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peaceoutofthepieces · 17 days

Note

Uh hi! So I know you usually do ship stuff, but I am desperate for some Isaac Henderson angst content. I’ve found a few here and there but most of them aren’t actually super angsty and a lot somehow feel more about the other characters even if they’re meant to be about Isaac. They’re good but nothings really scratched that itch so far. Could you write something using #12 from the angsty dialogue prompts? Or honestly if you’d rather not do that one, any one of the prompts would be great. I’ll leave it up to you what exactly it’s about and who the line is directed at, I just wanna see my fave go through it.

hello!! i'm sorry this took so long! i would like to clarify that i started it ages ago, but it was at less than 1000 words yesterday evening, and then it was finished at 2am last night. (i got so into it i'm currently in the mindset of "that's it, i'm going to try and post at least a fic a week now 😤", but we will see if that actually happens.) so, i hope if nothing else it's sufficiently angsty and not too ooc. you did give me quite a bit of freedom, and it remains unclear if that was a good choice or not 😅 anyway, enjoy!!

12. "Help me."

Post-prom, Isaac felt out of sorts.

His situation with James and his odd encounter at Elle’s exhibition had been eye-opening, to say the least. Angela Chen’s Ace still resided on his nightstand, though he’d finished reading it two days after lifting it from the library. He couldn’t bring himself to return it just yet; he found himself going back to it at night, rereading sections over again as if they would tell him something new, feeling he was still missing something. And anyway, they were still on summer holidays. The school wouldn’t miss it for now.

No one seemed to be missing him much, either.

It was becoming more noticeable, this summer break, how he was the odd one out. He’d been aware his friends were essentially coupled off for months now, and Paris had cemented it, but Paris had also kept them stuck together as a group.

(Plus, most of the Paris trip had been before things had become royally awkward with James, but he was mostly avoiding thinking about all that.)

The situation with Darcy had understandably taken a bit of a priority in the past couple of weeks, but it didn’t explain the shift that had seemed to happen within all his friends since prom. Isaac had figured for a while that Elle would be leaving, and he assumed it was why she and Tao had been attached at the hip. He didn’t begrudge them it, really. He had watched them pine over each other long enough that leaving them this time together felt warranted. Besides, it wasn’t like they were asking Charlie to movie nights recently, either.

But it also wasn’t likely Charlie was waiting to be asked, these days. He and Nick had seemingly re-entered their honeymoon phase, which was fair given that they finally could be as coupley as they wanted wherever and whenever they wanted. Isaac just found it odd that it seemed to be more since prom than Nick’s coming out, but he was not going to ask about that. It made sense he didn’t want to think about. The intense, somewhat dark cloud that seemed to still hang over Nick around Charlie was more worth questioning, but it was also part of what kept Isaac from encroaching on them recently.

Everyone seemed to have something going on. His going-ons felt a little unworthy, in comparison. He wasn’t sure if he was feeling shit about himself because he didn’t want to put an extra burden on his friends and it was a bit sad he considered his feelings a burden, or if that was an excuse for not having to talk about it because he didn’t really know how and it was making him feel shit.

So, yes. Out of sorts.

Out of sorts and alone, most of the time.

He was not in the habit of pitying himself, however, and he was not about to start now. So what if he was having some life-defining realisations about himself and he had no one to share them with? He’d coped with life mostly on his own so far and he’d continue to do so.

And he was coping. Perfectly.

Kind of.

Sitting in one of his best friend’s houses, surrounded by their other friends and staring into a book was how he always coped, so this was perfectly normal. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t absorbing the words and everyone seemed louder than usual. He hadn’t been sleeping well. He was tired. That’s all he was feeling.

Tara tugged at his foot from where she and Darcy were perched on the floor by his armchair. “Isaac, we're gonna play a boardgame. Put the book down and come join us!”

Isaac looked, but Tao and Elle were still wrapped up in each other in the corner and Nick and Charlie were nowhere in sight. He raised an eyebrow at Tara. “We are?”

“Yes! Nick and Charlie are away to get them right now, so come get comfy.”

Darcy snorted. “Good idea, because we could be waiting for a bit.”

Tara slugged her shoulder and Darcy only giggled again.

“Shouldn't they have passed the honeymoon phase by now?” Isaac asked, lowering his book slightly but not yet closing it.

“Nick and Charlie?” Tara grinned. “I'm not sure those two will ever come out of it.”

