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The more time Steve spends with Eddie, the more he learns.
Which isn’t anything startlingly new; he’s always learned a lot every time he’s around the other man. Most of it against his will, of course, like how Tolkein’s dork series is based on the war and you can’t cast fireball in an enclosed space or everyone in the room dies.
Other things he’s learned by asking. Not in an inquisitive research way most of the time, but because he gets confused easily. He’s always gotten confused pretty easily, but it’s worse after so many concussions.
So, in the three-ish weeks he and Eddie have been sort-of dating, he’s been asking a lot of questions. He never asks if they’re actually dating because he just kind of assumes that since he’s making out with Eddie exclusively and they’ve used the A-word, then they must be an item. But he asks a lot of questions about other things.
And Eddie asks a lot of questions in return.
“How much Spanish can you speak?"
“Not much. I can start a conversation but I can’t hold one. How ‘d you know what I meant when I said Dia De Los Muertos?”
“I know a little Italian. Does Wayne speak Spanish?”
“Ha! Not a lick. It’s real frustrating for him when I curse in it. Does your mom ever slip up the language in front of your dad?”
“All the time. Part of how I learned to keep up with her. Like a secret code. Can you make any traditional foods?”
“Not well, but I know a few things. What about you? Any fancy pasta dishes?”
“I’m no slouch in the kitchen. Gotta survive somehow. You ever thought about visiting Mexico?”
“Always a dream, Stevie. You ever thought about visiting Italy?”
“I have.”
Eddie blinks at Steve’s answer. “You… have? Thought about it or actually visited?”
Steve nods, taking a drink of his beer. It’s movie night, which is what their “dates” usually consist of since going out in public is still a bit of a sore spot for Eddie and dating between two men in their hometown is likely to lead to more witch hunts. “Actually visited. A few times when I was younger. My grandparents still live there. Well,” Steve pauses, amending. “My Nonna does. My Nonno passed away a few years ago. But it’s been years since I’ve gone.”
“Oh… Wow. What’s it like?”
Up until this point, Eddie was leaning back against Steve on the couch, Eddie’s head pillowed on Steve’s shoulder. Now, the curly-haired man is sitting up, eyes wide and full of intrigue. Steve’s always kind of liked being the center of attention, but having Eddie’s full attention still drives him a little crazy. The older boy has this way of making Steve feel singularly put on the spot, wiping his mind of every word he’s ever learned in either language and pulling him into the warm, comforting blanket that his gaze provides.
“Uh… yeah, it was… it was great, I guess,” Steve stammers. “I don’t really remember too much because I was, like, nine the last time I went. But it was cool.”
Eddie nods, like Steve’s half-cracked memory is the most fascinating thing he’s ever heard. Steve racks his brain for something, anything worthwhile. Finally, he lands on something that will definitely grip Eddie’s attention.
“Oh! Wait, I do remember one thing,” Steve offers. Eddie readjusts, sitting back against the armrest and pulling his knees up to his chest, clutching his beer between both hands and waiting. Which is utterly adorable because he’s currently wearing one of Steve’s old Hawkins hoodies and the sleeves are just slightly too long so only the tips of Eddie’s fingers can be seen gripping the can. “My grandparents lived pretty close to this castle, Castello del Catajo.”
Immediately, Eddie’s back straightens.
Got him , Steve thinks.
“Turns out there’s a ton of old castles all over Italy. Anyway, it’s in pretty good shape considering its age. And my Nonno thought I needed more ‘Italian culture’ in my life,” he says, punctuating the quote with the typical pinched finger gesture Italians do, which gets an amused laugh in response. “Mind you, I was, like, six, so my attention span was horrible. Not even ten minutes into the tour and I got separated from my parents. Managed to find my way to this one room with paintings all over the walls and ceiling. Not hung paintings. Pictures on the actual walls and ceiling.”
“Like the Vatican,” Eddie states.
“Sort of. I’ve been there, but it was insanely crowded whereas this room was empty except for little ol’ me.”
