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flowercrowngods · 2 months

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something so monstrous pt.2

(in which kas feeds from steve and triggers a bad migraine pt.2)

🤍🌷 read part 1 here this part gets really intense on the migraine. descriptions of immense pain, fever dreams, and vomiting, some body horror imagery bc pain can be fun like that

Time and space lose all meaning as Steve remains on the precipice of something that is too violent to be called sleep, but not harsh enough yet to be unconsciousness. Real sensations evade him as everything turns into pain immediately. Even the twitch of his finger becomes a thundering blaze of blinding pain shooting through his body and settling behind his eye until he is sure he will wake up blind.

The fear of that is everpresent, the blind spots too real to ignore every time it goes like this, and he imagines how they will grow. He imagines how they get worse every time until one day the pain inside his skull will be so immense it will take his eyesight in exchange for alleviation.

And even though it is unbearable, he opens his eyes whenever he can, just to make sure he can see still. It’s an added veil of terror that covers him whole and consumes him slowly but continually.

At some point he notices something cold and wet being placed over his eyes, adding another layer of darkness that is welcome, even if it leaves an imprint of pressure and sensation on his forehead that makes his skin tear around it, his skull cracking and caving in beneath the touch.

And still it helps a little, pulling him further toward consciousness but not further toward the pain itself. But Steve can only whimper weakly in response, six feet under a thick cloud of cotton-filled smog that even turns breathing into a chore, polluting his lungs with fear and horror and agony without compare.

He does fall into a fitful sleep at some point, grateful for the short reprieve, but it does nothing to alleviate his exhaustion.

It feels like his eyeballs are being pushed into his skull for what must be hours upon hours, and the pain is so unbearable, so horrible, that he's not at all surprised when nausea rises in his chest, his body responding to its current state with confusion and a hard-reset.

Steve keens, trying to roll onto his side, groaning at the flares of pain shooting up into his skull and down into his limbs. They only worsen the nausea and it's pure instinct that gives him the strength to sit up.

"Kas?” he whispers, swallowing thickly against another wave. "Bathroom?”

Instead of giving him directions or pulling him up to drag him there, Kas wastes no time. He gets up off the floor, approaching him with shuffling steps once more, and gently but quickly lifts Steve off the bed in a hold — firm, yet gentle — that brings another sting of tears to Steve's eyes. Pain and vulnerability and the need for everything to be over. That’s what makes him cry.

Still he manages to hold on, his head rolling onto Kas's shoulder, the skin of his neck blissfully cool against Steve’s overheated forehead pressing into him.

Make it stop, he thinks. Longs. Aches. It’s supposed to be over. It’s all supposed to be over now.

He whimpers again, and imagines that Kas is the one to softly shush him this time.

The coolness of Kas's neck is gone all too soon as the vampire sets Steve on the hard, uncomfortable bathroom floor. He doesn't go far, though, crouching down beside him and holding him up over the toilet. Steve can't see anything, but still he’s grateful that Kas left the lights off, the bathroom tinged in the same darkness as his bedroom.

Pathetically, Steve rests his forehead on the toilet seat, chasing the coldness of it as pain and nausea reach their peak. It’s disgusting, but be’s not strong enough to care. A whine breaks from him, and he wishes Kas would leave. Even though the cold hand on his neck feels good, and even though he knows he wouldn't be able to hold himself up right now.

I'm not weak, he wants to say. And maybe he does. But he can't recognise his own voice right now.

"Not weak, maybe, but pathetic."

No.

"You know you are."

Shut up. Go away.

It doesn't make sense for Mr Munson to suddenly be here with them, to stand in the doorway and watch his nephew, who is more monster than human these days, holding up the pathetic form of Steve, who is more pain than human. More smoke than human. More vulnerable weakness than remotely human.

Go away. Eddie? I want him to go away. Tell— Go ‘way.

The hand wanders, pulling Steve against cool skin again so his forehead rests against the toilet no longer, basking in the cold touch and the warmth of a body to hold him.

"Safe," Kas says, and Steve wants to badly to believe him. Wants Wayne to leave, wants everyone to leave and just let him suffer in silence and solitude like always.

Wayne starts talking again, but Steve can't hear him this time as he suddenly heaves and retches, throwing up what little he had to eat today. Over and over and over.

It goes like this for a long time. He has no idea how long. Has no idea where he even is anymore.

The world tilts a few times when he loses his grip, his arms buckling, his hands spasming and giving out, and still he never falls. Only ever feels the cold, damp skin of Kas’s neck.

Kas has to carry him to bed when he's done and on the brink of passing out again, and Steve doesn’t mind this time. Kas also hands him a glass of water or two before pushing him back to lie down again. That’s nice.

The wet cloth returns, and Steve isn't aware of his surroundings for much more after that.

——

The next time Steve comes to, he feels like he was freshly dragged through Lover’s Lake until his lungs gave out. His head is pulsing violently, his senses are sluggish and everything feels foggy. He has no idea where he is, the room pitch black around him as he lifts a lukewarm damp cloth from his eyes.

A soft groan falls from his lips as he stretches his aching, cramped limbs, rubbing his hands over his face and regaining the feeling in his body. Little pinpricks of phantom pain shoot through him, his mouth tastes like ash and his head protests rather violently against his pathetic attempt at sitting up.

He is disoriented and something about his vision is still messed up, something in the depths of the room not quite right and leaving him with a dizziness he can’t quite shake, followed by a wave of anxiety that something’s wrong with his eyes.

He blinks. Blinks again, finding more things in the strange room as he does, his sluggish brain slowly catching up and filling in the blanks.

It all comes back to him like a tidal wave when he suddenly finds himself blinking at a pair of red eyes, softly glowing and wide open.

“Kas,” he croaks, his throat absolutely parched.

One second he’s wincing at that, the next he finds a cool glass of water pressed into his hands before the eyes and the shadowy form they belong to retreat to the foot of the bed again.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, stalling as he takes a sip. Embarrassment rises in him, but he doesn’t want to apologise. The thought of that somehow makes the vulnerability that much worse, so he tries to ignore it. It’ll all be fine if they simply not acknowledge it.

He wants to ask for the time instead, wants to know how much the migraine took from him this time, but he knows Kas doesn’t really understand the concept of it all, let alone know the numbers.

A silence settles between them and it’s somewhere between welcome and uncomfortable. Just like everything that happens in Hawkins. It makes Steve feel like a ghost again, but this time he’s a ghost in the room, not just in his own head. He’s the one who’s out of place.

With a little sigh, he places the glass on the makeshift nightstand again and falls over onto his side. His head is mad at him for it, still feeling too fragile for sudden movements, but lying down feels better than sitting.

There’s a huff from Kas that sounds more amused than derisive, so Steve looks at him. Looks at the shimmer in those eyes before closing his own again, not wanting to be looked at right now. Not wanting to face it.

“You,” Kas says then, his voice quiet and without the edge of that animalistic growl. The sound of someone who’s not meant to speak at all. The souvenir of someone who was human once before Evil grabbed him and modified him to His liking.

“Me,” Steve says, an automatic response, just as quiet. He’s listening.

“How… How are…” Kas struggles, huffing in frustration at the words that refuse to come, but still it’s the most coherent Steve has ever heard him. It makes him sit up half way again; leaning his weight on one arm to focus all his foggy and cloudy attention on the vampire trying to ask him how he is feeling.

No more words come, though, the question half finished in the air between them. But somehow it makes Steve smile. Just a little bit. This feels important. And huge.

“My head hurts,” he answers truthfully, amused when Kas’s eyes snap back to his. To search them. To communicate something.

“Hurts?”

