#steveddie

And he's so pale and littered with tattoos. And the second Eddie finishes his last lap he dramatically falls on his ass, sitting with his legs splayed on the brick red track.

And in Steve's head the exact words "those legs are like a spilled notebook of crude doodles and glorious art" followed immediately by "am I writing fucking mind poetry about Munson's white boy legs? fuck am I gay?".

no steves were harmed

Eddies not quite used to letting people in, letting someone keep the Munson leech attached to their chest, sucking blood straight from their heart so he can keep the slimey little worm inside him happy.

Theyre hanging out, joking and being silly and having fun, and eddie gets to the part of their quippy exchange where he says "you're stuck with me" or even "good luck getting rid of me now."

and instead of huffing, half-laughing or pulling a smug face and a quick retort like Eddies grown extremely fond of used to seeing, Steve just melts. right there, right next to him, because Eddie joked vaguely about how much he wanted to stay. Steve's eyes softened, mouth curled into a small smile, and he huffed and looked away like he's trying to not look as happy as he is.

eddie, immediately: