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1.
Steve’s still not exactly sure what’s happened when Eddie drops him off later on Saturday.
He’s half in a weird daze, happy, kind of bewildered. Eddie had kissed the crap out of him before letting him leave the van, and when he finally, sort of, blinks stars out of his eyes, leaning back against the apartment door, Robin is staring at him.
“What,” Robin says, dropping her wide-eyed gaze to his feet, “the fuck. Is that?”
Steve glances down. Liesl is gripping the cuff of his jeans, little nose sniffing the air. He says, “Uh. I thought you talked to Jeff?”
“I talk to Jeff about a lot of things,” Robin says. “I don’t remember anything about a wild—” She cuts herself off, frowning. “Wait. Fuck. Is that—” She waves a hand around. “You know, Jeff didn’t say anything about a raccoon.”
“Liesl was his grandmother’s familiar.”
“Yeah. I get that.” She squints her eyes at Liesl, who lets go of Steve’s leg in favor of trundling toward the kitchen.
Steve feels like they should invest in some locks, maybe, once they move upstairs. It probably won’t take much for Liesl to figure out the pantry door.
Robin says, “How do you feel?”
Better, Steve thinks, but he hesitates to say it out loud.
He shrugs and Robin wrinkles her nose and says, “You stayed overnight.”
“I did,” Steve says.
“And how was that?”
Steve’s face flushes. “Fine.”
“Not like I want details, Steven, but.” She waggles her eyebrows.
Steve finally moves further into the living room and drops down onto the couch next to her. “It was good. We’re, like, um. Dating?”
“Are you? You don’t sound sure.”
Steve is ninety percent sure they’re dating. Eighty-five. You don’t cook breakfast for someone you’re just fucking, right? “Uh.”
Steve has a habit of falling hard and fast, and, probably, being overly invested.
Robin takes in his expression and says, “You didn’t talk about it.”
Okay, but who talks about relationships and where they’re going after the first date? They’re still dating. That doesn’t mean they have to be boyfriends. Or exclusive.
Steve covers his face with his hands and says, “What if he’s still seeing whatshisface? That guy?”
Robin, reasonably, says, “You could ask him.”
Steve peeks at her through his fingers. “That definitely sounds like something I’d do.” He groans into his hands, drops them onto his lap and says, “I’m gonna scare him off.”
“I’m having a hard time imagining that happening,” Robin says.
And then Liesl pokes her head up over the back of the couch and Robin screeches, slams her shin into the coffee table, falls over the armchair, and Steve can’t stop laughing.
*
He works Sunday alone, because Eddie and the guys had planned a trip to see Ronnie in Chicago, and Steve’s totally okay about not being invited. He’s the only one who can open Hellfire that morning, he knows, and the Nifty Knitters get crabby if he’s late.
He finds the first post it note when he unlocks the register – there’s a tiny doodle of a raccoon face in the bottom corner, and in smudged blue pen it says: there’s nothing you and I won’t do.
Steve looks over at Sisyphus, sitting in a sunbeam and staunchly ignoring Liesl as she reaches for his flicking tail. Sis blinks at him, unconcerned.
Steve says, “Huh,” and sticks the post it note to the counter.
By the time ten am rolls around, the knitting group has pushed the front table all the way up to the window and moved all the chairs into a circle in the space left. He’s had two other customers come in, but no one’s bought anything. And he’s found three other notes. One in the middle of the breakroom table (making love to you was never second best), another that Liesl brings him, half chewed (moving forwards using all my breath), and one that’s stuffed in a copy of Watership Down, of course, that Mrs. Edith had snuck into the Creature Feature aisle. That one says dream of better lives in bubble letters.
He finds nine in total, by the time Max comes in at closing to take him home, fitting them like puzzle pieces on the worn wooden counter. All of them in Eddie’s messy scrawl.
Max takes one look at the post its and says, “Wow, you two are super gross already.”
“Says one half of a high school sweetheart couple.” Steve pretends to think about it. “Oh, wait, middle school.”
Max taps the corner of one note that’s covered in hearts and says, “There’s no excuse for Modern English, dude. You don’t even have them in the right order.”