“Yeah. It will, for a while. Always does. Nothing to do about it, really.” He wishes he felt as indifferent to it as he sounds, but that’s just the tiredness clouding his tone. It’s fast approaching now that he knows he’s relatively safe. Now that he knows he can rest. His arm gives out and he slides, slowly this time, back to lie on the pillow. “But it’s not as bad. And the other pain is gone, so…”

So. He could go home now. He should, probably. Ignoring the weakness in his bones and the exhaustion in his every fiber. If he closed his eyes again right now, he could fall asleep. Still, maybe he should—

“Stay,” Kas says again, and Steve really should have figured. He’s not quite well enough to really fight him on that, though, so he shrugs.

“Fine,” he mumbles into the pillow, halfway back to slumberland already.

There’s movement on the foot of the bed, and before he knows it Kas has tucked him in again, draped across the pillows as he is. It’s still unreal, that, but Steve won’t complain. What’s even more unreal, though, is the image Steve gets of Kas curling up by the foot of the bed in a similar position. As if he still means to keep watch.

It’s ridiculous. A little weird. And sort of endearing.

——

The next time Steve wakes, everything around him is a little brighter, daylight fighting weakly to fill the room, but it stands no chance against the large wooden planks and thick curtains meant to block it out permanently.

He blinks away the heaviness, taking stock of his body. There is a crick in his neck and burgeoning cramps in his side and hip from the position he’s still in, and this head still is a pulsing, aching mess — but no more than usual.

He taps the pads of his fingers to his thumb before flexing his hands. Only then does he stretch the rest of his body and announce his wakefulness.

Opposite him, at the foot of the bed, Kas is already awake and still in the same position that Steve saw him last. Did he even sleep? Does he need that? Or has he just been staring at Steve, watching him, ready to carry him to the bathroom again for round two.

The thought of that makes his skin crawl.

“Hi,” he says to fill the silence that is all too inviting for his spiralling mind.

Kas grunts, but it sounds more like a hum. Sort of gentle around the edges. He doesn’t move, doesn’t seem at all fazed that they’re just kind of staring at each other. Steve swallows, not really sure how to go from here.

He fists the blanket and rubs the linen bedding between his fingers, feels the rough fabric catching on the callouses along his hands as uncomfortable seconds tick by. Still Kas doesn’t move.

“Listen, man,” Steve says at last, thinking back to yesterday’s events and the vampire’s sudden care. “Thanks, alright? What you did, that was, uh. That was nice. You didn’t have to do any of that.”

Another hum, and it occurs to Steve that Kas is back in his normal state, retreated back into his mind, hiding from the world himself now that it no longer needs him. It’s a strange thought, that Steve being hurt would be what brings him back. If at all. Maybe he’s reading it all wrong. Maybe it as just a coincidence, or maybe Kas tasted something in his blood that made him want to improve Steve’s physical state for selfish purposes. That’s probably more likely.

But it makes him feel even more wrong-footed than before, and it leaves him hyper-aware of the situation. Of their dynamic. Indifference and annoyance and… He doesn’t want it to change, doesn’t want some kind of debt between himself and Kas — especially not when Kas has no means to really settle it. But he also can’t feign some kind of gratitude when what he feels the most is mortification and embarrassment; and he sure as hell doesn’t want Kas to know that either.

So he throws back the blanket and gets out of the bed, a little dizzy at first, but he doesn’t care as he slips into his shoes and hurries out of the room.

He just wants to leave. Get out of here and go home, go back to bed and get over the mortification of having been seen like this. Of having been taken care of. By someone who doesn’t even like him. By someone who hissed and snapped at him one moment and then carried him to the bathroom the next.

“It looks like there’s nothing human left in him, but we do have data that suggest otherwise.” Owens’s words echo through his mind as he crosses the living room. “It seems to be in hiding, the Munson part of him; that’s our hope at least. That you can get him back out one day, make him win over the vampire part. It could be like a self defence mechanism, I guess. We hope he can still be coaxed back into the land of the living. How, though, we don’t know.”

Was this what happened? Has Steve’s weakness triggered the human part of Kas’s tortured brain to take over? No, that can’t be.

It seems unreal. Unlikely. Wayne telling him stories or Dustin talking about their campaign, that should have helped. Even Mike playing the guitar, or Robin rambling about something or other; all of that was much more close to who Munson was. Or used to be. Eddie Munson never struck Steve as someone who took care of people naturally. Someone who stepped in. He stepped up, sure, but only ever for the wrong reasons.

It makes no sense. So it must be wrong; just Steve’s exhausted brain grasping at straws. It usually does that, anyway. Nobody knows if Eddie is even still in there. Part of Steve hopes he’s not.

Just as he reaches for the front door, ready to just get out of here and pretend like nothing happened, he feels a presence behind him. Kas followed him out of the bedroom, standing in the doorway now with an unreadable expression. It's the blank one he usually takes on, but where before it was normal, it throws Steve off now. Maybe because he saw how Kas can look at him. How expressive his eyes can get.

He holds them, the red shimmer a little dimmer out here in the brighter living room.

And maybe it's the blankness in those eyes, or the lack of judgment in Kas's every action, but whatever it is, it makes Steve let go of the door and turn to face Kas properly.

"Why'd you do it?"

The vampire inclines his head. Listening. Always listening. Steve doesn't know how he never noticed that. It seemed so primitive before. Like how a dog will react to its owner speaking, but never process the words. Kas processes, though. So Steve keeps going.

"Why'd you... You kept saying that word. Safe. Do you, uh. Do you know what it means?"

Slowly, his eyes growing a little less blank, Kas nods.

Steve looks around the cabin, swallowing thickly, still feeling so out of place in here, still feeling the need to run and leave it far behind. But something makes him stay. Makes him want to understand.

"You wanted me to feel safe?" Again, Kas nods. "Why?"

There is hesitation there, and Steve wonders if it's because he doesn't want to tell him, if he doesn't know the answer, or if he doesn't know how to answer. It's a loaded question, maybe.

"Pain," he says at last, his voice barely discernible from a growl, but somehow Steve seems attuned to it now. Maybe because he listens now. Because he wants to know. To understand.

He waits, watching as Kas struggles for more words once more. Just like last night.

"Know... Know... pain. Know.” He taps his temple with a clawed hand, and Steve's heart falls, his chest aching with realisation.

Right. He would. He would know pain like that. If what the doc says is right, if what Vecna taunted them with is right, if every working theory the kids have is right, then… yeah. Kas would know. He’s know something about pain. More than any of them. Pain so intense it splits you apart from yourself.

"Shit," Steve whispers more to himself than to the room, crossing his arms in front of his chest to hug himself and keep from digging deeper, keep his heart from falling further, and keep the horror at bay.

He doesn't want to imagine the kind of torture Kas went through. Is still going through, if what the doctors say has even more truth to it. If Munson is still in there, still suffering because human minds have a way of holding on to pain — Steve knows soemthing about that, too.

"I'm sorry," he offers. It's all he can offer. In the end, it’s all that’s left.

And still it's so lame. It's not enough.

But Kas just nods again, a pained shadow of a smile appearing on his face. Something transpires between them in that moment, Steve can feel it, but he can't really define it. Maybe some kind of understanding. Some kind of safety.

"I gotta..." he starts, motioning to the door behind him. "I gotta go. Will you be fine? Did you have enough, y'know, to drink?"

Another nod, and the smile widens a little. Looks a little less pained this time.

"Good," Steve says, stuffing his hands into his pockets, lifting his shoulders to his ears, trying and failing to seem casual in the face of those glowing eyes. "I’ll– I'll see you around, yeah?"

