Making Room
Steve never gets into DnD.
Not even after Eddie convinces him to join a one-shot over one Christmas when the kids are all back from college and jobs and far-flung adventures. He's not a jerk about it or anything. He sits and makes a character with his boyfriend and he does his best with the role-playing and he only asks Dustin for help with the dice seven or eight times (and everyone had promised to give him an even dozen before they gave him shit about it, so it was fine). It's fine. He's not mad that he spent the time doing it with Eddie and the kids (some of them taller than him now, in spitting distance of college degrees and first apartments and jobs and spouses and lives, but they'll always be kids to him).
But afterwards he kisses Eddie and says it really and truly isn't for him, sorry babe.
And that's okay.
When he and Robin are scavenging through yet another thrift store for furniture and dishes and lamps for the apartment she and Nancy are getting in Indianapolis (he's so sad that her room in the little house he shares with Eddie is going back to being a guest room, but he's so damn happy that she and Nance have stopped dancing around each other...and they're only moving about half an hour away, he'll still see her all the time), and he spots an impractically long desk/table, onviously custom-built, with an absurd number of drawers and compartments built into it, he buys it immediately. He wrestles it into Eddie's van that they borrowed for the day, and smiles apologetically when Robin has to hold like three boxes on her lap. He gets it into their dining room while Eddie's at work, graciously gifting their own table to Robin and Nancy, and it's worth all the hassle (and the fact that one end of the table pokes about a foot into the living room space) when Eddie comes home to something big enough for even his most complicated campaign maps and with plenty of storage for all his dice and miniatures and source books.
And sturdy enough for Eddie's most...enthusiastic...thanks, they find out that night.
Steve never gets into DnD.
But every time Hellfire (whatever incarnation of Hellfire it is, be it the Hawkins crew or some of the guys from the little record shop Eddie works at in town, or some combination) meets up for a game, they get used to Eddie yelling, "Stevie! Evens or odds?" everytime a situation calls for a luck die. They learn that complimenting the snacks Steve sets out will sometimes get them advantage on a roll. They watch Eddie snag Steve's wrist as he passes in or out of the dining room and get him to roll a D20 for various and random reasons. Steve always obliges, before drifting back to the couch with a beer or a slice of pizza and whatever basketball or baseball game is on.
Steve never gets into DnD.
But sometimes Eddie spreads newspapers over the Campaign Table (TM) and sets pots of paint and rows of miniatures out, and he and Steve sit together for a few hours, Steve slapping on the basecoats with a single pot of white, gray, or black and Eddie going to town on the details while they chat about their day, playing footsie under the table or stealing kisses while they wait for something to dry.
"Babe! I need a name for the friendly barkeep who knows more than he seems!"
"Carl."
"He's a half-orc!"
"Those are the big green guys, right?"
"Yeah!"
"Hmmm. Big Carl."
"Perfect!"
Steve never gets into DnD. But he loves Eddie, and he loves how into DnD Eddie is. So he makes room in his life for this thing that Eddie loves.
***
Eddie never gets into sports.
Like, objectively he understands that some people enjoy running around getting all sweaty, trying to keep some kind of ball away from other people and make it go into some kind of receptacle. And he certainly appreciates the view of some of those people in tight little shorts.
Particularly Steve.
Like honestly? If it wouldn't get him labeled a total creep (and they weren't so careful about giving anyone a reason to question the assumption that they're just two young friends living together to save money until they find respectable women to marry)...he'd park his van out by the little middle school where Steve teaches gym and coaches basketball and baseball every day during his lunch break, just to watch his boyfriend run the mile with his students in those shorts that hug the muscles of his thighs just right.
But he doesn't like sports apart from the strictly prurient interest he has in watching Steve wear sports-appropriate clothes.
He tries. He wants to know just what it is that keeps Steve glued to the TV when his favorite teams are playing, wants to understand why Steve yells and groans and jumps up with wild cheers, spilling popcorn all over the living room floor. He just...doesn't get it. Steve tries to explain March Madness to him one year and it makes no more sense than when Wayne tried to when Eddie was a kid. Eventually he just shrugs, kisses Steve's nose, and goes back to petting through his boyfriend's hair with a, sorry, baby, it's not for me.
