Eddie has a lot of nicknames for Steve - Stevie, sweetheart, big boy, baby, darlin', it seems like he adds new ones every week - and Steve adores every single one. The way Eddie beams when he says "Stevie." How he winks when he calls him "darlin'." The once over he gives Steve as he tacks on a "big boy" to whatever it is he just said that Steve can't properly process now because all he can do is stare at Eddie's lips.
But Steve's favorite?
It's the day his parents call to say they aren't coming back to Hawkins. That the house in the Hamptons is just so much more comfortable for the two of them. That they don't care what he does with the other house, the house he grew up in, the house he still lives in, as long as they don't have to deal with it. He doesn't even hear the flimsy excuses they give for leaving him behind because all it sounds like to Steve is "whatever you do, just don't bother us anymore."
He wants to scream, to smash something, to tear the entire house to pieces when he hangs up the phone. But what he does instead is lay on his bed, his arms wrapped around his knees, staring at the wallpaper he wishes he could set on fire.
Which is how Eddie finds him an hour later when he comes over for their weekly movie night.
"Stevie?" he calls, coming up the stairs, worry in his voice. Steve can hear him pause in the doorway before he comes over to the bed. Feels the mattress dip as Eddie sits next to him.
"Hey, sunshine," he says and Steve hasn't heard that one before but it doesn't really matter at the moment.
"Not feeling particularly sunny right now, Eds," he scoffs. Or tries, since his voice is a lot wobblier than he wants it to be.
Eddie doesn't say anything, just lays a gentle hand on Steve's shoulder, tugs a little to get Steve to turn toward him. He resists for half a second, but he also can't deny Eddie anything, even now, so he rolls to face him.
"Storm clouds, thunder, rain, doesn't really matter, you're still my sunshine," Eddie murmurs with a soft smile, pushing Steve's hair back from his face.
And Steve can't help it then, can't stop the sob that tears from his chest as he curls against Eddie. Eddie, who doesn't even know what happened yet, doesn't know why Steve is sobbing into his shoulder, doesn't know that Steve isn't wanted, but who wraps him up in his arms and hangs on tight anyway.
He's humming something as he rubs a hand up and down Steve's back, the vibrations rumbling into Steve's chest and its soothing and soon Steve's sobs are hiccuping breaths. Eddie doesn't let go though, doesn't move away, and now he's softly singing into Steve's ear and Steve almost wants to laugh because of course that's what he's singing. Of course he is.
But Steve doesn't laugh because it's perfect actually and so he just tucks his face against Eddie's neck and listens and breathes and decides it doesn't matter if his parents don't want him because Eddie does. Because with every note Eddie is telling him he makes him happy, that he loves him, that he doesn't ever want to lose him.
And Steve is finally able to lean back just a little, tell Eddie what happened. Sees the storm clouds roll over Eddie's face on his behalf, knows he really does mean it when he tells Steve he'll help him burn down that house in the Hamptons if he wants. Presses their foreheads together with a shaky laugh as he tells Eddie its okay, he's okay, he's going to be okay.
Eddie sighs, softly kisses his cheek. "What can I do to help?"
"Stay?" Steve asks, "Just stay with me?"
And Eddie is nodding, shifting so he can lay down and tuck Steve tight against him. They're quiet now and Steve listens to the beat of Eddie's heart, feels it pulse against the hand he has splayed across Eddie's chest. Tentatively asks, "Could you maybe keep singing? Until -"
Until what? Until he falls asleep? Until it doesn't hurt anymore? Until he really believes what Eddie was singing?
But it doesn't matter because Eddie just starts humming right where he left off and Steve falls asleep to words he can feel in the vibrations of Eddie's voice under his ear and the soothing fingertips moving up and down his arm.
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.
So, yeah, sunshine is definitely Steve's favorite nickname.
You make me happy when skies are gray.
Because when he has a rotten day - he has to deal with a terrible customer or the teens are being particularly bratty or the whine of the dying vcr at work rewinding a tape sounded a little too much like a horde of demon bats shrieking across the sky -
You'll never know dear how much I love you.
Eddie takes one look at him and gives him that certain soft smile. "C'mere, sunshine," he says, laying down on the couch and pulling Steve on top of him, running gentle fingers through his hair. And he quietly sings until Steve's shoulders relax and his breath evens out and there is no place else in the world he would rather be.
Please don't take my sunshine away.
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btw about Neil Gaiman I periodically agree with the 'Neil Gaiman is annoying' stuff bc I feel like both he and Amanda Palmer seem like people who I would go insane stuck in a room with bc we have very different ideas about art and suchlike. and I also do think that the career trajectory he's on lately is cynically redoing his greatest hits and pretending that was the dream all along when it clearly was not. which is at best meh.
having said which
as far as I can tell by far the most common complaint about Neil Gaiman is "Snow, Glass, Apples is problematic/gross/it's got incest and rape and frames the child as the aggressor"
which strikes me as a weird complaint to pull out of a 40 year body of work tbh when that short story is pretty clearly coming from a place of 'how far can I push this'. like you don't have to like the story. I don't really like the story. but it is. a horror story.
like and this is the thing with particularly 90s alt horror right? a lot of the interest is in transgression and sitting in the worst possible perspective and seeing what happens if you pull those strings. like I really like Clive Barker for example but there's a good chunk of his short stories that I'm like I'm not picking up what you're putting down Clive this seems Kinda Off. but that willingness to write some trite or Bad Message horror fiction that doesn't land is imo a side effect of being willing to try writing uncomfortable and unpleasant fiction at all. which is what horror is for, among other things, it's for creating discomfort as a form of catharsis or engagement.
like I am not a huge fan of the type of sex-horror that pops up in a lot of Gaiman's work and other contemporary horror writers - to me I don't find it upsetting or horny it just ends up feeling kind of edgy and tryhard - but I'm also a bit like. it does seem like a lot of people's beef with Neil Gaiman is that In The 90s He Was A Horror Writer
and this approach to Problematic Horror in Snow, Glass, Apples I find kind of microcosmic of how The Discourse often approaches art in this kind of 1:1 way. if you write a story which seems to line up with rape apologia it can only be because you agree with it. if you write a story about transphobia you're a transphobe. if you write a story that makes me genuinely uncomfortable you're attacking me.
but artwork, especially art like horror that's not necessarily trying to provoke enjoyment as its main response, is necessarily hit and miss. and if what you're shooting for is discomfort then whether it works, falls flat or goes too far incredibly depends on your audience. and making good art - as in art that makes its audience think, art that opens the audience up to discomfort and catharsis and sticks with them and changes them - requires the space to experiment and tbh the space to fuck up. like they aren't all going to be winners and they certainly aren't all going to work for you as a singular audience.
personally I don't see the appeal of Snow, Glass, Apples, less cause it's nasty and more cause it's hack. ooh an edgy monstrous version of a fairy tale where there's lots of rape and cannibalism? you're soooo original Neil. but like. that's fine. I don't really vibe with like 70% of Neil Gaiman stuff I've read but I still like Neil Gaiman because the stuff that works for me really works for me.
idk I think there's a lot of folk on this website who shouldn't interact with horror cause they clearly aren't interested in being horrified. that's not everyone who dislikes Snow, Glass, Apples, but it's a real undercurrent to a lot of the criticism and tbh this kinda vibe is shit for art. making standout art What Is Good also requires being ready to make art which stands out for the wrong reasons. sometimes they'll be the same art to different people.
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