And then he's out the door, his head spinning and aching, his steps heavy with the weight of whatever has changed between him and Kas in the past twenty-four hours.

... sooo. part 3 anyone?

🤍 permanent tag list gang: @skiddit @inklessletter @aringofsalt @hellion-child @stobin-cryptid @hotluncheddie @gutterflower77 @auroraplume @steddieonbigboy @n0-1-important @stevesjockstrap @brainvines @puppy-steve @izzy2210 @itsall-taken @mangoinacan13 @madigoround @pukner @i-amthepizzaman @swimmingbirdrunningrock @hammity-hammer @stevesbipanic @bitchysunflower @estrellami-1 @finntheehumaneater @goodolefashionedloverboi (lmk if you want on or off, for this story or permanently) 🤍 tagging for this work only: @forestnymph-666 @little-trash-ghost @jupitersgonemissing

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #kas eddie munson #kas takes care of steve fic #this part is downright short for me lmao #dio words #something so monstrous #i have a lot of things to say about pain and monstrosity but instead i just juxtapose them with an actual monster #and then bend the understanding of humanity around that instead #if the tag list doesn't work pls lmk some of these tags be looking wonky on mobile #the end of this is super rushed but 1) steve is still disoriented n weak 2) the mortifying ordeal of having been taken care of must be fled #3) too many thoughts too many realisations and things rearranging overwritten by the need to leave #so pls know it’s intentional and real life is abrasive like that sometimes hdhdh

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matchingbatbites · 1 year

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Love Grows - Part 1

This is my take on teen dad Steve! It was just supposed to be a ficlet, but the word count is currently hovering at 4k and I'm not done, so this will be going up in parts. <3

Ao3 | Part 2

February '85

The rumors have been flying for weeks. It only took one cheerleader to see Steve Harrington out and about with a baby and soon enough the news was all over the school. Nevermind that no one else has even seen said baby, but just the one accusation is enough to send the rumor mill into production.

It's something that had piqued Eddie's interest, but he quickly attributed it to teenagers spreading drama, a fiction created for their own entertainment. That is, until the day Harrington shows up to school with the baby.

The halls are buzzing, more so than usual, and it only takes until second period for Eddie to realize why. The entire class breaks into whispers when Steve walks in with a baby carrier in one hand, a piece of paper in the other, and a diaper bag slung over his shoulder. The paper goes to the teacher, who reads it before saying something to Steve, and Eddie is so curious but unable to hear anything over the chatter in the room.

Eddie can’t take his eyes off Steve for the rest of the class. He watches as the carrier finds a home on the floor, right by Steve’s desk, and Eddie has a perfect view of the little, rosy-cheeked baby girl from his seat two rows behind Steve (at least, Eddie’s assuming it’s a girl. The blanket tucked around her is a soft pink, so-). He sees every time Steve leans over to check on her, sees how her big eyes flick up to look at him, how she smiles around the pacifier in her mouth.

It makes Eddie go all gooey inside; he's always loved kids, always hoped to find a guy who is good with them, and seeing Harrington being so attentive only increases the low-key crush he has on the other guy (he knows it’s a little pathetic, but Steve is very attractive, and Eddie is very gay, sue him). When the class ends, Eddie gathers his stuff slowly so he has an excuse to hang back a little and watch Steve interact with the baby some more, but soon enough the younger is also packed up and out the door.

Eddie doesn't see Steve again until later that day, when he's skipping out on 5th period and hears a baby crying as he passes by a closed classroom door. He peeks in through the window and sees Harrington pacing slowly while holding the baby against his shoulder, one arm supporting her from the bottom as his free hand rubs circles into her back.

For a moment Eddie thinks about walking on, about just leaving Steve alone as he comforts his wailing child, but the cries pull hard on Eddie's heartstrings and he finds himself opening the door and slipping inside.

"Everything okay?" he asks, and Steve looks up in surprise before his expression shifts into something unreadable.

"Yeah, we're fine. She's just extra fussy because she's teething. I came in here because I don't want to disturb anyone else."

Eddie hums and goes to the nearby diaper bag, starts digging through it and is surprised when Steve doesn't tell him to stop. He finds a little bottle of numbing gel and smears some onto his pinky before sliding it into the baby's still wailing mouth, and carefully rubs it over her gums as he coos at her.

"I know, honey, it hurts so bad. It's gonna be okay, though, just you wait."

He glances up to see Steve staring at him, his expression curious, and Eddie suddenly feels overexposed.

"My last neighbor had two jobs and three small kids, so I have a little experience with babies," Eddie explains, needing to fill the sudden silence that falls as the baby calms. His finger is still in her mouth, and he feels no desire to remove it, especially once she starts gnawing on it gently. Steve glances down at his girl before giving Eddie a soft smile, and Eddie's heart flips in his chest.

"That's more than I have, at least. Thanks."

"No worries, man. What, uh- what's her name?"

"Rosemary," Steve says, humming when the baby makes a soft noise. "At least, that's what I'm changing it to, as soon as I'm able."

The warmth that had settled in Eddie's stomach sours a little at Steve's declaration, and as he pulls his finger from the baby's mouth he can't help biting out "And her mom is okay with you changing her name?"

The atmosphere in the room changes as Steve's face crumbles, and Eddie knows he's said something wrong.

"Her mom didn't want anything to do with her," Steve replies softly, and oh no, Eddie instantly feels like a piece of shit. He'd heard the rumors that some girl had just dumped the baby on him, but he didn't think they were true.

"Shit, I'm so sorry, man. I didn't mean to assume anything."

"It's okay. No one really knows about the whole… situation."

There's an awkward pause before Eddie asks "So, Rosemary. Your choice wouldn't happen to be inspired by a certain Edison Lighthouse song, would it?" He smiles when Steve blushes, the pink dusting his face so sweetly as he shrugs.

"It was my grandma's favorite song, and a lot of my happy memories are with her, so... I've already started calling her Rosie, so she'll be used to it."

"It’s a good name," Eddie hums, rubbing his thumb over Rosie's tiny eyebrow. "She's a cute kid, Harrington."

Steve mutters a soft “Thanks,” and then there’s a brief pause before he asks "Do you- do you want to hold her?" and Eddie doesn't even hesitate before nodding and giving a quick “Yes!”

He takes off his jacket and vest in one go, knowing the fabric is a little rough, and takes the baby when Steve offers her to him. He holds her close, one hand supporting her and the other resting on her back, and starts to sway a little. "I haven't held a baby in like, two years. I forgot how calming it is." Steve hums and smiles as he sits on a nearby desk. “Yeah, it is.”

They spend the rest of the time just talking about whatever comes to mind, and it's really fucking nice. Eddie learns about the gaggle of kids Steve babysits ("They're all shitheads, but I love them, even when they're using me as a chauffeur.") and Eddie talks a little about his own friends, his band ("I mean being famous is the end goal, but it's also just fun to get together and be creative just for the sake of it, you know?") and before they know it, the bell is ringing to signal the end of the period.

Steve frowns, a cute pout that tugs on the corners of his mouth, and Eddie has to bite back a smile at the expression. He sets a now sleeping Rosie back into her carrier before shrugging on his jacket and vest, and hesitates for a moment.

"Listen, Harrington. I know that we don't really know each other, but I've seen firsthand how tough this single parent shit can be, so. If you ever need a hand, or need someone to watch her so you can get shit done, you can ask me, yeah? No worry, no judgment."

Steve blinks at him, big hazel eyes flicking between Eddie's like he's making an insight check against Eddie's words. He must like what he finds, because he smiles softly and says "Thanks, Munson."

And Eddie shrugs, and smiles in return. "Call me Eddie, man."

