Archive of Our Own ^beta

“You are the music while the music lasts.” - T.S. Elliot

“Oh, Steeeeviiiieee,” comes the familiar, over-chipper voice from the front door.

In the few months that Steve’s been living with Eddie, he’s learned a lot about him. Almost all of it against his will, but that comes with the territory of being roommates first out of convenience and then becoming friends from it. One of the better things he’s learned, however, is that no matter what mood the guy is in, he’s going to greet Steve the exact same way.

It’s cute, of course, the enthusiasm, like an excited puppy who’s always happy to see their owner after they’ve been gone all day. Even though it’s Thursday, which means Steve has been home all day — no shift at the coffee shop and no class since he managed to wrangle his schedule to all be Mondays and Wednesdays this semester — and Eddie was the one gone with work at the mechanics and then some nerd thing, he thinks, afterward with his friends. It doesn’t matter. The uptick in Eddie’s voice and the thump of him dropping his boots by the front door are still enough to make Steve feel a little bit like an overly excited puppy too.

“Kitchen,” he calls back, his attention now divided between the sound of mac and cheese being stirred — some rival TikTok recipe that he needed to try immediately — Eddie in the other room removing his no-doubt greasy coveralls so he doesn’t track dirt into the kitchen and make Steve complain about it, and the soundtrack for Hamilton playing through the Bluetooth speaker they keep in the kitchen.

“Really, man? Hamilton again?” Eddie complains, earning a side-eye from Steve. The younger man quickly averts his gaze to the task at hand (pouring the hot cheese and noodle mixture into a baking dish) so that he doesn’t have to look at Eddie directly.

Another fun thing he’s learned about Eddie is that he’s a big fan of malicious compliance. Regarding the aforementioned greasy coveralls, Steve knows those are left in a heap by the front door, waiting to be picked back up and thrown in the general direction of the laundry basket in Eddie’s room. It’s definitely an improvement from Eddie tracking motor dust and whatever else he picked up from rolling around under cars all day through the entire apartment, but it does mean that Eddie’s currently standing in the doorway, retying his hair into a messy top knot, wearing only his sweat-stained white shirt and his boxers. Which — at a quick second glance — appear to be Steve’s boxers. 

Looks like laundry day is tomorrow instead of Sunday.

Steve shakes his head, attempting to clear the less-than-platonic thoughts that immediately bombard him at the sight of Eddie’s pasty legs sprouting from his boxers, and scoffs like he usually does when Eddie starts bad-mouthing his taste in music.

“You say that like you don’t listen to the same three screamy bands on repeat every single day,” Steve shoots back.

They have this good-natured argument a lot. It’s basically scripted at this point. So much so that when Eddie makes an indignant sound and says:

“You know damn well that I listen to at least ten bands on repeat. They just sound the same because there’s only one drummer and they all have to share—”

Steve mouths the words along with him, just out of sight since his back is turned.

He slides the baking dish into the oven, double-checks the temperature and timer, and then leans back against the counter with a dish towel thrown over his shoulder. Eddie’s moved deeper into the kitchen by that point, leaning on his forearms against the shitty second-hand table they use as a makeshift island and glaring, though it’s undercut significantly by the way the corners of his lips twitch. Bent over at this angle, Steve can’t see his stolen boxers, but he can see the way Eddie’s arms flex under his shirt and the sheen of sweat across his brow and the sparkle in his eyes. Which might as well be just as pornographic for the way Steve’s stupid brain conjures images of Eddie bent over the table and sweating for a very different reason.

He rolls his eyes in lieu of looking straight at his roommate, pretending to pick a bit of lint off of his jeans even though he has a lint roller in every room of the house thanks to—

“Mrrrow!”

Eddie gasps, averting his attention from Steve entirely in favor of scooping up the tiny tuxedo cat and cradling her like a baby in his arms.

“Well, hello princess!” Eddie coos, Penelope Fluffington purring like a jet engine in response.

Eddie had found her behind a dumpster at his work, barely old enough at the time to open her eyes all the way, and Steve had taken one look at Eddie’s impossibly wide, pleading gaze to know that the man could have brought home a tiny velociraptor and Steve would have still agreed to it living with them. Princess Penny at least doesn’t bite — that much — and she likes to sleep between Steve’s legs almost as much as she sleeps with Eddie, so he has no complaints.

“Sorry your papa’s been subjecting you to this horrible music all day,” Eddie murmurs to the cat, who Steve is pretty sure had been asleep on one of their beds until Eddie came home and was therefore uncaring of whatever Steve has been listening to.

“Yeah, yeah, she lives in a prison,” Steve deadpans, half-listening to Eddie continue talking in a horrendous baby voice while Steve gets out a can of wet food for the obviously tortured inmate. As soon as the can is open, Penelope scrambles out of Eddie’s arms and over to Steve, obviously impatient to be fed like she doesn’t have a constant bowl of dry food whenever she wants. Eddie huffs and crosses his arms, clearly betrayed while the little black and white cat circles Steve’s feet until the bowl is in reach, and Steve doesn't bother withholding his smug expression.

“Shut up,” Eddie grouses, sans heat. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

“Good,” Steve calls after him as the other man starts stomping away. “Dinner in 30!”

“Thank you!”

----------------------

They eat dinner on the couch, as they do most nights, whether one of them cooks or if they split some kind of delivery, and watch whatever peaks their interest on Netflix, Princess Penny curled up in Steve’s lap. It’s a nice tradition, domestic in a way that Steve tries not to examine too thoroughly. 

He likes Eddie, that much he came to terms with pretty quickly, but he’s never dated anyone he’s been friends with before, and considering the whole living together thing, it always seemed weird to make a move when neither of them can really leave if it went badly. So, they hang out, rib each other over music and who took the last poptart pack without writing it on the shopping list, and Steve bottles up all of the too-fast-too-messy feelings he has about his roommate until he can whine to Robin about it later.

Tonight, however, Eddie’s barely paying attention to what they’re watching even though he picked it, instead scrolling on his phone the whole time, chewing on his thumbnail in a way that Steve knows he’s going to regret later.

Steve isn’t much of a social media person — though he does like TikTok, mostly for recipes and cat videos — so he doesn’t really get Eddie’s thing, but he also knows he doesn’t have to get Eddie to like him. He does wish Eddie was a little more present sometimes, though.

“Anything good?” Steve asks, nudging Eddie’s leg with his foot.

“Huh?” Eddie asks, finally tearing his gaze away to blink at Steve. “Oh, yeah. Just trying to decide something.”

“Oh? Decide what?” Knowing Eddie, it could be anything from a new D&D character to whether or not piercing his nipple again even though the last one rejected on its own is a good idea.

Eddie doesn’t answer right away, seeming to study Steve for a few seconds, before turning on the couch to look at him fully. “Do you wanna go to a show with me?”

Steve blinks, eyebrows furrowing a bit. “A show?”

Eddie’s head bobbles, hair swinging while he nods. “Yeah, a show. Like a screamy but not super screamy show.”

“Uh…”

“It’s just—” Eddie interrupts before Steve can say anything coherent, “there’s this band coming to town that I’ve been wanting to see. And given your taste in music is a little tragic—”

“Hey!”

“— I was hoping maybe you’d come with me. Expand your horizons.”

Steve huffs. “Can’t any of your friends go with you?”

Eddie rolls his eyes and smacks Steve’s arm with the back of his hand. “You are my friend, asshole. That’s why I’m asking.”

Steve bats him away, bringing his hand down to stroke over Penny’s fur.

He’s been to a few concerts, mostly big things at arenas, but something tells him that’s not what Eddie has in mind.

“When is it?”

Eddie’s eyes widen and he unlocks his phone, shoving it at Steve. “Next Tuesday. I can get the tickets right now, they’re pretty cheap.”

Steve looks over the details on the screen. Some band he’s never heard of before — shocker — is performing with two other bands at what looks like a bar (?), but the logo for the band is pink and blue, instead of in completely incoherent scribbles, so that’s a plus.

“And it’s ‘screamy but not super screamy’?” Steve asks, unclear about what that means exactly.

“For sure!” Eddie says, nodding again. “I mean, there’s some screaming, but not a lot of it. And if you hate it we can totally leave.”

“I wouldn’t make us leave, dude,” Steve states, passing the phone back over. “If you’re that concerned about me listening to your music then fine. I’ll go.”

The yippee! Eddie lets out startles Penelope from Steve’s lap — thank you for digging your nails in in the process, Princess Fluffington! — and Steve is immediately terrified about what he’s just agreed to.

Five - Dayseeker

Steve has work the Tuesday of the show — which he was told is a show and not a concert because concerts imply stadiums whereas shows are much smaller (he also was told shows are bigger than gigs, and he only grumbled a little about the vocab lesson) — but it means he gets to bitch to Robin once again about agreeing to this stupid plan.

“I told him I won’t make us leave if I hate it, but what if he can tell I hate it and gets really offended?” Steve grumbles, emptying out used grounds from the espresso machine to replace with fresh ones.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine, dingus,” she remarks, moving around him easily to set someone’s order on the counter and calling their name. “I doubt Eddie would have invited you in the first place if he was that concerned you’d hate it.”

“But that’s the thing, Rob, everything I’ve heard him listen to so far is wayyyyyy out of my comfort zone.”

“Well, did you look up the band he’s taking you to see just to make sure?”

Steve pauses his movements, blinking at her. Somehow that thought hadn’t even crossed his mind.

“Oh, dingus,” she sighs, reading him like a book. “What band is he taking you to see?”

Steve opens his mouth to tell her, but his mind draws a blank and all he vocalizes is a drawn out “Uhhh….”

“Jesus Christ,” she mutters, her bob swinging as she shakes her head in exasperation.

“I got distracted by the colors!” he defends, resuming his task. “I know the logo was legible, which is really saying something.”

“Fair,” she agrees, working around him in sync like always. “Some of those metal band logos are impossible.”

Steve snorts. “Eddie showed me one once and I swear he was lying to me about what it says.”

Rather than trying to explain it, he takes a brief second to google the logo, showing it to her while she froths milk for a cappuccino.

“What the fucking fuck is that?”

“Sanguisugabogg.”

“Bless you.”

Steve can’t stop the barking laugh he lets out, waving an apologetic hand to the customers he startled with the sound.

“That’s what I mean, though,” he says, much quieter. “Everything he listens to is incoherent from the music to the logo. But the logo he showed me wasn’t incoherent, so… I don’t know. Maybe it’ll be okay?”

He’s really hoping she’ll tell him it’ll be fine, because he’s been freaking out since Eddie brought the idea up and he needs her (arguably inconsistent) voice of reason.

“Again, I’m sure it’ll be fine, Steve. Now, help me sort out the rest of these orders, and then you can go home and get ready for your date.”

Steve fumbles an empty steamer mug then, suddenly horrified for an entirely different reason. “Oh my god, Robin. Is this a date? Did I misread this? I don’t even know what to wear to a metal show, but if it’s a date too —”

“Oh my god, you’re hopeless,” she grumbles, snatching the steamer mug out of his hands and hip-checking him out of the way.

----------------------

The venue, called the Hideout, is pretty much a bar, and Steve tries to ignore how completely out of place he feels while Eddie leads them to the short line to get in. He’s still not sure if this is a date, but Eddie hasn’t done anything date-like to him so far, so Steve chalks it up to him catastrophizing nothing, as usual. He at least borrowed one of Eddie’s plain black shirts so he’s not sticking out like a sore thumb (and if he preened a little when Eddie gave him a slow elevator gaze before they left, that’s no one’s business but his own).

