Teen Dad AU

by Eternal_Peace_is_Overrated

“You left.”

It isn’t what Steve meant to say when he saw Eddie Munson slouched at the bar, but it’s what comes out. Not as accusatory as he’d have said it three, four, five years ago. Just as bitter.

Eddie doesn’t startle, but his shoulders tense up and his fingers tighten around his half-empty drink, rings clinking loudly against glass. He turns, slow and cautious, and doesn’t relax when he sees Steve. Just watches him, silent and guarded, so Steve watches him back.

He looks…fuck, he looks good. Tired, wary, but really fucking good.

Steve wants to bring Eddie home, lay him in bed and take him apart.

Eddie’s lips quirk at the corners. “I came back.”

He also kind of wants to hit him.

Anger simmers low in his belly and his jaw clenches so tightly it aches.

“Don’t pull that shit with me, Munson. You packed up and you left and you didn’t fucking tell anyone.”

***

Or, after the events of s4, Eddie runs from Hawkins, tours the world with his band, drinks too much and falls apart at the seams.

And then he comes back.

Words: 11157, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 11 of Stranger Things Drabbles

Fandoms: Stranger Things (TV 2016)

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Wayne Munson, Robin Buckley

Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Additional Tags: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eddie Munson Lives, Gay Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Needs a Hug, POV Eddie Munson, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington Friendship, POV Steve Harrington, Good Uncle Wayne Munson, Supportive Wayne Munson, LGBTQ Ally Wayne Munson, Wayne Munson Adopts Steve Harrington, unofficially, Lesbian Robin Buckley, Protective Robin Buckley, Eventual Romance, Drama & Romance, Eddie Munson Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Misunderstandings, Steve Harrington Has a Crush on Eddie Munson

Read on Ao3

Hide Your Heart pt.4

Part four of the Steve Harrington has bad parents au. I would’ve posted this last night but I past out right after finishing the chapter in an daze of insomnia

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |

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Steve had been up for hours, waiting for his parents to come back. Maybe he was right and they were never coming back. What if they had just packed up and taken off without a goodbye? It wouldn’t be the first time they’d done that, making excuses about flight times and scheduling errors. 

He decided to clean the kitchen, like he always did when he was stressed. It was three in the morning, he was standing on top of the counter to dust the overly complicated light fixture in the kitchen, when the front door banged open. He heard a shrill cackle and the sound of furniture being jostled around. They were drunk, of course they were fucking drunk. He was just about to hop down off the counter when his mother stumbled into the kitchen.

“Wha-h-what’re you doin’ on the cowter, Steven?” She snorted, falling against the table and slouching her head down to lay on it.

“Nothing, mother. You should get to bed.” He got down, taking her arm to guide her up the stairs. His father was passed out on the couch, he would have to keep his call with Eddie quiet.

“Oh, Stevie, you would’ve loved the dessert!”

 Steve’s stomach dropped, he tried to pay attention to her rambling but he couldn’t listen to her gush about the chocolate cake because his mother hadn’t called him Stevie since the first trip they took. He was 8 years old, she had wrapped him in her arms and whispered how much she would miss him and how it would be over before he knew it into his hair. She had held his hand until she had to get in the car and the nanny had to pull him back. She was losing consciousness, words slurring as she drifted and her head hit the pillow with a snore.

Steve sat a cup of water on her bedside, alongside tylenol for when she woke up, he pressed his lips to her forehead on his way out, “Goodnight, mother.” He whispered before closing the door.

He dragged a kitchen chair over to where the phone hung on the wall, slumping into it as he put in Eddie’s number. It wasn’t until he was listening to the faint click on the receiving end that he remembered his father snoring on the couch. It was too late to hang up, so he resigned himself to whispering and praying that his father didn’t wake up in a drunken stupor.

“Mh’ello?” Eddie’s voice mumbled sleepily.

Steve breathed out, a sigh of guilt, “Hi, I can call later if—”

“Stevie,” Eddie’s voice filled with warmth and Steve bit back a grin, there were no bittersweet memories that plagued his mind when Eddie said the name, “always up to talk to you, sweetheart.”

