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.
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
nightingales
Written for @steddieangstyaugust Day 13: "Please, stay."
tags: mutual pining, mildly dub-con, slight daddy kink (1 word), hurt/comfort, hookups to lovers, idiots in love, post ss2/post starcourt
rated: M | words: 3k | ao3
"Please stay."
That halted Eddie's movements briefly. Only briefly. And then he resumed zipping up his flies and buckling his belt as if nothing had been said.
Eddie's heart trembled in his chest, begging him to obey the voice of his Adonis, but he resisted. Because he had gone into this with his eyes wide open and head cleared of any delusional thoughts.
He knew his place, knew how to get his job done, knew what parts to hide safely away from prying eyes and protruding ears, knew just the way to make every night worth the time.
And knew he wouldn't find real love in one Steve Harrington—the town's sweetheart and golden boy—however lovely their rendezvouses had been so far.
"You're drunk, Harrington," he dared a look over his shoulder, sighing when he found the bane of his existence was already snoring softly.
Unable to help himself, Eddie cursed under his breath and stepped over to the bed once more to tuck Steve under the blanket neatly, safe and sound, and lingered for a bit to admire how young and carefree Steve looked while asleep.
Mouth slacked, eyes closed peacefully, features softened from all the edges, so unlike the bone-deep exhaustion that clouded those pretty hazels with gloomy shadows.
At least, after their little arrangement started, Steve seemed to have benefited from it judging by the lack of his heavy eye bags.
Two months ago, Steve had come asking for something to help him sleep and somehow left with a bag of weed after blowing Eddie's brain out.
It was so surreal that Eddie thought he had hallucinated the whole thing while high off his ass.
Except, Steve kept seeking him out, going from paying for drugs with intense blowjobs to something more, something Eddie could give him without affecting the Munson household's finances.
Since then, Steve would wait for him at the Harrington's residence considering it was easier and safer that way, and Eddie would do his best to pound Steve so good he would conk out by the time they were done.
And yet, more often than not, Steve would already have taken a few swigs from daddy dearest's pricey liquors and would be quite tipsy by the time Eddie arrived.
Not that Eddie hated it. He was obsessed with a tipsy Steve actually. Because tipsy Steve was always sweeter, more open and pliant with everything Eddie gave him, more expressive and vocal in a way that made Eddie weak on the knees.
Then again, tipsy Steve also got quite a loose mouth.
He asked for things Eddie would be dying to give him, he said things that were too good to be true, he sang Eddie's name like prayers, and he always begged Eddie to stay.
None of that helped Eddie's stupid heart to stay at bay at all. Because the moment Steve's pretty mouth pressed on his ear and whispered "Daddy", he was a goner.
Nonetheless, Eddie hadn't survived to this day to not being aware of how dangerous Steve Harrington was.
A rich straight boy who was curious about the world around himself. Who would stamp on Eddie's heart once he got bored and decided to move on. Who would leave Eddie behind to go get a perfect family with a beautiful wife, two kids and a half, and a white-picket-fenced house.
It didn't take Eddie long to make up his mind.
He looked at Steve once more before turning on his heels to leave the room, somehow feeling less hollow and cold after two months of witnessing them together.
So long as Steve needed him, he would be there. And Eddie would make himself sacred when the time came.
———
"Stay the night?"
Eddie glanced up from the task in his hands—wiping Steve down with a warm washcloth—and smiled humorlessly.
"You know I can't, Harrington."
"Why, though?" Steve asked softly, eyes still hazy and bottom lip jutting out petulantly.
"My uncle will worry sick if I stay overnight outside," Eddie offered a half-truth considering Wayne had stopped giving him curfews since he started dealing.
"I'm flattered you wanna keep me in your chamber, princess," he leaned forward to press a kiss on Steve's forehead. "But I gotta go."
For a fleeting moment, Steve seemed sobered up enough to regard him with an unreadable look, like he could see right through Eddie's lie.