Steve, with great dignity, piles up each of the notes, one on top of the other, in no particular order, and carefully shoves them in his back pocket. He makes a mental note to google Modern English when he’s far away from Max. “Are you ready to go?”
In the car, he texts Eddie: did you really hide modern English lyrics all over the shop for me
I’ll stop the world and melt with you baby, he writes back with several gratifying heart eye emojis. Heading home now see you tomorrow xo
*
On Monday, Eddie pulls him into the back room and sucks on his mouth until Jeff comes in and yells at them for leaving the front of the store empty.
“Okay, but, like,” Eddie cups Steve’s chin, “look at this face.”
Steve blinks and grins winningly and tries not to feel self-conscious about the way his lips are sore and his glasses are smudged and askew.
Jeff sighs and says, “Liesl is harassing Mrs. Edith.”
“I don’t see how that’s a bad thing,” Eddie says, but he lets Steve go.
Steve straightens his glasses and his sweater vest and slaps at Eddie’s hand when his fingers curl into the waist of his jeans.
Eddie just grins at him. Says, “Wanna make out in Deep Sea Dangers?”
Steve wants to say yes.
Jeff says, “You could at least pretend to work,” but he’s smiling a little, and knocks a fist into Eddie’s shoulder as he moves back toward his desk, so.
Steve bites his lip. Eddie has wild hair, falling haphazardly out of a loose bun from Steve’s fingers, and a red mouth, from Steve’s mouth, and his eyes are bright and delighted just for Steve, and Steve desperately wants to touch him again.
Eddie’s hands find their way up under Steve’s shirt, caging him up against the tiny breakroom refrigerator, and Steve’s fingers press along Eddie’s jaw.
He says, “Eddie, fuck, I—” love you gets stuck in his throat, sideways, because that’s fucking crazy.
Jeff’s chair scrapes the floor pointedly.
The bell is dinging at the front counter, where someone wants help.
Eddie says, “Hold that thought, sweetheart,” and is gone in a whirlwind of frizzy hair and clacking beads.
Steve clenches and unclenches his hands, staring after him. The flush on his neck has, unfortunately or fortunately, given his surroundings, more to do with embarrassment than arousal.
Jeff says, “You okay, Steve?”
Steve nods. “Yeah, uh. Yeah. I’m good.”
He’s an absolute fucking moron, maybe, but he’s good.
2.
Steve hasn’t been to a gate since early December. He hasn’t even tried, even though they never took him out of the code red group chat.
Dustin texts: spotted vine at cam 5
Cam 5 is by the Byers’ old house, back behind the shed.
Steve sends: I got it
Dustin texts, Steve, and Lucas writes: no
Youre not actually in charge of me, Steve writes back, and also: I’ll bring Eddie. He’d have to drive him anyhow.
Jonathan, who isn’t even in the same fucking state, writes, great idea, bro, and Steve can feel the sarcasm deep in his soul.
Fuck off jon
“Eddie?” Steve says.
Eddie looks up from where he’s making grilled cheese, a hand towel thrown over his shoulder. “Yeah?” He’s got on a shirt with ripped sleeves and sweatpants that are near threadbare at the knees.
Steve wants to touch the line of bats tattooed down his arm. “Wanna go see a gate?”
“What, like one of those demon portals? Hell, yeah.” He flips off the burner.
Steve’s phone is buzzing with texts, but he ignores them. “Great,” he says. “We just have to swing by Robin’s for my bat.”
*
Robin’s waiting for them on the sidewalk with his bat in a pillowcase and a tire iron tapping her leg.
She tumbles into the back of Eddie’s van and says, “You know this is illegal.”
Eddie says, “What, going to a gate?”
“No. Well, yeah, probably.”
Steve shifts in his seat to look back at her in the rearview mirror.
She waves her hand around and says, “I mean me not having a seat back here.”
The entire back of Eddie’s van is just books, boxes, blankets and musical equipment. Robin shoves herself next to a box marked spoons and says, “Try not to kill me.”
Eddie nods gamely, takes a sharp turn off the main road that makes Robin yelp and kick a foot out to brace herself on a guitar case, and says, “We picking up anyone else?”
“No,” Steve says, just as Robin says, “Yes.”
