𝐜𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐞, 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐬
summary: aaron hotchner is a lot of things. in love with you is one that you never saw coming.
word count: 7.1k
author's note: bau!reader + hotch is my favorite combo ever. i haven't written and posted in, like, two years so please be nice :) i've written so many other versions of hotch but this one just wrote itself. inspired by the amazing @luveline and so many breathtaking hotch stories and isabel (alisdas on ao3, not on here anymore i think :( ) who wrote of terrible coffee and late-night rides which i think started all of this and my immense aaron brain rot when i read that fic, like, three years ago. enjoy!
This was wrong, Aaron thought to himself. He seldom committed acts that others might say were wrong, or argue they could potentially be wrong, but this was different. Aaron felt wrong, a feeling he was not used to.
“I’m worried about you, that’s all,” you had said quietly on the jet early one morning. You two were sitting across from each other on the flight back from the team’s latest solved case, an excruciating long ride home from the coast of Oregon.
Your book laid open on your lap, unread and a bookmark tucked between the earlier pages. The spine was cracked, like you’d read it a hundred times before. He knew that wasn’t true though, it was just a used novel probably from the thrift store around the corner of your apartment.
You had told him once, back when you first started—back when he was still married and you were less affected by this job—that you liked finding used (pre-loved, you call it) books and picking the most worn out ones to take home. You said it means that someone used to love this book.
It felt wrong because you were too young for him, and too innocent to be mixed up in his life. What could you know about his thoughts? About the love of his life that divorced him and his son he only sees once in a while.
The rest of the team makes jokes with you, in particular JJ and Penelope. He’s even heard Emily pitch in, about your not-so-secret fondness for your boss. For him.
Back when you had first started, it was nothing. Passing glances, working extra hard to please him and earn his praise—which was never given out generously. He hadn’t even taken the time to notice, never paid more attention than any other member of the team. What he did notice was your work ethic.
Being among the youngest of the team had instilled a drive in you to prove your worth. You always stayed an hour extra, came early, and spent nights working the case even when you were yawning every few minutes. The most attention he’d given you back then was commenting that you’d had a good insight into the unsub, commending you on well-written reports and briefs, and offering you a cup of coffee when it was just you and him left in the sheriff’s office. He’d be rereading seemingly endless pages of the case reports and you’d be diving headfirst into the victim’s lives.
Your specialty was always understanding why the victims did what they did, figuring out their routines and ascertaining important details from their personal belongings. He was used to you flicking through diaries and boxes of mementos that were once treasured by another young girl, not so much older than yourself.
He’d be lying if he hadn’t thought it was impacting you—reading through the journals of dead women who had been very similar to yourself, with similar hopes and dreams. It was depressing, he knew, and yet if you were bothered by it, you didn’t show it in the slightest. At least not to him.
And back then, he’d never notice the sweet smile that always graced your face when he was asking you if you’d like coffee. You’d shake your head no, and take sips of water between your yawns. You didn’t even tell him that you don’t drink coffee until a few months later, after he asked if you’d ever like a cup when he offered. He can remember it clearly even now.
“Actually, Hotch, I don’t drink coffee.” Your cheeks were tinged with color like you were embarrassed to even be admitting this to him.
“Why didn’t you say anything sooner? I would have stopped asking three months ago.” If he sounded stern, he didn't mean to. The burning on your face deepened.
“I didn’t want to be rude. I drink tea though, but I didn’t think to mention it. It’s not as easy to make.”
“Well, let me know if you need a cup of hot water then.”
You had smiled at that, and he had turned around to take another picture on the bulletin board. He smiled a little too.
“You don’t need to worry about me,” he said, maybe a little too gruffly. He didn’t mean it, again, but it just came out that way. He thinks some part of him is trying to warn you to stay away before you get too close.
“We’re all worried. You went through something really big and didn’t tell any of us and even if you don’t care about us like that, I care about you. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
Aaron’s gaze casts around the rest of the jet. Derek has his headphones in, staring out the window and trying to resist sleep. JJ and Emily are playing cards—they should be sleeping, but they had a little too much espresso a few hours before. They’re too far away to hear you and Aaron speaking, but he notices JJ’s eyes darting over every once in a while. Spence is asleep, and he realizes that’s why it’s so quiet. Dave is reading a book, too, but he’ll stop and interject into JJ and Emily’s conversation.
He looks back at you, sleepy-eyed and wrapped in a warm, boxy pullover from your alma mater. He thinks a little bit too much about you these days, and he can’t get it to stop. He shouldn’t profile anyone on the team, they have a strict moratorium on that, but especially not you.
You, who never fails to try to make anyone feel better when they’re down. You, who doesn’t make it seem like you’re analyzing their behavior, but rather observing and offering comfort in hard times. You remember everything the team tells you about their likes and dislikes, never forgetting a birthday or special occasion. He can distinctly recall fresh chocolate chip cookies on Derek’s birthday, carrot cake from the Italian bakery Rossi loves to celebrate when his latest book became a bestseller, and a new knick knack for Penelope’s office after a particularly brutal case.
You say it’s all in passing, but he knows it’s not. You’re trying your hardest to keep the team together in the little ways, strengthening bonds that extend beyond coworkers. You want to fit in and be accepted, and you worry so much that you won’t. This is your way of trying to show that you’re a part of this team too, not just the new girl and one of the young ones.
Aaron blinks twice. You’re looking at him expectantly, and he wishes you wouldn’t. All he’ll do is disappoint you.
“You don’t need to worry,” he repeats. “I’ll be fine.”
“I wish you wouldn’t say that. Why is it so bad for us to worry about you?” You look like you’re starting to get upset—it hurts Aaron more than he realized it would. It’s not bad for the others to worry, it’s bad for you. If you get attached, if he lets this get unprofessional, he doesn’t think he’ll ever forgive himself. Hurting himself is one thing; hurting you is another entirely.
“Let it go, Agent. Try to get some rest.” He looks out the window. He can see the sun coming up, and realizes he hasn’t slept since the night before last. He still needs to drive home—not really home, he remembers sadly, his empty apartment— and work on reports before he can even see Jack. He doesn’t think resting now is a good idea, and yet his body is so tired.
When he looks back, you’re reading your book again but your eyes are really paying attention to the words on the page. You’re just skimming, and blinking rapidly, and he realizes then he’s made you tear up.
His phone goes off—Haley, and he feels guilt building up in his chest, almost overwhelming him. He steps away to answer and talks quietly. He doesn’t want you to overhear and worry even more. When he comes back to his seat, you’ve fallen asleep. He takes the book from your hands gently and puts the bookmark in, closing it and resting it on the seat beside you. He watches you sleep and wonders if he’s making a mistake trying to hide from you. He thinks, and not for the first time, that you see right through him.
