#meet-ugly

Now, Steve remembers him. He does that fantasy game Dustin likes so much. “Munson,” he says, and Eddie grins at him.

“That’s me.”

Steve hiccups again, and takes another sip of his drink.

“Where’d your friend go? The band girl?” Eddie inches closer, his Reeboks now inches from Steve’s fingertips.

Steve gestures vaguely with his beer bottle. He takes another sip, and frowns at the empty bottle. He really doesn’t want to have to go back into the house for another.

He’s still staring at it when Eddie sits next to him. 

“Cigarette?” Eddie offers. “Maybe that’s better than another drink, hm?”

Steve watches him pull out a crumpled pack from his back pocket, shaking out two.

He hands one to Steve.

The cigarettes are kind of smashed, but Eddie lights both of them up, and the smoke clears Steve’s head slightly.

“Thanks.”

Eddie shrugs.

Steve’s hands and mouth feel staticky and disjointed as he pulls the cigarette to his mouth, the effects of the multiple drinks he’s had finally making themselves known. His mouth tastes stale and puffy, and the reality of getting drunk- alone at a high school party- sours in his chest.

He groans, dropping his head into his free hand.

“Oh fuck,” Eddie mumbles, “you’re not- Harrington, if you’re about to puke, man, you gotta let me know, cause I can’t handle that shit.”

Steve, despite his wave of mortification, snorts a laugh. He might be pathetic, but he’s not about to stoop as low as hurling on the back porch. “Not gonna puke.” He promises, lifting his head back up to look out across the back lawn.“I just… can’t understand my own choices, sometimes,” he continues, quiet, chewing on his bottom lip. He takes another drag, his tongue feeling heavy and uncoordinated.

“I mean,” he begins again, exhaling a cloud of smoke and gesturing vaguely to himself, “talk about fucking embarrassing.”

Eddie’s quiet again, and nerves of a different sort begin to eat at him. Steve always shares too much, especially when he’s drunk, loose lips and all that. They’ve never spoken, really, and Eddie has more reason to hate him than most- Steve knows the basketball team was cruel to him, knows Carol and Tommy had to’ve been, too, knows this guy’s sympathy can only stretch so far before Steve snaps it-

“I gotta repeat senior year.” Eddie blurts. He’s looking down at his Reeboks, scuffed and dirty, eyes trained on the glowing embers of his burning cigarette. “Again.”

“Fuck, dude.” Steve exhales, “that sucks.”

Eddie snorts, lips twitching, and his shoulders relax as he leans back on one arm. Steve can see most of a tattoo there, some creepy puppet thing that shifts over his flexing muscle. “Yeah, well, sounds like maybe we’re both fuck-ups.” Eddie blows out a puff of smoke, and Steve watches as he does, his lips shining against the porch light. 

“I don’t think you’re a fuck up.” Steve says, then catches himself. “I mean-” he starts, backpedaling at once, nerves collecting at the base of his skull, “fuck high school. You know?” 

Eddie’s eyes, big and dark, watch him, crinkling slightly at the corners as Steve stutters through his addendum.

“You’ll know the kids I babysit,” Steve adds, a non sequitur that causes Eddie’s eyes to crinkle further. “They do that sci-fi game you run.”

Eddie dips into Steve’s space, his face scrunched in amusement. “Sci-fi game? Are you, Steve Harrington, referring to Dungeons and Dragons?”

For some reason, the way Eddie says it makes Steve flush. “Yes.”

“Steve Harrington.” Eddie says again, and Steve can smell the nicotine in his breath, can see his eyelashes despite the dark, and he knows he should shift away, out of Eddie’s personal space, but Eddie’s eyes are on him. And his shoes are close to Steve’s, and Steve’s still thinking about that creepy tattoo on Eddie’s forearm. He wants to know what it is. What it means.

“Look out for ‘em, okay?” Steve manages, the nagging worry about his little dweebs starting high school cutting through. “They’re, um…” he trails off, unsure. “I think they’ll need it.”

Eddie eyes him again, more considering, now, than humorous. 

“‘Course, Steve.” He agrees, and his tone is soft. “I’ll be their big bad protector.”

It shouldn’t feel as comforting as it does. He doesn’t know Eddie. And what he does know is that he sells a lot worse than weed behind the school, and yet-

And yet Eddie’s smiling at him. Warm and friendly and something like kind- and Steve- Steve thinks he might trust him, anyways. 

“Harrington?”

It’s a different voice that says his name, this time. Steve turns, squinting against the light from the house, and a stone forms in his gut.

