hiii! for the blurb game could i ask for steve, 9, and 🍬? this is such a fun idea i can’t wait to see what you do!
It Smells Like Fudge Axe In Here | Hot Mulligan some good ole damaged steve, my favorite. season five canon compliant, but i took some liberties. 'Is it a certain age when you start going grey and so you're set in your ways? I can't be what you want, I never fit the description, or collar, the pace There's something wrong with me Some poison swims through my system and leaves me ashamed. Collapse with the weather.'
He zips up the last of the gear, hearing the helmets rattle in the bag as he hoists it with a grunt over his shoulder. His body shouldn't hurt this bad at twenty-eright but it does; his knees creak, left shoulder clicks. The doctors tell him to stretch and he would if he could even get on the ground without wincing. Little League at least gave him some repireve, feeling young again when he's surrounded by all those kids. He ignores it with the ladies, every pull in his neck, every migraine. Who cares right? He's still getting laid and that's still cool. That's still King Steve at work. Kristen left Hawkins a few years ago, so did Dawn and Mags. Julie's heading to Arizona in a few weeks, but he hasn't called her since he was twenty-four. In fact, a lot of people have left Hawkins -- everyone actually. Almost everyone. Not Steve. After Dustin graduated from UConn he stopped making his way back home, his mom moved further east to be closer to him. He calls but it's not the same, normally too busy now to go on road trips and adventures. What is there to talk about anyway? Steve's still teaching sex-ed at school, still coaching, thinking about offering to coach the high school kids if they'll give him a pay bump. The Byers and Hopper are all in New York and none of them have looked back, it's like they wiped their named from Indiana the minute they crossed the border. Nance is in Boston, Robin moved in with her after Smith. And they do meet up once a year in Philadelphia, and this year would be the sixth anniversary. He got Robin's home made paper invitation in the mail last week.
'Hey Dingus, Same time, same place. See you there. Love, Rob'
Steve closes his trunk, sighing while he leans against the silver door of his new station wagon where he keeps the gear most days. The sun sets over the feild while some kids stay behind to play catch after practice. He squints into the light before pulling the cap lower on his eyes to head over to the drivers side door. Always better to get out of here before people start to come by to sit out on the grass after work. Every now and again he'll hear his name, "Steve? Steve Harrington?" And the conversation that ensues is always the same: Where are you living now? Oh, new state? Visiting family this week? Oh, two kids, how nice! Travel was good? Oh, me? Yeah, I'm coaching baseball. Teaching at the high school. Ha, yeah, just like old times. Yeah, yeah, some things never change. Well, good seeing you! Rinse, and repeat. Some things never change.
He crosses past the Forrest Hills sign, coasting past the abandoned Mayfieled trailer and a few doors down from the re-done Munson trailer. Wayne was still there, found himself a wife. Not that he knows who Steve is or that Eddie and Steve knew each other. That Steve watched his nephew die and left his body in the Upside Down to be demo-bat fodder. Something he still feels sick about every time he drives by. Wayne still keeps Eddie's bedroom how it was back then. Steve only knows because he went over to help move his fridge out of the kitchen when Wayne had ordered a new one. They talk over coffee every now and again, most mornings Wayne will give him a wave. Another deep sigh escapes him when he gets inside, kicking off his sneakers and opening the window in the kitchenette to let a breeze in. The mid-April air had a freshness to it that gave him some sense of comfort; reminded him of sitting in the backyard when his parents thought about throwing dinner on the grill. A preview of summer; so close he could taste it.
The thrum of the shower hitting the tiled floor brings him back to reality, running his hands through his hair while he lets water warm up. In the mirror, he frowns, looking back at him is a single silver hair. Not his first one, but definitely not what he wants to see after a day like today. Opening the medicine cabinet he barely has to look for his tweezers and as soon as the hair is there it's gone. Plucked clean out at the root. Another problem for another day. Steve Harrington was not getting grays before 40. His dad didn't, and he won't either. The heat of the shower gives his muscles room to breathe. He wasn't sure his body ever fully recovered from 'The Experience' as the crew called it. But he persevered, utilizing the high school gym as frequently as he did as a basketball player just to keep himself sharp; tight; together. He hates that he sometimes feels so old. With a towel wrapped around his waist he makes his way back to the kitchen to heat up whatever TV dinner is in the freezer so he can settle in on the couch for the night. A few Budweisers close by to keep him company before he inevitably falls asleep against the cushions. As he closes the fridge, Robin's inviation stares back at him. Same time, same place. Steve doesn't think he's gonna go this year. He doesn't want to go and tell them the same things he's been telling them since 1989. Not when Nance is working for The Globe on the Spotlight team and Jonathan just got another grant for an indie flick. Not when Robin started a non-profit for artists and runs a huge event every summer to get kids into crafting. It's...god, it's fucking humiliating. It's humilating to rehash the same story over and over, to relive the same memories over and over. He's so tired about remembering Benny's or talking about old teachers; not when the rest of them are really doing shit.
What's he even doing? Do they even want him to come? He's sure Eddie would be gone too, if he made it. He'd probably be famous by now. Annoying sure, but still famous. Steve hates the way they look at him when he talks; like they feel bad. Like they're waiting for more. He's almost thirty and he's got nothing to show for it. Still doing the same job he was doing at 22, no solid girlfriend, sleeping with whatever hot young thing moves to Forest Hills and then forgetting her name a few weeks later. Waking up and doing the same thing every day, talking to the same people. And it feels good to feel safe, doesn't it? To feel like at least it's all okay? What if there isn't more? What is this is all he is? Why does it never feel like enough? Why doesn't it feel okay? The tang of the beer passes his lips and gives him some form of comfort; a reminder that at least he's still here. And when he wakes up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat; thinking he's still back in The Creel House or falling off the radio tower; he remembers that he's still here. That at least had to be it, surviving was enough. But God, could he live? When is he gonna be able to just live?
