daisy jones-adjacent. probably one part left after this, if all goes well. part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 in case you missed them. tw substance abuse & alcoholism. yeehaw.
ao3
Steve doesn't kick them out, but the band silently makes the decision to crash at his place less often. Eddie didn't tell them what happened; they just knew. It's always been like that with them. Always in sync. Eddie is so glad he hasn't lost that with them.
He is, inexplicably, terrified of losing Steve.
He shouldn't be. He hasn't known him for very long at all. they fight like hell half the time. He smokes more when he's around him because being near Steve means being near the things Eddie swears not to touch again.
It hasn't been very long at all, but Eddie knows him. Knows what he likes and doesn't like, knows how to get under his skin and how to make him laugh that laugh of his. Knows that didn't write or play or sing half as well as he did before Steve.
He knows that he'll keep sharing a mic with him. Even when there are extras. even when there's no reason to. Even when he can start smelling alcohol on Steve's breath.
Eddie is terrified of losing Steve. It's getting harder and harder to be around him.
He wants to say that he only sees himself in Steve, but that would be a lie. Eddie can't ignore the obvious similarities, but part of the reason he did what he did was to get away from himself, from the fear of being inadequate. And sure, Steve is running from something that terrifies him so bad he can't sleep and wakes up screaming other people's names when he does.
But Eddie finds himself running to Steve, and that's dangerous.
They record the album over shared mics and frequent cigarette breaks and laughter and the collaboration of young, talented people with young, smart management making fantastic art.
And then they do the article with Rolling Stone.
It's written by Nancy Wheeler. Eddie loves working with her. She's brilliant and asks unconventional interview questions. She's also, apparently, Steve's friend.
Same with the photographer, Jonathan Byers. He's Nancy's boyfriend, her working partner, and, apparently, also Steve's friend.
Eddie wonders where they've been while Steve has gotten like this before he reminds himself just how unfair of a question that is to ask.
It's clear they're trying. Nancy pulls Steve aside at one point. Eddie watches them argue, hears the name "Robin" get thrown around along with "you need to talk to her" and "I don't want her to come all the way out here."
Eddie, for once, decides to mind his business.
He has to admit that the way Steve can pull himself together for this is amazing. He's almost perfectly coherent in the interview, and he looks almost sober while they're taking the pictures.
Eddie watches him bring his hand to his mouth three times during the whole thing.
He wonders what he's taking. He nearly asks for some.
He sees Nancy watching, too. If she's a good friend, she won't write about that. Or maybe she will.
Eddie doesn't know what a good friend is supposed to do in this situation. He just knows what he has to do, and that's not think about it.
He's smoking more. Chrissy doesn't even comment on it.
He wonders if this is one of those things only he notices because of his personal experience or if it's just an open secret. He doesn't know which would be better.
The article comes out a week later and drums up good press for the album, which is released a week after that.
But what really steals the show is The Picture.
There are a few pictures set within the pages of the article, but only one is The Picture.
All of them are lined up in front of a road, backs to the beach. Steve is in the middle with Jeff on one side of him and Eddie on the other, Gareth and Archie on the ends of their little line.
And it is incredibly obvious that there is something different between Steve and Eddie than there is between anyone else.
People are going to talk, which is good. People are going to talk, which is dangerous.
Eddie wishes he had Chrissy's "all press is good press" mentality.
But by the time he really, truly starts to worry about it, it's been weeks since he's been with Steve outside of any professional setting and time for tour.
Eddie is fucking terrified of tour. The rules make it easier:
Don't go to the after parties.
Don't stay on the bus.
Don't accept anything from fans.
Call someone.
Buy your own damn cigarettes.
The rules should help. Eddie thinks Steve could blow them up like he's already blown up his expectations and creative process.
Tour starts off fine. The bus is like it always is - lively and full of chatter. The fans are like they always are - fiercely supportive and screaming for more. The music is like it's always been - only much, much better this time around.
And Steve is high every time he goes out onstage.
It's fine, really. He's not nearly as bad as Eddie used to be. He isn't forgetting words, and he still sounds good, so it's fine. He's functional.
Eddie doesn't think anyone else notices. Steve covers it up so well that Eddie can only recognize the signs from personal experience.
He makes sure he doesn't spend any time with Steve offstage. It doesn't matter that Steve looks wounded every time Eddie makes an excuse to go somewhere else.
He calls Wayne more often. He walks around the cities they perform in, saying hello to the people who recognize him and politely refusing their offers to buy him drinks.
Anything is better than the possibility of Steve taking something in front of him or offering Eddie a drink. Because if it's Steve offering, Eddie won't say no.
That's terrifying. It's dangerous.
