steve to walk them into the room and kick the door shut behind them. Even the sound of the latch clicking was hot, so help him.

Steve looked over Eddie’s shoulder and paused. “Uh, the bed is kind of… already occupied.”

Eddie twisted in his arms to glimpse the papers scattered across the bedding, relics of that morning’s campaign planning session. “Whoops, sorry. I can—”

The rest of the sentence turned into a gasp as Eddie found himself pressed against the door and, more importantly, with Steve pressed against him from hip to shoulder. The way Steve held him left Eddie about a head taller, looking down into Steve’s heavy-lidded eyes in a way that sent a thrill up Eddie’s spine.

“Hi,” Steve whispered, smirking like he knew exactly what Eddie was feeling.

“Hi,” Eddie echoed. He ducked his head to capture Steve’s lips with his, tangling his fingers in the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck to angle him better.

The slight tug made Steve’s hips stutter, which jolted Eddie enough that his foot slipped down to catch the back of Steve’s knee, knocking them both off-balance until, with a startling crack, Eddie found himself sinking into a newly formed hole in the door.

“What was that?” he asked, as if the answer would be different when spoken aloud.

Steve gaped in horror, eyes wide as he took in the dent that Eddie’s ass had made in the thin wood. “Shit. I am so sorry.” Carefully, he lifted him up and out of the wreckage, gently setting Eddie down to rest his feet on the carpet again.

“I don’t think it was designed to hold the weight of two adult men,” Eddie observed, mourning the possibilities. “They don’t make them like they used to.”

—

Steve decides to call Jeff first. He seems to be the most open to Steve hanging out with them.

"Hello?"

"Hey, is this Jeff? It's Steve."

"Uh, Steve? Eddie isn't here," Jeff replies.

"I know," Steve bounces his knee. "I thought we could hang out sometime. I want to get to know you better."

"Really?" Jeff's confusion comes across clearly and part of Steve is kicking himself for not having the conversation in person.

"Yeah. You can come over to my house or I can go to yours. Or, we can go somewhere else?" He sounds desperate and in a way he is. He wants to be a good boyfriend, damnit.

"You can probably come over to my house. Does Saturday at two work?"

Steve lets out a heavy exhale. "Sure. I'll see you then."

Steve is anxious when he gets to Jeff's house. The front lawn has roses bushes under the windows and there's an abandoned trike and bike. When Jeff answers the door, he hears little kid screams.

"Don't worry that's just my siblings." He nods towards the back of the house. "They've been competitive shits all day and I need a break from being referee."

Jeff guides him to the garage, where amongst all the outdoor toys, folding chairs, and a space where presumably a car would go, is a small card table with paints, a magnify glass on a stand, lamp, and little pieces, that upon further inspection, might be people.

Steve sits down on one of the metal folding chairs. "What's this?"

Jeff sits down and begins pouring some paint into a little palette. "You've seen our game table when you pick up Dustin, Lucas, and Mike right?"

Steve nods.

"These are mini figs. They're the characters and creatures that we use to represent us."

"Why do you have to paint them?"

Jeff picks one up and hands it to Steve. It's a man wielding a hammer. 

"You can buy them pre-done, but people like to customize. It makes character design more fun."

"Do you paint all of them for Hellfire?"

Jeff shakes his head. "Nah, Eddie does it for most of his that he uses for our campaigns so it doesn't spoil anything. Except sometimes he gets behind so I help."

Steve watches as Jeff mixes paints and picks out a brush. It's slow, methodical work and Steve doesn't think he would be cut out for it. He occasionally asks Jeff questions, but for the most part keeps quiet. The only time Jeff gets up is because his siblings stop shouting.

He returns with a shrug. "It's when they're quiet that you know they're doing something they shouldn't."

Steve thinks about Dustin and The Party with Dart and is glad that Jeff's siblings can't get into any trouble like that. 

A few hours later, Steve is sore from sitting in the metal chair and trying his best not to grimace. 

Jeff looks up from his work, eye large in the magnified lens. "Oh shit, I guess that's not really comfy is it?"

Steve huffs a laugh. "Not really."

"Sorry, dude. I got so in the zone I forgot you were there."

Steve stands up and shakes his legs out. "I could have said something." He didn't really want to though. The last couple of years have been hectic and just sitting for a couple of hours and not expected to do anything is quite the relief.

Jeff stands. "Next time you come over, we should do something that's a little more active."

Steve smiles. There's going to be a next time.

—

After nailing it with Jeff, Steve's more confident when he calls Les. Les easily accepts and Steve heads over the following Friday. He's confidence falters when an older woman answers the door.

"Uh, hi? Les invited me over."

The woman's face lights up. "Ulysses your friend is here!"