The plane lands an hour and a half later, and everyone is beyond exhausted. Even Spencer, who normally doesn’t need much energy or caffeine to start talking fast about something interesting he noticed about this case and this unsub, is unusually quiet. They’re all running on fumes, staying up two nights in a row profiling and then catching the unsub with the latest victim at one in the morning, and then boarding the jet soon after.
Aaron makes a decision, everyone can work on their notes from home and the report is due no later than day after next. Derek pats him on the shoulder and says no one is to call him for the next twenty-four hours. JJ and Emily exchange a laugh. Y
ou, he notices, though he wishes he wouldn’t, go up to Spencer and talk with him quietly. When you’re done, he beams at you and you at him. He wonders what you two talked about when they’re all heading out, listening to Spencer ramble about how the unsub’s use of his childhood spots as disposal sites offers insight into the abuse of his youth. Prentiss tells him to save it for the report.
He and Rossi are walking back to their cars when Dave speaks up for the first time.
“You’re wondering what she said to him, aren’t you?”
Aaron stops for a moment.
“You should know better than to profile me.”
“Oh, I’m not profiling. This is just me being observant. You should stop fiddling with your ring finger when you talk to her. It’s a dead giveaway.”
“Dave, I don’t need to tell you that this conversation—“
“I know, I know. I won’t mention it again if you don’t want me to.”
“Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
“See you tomorrow, Aaron. And by the way, she offered to write his notes for him if he wanted. He said it’s hard for him to write about unsubs with schizophrenic tendencies and she said she can try to help, if he wants. That’s all. Let me know when you’re ready to talk about this.”
Aaron gets in his car and doesn’t stop thinking about you the entire ride home.
-
You wish you could make it stop. The way you feel about your boss. It started so long ago, it’s almost a part of you now. Aaron is stern and his disposition is frightening, to the say the least. But only at first, you’ve realized, after so many late evenings spent discussing the case with him, breaking down the tiniest details, and him paying attention to your every word when you discuss the victim’s demeanor and behavior to try to figure out what had really happened.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this, you thought. You had gone to the overpopulated state school with the hopes of entering the medical field. You were a true empath, and there was no one’s suffering you couldn’t relate to, no one that you wouldn’t try to make feel better. All your life, people cried on your shoulder while you offered up words of comfort. And because of this, everyone thought you were a shoo-in for nursing or medical school, where you could help people through the worst days of their life.
All it took was a few days at the hospital where you had been working, a string of murder victims being wheeled in one after another, for you to reconsider your life’s work. None had survived the incident, but the killer let them live just long enough to be seen by the doctor, who then had to declare them legally dead.
Something about the victims seemed familiar to you, how they’d all come from wealthy families and were sliced up in their expensive clothing, expensive jewelry and watches smashed to bits instead of being stolen. You mentioned it to one of the officiers, who told someone else, and somewhere in that chain of events, your insight helped them catch the killer.
It was then, you thought, that maybe you should be working on the other side of these situations. Stopping the killer before it ever got to this.
Then you’d done a one-hundred and eighty degree spin on your career, electing to pursue becoming an agent. You had been young, and motivated, and you chose to overlook when everyone told you this job might become your whole life, leaving no time for a husband and kids and a family.
You had ignored it all, working your way up from the local field office to child crimes in just a year and a half. The transition out of sex crimes to homicide was disturbingly hard, because at least before you’d had a victim to interview. You were no expert, not yet, but a unique asset altogether, combining a true mission to uncover the best in each victim, and figuring out their behavior patterns from bedrooms and diaries.
It was a unique skill-set, acquired mostly because a lot of traumatized children didn’t offer much to go off of. You had to turn to their childhood homes, toys, and scribbles to figure out what had been going on in the first place.
You reflect often on why you decided to leave child homicide when news spread that the BAU had an opening for one more agent. Truthfully, you hadn’t considered it at all, since you were more than happy with your current position and coworkers. You were solving cases, delivering justice, and bringing whatever comfort you could bring to grieving families.
In fact, you had been requested specifically. You, out of a hundred or more well-established, intelligent agents that could be a huge asset to the team. You were never special, and you didn’t like to think of yourself in that way either, but you couldn’t deny how good it felt to hear that the team wanted you.
And when you transferred over, everyone was so nice. The team was inviting, they respected your opinion, and especially in cases with younger victims, they revered your knowledge. You felt included, and invaluable, and as hard as you worked, you wanted to work even harder.
Your boss was a brilliant agent and profiler, and so hardworking that you wanted to do anything you could to make his workload a little easier. You wrote the most detailed reports, so he would have to edit them as much.. You offered to pick up extra briefs, so he took home a couple less papers. And no matter what you did, acknowledged or not, you knew you were making the kind of difference you’d always dreamed you would.
Aaron—he was only ever Aaron in your head, and Hotch the rest of the time—liked you as an agent, and it made you happy. A little happier than you should be, considering he was happily married with a toddler and a perfect life outside of work. It was almost wrong, but it didn’t stop you from trying to impress him with your work ethic.
You always put aside your other feelings and focused on the team, and somehow in all of that, you felt like you were finally making your difference. You were close with the team and close enough with Aaron, that you hadn’t been worried to start that conversation on the jet now that all these circumstances were changing. Haley had asked for a divorce and he hadn’t muttered a word of it to anyone.
He’s so tired, you can see. You wonder if everyone else notices it too, or if it’s just you observing so closely. He has dark circles now, because he never sleeps, always working, and the furrows on his forehead are seemingly etched in and permanent. He misses his wife and his son, and you know it, and maybe it’s wrong to care about your boss so much that your heart hurts when you see him glancing at the framed photos of his family on his desk, or the tiny polaroids in his wallet, but you do. You think you’re in love with Aaron Hotchner, and you don’t know how to make it stop.
You’re gonna get hurt, you remind yourself every now and then.
Aaron and Spence have just come back from the prison, where they had an encounter with Chester Hardwick that they won’t really talk about. You’d been with the rest of the team in Indiana, and then two days later in Oregon.
Aaron and Haley were divorcing, and it hurt him so much, you knew, because it wasn't for a lack of love. It was a lack of time, a shortness of hours in the day. He couldn’t be the husband Haley wanted and the father he thought Jack needed while being an agent for eighteen hours a day. It hurt you too, seeing him like this. You wish he felt better.
The days and weeks seemed to blend into months. Somewhere in between Hotch’s divorce and JJ’s pregnancy, you had become complacent with your relationship with Aaron. Walking in together from the parking lot, leaving together at the end of a long day—usually alone and sometimes joined by Emily or David. Sometimes you’d have a frothy drink from a nearby coffee shop in your hand—to which you always hear, “My coffee’s not better than that stuff?”