Eddie waves at a few of the venue staff members that he appears to know as they make their way inside, but Steve is too distracted by the lights and the seemingly normal people standing around talking. Really, he thought it would be more… demonic? Everyone dressed in leather and chains and there’d be some kind of burning pentagram on stage. 

Instead, there are some hints of leather, but everyone else just looks like the collective uniform is jeans and band t-shirts, and they all look to be in their late 20s, early 30s like he and Eddie. Really it’s… normal. 

“Want a beer?” Eddie asks, drawing Steve’s attention back to him. Eddie himself is even dressed in dark jeans and a band t-shirt that, of course, Steve can’t read, but again, part of the uniform.

“Sure,” Steve replies, and they make their way to the bar.

The drinks aren’t cheap, but they’re not $16 lukewarm tall cans at an arena, so it’s a real step up there. He follows Eddie’s lead the entire time, letting the older man guide them to a spot not too close to the stage and speakers (since Steve gets headaches easily, a fact Eddie apparently knows), but not so far back that they can’t see over the crowd in front of them. They apparently showed up after the first opener, so there’s one more and then the headliner.

“I normally try to catch the opening bands because they’re usually local and I’m always after more music,” Eddie explains while they wait, “but sometimes I also fuck off to the smoking patio and wait there until the headliner.”

Steve nods along, sipping his beer and listening as Eddie tells him about other shows he’s been to at this venue.

The second opener is alright; still a little loud, and not really Steve’s style, but he can roll with the punches. Eddie mostly stands next to him and nods along, occasionally catching Steve’s eye and giving him a raised brow in question to gauge Steve’s opinion. Steve smiles and shrugs, unsure what he’s supposed to think, but content to be here with Eddie nonetheless.

They grab another beer between sets, and Steve follows Eddie outside for him to smoke a quick cigarette. There’s a few people Eddie knows apparently, more than just venue staff, so Steve stands near him while he chats, checking in with Robin while they have a brief respite.

Steve: All good so far 👍

Robbie: don’t put out on the first date

Steve: I hate you

“Ready, Stevie?” Eddie asks, slipping an arm around Steve’s waist. It doesn’t draw Steve out of his thoughts so much as it grabs him and violently yanks him to the surface, and Steve glances at the people Eddie was just talking to to find them smiling kindly.

“Uh, yeah,” Steve mutters, feeling his entire body heat up. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Eddie squeezes his hip and waves at his friends before leading them back inside. 

Look, it’s not like Eddie’s never touched him before. For all intents and purposes, Eddie’s a tactile guy, even with Steve. But they’re on a not-date and Eddie did it in front of his mutual metal fan friends and Steve is helpless at the best of times (thank you, Robin), so he almost doesn’t realize that the headlining band — Dayseeker — is already on stage and talking thanks to the roaring in his ears from the blood rushing to his face.

“You’re gonna love this,” Eddie says, his smile wide and voice so sincere that Steve knows the band could be about to sing an hour of Baby Shark and he’d still be happy. Especially since Eddie has only taken his arm from around Steve’s waist in order to move them through the crowd, resettling it when they find a good spot. Steve tries to convince himself it’s just so they don’t lose each other in the crowd.

That conviction goes to shit as soon as the first song starts and Eddie leans further into his space as he sings long.

It sounds a little techno-y, but then there’s actual guitar and drums, and the crowd moves around them in a fluid motion that’s almost hypnotic. But the lyrics? Being sung to him in stereo by the man next to him. Holy shit.

“Always told me to keep you close,
The feelings fading when you’re a ghost,
I dream of colors that light your face,
But real life showed me it takes away.

Cause every time I wake up,
I’m waiting for a miracle,
And even when the night comes,
I’ll find you in another one.”

It’s good. Really good.

Okay, maybe the arm Eddie has wrapped around his waist and the way the older man seems to be moving them together and singing to him is the best part, but Steve’s also semi-aware enough to realize that the music is… genuinely really good. Sure, it’s loud, and as the song progresses there is, in fact, some screaming, but it’s understandable, unlike a lot of things Eddie plays at home.

The second song has more screaming, but again, Steve can understand the words. So, as each song unfolds, Steve gets more and more into it, wrapping an arm over Eddie’s shoulders and moving along to the music. It’s…

God, it’s so much fun.

By the time the set ends and the band has done one encore song, Steve knows for a fact that Eddie was at least partially right: the music isn’t his vibe usually, but the show was fun to watch.

“So….” Eddie hedges as they make their way to the car.

“So…” Steve parrots, laughing when Eddie elbows him in the side. “I liked it. I did.”

“Yeah?” his friend asks, something like nerves bleeding through his otherwise chipper tone.

Steve grabs Eddie’s arms to stop him, muttering an apology when several people grumble about them stopping in the middle of a sidewalk. “Hey, Eds, I promise,” Steve says, squeezing Eddie’s arm, trying to reassure him. “I had a great time. Like, I’m not sure if I could listen to this every day, but it was a good time tonight.”

Eddie’s smile is still a little dim, his eyes flicking back and forth between Steve’s eyes and down to the grip he has on Eddie’s arm. Steve is about to let go when Eddie claps his free hand on top of it, holding him in place.

“Well, Stevie, I guess I’ll just have to try again.”

“Wha—” Steve starts, but Eddie’s already wriggling out of his hold and dashing the rest of the way to the car.

What did he just get himself into?

Four - Hail the Sun

It takes three weeks before Eddie’s bounding into Steve’s room one evening, a gleeful look on his face that almost always spells trouble in some capacity.

“What ya dooooin’?” his roommate asks, rocking back on his heels, hands behind his back in mock innocence — another concerning tell.

Presently, Steve is working on an essay for his English class, the audiobook for the novel he’s supposed to be writing on playing in his Airpods. The audiobooks had been a godsend, a suggestion from Nancy who said it would be easier than reading a physical text so it doesn’t mess with his dyslexia, and he already listens to podcasts so it’s basically the same thing. 

