The Picture: A man in a metal chair, legs spread wide, wearing a tight black t-shirt and slim cut jeans. Chestnut hair swept back in an artful mess, hazel eyes fixed on the camera lens.
The caption: "Steve Harrington on Eddie Munson: 'It's all an act, that whole rebel thing. He wants people to think he's hardcore, but he's really just kind of stuck as a kid. Still plays that Dungeons game. Childish stuff, you know?'"
Eddie's coffee splutters out of his mouth, making both Chrissy and Gareth jump.
"Eddie! What the hell??" She dabs at her dress with a napkin, but Eddie's mostly sure he didn't even spray her.
He hands his phone over without a word. She reads it, eyebrows raising, before she hands it over to Gareth.
"So?" She asks
"So?!" He waves his hands. "So?! We haven't seen each other in, like, five years!"
"He just wants the attention." Gareth takes a bite of toast. "He knows if he mentions your name..."
Chrissy nods. "He's just clout chasing. Ignore him."
"Right, yeah." Eddie takes his phone back, glancing at the screen before putting it down. "Ignore him."
He focuses back on his coffee, but there's a pleasant warmth humming low in his gut, one he doesn't care to understand.
---
Eddie and Steve, they were the kid stars of a big network sitcom. Steve the precocious oldest son, and Eddie his trouble-making best friend. They became fan favorites, and the writers crafted more stories around them, until people almost forgot the adult parents were the original stars.
When the show ended, after nine solid seasons and several Emmy's, They should've had any job they wanted, should've been on top of the world. And Eddie was, but Steve--Somewhere along the way, the sweet kid with the puppy dog eyes and eagerness to please became spoiled and mean. Hanging out with influencers and hangers-on, partying constantly, coming to work fucked up, he got a reputation for being difficult.
Eddie went on to prestige TV and movie roles, critical acclaim and award seasons, and Steve? Well, after a while the roles dried up, and the opportunities stopped knocking. Nobody wanted to coddle a teenage diva.
Steve's burnout was slow and painful, but after a year and a half, total. He disappeared from the scene, from Hollywood, from the internet, and a thousand other naive, beautiful guys swarmed in to take his place.
---
Steve mentions Eddie in an interview, on a podcast, says something about how his friends from back then changed with success and wealth, all too ready to drop him when his luck failed, when he needed them the most.
It's an annoyance, sends a pang of hurt to his chest every time, but there's that warmth too. It grows with each insult and callout, like some sick part of his psyche enjoys it because it means Steve's thinking about him.
He refuses to give in to that line of thought, though. His first crush left wounds, and he refuses to let Steve's claws sink in again.
Even if he's more beautiful than ever.
---
Steve isn't just talking to the press.
He's at some industry thing at the Getty with Chrissy when he runs into Dustin Henderson, who played Steve's kid brother on the show.
"You hear that Steve's back?" Dustin asks over canapés.
"Is that why he can't keep my name out of his mouth?"
"Oh, so you've seen that."
"Uh, yeah? Like a dozen videos a day on Instagram."
"Sure, the interviews. Yeah."
His stomach sinks. "What else have you heard?"
"Nothing!" Dustin answers too fast and too loud.
"Dustin--"
The kid's shoulders slump. "I heard from Will who heard from Lucas that he congratulated Billy for dumping you. Said something about you being too whiney for anyone to stand."
He tightens his hand around the stem of his wineglass, but can't stop the way it shakes. "I see."
"It's just gossip." Dustin says. "You probably shouldn't put too much stock in it."
He manages to brush it off, chats with Dustin a little longer before Chrissy pulls him away to rub elbows with other Hollywood elite.
It takes some maneuvering, but he's able to steer them to the gardens, relays everything he heard from Dustin.
"That asshole," Chrissy seethes.
"It's like he's obsessed with me! Do you think--is it--" He pulls his fingers through his hair.
"I think he's a dick."
"What if--Chris, what if he was jealous? About Billy and me. I mean, what if--what if--"
She grabs his hand, threads their fingers together. "If he wanted anything good from this, he'd call you. This is all to get himself back in the public eye."