#aahhhhh I'm so excited to finally get this up #I've been wanting to do my own teen dad Steve #and I'm weak for the name Rosemary #teen dad steve #love grows #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #stranger things #joey writes #I'll update this once the second part goes up #ill make a tag list for this one #just be sure to mention it in a reply or reblog! <3 #edit: now with part 2!#edit 2: now with ao3 link!

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brbsoulnomming · 8 months

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Tell Me Sweet Little Lies Part 14

-----

Everyone does end up having to go home. Except him, obviously, and Steve, whose house Eddie has learned he's apparently going to be squatting in until they can figure out a way to clear his name.

Is it squatting if he's invited? Eh, whatever.

Nancy and Robin swing by to drop off the prescriptions they'd picked up for Eddie. Both of them linger, long enough that Eddie thinks they might just stay - kind of wants them to stay, torn between wanting to be alone with Steve and not wanting to be alone with Steve.

Robin hugs Steve really tight, and he folds her up in his arms and holds her close, just staying like that for a long, long few minutes, talking so quietly they can't be heard. Nancy takes both their hands and squeezes when they're done, and surprises Eddie by giving his hand a squeeze as well. Robin looks like she kind of wants to launch herself at Eddie and hug him, too, but she settles for ruffling his hair, and then grimacing when her hand comes away grimy.

He laughs at her, and they promise to check in tonight, then they both leave.

Mrs. Sinclair comes to pick up Lucas and Erica and Max, and Eddie stays out of sight with his heart hammering in his throat, but they don't venture beyond the front hallway. Eddie can't quite make out what she says as she picks them up, but her tone is low and worried, and there's an underlying note of a familiarity, a gratitude, as she speaks briefly to Steve.

Eddie wonders, again, how long they've all been doing this. How many times their parents have worried about them, how many times Steve has apparently brought them home safely, looking beat to hell.

Mrs. Henderson is much louder when she comes to collect Dustin, though she doesn't go into the living room either. He can hear her fussing over the bandages around Steve's neck, asking how bad it is, sounding only mildly reassured when he tells her that it wasn't as bad as Starcourt. She asks him to come stay with her and Dustin, and Eddie thinks he can hear something like longing in Steve's voice when he declines, promising to come to dinner next week instead.

Then it's just him and Steve.

Steve collapses on the recliner, tipping his head back. Eddie's eyes are drawn to the long line of his throat, the stretch of tendons and muscle broken up by white gauze.

His mouth goes dry.

"I've got a guest room ready for you upstairs," Steve says.

His throat works as he speaks, and it takes Eddie a moment to process it.

"Fuck," Eddie mumbles. "Stairs, really?"

Steve laughs softly, tipping his head back up. "Yeah. It's got an ensuite and the bed's decent, we can set you up a lot better in there."

Eddie swallows. He wants to ask why Steve's doing this for him, but he's a little bit afraid of the answer, so he just makes an exaggerated whine of complaint.

It works to make Steve chuckle again, at least, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, you'll be glad once you're in an actual bed. Look, I'll get you some food and your next dose of meds first, just hang tight for a bit."

Eddie grumbles unintelligibly, but honestly, Steve's probably right. He must doze off a little, because the next thing he knows, Steve is gently shaking him awake, helping him sit up, and giving him something.

"What's this?" he asks, blinking blearily down at the bowl Steve handed him. It kind of looks like chunky baby food, though it smells pretty good.

"Oh, uh, frozen shepherd's pie," Steve says. "Not a lot to work with right now, we'll have to see about a grocery run soon. But I figure it's probably at least better than snacks and hospital food."

Eddie shrugs. "Not exactly a picky eater over here," he says as he digs in.

It's warm, and tastes a hell of a lot better than it looks. Like meatloaf and mashed potatoes all mixed up together, all hearty and comforting.

"S'good," he mumbles around a full mouth, prompting Steve to make a face at him.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, gross," Steve bitches.

Eddie feels compelled to stick his tongue out at him, still with some mashed potato remnants stuck to it, and Steve rolls his eyes.

"You make this?" Eddie asks, once he's swallowed the rest of the potato.

"Yeah." Steve scratches the back of his neck, just above the bandage. "Sometimes I'll freeze up smaller portions if I make something big, so I have stuff to grab when I'm in a hurry. Or when I've got recuperating metal-heads in my living room."

Eddie huffs a little laugh. "That a common occurrence? And here I thought I was special," he teases.

"You're something," Steve returns, though the grin he gives him is wide and fond as he reaches for the prescription bag Robin'd dropped off, pulling out the pair of bottles within and reading them over. "You're not due for your antibiotics yet, but you can have the pain meds."

He opens the bottle up, then pauses, frowning down into it. "Did they give you the wrong prescription?"

Ah.

"No," Eddie says, feeling exhausted.

"But we have the same meds, and mine is like. Four times this amount, even though your injuries are way worse, infection aside," Steve says, looking back up at him with his brow furrowed.

"They said it's because I left against medical advice."

Steve snorts. "That's a load of crap."

Eddie sighs. "What do you want me to tell you, Steve? You know what my side job is. The whole town does. Every time I go to the ER for something, to them, I'm just drug seeking."

Steve looks stricken, and god, Eddie's not sure he can take any well meaning pity right now. He kind of wants the couch to just swallow him up.

There's just silence, though, and then Steve's jaw sets in determination. He gets up, leaving Eddie floundering a little and staring after him as he walks into the kitchen, returning with a bottle that looks almost identical to the one Eddie was given.

He sits back down, popping them both open, and promptly tips his bottle to start dumping his own pills into Eddie's.

"Whoa, hey, what the fuck!" Eddie struggles to get up without hurting himself or dropping his bowl, gives up, and tries his best to glare at Steve from his position on the couch under the blankets.

"You need them more," Steve says stubbornly. "It's not like I'm going to take them, anyway."

Fuck, that's worse than pity, and Eddie feels his blood boil.

"No, of course not." Eddie sneers. "Is His Majesty above such petty things like pain? Would he rather muscle through on sheer meathead determination than turn to drugs like the lower class?"

Steve goes very still. "Do you really think that?" he asks quietly.

Eddie opens his mouth to snap that he doesn't have to think it, that Steve just showed him it, but - he looks at the expression on Steve's face instead, how it's gone closed off but it isn't hard, isn't angry. It's just blank. Abruptly, Eddie feels wrong-footed, like he'd fallen back on old habits and responded as the guy everyone thinks he is, to the guy he used to think Steve was.

"No," he says, just as quietly. "I don't really think that."

Steve's frozen exterior melts a little, and he shakes a pair of pills out into his hand, holds them out for Eddie to take. Eddie does, swallows them dry, and shovels another spoon of shepherd's pie into his mouth to keep it occupied. Steve looks like he's thinking about something, and Eddie doesn't want to risk saying something to throw him off.

"It's not that I'm trying to muscle through," Steve says, apparently coming to a decision. "I was drugged last time we dealt with Upside Down shit, it was a whole thing." He waves his hand. "I was high as hell for some of what was going down, and it was. Not a great time."

Eddie tries to imagine fighting off the demobats while drugged out of his mind, and goes a little pale. "Fuck."

"Yeah," Steve says. "I can't really do anything stronger than alcohol or the occasional joint now."

"Fuck," Eddie says, softer and with more feeling. "Jesus Christ, I'm such an ass, why do you even like me?"

Steve opens his mouth, and Eddie flails, slapping his hand over Steve's mouth before he can say anything.

"Nope, nuh-uh, this is an apology, not a ploy to get you to say nice things about me," Eddie insists. "Okay?"

Steve's laughing at him, he can tell just by his eyes, but he waits until Steve nods before he pulls his hand away.