What he tells Eddie, though, is: “Perfecting my plans for world domination. But I’ve got a second.”

“Perfect!” Eddie enthuses. “Can you get next Wednesday night off work?”

“Umm…” Steve hedges, thinking about a schedule he hasn’t really considered yet. He’s pretty sure he does have work, but Robin kind of owes him for taking her shift a few days ago when she wanted to take a Saturday night off to go to some art museum with Chrissy. “Possibly. Why?”

Eddie shrugs, kicking an invisible rock on the carpet with his barefoot. “Just thinking we could go to another show.”

The demure nature of Eddie’s stance is as adorable as it is unnecessary. That’s not going to stop Steve from giving him shit, though.

With all the long-unused air of King Steve, the younger man straightens up and crosses his arms, looking down his nose. “I don’t know. I mean, I have a very busy schedule, as you well know. And I’m not sure I can just take the time to see another silly band—”

“Please, please, please!” Eddie pleads, complete with puppy dog eyes and a pushed-out lower lip.

Jesus Christ, Steve was already going to agree, but that’s just not playing fair.

Steve lets him sweat it out a little, until Eddie looks like he’s going to start crying on command — a feat that Steve knows Eddie can do because he admitted to learning how to do it to get out of a speeding ticket once (it didn’t work) — and he relents with a put-upon sigh.

“Fine, I’ll go to the show with you,” Steve says, waving royally. 

“YESS!!” his roommate hisses, fist pumping the air. “You’re gonna love this one, Stevie. I just know it.”

Steve laughs jovially as Eddie bounds out of the room with more enthusiasm than he appeared with, and immediately picks up his phone to tell Robin that he’s cashing in on the deal.

Robbie: go get your man dingus

Steve: he’s not my man (yet) (hopefully)

Robbie: yeah YET. just kiss him already

Steve: I’m working on it!

Robbie: WORK FASTER!!
Chris and i want to double-date

Steve: We’ve all been out together before

Robbie: it’s not the same and you know it

Steve: Will you trade me shifts or not?

Robbie: obviously. i’ll see you tomorrow 🔪
♥️

----------------------

The venue is different but no less bar-like, and Eddie keeps Steve plastered to his side with an arm around his shoulders or waist once more. Steve basks in it, letting the other man tug him around and introduce him to people whose names fly out of Steve’s head the minute they’re said, mostly thanks to the too-loud opener making it hard to hear, but also because Steve is really bad at names. 

At one point, Eddie disappears — which is fine, Steve’s a big boy, he can take care of himself — and he’s left talking to… Jimmy? Jonny? J-something, who apparently used to be in a band himself and toured with the headliner back in the early days of the band. Steve nods and hums in interest in all the right places, sipping a higher priced beer than the last venue provided, and does his best to pretend like being left alone without Eddie by his side isn’t making him feel like a party balloon that’s been let go.

“And, like, they’re new stuff is great,” J-something continues on his some long-winded rant that Steve genuinely wasn’t listening to at all. “But their original stuff was so fresh and nothing really beats a breakout album. But ya know, gotta support the guys even if I’m not as big a fan anymore.”

J-guy elbows Steve’s arm in a amiright? kind of way that Steve definitely doesn’t get, but he nods anyway, saying, “Yeah, man. Absolutely. Sounds like you have a lot of solid opinions about this.”

It’s a horseshit response and he knows it, but J doesn’t seem to care given the way he lights up at Steve’s half-assed agreement to… whatever he was saying. Steve gives the guy a smile that feels too tight, and goes to take a drink only to find his cup empty.

“Oh! Hey, lemme buy you a fresh one, yeah?” J asks, but it doesn’t appear to be an actual question with the way he’s resting an overly familiar hand on Steve’s back and guiding him back toward the bar.

There’s a lull in the crowd as they wait for the bands to switch gear on stage, and Steve feels kind of railroaded as J orders for him, continuing some spiel about something he’s still not listening to since Eddie still isn’t back yet.

“So, that guy you come with,” J says, turning back to Steve and once again herding him off to one side now that they have drinks in hand.

“Eddie,” Steve states, grateful for the beer, but annoyed at the audacity of this guy.

“Right! Eddie. Great guy. Are you two—”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” the voice of an angel says in Steve’s ear, his strong arm snaking around his waist once more. Where it’s always meant to be, Steve’s heart provides.

Steve drags his gaze away from J to smile at Eddie, hoping his relief isn’t as palpable as he feels it is. “‘S alright. I was just being regaled with stories from…”

Steve looks at J, waiting for him to repeat his name again. Maybe it’s a dick move, but Steve knows when he’s being hit on, he’s not stupid, and he doesn’t want this guy’s wires to get crossed.

“Jason,” the guy states, smile gone and posture stiff. Good.

“Right! Sorry, man. I’m terrible with names,” Steve replies, shifting his beer to his other hand and throwing his free arm over Eddie’s shoulders. “Jason was telling me about how he used to tour with the headliner.”

Jason’s eyes narrow slightly before he smiles, lips thin, and his chest puffs up a bit.

“Oh?” Eddie hums. “Interesting. Anyway, we should find a spot. They’re about to go on.”

“Lead the way,” Steve smiles, barely tossing a backward glance at Jason as he lets Eddie sweep him away.

Once they’re settled near a barricade surrounding the sound booth, Eddie’s arm still firmly planted around Steve’s waist, the metalhead finally speaks again.

“If I’d have known I’d be leaving you to the jackals, I wouldn’t have let you out of my sight.”

Something hot curls in Steve’s stomach, radiating through his body. Eddie’s words sound almost possessive, even though his tone suggests he’s teasing.

“See that it doesn’t happen again,” Steve counters, aiming for cheeky, but silently begging that Eddie actually doesn’t leave his side ever again, at a show or in general. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I got you,” Eddie mutters, deathly serious save for the upward curl at the corners of his lips. Steve’s heart does backflips in his chest, and he swallows down the urge to kiss the other man, chasing the desire with his beer.