But the moment just passed as quickly as it came when Steve let out a teary yawn that shouldn't be as endearing as it was.
"Good night," Eddie whispered as he pulled the blanket up to cover his sleepy boy.
"G'night," Steve smiled, small and sweet, and was off to dreamland within seconds, leaving Eddie sitting by his side and gazing at him longingly.
———
When Steve wasn't drunk, he would be more tense and on guard, which Eddie could completely understand given their circumstances.
What Eddie couldn't understand, though, was that Steve still asked him to stay.
"I, uhm, have nightmares," Steve averted his eyes, he did that a lot lately, like he was afraid Eddie would figure out the secret in them if he looked too long. "It'll help to have someone hold me while I sleep."
It was so sly of him to use that card on Eddie, knowing full well how much of a bleeding heart Eddie was.
Therefore, Eddie knew the decision had been made for him even before he opened his mouth.
"Alright, I'll stay, but only 'til you fall asleep."
It was the right and wrong thing to say.
Eddie realized with great displeasure that he didn't like the way Steve's eyes dimmed right after having brightened up just seconds ago.
When Eddie left that night, he tried to not think about the disappointment on Steve's face when the younger boy woke up to his cold side of the bed in the morning.
(He failed.)
———
Steve didn't ask him to stay anymore.
And Eddie pretended that it didn't crush his heart just a bit when Steve refused to receive the aftercare.
In response, Eddie simply fucked him harder for that so he wouldn't have any strength left to protest by the end of it.
It was worth all the glares and pouts Steve shot his way when he just gave up on the charade after a while and let Eddie take care of him again.
"Stay, please?"
It was said so quietly, and if Eddie wasn't always paying attention to Steve, he wouldn't be able to catch it at all.
Eddie swallowed dryly, wanting nothing more than to return to Steve's side and scoop him in a cuddle until they both drifted off in each other's arms.
But reality was always cruel. And Eddie had learned that the hard way. He couldn't afford to make mistakes now when everything had been going smoothly so far. Especially when his traitorous heart was constantly on the verge of running away from him.
"I can't–"
"Sorry," Steve let out a sigh. "Just... Just forget about it."
When Eddie finished dressing, he turned to look at Steve and was greeted by a sun-kissed back.
He squashed the urge to come closer and run his fingers on it, mapping out the constellations and tracing love lyrics with his lips on those moles and freckles.
Instead, he walked over to the door and saw himself out.
"Have a sweet dream, Stevie."
He lingered a bit, only leaving once he was sure Steve had fallen asleep.
———
They didn't meet quite often anymore. Steve was busy with his summer job and Eddie was well... hung up on the what-ifs.
What if Steve was also a trailer kid? What if Eddie wasn't a drug dealer? What if they both came from normal families that loved and accepted them for who they were? What if then?
Eddie liked to think they would always meet each other at some point in their lives no matter what the circumstances. Eddie liked to think they were star-crossed lovers who couldn't get together because of the period they were living in. Eddie liked to think Steve also loved him back.
And yet, Eddie had seen Steve flirt with endless girls at Scoop Ahoy, making eyes with some guys who looked like college jocks, who could guarantee him a good time once he dropped Eddie like a sack of potatoes.
Eddie had stood on the sideline and watched with burning, acidic jealousy as Steve threw his charm carelessly at everything that could breathe and walk on two legs.
When Steve turned to look at him with that same charming smile, Eddie realized it was time for him to wake up from his dream.
And so he did.
———
"Can you come tonight, Eddie?"
"Sorry, man, I've gotta sell all of this new stuff by the end of tonight 'cause the bills are due next week, ya know?"
"'S okay. Uhm, see you later?"
"See you later."
———
"Are you busy tonight?"
"Yeah, sorry 'bout that. I have band practice until midnight. And Wayne will be home by the time I'm done. So..."
"Yeah, I got it."
"Uh-huh."
"Rain check?"
"Rain check."