“Are you sure?” He whispered, already preparing to make himself hang up.

“I promise.” Eddie said it so sincerely, sounding genuinely happy that he called, who was Steve to argue?

“Ok,” It was so quiet, barely a word, Steve wasn’t sure if he spoke it or if it was his breath that formed the word of its own accord.

“Is there a reason we’re whispering?” Eddie asked, playing along anyway. Steve could hear the playful smirk in his voice. What he wouldn’t give to see it in person.

“My father’s asleep on the couch.” Steve told him.

Eddie hummed, “Trouble in paradise?”

“Try too drunk to make it through the front door.”

“Yeesh,” Eddie mumbled, “you gonna be okay over there?”

“I’ll be fine, s’long as he doesn’t wake up.”

He hears Eddie’s big, dramatic gasp, “Risking it for little ole me, Harrington?” And it sounds joking but Steve knows, he knows that Eddie knows it’s not a joke.

“The things I do for you,” he shoots back anyway, because he’s delusional. Because maybe he wishes it could be just a joke. Because he’ll take the humor when he can.

Eddie’s tone changes then, more concerned, “It’s almost one am, Stevie, you planning on sleeping tonight?”

“You know I can’t.” He sighs.

“You should at least try. It’ll be easier to get through the week if you’re not falling asleep at the wheel.”

“I don’t even know if they’re going to be here for a week.” He paused, falling quiet, “Is it messed up that I don’t want them to stay?”

He heard Eddie sigh, “I can’t pretend to know what that’s like but you’re allowed to feel however you want about them. You’re the one who has to live with this, that means you decide how you feel about them.”

“What if he’s right, though?” Steve mumbled. What if everything my father says about me is true and I’m a no good freeloader? 

“He’s not right about you.” Eddie told him, understanding immediately, speaking again when Steve started to protest, “He’s not right about you, Steve. I know you and I know you don’t deserve this. So you know what, live in his house and spend his money and do whatever the hell you want because if he can’t pretend to care about you then fuck him.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“You’re crazy, you know?” Steve said because he wasn’t going to start tearing up again.

“So I’ve been told. You don’t get accused of devil worship and witchcraft for nothing, my love.”

“Can you witchcraft my routine back?” Steve asked around a yawn.

“Oh yeah, all you gotta do is go to sleep.”

Steve groaned, “No. I miss you.”

“See me in your dreams, sweetheart.”

 Steve rolled his eyes because he could feel the exaggerated wink in Eddie’s voice, “That was terrible. Like, astoundingly awful.”

“I’d say I miss you too but I’m not sure I miss the attitude. Your inner mean girl is surfacing, Stevie.”

“You’re horrible, I’m just trying to go to sleep and my own boyfriend is bullying me.” He muttered with no real conviction.

Eddie gasped, “I knew you were tired!”

“Shhhh, let me sleep.” He didn’t hang up though, just settled into the kitchen chair and propped himself up against the wall next to the phone.

“It’s almost like that’s what I was trying to do, weird.” The sound of blankets rustling drifted from the other end of the line and Steve guessed Eddie was getting back in bed.

“Can you—” Steve hesitated, “Will you keep talking? Just until I can sleep?” 

He hadn’t asked anyone this in a long time, not since his father had lectured him on independence and being a man. Maybe Eddie would finally see him as the loser he was, too much of a baby to handle one night alone.

 But Eddie just hummed, “Nerdy snoozefest or something interesting?”

I love him. Steve would tell him later but now wasn’t the time, “Whatever you want.”

“Anything? Even the newest campaign I’m helping Dustin plan?”

Steve pushed back a sigh and agreed, pulling his legs up onto the chair as Eddie started his ramble with a gleeful ‘You’ve been warned’.

He talked and talked about creatures and myths. He went on a whole tangent about how Dustin was dead set on adding some thing that sounded like some weird dessert Steve’s great aunt Marge used to bring to Christmas dinner, a gelatinous cube he called it. Steve couldn’t keep up if he tried, and he had tried but even though he surrounded himself with a whole gaggle of nerds their mile-a-minute words were still lost on him. So instead he closed his eyes and let Eddie’s voice wash over him until he felt himself nodding off.