There’s only a small break between Eddie’s rescue and Hail the Sun coming on, and the metalhead uses that time to tell Steve about the band. Unlike Jason’s annoying bragging, listening to Eddie talk about music doesn’t feel like a chore. It’s not even that Eddie sounds like he knows what he’s talking about without bragging (though that certainly helps), it’s that Steve’s pretty sure Eddie could recite Shakespeare and still make it interesting. 

The band itself is good — which isn’t a surprise given Eddie picked it with Steve in mind — and it’s easy to get into the sway of the crowd again. It’s loud. Steve knows he’s going to have to invest in a sturdy set of ear plugs if this is going to become a regular thing.

Eddie keeps checking in with him throughout, little looks like he’s trying to make sure Steve’s enjoying it, and Steve knows he’s smiling every time, but it’s not because of the music.

This time, Steve’s prepared for an encore, laughing with delight when the band does their fake-out leave and then comes back.

What he’s not prepared for is the lead singer speaking into the mic while the rest of the band starts a soft beginning of a very familiar song.

“Normally we do a different song for this,” the singer says to the crowd. “But a friend of mine called in a favor tonight and asked us to change it specially for his sweetheart.” The crowd makes a collective awwwwww, Steve included. “Here’s to you, man. Lock it down.”

With that, the band kicks up at full volume, and the opening of “Head Over Heels” starts in earnest.

“Holy shit,” Steve gasps, loud enough in Eddie’s ear to be heard over the familiar melody of his favorite song. Eddie uses the arm around his waist to jostle him, smiling at him with a megawatt smile at Steve’s excitement.

“Normally they do ‘Everybody want to rule the world’,” Eddie explains, his eyes alight in the roving stage lights.

The song plays and Steve can’t help but scream-sing along. At least, up until the song transitions, somehow flawlessly, into one he doesn’t know, but it doesn’t matter because Steve’s heart is pounding from the excitement of getting to hear his favorite song at a metal-ish show and being here with the one person who makes that song feel even more personal.

“Damn,” Steve yells into Eddie’s ear when the song changes. “Whoever got that changed has great taste.”

“Or they were trying to woo someone with extravagant favors,” Eddie shoots back, a wide grin plastered on his face.

Steve can’t stop the giddy laugh that erupts from him. “Man, that would have totally worked on me!”

Eddie’s smile falters for a second before he squeezes Steve’s hip. “Yeah? This kind of grand gesture works on you, big boy?”

Maybe it’s the adrenaline, or maybe it’s the big boy, but Steve feels like it’s suddenly 80 million degrees in the cramped bar.

“Big, small. All gestures work on me,” Steve admits. Hell, Eddie could kiss him right there and then — something Steve tries to convey with mind powers he doesn’t have — and Steve would pledge his life to the metalhead.

Instead (since Eddie apparently can’t read minds), he taps Steve’s hip again. “Good to know, sweetheart.”

Three - Periphery

Steve knows it’s weird that he and Eddie somehow spend a lot of time together and none at all.

Between work and school, Steve is only home to shower and sleep if he’s lucky, while Eddie works at the mechanic nearly full time, and spends a lot of his off time with his friends, playing D&D or doing lord knows what else (he doesn’t ask because Eddie’s never volunteered the information). Steve’s met them a couple of times when it’s Eddie’s (and Steve’s, by connection) time to host Hellfire night, but Steve tends to make himself scarce after the initial hellos, and only re-emerges to help clean afterward.

So, he knows it’s weird to be in love with his roommate that he feels like he barely sees except on late evenings if Steve’s still awake, and when Eddie has managed to wrangle them tickets for a show. Too bad Steve’s heart apparently doesn’t care about practical things, only about the way Eddie’s smile makes his whole face shine like the sun and how Eddie’s arm feels like a brand when it’s wrapped around him in public.

Robin gives him a ton of shit for it, of course, and has even wrangled Chrissy into bugging him when she pops into the shop to kiss her girlfriend and grab her iced matcha latte, light ice, extra cold foam before she heads to her own classes.

“Seriously, Steve,” the blonde starts, leaning across the counter and pawing at him while he steams milk.

“Seriously, Chris,” he mocks, waving her off. “I’m—”

“Working on it,” Robin and Chrissy both deadpan, the eye rolling like a physical slap to the back of his head.

“Why can’t I just tell him?” Chrissy asks, baby blue puppy eyes in full effect. He adores her in a sister-in-law kind of way, but besides being his soulmate’s girlfriend, she’s also Eddie’s bestest best friend, which means it’s basically a crime for her to know Steve’s feelings about the other man when said man doesn’t know himself.

And look, Steve is brave. Very hit first, ask questions later kind of guy. But he’s also taken a few too many hits himself, so he’s learned to start assessing situations before charging in, guns blazing. He doesn’t want a repeat of Nancy circa 5 years ago, and definitely not when he’s already living with the person he’s crushing on. That’s just a recipe for disaster.

Steve sighs, because this is a conversation they've had basically since Robin and Eddie switched places so the little lesbian love birds could cohabitate without an audience. “Because I made you pinky swear and that’s sacred.”

Chrissy groans in exasperation and Robin shakes her head. “Let it go, babe. Dingus here thinks he has a plan, and we just have to live with it.”

“But—” Chrissy starts, cutting off when Steve waves a hand in her face.

“But nothing. I’ve got this. Just trust me.”

He doesn’t got this, actually. 

Between all of the obligations he and Eddie have, and no invitations to another show in nearly two weeks, Steve is going insane. He wants to tell the other man how he’s feeling so bad, but every time he thinks “Today’s the day,” Eddie is suddenly busy or Steve chickens out.