Eddie starts, pulling up from his relaxed position to bring his arms to his sides.

“Carver,” Steve greets, with a nod. He takes another drag, hoping his tone reads as dismissive as he intends.

He must miss his mark because Jason comes closer. 

“Am I interrupting?” Jason kicks a black lunchbox by Eddie’s side, not far, but far enough that it’s no longer within Eddie’s reach. “Needed to make sure you’re not ripping off my friend, here, freak.”

Steve’s gut churns. “It’s all good, man.” He’s still trying to sound friendly, doesn’t want to start something, especially not now, five beers deep and in the dark, but Jason’s still staring at Eddie, that wicked smile still on his face. “Eddie’s not ripping me off.”

But Jason takes another step towards the two of them. “Well, it’s always good to take preventative measures, Harrington.” Jason grins, gaze flicking to Steve, and Steve knows that smile. Has seen it far too many times from people like Carver. Like Tommy. The look that’s asking him to join in on the fun.

Steve stands. He feels unsteady, and his head spins, but he doesn’t sway.

Even here, a step below Jason, Steve’s taller than him. “I said we’re good.” He drops his voice, verging on threatening, taking a half step towards Eddie to block as much of Jason’s gaze from him as he can. “Go back to the party.” 

Jason’s eyes find his once again. He narrows them, like he’s assessing just how big of a threat Steve really is. Jason’s shoulders tense. His jaw muscles flex and Steve balls his fists at his sides, ready, ready-

Jason smiles. “Right.” He says, and takes a half step away. His cold smile is directed as Steve, now, and he clicks his tongue. “See you around, Harrington.”

The porch door closes behind him, and Steve exhales. Unclenches his fists. He walks over to Eddie’s lunch box.

“Thanks,” Eddie murmurs, when Steve hands it to him. He’s not looking at Steve, but he’s white-knuckling the box, now, his elbows locked in against his sides.

Steve, a little sloppily, sits back down next to him. “Sorry.” He offers, and Eddie looks back up. 

Steve smiles a little, goes for reassuring, dipping back into Eddie’s space. “He’s always been an ass.”

Eddie’s lips twitch. “Don’t know why you think those kids need me, Steve. Looks like you’re a big bad protector all on your own.” His smile turns tentative. “Even for someone you barely know.”

And Steve- Steve’s never been one to think things through. Not when it comes to feelings and relationships and the giddy feeling he gets in his chest and in his gut when someone he likes smiles at him. He dives in head first without thought to consequences or repercussions or any what ifs- and Eddie’s smiling at him. And there’s pop rocks in Steve’s chest. And he thinks, maybe, there’s pop rocks in Eddie’s chest, too. 

Steve nudges his foot forward. Knocks it against Eddie’s. “Wouldn’t let him mess with you. That’s not-“

Not who I am. Not who I want to be. It’s the person I’m trying so hard to grow out of. 

“-what I’d let happen. Anymore.”

He knows it’s not enough. That standing up to Jason goddamn Carver doesn’t make up for Steve’s lifetime of sitting on the sidelines, of letting people like Eddie- of letting Eddie- get teased and pushed and worse and so much worse, but it’s something. It’s something, and Robin’s always telling him to forgive himself. 

And Steve’s pretty sure he’s not imagining it when he sees a blush on Eddie’s cheeks. Rosy against the yellow light of what’s emanating from inside the house, and he’s definitely not imagining it when he feels Eddie’s foot tap against his.

“You should probably get out of here.” Steve adds, and jerks his head to the house. “Don’t want to give him another opportunity to come back.”

Eddie pulls his foot away. “Right.” He says. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right.” But Eddie feels tense again, feels like he’s moving much more away than just his shoe. 

“D’you think-” Steve hedges, and he risks sounding more pathetic, because he doesn’t want Eddie to move away, not his shoes or his eyes or his anything else, and Steve was planning on walking, it’s 15 minutes tops, but- “think you could give me a ride? Robin’s friend drove us here.” He crawls his hand forward, just a little. Just enough for Eddie to see. 

Eddie’s eyes flick to his hand. And when he meets Steve’s gaze again he’s smiling, a little, his eyes crinkling. “Sure, Stevie.”

✨✨✨

Truly- I don't know what this is? Let me know if it's worth a part 2!

TK rolls his eyes; tossing the ball around now won’t do anything except guarantee his arm will be too tired to throw later, but he acquiesces and follows his friend to the middle of the field, where other players are stretching and warming up. They take turns throwing the ball back and forth, trying to get into a rhythm before the game starts.