When Steve woke up again he was still in the chair—thank God he’d grabbed one with arms or he would have been on the floor. The first thing he registered was the moonlight streaming through the kitchen window, so it was still nighttime. The second thing he noticed was the phone still wedged between his shoulder and ear, soft breathing so close he could almost feel it puffing through the speaker. He sat up, grabbing the phone and popping his neck, only to wince at the sharp pain that shot through his spine. The wooden back of the chair dug into his own back.

“Eds?” He whispered, voice strained.

“Mh-wha?” Eddie’s disoriented mumbling would never not bring a smile to Steve’s face.

“You fell asleep, we both did.”

“Oh. What time is it?”

Steve craned his neck to check the clock, “Two a.m.” 

Eddie yawned and then groaned, “Way too early to be awake.”

Steve agreed, “I’m going to hang up and go to bed, okay? Remind me to never sleep upright again.” 

“Okay. Night, babe.” Eddie whispered, “I love you.” He added, like it was the easiest thing to say in the world.

Steve realized it was when he said it back, feeling a soft smile spread across his face, “I love you too.”

He was about to hang up, hand already reaching for the wall, when a shadow stumbled into the room. 

“Father—” He stood lightning fast, dropping the phone and feeling the cord stretch before coiling back together.

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Fun fact: I Struggled writing their call because I had No Ideas. You can probably tell but I Can Not be bothered to rewrite it, it’s mostly filler anyway

Jealousy Looks Different On You

[Part One] ✨ [Part Two] ✨ [Part Three] ✨ [You Are Here]

Steve was a romantic, once upon a time. Twenty-year-old Steve would have swooned at Eddie's words, at the idea that love is enough. However, Steve is not twenty anymore. Steve is thirty-one with a string of failed relationships. He's always been one to fall hard and fall fast and if love truly was enough, Steve would have made it work by now.

Because he loves Eddie, but it's not like he's only loved Eddie. It's not like Steve's been living a celibate life full of longing and pining and sorrow. He'd loved Nancy, back in high school. Candy, his first girlfriend here in Chicago, had his heart for eight months before she moved away; they'd even debated long distance but, in the end, knew it wouldn't work. Sarah, Mary, Savannah; after coming out there was Mark and Dylan. All of whom he loved while still loving Eddie.

What was the point in pining after someone who didn't want him back?

He'd even had a long-term boyfriend, Brian, for two years that Steve thought would be forever, until the breakup he never saw coming. Because Steve never saw them coming. He was in love. Why would he look for signs that his relationship was ending?

"Eddie, I can't. If we don't work out- I can keep going as we are. You're one of my best friends. I know how to manage, it's- we'll be good as we are," Steve says, finally ending his pacing by dropping back onto his spot on the couch.

"I can't," Eddie says, words uncharacteristically soft and quiet.

"What?" Steve asks, voice laced with hurt and confusion, feeling like ice has been poured down his back. What does Eddie mean he can't? Can't what? He braves a look at Eddie to find he looks devastated, eyes wet and his pouty lips downturned.

"I can't," Eddie repeats and it's his turn to stand from the couch, to pace the living room that was once his too. "I- Jesus Christ Steve, you've had fucking, what, years? To accept that- years of thinking we'd never be together. All this time thinking I knew but didn't want you back.

"I didn't get that. I had, fucking hell, I never let myself accept that you might actually want me back. I haven't- I can't learn that we might have a chance and just not take it. How can you ask that of me? You're all I've fucking wanted for-forever, and I can't- I don't- Why didn't you ever ask me if I was interested in you?" Eddie's voice cracks on the last sentence.

And Steve should probably feel bad for Eddie, should understand what he's feeling, but all he feels is angry. It hits quick and fast, and all feelings of ice are gone. "Ask you? Ask you!? Why the fuck would I have done that when you've never, not once since I've known you, hesitated to go after who you want!? You don't hesitate to grab someone and drag them to the dance floor at the bar, you don't hesitate to ask for what you want, don't hesitate to go on and on about all the things you want in a partner; a list, by the way, that I don't fulfill. A list I'll never live up to!"

