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xxbottlecapx · 8 months

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I saw someone talk about this idea (can’t find them now) so-

Steve is walking down the street and he hears the jingling of a dog collar so he turns around to ask to pet their dog but it’s just Eddie.

Steve might have a meltdown. He seriously might. This was the worst day he’s had in a long fucking time.

The day started with a fucking seizure, of all things, when Steve hasn’t had one in months, so he decided to go to the emergency room to get checked up just in case.

The doctors said he was fine, the scans and blood tests came back just as normal, but he ended up missing lunch so he didn’t get to have down time with his best friend Robin, and she was the biggest reason he could manage his anxiety and PTSD.

His mom called him when he was at the hospital, even though she disowned him ten years ago when he was forced out of the closet as bisexual. He thought she wanted to talk but apparently her husband (Steve’s father, unfortunately) was dying and wanted Steve to help with the hospital bills considering apparently their business went under, which Steve hadn’t known about because he hasn’t seen them in ten years. It led to a fight over the phone which triggered another seizure, so he’s had two in one day. Because of his history with seizures, the hospital decided to let him go, which he wasn’t entirely sure would be a good idea, but what else were they supposed to do? It’s not like Steve knew. Besides, he’s pretty sure they were understaffed and maybe they just didn’t have a place for him. They just gave him some painkillers, gave him a form so he wouldn’t have to go to work for a week, and let him go after giving him an IV. Steve would have argued about the work thing, but the doctor was able to convince him that having a bad seizure in front of a bunch of toddlers might be a bad idea, even if they’ve dealt with his smaller ones before.

He decided he would go for a run because that always relaxes him before remembering that he shouldn’t go running after having two seizures, so he decided to go for a walk instead. Of course, this only makes things worse for himself. First, he forgets to take his dog Farrah with him on the walk, and then he realizes that he’s wearing a thick knitted yellow sweater in 86 degree heat, also he lost his glasses somehow?

He must have still had some postictal confusion left because he very quickly got lost and then he couldn’t find wherever the fuck he put his phone, so he couldn’t call Robin to pick him up, and it’s not like his anxiety would let him walk up to some random person and ask.

It was getting dark, so he wasn’t going to approach a woman, which was something Robin had to teach, and Steve was kind of scared of men, which might be stupid because he was a man, and also taller than most men, but anxiety is a bitch so it’s not like he could argue with it.

His heart beating outside his chest, Steve realized he very well could have a third seizure, or a panic attack if he didn’t calm the fuck down, so he went to hide behind a alley which just so happened to be behind a bar.

That was fine.

The music was dampened by the concrete wall and sometimes silence made Steve’s existential dread even worse. He missed his dog. Farrah was a white teacup chihuahua and Pomeranian mix that Steve had adopted from a shelter he had been volunteering at. She kept getting bullied for her size even when they put her in with the other babies, and the shelter asked someone to foster her. It was a foster fail but Steve didn’t regret it.

Steve tried to think of her as he sat down, working on the deep breathing his therapist had told him about. Of course, Steve sat on the floor and got beer and gunk on his jeans, but he was so tired that he was past caring.

A migraine was coming on, all of his bones hurt, and he had white spots dancing in his vision. His hands were shaking. It’s very possible he had a small seizure when he was getting here and he didn’t remember it, that happened sometimes. He really hoped Robin had done okay at school without him. They taught a kindergarten class together. He really should have called to get her an aid but it had slipped his mind and she was going to be pissed.

He would just stay on the floor until he felt better. Then he’d call and apologize.

He did remember to feed Farrah and she had some pads on his living room so she would be okay. When he got home he would give her a lot of treats. Maybe he would make Robin cupcakes.

Steve’s nerves picked up when he heard someone open a door behind him. Luckily for him, he had a switchblade in his pocket (he got it from Max, and who knows where she got it from) so he could use that in case of an emergency if anyone tried to accost him. Then again, this was a bar, maybe they’d just think he was drunk and leave him alone.