“It’s not coffee, remember-”
“I know, you don’t drink coffee. That stuff is full of sugar. I don’t need you bouncing off the walls like Reid and Garcia too.”
You laugh, and then you wonder if it’s because he really cares or if it was just a passing comment. You share a lot of little moments like that.
When his eardrum was nearly blown out after New York, you almost offered to drive back with him from Ohio to Virginia. It was instinct, because you just didn’t want him to be alone. You had exchanged a glance when he handed you the plate of brownies from the victim’s mother, and you knew he had read your mind. But he didn’t say anything, and you left it at that. You’re not nearly stupid enough to think that your boss reciprocates your feelings for him. Hell, most days you don’t even know what feelings you have for him.
Your seats on the jet are almost permanently fixed; near the coffee machine towards the cockpit. You sit across from each other, and sometimes you don’t even speak. He’ll bring you a cup of hot water, and he doesn’t ask if you need a tea bag from the make-shift coffee station, because knows they’re in your go-bag.
When it’s his weekend with Jack after two weeks of back-to-back cases, Aaron is always working on the reports on the jet. It’s because he’s trying to reduce how much work he has to do at home, and even when everyone’s fallen asleep and your eyes are close to shutting, you get up and make him a cup of coffee. He’s never once told you how he takes it, and he doesn’t know if you’ve seen him make it either, but somehow you know, and it’s always right. When you offer him the steaming paper cup, he looks up at you with an entirely new look—something you’ve never seen before. You two don’t exchange so many words.
He says it all with his eyes, sometimes, even when you’re not looking. It’s gratitude. (When you get off the jet a few hours later, you tease Morgan about his snoring. Derek asks you where his cup of coffee is, and you shove his arm so hard he almost drops his bag.
In the end, it was you who had figured out there was something wrong with the Reaper’s last few victims.
“Why would a nineteen year old girl date her teaching assistant?” You had questioned, looking through a file that everyone’s eyes had already seen. “An honors student, a freshman, I mean, none of this points to an illicit affair with faculty. She knew it was against the rules and her roommates said she’s never so much as skipped class.”
“That could have been because she wants to see him,” Derek interjects. “If they were truly in love like Foyet said, she’d take every opportunity to be with him.”
“But in an environment where no one can know you two are together? I mean, if she was in love and close to getting engaged, wouldn’t she tell her best friends? Her parents? How many teenage girls keep something like that just to themselves?”
The pieces of the puzzle that had once fit together so nicely were coming undone. It felt like the blink of an eye, from catching Foyet to him escaping. Everyone was on edge, no one more than Aaron, and your empathy still knew no bounds. Where you had once been able to focus on work and dedicate all your thoughts to the cases, you now were distracted and distant. Every other thought was about Aaron, as wrong as that might be.
Canada had been something else entirely. It was difficult for the entire team to fathom, but nearly impossible for you. You had lost your temper twice—something you’d never done before— and thrown up when the team discovered all the shoes. JJ had run after you but in the end, Aaron was the one who found you outside.
“I’m sorry, JJ, I’ll be fine—I-I just need a minute,” you breath out, chest heaving and tears brimming.
“It’s okay,” Aaron says, “take your time.”
You turn around so fast, your breath catching, and you hate this situation. You could never hate Aaron but you hate this, you hate that he followed you and that he’s seeing you like this. You look weak, after two and a half years of trying to prove to him that you’re strong—strong enough to handle this job, do what needs to be done, and not cry at a crime scene.
“I-I’m sorry, I-”
“Why are you apologizing?” He doesn’t sound mad, or like he’s belittling you, and you don’t know why that’s what you expected. This is Aaron, your Aaron, and even though he’s not really yours it doesn't seem to matter much right now.
“I’m making a scene. I-I shouldn’t be throwing up on the job or screaming at those unsubs or anything else-”
“It’s okay. It happens.” Aaron says it so concisely, you almost feel better for a second. Isn’t this what it’s always come down to? You need Aaron like air, and somehow he always knows what you need to hear. He doesn’t treat you any differently compared to the others but it feels different today. You can’t describe it in words. If JJ or Morgan had followed you out here, you would have said the same things, but you wouldn’t have felt this way. Like if you crumble here today, Aaron will be there to pick you up.
“Take your time, please,” he repeats. “I know you think you have something to prove to me, but you don’t. You’ve proven it already, to all of us. Admitting that all of this gets to you isn’t a bad thing. That’s what separates us from them.”
At that moment, a dam bursts. Tears flow down your face like they haven’t in so long, as long as you can remember. You think you should feel embarrassed, crying in front of your boss, but Aaron takes you into his arms and you can’t remember the last time you felt this safe. Cheesy, you think, but this is everything I thought it would be and more.
You’re not sure how long he holds you there, but eventually once the front of his shirt is covered in your tears and he offers you a tissue (Does he just carry this around waiting for one of us to cry?) and you head back together. This is the embarrassing part, you think, bracing yourself and biting your inner cheek. But if the team is judging you at this moment, they certainly don’t show it.
You join JJ and Emily inside the house, who ask you if you’re okay when you sniffle for the last time. Spencer asks you later, on the way home. Derek tells you to call him if you need anything. Dave tells you, “You’ll be okay, kid,” and somehow, you believe him. Penelope texts you once on your phone, checking in and promising a distracting, gossip filled girl’s night out soon.
Aaron walks you to your car, and says goodnight. You’re delusional, you think, once you're back at home. You’ve taken the longest, hottest shower imaginable and your record player is emitting the scratchy sound of your favorite Beatles album. You’re in a big shirt that’s getting wet while you brush your freshly cleaned hair and all you can think about is how it felt to be wrapped in Aaron’s arms a couple hours ago.
You are delusional, you remind yourself. You’re checking your phone every couple minutes like a love-sick teenager. You think Aaron’s going to call you to check in, you almost feel it in your bones. You leave the ringer on incase he calls later—maybe he showered and sat down to work on some reports before sleeping. You fall asleep thirty minutes later, exhausted down to your bones, and wake up startled by your phone going off. In your sleepy delirium, you answer without looking who it is—assuming it’s Aaron.
“Hotch?”
“Hey, sorry it’s JJ. We have another case, I’m sorry.”
“Oh, JJ, um, okay, I-I’ll be there in ten. Text the address, okay?” Your cheeks burn at the slip.