———
Eddie turned up the volume of his music until it drowned out the ringing of the phone.
———
Eddie bit his nails, watching Steve's beamer park outside the Mayfield's trailer, watching him talking and laughing with that red-haired little girl, watching him finally get back into the car and drive away once the sun set.
He didn't know if he should feel relieved or disappointed when Steve never looked at the Munson Trailer once.
———
Eddie jolted up by the sharp knocks on the trailer's door. A quick glance at the clock told him it was only two am, too early for the police's raid and too late for his customers to linger outside.
There was only one answer to that and he hoped Franklin would be cowed away by a broken beer bottle just like the other night.
Stumbling out of his bed and pulling up his jeans hastily, he blearily thanked his lucky star that Wayne wasn't home yet.
Because for all the patience the older man had, he didn't doubt Wayne would pull the shotgun on Franklin and well, Eddie wouldn't be sorry for the drunken bastard but he didn't want Wayne to get involved in his mess too much.
On his way, Eddie picked up his weapon from under the couch as he passed by it and marched straight to the door.
When he threw it open, scowling and ready to swing at his enemy, he was greeted by not Franklin but Steve Harrington instead.
Eddie faltered, feeling sick with worry and cold dread as he took in the sight of the younger boy.
"Jesus Christ," he dropped the bottle, ignoring the clang! it made on the floor, to hover his hands over Steve's face. "What the fuck had happened to you, Harrington?"
Steve honest-to-god giggled.
"S'not important anymore," he slurred and swayed on his feet, eyes swollen in purple and red, face caked in blood and bruises and scratches. He was a bloody mess.
Eddie pulled him inside as gently as possible, trying to stay level-headed for both Steve and himself because it wouldn't do either of them any good if he panicked now.
Carefully, Eddie guided Steve to the couch, flipping on just the lamp on the side table, knowing from experience that too much light would cause discomfort to someone who had just got beaten to a pulp.
He poured Steve a glass of water, watching him drink it slowly before getting up to retrieve the quick aid kit, clean towel, and wash his hands thoroughly with soap in the bathroom.
Once he was done cleaning the cuts on Steve's face, he applied some antiseptic cream on the injured areas—which didn't look that bad after the blood was gone.
During the whole time, Steve remained oddly silent, eyes slightly glazed over like being high or in shock, just watching Eddie do all the work and only letting out a few quiet hisses when the cuts burned.
Eddie had apologized plenty for that, wishing he could share half of the pain Steve was feeling at the moment.
Then he asked Steve about the other possible injuries and concussions, not wanting to overlook anything and receiving a simple "Yes" to both questions.
("Christ, we should bring you to the hospital, Stevie."
"No, no hospital. Please."
"... Have you had anyone besides me checked your injuries, yet?"
"Uh, yeah, the paramedics. They cleared me after a bit. 'Cause there's nothing really bad, though.")
"Can I sleep now?" Steve sniffed, sounding small and lost, making Eddie's heart ache terribly.
"Not yet, Bambi," Eddie smiled softly when those pitiful doe eyes looked at him. "We gotta bathe you first, wash away these dirt and grimes before bringing you to bed."
And he wasn't lying, either. Wherever Steve had been all night had soiled his cute sailor uniform and turned him into a real Cinderella.
"C'mon," Eddie guided him up with a hand around his waist while ducked to shoulder one of his arms. "The quicker we do it, the sooner you can get your beauty sleep."
Fortunately, Steve didn't protest and allowed Eddie to half-carry him all the way into the bathroom.
———
Eddie took in a sharp inhale when he got to see the damage beneath Steve's clothes. It was far more severe than he had anticipated and he wondered if the paramedics would've let Steve go had they seen this.
Sighing inwardly, Eddie used a washcloth and gently scrubbed all the mud and blood off Steve's body, shushing the younger boy softly when he whimpered at the stings and dull aches.