"It feels like more, Chris," he says. He doesn't know how to explain it. How it feels like more than just attention seeking, and Steve's invading his thoughts more and more these days, and somehow it's reading to him like flirting.
"He'll call you if he wants to talk. Until then," she squeezes his hand, "if you keep not reacting, he'll get tired of it and disappear back to the obscurity he deserves."
Those hopes are dashed when the news hits the trades the next day: Steve Harrington is set to lead the big new HBO prestige procedural.
Eddie smothers his face into his pillow, yelling into the down.
---
Life goes on.
He doesn't hear anymore gossip about Steve talking to Billy, though can't help but wonder if Steve did it in front of Lucas on purpose, knowing it would get back to him. It makes him a little unhinged, considering that maybe Steve was glad Billy was out of the picture, like maybe he'd been waiting all these years for Eddie to get Billy out of his system. And that's impossible, crazy, Steve is straight, but the thought wiggles into his brain and takes root.
Steve stops so blatantly talking about Eddie after the show is announced. Instead he resorts to snide, anonymous digs, Instagram and TikTok likes on mean videos about him. Each one is a tiny nudge, like he can hear Steve saying, "hey, Ed, I'm still here. I'm still waiting. You know you could never ignore me."
Chrissy's right, though. The best thing to do is to let it go. And he does.
He does.
And it doesn't count, late in the night, when he can't stop his thoughts from turning to his former best friend.
He's still totally over it.
---
They see each other again for the first time at a gala for an LGBTQ+ youth charity Eddie works with, where he's being honored for his volunteering and outreach.
Their tables aren't close, and he easily keeps his distance. And if he indulges in a glance or two, Steve looking every inch the Prince Charming in his tux, nobody else notices. There's no need to engage.
At least, that's what he tells himself throughout drinks. That's what Chrissy, says through dinner. That's what he tells himself as he walks towards the dais to accept his award, as he gives his greetings and thanks.
And that's what he thinks as he wraps up his remarks, until he makes direct eye contact with Steve Harrington.
Steve raises an eyebrow, smirks and before Eddie can stop himself, before he can think, he leans into the mic and says, "Hey, Harrington, if you wanna fuck me so bad, all you gotta do is slip into my DMs. No need to make all this noise."
He leaves the stage to a roar of sound, adrenaline numbing him to all of it.
It causes a firestorm online, goes on for days. He apologizes to the charity and writes a big check. A bunch of people try to get Steve's reaction, but he only laughs. Most people think Eddie fucked up by acknowledging Steve at all; that he was being intentionally salacious to go viral; that it was tantamount to harassment for him to make sexual remarks towards a straight man.
He tells all his friends that it'll blow over, that he won't see Steve for months, most likely. If he's lucky.
---
A week later, he wingman's Gareth at an influencer party in the hills. It's very much not his scene--not Gareth's either, but there's a yoga YouTuber he's been chatting up--so Eddie tries to hang. But the music is lame, and everyone has faces that are too tight and too shiny, and he absolutely does not want a Dubai chocolate espresso martini.
He escapes to the bathroom, running straight to the sink to splash cold water on his face. Staring at his reflection, he goes over ways he can bail, maybe grab a real drink at a real bar.
His thoughts are interrupted by the door knob rattling behind him, and he realizes he forgot to lock it.
"Occupied," he says, not bothering to mask his annoyance.
It opens anyway.
"I said--" the words die on his tongue as Steve walks in. His hair is artfully tousled, his t-shirt and jeans practically painted on.
"Harrington, what--"
Steve crosses into Eddie's space and drops to his knees, close enough his jeans brush the toes of Eddie boots. "What was it you said about wanting to fuck you?"
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Originally I was going to make rajaqweet expressions totally inhuman, but that’s difficult to pull off, so I’m compromising with my original aims by adding eyelids.
Fearlobe’s flirting hardcore.
TEXT:
FEARLOBE: Darling, maybe I meant we couldn’t waste them on you.
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