“Well, I can't say I don't understand,” Darcy quipped, leaning in to Tara with a grin. Tara turned towards her, and their smiles melded as they kissed.

Isaac snapped his book closed. “Actually, I think I'll go to the loo while we're waiting.”

No one gave any sign of hearing him, so Isaac slipped quietly out of the room and up to the bathroom. He rolled his eyes at the giggles coming from Charlie's room and didn't pause. Closing the bathroom door behind him, he finally released a sharp breath. He perched himself on the edge of the bath and pulled out his phone.

Instagram was a distraction he did not often indulge in. His follow count was small—only his friends and favourite authors alongside a small cluster of bookstagrammers he'd found to have good taste. He saved a couple of recommendation posts, then began clicking through stories, pausing when he reached James's.

The story was almost timed out, all of it from last night, seemingly at a party. Isaac had stopped on a video where James appeared to be singing along to the song playing with another boy. In the middle of it, the boy had swooped forward to kiss James on the cheek.

Isaac stared at James’s delighted expression and something complicated clenched in his chest. He quickly locked the phone and set it beside him, directing his focus to the wall.

It was good, he rationalised. James was wonderful; he deserved to be going out and having fun, and he deserved, without question, to have a handsome boy having fun with him. Whether they were friends or something more didn't matter, but the something more definitely seemed possible, if not likely. And James deserved someone who could give him that.

Isaac had not been able to give him that—did not want to give anyone that, could not derive any joy from it, even from the chance of it giving joy to someone else.

He was not incapable of love. He knew that. When he looked at his family, when he looked at Charlie and Tao and Elle, he was always so full of love he felt he might explode from it. It wasn't romantic, and it wasn't physical, but it was love, in its purest form it seemed, to him, given he did not want anything in return for it but their happiness and their continued place in his life.

It was love, uncomplicated, unconditional love, and why wouldn't that be enough?

He never seemed to be enough.

He always did what he could to be a good son and a good friend, and he had never doubted it until recently. James had been one of those good friends. He still was, as far as Isaac was concerned, but their relationship had undeniably changed. Maybe it was simply in an awkward phase that would pass, but Isaac, at the moment, could not believe it would ever be the same. For a time, James had been something of his best friend—not because Isaac liked him more than Charlie or Tao or Elle, or because he really spent more time with him, but because James was Isaac’s friend in a way they were not. They spent time together, the two of them, and shared interests the two of them, and when they had been together they had not felt the need for any company outside of the two of them.

But that had not meant the same to James as it had to Isaac, and Isaac could not give him anything more. He understood that his rejection would not be taken without consequence, but he hadn't been prepared to be, in a way, rejected in return.

Was this all he would ever achieve? Having friends who would always be somewhat distant—who would always have someone closer, someone better—or having someone close who would eventually want that closeness in a way he did not. Before, he'd worried he was not worthy of that want to begin with. Never had he thought it would be his inability to return it that would be the issue. Could he be upset, that it was his not wanting to be too close that lost him all closeness as a result?

He was alone on an island of his own making. He couldn't blame anyone for leaving him there if he wasn't going to invite them in, could he?

Was this, then—alone in the bathroom of his best friend's house with his phone locked beside him and tears in his throat—all he was destined for?

Isaac Island, party of one.

A knock on the door startled him, and he swore quietly as he knocked his phone onto the tiles. As he picked it up, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and blanched. There were no tears, but his eyes were red and his face was blotchy and the tears were waiting in his throat, they surely would be there if he went back downstairs to—

Another knock.

“One—one minute,” he tried, clearing his throat when his voice cracked. He quickly turned on the tap and ran his hands and wrists under the cool water, but it did nothing to steady his breathing. The thought of his aloneness had choked him, but the thought of returning into company strangled him. It was not his friends’ fault—he refused to make it his friends’ fault—but at the moment, he couldn't bear them all the same.

He cupped more cold water in his hands and scrubbed it over his face, but it did not shock him out of the spiral of his thoughts. The third knock barely registered over the growing ringing in his ears.

“Isaac?” Not Charlie, like Isaac had thought. Not Nick either, or Tara, or any of them. “Are you okay? I'd really like to use the loo.”

His island, he thought deliriously, was sinking; he was drowning, and still, he could do nothing but soak his hands under the tap and soak his face in turn and suck in breaths that did not hold enough oxygen. He was drowning, he was sinking, he could not see it but his body felt it and his lungs were going to seize, he was dying—

He cut the knocking off by throwing open the door and gasping, “Help me.”