Paul throws one a little too hard, and TK curses, jogging backward, his hand raised, in an attempt to catch it. He hears a little commotion behind him, and his body slams into something solid- as does his elbow.

The football hits the ground next to him with a sad thump. TK whirls around and sees someone on the ground, his hand covering his face.

“Oh my god,” TK exclaims. “I am so, so sorry. Are you hurt?”

Paul jogs over. “Carlos, are you okay?”

“I- maybe?” Carlos pulls his hand away from his face and grimaces when he realizes it’s covered in blood.  

“Here,” TK holds out his hand. Carlos takes TK’s hand in his clean one and allows TK to pull him off the ground. He makes his way to the bench with TK following a short distance behind.  Paul hands him a towel, and he immediately puts it on his nose and groans as he tips his head back.

“Go find us some ice?” TK asks Paul. Paul nods and jogs away. TK slips a hand behind Carlos’ head. “Hey, keep your head up.”

“Huh?” Carlos grumbles and gives him a look but obeys and settles upright again.

“You’re not actually supposed to tip your- never mind.” TK is pretty sure Carlos is glaring at him, but it’s kind of hard to tell, with his face mostly covered.  “Can I take a look?”

“Is that really such a good idea?” Carlos asks, but he pulls the towel away and drops his hands into his lap.

Carlos hisses as TK pokes at his face but otherwise stays silent. “It’s not broken,” TK says finally. “You’ll have a pretty nasty bruise, though.”  He reaches for the towel, but Carlos snatches his hand away and brings the towel back to his face. 

“Well, thank you, Doctor.”

“Uh, firefighter, actually,” TK murmurs. “But I’m dual-certified as a paramedic.” 

Paul returns with a small bag of ice a few moments later, and TK takes it from him, attempting to place the bag on Carlos’ face.

“I’ve got it,” Carlos snaps, taking the bag from TK and holding it to his nose. “I think you’ve done enough.”

TK’s face heats up, and he steps back slowly, turning to Paul, “I should go. I really am sorry,” he adds, turning back to Carlos before walking off the field.

***

“Strand, you have a visitor,” Marjan calls. “He’s in here.”

TK looks up from his spot on the sofa and sees Carlos, in full APD uniform, trailing shortly behind. 

“You taking after your dad and punching cops?” Mateo laughs.

“I didn’t know he was a cop!” TK hisses, “And I didn’t punch him.” 

He jumps up and hurries over, pausing in front of Carlos. Even with Carlos’ swollen cheek and the bruise forming underneath his eye, he’s still the most handsome man TK has ever seen.

“I’m sorry about your face,” he blurts out.

“I’m sorry,” Carlos says simultaneously.

“Wait, what?” TK asks.

“I’m sorry,” Carlos repeats. “About yesterday.”

“Wait. I crashed into you, and you’re apologizing to me?” 

Carlos chuckles and winces. “Yeah, I suppose I am. I was in pain, but that’s not an excuse to have snapped at you. You didn’t do it on purpose, and you were just trying to help.” 

“This conversation isn’t going at all how I thought it would,” TK laughs.

“And you were right; nothing is broken. Just my ego is bruised.”

“And your face,” Paul teases.

“Right,” Carlos mutters. They stand in an awkward silence for a few moments before Carlos speaks up. “So, um, does Mr. Dual-Certified have a name?”

“TK. TK Strand,” he holds out his hand, and Carlos gives him a firm handshake.

“Well, TK Strand, maybe I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah, I’ll be…around.”

“Just maybe not on the football field?” Carlos says.  “But, if you wanted to come to watch a football game… Paul could probably tell you when we’re playing next.”

TK grins bashfully and nods, “Sounds good; I’ll be there.”

“Great,” Carlos says goodbye to Paul and then turns to leave.

Paul nudges TK hard, and he stumbles forward. “Maybe afterward, I could buy you dinner or something? As an apology.” 

“Yeah. Or maybe that could just be, like, a regular dinner, and we never bring this up again?” He says, gesturing to his face.

“Deal. It never happened.”

“Okay, see you there.”  

Paul and TK watch, and Carlos gives a little wave as he exits the firehouse. TK turns to see Paul looking smug. 

“I told you it was going to be awful,” TK says. “And it was.”

“And I told you that you were going to meet someone,” Paul points out.

“That doesn’t make it better! Wait, Paul… did you do this on purpose?”

Paul shakes his head and makes his way towards the staircase. 

“Paul? Did you? Paul!” Paul just shrugs as TK follows him up the stairs.