you're grabbing lunch with a nice man and he gives you that strange grimace-smile that's popular right now; an almost sardonic "twist" of his mouth while he looks literally down on you. it looks like he practiced the move as he leans back, arms folded. he just finished reciting the details of NFTs to you and explaining Oppenheimer even though he only watched a youtube about it and hasn't actually seen it. you are at the bottom of your wine glass.
you ask the man across from you if he has siblings, desperately looking for a topic. literally anything else.
he says i don't like small talk. and then he smiles again, watching you.
a few years ago, you probably would have said you're above celebrity gossip, but honestly, you've been kind of enjoying the dumb shit of it these days. with the rest of the earth burning, there's something familiar and banal about dragging ariana grande through the mud. you think about jeanette mccurdy, who has often times gently warned the world she's not as nice as she appears. you liked i'm glad my mom died but it made you cry a lot.
he doesn't like small talk, figure out something to say.
you want to talk about responsibility, and how ariana grande is only like 6 days older than you are - which means she just turned 30 and still dresses and acts like a 13 year old, but like sexy. there's something in there about the whole thing - about insecurity, and never growing up, and being sexualized from a young age.
people have been saying that gay people are groomers. like, that's something that's come back into the public. you have even said yourself that it's just ... easier to date men sometimes. you would identify as whatever the opposite of "heteroflexible" is, but here you are again, across from a man. you like every woman, and 3 people on tv. and not this guy. but you're trying. your mother is worried about you. she thinks it's not okay you're single. and honestly this guy was better before you met, back when you were just texting.
wait, shit. are you doing the same thing as ariana grande? are you looking for male validation in order to appease some internalized promise of heteronormativity? do you conform to the idea that your happiness must result in heterosexuality? do you believe that you can resolve your internal loneliness by being accepted into the patriarchy? is there a reason dating men is easier? why are you so scared of fucking it up with women? why don't you reach out to more of them? you have a good sense of humor and a big ol' brain, you could have done a better job at online dating.
also. jesus christ. why can't you just get a drink with somebody without your internal feminism meter pinging. although - in your favor (and judgement aside) in the case of your ariana grande deposition: you have been in enough therapy you probably wouldn't date anyone who had just broken up with their wife of many years (and who has a young child). you'd be like - maybe take some personal time before you begin this journey. like, grande has been on broadway, you'd think she would have heard of the plot of hamlet.
he leans forward and taps two fingers to the table. "i'm not, like an andrew tate guy," he's saying, "but i do think partnership is about two people knowing their place. i like order."
you knew it was going to be hard. being non-straight in any particular way is like, always hard. these days you kind of like answering the question what's your sexuality? with a shrug and a smile - it's fine - is your most common response. like they asked you how your life is going and not to reveal your identity. you like not being straight. you like kissing girls. some days you know you're into men, and sometimes you're sitting across from a man, and you're thinking about the power of compulsory heterosexuality. are you into men, or are you just into the safety that comes from being seen with them? after all, everyone knows you're failing in life unless you have a husband. it almost feels like a gradebook - people see "straight married" as being "all A's", and anything else even vaguely noncompliant as being ... like you dropped out of the school system. you cannot just ignore years of that kind of conditioning, of course you like attention from men.
"so let's talk boundaries." he orders more wine for you, gesturing with one hand like he's rousing an orchestra. sir, this is a fucking chain restaurant. "I am not gonna date someone who still has male friends. also, i don't care about your little friends, i care about me. whatever stupid girls night things - those are lower priority. if i want you there, you're there."
he wasn't like this over text, right? you wouldn't have been even in the building if he was like this. you squint at him. in another version of yourself, you'd be running. you'd just get up and go. that's what happens on the internet - people get annoyed, and they just leave. you are locked in place, almost frozen. you need to go to the bathroom and text someone to call you so you have an excuse, like it's rude to just-leave. like he already kind of owns you. rudeness implies a power paradigm, though. see, even your social anxiety allows the patriarchy to get to you.
you take a sip of the new glass of wine. maybe this will be a funny story. maybe you can write about it on your blog. maybe you can meet ariana grande and ask her if she just maybe needs to take some time to sit and think about her happiness and how she measures her own success.
is this settling down? is this all that's left in your dating pool? just accepting that someone will eventually love you, and you have to stop being picky about who "makes" you a wife?
you look down to your hand, clutching the knife.
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I don't know who needs to see this or if anyone does at all, but I just wanted to mention that here-
-it's the first time Fizz took his hat off in front of us, not in front of Ozzie.