Isaac had one second to appreciate Tori’s bewildered expression before it turned serious and she took to action. “Isaac? Hey. Look at me.” She set her hands on his shoulders as he wrapped his arms around his middle, still heaving. “I'm assuming you didn't just get diagnosed with asthma,” Tori said, still impossibly calm—perhaps he was actually the sea, he thought, undefinable and raving, and she the island, unravagable. Isaac shook his head. “Alright. I think, then, this is likely a panic attack. Would it help if I get Charlie?”

Isaac shook his head more vigorously.

To her credit, Tori only considered him for a few seconds, and didn't argue. She guided him back into the bathroom and gently kicked the door closed. “Sit,” she told him. He did, and she crouched in front of him. Immediately, with his knees pulled to his chest and the bath supporting his back, it was better. He was not so adrift. “You're alright. It will pass. I know it's stupid, but you really do just have to focus on breathing.”

She started counting. It was only when she'd repeated the numbers four times that he understood she was telling him how long to breathe in and out for. Then he tried to follow it, and slowly, air felt like it was moving through him regularly again.

Isaac wiped at his cheek. To his embarrassment, his fingers came away damp. He didn't look at Tori, but he said, “Thank you.” Then, “Sorry.”

She didn't brush off his apology, or tell him to get out now so she could actually use the loo—both of which would have been fair and not unexpected responses. Instead, she turned and sat next to him. She leaned against the bath to his left, a few inches between their shoulders, and stared at the wall quietly with him.

When his skin stopped vibrating, he tucked his arms around his middle again and breathed out. “How did you know what to do?” he asked.

She glanced at him and shrugged. “I didn't, really.”

It was all she offered, but it seemed honest. Isaac decided not to push. He was too grateful to care much.

“Do you want to tell me what it was about?” she asked, softly.

Isaac looked over at her. She was looking back, unsmiling but not unhappy. She reminded him a lot of Charlie, Isaac had always thought. They seemed similar in ways they likely weren't even aware of. It was both comforting and unnerving. “Do you really want me to?”

Tori shrugged again. “I'd prefer it if you told Charlie or your other friends, because I think that would be more helpful. But I don't think you want to. So you can tell me, if you need to tell someone.”

That was—exactly what Isaac needed, really. He didn't exactly think it should be Tori. They'd known each other a while, and they liked each other well enough, but they weren't friends. Plus, Isaac knew she and Charlie were actually close; it felt weird and unfair to tell her something and then ask her to keep it from him.

But in this moment, he could not think of a better option, and the mere thought of getting the weight off his chest was a relief.

“I think I'm going to end up alone,” he said, blunt and ridiculous. Tori, completely fairly, raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “Not because I think I'm unlovable or something like that.” Although that was part of it. “But because—” Could he say the actual words? “—I think I'm asexual, and aromantic, so I don't think I'll ever love love anyone, and I think that means I'll always be a bit alone.”

He could.

It still seemed sad and pathetic when he said it out loud, maybe even more so, but the act of it—the unretractable reality of it—settled something in him.

Tori's expression, a little confused but free of judgement, only added to that feeling. “So, you don't feel romantic or sexual attraction,” she said slowly. “At all. Is that what you mean?”

Isaac was vaguely impressed. He nodded.

“When did you figure this out?”

Isaac took a long, heavy breath. “I think, properly, I started to figure it out in Paris, when I realised this guy liked me and I was trying to figure out if I liked him back? But I think I'd been starting to realise it long before then. I just…hadn't known what to call it, or what it meant.”

Tori, he noticed gratefully, took time to process this before nodding. “And now?”

Isaac blinked. “Now?”

“What do you think it means now?”

Oh. Isaac hadn't expected the question, and he found himself unsure of how to answer. “I think it means I'm always going to be lonely.”

Tori tilted her head. “But you didn't think that before.”

“What?”

“You said you don't think you're unlovable. And I agree. I think Charlie loves you a lot. I think most people would, because you are a very nice person. You didn't think of that as less important because it wasn't romantic before. What changed?”

Changed? Nothing. Everything. They were growing up, and love had more meanings when you grew up, and some of those meanings became less important. He looked at the wall again. “They have other people they love more,” he said softly.

“And you won't ever have that,” Tori returned, equally soft. Not a barb, not a rebuke, nothing negative at all. Just realising; working through it alongside him. “So you think you won't ever be the most important person to someone.”