Steve can see Eddie hanging on every word, his expressive eyes moving slightly like he’s trying to picture the room. Steve isn’t great at explaining details, but he knows Eddie is great at imagining things so maybe there’s a middle ground there.
“It was the most… insane thing I’d ever seen. Pictures of angels and some dudes in armor everywhere. And most of the lighting was old candle chandeliers.”
Eddie sighs wistfully. The memory is still pretty vivid the longer Steve spends on it.
“It was amazing. When my parents finally found me, I was laying on the floor in the center of the room, just staring at the ceiling.”
Eddie seems to consider that before a grin spreads over his face and he’s nudging Steve’s thigh with his foot. “It was all those dudes in armor huh, big boy? Had a thing for strapping, young men even then.”
Okay, well, that’s not something Steve considered before. He definitely thought the soldiers in the paintings were heroic and the paintings themselves beautiful, but maybe the line between heroism and beauty was thinner than he thought. Maybe the line between men and beauty was even thinner, considering the man in front of him.
Steve rests his hand on Eddie’s ankle and jostles it. “Maybe I have an eye for beautiful things.” He gives Eddie a heated look as he says it.
Eddie’s cheeks tinge a beautiful candy-apple red and he pulls a piece of hair in front of his face to hide his smile. Steve wants to lick him to see if he tastes as sweet as he looks.
He clears his throat instead before saying, “Anyway, my dad decided that touristy things like that weren’t worth it anymore, so we never really did things like that after.”
Eddie’s face (and hair) falls, and he’s shuffling to lean against Steve once more. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I can’t imagine how much that sucked.”
Isn’t that the thing, though? Eddie can imagine how Steve feels, probably more than Steve can. Steve at least got to experience some of his culture before his dad ripped it away from him. Eddie’s had nothing that wasn’t provided by his mom, and that was probably limited by his own father and then cut entirely when she passed.
Steve also knows that Hawkins isn’t exactly a melting pot of cultures where Eddie has exposure to other people like him, so whatever he’d learned started and stopped with his mom. And that breaks Steve’s heart. Eddie deserves more. Deserves to know more about his background that Hawkins can’t provide. Once again, Hawkins is too limiting. Satanist and murder allegations aside, Eddie deserves so much more than this stupid-ass town has to offer.
“It’s cool, babe,” Steve settles on, ideas forming even as he presses a kiss to the top of Eddie’s head. “I can still make a mean lasagna.”
The plan starts small before spiraling into a full thing, because Steve doesn’t understand limitations when he gets a wild idea. He gets his best women involved. Well, more like they get themselves involved, but he’s trying to be better about relying on others so he does actually ask for their help with some things.
Robin runs with the Spanish thing since it’s one of the four (five, if you count Russian now) languages she knows, and she’s able to help Steve with a few translations between English, Italian and Spanish. Turns out he can understand more Spanish than he thought as long as he filters it through his very limited Italian. Something about Latin root words, according to Robin.
Nancy, meanwhile, hyperfixates on the traditions, feeding Steve information whenever he gets a wild hair up his nose about something. She’s, of course, the one who finds the information Steve is looking for.
Dustin still doesn’t know about the cultural deep-dive or the older boys’ blossoming relationship, but the kid does pull several faces whenever Eddie mutters a Spanish phrase under his breath during Hellfire meetings and Steve and Robin are the only two to react. Steve figures it’s only a matter of time until Dustin’s nosey-ass starts on his 20 questions routine and breaks Steve down.
It’s actually Eddie’s uncle who provides some of the biggest help. Steve picked up a habit of watching sports with the older man long before Steve started sort-of-dating his nephew, and Eddie uses that time to make himself scarce, usually practicing with his band or shepherding the Party to the arcade. It’s during a Sunday football game that Steve asks about Eddie’s childhood.