“I sent it just now. Listen, I’m sorry, but can you try Hotch’s cell? I called and texted and he’s not answering.” You feel your stomach turn, first because Aaron isn’t answering and he always answers, and second because JJ thinks he’ll answer if you call.
“I’ll try him now. I’ll call you back.”
You try him twice while changing and another time in the car. Your only explanation is that maybe he went to see Jack and put his phone away, but even that doesn’t check out.
When you get to the scene, you inform the others about Aaron not answering.
“Alright, let’s split up for now and I’ll keep trying Hotch,” Derek says. They don’t seem that worried, and maybe that lulls you into not worrying either. After all, they’ve known him a lot longer than you have.
You end up with Spencer and Emily at the doctor’s house, combing through patient files Garcia sent over. There’s tens of dozens, and even though you want to go with Emily to Aaron’s place to get him, you know your experience with kids and in the hospital is vital. You and Spencer start working, but something feels off. You just can’t place it.
In the end, you attribute it to your nerves from the last case. Your fear of embarrassing yourself carried into today, and even though you know no one judged you for losing it in Canada, the feeling lingers. Spencer answers the phone from Emily and says that Hotch was busy with something at the bureau that now requires Emily too. In the end, you and Spence figure it out just in time. Your body is so tired, it hurts, and then on top of that, Spencer gets hurt. You can barely process what’s happening, and you don’t feel better until the doctor says it’s through-and-through.
“God, Spencer, never do that again,” you say, your hands wet with the blood from his wound. You wipe it on your clothes, thinking you’ll change soon.
“Guys, guys listen to me, something’s happened to Hotch.” The blood drains from your face and your breath stops in your throat.
“What?”
“Emily told me not to say anything until we got the unsub, but he’s in the hospital.”
The next hour is a blur. You all show up to the hospital, and Emily is talking to a bunch of agents. Their faces are blurred because you can hardly think straight.
“Em? Is he okay?” your words must be coming out frantically because everyone’s looking at you like you’re about to crumble.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t say anything because I knew we wouldn’t be able to think straight about the case, I know it’s wrong but-”
“Is he okay?” You didn’t mean to cut her off, it just happened like that. Your mind is so clouded right now with a petrifying vision of Aaron dying alone on the floor of his new apartment that he hates so much, while you were waiting for a call for him.
“He-he hasn’t woken up yet.”
You sit on a chair by Aaron’s bed. He looks like he’s sleeping, and a part of you had always wanted to see him like this. It would be comforting, if he actually was sleeping. You’d imagined it a little differently—you thought for sure he snores and sleeps on his side. You always notice sleep lines only on one arm when you guys have just woken up and continue working on the case. You stare extra hard when he rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt on particularly hot days. Everyone would moan and groan about another case in the heat of Texas or Arizona, but not you.
It seems like those memories were a million years ago.
When he wakes up, everyone pours in and it distracts you for a few heartbeats. When they realize what Foyet is actually after, the terror is apparent on everyone's faces. You realize how long it’s been since you last saw Haley and Jack when they finally step into the room. You and Emily leave to give them privacy.
Later that night, you’re back in that chair. Aaron wakes up for a few minutes at a time, and when he finally stays awake, he notices you.
“How long have I been out?”
“Thirty minutes. Give or take.”
“Is there water?”
“Yeah, yeah.” You scramble up to get the pitcher and pour him a glass. There’s a straw too, which you put in the cup and hold still for a second so he can drink.
“Thanks.”
“Yeah.” He can see all your emotions on your face. It doesn’t take him long at all, not anymore. You’ve been crying and your clothes have blood on them. He’s alarmed again.
“Is that your blood?” he asks, swallowing hard.
“No, no, Hotch. We had a case, the-the unsub shot Spence. He’s okay though, it just got on me and I haven’t been back home to change yet.”
“Why don’t you? Go home?”
“I didn’t want to leave you.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“I let you go home alone yesterday and look what happened.” You smile meekly at your own joke, hoping he appreciates it. He lies still though, not smiling.
“I think you should go home. Get some rest after everything.”
“You know, Hotch, only you would tell me to go home and rest up when you’re the one who’s currently in the hospital.”
“I just think-”
“Do you want me to leave? If you do, I will. I swear.” There’s silence between you two for a moment.
“No.”
“Good, because I wasn’t going to.” The corners of his mouth turn up a little. You barely even notice it. “I can’t leave now. I don’t want you to sit alone here.” You should stop talking, you think to yourself. But you don’t. “You know yesterday, I got home and the whole time I sat there wondering if you were gonna call my cell. I even turned the ringer up all the way so I didn’t miss it. And I know that’s stupid because why would you call me? But I had this feeling. And now all I can think is why didn’t I call you?”
“Don’t think like-”
“Don’t think like that? Yeah, I knew you would say that. But if I had called you like I wanted to, and asked you to come over like I wanted to, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. But I didn’t because I was scared and I don’t want to be scared anymore. And I know this is the last thing you need to hear right now, but I guess I can’t hold it in any longer.”
You want to clamp your hand over your mouth. Your favorite cheesy rom-coms have infiltrated your brain, and you can’t fathom how stupid you must sound right now to Aaron. He’s just almost died and the kid who was the last to join his team is declaring love for him on his hospital bed. But it won’t stop coming out.
“Can I tell you something Aaron? I mean, more than I already have? Emily said she didn’t tell me you were hurt because she knew I wouldn’t be able to think straight about the case anymore. About anything, anymore, if I knew you were missing or that you were hurt or dead. And I’ve been trying to hide it for so long, because I know you don’t need any more complications in your life right now, but, I think I have feelings for you, Aaron.” Hot tears stream down your face. You try to stop them but you can’t. They’ve been building up for two years.
“Please don’t cry. I don’t have a tissue for you this time.” You smile through your tears, but your entire body is still tense. It’s because you’re still expecting bad news, still waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Do you want me to leave? I can call Emily, she’ll sit with you if you don’t want to be alone.”
“I don’t want you to leave. And you don’t have to tell me these things, I already knew them.” Another few tears drip down your face. Aaron’s chest hurts more than it has ever before. He thinks back to your conversation on the jet that day, when you told him you cared about him and he hadn’t said much of anything at all. “I hope you know that I have feelings for you, too.”
“You mean you care about me and the team?” you question half-heartedly. You think you’ve already gotten your answer.
“I mean I care about the team a lot. And I care about you more than I should, more than what’s right. More than a superior should care about one of their agents. And I think if this hadn’t happened, I would have called you last night. Not because of the case, because of you. Because I need to make sure you’re okay.”
Your heart thumps uncomfortably in your chest. Aaron reaches out his hand a little, and you take it into yours. You sit like that for a long time, and you know there’s so much else going on, but a small part of you sighs in relief. Aaron is okay, and he feels about you how you do about him, and maybe everything will be okay in the end.