And that's okay.
He gets up early the week Steve is overseeing baseball tryouts, to make sure his boyfriend has a travel mug of coffee fixed just the way he likes it, and a good breakfast waiting for him when he gets out of the shower. Steve is unquestionably the cook in their relationship, but Young Eddie ate a lot of breakfast for dinner over the years and Adult Eddie makes damn good pancakes, omelettes, and French toast.
Eddie never gets into sports.
But he gets Lucas to break down exactly what kind of notes and stats Steve will be keeping track of and draws up a template "character sheet" for baseball players, spending an hour at the local library laboriously making copies with their cantankerous mimeograph machine.
He sure as shit never gets up at the crack of dawn to go running around the neighborhood the way Steve does...but on days when it starts raining or snowing halfway through Steve's run, he'll drag himself out of bed and throw some towels in the dryer, so they're nice and warm when Steve comes back inside.
Eddie never gets into sports.
But he takes every overtime shift he can for a month, so he can take Steve to Chicago for his twenty-fifth birthday to see the Bulls play. The seats aren't great or anything, and it's noisy as fuck, crowded as fuck, and he has no idea why his boyfriend is losing his mind every time that Jordan guy so much as touches the ball...but Steve's eyes are sparkling, the color is high in his cheeks, and when they get back to their hotel that night, they've barely closed the door before Steve is shoving him against it, devouring his mouth.
"Hey Eds, Ohio State or Georgia Tech?"
"For what?"
"I'm doing my brackets for the pool I've got with Hopper and Lucas!"
"Um, whoever's in red!"
"Ohio State it is, thanks babe!"
Eddie never gets into sports. But that's okay. He loves Steve, and he loves how happy Steve is when he's playing, or coaching, or running (God help him, he fell in love with someone who gets up at six am to run. Without anything chasing him.) So he makes room in his life for this thing that Steve loves.
Because certainly, love grows in shared passions and matching interests. But it also flourishes in the carefully tended space you make just for the things that make your person happy...even if it's just not for you.
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the end of beginning from djo's new album leaves me feeling nostalgic for any city i've been, any place.
it makes me think of older steve coming back for someone's funeral. him and billy coming back and setting foot in hawkins for the first time in years. it's so different but so the same. benny's is there, the coffee is the same. the jukebox is gone. melvad's has become a CVS, but joyce still works there.
for steve, it's wistful. he doesn't yearn for it, his life with billy is everything to him. but he remembers feeling young, wondering what was coming. smokes in the park, kisses snuck under the bleachers and in parked cars. steve is alive, he feels happy, and wouldn't change a thing. but there's something indescribable about the memory and feeling so alive it might make you burst. when he was so hopeful for a future he knew he could make. that he did. steve fondly thinks of the smiles and laughs he and billy shared, of the nights curled close, the fights that ended with talks that let them grow. he thinks of the plans they whispered to each other in the dark, of notes left in returned videos, of crickets chirping in the quarry as billy stood between his legs as steve sat perched on the hood of the camaro, and shyly gave him a necklace he bought. it was a simple chain, but billy had etched a heart into some metal from class and attached it. of how it made steve feel so loved, so fucking loved, and made him think, for the first time so sure, that he could have this. have a future.
billy remembers hawkins differently. it's not wistful. it's not the worst place, it just holds a lot of bad memories. a lot of wishing he had been anywhere else. of being used, by his father, by a monster. but the thing is… this is where he met steve. for every block that reminds him of cherry lane, there's a spot he and steve used to park and watch the stars. there's a park where they would fool around. there's an alley steve pulled him down for a kiss and first i love you that made billy breathless. memories of a smile, of brown eyes, of a warm spicy smell that was so distinctly steve. the person who made billy's heart beat like it hadn't since he would remember. there's a memory of feeling safe, so safe for the first time in so long…
billy can't love hawkins, but he doesn't hate it. because hawkins let him find his hope.
and it gave steve something to hope for.
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