Eddie had half a mind to kiss them better, but he reined in his desire to soothe Steve's pain and concentrated on making the shower as short as possible.
By the time they left the bathroom, Steve was trembling minutely but the fog in his eyes had dissipated and he seemed more conscious than when he appeared on the Munson Trailer's front porch.
After putting on one of Eddie's old Metallica tees and a pair of red flannel pants by himself, Steve ran a hand through his dampened hair and gave Eddie a crooked smile.
"Sorry for bothering you this late."
"I wanted to help," Eddie corrected him quickly.
"Of course, I know you would," Steve swallowed, eyes flickering back and forth from Eddie's eyes to his pale tattooed chest. "But I'm still sorry for having turned up without calling ahead. I was lucky enough I didn't ruin your uncle's sleep."
"He'd do the same for you, you know that right?" Eddie raised an eyebrow, chest tight with possessiveness at the sight of Steve wearing his clothes, standing in his bedroom, and smelling of his shampoo.
"Look," Steve spoke up before Eddie could say anything. "I gotta go now."
"No," Eddie reached for Steve's hand and held on it tightly. "You're not going anywhere."
"Why?"
Eddie clicked his tongue in mild annoyance, wanting to know what made Steve think it was wise to sleep without supervision while having a concussion and cracked ribs.
"I'm not letting you go back to your place alone like this."
Steve snorted and rolled his eyes, a hint of King Steve peeking through the veil. He tried to pull his hand back but gave up once he realized Eddie wouldn't let him go.
He settled with a tired sigh instead.
"I don't want your pity, Munson."
"I'm not pitying you."
"So what is this?" Steve hissed as he raised his captured wrist and shook it lightly for emphasis.
Eddie only tightened his grasp further, paranoid that Steve would slip through his fingers like sand.
"It's not pity," Eddie met those hazel eyes, still burning with that same fire he always loved. He brought Steve's hand to his lips, pressing shaky kisses on those bruised knuckles.
He still wanted to run away. But the idea of leaving Steve caused him such unbearable pain that he just knew would break him down if he ever did it again.
"I care for you, Steve," his voice cracked as he confessed quietly, "I care for you a lot."
Steve breathed in sharply, eyes glassy with unshed tears and lips quivered.
"Then why did you never stay?" He asked softly. "Why did you always leave even when I begged you not to?"
Eddie stepped in closer and used his free hand to hold on to Steve's as well.
"'Cause I was scared, sweetheart," he whispered. "Scared of having my heart broken. 'Cause I knew, always do, that I don't deserve pretty things like you. That I can't give you all the good things that you deserve."
"So I'm begging you now," he blinked away his tears and looked at Steve beseechingly.
"You don't have to–"
"Please, stay," he pleaded. "Please give me another chance to show you how much you matter to me. Please trust me to make it right this time. Please."
Steve became worryingly silent at that. But Eddie still waited patiently, knowing it was a lot to take it all at once. Even Eddie himself was reeling from what he just said.
"You ignored my calls."
"I'm sorry."
"You always left although I begged you not to."
"I'm sorry."
"You lied to me."
"I'm sorry."
"You didn't tell me what I did wrong," Steve mumbled, lips wobbling and nose turned pink.
That cut him deep.
"No, sweetheart, no," Eddie tugged him closer and embraced him gently, heart swelling with fondness when Steve melted in his arms.
"You did nothing wrong, baby, it's all my fault," Eddie sniffled, walking them both to his bed carefully. "I'm so sorry for making you think that way."
As Steve let out a wounded noise and started shaking with small sobs, Eddie cried with him and stroked his back soothingly, knowing he would kill and die for this boy in a heartbeat, knowing that he could never not be in love with Steve Harrington.
When they finally settled on the mattress together, Eddie spooned Steve from behind and pressed kisses everywhere he could reach.
Steve giggled quietly, too exhausted to say anything but still leaning into Eddie's warmth all the same.