The months after Haley’s funeral are tough for everyone. It’s weird going to work and not seeing Aaron. Sometimes you inadvertently make a cup of coffee how he likes it and have no one to give it to. You started drinking some, even though it tastes bitter and terrible, it makes you feel close to him.
How stupid is that, you wonder one day, sipping the coffee and looking over files with JJ. If the rest of the team thinks you're stupid, they haven’t shown any signs of it yet. You’re sure they mostly feel bad for you and your pathetic behavior. You’ve gotten sloppy because you can’t stop thinking about how Aaron is doing.
You and the team will go visit him and Jack at his new place. You make cookies, snickerdoodle for Aaron and oatmeal raisin for Jack.
“What kind of a kid are you?” you questioned, helping Jack scribble in his Captain America coloring book. He’s munching on a cookie while you try to figure out what part of the shield is blue and what part is red. “I mean, who likes oatmeal raisin cookies at the tender age of 5?”
“I did,” Spencer says, taking another one out of the tin.
“You don’t count, genius,” Morgan says, and then directs his gaze at you. “And I mean come on, no chocolate chip for me? None at all? That hurts.”
“I made you some like two weeks ago! I have a job, you know,” you fire back. Aaron laughs, eating the snickerdoodle after dipping it in milk. It’s so domestic, you feel yourself staring. You only turn away when he catches you looking.
When he comes back, you wonder if it’ll ever feel normal again. That silly routine you two had, the chairs on the jet near the coffee machine that you still sit in, walks to your car.
At first, it just feels strange. So much has changed yet the team’s dynamic remains the same. You get through cases with the same ferocity you had when you first started, eager to prove your worth again. Your reports detail every detail and then some, and you stay even later than Aaron some nights. You need something to focus on, and your cases seem like the best option. The other option is to have another conversation with Aaron about your feelings and you think you might die if that happens.
When it finally does happen, it’s plenty embarrassing. You were so sure about your theory about this unsub, so sure that he would confess if he was confronted about his crimes and reminded of the humanity of his victims—three little kids, all under ten. Maybe that’s why it bothered you so much, and that’s why you stormed into the residence even though the rest of the team was screaming at you not to. In the end, you talk him down, but Aaron runs in behind you anyways and nearly spooks the unsub into suicide.
“You do not have the authorization to make calls like that,” Aaron yells at you, and though you had once thought you would die if he yelled at you, it’s all too easy to yell back.
In that moment, when you had known what would happen, dealing with your area of expertise, he stormed in and questioned you and your abilities as an agent and as a profiler.
“I don’t need authorization, I knew what would happen, and I knew how to talk him down without this ending in gunfire—”
“I don’t care what you think you knew. This is a team, and we don’t make decisions that jeopardize a case without agreeing on it!”
“You mean you have to agree with every decision I make? I had it handled, Hotch, you almost blew that whole thing up because you didn’t believe in me!”
“That’s not what this is about,” he fires back, and it feels strange to be yelling at you. He can’t recall the last time he’s ever done this. The rest of the team is just packing up in the police station, trying not to overhear but not really having any choice in the matter.
“Yes it is! You don’t trust me! Not to make decisions for this team and for our cases, or for anything. You just proved that back there. You don’t trust me.” It’s happening again. Tears brew in your eyes. They spill down before you can stop it. Aaron softens before your very eyes at the sight of them. “Stop! Stop feeling bad just because now I’m crying, they’re not tears for you, they’re angry tears and I can’t control it-”
“Of course, I trust you.” His voice has dropped from a yell to just above a whisper. “How could you think that I don’t?”
“I’m not stupid, Aaron. I know what I’m doing. My plan was going to work and you shot me down in front of everyone because you didn’t believe in me,” you say between tears. “Nothing’s changed.”
“And what do you think would happen if you stormed in there and I lost you too?” His voice is gentle. You hadn’t noticed that he was so close to you now. You can see the eyelash on his cheek and feel the heat radiating from his body.
“That’s not what this is about.”
“That is exactly what this is about. You think I don’t trust you, so I won’t let you walk into a confrontation alone? That I think you don’t know how to profile, how to handle these unsubs, so I get into a screaming match outside a crime scene? Tell me, does that check with any of my behavior in the years I’ve known you?”
“I don’t know, Hotch, I don’t profile you.”
“You call me Hotch in front of everyone, and especially when you’re upset with me. When it’s just us you use Aaron. You know how I take my coffee even though I’ve never told you, because you pay attention even when no one else is looking. Cases with children affect you the most, especially when it takes us longer to work them, because you think you should be quicker and figure out the unsub faster since you worked with kids before joining the team. You remember the little things everyone says because you don’t want them to think you’re not paying attention to them. You cry about cases when you feel like there’s something more you should have done, even though there’s nothing else any of us can do. And you cry about me the most of all, that time on the jet, in the hospital, and just now because you think I don’t share your feelings. You think I know all this because I’m profiling you, but it’s not. It’s because I pay attention to those whom I love.”
Shell shocked. You are shell shocked at Aaron’s speech, eyes wide and mouth open. You’re sure the rest of the team, hidden behind a bulletin board and the conference table is much the same.
“I’m going to kiss you now. And that’s the end of the conversation about me not trusting you, okay?” You nod dumbly. Aaron’s lips are sweet and taste like his coffee—black, with two sugars. You feel another tear falling but it��s only because you hadn’t expected any of that.
“That took long enough,” David says from behind the partition.
and voila <3
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The Best $7 Eddie Munson Ever Spent
Pairing: Eddie Munson x You
Summary: In the fall of 1983, Eddie bought something he thought was cool… but he didn't realize how important it was until a year later.
Contains: Uncle Wayne, shopping, time-jumping, snuggles, a little bit of Eddie and Evil Woman's early days.
Words: 1.3k
The best $7 Eddie Munson ever spent was at a thrift store just outside of Hawkins, Indiana, in the fall of 1983.
But he didn't know it until a year later.
The night before his Uncle Wayne disappeared for Thanksgiving - the man had worked overtime on every holiday he could, since he'd determined that Eddie could take care of himself - he slapped $40 on the kitchen table between their TV dinners.
"Wha'sis for?" Eddie asked through a mouthful of noodles.
"Don't talk with your mouth full."
Eddie swallowed and repeated, "What's this for?"
"Sales everywhere on Friday. Go get yourself a new coat, it's supposed to be a bad winter. And a pair of gloves that still has the damn fingers in them. Looks like I'm raisin' a hobo."