He’s sulking about the lack of Eddie in his immediate vicinity when he comes home from work one Saturday night. He’s prepared for another night alone, knowing the other man is with his Hellfire group and will therefore be busy until too late for Steve to even consider staying up when he has to open the coffee shop in the morning. 

He kicks off his shoes by the door and makes it halfway through shucking his coat before the scent of something heavenly invades his senses. Steve immediately panics. Either someone’s broken in and decided to cook a delicious meal before killing him, or Eddie—

“Ed?” he calls out, hesitant, just in case the possible murderer didn’t hear Steve’s frustrated grumbling and is willing to play Marco Polo.

“Kitchen!” Eddie calls back. The sound of his voice simultaneously relieves Steve of his concern that he’s going to have to fight someone, gets his metaphorical tail wagging because Eddie’s here to greet him when he comes home, and worries him because Eddie’s never home on Saturday nights.

He enters the kitchen to find the metalhead elbow-deep in ingredients, literally. There’s flour everywhere, a hot pan on the stove frying something indiscernible, and despite the manic gleam in Eddie’s eye when he turns his head to look at Steve, he’s smiling proudly.

“You’re home,” Steve states nonsensically, still a little in shock by the scene unfolding.

“Yep! The guys figured we were fine to skip a night so I thought what better time to make dinner and introduce you to another band!”

Steve’s hackles rise once more. He’s exhausted, and he’s grateful to Eddie for making dinner so he doesn’t have to shove a few handfuls of chips into his mouth before crawling into bed, but he’s not in the mood to go to a show tonight.

Something on his face must give him away, though, because Eddie stops his task of what appears to be battering chicken strips, and his smile softens.

“Go take a shower and get comfy, sweetheart. Dinner will be ready soon.”

Steve wants to argue, but Eddie waves him off with a flour-covered hand, and honestly, a relaxing shower, his rattiest sweatpants, and a hot meal made by his hot roommate sounds like heaven.

He really should have known Eddie was up to something, though.

“So,” he starts, just as Steve is preparing to bite into his first piece of fried chicken. “I wanted to show you this band, but they’re not touring anywhere near us right now.”

“Okay…” Steve mutters around a mouthful. It’s genuinely delicious, served with a side of pasta with an alfredo sauce that definitely didn’t come from a jar. Eddie really went all out just to tell him about some band.

“But! I have all of the band’s discography on vinyl, so I thought, maybe, we could have a little at home thing ....”

Eddis trails off, belying his nerves, and Steve wants to shake him. An at home thing, like home with Eddie isn’t Steve’s favorite place to be.

He swallows harshly around a too big bite, nodding the whole way. “Yeah. Yeah that sounds great. Dinner and this? Absolutely.”

Eddie’s shoulders seem to relax, and he sets his food aside to set up the ancient record player they have. “I want your honest opinion as these play,” Eddie instructs as he sets the needle in place.

Steve nods, giving him a two-finger salute. “Scout’s honor.”

He’s pretty sure Eddie’s food gets cold during the musical run given how often the man gets up to readjust the needle to play a different song, flip the disk, or switch them altogether.

“Why not just make a playlist?” Steve asks at one point, his own dinner long since finished and his beer over halfway empty. Meanwhile, Eddie still has a full drink and a half-full plate.

“Shhhhh! This is the only way to really enjoy it!” Eddie insists, his tongue peeking out from between plump lips while he rests the needle down again.

There’s some synth in this that reminds Steve of Dayseeker, but it’s definitely heavier than that. Another mix between clean-singing and screaming that he can mostly follow, especially when Eddie lets his excitement get the better of him and starts singing along. Steve loves Eddie’s voice, thinks he should sing more often, but especially appreciates it when the screaming comes out and Eddie tones it down enough to enunciate the words so Steve can understand them.

“This one’s called ‘Crush’,” Eddie explains, giving Steve a pointed look that Steve doesn’t know how to interpret the meaning of, but he pays closer attention to it in any case. He thinks maybe it should be called “Immortalize” given how often the lead singer says that word, but it’s catchy, and Steve already knows the chorus will be stuck in his head for days after this.

If he’s really honest, the music is kind of sexy. Smooth and synthetic in a way he thinks he could move his body to while still being music he wouldn’t normally choose. His mind flashes with images of dancing with Eddie in one of the seedy venues they’ve been to, pressed back to chest, grinding his ass against Eddie’s lap — or the other way around, he’s not really picky — until they’re both so worked up that it’s impossible to keep their hands off each other. Even the harder parts of the song, the bits with more screaming, does nothing to dampen the fantasies, and he has to set his empty plate aside in favor of pulling a throw pillow over his lap so it doesn’t give away how affected he is by the idea of it all.

Now, lost in his head, unreasonably horny, and quietly mortified about it, Steve almost misses that the music has stopped and Eddie’s looking at him expectantly.

“Shit, sorry, Eds. Did you say something?”

Eddie chuckles, but the sound is a little hollow. “I asked what you think of it?”

Steve blinks at him, trying and failing to recall a single part of the song past his impure thoughts tied to it. “It was great. I really liked the, uh—” mental image of you railing me to this song — “part with the violins.”

Shit.

Eddie stares at Steve, lips slightly parted for a moment, before he snorts and shakes his head. “It’s okay, Steve. You can just say you don’t like it. I’m a big boy, I can handle it.”

“No, I did! I swear,” Steve tries, but Eddie’s not looking at him anymore. 

“Hey, it’s cool, man,” Eddie says, patting Steve’s knee and collecting their plates. He turns back briefly to give Steve a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Maybe we’re just into two different things.”

With that, the metalhead retreats to the kitchen, and Steve looks down to find Princess Penny looking up at him, judgment reflected in her yellow eyes. He knows he deserves it, but he’s also so confused about what just happened. Eddie seems so… disappointed? Is it in Steve specifically, for not having more to say about the band, or because he went all out for this and Steve couldn’t stop his stupid brain from running wild enough to be more excited about it all? Did he just fuck everything up?