Steve hears quick footsteps and then Les appears down the hallway.

"Thanks, Grandma," Les says as he jerks his head forward, "Follow me," he tells Steve.

They walk back the way Les came and enter his bedroom. It reminds Steve of Eddie's a little. Band posters cover the wall and there's a bookcase heaving under the weight of the books strategically shelved there. It's not as messy though, or maybe Les tried to tidy up before Steve arrived. He flops down on the bed, hands running over a handmade quilt.

"So, Ulysses?" Steve says.

"Ugh," Les groans. "It's a family name. Did you know that people used to looooove naming their kids after presidents? My grandma is really the only one who calls me that anymore." He sends a pointed look to Steve.

"Got it." Steve replies. He watches as Les moves around the room. Les grabs an album, cat eyes staring back at Steve, as he puts the record on. Tinkly music starts to play and then trumpets join in.

Steve does his best to suppress a grimace. "What's this?"

Les smiles and then lights a joint. As he exhales he hands the joint to Steve. He happily takes it. "It's a musical. Cats. The guys don't really like this kind of stuff."

Steve's knowledge of musicals starts and ends with The Sound of Music. He doesn't even remember much, just some happy, bouncy songs and thinking Julie Andrews looked pretty. He takes another hit before handing the joint back to Les. Hopefully, this one isn't too bad. 

Steve doesn't know if it's his high or the musical itself, but it's odd. Firstly, everyone seems to be cats and the names are just long enough he can't keep track of everyone. Les seems to be having a good time though. He sings most of the songs and it's been interesting to hear him. Usually he sings backup for the band. His voice is nice, a smooth tenor, that occasionally breaks out into giggles.

Les gets up to switch records. "Hey, do you want to stay for dinner? My grandma is making meatloaf." 

His high is starting to wear off and his stomach growls. "Sure."

—

Scheduling Gareth's one-on-one was easy. Gareth had invited Steve over himself. Clearly Jeff and Les had filled him in and he decided to take the first step. Steve hopes that means good things. He rings the doorbell. Gareth opens the door.

"Hey, thanks for inviting me over man," Steve says as he steps inside.

Gareth scoffs. "You've already talked to Les and Jeff. Clearly I was the last person on your little list."

Steve grimaces. It wasn't like he was hiding what he was doing, but he thought he was a little more subtle. Gareth leads him to the kitchen where ingredients are all lined up on the counter.

"What are we doing?" Steve asks.

Gareth picks up a spoon. "Making cookies."

Steve relaxes, he can do this. He grabs an apron off a hook and ignores Gareth's smirk.

"What do you want me to do?"

Gareth hands the spoon to him. "Measure out the dry ingredients. The sugar goes in one bowl and the rest goes in the other."

He takes the spoon and follows along with the recipe. It's quiet, minus the whir of the stand mixer, and there's something amusing about the fact that all the guys seem to like to the quiet. Steve doesn't think it's a tactic to freak him out.

He and Gareth actually work well together. Whenever Steve hands over a utensil or the next ingredient, Gareth's brows furrow for a second before accepting. When Gareth speeds up the mixer too soon and flour goes everywhere, Steve laughs and helps wipe the counter. It isn't until the cookies are in the oven that Gareth leans on the counter and gives Steve an assessing look.

"Jeff, Les, and I have talked about what you're doing."

Steve sits on a dining room chair and grips his hands on his thighs.

"When Jeff first told us that you wanted to hang out with him we didn't believe him. We know you love Eddie, you can't hide that from us."

Steve smiles.

"But, we just assumed you would hang around us enough to keep the peace." Gareth pauses and looks at Steve expectantly.

"You're right, I do want to keep the peace," Steve begins, "but I also know how important you all are to Eddie. I know we don't have to be friends, but I think we should be friendly. I've had friendships fail and I didn't want you all to think I would come between you and Eddie. I want to be a good boyfriend."

Gareth's face softens. "We know you're a good boyfriend. Even before all this 'getting to know you' shit. If you weren't good do you think we'd let you stay?" The timer beeps and Gareth quickly opens the over door to peek through. He grabs an oven mitt and brings the sheet tray out and sets it on the stovetop. "Now, stop worrying about your boyfriend's friends and eat a fucking cookie." 

—

Steve laughs over the sound of Gareth's Bugs Bunny impression. They're in the kitchen, ostensively to make lunch, but the pasta reached done a long time ago, and the sandwiches are half made. Jeff and Les are grabbing dishes down, playful bumping into each other as they sing along to the radio. 

None of them notice Eddie until he clears his throat. They all stop and stare at him.

"It sounds like you're all having fun."