Wayne makes a gruff sound and drinks his beer for a second. “My brother’s always been a bit of an idiot, but he was always real sweet on Irma,” he starts. “When Ed came out lookin’ just like her, I was sure that would be the thing that set Al on the straight and narrow, but ya can’t fix everythin’. I reckon her passing is what finally sent him spiraling.”
That makes sense, Steve thinks. Eddie still doesn’t talk much about his dad, but from the few comments he’s made, Steve can gather that his dad may have always been a criminal, but he wasn’t always a bad person.
“Is Eddie’s mom buried nearby?” Steve asks.
Wayne grunts an affirmative. “Yeah, she’s up at Roane Hill. For the first couple years after he landed with me, anytime I couldn’t find him I knew he’d be there. Used to sit at her gravestone and talk to her.” He takes another drink and Steve waits, sensing the man isn’t finished. “He doesn’t do it so much anymore, but he does go on her birthday every year.”
“What was she like?”
“Oh, well,” Wayne starts, shifting in his recliner. “Irma was a spitfire for sure. Probably the only person in the world Al was genuinely afraid of. Not that it made much of a difference, mind ya, but that woman would have stared the Devil in the face and told him to shove it.” Steve can’t help but notice the fondness in Wayne’s voice and it makes him smile. He can see where Eddie got his fire to face down those bats from. “See, my brother and I were raised in Appalachia ‘til our parents dragged us up here. Not a lot of cultural exposure down there, so the moment he saw Irma,” Wayne stops and whistles, “wild horses couldn’t keep him away. She’d just moved to Indy, took up work as a phone operator. Al was a mechanic at the time, probably the only time he had a real stable job.”
That explains why Eddie’s dad knew the inner workings of a car’s wiring enough to hotwire one, Steve figures, but he doesn’t mention that out loud.
“They jumped the broom six months later and another six after that, Eddie came along.”
Steve’s brows draw together, doing the math in his head. But the other thing Wayne said was weird too. “Jumped the broom?”
“Eloped,” Wayne says. “I got a call from him two weeks after saying he was gonna be a dad and that his wife was likely to kill him ‘fore he ever got to see the child.” Wayne chuckles at that and Steve chuckles a bit with him. “First time I met her, she was ‘bout ready to pop, but that didn’t stop her none when it came to not dealin’ with my brother's shit. Ain’t no one a better shot than that woman with a wooden spoon or a shoe. She’d chuck that thing with deadly precision. Caught Al upside the head once and he was movin’.”
Steve quietly thinks Irma probably could have taken down Vecna all by herself.
“So they eloped,” Steve circles back. “What’d her parents think?”
“Ya know,” Wayne says, scratching his chin. “I’m not sure. She never mentioned ‘em much and Al never said anything about meetin’ em.”
“Huh.”
Wayne tells him a couple more stories about Eddie as a child, the football game in the background long forgotten. Apparently, Irma wanted Eddie to know both English and Spanish fluently, but Al was too American-only despite his love for his wife, and would give her shit if she spoke to Eddie in Spanish because he couldn’t understand it. Steve tries to picture a tiny version of Eddie babbling in Spanish and he nearly cries.
When he regails Wayne’s story to Nancy and Robin later on, Steve’s barely finished talking before Nancy’s running off to start digging for more. It takes her less than a day to track down Eddie’s parents’ marriage certificate, which has Irma’s maiden name listed. A couple days after that, she hands Steve an manilla envelope with even more information.
“I found the marriage license, her parent’s last known address, their obituaries, and where they’re buried,” she says.
“Jesus Christ, Nance,” Steve marvels. “Screw journalism. You should be a private detective.”
She gives him a proud little smile and he hugs her for it.
The hardest part of Steve’s plan is convincing Eddie to wake up at 6 in the morning on a Saturday to drive two hours out to Chicago.
“I’ve been to Chicago, Stevie,” Eddie grumbles from where he’s leaning his head on Steve’s shoulder. “Absolutely nothing there is worth getting up at 6 AM for.”
Steve sighs, rubbing a hand down Eddie’s arm. “Alright, babe. I guess I’ll have to take Dustin to the Medieval Torture Museum instead.”