"That's not what I think of you," Eddie says again. "I got defensive and lashed out, and it wasn't fair. I'm sorry."

The laughter in Steve's eyes fades, and he looks - caught out, all surprised and vulnerable, and he's staring at Eddie with something like wonder.

It makes Eddie squirm, feeling both like he doesn't know what he did to get that look and like he never wants it to stop.

"Thank you. Apology accepted." Steve's quiet for a moment before adding, "I'm sorry, too. I could tell you were upset but you didn't want sympathy, so I just."

He shrugs, and Eddie's going to press him more about what he just, but first - "You could tell?"

"Yeah. Your face does this thing - you're usually so expressive, but you just kind of shut down, like you're resigned."

Oh. Fuck. He hadn't realized Steve noticed him like that, and he focuses really hard on the other thing he wanted to push about to avoid thinking about it too much. "So you just?"

Steve gives him a crooked little smile. "Jumped to fixing it. Robin says I have this thing, where if someone I care about is upset and I don't know what else to do, I try to fix it. But sometimes how I try to fix it and what they want are different things."

Eddie's mouth opens, and before he knows it he's said, "I'm okay with that."

Steve blinks at him. "Really?"

Eddie'd shrug, but he's not sure his shoulder - or his entire torso - is up for the motion right now, so he just tries to look as casual as possible while half huddled on the couch, in hospital scrubs. "Yeah. People don't try to fix things for me, not unless it's my uncle. Might be kind of nice."

"Oh." Steve's got this look on his face like he doesn't know what to do with that - maybe he hasn't gotten many people who let him try to fix things for them.

Which, fair enough. Under any other circumstances, Eddie'd probably be one of those, just - he doesn't think he's lying, even not touching the fact that Steve hadn't reacted to what he said. "I'm probably going to be a dick about it when I'm not recovering from being half dead, though," he adds, just to be safe.

Steve snorts. "You've met just about all of my friends, man, that's nothing new. Usually I do a decent job at figuring out when they're just being dicks and when I'm actually going too far, but they're good about telling me when I don't get it right. They do it when I'm being too much of a dick, too."

"I can do that," Eddie decides. "Tell you if you're going too far."

He probably shouldn't make decisions right after leaving the hospital against medical advice, but screw it, he's doing it anyway.

"Okay," Steve says after another moment of consideration, then narrows his eyes at him. "I'm still taking a rain check on telling you all the things I like about you. It's getting to be kind of a long list."

Eddie gapes at him. Fuck, he can feel his cheeks burning, and he really hopes he can blame it on the bite wounds or the pain meds.

Hopes Steve won't ask, because he knows that would be a lie.

"Go away," he says, curling over his bowl so he doesn't have to look at Steve. "Let me eat my luxury baby food in peace before I have to drag my ass up all those stairs."

Steve laughs at him again, but it isn't mean, and he does leave, heading upstairs to - Eddie doesn't really know what Steve Harrington does with his free time when he's not ripping apart demobats or complaining about babysitting, actually.

Huh.

He thinks he might like to find out.

He shovels the rest of his shepherd's pie down methodically, then sets the bowl down on the coffee table and eyes the stairs. Despite his earlier words, he's pretty sure there's no way he's going to make it up them on his own. He pulls in a breath and lets it out, then calls, "Hey, Steve?"

Steve emerges almost immediately, a couple of towels tossed over one shoulder and an armful of plastic bottles. "You done?" he asks, tromping down the stairs.

Eddie eyes him. "What's all that?"

"The hospital did a pretty good job at getting most of the Upside Down grime off of us, but I thought you might want to wash it out of your hair," Steve says.

And fuck, yeah, Eddie really, really wants to - it's not just Upside Down grime, honestly, what with the whole being on the run for a week thing, and it just feels gross. Still, Eddie grimaces.

"Not, uh. Not really sure I can stand up long enough," he admits. "Plus I'm not supposed to lift my arms that high yet."

Steve's ears turn just a little bit pink, and Eddie struggles to keep his expression neutral, not to let his eyebrows raise up or to lean in too hungrily.

"I can wash it for you," he offers. "The laundry room's got a pretty deep sink, and I can pull up a chair and have you lean back a little."

He looks so fucking earnest that it makes Eddie flounder a little, once again having to restrain himself from asking why. Why is Steve doing any of this? Is it just because this seems to be what he does, because he thinks of Eddie as part of their Upside Down fighting group now and is focused on taking care of a party member? Were the handful of stolen moments during all of the fuckery and in the hospital real, or is Eddie just fooling himself that this is something he could actually have?

"Yeah," he says before he even realizes he's agreeing, while his thoughts are still a tangled up mess. "Appreciate it, man."

Steve shoots a smile at him. "Gimme a sec, I'll be right back."

He disappears down the hall for a few minutes, then comes back to help Eddie up. It's slow going, with Steve taking most of Eddie's weight, but he knows it's not going to be near as rough as the stairs will be, so he tells himself it's a practice run.

There's a low backed chair pulled up in front of the sink when they get to the laundry room, a folded up towel already pillowed on the edge of it. Steve guides him to sit down and tilt his head back, neck cushioned by the towel and hair spilling into the sink.

And then -

Fuck, Steve is close.

He's been close before, obviously, he let Eddie get all up in his personal space when they were walking through the Upside Down and he leaned over Eddie's shoulder a few times to watch what he was doing, and Eddie's literally been leaning on him to walk since he got here, but - with all of that, there was something else going on, some kind of other purpose or at least a buttload of pain he was trying to ignore.

Sitting like this, Steve leaning over him as he fiddles with the knobs to get the water to a good temperature, he's just close. Eddie can feel the body heat coming off of him, and he can count every freckle and mole on Steve's forearms, where he'd pushed up the sleeves of his sweatshirt. He's not trying to look, but he can still see the scrawl of writing that disappears under the sleeve of his left arm, can just make out I don't think. He can hear the heavy beat of his own heart and the way his breath quickens, and he forces himself to breathe slow and even, trying not to draw attention to it.

Then Steve's fingers are in his hair, gently sweeping it all together as he starts rinsing it out.

"Shit, man, this might take awhile," he says apologetically. "The water's coming out as black as it did for mine, and I've got less hair."

Eddie hums noncommittally, afraid if he says anything he'll end up telling Steve that's fine by him, they can stay like this all night if he wants to. There's the sound of a shampoo bottle opening, and on his next breath in he's hit with the scent of something, he has no idea what, like a honeyed summer day, all sunshine and sweet and clean.

And then Steve's hands are on him again, fingertips rubbing small circles over his scalp, blunt nails scratching in just the right way to send shivering goosebumps down his spine.

He's not proud of the way it makes him fucking whimper, but mostly because the sound prompts Steve to freeze.

"That hurt?" Steve asks softly.

"No," Eddie manages to get out. "It, uh. Feels nice."

Nice is an understatement, but not a lie, so it's the best he's got right now. It makes Steve continue, at least, so Eddie's taking the fucking win.

His eyes slide shut, and he thinks he might drift off to sleep right there if it weren't for the fact that he really wants to cling to how fucking good this feels. God, he can't remember the last time he felt a physical sensation that wasn't pain or discomfort, and he tells himself that's the reason that this is making him react so strongly.

No one's ever done anything like this for him before. No one's ever wanted to, even before the murder accusations, and between the exhaustion settling over him and the pain meds kicking in and the euphoria of feeling good - Eddie's dangerously close to begging, here. To saying please, just, please can he keep having this, please can this mean something, can this be because Steve wants to and not because he feels obligated.

"You okay?" Steve asks quietly as he rinses Eddie's hair out, and starts lathering up for a second wash.