Steve sidles up to Eddie and kisses his cheek. "Yeah. I like when the guys come over."

Eddie wraps his arm around Steve. "Is this what happens when you use the ol' Harrington charm? My friends suddenly ditch me for my boyfriend?"

Steve rolls his eyes. "As if I didn't have to work for it. You're friends have high standards. I'm surprised you passed the test."

Eddie lets Steve go and dramatically flings himself onto the barstool. "Well, go on then. Have fun while I waste away over here."

The guys all laugh as they go back to their tasks. Steve leans over Eddie gives him a kiss. "As if you don't love having us all together," Steve says.

Because that’s all this is. It had been seven years but the contentment of their lives had started to stifle him. Had started to feel like a noose that he’d slung around his own neck. And was he supposed to say any of that to Eddie? Was it supposed to turn into a diatribe about all the things that made Eddie, Eddie. Made him who he was, and were all the things he was most insecure about? “And what about you, Steve?” he spits into the air. “You’re an idiot, and you’re selfish, and you buy groceries that you never cook, and start fights you know you can’t finish, and you’ll never let anyone in the way you let him in, but you, what? Freaked out because you were overstimulated?” 

Speaking to the house does seem to hold the shadows back. He does it for weeks. He goes to movie nights with Robin, plays piano for the school choir, experiments with frosted tips that he chops off three days later. He tries to settle into the life he’d ostensibly wanted; the one that’s quiet and calm and predictable. 

Then you close the door and leave me screaming on the floor

Oh, baby, I just buckle, I can't take it anymore

Corroded’s mid tour, so the radios are all playing First Light ad nauseam. For the first month, Steve turns it off every time it comes on. He can’t hear Eddie’s voice scream ‘first light nestled somewhere in time’, knowing as he does that the lyric is from the moment Eddie opened his eyes and found Steve staring down at him in the hospital. He puts the album on at home, when he’s able to scream along. When he can cry without the possibility of anyone else seeing, without crashing his damn car. 

Robin tries to talk him into calling, but he can’t. He’s blocked Eddie’s number. He doesn’t know why he does it, but once it’s done, it’s too hard to undo. Too much to admit to himself; it’s possible Eddie hasn’t even noticed, and that thought hurts more than the actual act of fighting had. 

Then suddenly it’s spring break, and there’s a robin on his window, and then, like he’s in a trance, he’s in his car; his phone informs him that the band is only over in Nebraska; it’s so close. Only, what? Two tanks of gas. He has to try. He has to know that he can’t fix this, can’t salvage the thing he broke. 

He drives all day. 

But instead of his own courage standing in the way, it is a blonde woman with a severe ponytail and eyebrows that are so properly defined that they wound him just by arching at him. 

“Sir, I don’t know what you want me to say. I am not letting you upstairs without express permission of the person occupying the room.” “He’s my…he’s my husband.” The woman tilts her head, but doesn’t actually do anything with this information. It isn’t true, anyway. They’ve never bothered with the paperwork. Steve sighs, exasperated, and realizes his romantic gesture is dumb anyway. There’s no way Eddie actually wants to see him. So he pulls out his phone and calls him. Hangs up and calls again. Eddie’s definitely asleep, and he sleeps like the dead, so he calls a third time, hoping that the three months that have passed haven’t changed his habit of sleeping with the ringer on full volume. 

There’s a click and Steve has to force himself not to sob a desperate, embarrassing sound when it does. 

“Eddie? Eds, I'm downstairs and security won't let me up."

He waits. The silence is so painful. He feels the woman behind the desk’s eyes on his. He feels every twitch of his face as he tries not to collapse. After a moment, Eddie says his name. Just his name. There’s a comfort in that; he’s not being cussed out, not being told to go away. 

"Can I come up?" he says softly, letting Eddie process but growing heavy under the weight of the staring and the judgement. 

The lock clicks open as he approaches. Eddie had been watching him through the keyhold, had seen him come off the elevator. 

"You're in my room," Eddie says, voice rough and careless. Steve resists the urge to just run into his chest, cling to him . "You broke up with me, and you're standing in my room. In Omaha."

"Yes."

"Steve."

Oh, God, I thought I was too old for this, I should be over it I'm much too old for this, but I'm not over it

When he wakes up, Eddie is curled into his back, an arm thrown health haphazardly across his shoulder. They aren't facing each other and it feels like every morning they've spent together since they'd finally manged to get into the same bed. 

It isn't. 

Steve slides out of Eddie's grasp without waking him and decides this fancy ass hotel must have decent coffee. He likely has a few hours until Eddie wakes up. The day after a show and all that. He briefly realizes that finding Eddie in his hotel room had been a bit of luck; no after parties or private invites at celebrity houses. It might be interesting, the fact that Eddie had gone to bed before the sunrise, but Steve didn't have the energy to care. Eddie being a Rockstar and acting like one wasn't really the problem. As long as he came home to Steve. As long as he came home. 