Isaac swallowed, unable to answer. Not because he didn't know the answer—because it was yes, it was true, she was right, of course she was—but because it was impossible to admit.

“I think that's the case for most people,” Tori said, at once blunt and thoughtful. Isaac looked back at her, awaiting an explanation. “Think about it. Even the most in love people usually have children, and then their children are the most important people, or at least equally important. And if they have more than one child, no one of them is the most important, and neither of the parents are the most important to the other. I think, instead of having one supremely important person, most people have a group of important people in their life.”

She looked over at him and continued. “There probably are different levels and different kinds of importance, but I don't think that necessarily means one is worth less than the other.”

Isaac sat, for a moment, and absorbed that. Could it be true? He thought of his family. He was lucky, in that scenario. His parents were kind, were wonderful, and he knew without question that they loved him, and he loved them. Neither one of them, he realised, was more important to him than the other. He had different relationships with them both, but each of their losses would leave an equally sized hole in his heart.

He knew that probably wasn't the same for most people, but if he could find that one example in his own life so easily, he couldn't deny it was possible in others.

“I suppose,” Isaac said. “I think I know what you mean. I don't think it's the same, but—I know what you mean.”

Tori did smile, now. A barely there thing, but warm and kind, all the same. “It probably isn't the same. I know me saying I love my brothers equally and neither of them are less important doesn't mean anything for your friends treating you the same as their partners, or even other friends. But I think—every relationship is as important as you make it. And sometimes, people might not know they aren't making it important, if they don't know what's important about it to you.”

“Has important stopped sounding like a real word to you, too?” Isaac asked.

“About six ‘important’s ago,” Tori agreed.

Isaac laughed, and his relief grew. Tori's smile also grew, just a tick.

“You're saying I should just talk to my friends,” Isaac noted, eventually, and Tori's smile grew wry.

“I did say that at the very beginning, yes.” Isaac laughed again, and she shook her head. “But I am saying you should explain to them. I can't promise you're wrong, or tell you everything will be fine,” she said truthfully. “But I don't think you can assume people can't give you what you need, if you don't tell them what that is and let them try.”

Isaac’s chest tightened again, but it was different to the breathless feeling from before. Instead of hopelessness, it was an anticipatory sort of buzz. There was a sureness that hadn't been there before.

There was a clatter from outside, and this time it was Charlie's voice that called out. “Isaac! Are you still up here? We have the game set up.”

Isaac looked from the door back to Tori. She gave him another smile and nodded. “Go on. I have really needed to pee for about ten minutes now.”

Isaac laughed, again, and got to his feet. Tori passed his phone up to him, and he thanked her once more. He knew she could tell he meant for everything, and she wouldn't appreciate him making more of it, so he took his leave without another word, leaving her to pee in peace.

Charlie was hovering at the top of the stairs. His face broke into a smile at Isaac’s appearance. “There you are. You've been up here ages.” His smile drooped slightly as Isaac came closer. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Isaac nodded. “Sorry, I got caught talking to Tori.”

“In the bathroom?” Charlie huffed, bewildered but amused. For a moment Isaac pictured Tori's expression when he'd opened the door to her, and he smiled.

He only hesitated for a second before saying, “I wanted to talk to all of you about something, actually.”

Immediately, Charlie's expression softened. “Yeah?” When Isaac nodded, Charlie smiled and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, tugging him towards the staircase. “Come on, then. The game can wait.”

#heartstopper #heartstopper fic #isaac henderson #prompts #i actually really enjoyed writing this #i feel like i don't express my love for isaac enough #so this was a good opportunity #so thank you vm for trusting me with the request!#i hope it's at least somewhat what you were looking for <3 #honourable tag for #tori spring #i could imagine no one else when i thought of this scenario/convo #i think any interaction between these two would be a very cool and important thing to have #my fics

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stevebabey · 1 year

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no one asked but this is the post that inspired this! thank u immensely for the luv <3 number 1 comment was wondering what steve’s bids were & from his pov, so without further ado...enjoy — part one here!

—

Begrudgingly, Eddie has to admit that Robin might be right.

It’s impossible not to be looking for the bids since he brought them up to her. Even though Eddie was fully expecting to tell Robin to suck it, maybe even wager what little money he had against this working out, Eddie can’t help but watch for them in every interaction. And fuck, she’s right.