Steve groans. “Robin.”
She says, “You wouldn’t answer his texts. It’s the only way Dustin won’t call Hopper.”
Steve doesn’t bother arguing. He just directs Eddie to Dustin’s house while Liesl, in the footwell between his feet, grabs hold of his jeans.
*
Dustin climbs into the van with a metal trashcan lid, a fire poker, and a Tupperware container that he shoves at Steve.
“Mom made me bring lemon squares.”
“Sweet,” Eddie says.
“Hey, wait,” Dustin says. “Should I get something for Eddie?”
“What, I can’t have any lemon squares?”
“No, Munson,” Dustin says, “I mean a weapon. Do you want a machete?”
“Hell, yeah,” Eddie says, just as Steve says, “No,” and Robin says, “Where the hell did you get a machete, and why are you bringing a fire poker instead?”
Dustin says, “My mom uses it for weeds.”
Steve turns around in his seat and says, “Dustin, we talked about the machete.”
Dustin gestures to himself, sitting crisscross next to Robin. “Does it look like I’m using it? I’m just asking if Eddie wants it.”
“Eddie does want it,” Eddie says.
“No,” Steve says to Dustin, then turns to Eddie and says, “No,” again to him. “No one is using a machete.” He makes a face, then amends, “No one except Nancy is using a machete.”
Eddie puts the van in reverse and says, “You’re no fun,” but he reaches over and squeezes Steve’s knee, so it kind of takes the sting out of his words.
Steve can be fun. He just can’t be fun while thinking about facing down an Upside Down gate – the last time he’d been near one he’d gotten yet another concussion and kind of, sort of had a hive mind residual effect from all that Vecna bullshit from years ago. There’d been painful psychic screeching in his head, he’s not really ready to relive that.
But he’s gotta get back into the game at some point, can’t let all his kids take on this alone, so he might as well start with a vine sighting. How bad can it be?
*
Dustin has a theory that all these gates and occasional breaches are feelers. Spies sent in to case out the joint. Figure out how much they can get away with.
The gate behind Byers’ old house is big enough to send a demodog through, but they haven’t seen any of those for at least three years.
“Whoa,” Eddie says, pulling into the overgrown driveway.
The house is boarded up, abandoned. It’s technically haunted, which is fine, but that first Demogorgon fight, with the fire, compromised the structural integrity of the house, even though Joyce and the boys lived there for years afterwards. There’s a big orange condemned sign on the front door.
Steve says, “Stay in the van,” to Eddie, and Eddie, for a split second, actually seems to consider it.
He squints one eye and says, “Yeah, no.”
“Eddie,” Steve says.
Robin says, “Got a tire iron, Munson?” and climbs out of the van.
“Eddie,” Steve says again as Eddie scrambles out after Robin.
Eddie pauses to look over at Steve through the open doors. Head cocked, lips pulled up into a half smile. Hair held back by a bandana around his head.
Steve isn’t sure what his face is doing, but Eddie’s smile fades the longer he looks at him.
“Hey,” Eddie says. “It’s all right, man. I’m not going to let you do this alone.”
Alone isn’t the right word, Steve thinks, with Robin and Dustin hefting their monster hunting weapons in the tall, sunbaked weeds framing the house, waiting for them.
Dustin shouts, “Hey, Eddie, you can take my shield!” but Eddie doesn’t look away from Steve, from the way they’re facing each other across the worn interior of Eddie’s van.
Steve sighs. Finally, he says, “Come on. You better take Dustin’s shield.”
*
“Holy shit.”
Steve grips Eddie around his upper body and tugs him further away from the hole, dragging them both along the rocky ground. Oozy remains of a vine flop limply from Eddie’s ankle.
He thinks shit, fuck, and I almost lost you, as Eddie pants into his chest and gasps, “Holy fucking shit,” again.
“Not as fun as it sounds, right?” Steve says, breath heaving. “Are you okay?”
“Am I okay?” Eddie pulls back enough to look Steve in the face. “Are you okay? Holy shit, you’ve been doing this since you were sixteen? What the fuck, Steve!”
Steve lets out a hoarse chuckle. His hands are still tingling from the magic that vibrated through his bat. Liesl, disgustingly enough, is sitting behind Eddie and chewing on a piece of the dead vine.
