reminder:
you're allowed to be proud of your accomplishments.
you're allowed to think you're pretty, or smart, or funny.
you're allowed to be good at things.
you're allowed to voice your opinion.
you're allowed to do whatever makes you feel comfortable.
you're allowed to not know what you want to do.
you're allowed to change your mind.
you're allowed to want things.
you're allowed to cry and break down.
you're allowed to be disappointed when things don't go your way.
you're allowed to love the way you love.
you're allowed to dream.
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Simon Riley’s love is a terrible devotion. Hell maybe even a curse for just how much he loves. He loves with his whole self no matter the pain, you’re burrowed into his chest whether you want to be there or not and he will sew himself up so you can never leave him
Simon Riley knows pain like no other, knows what’s it’s like to take it and give it, and he etched himself into the very being of your life, inescapable, ever present, unending
This man is the threat of love. He will take care of you even when you don’t need it, you don’t want it, and he does so with all that he is, looming over you like the inevitable guillotine. He will love you but he will not do it delicately—if he could swallow you whole, lock you away, take all that you are into him than he would if it meant that you would be forever safe, forever his
His to love, his to adore, his to never leave
Simon riley loves with every bit of his being, even the parts that are broken and fractured and dusty and still buried and he does so like a stray dog that will follow you to the ends of the earth
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Eddie draws on the edge of Steve’s hip, where his shirt rides up from stretching across Eddie’s bed. He’s humming to himself a song Steve doesn’t recognize, but it soothes him.
“What are you drawing?” Steve speaks softly; something about the moment feels gentle. He doesn’t want to break it.
“Hmmm, it’s a secret.” Eddie peaks beneath his bangs and smiles.
Steve leans up on his elbows, “Well, that’s not fair; I think I should know what’s going on my body?”
Eddie only looks at him with mischief as he continues to doodle. “Be grateful, Harrington. You’re getting an original Munson for free.”
Steve can’t help the laugh that escapes him. It is just like Eddie to say something like that. Playful and mean, it makes something settle in Steve. For a long time, he only knows the pain from harsh comments or a sentence with a bite. It is a welcomed change, to feel a bubble of happiness after a light jab.
“Whatever you say, Munson. Just let me see.” Steve tries to push up further to sneak a peek, but Eddie uses his free hand to push him down to the bed. He just happens to catch Steve off guard, sending him into a sprawl that can only be described as a starfish.
“I’m not finished yet.” Eddie grabs his hips and pins him still while he draws. After a few more moments, he says, “Done!”
Steve looks at his work and releases a snort that breaks the careful tension between them. “Are those boobs?”
“Why yes, they are, and a good representation if I say so myself.”
“Do you even know what boobs look like? Like the live version?” Steve knows he should be mad at the sharpie-drawn breasts on his body, but he can’t find it in him to have an angry tone.
“We’ll no. I don’t. And I would much prefer to keep it that way.”
Steve chokes on his spit a little bit, “Did you just come out to me, Eds?”
Steve isn’t sure what he expects. Denial, maybe, Eddie taking back what he said. Steve knows he isn’t handling this right. He doesn’t think Robin would be too happy with his response.
Steve thinks maybe he should see a little bit of fear in Eddie’s demeanor. That shakiness that comes with telling someone a dangerous secret.
What he gets, in the end, isn’t something he could have predicted. Eddie smiles softly, a little bit of his tooth peeking out, and lays his head gently on Steve’s leg. He’s calm and collected. He’s happy, Steve realizes.
“Yea, I guess I did. Not like it was much of a secret, though. Are you upset?” Eddie draws soft circles around the drawing on Steve’s hip—the rough callous on his thumb contradicting his tender touch.
Once again, although the conversation should be anxious, it’s not. Eddie’s question is spoken like he already knows the answer. Maybe he does.
“No, Eddie. I’m not mad. Never would be for that. Just thought it was a funny way of sharing a secret. Though, gotta admit, a very you way of doing it.”
This time Eddie throws his head back when he laughs, before settling back down on Steve’s leg. His giggles never really settled. “Like I said, Stevie wasn’t much of a secret anyway. Well, between us, that is at least. I like to think some, if not all, the kids are oblivious.”
“Erica definitely knows.”
Eddie’s eyes widen in mischief, “Oh, for sure. Pretty sure she would kick the others' asses, too, if they gave me shit for it. And she kicks hard too.”
It’s Steve’s turn to laugh. He’s never had this before, this casualness to serious conversations. Before, Steve is used to screaming and punching, drunken confessions in the bathroom, and throwing up on the mall floor. It isn’t like this, now, with Eddie in his trailer bedroom. It’s good. It’s safe.
“Thank you for telling me, Eds. Something like that is hard to share no matter who you tell it to.”
The softness is back again, “Like I said wasn’t much of a secret. Besides, I don’t think there isn’t any secret of mine you don’t know, Stevie. I think even when I don’t tell you, you kinda already know, don’t you?”
Steve leans one arm forward, while he places his weight on one elbow. He gently takes Eddie’s face in one hand, rubbing circles in the same motion as Eddie’s thumb on his hip.
God, I want to kiss him so bad sometimes, Steve thinks.
“Yea, I already know.”
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