Steve doesn't remember doing it, but at some point in his rant he's stood again. The coffee table separates them as Steve yells out his frustrations. He doesn't want to be yelling at Eddie, though. The alternative is to cry, and Steve feels his throat grow thick as he finishes in a quieter tone, "You-You throw yourself at everyone who isn't me. Use me to make them jealous so they'll make the first move. How was I supposed to ask you if you'd ever want me when you made it- made it seem like you never would?"

"I- I was trying to make someone jealous enough to make the first move, but it wasn't- fuck, Steve, it wasn't them."

Steve sniffles, trying to will himself to not fully cry, "if that didn't work the first time, why did you think it would work any of the other times?"

"It's not- I wasn't ever expecting it to work. I just- I don't even know what I was thinking, much less expecting. But Steve, please, please believe me. I want to be with you. Please, give me, us, a chance," Eddie begs.

Jesus Christ. How often has Steve daydreamed about this? About Eddie showing up and confessing and begging Steve to give him a chance? A pathetic amount, surely, yet Steve can't bring himself to follow the script of his daydream. In the dream, Steve accepts; pulls Eddie into a kiss that makes them both dizzy.

This isn't a daydream, though. This is his life, real life, and Steve has things he won't compromise on now.

"Eddie, I... I want to. I used to dream that we'd get a chance, but I, I have other dreams, too. Ones I'm not willing to give up. Not even for you."

"I'm in," Eddie jumps to say, "whatever you want, whatever your dreams, they'll be mine, too."

Fuck, Eddie's not making this easy, is he? Steve wishes he could believe him. Steve wants to believe him. "I want to buy a house in a small town, or on the outskirt of a bigger city. With a yard, for a puppy."

Eddie is nodding quickly because these demands are easy to agree to. It's the last bit that Steve's not sure Eddie wants.

"The house has to be at least four bedrooms. Because I want to be a dad. I want kids."

Eddie doesn't nod to that, which Steve was expecting. He shouldn't be disappointed and yet.

"I never... I've never thought I'd be a dad," Eddie says slowly.

"I've always wanted to be one."

Eddie makes the first move, stepping around the coffee table that separates them, to get close to Steve. "I know. Sweetheart, I know," he says, reaching out for Steve, and Steve lets him. Eddie reaches out with his left hand to grasp one of Steve's hands, and the other hand reaches up to Steve's face. Steve closes his eyes, accepting, and Eddie cups his cheek so tenderly it forces a hiccupped sob from Steve, and Eddie swipes away the tear that fell when he closed his eyes.

"I know you'll be an amazing dad. And if you're with me, I think I'll be an okay one."

Steve sucks in a sharp breath and his eyes snap open to look at Eddie. Both their eyes are wet. Steve searches his face, looking for what, he doesn't even know. A sign that Eddie means what he says, probably, but it's not something Steve will be able to find just from looking.

It's only something Steve can fully accept and believe by Eddie proving it.

"Please, Steve. I'll make every dream you have come true if you let me. I love you."

Steve swallows thickly before saying, "You can't flirt with other people, to try and make me jealous. It's fine if you flirt like you used to, harmless and playful, but not- You can't do that anymore. I won't- I can't watch that again."

"Why would I even want to, if I have you?"

What a fucking charmer. "I- Okay. Okay. We have... we have a lot more to talk about, but if you're serious-"

"As a demobat bite."

"And we'll- we'll have to take it slow. Because I can't- I can't just dive in because if we don't work, I can't-"

"As slow as you need," Eddie promises, and Steve doesn't think he's ever seen Eddie looks this serious.

"Okay. Let's try." Steve can't bring himself to say 'I love you' back, even though Eddie knows. For real, now. It's what got them into this situation but saying it now feels big. Too big, too fast, too much. There are more conversations to be had and things to plan for before Steve will feel like he can say it again.

Steve expects Eddie to kiss him, but he doesn't. Eddie pulls him into a tight hug, clinging to Steve like letting go will kill him.