"Does not," Eddie mumbled as he swirled his fork around the pasta in his bowl. He liked his old coat… even though it was faded. And coming apart at the seams in a few places. And the cuffs were so frayed, every time he tried putting it on, his fingers got caught in the threads. And there was that hole from when he'd gotten caught on a chain-link fence during a high-speed getaway. But he'd patched it! And the gloves he'd cut the fingers out of were cool!
Wayne looked up from the piece of bread he was buttering to give his nephew a pointed stare.
"Fine," Eddie gave in. "Thanks, Uncle Wayne."
"Yeah, yeah." The old man's eyes twinkled as he waved off his nephew's thanks and took another bite.
Being a practical and frugal-minded teen, Eddie started the search for a coat at his favorite thrift store.
"Hey, kid," greeted George, the store's owner, who barely looked up from the battered Tupperware he was sticking price tags on. "Just got a pile of 8-tracks, haven't even priced 'em yet, you interested?"
"Business before pleasure," Eddie grinned at the gray-haired man. "I come seeking winter-wear."
"Winter-wear, huh? Good call. Heard it's gonna be a rough one."
"Yeah, that's what my uncle said, too," Eddie nodded.
"Check the back wall, might be somethin' back there that'll fit ya."
"Thanks!" Eddie carefully treaded through the crowded aisles of discarded treasures and found the wall of outerwear. He flipped through cheap plastic hangers holding neon windbreakers, matted fake fur, and load of crunchy raincoats that reeked of cheaper cigarettes than his. And then… he found it.
It was long, and black, and it was way too big for him.
But when he put it on and turned around, it swished around his calves and made him feel like a vampire in a cloak.
Eddie walked to the grubby mirror leaned up against the wall and checked himself out. It was whole. Almost new, even. It was warm, and he could easily fit it on over the lighter leather jacket and battle vest he wore year-round. He lifted his arms out, and the fabric rippled to his sides. He reached for the edges and pulled them away from his body, holding them out to see just how big the coat was.
It made him look like a bat.
He lifted the paper price tag attached to a button-hole by a string.
$10? Sold.
He twirled in the mirror, watching the fabric rustle and sway around him like a creature of the night. He held up an arm to cover his mouth, like he was hiding his fangs. Yep. This is it. This is the one.
He took it off and draped it over his shoulder, deciding to see if any cool t-shirts had arrived since last he'd looked. He sorted through the rack quickly. Nothing new, but you can't win 'em all.
Eddie returned to the front with the coat, and George laughed when he spotted it. "Kid, I could fit five of you in that thing."
"I like it," Eddie grinned. "It's roomy. How 'bout those 8-tracks?"
George heaved the box full of newly acquired 8-tracks onto the counter so Eddie could dig through them. It was mostly show tunes and Christmas music, but he enjoyed the hunt nonetheless.
"Nothin'?" George asked when Eddie looked up.
Eddie shook his head. "A Partridge Family Christmas isn't really my style."
George laughed and scribbled ".50 each" on the flap of the cardboard box. "Will you find a spot for that in the front window?"
"Yessir." Eddie picked up the hefty box and walked it to the front of the store. He moved some creepy dolls and nudged a red tricycle aside to make room, placed the box down with the price facing the window, and returned to the counter.
"Just the coat, then?"
"Yessir."
"$7."
"$7?" Doesn't the tag say $10?
"That thing takes up too much room. I can fit four more in its place."
Eddie grinned and passed his cash to the man behind the counter.
"I'd ask if you want a bag, but I don't think I have any I could fit that monstrosity in," George teased as he handed Eddie his change.
"Thanks, George," Eddie laughed and collected his coat. "See ya soon."
"Stay warm, kid."
The morning Wayne came home from his long and tiring holiday stretch, he found far more change than he'd expected on the table, two pairs of new gloves… and a hulking mass of black draped over the back of a chair.
Wayne picked up the coat and held it out in front of him, marveling at its size. Well, it was warm, didn't have any holes in it, and clearly hadn't cost an arm and a leg. He folded it and put it back where he found it, spotting a note underneath the cash.
"Coat was $7. It'll come in handy when I finally become a vampire."
Wayne snorted.
"Gloves were buy one, get one free. I can show you how to cut the fingers out of yours if you want to look as cool as me."
He rolled his eyes at the boy snoring down the hall, put down the note, and started getting ready for bed.
"Why is it so fucking cold? I'm freezing my balls off."
Eddie raised an eyebrow at his girlfriend of three months in the Hawkins High parking lot. Most of the sensible students went on inside when it was this cold, but his girl - who hated this place as much as he did - decided to stick it out with him outside until the bell rang and forced them in.
"Shut up, you know what I mean." Her eyes rolled and her teeth chattered.
He checked his watch - seven minutes before the bell - and took one last drag off his cigarette. He exhaled as he dropped the butt on the ground and put it out with a twist of his boot.
"Wanna go in?"
She shook her head and wrapped her arms around herself. Stubborn.
"C'mere, then." Eddie unbuttoned the massive black coat he'd bought the year before - now decorated with band buttons on the lapels - and held it open to her. Now it was her turn to raise an eyebrow. "Come on," he urged.
She looked at him suspiciously. Shit, was this weird? Was inviting your girl into a coat cocoon more of a six-month thing? And then she walked into him. He wrapped his arms and his coat around them both and felt her relax against him almost instantly. She slowly slid her arms around his middle and rested her head in the crook of his neck. Oh god, oh god, did she just nuzzle her cheek into him?!?
Eddie was glad she couldn't see the grin on his face. He tilted his head down and let his hair fall around his face so no one else could see it either. He leaned his cheek against her head and inhaled the scent of her, closing his eyes and wishing the bell would never ring so they could stay just like this forever.
What had George said the day he bought this coat? That he could fit five people in there?
Eddie was quite happy with just two.
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Steve loves Valentine’s Day.
It’s a holiday celebrating love and romance; the whole point is to shower someone with affection (and hopefully get laid at the end of the night). What’s not to like about that?
With girls, Valentine’s was easy. Big box of chocolates, a dozen red roses, dinner at a fancy restaurant (and maybe a little jewelry or something - depending on how much he likes her). A sweet card, for sure.
Now that he’s dating Eddie, Valentine’s Day presents more of a… challenge.
“Ugh, what am I gonna do Rob? We walked through the greeting card aisle at Melvald’s and he pretended to puke. He doesn’t want flowers or chocolate or anything.”
He knows he’s whining. He’s slumped dramatically in the single office chair in the Family Video breakroom, spinning slowly (like a pathetic little rotisserie chicken, according to Robin). He’s probably got about five more minutes before Robin snaps.