Eddie is wild and wide-eyed, flushed, half his hair hanging over his face, looking at Steve like he’s some kind of hero, instead of a moron who spent years trying and failing to keep any of the kids he wrangled out of interdimensional trouble.
Peripherally, Steve’s aware of Dustin and Robin high fiving each other.
“I’m… good,” Steve says. His chest feels light, almost a giddy release of relief. He feels okay, despite having panic flashes of jumping into the gate after Eddie, if he’d actually been dragged down. And he would have, that’s the thing. Without a second thought – if that vine had dragged Eddie into the Upside Down, Steve would’ve done what he’s done for anyone he loves. “I’m—Eddie, I—”
Eddie snorts. Says, “Yeah, right,” and presses a soft kiss to the side of his mouth before letting go of Steve and pushing himself up to his feet.
3.
Steve snaps a picture of Liesl perched on the back of their armchair, gently patting Robin’s head, after she fell asleep watching Matlock. Robin looks soft and Liesl looks hungry.
He immediately sends it to Eddie.
Eddie texts back: that’s going on the wall
What wall?
Eddie writes: The wall I’m making right now. for the store. A wall of robin and liesl. Make sure to get a pic of her waking up
Steve nudges Robin’s foot and Robin wakes up slowly, rubbing at her eyes, stretching out until she, visibly, feels something caught in her hair. She jerks back and turns and Steve catches an image of her with her hands sweeping at her hair, Liesl sitting back on her haunches with her tiny palms up.
Robin says, “Steve, what?” with a horrified look at Liesl.
He sends the pic to Eddie.
Eddie texts: gold star. Send me all of her expressions.
Steve types out, I love you you’re so weird, and then quickly backspaces with a grimace. Too much. Steve has a habit of being too much.
Robin says, “Steve, did you take my picture?” She grabs for his phone and he lets her take it out of his limp hands. “Did you send this to Eddie?”
Steve grins at her.
She says, “I’m keeping this for the rest of the night,” and, honestly, Steve thinks that’s probably a good idea.
4.
Eddie says, “Don’t mind Dave,” and Steve would like to follow that advice, but it’s kind of hard.
Steve doesn’t remember Dave from school, but Dave acts like Steve’s personally offended him, and Steve isn’t in a position to dispute that – he could have. Steve did a lot of shitty things the first half of his high school career. Just because he doesn’t remember someone doesn’t mean he didn’t blindly give them shit, once upon a time.
Dave makes a face like maybe he thinks Steve murders baby seals in his free time when Steve sits down behind and just a little to the right of Eddie, at the head of the table.
Steve leans in and says, voice low, “Are you sure it’s okay I’m here?”
“Of course,” Eddie says, squeezing Steve’s knee. “Dave’s got a very small demon in him; just ignore anything he does.”
“Wait, what?” Steve’s not sure he heard that right.
“Oh yeah,” Jeff says, nodding. “Summoned that sucker when he was fifteen.”
Gareth pinches his pointer finger and thumb together and says, “Just a little guy. Totally ineffectual. Just makes Dave super cranky sometimes.”
“He does not like change,” Eddie says. “He got used to your children, though—”
“Hey!” Mike says.
“—so it’ll be fine.”
“I’m sitting right here, guys,” Dave says, scowling.
Steve worries at his bottom lip. “So I didn’t, like, do anything to him? Before?”
“Dave was a sweet little freshie when you graduated, Steve. You’re good.”
“Seriously,” Dave says. “Can we just play now?”
“I don’t know, Dave,” Eddie says, grinning with all his teeth. “Are you gonna be a bitch the whole time?”
“Oh, fuck you, Munson.” He gestures over at Steve with a wave and a sneer, says, “What happened to Trevor? He was cool.”
Eddie slaps his hands down on the table. “Are you seriously asking me about Trevor in front of my boyfriend?”
“Guys,” Jeff says, but Dustin sits up straighter and says, “No, wait, I wanna hear this. What’s your problem with Steve, Dave?”