Steve holds back just as tight.

-

This is where I'll end it! A hopeful ending for the boys <3

@xxbottlecapx @im-sam-fucking-winchester @novacorpsrecruit @thewickedkat @dreamy-jeans137 @everywherenothere @hangingupinthehallway @estrellami-1 @queenie-ofthe-void @dreamsteddie @acowardinmordor @steviesummer @kinryuuki @genderless-spoon @paperbackribs @steddiecameraroll @yesdangerpls @jackiethevampireslayer @skitchskatchbat @sani-86 @exasperatedsighohmy @tinyplanet95 @chaotic-waffle

Soulmate AU where there's multiple types of soulmates (Not just romantic or platonic) and Steve Harrington has them all like some kind of relationship Pokemon Master.

He finds his matches every time something happens with the Upside Down and The Party (well Dustin) have taken close note of it.

Imagine if you will, the boat house scene, only Dustin, in the middle of sweet talking Eddie out of stabbing Steve, suddenly sees Steve's arm and *screams*

"I called it, it's the soulmate one!"

Eddie is very confused.

Steve is turned on and, to his great misfortune, not confused at all.

If you're fifteen or older an still sleep with a stuffed animal please reblog this.

My friend is embarrassed and thinks she’s the only one and I said id prove her wrong.

He’s not entirely sure what wakes him, something between instinct, experience, and the dreadful gut-feeling that something is very, very wrong. A voice in the back of his head calls it the telltale sound of nightmare, of fear, of a child that seeks protection. That same voice wants to call it the sound of fatherhood, but it’s shut away before it becomes too loud every time.

Either way, they wake him. The groaning of the bed springs, the creaking of the floor board just behind the door before it opens with a squeak. And then the sound, barely there, of slow steps, old wool scraping over polished wood and worn carpet.

They come to a stop six paces before the couch.

Hopper counts to five before he turns to look which one of the kids it is.

Steve. Of course. El doesn’t come to him, not really. She goes to Steve if she can’t sleep, knowing he’ll be awake. The kid is always awake — and Hopper is almost glad for it, having heard his nightmares. For how quiet he is throughout the day, he sure doesn’t hold back at night.

El mentioned something a few days ago about visiting him in there to make it quiet, but they haven’t figured out how to do that yet. Steve mentioned something about sensory deprivation, but Hopper hasn’t gotten around to finding out more without being suspicious.

Really, the silence of the night should have been a dead giveaway that Steve wasn’t sleeping. It’s the third night, as far as Hopper knows. Three nights without sleep is grounds to worry, sure; but then the things he worries about are countless, so really it’s just one thing among many.

Steve rarely comes to see him, though. It must be really bad then. They made a deal after Christmas.

You come to me. Next time you wanna run, you come to me, understand that? I won’t pick you off the floor half frozen to death again next time, kid, so you got a problem, you come to me, alright?

Steve had only shrugged, and Hopper had wanted to punch him, to pull him in and hold him for a while and then shake him and command him to just fucking talk. He had pulled him in, clapped his shoulder and ruffled his hair before sending him to go eat his dinner.

And now there he is, standing in the middle of the cabin that seems to get tinier by the day, wringing his hands in the dark.

“What is it?” Hopper grunts as he sits up, wincing at how rough his voice sounds. Way to go getting him to talk, idiot.

“Uh…”

Hopper waits, but Steve doesn’t say anything more than that, and understanding dawns. The pit of dread grows, and Hopper sighs, leaning his head against the backrest of the couch.

“It’s Wednesday.”

Steve stares.

“Wednesday, February twenty-second.”

Steve stares, and Hopper hates this.

“It’s Wednesday, February twenty-second, 1984.”

Steve stares, but he inhales now. He breathes. He’s alive. Hopper wonders if he needs a reminder of that, too.

But then he nods, slowly, a little too long. Hopper doesn’t know what to do. He hates this, he hates this, he hates this. The urge to punch something is strong; but at least this time he doesn’t wanna punch the kid. He never actually wants to punch the kid.