The jingling of a dog tag gets Steve’s attention, and suddenly he thinks he might actually cry if he doesn’t get to pet this dog right now.

The person’s heavy footsteps get closer, the dog chain making cute clinking sounds, and Steve readily looks up to ask, even though his face is already red with embarrassment, because what if the person says no?

But then he sees the man’s thick-heeled boots, and then his leather jacket with all the metal spikes on the shoulders, and Steve thinks no, he doesn’t have to ask to pet the guys dog, and then he chokes when he realizes there isn’t any fucking dog. The man is wearing a collar.

Steve tries to quickly shove his head between his legs, curl into a ball so the man might not notice him, but whatever sound he makes is enough to draw the guy's attention. Fuck.

“Hey, what were you going to say? I saw you try to ask something.” The guys crouches down in front of Steve. Steve assumes the guy is going to beat him up for looking at him weird or something, but the man’s voice, while deep, is actually very calm. He has a few more chains hanging from his black jeans, which were absolutely shredded, and the clinking noise still reminds Steve of Farrah but now he’s embarrassed about it. Is he wearing fishnets under his jeans? Oh my god, Robin is going to kill Steve in the morning if this guy doesn’t kill him first.

Steve thinks about answering but his words get clogged in his throat. Sure, he didn’t ask to pet the guy, but he thought about it, and his face burns and Steve wishes he could jump into the dumpster a few feet away.

He must look weird, because the guy, already crouching down to him, gets closer until their knees are touching.

“Hey, you okay?” He asks, very gently putting a heavily ringed hand on Steve’s arm.

“I’m so sorry,” Steve sobbed, finally lifting his head to meet the guy's face. The dude’s hair is long, held up in a ponytail, which shows off the fact that he has an undercut with a pattern shaved on it. This man is absolutely terrifying, oh my God, how is Steve going to get out of this situation without dying?

The guy's eyes widen at the words, but he keeps his movements slow as he places his hands against both of Steve’s trembling arms. Not constricting him, just pressing, just adding a bit of pressure.

“You’re okay, I’m not angry.” The guy says soothingly, “You haven’t done anything. Why- why are you crying?” The guy’s voice goes high pitched, cracking a little. If Steve wasn’t so terrified, maybe he’d find it comforting.

Steve doesn’t know what comes over him. He tells himself he’ll come up with something stupid, but his body hurts and lying takes a mental energy that Steve doesn’t have right now. His head pounds and the sound of his blood rushes past his ears.

“Uh, I heard your collar and I thought you were a dog.” He whispered, putting his head between his knees again. “I was gonna ask to pet you. I’m so sorry.” He sounds absolutely mortified, which is good because he is. Why was he saying this? Steve was about to die and then Farrah would go back to the shelter and Robin would find another teacher and forget about him and no one would be able to teach Dustin to drive because he’s too annoying to keep a normal driving instructor-

“You can pet me, if you want.” The guys interrupt Steve’s spiral. He moves so he’s sitting next to Steve, both their backs to the wall, his chains clinking all the while until their thighs are touching. Steve could briefly feel the dull spikes on the guys jacket pressing Steve’s shoulder.

Steve’s brain completely blanks out.

“…Uh-“ his hands are close to his chest, in fists, but mostly he’s just confused. Why is this guy being so nice to him? Steve thought he was a dog. He was never going to live this down.

“I like petting.” The guy says, a small smirk on his face that brings charming wrinkles to his cheeks. Steve blushes.

“Ca….” He can’t tell if the guy is serious, but the dude quickly pulls his hair out of his ponytail, shaking his head- like a dog.

Maybe it’s just the seizure talking, but Steve tries to call his bluff.

“Can I pet you?” Steve whispers, confusion and uncertainty lacing his shaking voice.

“Yeah.” The dude replies calmly, tilting his head.

Well, Steve realizes, now he kind of has to, doesn’t he? Shit. The guys hair looks really fucking soft. Steve’s allowed to touch it?