Princess Penny slow-blinks at him, like she’s also disappointed, before shuffling off to the kitchen as well.

Steve is left alone, then, averting his gaze to the pillow still in his lap. It’s useless now, his boner having deflated quickly when Eddie all but dismissed him. He can hear the other man doing dishes and hates himself a little more for how much effort Eddie put into all of this just for Steve to be a big, dumb dummy about it, but he’s also frozen in place, unsure how to navigate fixing it. 

Eventually, he gets his wits about him enough to kick Eddie out of the kitchen (“You cooked, I’ll clean.”) and shooing the man away with a smile he doesn’t quite feel. Eddie returns it without a word, and leaves Steve alone to his thoughts — a dangerous place, really.

Two - Jinjer

If Steve thought he didn’t see much of Eddie before, he somehow sees even less of him after that night. Sure, there’s still some overlap, as to be expected with two people who live together, but it’s like Eddie’s busy even more now, and Steve doesn’t see him often enough to be able to ask what he’s up to. He could, in theory, just text Eddie at any point as well, but he has the distinct feeling he’s being avoided, and he’s too afraid to really find out.

He’s at home on a Thursday evening two weeks later, working on homework with Princess Pen curled up at the foot of his bed, when the front door to the apartment slams shut, earlier than normal, but later than if Eddie wasn’t meeting with the Hellfire guys. Steve’s used to Eddie being loud, but he doesn’t slam doors and certainly doesn’t stomp around like he’s doing right now.

The sound had sent Penelope dashing for cover, and Steve watches from his bed as Eddie stomps past his open bedroom door on the way to Eddie’s own, grumbling the entire way. Steve immediately sets what he’s doing aside and hops up — Eddie might be avoiding him (emphasis on might) but Steve’s still his friend.

He finds the metalhead half in his closet, still grumbling and throwing clothes around. He’s once again in just his undershirt, but the boxers he has on appear to be his own this time. Steve tries to ignore how much he doesn’t like that, occupying himself quickly with his concern.

“Whoa, Eds, what’s going on?” Steve asks, catching a flying pair of sweats out of the air before they can hit him and dropping them on Eddie’s unmade bed.

Eddie pops up, halting his movement. “Shit, sorry, Stevie.” He rakes his hands through his hair, which is more wild than normal, and looks like he’s attempting to ground himself before everything just comes pouring out.“I got off work too late and I was supposed to be picking Jeff up for a show tonight, but he called me right before my shift was supposed to tell me something came up so now he can’t go, and Gareth’s looking after his sick grandmother and Freak’s got some kind of lame excuse that I’m not totally convinced it legitimate, but I bought tickets for a show months ago and I’m going to be late thanks to waiting around for a customer to pick up their shitty mustang, which like, whatever, because it’s not like I have anyone going with me now, but I hate being late to these sorts of things because I want to get a good spot and —”

“Hey, hey! Eddie!” Steve shouts, waving his hands as he steps into Eddie’s space. The metalhead’s words cut off and he takes a deep breath, chest rising and falling rapidly. “Good, breathe. And then give me, like, two minutes and I’ll go with you.”

Eddie’s brows draw together and he shakes his head. “No, seriously. It’s all good, sweetheart. I just need to get changed real quick and go.”

Steve does not pout about being dismissed again, he will not give up an opportunity to spend time with Eddie for the first time in weeks.

“Seriously, just give me a couple minutes. You said you’re going alone otherwise, so if you’ve already got an extra ticket, I’ll take it and we can go. I just need to change too—”

“Steve, it’s really not going to be your kind of thing—”

“Eddie, I want to go with you. Please let me come.”

Eddie’s wide eyes search Steve’s for a moment, but he finally nods once. “Alright, come with me. But I take no responsibility for whether you hate it or not.”

For the first time in two weeks, Steve actually smiles, and Eddie returns it with a small one of his own before they break apart to get ready as quickly as possible.

Less than an hour later, the men are entering a new venue, a different one to the others so far, and much larger. It’s also packed, so Steve understands why Eddie wanted to get here early. The line for the bar is horrendous, but Steve pays — a weak penance for being a dick during the Periphery listening party — and sticks close to Eddie as they find a spot a bit farther to the stage thanks to the crowd.

“What band is this?” Steve asks over the screaming currently going on on-stage.

“Born of Osiris, but the headliner is Jinjer,” Eddie responds.

The current band is a little bit too much like incomprehensible noise, but Steve notices a few things about the guitar riffs and drum beats that are pretty good. Eddie was definitely right, this isn’t his thing at all, especially not compared to Dayseeker and Hail the Sun, which are permanent parts of Steve’s Spotify playlists now, but it’s not bad.

The crowd doesn’t dwindle between sets, like everyone is collectively unwilling to give up their spot for the main act. The energy is still electric, buzzing and loud — or maybe that’s Steve’s hearing — but it’s already unlike anything he’s experienced before.

He takes the lull between sets to finally talk to Eddie, to ask him how he’s doing (“busy, you know how it is, sweetheart”) and more or less bask in the man’s presence for the first time in too damn long.

Steve’s missed him, plain and simple, and even if they’re doing something he would never choose for himself otherwise, it doesn’t matter as long as he’s with Eddie.

When the house lights dim again and the stage is suddenly shrouded in a single stage light, smoke billowing from machines off to the sides, the crowd erupts, surging forward and pushing Steve and Eddie even closer together.

This, this is a big part of what Steve was missing. The closeness. Eddie’s arm winding around his waist in case he needs to pull Steve out of swinging range when a mosh pit inevitably opens up. The comfort of the man he’s pretty sure he’s in love with and the excitement of doing something with Eddie that he loves even if it’s not for Steve.

When the band emerges, Steve has to blink a few times and squint, their vantage point a little shitty, but his eyes immediately hone in on the person stepping up to the mic, arms raised to wave at the crowd.