Eddie hopes it's just a general are you okay, in light of the whole everything, and not a specific hey you look like you're going through something right now. Doesn't actually matter, he guesses, because he still has to say something, and he doesn't know what to say that isn't a lie or isn't something that's too much.

"Haven't, uh. Haven't had anyone do this before," he admits, because that seems like the safest thing to acknowledge.

He thinks what he means by this was pretty obvious, but apparently not, because Steve gives a thoughtful little hum.

"Take care of you?" he asks, cradling Eddie's skull in his hands so delicately it makes him want to weep.

Or shove him off and run until he can't anymore, but that's not any better.

"Fuck, Steve, not holding back any punches here, huh?" he asks, his voice a little raspy.

"I mean. We almost got eaten by demobats together, and we're in kind of a bathroom. That's prime bonding time, for me."

Eddie'd shake his head, but he doesn't want to do anything to dislodge Steve's hands, so he settles for heaving a pointed sigh. "No, Steve, people haven't been lining up to take care of the freak. It's not like I need it, anyway."

Steve makes this little sound - Eddie's not sure he's even aware that he does it, really, but it's like the verbal equivalent to rolling his eyes. "Everyone needs it, sometimes. It's okay to want that, especially after all of this. This isn't the first time some of us have stayed together in the aftermath."

"Yeah? Who looks after you, then?" Eddie asks.

"Robin, usually, sometimes Dustin. Why, you volunteering?"

He can't see Steve's face, but he thinks that was probably meant to come out as teasing. It doesn't quite land there, though, a little too soft, a little too genuine, and it makes Eddie swallow.

"Maybe," he says, feeling his heart beat in his throat.

"Oh," Steve breathes out, his hands stilling for a moment.

Eddie fights not to open his eyes.

"Yeah, okay," Steve says, a little too carelessly, fingertips scratching back over his scalp again. "I look after you, you look after me."

That's not quite what Eddie meant, but he doesn't know how to say what he meant, so he just says, "You don't have to. Take care of me, I mean. Just because you think it's okay to want to be taken care of, you know, it doesn't have to be you."

He waits for Steve to point out that Eddie'd just said that no one else was lining up for the job, maybe make a joke about how it's him or nothing.

Instead, Steve says, "I know. I want to."

Fuck.

If this is the way Steve always is, Eddie can see why so many girls were into him in high school.

When he's reasonably sure his voice isn't going to shake, he says, "Thanks, man. For - all of this."

He's kind of worried Steve is going to tell him that he's doing it because he wants to again, but fortunately that seems to be enough talking about not quite emotions for both of them, because Steve just hums as he starts rinsing Eddie's hair again.

Eddie lets himself relax, sinking into the soft, floaty feeling that wants to pull him down, and just enjoying the feel of Steve's fingers in his hair, the edge of pain blurred and fuzzy from the meds, and finally, finally feeling like maybe he's safe.

It takes another round of lather and rinse for Steve to be satisfied with how clean his hair is, but Eddie sure as hell isn't protesting. Time kind of slips and wobbles, anyway, as he doesn't doze so much as just fucking melt into the chair and under Steve's hands, like all the tension from the last week plus is oozing out of him. He thinks Steve murmurs something about conditioner, but he honestly doesn't care, as long as he can keep sitting here like this.

Eventually, the water's shut off, and Steve's tilting his head up, draping his hair over a towel and gently scrunching it before wrapping it up.

"You awake?" Steve asks, voice a little sing-song like he's teasing.

"Depends on how you're measuring awake," Eddie mumbles back, not entirely sure he managed to get all those syllables out in the correct order.

Whatever he says, it makes Steve laugh softly. "Come on, Munson, up you go. Let's get you to bed."

Eddie's hindbrain immediately takes over, and the next thing he knows he's saying, "Fuck, yes please, finally."

Fortunately, Steve seems to take his eagerness as an eagerness to be in bed in general, and not in Steve's bed specifically, because he just says, "You gotta stand up for that."

Eddie whines, and Steve's hand on his elbow where he'd been tugging him to get up slips, and Eddie looks up at him, eyes wide.

Steve's staring back at him, and holy shit, Eddie might be high on pain meds and a boneless mess from what was basically a head massage, but he knows what desire looks like, knows Steve's eyes are probably a mirror of his own right now.

Then Steve's eyes are closing, and he visibly shakes himself like a fucking dog, before his hand finds its spot on Eddie's elbow again, nice and firm.

"Steve," Eddie murmurs, even though he knows he's missed his moment to speak, because Steve is already guiding him up and wrapping his arm around him to help him walk.

"Not too far, Eds, I promise," Steve says. "We'll be there before you know it."

"Steve," Eddie says again, and this time Steve pauses, swallowing once before he looks at him.

Steve's arm is still around him, and he's so close they're practically breathing the same air - so close he can see the flecks of hazel in Steve's eyes, see the way his lashes brush against his cheek, and Eddie -

He doesn't want to do it like this. Eddie knows he's pretty far gone right now, a little floaty and a little loopy, and he's honestly not sure what words he can even get out of his mouth, let alone if he's going to remember this tomorrow.

"This is gonna have to be mostly you," he says, not letting himself think about how it could mean more than one thing. "I'm barely standing after that, let alone navigating stairs."

Steve laughs softly, steering him out of the laundry room and towards the stairs. "Long as you keep your feet on one side of the steps, you'll at least have one up on Henderson last time I had to help him up the stairs."

"No promises," Eddie replies, but that does make him look down at his own feet, trying to be careful and deliberate about how he places them as they slowly make their way upstairs.

With the meds, it doesn't hurt as much as it probably should. It mostly just takes so much goddamn effort, feels like walking through jello, and Eddie's not ashamed to admit he's breathing heavily by the time they make it to what must be the Harringtons' guest room.

It's… well. It's boring, honestly, minimally decorated, but the bed looks huge and insanely welcoming at the moment, all the blankets turned down and the pillows carefully arranged to resemble the way he'd found was the most comfortable at the hospital. The lamp on the nightstand is glowing softly, and there's a glass of water and Eddie's bottles of pills next to it.

Clean clothes are laid out on the bed - a pair of black boxers, black track pants with a white stripe down the leg, and a dark blue Henley.

Another lump forms in his throat, and he swallows past it as Steve points out the door to the bathroom.

"I'm just down the hall," Steve tells him.

Eddie manages to mumble out a thanks, and only stares at him a little as he walks out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Honestly, Eddie's too fucking exhausted to sort out anything about anything right now, so he just shuffles his way over to the bed. He strips out of the hospital scrubs, leaves them in a pile right where they fall, and struggles into the clothes Steve's loaned him.

Like the stairs, it doesn't hurt, but he knows that doesn't mean he can risk overdoing it. He's careful, moving gingerly to pull the shirt on and sitting on the bed to step into the boxers and pants. Then he collapses back, tugging the covers over him. His head lolls to the side for a moment as he stares at the lamp.

If he's honest, his decision to leave it on is part that it feels like too much effort to turn it off, and part that he's not sure he wants to be alone in the dark right now.

Maybe in a bit, he thinks, but he's asleep before he can think anything else.

Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added!): @vampireinthesun @koibug @estrellami-1 @mentalcyborg @allbimyself26 @questionablequeeries @the-s-is-silent @whimsicalwitchm @a-gae-af-racoon @tinyplanet95 @n0-1-important @velocitytimes2 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @newtstabber @jcmadgirl @roblingoblin285 @lexyvey @paperbackribs @goodolefashionedloverboi @evix-syne666 @raisedbylibrarians @stxrcrossed186 @nightmareglitter @greekgeek24 @starman-jpg @crazyhatlady86 @imfinereallyy @manda-panda-monium @deleataecount @prideandsensibility @chaoticvictorianspirit @maydillydally @disrespectedgoatman @scarlet-malfoy @i-less-than-three-you @hbyrde36 @hallucinatedjosten @dragonsandgayships @arepaconchocolate @g4ys0n @novelnovella @bisexualdisastersworld @ghostofyourvampiregf @scarletyeager @pettrichore @nerd-and-nervous @hiimlevi @queenie-ofthe-void @cinnamon-mushroomabomination

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Part 15

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steddie soulmate au #soulmate au #stranger things fic #this is pretty much entirely hurt/comfort #steve taking care of eddie #i'm so weak for this trope

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morganbritton132 · 1 year

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I was thinking about your angst post and how it's a little precursor to the TikTok saga-

What if Eddie's doing a live stream and for whatever reason, Ozzy's not around. Potty break maybe, he's usually no more than 2 minutes. But of course all it takes is 2 minutes for Steve to slip into a seizure, one of his bad ones. And the live catches enough of it before Eddie frantically tosses his phone and ends the stream. How do you think fans would react?

I’ve actually had a similar thought to this!

Eddie has never sat down and been like, ‘this is what’s wrong with my husband.’ Why would he? Steve is not a celebrity. He has no interest in fame, he’s deeply private, and it’s no one’s business. Eddie has occasionally made comments or referenced Steve’s health issues just because it’s apart of their lives.

Dedicated fans who take all these little throw-away comments and create a profile of Eddie’s life will connect the dots between ‘Steve gets migraines’ and why the lights are low in a video or ‘Ozzy is a service dog’ to the thud you can hear on a live-stream that causes Eddie to run out of the room. There have been many times where Eddie has been live and will drop everything, leave the room, and not come back for minutes to hours. He never provides an explanation of where he went or why.

Eddie’s live streaming in his home studio. He’s got his guitar in his lap and a notepad next to him, and he’s playing this little interactive game he does with his fans where they’ll write a song together. Steve’s not a common feature to live-streams like this but he’s slightly in-frame tonight.

Eddie’s writing down a lyric a fan sent in the chat when he’s suddenly hit in the face by a hand. He startles and opens his mouth to complain but when he looks at Steve, all he sees in the jerky motion of Steve’s arm as it spasms.

And he freezes with his mouth still hanging open. He freezes like he always does when it’s a big seizure because his first thought is never seizure, it’s always Chrissy Cunningham. He freezes so he doesn’t think to move his phone away immediately. It’s only a half-second that he’s sitting there with his mouth hung open and terror in his eyes before he springs into action, but it feels like a million years to him and the chat.

Eddie bumps the table with his phone on it, and it falls so all the chat can see is the woodgrain, but they can hear Eddie talk to himself as he moves Steve into a safer position. They can hear him talk to Steve about how it’s okay, “It’s a big one but it’s okay. It’s fine. We’ll shake it out and go to bed, and – and where’s Ozzy? Oz?!”

It is a tense two and a half minutes and then silence until Eddie picks up his phone, ends the live-stream without a word, and calls Dustin. He’ll find out later that Steve had let Ozzy out into the backyard and forgot about it. He’ll make plans to install a doggy door that they’ll probably never do and when Steve wakes up exhausted and not all there, Eddie will repeat every reassuring word that he can think of until Steve falls asleep knowing that he’s safe.

In the morning, he’ll see the outpour of people worried, concerned, sympathetic with their own stories of seizures. He’ll make a short video letting people know that Steve is fine. He’s resting. He’ll let his students know that he won’t be at school, but that he’s already writing pop quizzes if they aren’t good for the substitute. But Eddie will never tell Steve that the twenty thousand people in his live stream that watched him have a seizure are wishing him well because he doesn’t think that it’ll go over well.

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#I think that Steve would hate to be noticed.#Growing up everybody was always watching him and looking at him and forming opinions about him based on how he looked and who his family #was and he just hates it. Then once Eddie got famous it felt like even more people were staring at them and looking for flaws and making #opinions about him without even knowing him. And now he has these health issues and his body will betray him and people will think that #he's weak or not capable and they'll stare at him and he hates it so the thought that Eddie's fans watched him have a seizure would be #mortifying to him so Eddie is not going to tell him about it #steve harrington #eddie munson #eddie munson tiktok saga #sorry it took so long to respond to this one

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ghosttotheparty · 1 year

Text

@thorniest-rose this is ur fault your tags on part one made me emotional so here’s one more part <3 love u also i added it as chapter two of broken brain <3

cw: tics; self-deprecation

“Hey, baby.”

Eddie looks up from where he’s sitting at the kitchen island, his legs crossed on his seat in front of him, setting his pen down.

“Hi.”

“How’re you?” Steve asks softly, taking off his vest and dropping it on the countertop, coming close.

“Having a rough day,” Eddie says, the words barely out of his mouth before his chin jerks to the side, turning his head sharply. He closes his eyes, sighing heavily, and before he can open them, Steve is sliding his hands over Eddie’s neck gently, rubbing it tenderly. Eddie moves slowly, shifting to face Steve, and before he can lean into Steve’s torso, his hand flies out and hits Steve’s hip hard. Eddie flinches, pressing his hand to the spot carefully.

“Sorry.”

“‘S okay,” Steve murmurs, one of his hands pushing through Eddie’s hair. Eddie’s stomach twists, and he huffs quietly, closing his eyes. “What is it?”

Eddie shakes his head, opening his eyes to look up at him.

Steve touches his face, his fingers brushing over his cheek, over the rough, sensitive skin of his scar, and he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to Eddie’s forehead.

“What is it?” he asks quietly.

Eddie exhales, turning his cheek into Steve’s palm, feeling the tension leave his body.

“…How are you not tired of me?” he asks after a moment.

Steve blinks, his expression hardening, but his hands remain soft on him.

“What do you mean?” he asks in a small voice.

“I just…” Eddie shrugs weakly. “Feel like you should be fed up with me by now,” he half-jokes, but Steve frowns, his fingers trailing over Eddie’s jaw.

“Why would you think that?” he asks quietly, like he’s offended.

Eddie blinks at him, his eyes stinging a little bit. His hand tightens on Steve’s hip, one of his fingers holding loop of his jeans.

“I keep hitting you,” he says weakly. It happens often. Not as often as his whistling, or his head jerking, his eyes squeezing shut or rolling to the ceiling, but often. When they’re on the sofa, when they’re hugging, when they’re just talking. Eddie wants to cry every time, but Steve doesn’t even acknowledge it, except for the occasional it’s okay.

“You can’t control that, babe,” Steve says adamantly.

“I know, it’s just…” Eddie looks away, frustrated. “I keep hurting you.”

“I think you think you hit a lot harder than you do.”

“Steve,” Eddie says seriously, tugging at his belt loop, looking up at him. “I almost smacked you in the face the other day.”

“You redirected,” Steve says lightly, shrugging.

“Steve.”

“Do you want me to be mad at you?”

“I…” Of course he doesn’t. But it feels like Steve should be mad at him. Or at least annoyed. “I don’t know.”

“Well I’m not,” Steve says firmly, holding his chin. “Ever. Okay?”

It doesn’t make Eddie feel better. He exhales, looking down, at the blue ink on the top of Steve’s thigh, rough doodles on his jeans from when he gets bored at work.

Steve sighs, pushing Eddie’s hair back before he lets go of him, moving so Eddie’s hand falls from his hip, and he pushes Eddie’s sketchbook out of the way, looking at the drawing on the open page. It’s an unfinished sketch, messy and not very good at all in Eddie’s overly humble opinion, but Steve smiles at it.