“I don’t know what to do,” Steve says then, and it’s a whisper into the cold night that damn near breaks Hopper’s cold, tiny heart in two.

He’s struck by deja-vu. His daughter standing by his bed at night, her bunny clutched tightly to her chest, a sniffle interrupting the silence and waking him up. A nightmare woke her up, and the rain sounded scary, and she wanted to go back to sleep but she didn’t know how.

“I don’t know what to do, daddy.”

“Come here, that’s what you do.”

“Come here,” Hopper says, lifting his blanket in an invitation, and he wonders if Steve even sees it in the darkness. If he even has his eyes open. If his vision isn’t blurred with those silent tears he’s so good at hiding.

After a moment, silent steps approach him, and Hopper is surprised that he listened. The kid must really be tired, then. And scared. Shitless, probably.

But he comes. And he didn’t run. And he’s not freezing to death outside in his pyjamas.

It feels like a win. A heartbreaking, angry little win that leaves Hopper with the urge to burn this whole world to the ground and rip reality to shreds. But still, somehow, a win.

staying close w people long distance really is about the mundane stuff. i get texts like "made quesadillas" "spilled mop water all over the floor :(" "lady on the bus has not one not two but three tiny dogs in her purse" andits like wow. i love you more than words can express

🎆 🍔 New Years Eve Steddie please!

You got it! Here are the boys finally meeting!

Eddie rubs a tired hand over his forehead. “My shift’s over in literally five minutes. Would you…would you feel comfortable enough to go to the diner next door with me? I’ve got some Advil in my employee locker. And I could get you a cheeseburger.” The guy goes completely quiet and still. He goes to try and shimmy around with the door, maybe get it off its hinges or something, make sure he’s not choking or— But then he sniffles softly. “That sounds really nice,” he says, “you’re really nice. What’s…what’s your name?” “Eddie, and yours?” “Steve,” he breathes. “Sorry I’m such a sack of crap. Wasting your time.”

Thank you for the ask!

WIP Weekend Ask Game!

Thinking about some angst real early in the morning because I can't sleep!

CW: Implied/Referenced Depression, Implied Suicidal Thoughts (In Reference to Dead Poets Society)

Steve and Eddie breakup. They'd been together for years. And when I say years, I mean YEARS. So long that Steve had proposed to Eddie, so long that there's an engagement ring to leave on the table. So long that when Eddie leaves their relationship, their shared life behind with two suitcases and a pale strip on his ring finger, it means something.

Steve left behind with the words, "I don't love you like I used to." Words abrupt. Right before dinner was served. The house still tainted with the seasonings on Eddie's favorite dish. The dim light left in Eddie's wake. The cold spot in their bed. Half of a closet that once was brimming. A shower shelf that only has residue to tell that Eddie once existed there.

Steve who doesn't know what's happening, not really, when it comes to people being around him. He knows there's something. That there's always been something with him that has ruined everything he's ever wanted. Maybe it's the fact that he was a baby born from an act of cheating, the baby that forced a marriage into existence, the baby that became a point of contention and proof that there is no trust even in vows. Maybe it's the fact that when he says he wants to do things like theater or band or math club, he's told he's a pansy or a pussy or a fairy, that he's making a disappointment of himself, that he's not living up to expectations—expectations forced upon him because again he is a point of contention otherwise. Maybe it's his personality or his lack of personality or his clumsiness in his personality. It's the lack of book smarts, it's the lack of street smarts, it's the lack of—the absence, this crater birthing inside him. He's a child for not knowing, he's a child if he can't get himself together, he's something to be molded, to be made, he's a child for rebelling, he's a child for wanting something more.

Maybe it's the trying. The flowers and the apologies and the replacement camera and the cleaning of the vest and letting movies play (even when he doesn't like them) and turning on music just to consolidate his top-forty interests.