What's underneath is no surprise for Ozzie. In Oops! we learn that they sleep together, and Fizz very much sleeps hatless at night as he puts it on after he wakes.
what a cute lil heart tattoo there
Besides, look at Ozzie's reaction to the 'reveal' in Mammon's magnificent musical:
He is sad, disappointed, heartbroken that Fizz would have such a low opinion of himself. He hates that that the one he loves sees himself as something so much lower than his worth, but nowhere is there shock or even the slightest hint of surprise on his face.
Ozzie has seen this before. Assumedly, he has seen it all (they f*ck, your honour). Even if he wasn't disgusted or something like that, there would still be a hint of surprise on either one of his three! faces, but there isn't, cause he knows.
Yeah, it's the first time he takes his hat off... In front of the audience, which is us behind the screens. Ozzie knows him underneath it all, and I think it's just so beautiful honestly. Someone with his guard as high up as Fizz allowing someone else to see him for everything, deep beyond the bells and the saturated colors, makeup and lighting. To know that Fizz trusts Ozzie this much to allow him this, and I'm sure Ozzie is honoured to have that from him.
It's such a compelling image, honestly:
This little guy who was handicapped for life in a massive fire, was a miracle he survived it and potential following complications and medical procedures, in a relationship with Ozzie. Ozzie, even in his biggest form seen so far, towering endlessly over this little jester that fits into his hand, literally flaming. And yet, Fizz will cuddle this enormous, flaming deadly sin like it's nothing. Now that's trust, and that's so beautiful.
There is so many things to say about their relationship, but the amount of raw trust and love between them is something you often times can only dream about. I've never been much of a shipper, but them? I love them. I hope all the best for them.
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Read Part One here
cw: implied child abuse
Eddie's coming over for coffee. Not Eddie with Nancy and Robin or Eddie with the kids. Just Eddie.
They haven't been alone in 9 years and now Eddie is coming over for coffee.
They're friends, of course. After Vecna they didn't have much of a choice, but they've never talked about it--that they used to be something.
After Steve kissed Eddie goodbye for what turned out to be the last time, they didn't see each other again for months and months, except for a devastatingly fleeting moment in the Family Video parking lot. And the next time after that, Eddie's pinning him to the wall of a rickety boathouse, a broken bottle to his throat.
What's going through his mind, his body, at that moment is relief. For days, weeks, months, he ached for Eddie's touch again, and even though he was in danger, he relished in the push of their bodies together. Thought, if this is how he dies, he won't mind going.
But they don't talk about it, about them, because Eddie is on the run and Max is going to die, and they have to save the world, so there's no time. In the aftermath, it's the least of their worries, and now it's been almost a decade and Eddie is coming over for coffee.
The thing is, it's not like Steve has been pining away for a love long lost in the intervening years, and neither has Eddie. They've both had longterm, serious relationships; Steve almost got married. But for Steve...Eddie is the one that's lingered, the one that knocks around his ribcage on late sleepless nights, the one that makes him dream of what might have been. Because Steve truly loved his other partners, but Eddie--nobody will ever compare.
Someone is knocking a rhythm at his front door, and he can't stifle his smile even as his heart runs riot in his chest.
"Hey, man," he says, remarkably nonchalant as he takes Eddie in. Still beautiful, still brimming with energy; his smile wide and dimpled, bouncing on his toes.
"Harrington!" Eddie grabs him into a quick side hug, slapping his back. "Since when do you wear glasses?"
Steve chuckles, touching the horn-rimmed frames. "Oh, god, Robin forced me to get them back in '87? Too many concussions." He touches his forehead. "I usually just wear contacts."
"It's a good look," Eddie says. He's very much not looking at Steve, eyes roaming around the Chicago apartment he's been to many times before.
He watches as Eddie spots the display of his own books, index finger slowly slipping across the spines in a way that makes Steve remember when those same fingers would slide down his spine. He stifles a shiver, turns towards the kitchen.
"So, how's New York? How's the book coming?"
"Livin' the dream." It's not flippant, not like how most people mean it. Eddie leaks genuineness, always has. "The book though...it's a little rough."
Steve sets the coffee maker going, brings fresh pastries and a couple plates over to the table. "I can imagine. It doesn't--it doesn't have to be the same, you know?"
"Yeah, if only I hadn't written three other books leading up to the evil mind wizard," Eddie chuckles. He grabs a croissant and tears it in half. "It'll be alright, Harrington. I'll figure it out. I lived through it the first time, after all."
