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an elitist's guide to superior music by callunavulgari
Fandoms: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
30 Oct 2024
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Summary
Eddie has always dreamed of getting his own place. Parties every night, wailing guitars, maybe a babe or two. More importantly, he's dreamed of a place for his boys to crash after a late night gig or a rowdy night of D&D. But when he gets his own apartment at long last, he finds reality to be a far lonelier experience than what he'd expected. Enter Steve, the neighbor in 6B who Eddie shares a very thin wall with. His neighbor who, for better or for worse, sings at the top of his lungs whenever he’s in a good mood and dances around his kitchen every morning before 6am.
At first, the endless parade of pop hits annoy him, but after a time, it begins to chase away some of that loneliness. The fact that it devolves into a petty back and forth war on who has a better taste in music is neither here nor there. Now, if only Eddie could manage to actually meet the guy...
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A modern day meet-cute featuring two shitty apartments, one hideous cat, misunderstandings, mutual pining, some truly inaccurate hopes and dreams about first time apartment living, at least some accidental voyeurism, and a whole lot of ABBA.
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Bookmark Notes:
warm yummy bite of mash potato <3 comfy n lovely
silly silly boys and the intelligent lesbians that love them -
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Fic Info
an elitist's guide to superior music by callunavulgari (WorkID: 59880463)
Summary: “You know,” Steve tells him, “I may regret a lot of things about the way that I handled the last few months, but I still don’t regret this place.”
“No?” Eddie asks him, turning so that he’s facing the city too. He sets an elbow against the rust-flecked metal and lifts a dubious eyebrow in Steve’s direction. “You don’t regret the rodents in the walls? The elevator that never works? The uh, lack of soundproofing?”
Steve laughs. He has to, because— “No, not that last one at least.”
“Yeah?” he asks Steve, angling his body slightly towards Steve’s as he’s still licking grease off his fingers.
Steve cocks his head. “Do you regret it?”
Eddie shrugs, his expression going sheepish as he pulls a pack of smokes from his pocket. He shakes the pack in question, and when Steve shakes his head, he takes one out and lights it, taking a slow pull and sighing.
“If you’d asked me three months ago, I might have said yes,” Eddie admits, scrubbing his free hand through his hair. “You kept me up a lot those first few weeks. But now—” he turns a considering look on Steve, letting smoke out through his open mouth in a thick white plume. “No, I don’t regret it.”