It’s a dirty play to lie like that, but it works. Eddie’s head whips up, nearly knocking Steve out in the process. “Absolutely not. That kid would never appreciate it the way I would.”
Steve bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling at his victory. “Sure, but you don’t want to get up that early.”
Eddie’s eyes narrow, assessing Steve’s face. “Fine. But you’re driving, and I want coffee and donuts from Martin’s on the way.”
“Deal.”
Steve does actually take him to the museum. It’s… intense, but Eddie loves it so Steve tries to appreciate it for his sake. It takes everything to convince Eddie to actually leave when lunchtime rolls around.
The unfortunate part about being the driver is that he has to have Eddie navigate. Steve handed Eddie a map before they left Hawkins and told him to just focus on which turns he has to take. Eddie’s excitement after the Torture Museum is, thankfully, enough of a distraction apparently to not notice any identifying landmarks as Steve drives them toward the real reason for the trip.
“I’ve never been to this part of the city before,” Eddie muses, looking out the window at the passing buildings.
“I only just learned about it. Heard there’s a really good restaurant nearby,” is all Steve explains.
He was hoping there would be more of a big reveal involved, but he didn’t account for the murals that start appearing on buildings the closer they get to Pilsen. Eddie’s turning in his seat nonstop and gasping every few feet they drive as he takes it all in. Steve can’t really get a good look since he’s trying to focus on the road, but Eddie just smacks Steve’s arm and points at things regardless. He finds somewhere to park along 26th Street outside of a place with a sign promoting “Authentic Mexican Cuisine” under the name. Eddie barely gets his seat belt off before he’s bounding from the car and turning in circles on the sidewalk. Steve joins him, finally getting a good look at the area but mostly enjoying watching Eddie’s excitement.
“Oh my god!” Eddie exclaims, a 100-watt smile on his face.
There’s Mexican flags everywhere, stores selling blankets that look like the one Eddie had on his ofrenda , grocers promoting deals on tomatillos and “tortillas made in-house.” The smells coming from every direction make Steve’s stomach grumble, and most of the people milling around the street have the same dark hair and eyes that Eddie has, though their complexions are much darker than his. It’s a lot to take in, but Eddie’s wide chocolate eyes catch everything. Steve hasn’t stopped smiling since they crossed the city lines and his face kind of aches but it’s worth it.
“Come on, babe,” Steve murmurs quietly. Chicago might be a bigger city, but he still wants to be careful about who might overhear. He puts a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, a safer place than on his low back like he would if Eddie were a girl, and guides the excited man toward the restaurant. “Let’s grab some food and we can walk around after.”
“Promise?” Eddie asks, eyes full of hope.
“Promise,” Steve replies.
The hostess greets them in Spanish and Eddie uses his limited language skills to reply. Even though his knowledge is small, hearing Eddie speak it in a casual setting sets Steve’s skin on fire. It wouldn’t do to get a boner in the middle of a crowded restaurant, but Steve’s dangerously close.
The place takes “authentic” pretty far considering all of the menu items are in Spanish, but Steve can make out most of the ingredients since some of the same words are used in Italian, even if the spelling is a little weird. When his eyes land on “lengua” and he says it out loud, he immediately knows what it is and decides he absolutely will not be getting that. Steve gets really confused when he first sees “carne asada torta” because carne even in Italian is meat but torta is cake and the idea of a meat cake doesn’t sound appealing at all. But Eddie explains that it’s a steak sandwich so Steve takes his word for it and orders that for himself. Meanwhile, Eddie gets tacos and arroz con frijoles. Steve has to wait until the waiter has walked away to readjust his pants after listening to Eddie stumble through ordering for them. They haven’t had sex yet, but Steve’s convinced Eddie could read the menu for this place while they do it and Steve would finish in 3 seconds flat. Eddie catches him in the act and gives him a wolfish grin.