Without knowing what else to do, Steve stiffly pats the guys on the head, which makes the guy laugh. Still, he doesn’t attempt to make Steve stop. In fact, he gets closer, until Steve’s arm is wrapped around his shoulder, playing with the hair on the crown of his head. Steve doesn’t really know what to do at first, but the dude smells really minty, but also like weed, and Steve doesn’t hate it as much as he thinks he should. He brushes his fingers through the guy's brown hair until there are no knots, letting his heart settle until the spots in his vision go away.

“So, what are you doing out here?” The guy asks quietly, letting Steve mess with his hair, his eyes are closed almost like he’s enjoying it.

“I got lost.” Steve starts. The guy hums, so Steve continues. “I, uh, I had a few seizures this morning, and I got confused and got lost and I can’t find my phone or my glasses-“ Steve only realizes he’s rambling when the guy gives him a very concerned look.

“Do I need to get you to a hospital?” He asks, clearly trying not to frighten Steve.

“Oh? No, no, it’s okay, I’m sorry,” Steve said, almost absently as he braided a small strand of the guy's hair. He tried to focus on that instead of the raging headache he has crawling up his spine. “I went to the emergency room already, this is normal, it happens a lot, it’s just been a bad day. I’m sorry.”

He can feel the guy nod, his body relaxing slightly. His hand casually moves to touch Steve’s collar with the tips on his fingers, his short nails painted black.

“Your glasses are on your shirt.”

Steve looks down where his glasses were hanging off the collar of his sweater. He blanches.

“Shit, thank you. I’m sorry.” He mumbled, hurriedly putting them on. His face goes hot, and he wants to sink into the floor. He might cry again, he was so embarrassed.

“Can you call someone?” The guy asks, not bringing up the panic on Steve’s face, which Steve is mighty grateful for because bringing it up will make him cry, he thinks.

Steve shakes his head, “I lost my phone. Sorry.” He chokes out.

“Can I call someone?” The guy specifies.

That’s a really good idea. Sure, it’s getting dark, but Robin always has time for him. She’s probably out of work and blowing up his phone trying to contact him. She might even have broken into Steve’s apartment by now.

Steve closes his eyes, trying to push past the fog in his brain. The only thing it does is add pressure to the backs of his eyes.

“I… I can’t remember any numbers right now, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He puts his hand over his mouth to stop himself from speaking.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” The guy delicately pressed his palm to Steve’s shoulder, which draws attention to the fact that Steve’s breathing has sped up again.

Steve gulps, blinking hard to stop himself from tearing up. He feels so fucking stupid.

“Uh, with chronic seizures, there’s this thing, called a- uh, postictal state,” he tries to explain, voice way more breathy than he would like. He’s gripping maybe a bit too firmly to the frayed ends of the guy’s hair but he makes no move to stop him. “Which I like to say just means my brain hasn’t, hasn’t caught up to my body, like it’s, um, still processing.“

The guy nods, taking Steve’s rambling with grace. “Do you like champurrado?” He asks, Steve opens his mouth, closing it, opening it again. The guy nods, hurrying to explain himself.

“We could go to my apartment and I could make you some. You look like you could eat. I made albondigas yesterday. When you can remember, we’ll call someone.”

Steve really shouldn’t. This guy has already been too nice to him. Steve didn’t want to impose. Also, the guy was very kind, yeah, but Robin would kill him if he got hurt following this dude somewhere. But then Steve takes stock of the aches in his body. If he didn’t go with the guy, what would he do? Sit here all night? It was going to get cold and Steve’s anxiety wouldn’t let him sleep outside in the dark in an alleyway behind a bar playing very loud, aggressive metal music.

Steve sighs, defeated. “Yeah, okay, I’m sorry.” He felt like he was doing something wrong.

The guys smile brightly, almost blindingly so. He stands, chains jingling, and holds out a hand for Steve to take it.

“You gotta stop saying sorry, man, you just had what, two seizures? It’s fi- holy shit.”