They’re little, but they’re there.

The first one Eddie would’ve missed if he wasn’t looking for it. Actually, that’s a lie; Eddie does miss it, until Robin points it out, the nosy bitch. It’s minuscule and honestly, it just seems like Steve asking his opinion — which friends do all the time! It’s why Eddie brushes right over it.

“Okay, be honest,“ Steve had said, walking and talking as he entered the living room where Robin and Eddie were sprawled across the couches. They were both waiting on him, the three of them set on heading out to the drive-in to catch a film.

Eddie can’t fathom why Steve felt the need to change his outfit for it, but when he returns, he gets it. It’s not quite the usual polo Eddie had grown to like on Steve, this one hanging a little looser, the colour a bit darker than Steve’s usual choice, the sleeves a little shorter — almost midway to a muscle tee.

Steve’s fingers fiddle with the distressed collar of the shirt, smoothing invisible wrinkles and fussing over nothing. He swishes back his floppy hair with a flick of his head. “It’s a new shirt, I know it’s a little different - but what do we think?”

He says we but he’s looking at Eddie.

Eddie, who has taken to trying to reel in his gawp because what the fuck Steve? It’s like he’s well aware of what drives Eddie insane and has specifically leaned into it. Some evil goblin in Eddie’s brain whispers think how good he’d look in your shirt and he squashes it, giving a visible twitch to shut down that train of thought.

From the other couch, Robin clears her throat loudly and smiles sweetly at her best friend. “It looks great, Steve.”

It’s sincere and Steve’s mouth tugs up, nearly a smile but his gaze fast-tracks back to Eddie. Eddie nods in agreement, a bit sluggish from his distracting thoughts and god dammit, the extra exposed skin of Steve’s arms are so not helping. “Yeah, looks... looks good, man.”

Steve smiles, lips pressed together but his shoulders curl in just a bit, deflating just a tad. From where Steve can’t see her, Robin waves her hands wildly and catches Eddie’s attention. He watches as she gestures wildly and it takes a moment to realise what’s she mouthing — ‘A bid! That’s a bid, you idiot!’

Oh fuck, Eddie thinks. Cos it totally was; the question, the focus on Eddie. He doesn’t even think about the logistics of it, of the fact Robin was right, just jumps right into picking up the bid.

“You trying a new style?” Eddie asks and then thanks whatever god invented the whole fake-it-to-you-make-it schtick because he’s feeling so far from casual or confident. “Going metal on me, big boy?”

Eddie just manages to catch the grin that breaks across Steve’s face as he turns away, giving a scoff — it comes out too soft though, giving away his complete lack of annoyance. He pulls that usual Steve Harrington pose, hands sliding onto his hips, and screws his face into some melted smiley-grimace. “Shut up, Munson.”

Eddie grins and goads on the blush that’s beginning on Steve’s neck, a glorious tinged pink colour. “If this shirt is any indication, you’d pull it off just fine.”

Eddie watches the blush climb higher as Steve ignores the comment, his smile still giving him away. He grabs his coat and pats down his jeans — ridiculous tight acid wash jeans that Eddie hates he’s somehow become attracted to — ensuring he has his keys and wallet. Once assured, he looks up at his two friends again, brows raised, and says, “Ready to rock and roll?”

That comment alone has Eddie seriously reconsidering his type in men.

There’s only a brief moment to talk about it when Eddie and Robin cajole Steve into going and getting them both popcorn to get a moment alone. Steve had scoffed, face twitching in the way it did whenever he tried to hold back a bitchy comment, but he still stomped off in the direction of the snack stand.

The moment he’s out of earshot, both voices explode in the back of Eddie’s van.

“What did I say—”

“Jesus H Christ, you were right—”

“Literally how many times do I have—”

“Oh my god, you were right—”

“ —before you realise I’m always—”

“Robin.” He cuts her off, hands landing on her shoulders. Robin eyes them warily, lips still parted from how her rant had been cut off. “Robin, I’m gonna kill you.”

“What?” Robin’s nose scrunches up. “What the hell are you—”

“Oh Christ, I can’t believe- how long have you noticed those bids?” Eddie’s aware he sounds a bit estranged, eyes probably wide and it doesn’t help when he softly shakes Robin back and forth. She lets herself be shaken, hair flying back in forth. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me! You are such a bad gay friend!”