“‘S good,” he says softly as he pulls himself up onto the counter. Eddie watches him, watches the muscles of his arms flex, and his cheeks flush with warmth when Steve reaches for the armrests of his chair and easily pulls him closer, between his legs.

Eddie looks up at him, that familiar feeling settling in his chest, and he reaches his hands up, setting his arms across Steve’s legs, holding his hips again.

“Talk,” Steve says softly. “What’s going on in that head of yours?” He touches said head, runs his fingers through Eddie’s hair, scratches at his scalp. Eddie wants to cry.

Eddie sighs, leaning to rest his cheek on Steve’s knee, closing his eyes.

“Just…” His shoulder jerks slightly. He ignores it. “I don’t know. Kinda crazy you haven’t gotten sick of me yet.”

“Why would I ever get sick of you?” Steve asks softly, playing with Eddie’s hair. “Hm?”

“Because I keep hitting you,” Eddie says sullenly, letting go of Steve’s hips. “Because I… throw things and hit things and I’m… noisy.” He pushes Steve’s shirt up with one hand, the other falling under the island, untucking it and pressing his hands under the fabric to Steve’s skin. “I interrupt. I’m annoying.”

Steve pulls his hands away and untucks the rest of his shirt, holding it up with one hand so Eddie can trace his scars softly, gazing.

“You’re not annoying, Eddie.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t believe him, and Steve can tell.

“Eddie, baby, look at me.”

Eddie looks at him without lifting his head. His vision is obstructed by his hair, and Steve gently moves it out of the way.

“You are not annoying,” he says again, softer, his eyes shining earnestly. “I know you can’t control it.”

“That just makes it more annoying,” Eddie grumbles.

“No, it doesn’t.” Steve’s fingers drag through his hair.

Eddie exhales, looking back at where his hand is tracing Steve’s scars.

“You’re annoyed by it,” Steve says, and Eddie nods against his leg. “I’m not, Eddie.”

Eddie is quiet, a tingling starting on his shoulders like he’s going to shiver, and he tenses.

“Alright, Eddie, look at me,” Steve says, his voice shifting, tapping Eddie’s cheek to prompt him to lift his head. Eddie does, muttering a soft, “Hold on,” and looking away. He pushes his shoulders back, closing his eyes, and Steve waits quietly, patiently, until Eddie’s head jerks back violently, and his shoulders shrug up suddenly. A second passes before Eddie drops his head, sighing and relaxing.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Eddie shivers before he looks up at him tiredly, and Steve leans down, holding his face between his face, looking into his eyes.

“I need you to, like, really listen to me, okay?”

“Okay,” Eddie breathes.

“When I say that you’re annoying,” Steve says, still looking into his eyes, “or obnoxious, or any of those things, I don’t mean it. I’m just teasing. And if you don’t like it, or if it hurts you, I’ll stop.” He looks so earnest that Eddie almost hurts. “And when I say those things,” Steve says slowly, carefully and intentionally, “I’m talking about how you act with the kids, usually. When you’re…” He shrugs, smiling softly. “Immature and chaotic. But even though I tease, I love when you act like that.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows.

“Even though it riles them up?”

“Yeah,” Steve says softly. “Because they get to just be kids when you’re fucking around with them.”

Oh.

Eddie smiles softly.

“And,” Steve continues, “when I say those things, I am never, ever talking about your tics. You understand me?”

Eddie nods weakly, his eyes burning.

“You are not annoying to me, Eddie,” Steve says softly, leaning down and leaving a careful kiss on his lips. “I promise.”

“Don’t you get tired?” Eddie asks, exasperated. Steve looks at him.

“What do you mean?” Steve asks quietly.

“It’s constant, Steve,” Eddie says, his eyes burning. “And you just… put up with it, you— you’re always getting me ice, or holding my hand still, or getting pillows for me, or…” He exhales, looking up at Steve desperately. “You’re always taking care of me.”

“I like taking care of you,” Steve says adamantly. Eddie looks away, holding back an eyeful. “Eddie, I’m serious, look at me.”

Eddie looks up at him. His lips are pressed together, his eyes shining with some unreadable, desperate emotion.

“Steve,” Eddie breathes.

Steve leans down and kisses him, holding his face between his hands so his cheeks are squishing under his palms, sucking softly on his lower lip, slow and careful like everything he’s ever done with Eddie.

He pauses when they part, their foreheads pressed together, breathing a little hard, holding Eddie close. Eddie slides his other hand under Steve’s shirt. His skin is warm. His scars are rough, the skin thick and sensitive, tender evidence of his survival. Eddie likes to kiss them.

“I love you,” Steve whispers.

Eddie’s eyes open. His breath escapes him, and it’s like his bones melt. He slumps, squeezing his eyes shut as the words wash over him, his hands squeezing Steve’s sides softly.

“Really?” he chokes, pulling away after a moment. Steve’s eyes are tear-filled.

“Really really,” he says softly. Eddie blinks tears back, sliding his hands over Steve’s sides.

“I don’t get tired of taking care of you,” Steve murmurs, looking at Eddie’s face, his thumb brushing over his trembling lip, “because taking care of you, and helping you, and looking after you is… me loving you.” He pauses for a moment, letting their foreheads touch. “And I don’t ever get tired of loving you.”

Eddie’s whole body hurts.

He chokes Steve’s name weakly, his voice broken, almost squeaking, too high and small for it to even be understood, but Steve just kisses him even though he can’t kiss back, because tears are streaming down his cheeks, over Steve’s fingers.

A small sob escapes Eddie, and Steve pulls him into a hug, running his hands over his head as he buries his face in Steve’s belly. Eddie wraps his arms around Steve’s waist, his hands pressing into the small of his back, against his warm skin. Steve’s hands are shaking as they run through his hair.

Eddie’s shoulders jerk as he cries, just once, and Steve’s hands smooth over them gently, sweetly, gathering his hair back.

“Eddie, baby,” Steve's voice says softly, and Eddie feels like he’s surfacing from under cold water, gasping for breath, like his lungs are breathing properly for the first time in his life.

“I love you too,” he chokes, lifting his head and looking up at him. His vision is blurry with tears. He can still see Steve’s smile. “I love you so much.”

Steve laughs softly, sniffling, leaning down to kiss him chastely.

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, trying to breathe evenly, focusing on the feeling of Steve’s hands running over his cheeks, wiping his tears away. His head shakes slightly, but Steve doesn’t move his hands. He leans down to kiss his forehead.

“God,” Eddie exhales, holding his hips above the waistband of his jeans. “Thank you, Stevie.”

“You don’t have to thank me, baby,” Steve whispers. “You don’t have to apologize and you don’t have to thank me.”

He leans down and kisses his lips gently, murmuring a soft I love you, and Eddie reaches up, sliding his hands over Steve’s shoulders, over his cheeks, pulling him down to kiss him harder. After a moment he remembers that he’s sitting, and without pulling away, he stands, kicking his chair back noisily, one of his hands pushing into Steve’s hair as the other clutches at the small of his back. Steve’s legs wrap around his waist, and he tilts his head to kiss him deeper, holding Eddie’s face like he’ll fall apart if he lets go.

They’re both breathless and panting when they part. Steve’s fingers dance over the sides of Eddie’s neck, over his scars, making him shiver. (It’s a nice shiver.) They press their foreheads together, sharing breaths, eyes closed.

Steve pulls away after a moment, caressing Eddie’s cheeks.

“I’m not gonna get tired of you, Eddie,” he whispers. “You’re stuck with me, baby.”

Eddie laughs softly, sniffling and nuzzling his face into Steve’s cheek.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”