“Why do you have to do anything? You know Valentine’s Day isn’t even a real holiday – it’s just an excuse to get people to spend money on crap they don’t need…”
“Oh my god, stop! You sound just like Eddie. Valentine's isn't about spending money, it's about... showing people that you love them. Making them feel happy and appreciated and special. It’s about celebrating love.”
Robin tilts her head and her face goes a little soft, the way it does when he says something she wasn't expecting (but in a good way, not like when he says something so dumb that her body collapses and she says he's obliterated her will to live).
"That’s actually surprisingly sweet Steve. Okay….” she sighs and looks up at the ceiling as she thinks. “Maybe... you could try making something? He liked those cookies you baked for movie night."
“Those cookies were terrible.” Practically inedible. Eddie was the only person that ate more than one. (Which was either a true declaration of love in and of itself, or proof that Eddie will eat literally anything when he's stoned.)
"I don't know, Eddie is pretty easy to please. You could give him like... a cool rock, and he would probably love it."
Steve sits upright so fast he nearly overturns the chair. "Robin, you're a genius!!"
She blinks at him. "Clearly. But also, why exactly?"
Eddie is like a crow. He's forever picking up little odds and ends - cool rocks, stickers, shiny bits of paper. At Christmas, he collected the bows off of everyone's presents. Sometimes, he incorporates the stuff he finds into little props and models for his D&D games, but other times he just keeps it. He's got a whole drawer devoted to his little 'hoard', as he calls it.
Steve explains all this to Robin, who just shakes her head in bemusement. "He is so weird," she says fondly.
"Yeah," Steve agrees. He would have recoiled from that oddity in high school - would have been worried what other people would think. Scared they would judge him for associating with someone like that.
He doesn’t give a shit, these days. He sees the way Eddie lights up with happiness at the smallest things, so full of excitement and passion, and it just makes him smile. He feels grateful that he gets to bask in that reflected joy, like a flower soaking up the sun.
Valentines is two weeks away, which gives Steve plenty of time to collect a bounty of little treasures. He hits the pawn shop, the thrift store - he even drives out to the weird antique shop about an hour out of town, which looks like a normal house on the outside and is crammed to the rafters with knick-knacks and bric-a-brac when you walk inside.
He also trawls the quarry, the lake, and the woods behind his house. It's tough, because usually Eddie's little treasures just look like trash to Steve. He's not a very creative person himself, but he tries hard to see the world the way his boyfriend would.
If that means Steve finds himself debating for over half an hour on which rock is more appealing, well – it will all be worth it in the end.
———
Steve stays over at Eddie's, the night before Valentines. (At this point, he spends more time at the Munson's house than he does at his own.)
He wakes up early, slipping out of bed with slow, careful movements. As usual, Eddie rolls over with a faint grumble, bundling himself into a burrito of blankets to compensate for the void of warmth left by Steve's absence.
He moves down the hall, avoiding each creaky board like it's a booby trap in the Temple of Doom, until he reaches the kitchen - which is where Steve breaks routine. He sneaks out the back door and races across the driveway in his boxers, hopping and cursing as the frigid gravel stings his bare feet.
His carefully cultivated stash of gifts is in the glove compartment of the BMW. He already has a plan for which one will be first, so he grabs it and closes the door (slowly, slowly - the sound of Steve moving around the house is familiar, but a car door slamming in the driveway at this time of morning would wake Eddie for sure).
The first gift is a blue jay feather he found in the woods, perfect and clean with vivid blue and black stripes. He tucks it carefully under the edge of the ash tray that sits on the porch railing, before slipping back inside to start breakfast.
Thirty minutes later Eddie appears, drawn by the warm smell of coffee and the sound of bacon popping in the pan.
He drapes himself over Steve's back and murmurs, "G'mornin," sleepily into the shell of his ear, the way he does every morning after Steve spends the night. This time, Steve balances his spatula on the edge of the pan and turns so that he can wrap his arms around his boyfriend’s waist.
He presses a cheerful kiss to the corner of Eddie's mouth and says, "Happy Valentine’s Day."
Eddie groans dramatically and throws his head back, the rest of his bodyweight following. If Steve didn't have a firm grip around his waist, he would have toppled over backward; the move turns into an awkward backbend instead.
"Stevie please, it's too early for that crap. Wait until I've had my coffee at least."
Steve grins. He releases his hold just long enough for Eddie to yelp and scrabble for balance before catching him and pulling him close again.
"Jesus Christ," Eddie gasps.
"Careful," Steve says with a smug grin, laughing when Eddie shoves him in the chest and pulls away.
They eat breakfast together, and then Steve follows Eddie outside for his morning cigarette.
"Holy shit, look at this!" Eddie turns to Steve with the blue jay feather pinched between his fingers, grinning with delight. He hasn't brushed his hair yet and he's got a smear of bacon grease on his cheek, but he's so beautiful in that moment - so full of joy it shines out of him, like a lighthouse.
Just because he found a feather. Steve smiles back, helplessly besotted. "Pretty cool."
Eddie twirls the feather between his fingers before tucking it behind his ear. “That’s a sign that today is gonna be a good day.”
Steve presses his mouth to the edge of his coffee cup to hide his expression. “Yeah, I think so too.”
———
Eddie rolls into the Family Video parking lot around 2 in the afternoon to visit before his band practice. He strolls inside and leans against the counter, plonking a silver wrapped Hershey kiss down in front of Steve.
“Kiss for a kiss?” he says, with a smarmy grin. Steve rolls his eyes, but he checks to make sure they’re alone in the store before swooping forward for a quick peck on the lips.
“I got you something too,” he says.
“Oh?” Eddie raises one eyebrow, managing to look both curious and skeptical. “Please tell me it’s not a cheesy greeting card.”
Steve flips him the bird before reaching into his pocket. He pulls the keychain out and lets it dangle from one finger in front of Eddie’s face.
His boyfriend’s immediate reaction is to wrinkle his nose in disgust. The keychain is a garish red plastic heart, definitely the antithesis of Eddie’s usual metalhead vibe.
But it’s also sparkly.
Steve’s lips curl into a satisfied smirk as Eddie takes the keychain from him, reluctantly admiring the way light sparks off the flakes of holographic glitter embedded in the plastic. The cheap little thing shimmers like a ruby in the afternoon sun.
“Some kid dropped it. They never came back, so it’s yours if you want it.” (That’s technically true, although Steve has been holding on to it for nearly a month now, waiting for today.)
“Oh, well then.” Eddie stuffs the keychain into his pocket. “Finders keepers, losers weepers!” He sticks his tongue out, eyes wide and exaggerated – then leans across the counter and licks Steve’s nose.