But it's fine. Eddie is doing what he's supposed to do. He's coping. He's dealing with it and not making anyone else walk on eggshells around him.
And then they get to Chicago.
Eddie loves Chicago. It's not his favorite city - that's a tie between St. Louis and Phoenix - but it's definitely up there. It's got good energy and enthusiastic fans and great sights.
After their first night there, Eddie walks around the city until he's tired enough to go to sleep. He gets back to the hotel at 3 AM.
Fifteen minutes later, someone knocks on his door.
And, like an idiot, Eddie answers it in pajamas.
Steve is outside. Swaying back and forth. Smiling. And holding a bottle of vodka.
Eddie wants some.
No the fuck he doesn't.
"This isn't your room," he says, trying to keep quiet. Trying to tear his eyes away from the bottle.
Just a sip.
No.
"Sorry," Steve slurs. "Lost my key. Couldn't remember."
Like a bigger idiot, Eddie sighs and lets him in.
He helps Steve set the bottle down on the dresser. Gets him to his bed without falling over and waking up Jeff. Helps take off his shoes.
Knows from experience that if Steve is this sloshed and still standing, he's probably blacked out.
"Why do you do this to yourself?" Eddie mutters.
Steve Harrington should have everything. He has a fantastic career, ample talent, adoring fans, friends, and a boatload of money. He should be happy.
Instead, he's wasting the cash and his life.
"Figured out if I drink enough, I don't have nightmares," Steve says. "Didn't want to wake anyone else up on tour."
Eddie stops where he's untying Steve's shoe. "What do you have nightmares about?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"Try me," he says, standing up.
Steve makes direct eye contact and says, slurred together, "A monster came out of the walls at Jonathan Byers's house. I helped him and Nancy Wheeler kill it. Next year, it came back. Will Byers got possessed, they built tunnels under the town, and I had to kill more monsters to protect some kids after I got the shit beat out of me. That summer, I got kidnapped and tortured with Robin."
Eddie just. Stares.
"I think I just broke all my NDAs," Steve mumbles.
What. The. Fuck.
When Eddie can form words again, he says, "Steve, you're drunk."
"I am. But I'm not a liar."
Eddie doesn't know what to say, and he's sure it's written clear all over his face.
What the hell.
"Told you you wouldn't believe me," Steve says. He takes off his shirt and lays on his side, on top of the covers, facing away from Eddie.
Yeah. Guess that conversation is over.
So, Eddie turns away and immediately spots the bottle of vodka, right where he left it on top of the dresser.
Before he can stop himself, he picks it up.
It's open. He doesn't take a sip, but he can smell it. He stands there and holds it and knows that if he moves his arm, it won't be to put it down.
Eddie hasn't held a bottle in two years.
He can't put it down.
Just a sip.
No.
Like an asshole, he walks a few feet and turns on a lamp to wake up Jeff.
"What the hell?" he mumbles.
Steve, meanwhile, has already started to snore.
Eddie can't find any words.
"Oh, shit," Jeff says, sitting up. "Eddie, you didn't-"
"I didn't," he says. "I promise I didn't. I can't put it down."
Jeff frowns, confused.
"I can't put it down," Eddie whispers desperately.
"Okay," Jeff says.
And without saying anything else, he gets up, takes the bottle, and goes to the bathroom.
Eddie closes his eyes and tries to breathe as he hears it go down the drain.
What a waste.
No.
It's fine. He's sober. He's fine.
Jeff comes back after a few seconds. There wasn't that much left. He looks over at the other bed, the bed that's supposed to be Eddie's, and sighs. "You can share with me."
Eddie shakes his head. "It's fine. I'll make sure he doesn't... I'll make sure he's safe."
"He's not good for you."
"I know. But I'll be okay."
"We want him out," Jeff says.
"What?"
Jeff rubs his eyes. It's 3:30 AM. "We've been talking. He's hurting you, Eddie."
"We're the best we've ever been."
"At what cost?"
"Where would we be if you did that to me?" Eddie demands. "If you threw me out at my lowest?"
Jeff sighs again.
"End of the tour," Eddie says. "Let's get through this."
"We'll talk about it in the morning."
"But-"
"I'm tired, Eddie," Jeff says, already getting back in bed. "Morning."
Eddie swallows his words back and nods. This is a morning conversation.
He gets into bed, under the covers next to Steve, and falls asleep quick.
When he wakes up for the first time, Steve's arms are around him. When he wakes up for good, the bed is cold and empty.
He tries not to feel too disappointed.
Everything Eddie has a tendency to love fits one of two criteria:
It hurts him.
It's unattainable.
It's too damn bad that Steve is both.
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