A little part of Steve wants to sink into his seat and disappear. A bigger part of him, though, feels a zing of pure delight at Eddie calling him his boyfriend. An even bigger part of him wants to make sure Trevor is really and truly out of the picture, so he sits very still and darts his gaze between Dustin and Dave and Eddie.
Dave shakes his head and blinks wide eyes at them and says, slightly lost, “I don’t? Have a problem with Steve?”
“Oh no,” Eddie says, jabbing a finger at him. “You don’t get to pull the ‘my demon made me say it’ card. We know you, Dave.”
Dave gives him the finger.
“Well, this is fun,” Steve says, sliding his palms down his thighs as he gets to his feet, “but I’m sure you guys want to get started.”
Eddie grabs for his wrist before he can move away. He says, “You should stay. I mean, if you ever want to do this again. If you give up now, Dave’ll think he’s won. We’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Please,” Gareth says with a pained grimace.
Eddie manages to maneuver Steve back into his seat and tuck him even closer to him. He says, softly, “You know I like you so much better than I ever liked Trevor, right? Fuck Dave.”
Steve doesn’t know, obviously, but he’ll take it. “Okay.”
*
D&D night, Steve decides, is ultimately entertaining. He thinks it’s probably Eddie, because he’s watched his gremlins play before and it didn’t seem nearly this fun. Dave even settled, once everyone got into it.
Eddie tugs him down into his lap, afterward, and says, “Thanks for staying,” like it was some kind of hardship. “Sorry about Dave. I’ll make it up to you.”
Eddie is sweaty and passionate and mesmerizing. He could watch him do this every single day.
Steve just says, “Sure,” though, and, “Wanna go see Erica’s musical with me Friday?” He’s already seen it with Robin, opening night, but she’s a senior. It’s her last one, and he’s already bought two tickets. Hopeful.
“Do I?” Eddie says with a grin, then immediately frowns and says, “Wait, musical as in Hawkins’ spring production? At Hawkins High?”
Dave laughs meanly. He says, “No way. Eddie swore he’d never step foot in there again.”
Erica rises to her feet like a queen, says, archly, “I’ve been real lenient with you, David,” and Dave shrinks down into his seat with a muttered, “Screw you.”
Erica flicks dice at him, clocking him between the eyes.
Eddie cups the side of Steve’s face, palm warm, and says, “What’s the musical?”
“Legally Blonde,” Steve says.
Eddie tips his head one way and then the other, nose scrunched up. “Is she good?”
“I’m amazing, Munson,” Erica says, packing up her stuff.
“I guess I better go, then,” Eddie says, resigned but fond.
“You’re sure?” Steve asks, wanting to give him an out. “I can take Robin instead.”
“Nope,” he pops the ‘p,’ “I need to see Lady A in action.”
Steve admires the easy way Eddie’s taken to them being them. Steve used to have more confidence than this. He has a sneaky suspicion that Billy Hargrove beat it out of him years ago. That’s, frankly, pretty fucking pathetic.
Steve clears his throat and says, “She’s stunning. Magnificent.”
“Flattery, no matter how truthful,” Erica says, knocking into his arm as she swans by, “won’t get you out of all the ice cream you still owe me. You can fuck your boyfriend after we have sundaes Friday.”
“Erica,” Lucas yelps. “Jesus Christ.”
Eddie arches an eyebrow.
Steve, red-faced, says, “Long story. I’ll tell you later.”
*
The musical is mediocre, but Erica shines.
Eddie brings her flowers.
They take Erica and Tina out to Dairy Queen, and she makes them sit on a bench ten feet away from them. She still has her stage makeup on, and she’s gesticulating widely, and she keeps sending him narrowed looks when she catches him staring. Soon, she’ll be off to college, and Steve thinks he might miss her more than he missed all the other shitheads, years ago.
Eddie bumps his arm. “This is why Dustin calls you a mom, right?”
“She’s, like, the baby,” Steve says, shoulders slumped in defeat. “I can’t help it.”
Liesl grabs for his Blizzard, even though he got her a cup of vanilla. She has ice cream all over her face, and he wonders if he needs to figure out how to bathe her. Is that a thing?
“It’s endearing, man,” Eddie says. “You take care of the people you love.”
Steve says, “Yeah, well,” and very carefully does not say, I want to take care of you.