Robin smacks his hands off her shoulders with a frown, her freckly face perturbed at Eddie’s outburst. “Dude, it’s not my fault! May I remind you that until very very recently you were seeing someone else? What difference would it have made?”

Eddie waves his hand, disregarding the point with a shake of his head. His unkempt curls cover his face and Eddie sweeps them back in one motion, “What difference would it have made? Oh my, Jesus—“

Whatever long-winded sentence Eddie was about to spit out is lost by the sound of Steve’s approaching footsteps, effectively shutting both of them up.

Eddie flings himself to the other side of the van, putting an unusual amount of distance between Robin and him like they were being caught doing something they shouldn’t.

Robin frowns at him and gestures wildly with her hands in a way that means what the fuck man? Eddie gestures back, though he’s not entirely sure what his fast hand motions are supposed to mean when Steve rounds the door.

He’s got two buckets of popcorn tucked under each arm and Eddie quickly crosses his arms, tucking his hands into his armpits like his stupid hand motions will somehow give him away.

Steve looks up, stopping just a way from the edge of the van, and looks at the pair of them. His eyes track from Robin still sitting on one of the old cushions and looking two seconds from burying her face in her hands, across to Eddie. He huffs a laugh and kneels on the edge of the van.

“I know he’s gross Robin,” He begins, tone light, as he holds out one of the buckets for Robin to take. “But c’mon, is the distance really necessary?”

Robin snickers as Eddie makes an appalled noise, both of which make Steve smirk. He holds out the other for Eddie to take and Eddie snatches it, glaring at him over the buttery rim for his comment. Then takes a handful and shovels it in because he can’t think of a witty comment to retaliate. Steve crawls into the van and plops himself between them with a content sigh.

“See? Gross.” He teases, shoving his hand into Eddie’s popcorn bucket to grab a handful. Eddie scowls and chews a little faster when the flavour on his tongue seems to register in his brain.

His eyes stare at the popcorn bucket as he chews, then swallows — up the front of the van, the radio that’s tuned into the correct frequency begins playing the opening credits song as the screen changes. Silence sweeps across the drive-in but despite the sudden hush, Eddie has no qualms about breaking it.

“Sweet n’ salty flavour?” He asks Steve, only half attempting a whisper. Robin shushes him instantly, her focus already on the movie that’s beginning. Steve smiles, looking a bit sheepish beneath the glow of the drive-in screen, but he nods.

“I know you like it.” He whispers with a small shrug of his shoulders. Like it wasn’t a big deal. Fuck, Eddie thinks again and hastily feeds himself another handful of popcorn before he says anything majorly stupid in response to that, like: Oh, amazing- have you noticed the big fat crush I have on you as well?

He doesn’t even need to look at Robin to know she’s smiling, smug as ever.

—

Steve, God bless his oblivious little heart, doesn’t even realise he’s doing it.

Steve likes Eddie. Eddie is— god, Eddie is different but he’s good.

He’s this strange amalgamation of traits that Steve can’t comprehend how they fit together in one body or how Eddie manages to pull it all off completely charmingly.

He’s loud, he says rude things, he’s fucking dorky, and far too sweet on the kids — he likes to tease Steve, and yet somehow, when Eddie calls him ‘pretty boy’, Steve knows he’s not actually making fun of him.

Steve likes Eddie, likes his boyishly endearing charm, likes his touchiness towards Steve that no other boy his age is like, likes his messy curls and his ‘holier than thou’ attitude about metal music even though Steve doesn’t get it, like at all. And fuck, Steve really wants Eddie to like him.

It reminds him faintly of when he first started working alongside Robin at Scoops. That thought tickles in the back of his mind, something along the lines of how he had wanted Robin to like him for other reasons, but he doesn’t delve into it.

To Steve, it’s simple: he just wants Eddie to like him.

After the night at the drive-in, between Eddie acting strangely skittish and Robin giving more amused snorts than usual, Steve knows something is up.

He knows they must have discussed something when they sent him on popcorn duty, the bastards. He tries his best to not feel left out; god knows Robin and he have more than a dozen secrets they’ve sworn not to tell anyone but each other.

Besides, Steve trusts Robin to come and tell him if he really needs to know, even if it does worry him a bit. He bites down his anxious thoughts, even trying for a moment to see if there’s a pattern he’s been missing.

That train of thought gets derailed when Steve recalls instead Eddie’s delightful reaction to his new shirt — that Steve definitely hadn’t bought for that specific reason.