When the food arrives, he notices the serving sizes are insane, but it all looks and smells incredible so he digs in. Eddie eats like no one’s fed him in weeks, making a lot of undignified moans around mouthfuls of food that aren’t helping Steve’s boner go away.
“Jesus Christ, I haven’t tasted actual spices in years,” Eddie comments with his mouth full.
Steve’s never had spices like this in his entire life. He knows you can never put too much garlic in something, but this has peppery and smoky flavors he’s never even imagined. It’s kind of a shock to the system. He’s two-thirds of the way through his sandwich when he starts lamenting it not being bigger. Or wearing looser pants.
Eddie got some drink that Steve can’t pronounce if he doesn’t want to swallow his own tongue, but it tastes like cinnamon milk when Eddie insists he tries it. Steve, though, ordered a Coke, figuring it would be safe.
“It’s not like the Coke you’re used to, sweetheart,” Eddie tells him. “Mexican Coke is so much better.”
Steve wouldn’t say it’s better, but it is different. Sweeter, somehow, but refreshing all the same. Before he settles the bill, Eddie orders them drinks to go. It arrives in white paper cups, steam wafting out of the slit at the top. It’s definitely hot chocolate, but the word Eddie used for it wasn’t that so it must be something only done in Mexico.
They take their drinks and leave, and Steve’s grateful that Eddie ordered it because for one, it’s delicious. Seriously, more spices in a hot drink? Forget about it. Second, it warms Steve from the inside out, which is perfect for the nearly-frigid November air. The wind has been blowing off Lake Michigan all day and making it that much colder. He clutches his cup in both hands to keep them warm, wishing desperately that he could hold Eddie’s hand while they walk along the street, but it’s something he just has to get used to.
Eddie spends most of the time pointing at things and explaining their significance to the best of his ability. Steve does his best to listen but he keeps getting distracted by Eddie’s lips and the child-like wonder on his face.
He gets unbelievably excited about one of the grocery stores, a mercado, Eddie explains. Steve almost loses him twice while he’s busy looking at the different kinds of candy and cookies. When Steve’s finally able to pin Eddie to his side for more than a few seconds, he asks the older boy if there’s anything in the store he thinks the kids would like. Eddie starts pointing at so many things and explaining what they might taste like that Steve finally tells him to just grab a cart and start picking.
“Is there anything you want to grab while we’re here?” Steve asks him.
Eddie stops half-way through tossing a box of marshmallow and coconut cookies in the cart, staring at Steve. “Um… probably. But this is already so much.”
Steve shrugs. “The ungrateful little shits are lucky they’re getting anything at all, but this day is about you.”
Eddie’s eyes widen a fraction before he looks around. “Steve,” he says quietly. “I need you to stop being this perfect before I kiss you in the middle of this mercado, and I’m pretty sure the viejita behind the counter will grab her rosary and throw a chancla if I do that.”
Steve snickers even as his face heats up at the sweet threat. “Just get stuff for you, dude. You can kiss me all you want when we get home.”
“Oh, trust me, big boy. After the day we’ve had, I’m gonna do a whole lot more than that,” Eddie promises, eyes dragging up and down Steve’s body slowly.
Oh. Well then.
Before Steve can choke out a response, Eddie winks at him and wanders off again. Steve tries to regain his ability to breathe before following.
In the end, Eddie ends up grabbing mostly ingredients. Spices Steve knows they can’t find anywhere back home, some special kind of corn flour, hot sauces that are scary shades of red and green. Steve spots a cookbook with traditional recipes and slips it in the cart. There’s a few at his place already, but those are mostly Weight Watchers things his mom got when she tried the diet plan (she quit after a week but kept the books “just in case”). There’s a box of hand-written recipe cards in one of the cabinets in the kitchen, though, something his Nonna gave his mom when his parents got married. He doesn’t think she’s opened it in years.
Steve pays for the haul and the guys get it loaded into the trunk.
“Where to next?” Eddie asks when they’re back in the car. It’s after 4 and the sun will start to set in a couple of hours.