5.
Steve thinks it’s stupid that at the peak of feeling the best he’s been in months, he gets the flu. Or something flu-like. Whatever it is, he’s sure Robin’s brought it home from one of her gross elementary school kids. They’re going in and out of her classroom all day, putting their mouths on recorders, sharing instruments – you can’t tell Steve they don’t swap those things around like candy during band practice. And Steve loves kids, but he doesn’t love kids that sneeze all over Robin’s clothes so he can hug her, unsuspecting, and get the black plague.
“You don’t have the plague,” Robin says, tucking him into couch with a blanket.
She’s already forced cough medicine and Tylenol down his throat.
She queues up Tribunal Justice on the TV and puts the remote in reaching distance, along with a bottle of water. He’s got a box of tissues in the bend of his knees. He can barely breathe and his head is throbbing and he’s starting to sweat, after hours of shivering.
He doesn’t remember if that’s good or bad.
She pulls the blinds closed, says, “You should nap,” even though it’s seven in the morning.
“You’re gonna be late,” Steve says with a gummy voice, blanket pulled all the way up over his mouth.
“I can still call out.”
“No way,” Steve says. “You’re gonna need those days when this hits you.”
“I’m already immune, babe,” she says. She frowns and places her hand on his forehead one last time. “Want a cold washcloth?”
Steve bats her hand away. “I’m fine. Go.”
She presses a kiss to the top of his head and turns off all the lights before she leaves.
*
Steve wakes up with a groan, a dull ache in his head and a slightly less stuffy nose. The room is gray, and he has no idea what time it is.
“Hey, sleeping beauty.”
“Eddie?” Steve says, voice hoarse. He shifts and sees Eddie sitting in the armchair by his head, leaning forward onto his knees. “How did you get in?”
Eddie smiles. “Dustin.”
“Dustin’s here?”
“He just left, but he’s been here all morning,” Eddie says. “You’ve been kind of out of it.”
A warm hand smooths over his temple and Steve says, “Robin overdosed me.”
Eddie snorts. “Feeling any better?”
“Maybe?” Steve struggles onto his elbows and then lets Eddie help him sit all the way up.
Eddie’s frowning a little, adjusting Steve’s blankets, hair falling in front of his face, and Steve thinks: shit. “I forgot to call out.” And then: double shit. “Why are you here, you’re going to get sick!”
Eddie chuckles. “Firstly, Robin called me. And then Dustin called me, because he didn’t want to leave you alone and he could only take the morning off.”
“I don’t need—”
“And secondly. Steve.” He looks into Steve’s face, eyes drifting, briefly, up to what has to be his horrendous-looking sweaty mess of hair, before catching his eyes again. “I don’t give a fuck if I get sick.”
“You don’t,” Steve says faintly. Eddie’s got big brown eyes, those have always been, like, Steve’s kryptonite.
Eddie squeezes his hands and says, “You hungry? I brought soup.”
*
Eddie heats up soup that Steve isn’t sure he’ll be able to get down, but he doesn’t want to hurt Eddie’s feelings by saying no.
“Italian wedding,” Eddie says, cupping the mug carefully as he hands it to Steve. “Gareth made it.”
“Homemade?” Steve says. There’re little chunks of croutons on top.
“Yep. He’s expanding his repertoire.” Eddie shifts Steve’s legs to snuggle onto the couch next to him. “He’s been working with a healer, so,” he curls warm hands over Steve’s calves, “it’s made with good vibes.”
The porcelain of the mug is hot but not too hot against his palms. And then he inhales too hard and falls into a coughing fit.
“Shit,” Eddie says, grabbing the mug before it can spill everywhere, places it on the coffee table. “Okay, let’s shelve the soup for now. Crackers?”
Steve wipes his mouth on his sleeve, he’s too drained to think about how gross that is, and says, “Seriously, Eddie, I don’t want to get you sick.”
He tries to scoot as far away from Eddie as he can on the couch, but Eddie practically scoops him up, blankets and all, and pulls him even closer, forcing Steve to rest his head on Eddie’s chest. “Your germs don’t scare me, Harrington.”
