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tbi
[ When Eddie said '86 was going to be his year, what he hadn't meant was that it would be the year he finds out about fucked up sci-fi shit, the year he becomes the town pariah, or the year he joins the near death experience club. It's all sort of funny, he thinks, though not in the "ha ha" sort of way. For someone who has spent years of his life telling stories of death and adventure, he was completely unprepared for the real thing. Eddie can't really remember what it was like, almost dying, and he's not sure if that's because of the blood loss, or if some part of him has resolved to push the memory down, lock it away somewhere he won't be able to find it again.
Because he's alive, and he's grateful for that. More grateful than he's ever been. Yes, he had been brave, but he had also been stupid, some part of him had known that the moment he had sliced through the bedsheet rope. He wonders now if bravery and stupidity are perhaps strange bedfellows, intrinsically linked together. Eddie had learned that lesson the hard way, had thought about while he made his long recovery. They hadn't taken him to the hospital, instead the guest bedroom of the Harrington house had been his sick bay. It was a hell of a patch job, but he hadn't bled out or lost any limbs to gangrene, so there was that.
It was easier to let Hawkins believe he was dead, even as the town emptied out. There was no story they could spin that would clear his name. When the government came in to clean up yet another mess, they had at least been able to make any actual charges go away, but there was nothing they could do about the court of public opinion. So once he was sure his uncle new he was alive and well, Eddie had resigned himself to being a (hopefully temporary) resident at cada de Steve.
As far as hide outs go, he could do a lot worse. The house is huge, Steve's parents are never home, (And sometimes he thinks they might be permanently gone) and Steve himself isn't bad company. The weeks wear on and they spend more and more time together, most of it playing cards, or watching movies, drifting close but never quite coming together. And then there were the nights when one of them woke up screaming, ripped from sleep by nightmares, and in those instances they were quietly drawn to the other. Eddie's lost track of the number of times he's slipped into Steve's room to curl up at the edge of his bed, the inches between them like miles of distance. But just the weight of someone nearby, the sound of breathing, was enough to lull him back to sleep.
They don't actually talk about those nights, and it's just as well. Why ruin a sort of good thing by talking about it?
It's Friday, not that weekends mean all that much for him anymore. All his days are blurring together with their sameness, and today he's feeling particularly cagey. Which is why Eddie finds himself doing laps in the living room, unable to keep his eyes off the clock as he waits for Steve to get back from work-- or volunteering-- or checking on the kids-- he can't quite keep it all straight anymore. But as soon as Steve is through the front door Eddie's practically launching himself at him, eyes wide and looking just the slightest touch manic. ]
I have got to get out of here tonight. [ He knows he sounds a little desperate, but he feels desperate, so it fits. ] I think I'm actually starting to go crazy in here.
Because he's alive, and he's grateful for that. More grateful than he's ever been. Yes, he had been brave, but he had also been stupid, some part of him had known that the moment he had sliced through the bedsheet rope. He wonders now if bravery and stupidity are perhaps strange bedfellows, intrinsically linked together. Eddie had learned that lesson the hard way, had thought about while he made his long recovery. They hadn't taken him to the hospital, instead the guest bedroom of the Harrington house had been his sick bay. It was a hell of a patch job, but he hadn't bled out or lost any limbs to gangrene, so there was that.
It was easier to let Hawkins believe he was dead, even as the town emptied out. There was no story they could spin that would clear his name. When the government came in to clean up yet another mess, they had at least been able to make any actual charges go away, but there was nothing they could do about the court of public opinion. So once he was sure his uncle new he was alive and well, Eddie had resigned himself to being a (hopefully temporary) resident at cada de Steve.
As far as hide outs go, he could do a lot worse. The house is huge, Steve's parents are never home, (And sometimes he thinks they might be permanently gone) and Steve himself isn't bad company. The weeks wear on and they spend more and more time together, most of it playing cards, or watching movies, drifting close but never quite coming together. And then there were the nights when one of them woke up screaming, ripped from sleep by nightmares, and in those instances they were quietly drawn to the other. Eddie's lost track of the number of times he's slipped into Steve's room to curl up at the edge of his bed, the inches between them like miles of distance. But just the weight of someone nearby, the sound of breathing, was enough to lull him back to sleep.