“Gross!” Steve sputters with laughter. He scrubs at his face and looks up just in time to see Eddie wave jauntily on his way out the door, a second Hershey kiss left sitting on the counter in his wake.
———
After Steve's shift is over, he runs home for a quick shower and a change of clothes before meeting Eddie at the diner.
He did his best to talk his boyfriend into going on a proper date, but the most he could get Eddie to agree to was milkshakes and a movie (my choice Stevie, not some lame romance).
Steve walks into the diner and spots Eddie at the back booth. He saunters over and sets the third present onto the sticky Formica table with a click. It's a small golden gear, nearly paper-thin.
"Check it out. Found this in the parking lot."
(That's a lie. Steve carefully picked apart a broken old watch from the thrift shop in order to extract a handful of the little gears.)
"Hey, cool! I bet I could use this in the model I'm working on." Eddie pulls the pack of cigarettes out of his coat pocket and drops the gear inside for safe keeping.
"What's the model for?" Steve asks.
Eddie launches into an animated explanation of the character he's creating for a new Hellfire campaign - a sun-worshiping priest that intends to trick the party into becoming a ritual sacrifice.
"... and that gear thing would look pretty good on the top of his staff."
Steve doesn't understand much of what Eddie's saying, but he loves the way his boyfriend talks with his whole body, moving his hands and shoulders and head along with the words. He rests his chin in his hand and lets Eddie ramble until the milkshakes arrive, smiling like a dope the whole time.
Eddie has no concept of time, so Steve is in charge of making sure they finish their milkshakes and leave the diner in time to make it to the movie. As Eddie slides into the passenger seat of the BMW, he says, “Hey – you think we have enough time to stop by the Circle K?”
Steve turns in his seat as he reverses out of the parking lot. "What do you need at the Circle K?"
"Snacks! You can't go to a movie without provisions Stevie! And don't say we can buy some at the concessions stand, because the prices they charge are ridiculous."
“Well if we stop now, we’ll be late – but I’ve got some Milk Duds and trail mix…” Steve doesn’t realize what’s happening until it’s too late. Eddie pops open the glove compartment in his search for snacks, revealing Steve’s little stash of gifts.
Eddie frowns in confusion. “What the hell?” He rifles through the pile as Steve groans.
“Shit. You weren’t supposed to see those yet.”
“What is all this?” Eddie picks up a ring, turning it over in his hands. It's a bulky silver biker ring, like the ones Eddie wears every day - only this one is shaped like a bat with tiny ruby eyes. Steve is particularly proud of that one, discovered in a box of assorted rings at the pawn shop.
Steve gnaws at his lip and runs a hand through his hair, ruining all his careful styling. "I know you hate Valentines, but I wanted to do something. Just… to show you how much I love you. So instead of the cards and flowers and stuff, I tried to find little things you might actually like. For your, you know… your 'dragon hoard' or whatever you call it."
"So the keychain and the gear..."
"And the feather."
Eddie's eyebrow twitches. He stares at the contents of the glove compartment; at the water smoothed stone from the lake and the multicolored twist of ribbon, the vivid green marble and the tiny mother of pearl locket. He looks down at the ring still clutched in his hand, and blinks rapidly.
Steve glances nervously between Eddie and the road, hands tight on the steering wheel. He's disappointed that the surprise has been ruined, but more concerned about Eddie's reaction. He'd expected the other boy to laugh or tease him, not this... whatever this is.
Finally, Eddie clears his throat roughly and speaks. "Actually, can we just head back to my place? I've got something I wanna show you, and I don't think I can wait through the movie."
“Uh… sure.”
Steve's brain is buzzing as he takes a left instead of a right at the intersection. He's worked himself into a bit of a panic by the time they pull into the Munson's driveway. "Eddie, I..."
Eddie interrupts him, practically throwing himself across the center console as he drags Steve into a fierce kiss. By the time Eddie lets him go, Steve is panting. "Wha...?"
"Wait here," Eddie says with a wild grin. He presses Steve back into the seat for emphasis. "Don't move."
He takes the steps up the porch two at a time and fumbles with his key to get inside as Steve watches in a daze. He has no idea what's going on.
After a few minutes, Eddie returns to the door. He's pulled on a t-shirt with a faux tuxedo printed on the front, and he's standing straight backed in the doorway with a towel over his arm, like some kind of maître d’. He waves grandly toward Steve, beckoning him toward the house.
Steve snorts with laughter as he climbs out of the BMW. “What are you doing?”
"This way sir," Eddie replies in a terrible attempt at a posh English accent. Steve shakes his head, thoroughly bewildered and increasingly amused.
He walks past Eddie through the doorway and freezes in surprise.
The living room has been transformed. Eddie set up the gaming table in the middle of the room – set with a crisp white tablecloth, the Munson’s best dishes, and a vase full of red roses sitting in the center of the table, flanked by two candles. More candles twinkle softly from the coffee table, the end tables - even on top of the tv.
"Eddie..." Steve whispers in awe. "What is this?"
"Well, ah... I kind of jumped the gun a little. It’s supposed to be a candlelight dinner. If we'd gone to the movie, Wayne would have had time to get all the food set up. But it won’t take long, I already cooked everything. Just gotta heat it up."
Steve’s vision goes watery, smearing the candlelight into one big blur as tears fill his eyes. He blinks hard to clear them. “I thought you hated all this stuff.”
Eddie shrugs and rubs the back of his neck nervously. “Well, yeah I do. But you love it. So I wanted to surprise you.”
Steve grips his boyfriend by the front of his ridiculous t-shirt and pulls him into a bone-cracking hug, before pulling back just far enough to kiss the breath from him.
In a pause between kisses, Steve rests his forehead against Eddie’s and laughs a little breathlessly. “What made you change your mind about the movie?”
Eddie bites his lips, already swollen from kisses. Steve can’t tear his eyes away.
“I don’t know. When I saw all that stuff you collected for me…” he clears his throat, staring at Steve with wide dark eyes. “I’m… I know I’m weird. I’ve known that my whole life. I never thought I would find anyone that would tolerate me, let alone… celebrate me like that.”
He kisses Steve again, sweet and soft. “I couldn’t sit and wait for two hours after that. I had to get you home and show you how much I love you.”
“I love you too.” Steve smiles against Eddie’s mouth. “You know… I’m not really hungry yet.”
“Oh yeah?”
Steve trails his hands down Eddie’s chest, hooking his fingers into the belt loops of his jeans and tugging. “Mm-hmm. I think we need to work up an appetite first.”
Eddie laughs in delight. “Sounds like a good idea. You know how much I like dessert before dinner.”
A happy Valentine’s Day indeed.
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