Steve jabs his elbows into Eddie’s stomach, ignores his oof, and moves back enough to say, “You don’t—”
“Shush.” Eddie squishes Steve’s lips together with his fingers.
Steve narrows his eyes.
“Shush,” Eddie says again. “We’re watching—” he cocks his head at the TV, squinting. “What the fuck is this? Why are there three judges? Is that Byrd?”
Steve sighs.
Eddie drops his hand and says, “Let me take care of you.”
Steve feels like he’s always being taken care of, nowadays, but Eddie looks so earnest about it.
From the corner of his eye, he can see Liesl’s little hands coming up over the edge of the coffee table, reaching for his abandoned mug of soup.
Slowly, he relaxes back into Eddie’s side. Pulls the blanket up to just over his nose. He wants to ask Eddie if him taking care of Steve means as much as it would if, uh, Steve took care of Eddie. It’s too loaded a question, though.
He’s not sure he wants to hear the answer.
+1.
“So. Jeff.” Edde drums his fingers on the counter. “You know. I’m a big fan of Liesl. Huge.”
“Sure,” Jeff says, seated behind the register.
Right then, Liesl is sitting in the middle of the front table, having a staring match with a middle schooler. She keeps stealing his pretzels. Awesome.
Liesl is awesome. Everyone can agree that Steve’s infinitely better off with Liesl hanging around. Being Liesl. But. “Did your grandfather have any kind of, uh, plan?”
Jeff looks up at him, head tilted. “A plan for what?”
Eddie pulls a lock of hair in front of his face and says, “A sex plan.”
Jeff grimaces. “Are you asking me if my grandparents had a sex plan?”
Eddie is not proud of this line of questioning, but, like, that fucking raccoon is a massive cockblock, and at this point Eddie’s convinced she’s doing it on purpose. He says, “I mean. Yeah?”
“Nope.” Jeff shakes his head and gets to his feet. “No.”
“No, as in—”
“Just… no,” Jeff says. “My grandparents never had,” he makes a face, “sex in my lifetime. Or before. Or ever.”
“I don’t see how that’s feasible, Jeff.” Eddie rocks back on his heels.
Jeff digs the corner of his book into Eddie’s chest and says again, “Or ever.”
Eddie bites his lip and leans in and says, soft, “I bet they had a sex plan.”
Nothing much rattles Jeff. The contortions of rage and disgust his face goes through are fascinating, though. He ends up looking a little like he’s going to cry, and Eddie almost feels bad.
“Stop. I hate you.”
“Are you torturing Jeff? Why are you torturing, Jeff?” Gareth looks curious but not super concerned.
“I wasn’t planning on it,” Eddie says, sweeping a hand out. “But have you ever tried to suck a guy off while a raccoon stares at you from the top of a dresser in the corner of the room?”
“We are in a public place of business, Eddie,” Jeff says, just as Steve pokes his head out of the Things With Wings aisle and says, “What’s wrong? Why is Jeff yelling?”
“I’m not yelling,” Jeff says in a voice that’s just above a yell. It could be considered shouting, even.
Eddie grins as Steve walks over, a small pile of books in his hands. Torn copies, Eddie sees, a paperback of Darkstalker with the cover ripped off on top. He’s wearing yellow – a soft looking t-shirt that Eddie dearly wants to curl his fingers into. And then pull up, so he can lick his stomach.
“Steve,” Eddie says, “I love you, but Liesl is driving me insane.”
The books nearly slip and fall out of Steve’s hands; he catches them by shoving the armful up against his chest. He opens and closes his mouth like a fish, color high on his cheeks. Finally, he says, “You. Love me?”
“Uh.” Is it too early for that? Shit, it’s probably too early for that. “Sorry?”
“No, uh.” Steve clears his throat, face all the way flushed now. “I love you, too.”
“Do you think,” Eddie says, stepping closer, “that we can lock Liesl in the bathroom tonight?” He carefully snatches one book at a time from Steve’s arms, placing them on the counter next to them, until Steve’s hands are free and clear and Eddie can move him up against the register.
Jeff says, “Come on, man.”
Steve is bright-eyed and smiling, arms circling Eddie’s back to press hands onto the dip of his spine, and he says, “We can certainly try.”