“Just one more stop before we head home,” Steve tells him.
This drive is short and Steve had written the directions down separately from the map so avoid Eddie getting ideas. He can’t really avoid the sign at the front gate, though.
“First a torture museum. Now a cemetery,” Eddie grins. “You really know how to woo a freak, Harrington.”
Steve gives him a small smile back, hoping it doesn’t convey his nerves. This was the only part of the plan he was worried about. As he slowly weaves his way to the right area, he starts talking.
“This isn’t really a wooing technique, babe. I… uh… spoke with Wayne a bit about your mom.”
Eddie gives him a quizzical look. “My mom’s buried at Roane Hill.”
Steve nods as they come to a stop. He puts the car in park and looks at his boyfriend (because really, that’s what he is as far as Steve’s concerned). “I know, but her parents aren’t.”
Eddie’s frozen in his seat, half turned to face Steve. Steve takes a deep breath before reaching into the back seat, bringing the manilla envelope forward.
“I don’t really know how much you know about your grandparents, or if you even want to know anything. I guess it’s kind of presumptuous of me to—”
“No!” Eddie cuts in. “No, I… I want to know. This whole day has been a wild experience, but it’s reminded me how much I don’t really know about my mom’s family. She didn’t talk about them much.”
“Yeah, Wayne said the same thing,” Steve says. He hands Eddie the envelope. “Nancy did some digging.”
Eddie snorts as he fiddles with the clasp on the flap. “Of course Wheeler was on the case.”
Steve smiles at that. “Yeah, she’s good at that. She managed to find quite a bit actually.” He watches Eddie slide the documents out of the envelope, his eyes widening as soon as he sees the marriage certificate. “Not everything’s public record, but it’s not like something as pesky as the law was going to stop her.”
“Yeah, she’s kind of terrifying like that. Ms. Sawed-Off Shotgun, herself.,” Eddie mutters as he stares at the page. He flips to the next thing, a copy of his mom’s school records from 3rd grade. Her parents’ names are listed on the top, which is how Nancy was able to track down the rest of the information.
“According to Nance, Chicago was a huge immigration point for Mexican families as early as the 1800s,” Steve explains, trying to recall all of the information Nancy dumped on him. It was a lot. “It’s likely your grandparents chose it because of that.”
“Huh,” Eddie hums, reading through his grandmother’s obituary clipping.
“They were definitely Catholic, since they’re buried on hallowed ground,” Steve states, remembering that from Nancy’s words verbatim.
“Figures,” Eddie snickers. “You’d be hard-pressed to find a Mexican family that isn’t Catholic. My uncle and dad were raised Southern Baptist so it kind of canceled out in my household and religion wasn’t really brought up.”
“Understandable,” Steve says with a smile. “My mom’s parents are Catholic, but my dad is Angelican so she deferred to him. Apparently my Nonna almost had a heart attack when she heard her preziosa Isabella was marrying a godless heathen.”
Eddie grins at him. “Imagine how she’d react to finding out her grandson is dating an atheist.”
Steve barks a laugh. “Somehow I doubt that would be the thing she’s most bothered by, but who knows. Maybe I’ll include it in my next letter to her. ‘Ciao Nonna, I hope you’re doing well. Just wanted to let you know my boyfriend is an atheist. Tell Uncle Nino I said hi.’ Right.”
Eddie’s cackling madly. “Oh god, you should. And please let me read her response.”
Steve’s still laughing even though his heart is beating a little arrhythmically. He’d love to tell his Nonna about Eddie. He’d love to tell everyone about him, but the fact is he can’t. His mom might be kind of okay about it given time, but his asshole dad would disown him. Hell, his Nonna probably would find more fault with Eddie’s lack of religious beliefs than the fact he’s a dude, but that’s not something Steve wants to test out. He’s still working out the logistics of what to tell the kids because that’s inevitable at this point, they’ll find out one way or another eventually.