And. Well. 

Fuck. 

He sat at the bar in the empty hotel restaurant and ordered a cappuccino and some tomato juice. He felt like he was twelve again, forgotten by his parents on one of their ‘business trips’.

“Well. I could have guessed all day about who they'd let up to Eddie's room last night, and I still don't know that I'd have landed on you, Harrington.”

He doesn’t even turn around. “Gareth, let's not.”

“Mhmm. Sure. I absolve you of causing this tour to be really fucking painful. You're forgiven for pointlessly leaving me with a heartbroken Munson. That how you think this is going to go?” 

“Look, I'm sorry. I'm here to fix it.”

“You're both idiotic. And too old to be doing this bullshit. What if we just agree that neither of you survives without the other and stop doing this? For the record, I told him to call you every day. For three months.”

He turns and smiles sadly. “Robin too,” he admits. 

“Smart woman,” he replies. He steps forward and opens his arms. He hasn't hugged Gareth in years. He stands, steps into the embrace. “Proud of you for breaking first. He's going to make you work for it.”

Steve nods, releases Eddie's best friend. “He deserves to. I was…well, you know.”

“I dunno, it seems like a lot of work for me to make you keep apologizing,” Eddie says from behind them. “Gare, morning. Think I can steal my husband?” 

Steve winces. Eddie's been to the desk already. He picks up his drinks and follows Eddie to a table by the windows. 

For a moment, they stare at each other. A tired looking waiter approaches carefully, and Eddie smiles, politely orders parfaits for both of them and another coffee. Steve's stomach flips. Eddie's kindness, his gentle politeness…it's one of Steve's favourite things about him. 

Suddenly, the list he'd forgotten to create is scrolling through his mind. 

Eddie always makes the bed. He remembers anniversaries and birthdays, never lets anyone go without being celebrated. He can tell when Steve has had a bad day by the way he pulls into the driveway, and he always seems to call Steve at the perfect time when he's on the road. He's snarky and hilarious and he doesn't care what people think of him. No, not that. He cares. He just doesn't let those opinions change him. It's a rare skill. 

And Steve had forgotten to appreciate it. 

“I am so sorry,” he murmurs. Suddenly, he can't look at Eddie. Suddenly, he can't bear to see himself reflected in Eddie's eyes. “I shouldn't be here. I—Eddie—”

“You,” Eddie says quietly. “Leave the toilet seat up and it's really fucking annoying. You don't put albums away when you're done with them. You avoid me when I'm sad or angry, and it sucks because all I want in those moments is for you to sit with me and agree that things suck. You collect people like strays and then act surprised when they are imperfect and broken. That they may sometimes not act the way you want them to. That they may sometimes disappoint you.”

“Maybe I should just—”

“Fortunately, you're also pretty good at SuperSmashBros. You make really good chicken cacciatore that I'd rather not learn to live without. Plus, you're brave and weirdly selfless, and I'm really glad you are so good at taking to customer service representatives because we both know we'd still be paying a hundred dollars more for cable if I'd had to deal with that alone.”

Steve laughs, but the sound is wet, fragile. He hadn't realized he'd started crying. 

“Steve, neither of us are incredible people. We're just…people. I love you. Like. More than is reasonable. And I should have called you right away, not let this thing linger for months. Because, yeah. I suck. So do you. But we're good at being crappy people together. Why would we mess with that?”

“Because I got scared I was too content.”

Eddie smirks. “That's pretty fucked up, dude. Even for you. Maybe we also do some therapy? Together?” 

“Feels fair. Can I…can I stay out here with you guys for the week? The house is too quiet.”

“You hate being on tour.”

Steve shrugs. “Yeah,” he allows. “But…”

“But you drove for ten hours?” Eddie smirks. Reaches a hand across the table. 

Steve takes it. “Is this forgiveness?” 

“It's a start,” Eddie says. “Though honestly, it's just because I don't want to miss any more bird photos.” 

“Yeah, that's fine. I just don't want to miss any more pie.”

They aren't perfect. A therapist spends the next six months walking them through that reality. They realize they've been studying their relationship through the lens of the kids. Through their friends. They make a better plan for when Eddie's on tour. One that isn't ‘hang on by your fingernails until it's over’. 

They aren't perfect and it's enough. It fits. It's worth bad days and the silence, and the moments where they are mean to each other. 

They aren't perfect but Steve is brave and closes cupboards. Eddie is kind and puts the seat down. 

The rest of it? None of it matters.