Even though Robin had given him that look when he’d first shown it to her — her bright eyes had narrowed, her smile turning a little more coy, and Steve had felt his ears get a little hotter. She hadn’t said anything though, just suggested that he should wear it tomorrow night when they were going out with Eddie.

God, he was glad she suggested it.

Rewinding over Eddie’s parted lips, the way his brown eyes had drank in the details as they trailed up his body and lingered on his arms— Steve had the sudden thought to flex the muscle, just to elicit some reaction, but it had gone out the window at Eddie’s original dismal reaction.

‘Yeah, looks... looks good, man’. Said all aloof, like he hadn’t really thought it. It was like bursting a balloon hidden behind Steve’s ribs, one he wasn’t even aware was there until it was deflating pathetically, making his shoulders sag.

Then— ‘You trying a new style? Going metal on me, big boy?’ And dammit, it’s like Eddie had clocked exactly what calling him ‘big boy’ had done the first time in the Winnebago.

Eddie had then grinned, done another once over of the new shirt, even as Steve pretended to search for his keys and wallet while saying something snarky to try to cover up the heat crawling up his neck. Yet, Steve found himself smiling too because, fuck yes, Eddie liked it too.

But, apparently, whatever Eddie and Robin had discussed wasn’t considered important enough because Robin never brought it up.

The thought and worry about it melt away in Steve’s mind until the memory of that night is about Eddie’s compliment, about his cat-like grin over the popcorn bucket, and how he had leaned over to whisper every bad joke into Steve’s ear all through the movie.

Some of them had been down-right filthy jokes which Eddie only seemed to enjoy more when Steve screwed his face up and nudged Eddie in the ribs, yet unable to hide his smile.

After the third vulgar joke and subsequent nudge, Steve had chided ‘dude’ with a poorly hidden grin. Eddie, smile all cheeky, had nudged him back with a ‘dude’ of his own.

Which, of course, ensued a nudge competition til Robin had given a shush that librarians all over the world would be jealous of. But Steve didn’t even care because he and Eddie were arm to arm, pressed close together and Eddie…didn’t move. Stayed close, like he wanted the closeness the same way Steve did.

Steve only remembers the strange drive-in moment when Robin brings it up finally, on one interesting Saturday night.

It’s not the usual routine; it’s not very often that the whole group gets together to share drinks and get rowdy.

But it was for Robin’s birthday and she’d been persuasive enough to get even the introverts, like Jonathan, to come along. Though, she was aware he’d probably spend the night on a pool lounger, stoned to high heaven. Whatever floats your boat, she’d said, happy for the company in any form.

There’s enough of them there that it almost resembles some sort of party— and makes Steve try not to think about the last small party he threw here. He can tell Nancy notices it too, eyeing the pool a bit too long in a way he’s very familiar with, then taking a swig of beer.

So, Steve heckles them inside — doing a fantastic mothering impression as he waves the group indoors with a promise of pizza, and that has both Jonathan and Argyle perking up and beginning a fast discussion on the best pizza toppings.

Eddie makes a fuss, because of course he does, and moans terribly when Steve tries to roll him off the pool lounger he’s on. He’s had a bit of a joint and some beer, and Steve’s learned that he gets adorably stubborn after some substances.

“Stevie, this is mean,” he had pouted, gripping the edges of the lounger and staring up at Steve with those big brown eyes. “You telling me I did all that bonding with you for nothing? Can’t even lounge by the pool! I’ve got a couch at homeeeee.”

Steve had sent him an amused look of disbelief, hands on his hips after his first round of flicks against Eddie’s arm were apparently fruitless to get him to move. “Really? Didn’t peg you for a gold-digger, Eds.”

Eddie had snorted at that, one hand coming to slap over his mouth. Steve couldn’t quite hear what he had said but the words pegging and anytime slipped through and Steve thinks he could get the gist of that.

“Oh for Christ’s sake,” Steve muttered, feeling the tips of his ears turn warm. He didn’t know how Eddie could be such a menace— or why he enjoyed it so much when he was. Steve waved a hand in the direction of the doors, ignoring Eddie’s delighted snickering. “If you go inside now, you can be on music, alright?”

And that had finally got them all indoors, Eddie whooping and skedaddling through the doors in an instant, with a call of ‘no take backsies!’ echoing behind him.

Inside was much cozier, the whole group a little more connected when squished up on the couches together. Eddie had taken Steve’s word and was jamming a cassette into one of the speakers when Steve made it back inside after scouting around the pool for leftover cans and butts to throw out.