Steve doesn't remind him that he almost didn't, that they almost didn't. Instead, he pours coffee, listens as Eddie talks about how to fictionalize the worst month of their collective lives.
He splashes milk into Eddie's coffee, taps in three scoops of sugar. He carries it to where Eddie waits, still talking about the logistics of Vecna-slash-Henry-slash-One in his novel, but his words abruptly stop as his hands wrap around the porcelain.
"Steve?"
It's only then that Steve realizes what he's done--made Eddie's coffee like he took it back then, made it without thinking, totally on muscle memory, when the best of his mornings were spent in Eddie's arms.
His cheeks glow crimson and he grips at the back of his neck. "S-sorry." He says. "It--is this still how you take it?"
"Yeah." Eddie's eyes fall from Steve's face, his own cheeks pink. "It's--yeah. Still the same."
"I'm sorry--"
"--Steve, I--"
They don't laugh. They both stop speaking and look at each other, faces still red. Steve thinks there's nothing for it but to get it all out now.
"I'm sorry, Eddie." He takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry I never came back. I'm sorry I didn't explain why. I'm just--really, really sorry."
Eddie's eyes are hooked on the table top, fingers twisting and twisting his coffee mug. "Can I--why? I waited and you--why?"
Steve swallows, but it gets stuck in his throat, and now he's the one who can't look up from his hands.
"My parents got home early," he manages. "My dad, he was waiting for me. I guess one of the neighbors thought it best to tell them who I'd been spending my time with."
Silence falls over the table, and he chances a look up at the man across from him, the one whose knuckles bite into his lips, whose eyes shine with unshed tears.
"You should've called me. You should've--you could've stayed with us. We would've kept you safe."
"Eddie, I couldn't. I physically couldn't," the admission costs him so much.
"Steve," Eddie chokes on his name, voice nothing but anguish. "Did anyone--You could've--you were all alone."
He shakes his head. "Robin knew. She snuck through my window to take care of me, but my parents--I couldn't--" This time the words really won't come. "We made a plan. We started that job at Family Video, and we saved up our money."
Now, Eddie's face is creased with grief. "Sweetheart, I'm so sorry."
Steve shakes his head, smiles despite the wreckage around his heart. "You have nothing to be sorry for, baby. I left you with no explanation. I broke your heart. And--and--" He thinks, what does it hurt to say it at this point. "I love you. I love you so much. I convinced myself you were better off without me, that we could have a clean break and you could get over me."
Eddie's hands cover his face, muffle the sob that slips out. "Get over you?" He whispers. "There's never been one like you, sweetheart."
He slides around the table to kneel at Eddie's side. "Hey." Deep brown eyes stare back at him, Eddie's face wet with tears. "It's always you, Ed. Always. I didn't want to say anything, if you had moved on, but--"
There's not really any transition from them talking to them kissing; Steve slips into it like he did all those years ago, when he first asked for Eddie's kiss. Their mouths slot together, their bodies fit like they always used to, perfect puzzle pieces. Steve's knees give out at the first brush of Eddie's tongue, and they collapse into a heap on the kitchen floor. Even then, they don't part.
Eventually, Steve does break the embrace, face flushed and hair a disaster, glasses hanging off one ear. "Okay, trying to be responsible here. Should we take a pause, go on a date first? Slow down?"
"Nine years isn't slow enough?" Eddie's pupils are blown, hair frizzed around his head.
"When you put it that way," Steve can't help but laugh. "I just want to do right by you, Eddie. Make up for--everything."
Eddie grins down at him, that sunshine beam smile where his dimples pop. "Tell you what, how bout you take me to bed now, and I'll let you take me on a date tomorrow?"
"Oh, you'll let me?" Steve rakes a hand through Eddie's mane of hair. "I don't think you'll have any choice."
"You sure about that, Stevie?" Their lips are so close, the brush with every word.
"Uh-huh," Steve's having trouble keeping his eyes focused, overwhelmed by the sheer force of Eddie Munson. "Never letting you go again, Ed."
Surprise! Part 2! I genuinely had no intention on doing a follow-up, but so many of you asked so nicely that it gave me this idea. Sorry if I miss anyone in the tag list and thank you for reading! @everywherenothere @tiny-enthusiast @emma-elsa-0000 @fuzzyduxk @moonythepluviophile @anaibis @rhapsodyinalto @bunk12bear @tillystealeaves @velocitytimes2 @s-trawberryv-eins @marklee-blackmore @ignoremyworld @its-a-me-a-morgan @goodolefashionedloverboi @starman-jpg @djohawke @adaydreamaway08
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