But all that aside, Steve used the word boyfriend in reference to Eddie and Eddie didn’t balk or correct him, so apparently that’s that.
Eddie’s laugh tapers off to a long sigh, still smiling widely as he redirects his attention back to the papers in his lap. Steve sits quietly, watching Eddie’s eyes scan page after page. Eventually, he looks up at Steve and he can see a distinct shine of unshed tears pooling in them.
“This is amazing, sweetheart,” Eddie whispers.
Steve takes one of Eddie’s hands and brings it up to his lips, kissing the back of it above his rings. “I’m glad you like it.”
Eddie pulls his hand back to rub his fingers along Steve’s cheek. “I love it. Te amo, cariño.”
“Ti amo, tesoro,” Steve whispers back before nodding toward the window. “You wanna see the headstone?”
Eddie nods excitedly and shoves the documents back into the envelope before tossing it on the back seat. Steve double checks that they’re alone before taking Eddie’s hand in his, and walks with him down the grass between two rows until they spot the right one.
Alma Rosa Guerreña-Gonzalez
December 16, 1922 - October 11, 1984
Henry Ricardo Gonzalez
April 9, 1920 -May 20, 1985
“It’s so recent,” Eddie mutters.
“And he only outlived her by a few months,” Steve points out.
Eddie kneels down without letting go of Steve’s hand and places his other hand on the grass in front of the marble headstone. He runs his fingers through it a few times, clearly thinking.
“What ya doin?” Steve asks quietly.
Eddie’s hand stops and he presses down a bit more. “Trying to see if I can feel them rolling in their graves ‘cause their grandson is holding hands with a man in a Catholic place.”
Steve snorts and tugs on Eddie’s hand until he stands. “You’re so weird.”
“You like it,” Eddie counters, leaning into him.
“Yeah, I do,” Steve replies, kissing his cheek.
They stand in front of the headstone for a few more minutes until Eddie says it’s fine to leave. Once they’re back in the car and pulling away, Eddie says, “Ya know, I don’t think I ever met them when they were alive. But it’s kind of nice to know they at least loved each other enough to die so close together.” Steve hums in agreement. “I wonder if my mom ever told them about me.”
“I’m sure she did. It’s their loss they didn’t get to meet you.”
Eddie shrugs, tugging the guitar pick back and forth over the chain around his neck.. “Even if she didn’t, I’m sure my mom had her reasons.”
Steve doesn’t really know what to say to that, so he settles for reaching for Eddie’s left hand and lacing their fingers together.
“One thing’s for sure though,” Eddie says after a while. Steve glances at him in question. “My mom would have found it hilarious that I picked a white-bread boy to date. We apparently have the same taste in men.”
Steve scoffs. “No offense man, but I’m not sure I’m anything like your dad.”
Eddie levels him with a playful look. “I dunno, Harrington. Stealing a bunch of shit from War Zone, aiding and abetting a suspected murderer, driving a hotwired motorhome, breaking and entering a school and an abandoned building, and teaching children how to make Molotov cocktails is quite a laundry list of crimes.”
“Okay, Jesus. When you put it like that, I should be in prison for life.”
Eddie laughs brightly. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Your secret life of crime is safe with me.”
“It better be,” Steve threatens jokingly. “I’ve got a stack of NDAs saying nothing ever happened anyway so good luck proving any of it.”
Eddie keeps laughing and Steve can’t help joining.
“Seriously though, babe, today was incredible,” Eddie says once they’ve calmed down. He shakes his head, his curls dancing. “I don’t know how to thank you for this.”
Steve squeezes Eddie’s hand. “You don’t have to thank me, Eds. It was worth it.”
Eddie pinches Steve’s arm, making the other man yelp. “Take the compliment, Harrington.”
“Jesus, alright!” Steve laughs, shaking his arm out without releasing Eddie’s hand. “You’re welcome.”
Eddie leans over the center console and kisses Steve on the cheek, nearly killing them both in the process, but it’s still the best thank you Steve’s ever gotten.