The man’s hands were soft, which Steve wasn’t expecting, save for a few well placed calluses on his fingers. Steve tried not to think about it as he stood and wiped some gunk off his jeans, staring at the messy floor before figuring out something was wrong. He looked up, and the dude was staring up at Steve with his eyes wide, mouth agape.

“What? What’s wrong?” Steve whispers, folding in on himself a little. What the fuck did he do now?

The music rages on, but now it’s overwhelming. He feels static in his head.

The guy’s heavily tattooed arms were held limply at his sides, “You- you’re really fucking tall.” He says unabashedly.

Steve gulps, trying to shrink a little to make himself smaller, like that may alleviate the problem. Unfortunately, thought he did this often, It did mean he had terrible posture so his neck began to hurt.

“Oh, I’m really sorry.” Steve wouldn’t look at him.

“Why are you apologizing? It’s hot.” The guy says, Steve’s head shoots up to look at him as they stare at each other until the dude realizes what he just said. “Wait, I didn’t mean to say that out loud.” The guy puts his hands up, a nervous huff coming out past his lips as he was the one to start panicking now.

Steve can’t help but let out a small laugh, covering his mouth with his hands. He’s never had someone say he’s hot in such a way, he couldn’t help but be a bit flattered. Steve nods so the dude knows he isn’t upset by the random comment. Steve’s face was already red, and now he couldn’t even tell why.

The guy’s eyes brighten, if that were possible.

“Okay, let’s go. I’m Eddie.” He says, motioning for Steve to follow him. It takes a second for Steve to get the memo, with how slow his brain is working, so Eddie cautiously takes Steve’s arm in the way Steve watches men do in old movies.

“I’m Steve. Thank you.” Steve, honest to God, giggled. Maybe he should be worrying about his dad and the fight he had with his mother, but he tries not to think about it. They’re not his problem, and he has better things to do.

He does have to look down to see Eddie’s face when they’re not sitting, but that’s normal for Steve. He’s a few heads taller than most people he knows, and he works with kids so he’s obviously taller than them. He kind of just forgets, most of the time. No one else has mentioned it. His height was why he was so popular in high school before the seizures and anxiety messed it all up, though Steve is grateful he isn’t a bitch anymore. He’s only about a head and a half taller than Eddie, though.

Eddie laughs, and it’s a cracky, beautiful sound. “You’re welcome, big boy.”

Steve squints at Eddie as he leads him down the street. “Big boy?” He asks. As they get farther from the bar, there are less and less people out on the streets. No one jostles Steve, though, probably on account of the guy next to him, covered head to toe in spikes with black eye makeup.

“Really? Do you not see how large you are?” Eddie continued, looking up at Steve like he was insane as he led him to the left, then the right. “It’s honestly kind of scary.”

“Me?” Steve wasn’t scary, this guy had it wrong. Sure, he was big, but nothing about him was frightening. Steve couldn’t remember the last person he met who actually looked afraid of him. None of his students ever were.

“Yeah, you!”

“I’m not scared.” Steve protested, though he was also smiling. “If anything, you’re scary.”

Eddie throws his head back dramatically, covering his face with his curly hair. The bandana in his back pockets whips around.

“Why thank you.” Eddie grins, “Just so you know, flattery works on me.” He continued until they got to what appeared to be Eddie’s apartment building. Steve held on to his arm tighter. Eddie's dramatics calm him a little.

“I have a dog, so you can pet a real one.” Eddie teases, unlocking the door with his free arm. “Her name is Ozzy, she’s a Doberman Great Dane mix, so I hope big dogs don’t scare you. I promise she’s not violent.” There’s something in his voice that tells Steve there’s something else.

Steve smiles softly, “She sounds perfect.”

#steve harrington #steddie #eddie munson #steve x eddie #steveddie #eddie x steve #stranger things #stranger things s4 #robin buckley #steve has seizures #meet cute #or meet ugly #depending #depending on how you look at it #modern au

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