They don't actually talk about those nights, and it's just as well. Why ruin a sort of good thing by talking about it?
It's Friday, not that weekends mean all that much for him anymore. All his days are blurring together with their sameness, and today he's feeling particularly cagey. Which is why Eddie finds himself doing laps in the living room, unable to keep his eyes off the clock as he waits for Steve to get back from work-- or volunteering-- or checking on the kids-- he can't quite keep it all straight anymore. But as soon as Steve is through the front door Eddie's practically launching himself at him, eyes wide and looking just the slightest touch manic. ]
I have got to get out of here tonight. [ He knows he sounds a little desperate, but he feels desperate, so it fits. ] I think I'm actually starting to go crazy in here.
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Especially since Eddie is a pretty good roommate. Sure, his music is loud and he's always around since the whole of Hawkins has some very mixed feelings on him these days. But he's good company. It's surprisingly easy to talk with him. Steve finds himself comfortable with Eddie in a way he hasn't been with anyone save maybe Robin, and that's not factoring in the matching scars or the similar nightmares.
Not that they talk about those. Even if Steve wanted to (which he doesn't) he's not sure where he'd start. So he keeps quiet. Takes comfort in Eddie's presence both in their waking hours and in the small hours of the night when they sometimes sneak into each other's rooms and sleep so close and also so very far apart. There's a part of him that wants to reach out during those nights. Even just a hand on a shoulder adding that little extra bit of reassurance that they're both alive and everything is okay now.
It's... it's almost weird, how they don't touch or say anything on the nights when the dreams are bad. Steve and Eddie are both fairly touchy people, he's discovered, and there's an almost constant push-pull between them. Steve will nudge Eddie with an elbow, Eddie will lean into Steve's space, they'll tap each other's shoulders or backs or hips as they pass by in the kitchen, a silent signal that they're near.
And now--Steve is reaching out to grasp Eddie's arms without thinking about it. Both to keep him from getting too close and to steady him a bit. ]
Whoah, whoah! Jesus, man, let me at least get in the door. [ It's almost like a two-step, holding onto Eddie while he walks forward just enough to kick the front door closed. Gotta get his brain out of "driving home from work and planning out what he's gonna attempt to cook for dinner" mode and into "Have to pay attention to what people are saying" mode. ] Okay... And go where? Just—out for a walk? Out to dinner?
no subject
[ Eddie says with an exasperated sigh, not sounding or looking particularly sorry. He's at the end of his proverbial rope, and he kind of feels ungrateful about. Steve has let him hideout here, been more than an accomodating host, and a better friend than Eddie had expected. Once they had some time together, to talk, hang out, without any immediate crisis looming over their heads, they got along surprisingly well.
He's just gotten to the point where the walls are starting to feel like they're closing in on him. Despite how large the house is, he can feel cabin fever creeping in around the edges. He just needs one night out doing something, anything, and he thinks it will help settle him a little. Or maybe it will only make things worse. Who knows? ]
I just-- [ Eddie settles himself a bit more, realizes he's sort of ambushed Steve here. He also notices the way Steve has grabbed him by the arms, and it sends a strange heat creeping up the back of his neck. ] Sorry, sorry.
[ This time he sounds a little more sincere, and takes a reluctant step back, breaking the connection. ]
Yeah, you wanna get dinner somewhere? Outside Hawkins, obviously.
no subject
he twirls his keys around his fingers for a minute, squinting at eddie and chewing on his bottom lip as he thinks. a couple of weeks ago, he'd never think of offering what he's about to offer. but eddie's a friend now. and a friend that's clearly in need of a distraction from the shit his life has turned into, more than dinner alone can give him. ]
You wanna drive? [ before eddie can answer, steve points at him. ] I'll let you this once, if you can avoid driving like a total maniac.
[ because while steve might not be overly attached to the bimmer like some guys get with their cars, he would like to not have to use the oh shit handle tonight. ]