He’s just been thinking about what playful jab he could make at Eddie’s music, like Eddie always did to him when Robin hollered at him from the kitchen.

“Steve!” She’d yelled excitedly and he come to find her quick, brows raised as he entered the kitchen. She was grinning, already a bit jumpy as she got when she had a bit of liquor — but apparently not enough because when Steve saw what she’d called him in for, she’d announced, “Tequila shots!”

Which lead to now. A hazy combination of beer, tequila, and a bit of weed, and Steve is feeling good. Robin had managed to hijack the music not too long ago, with a hiccup of ‘it’s my birthday’ that had Eddie surrendering with a pout.

She’d since put on a bit of everything: some Blondie for Nance, Talking Heads for Jonathan, and some Bowie, just so she and Steve could dance along to ‘Magic Dance’ and she could do all the silly little goblin voices that made them both cackle.

Steve realised at some point that Robin was playing their mixtape, the one she’d made for driving in the morning, and nearly tripped stumbling over to her in his excitement. He grabbed her shoulders, not too hard, and squeezed.

“Is it- is this our mixtape?” Steve asked, words slurring only a bit. Robin gleamed, hair bouncing with her excited nod.

“Yes!” She was already dancing, even though the tape was between songs — because she knew what song was coming. “It’s Springsteen time, Steve!”

Right as the drums to Born to Run filtered out the speaker.

And oh, Steve loves Robin so much. He loves having a best friend that knows his favourite song and gets jittery and excited because she knows it’s about to play— that she put it on this mix for him.

“You’re my best friend!” Steve says, the words bursting out like he can’t control them. He doesn’t even feel embarrassed, just happy, just drunk, and overwhelming happy to be able to have this.

And even though Robin knows this, she still beams, feet dancing along and just begins to sing along with the song, “In the days, we sweat it out on the streets of a runaway American dream…”

It’s a brazen drunken performance from the both of them. Steve’s chest is heaving after just one chorus that he’s pretty sure he put his whole soul into and he’s so fucking happy —and it feels like pure instinct to seek out Eddie, his eyes scouring the room for him.

Eddie’s leaned up against the wall, hiding his smile behind a can and Steve doesn’t think twice about it— doesn’t think about why he’s so drawn to Eddie, why he wants to include him in this happiness — just extends his hand out and grins.

Eddie sees the bid coming this time.

Part Three.

—

yes i saw all ur lovely tags and MAYBE cried about it. but thats none of ur business.

@orangeandthefairroadkill @swimmingbirdrunningrock @sadcanadianwinter @phantypurple @omg-elledubs-things @henderdads @farfaras @mixsethaddams @prismandblue @kerlypride @bushbees @legitcookie @temporalcoffin @callmesirkay @beautifully-useless @millyditty @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @ninjapirateunicorns @darkwitchoferie @vi-the-best-you-can @psychosnowfox @desert-fern @scarletzgo @cr0w-culture @softpink-candlelight @livingforfictionalcharacters @makewavesandwar @kozuuji @rhapsodyinalto @eddiethesexy @cassaloopa @lightwoodbanethings @qu33rcommunist @moonlitkilljoy @starkdusk @theysherobinbuckley @sanguineterrain @loganwright @sillysparrow @hotcocoaharrington @eddie-munson-is-my-wife @she-is-tim @steddiehearts @sideblogofthcentury @sidebarre @corrodedcoughin @stevieclaus

#OBLIVIOUS STEVE IS MY FAVOURITE!!!!#idiots in love #they're so important to me ur honour #on god am i gonna make them KISS #but steve's gotta figure it out first lol #ruby writes steddie #steddie #steddie ficlet #i think i can call it a fic now lol each part is 3k+ i think #steddie fic #IF U WANTED TO BE TAGGED AND I DIDNT IM SORRY #lest i come off terribly egotistical i need direct instructions to tag lmao #even then i tagged sum people that just said 'can't wait for part 2!' which? isn't?#I DUNNO #i went off vibes someone said they were vibrating so i was like get over here the next part is here #one of these tags is just a steddie blog i love.... and they reblogged part 1 #corrodedcoughin <3 i love u hehe #the stobin bestie love SHINES in this #i love them so much they are BEST FRIENDS!!!#if u have any ideas... i do love reading the tags and seeing what people want to see next ! im fuckin making it up as i go lol

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