Eddie knew they still had a lot to discuss to make their newly found relationship really work, but as he listened to Steve's soft snoring, he was certain they would be fine this time.
As long as they were together.
hey, can my cat stay on your blog for a little while?
i'm going out of town for the night and could use someone to watch her
the newest chapter was crazy
the return of Garfnoir
I just had the best encounter with a child at Kmart. I was in the aisle shopping, and this girl and her dad come around the corner. The girl sees me and excitedly exclaims “There’s a human here!!” to which the father replied “Yes, there’s humans everywhere.”
😂 taking the pie AND booking it. I truly have the Headcanon that Munson style for Wayne and Eddie is more about taking the pie than running away 😂
When Eddie gets his wisdom teeth removed, Wayne already makes plans to toss him to Steve. It isn't because he doesn't want to take care of his boy, it's just because he knows Eddie's filter - however low it is - would practically be nonexistent and he'll hear things about Steve everyone in a ten mile radius would take damage over hearing.
So he takes Eddie to the appointment, nods at Steve when they see each other in the waiting lounge with a near delirious nephew, takes the apple pie the other man baked, and books it. Munson style.
One thing that has made me a much more well-adjusted person is a clip I once saw of Hank Green saying that anyone can be in amazing shape as long as being in amazing shape is one of their top three priorities.
(This is obviously a generalization that isn't true for everyone. But it is true for most people and I'm proceeding from there.)
This "top three priorities" framing has genuinely reduced my tendency toward jealousy and self-comparison a lot. Now when I feel envious of someone’s spotless, aesthetic home, I think to myself, “Having a spotless, aesthetic home is probably one of their top three priorities. It’s definitely not one of mine, so I shouldn’t expect my home to look like that.”
Or when I see an influencer with a body that takes a ton of work to maintain: “Maintaining that body is obviously one of her top three priorities, because it’s her livelihood. My livelihood is my brain, so I’m never going to prioritize my body like that.”
It also helps me to identify areas that I actually DO want to prioritize more. I realized in recent years that my envy for my friends who prioritized writing more than I did was NOT going away, so I started to prioritize writing more. (Not top three, but higher priority than it has been in the past.)
not even in a sexual way but i’m just craving affection because i feel like crap i just want someone to hug me for a couple of hours and tell me i’m going to be okay
On my freaky close friends stobin shit
Robin was well aware her and Steve were closer than most friends, scarily so. They showered together when they were at her house due to her family not having a huge hot water tank like his. They slept in the same bed no matter whose house they were at, despite the fact they both slept naked due to overheating in their sleep. They had seen each other naked more times then they could count. They frequently went skinny dipping in his pool late at night.
They were practically one person living in two separate bodies. They knew everything about each other. That included all the details of the other's sex life. They have had many conversations about what they prefer in bed, and Robin had a very vivid mental image of what Eddie Munson looked like naked, all the way down to the dick piercing, although she had never seen it firsthand. It didn't matter that Steve liked boobies. He didn't like hers.
So when she was sitting at home minding her business and got a snap from Steve along with the instruction to not open it in front of other people, she wasn't too concerned.
Steeb: don't open that around other people
Bobin: what am i about to open??
Steeb: i just need to make sure it doesn't look weird before i send it to Eddie
Bobin: i think all dicks look weird babe. But ill look to make sure it doesn't look weidER than normal.
Steeb: hwo did you know it was a dick pic
how*
Bobin: what else would you send to eddie that im not allowed to open around other people?
Steeb: fair point
Bobin: lower the camera a little. Your dick looks short
Steeb: Thanks robbie. Ur the best
Bobin: you know we are the weirdest friends ever right? You just sent a lesbian your dick pic
Steeb: you had me grab ur boob the other day because you thought you had a lump
Bobin: i was CONCERNED
Steeb: ill text you later. eddie is calling
Bobin: take my stuffed animal off your bed. Sir franklin shouldnt witness such behavior
Steeb: on it. Love you bobbie!!
Bobin: love you stevie