It's the fracture, hair thin and spreading inside him. Something that came with him when he was born. Something he's never known to remedy. He's a failure, he's a let down, he's grime, he's the worst, he's bullshit, he's unworthy, he's too much, he's actually a good guy, he's too opinionated, he's not opinionated enough, he's one way, he's this, he's a loser, he's—

He doesn't know who he is. He just bends himself into shape whenever he needs to be a certain way for somebody. The basketball star for his dad. The smarmy asshole for Tommy. The charming boyfriend for Nancy. The older brother for Dustin. The sarcastic best friend for Robin. The cool good guy for Eddie. But, deep down, he doesn't know who he is.

Eddie leaves him. In dust. In the afternoon. In broad fucking daylight.

And Robin comes over to comfort, to soothe, to love him—supposedly. And they do another dumb thing together, they form a lavender marriage. They coexist. They cohabit. They share the same bed because of nightmares, because they can't fathom being apart from each other. They eat at the same table and laugh at the same jokes and do the same things and talk on the porch. And Steve smokes a cigarette and Robin tells him to brush his teeth. And Robin is a loud drunk and Steve tells her to keep her voice down.

Robin falls in love with a girl. Steve is happy for her. Meets this girl. Meets the girlfriend. The lover. And, suddenly, it's not a lavender marriage anymore. It's two best friends and a girlfriend. It's two best friends and a girlfriend who has her own place. It's one best friend and a couple. It's a best friend in a too big house with an engagement ring on the coffee table and a cigarette between his lips and food burning on the stove and movies he doesn't have opinions on and an empty bed.

It's Steve with an array of hookups. One after the other after the other. He can't be loved, but he can be touched. It's the intimacy in sex, it's finding himself to be useful, it's finding himself to be handsome and worthy and wanted. It's Steve and a random hookup telling him that he's too shallow. It's Steve running out of condoms and always buying more. It's Steve and this crater stretching within him, a gaping maw in the center of his chest, his heart still beating like a near dead horse panting, held together by the thin, fraying sinew of grief.

It's him on the porch, the last cigarette in the pack, his teeth yellowing and his mouth gummy and the constant sheen to his empty eyes and being a few pounds underweight and the quietness of an uninhabited backyard. Him on the porch, Robin forcing her way inside to sit with him.

It's Steve turning to her, cigarette dwindling between his fingers. It's him being honest.

"You know that paperback you lent me?"

It's Robin conversing like this is kind of normal. "Dead Poets Society, right? I've been meaning to snag it back from you."

"I read it recently."

"Yeah?"

It's Steve nodding. And taking a drag and holding the smoke for a little too long. Until it burns. Until he can make it hurt. "Did you know that a girl called me shallow? Just because I wanted to have sex?" It's him not letting Robin answer. "I've run out of condoms, like, three times since Eddie left. I didn't even have sex with him that often. But...but...these girls, they always wanna know if I'm clean. The people at the clinic know me now. First name basis, Robs. And they smile at me when I come in. Like I'm doing them a service."

It's her being silent.

"I read that book you lent me. And...and it was weird."

"What was weird, Steve?"

"I could see myself between the lines. Like I was hanging onto the curls of the letters. Like I was Neil." He flicks the cigarette into the dead grass of his backyard. Watching it sizzle out and die, too. "I'm empty, Robin. I don't think I have anything else left in me to give."

"Don't say that"—

"Everything I've ever done in my life has been because somebody else wanted me to. And everybody I've ever loved, I think I only loved them because I was chasing something. I don't think I want love, Robin, I think I just want to be complete.

"And I don't think I'm there, like, at all."

"I'm here, Steve. I'm right here."

It's Steve seeing Robin. Her freckles and her sad eyes and her hope bundled tight to her chest. "I know," he whispers, "and none of this is your fault. I think it's me. I feel like...I feel like I'm gone or something, I don't know. Empty? Fruitless? Accepting something I'm not supposed to."

That's as far as I can think for this, I think. But I know for sure that Robin would suggest he goes to a therapist. But Steve would refuse the help because he's, like, so far in the dark that he's just out of it. He's letting all of this continue to pile on and hurt him because it's better than complete and absolute nothingness. And also, he wouldn't know what would become of him if he got better—he doesn't know what version of himself would become apparent; because he's never truly met himself.

This is also lowkey hypersexual Steve. Which wasn't completely an accident, but also wasn't completely purposeful.