“That’s a woman!” he yells into Eddie’s ear, the crowd around them deafening.

Eddie has the widest smile on his face that Steve’s learned to associate with unfiltered joy. He missed that smile too. 

“Yep! Tatiana!” the metalhead yells back. “She’s a fucking powerhouse of a vocalist!”

Steve doesn’t get to ask anything else before a gentle guitar melody, almost like a piano, begins, and the entire crowd is enraptured. The moment her voice hits Steve’s ears, he’s equally hooked.

“Step forward and meet a new sunrise
A coward is shivering inside
Today I'll be a friend of mine
Who swallows suffering with smile
I drew a different reality
With unconditional loyalty
Ego hardly can be piqued
'Cause I'm selfless…”

Her voice is beautiful, ethereal. It’s honestly ridiculous. Not that women can’t do metal! But jesus, Steve feels like maybe Eddie should have started with this.

He knows his expression has to be one of shock and disbelief, and Eddie laughs heartily, head tossed back before yelling in Steve’s ear, “Wait for it.”

Not a second later, the guitar gets heavier, the singer rolls her shoulders back, and then screams into the microphone in the deepest, grungiest tone he’s ever heard a person make — let alone a woman — and Steve feels like he gets whiplash from it. He can’t understand a word she says, but holy fuck , is it impressive. The obligatory mosh pit has opened up in front of the stage and he can feel Eddie jumping along beside him like he wants to join it, and then all at once it stops, returning to the calmer, melodic playing and clean vocals she started with.

“Holy shit!” Steve yells, feeling infected with the energy. The mosh pit circles slowly like bees in a hive during the clean parts before slamming into each other again when the heavy chorus starts again. It’s hypnotic, and for the first time, Steve really gets why people are so into all of this. 

Eddie basically vibrates next to him, and even Steve can’t help hand-banging when the bridge starts and the singer transitions between clean singing and screaming every few lines like it’s nothing. She finishes the song strong and Steve is left reeling as the crowd goes wild.

“What the fuck!” he shouts, shaking Eddie’s shoulders. His face hurts from smiling and it’s only been one song. 

“Right?!” Eddie shouts back, holding onto Steve’s waist as he’s jostled by the man and the crowd around them.

The smiles don’t leave either of their faces except when the guitar riffs are particularly heavy, but even then it’s only because Steve picks up the metal frown that everyone around him — Eddie especially — adopts when it happens. Steve watches Eddie’s nose scrunch, his lips pulling down while he plays air guitar through some of the songs, and if Steve didn’t already love him, this would have done it. The pure joy and excitement the other man is exuding is enough for Steve to know he made the right choice begging to come and witness it. 

Before he knows it, the show is ending, and Steve actually swallows back a boooo when the band says good night for the last time. He lets Eddie drag him outside, still vibrating with adrenaline from the show, ears ringing for the foreseeable future.

“Eddie, oh my god!” Steve crows, grabbing the man’s hands and spinning them in a circle on the sidewalk, much to the amusement and annoyance of others. Steve ignores them all, more focused on the sparkling eyes and wide grin of the man before him. “That was insane! I had no idea it could be like that!”

Eddie lets Steve spin them for a few moments before using the momentum to haul the younger man against him, wrapping an arm around Steve’s waist, somewhere it always belongs, in Steve’s opinion. They stand on the sidewalk, still in everybody’s way, gently swaying like a dance all their own.

“Yeah, sweetheart? You have fun then?” the metalhead asks, and Steve can tell it’s rhetorical, but he responds anyway, too giddy himself.

“Fuck yeah!” Steve wraps his free arm over Eddie’s shoulders, his other hand still clutched in a ringed hold, and god, the way Eddie looks under the street lights, face still flush from the show, hair wild, Steve wants to kiss him so badly. It would be so easy, too, just close the scant amount of distance and finally do the damn thing.

And Eddie looks so inviting, staring at him with his wide chocolate eyes and that smile that people in ancient worlds would start wars over, and Steve feels himself pulled further into the gravitational pull.

“Stevie?” Eddie whispers, his smile only faltering for a second, which Steve notices acutely since his gaze dropped to Eddie’s lips and have yet to raise again.

“Yeah?”

“I—”

“Move please!” someone says, shoving both men out of the center of the sidewalk unceremoniously.

“My bad!” Steve automatically apologies as Eddie slips from his grasp — literally and metaphorically. When Steve looks back at his friend, the man is still flushed, but his gaze is averted, hands shoved into his pockets.

“Let’s head home,” Eddie prompts before talking off down the walkway. Steve curses under his breath, following quickly behind.

Dammit!

One - Spiritbox

Steve would love to say that they went home and crawled into bed together. That he slammed Eddie against the first surface he could find and finally kissed him — and more. But that’s just wishful thinking.

Instead, as soon as the front door was locked, Eddie had thanked Steve for indulging him, gave him an awkward wave, and slipped away to bed.

Steve had sat on the couch in the near darkness save a lone table lamp, petting over Penelope’s back absently, and willed his racing heart to finally calm.

They almost kissed! Or, well, he thinks that was what was going to happen. 

The entire thing plays on rewind pretty much 24/7 for the next week and a half, and he examines and re-examines the moments around it, both in his own head and a few times with Robin, who is happy to talk him through it the first three times and then starts threatening him with creative bodily harm whenever he says, “But what if—”

Eddie seems to keep his distance. He’s not quite avoiding Steve like before, but aside from more lingering looks and playful smiles, gentle brushes of fingers against any exposed skin and (in Eddie’s case) an increase in pet-name use, the older man doesn’t make any more of a move than Steve does. Which… whatever. It’s still progress, right?

“Oh, Steeeeviiiieee,” Eddie sing-songs, entering Steve’s room with a flourish on Sunday night.

“Oh, Eddieeee,” Steve sings back, tearing his gaze away from his laptop a second before the metalhead is launching himself onto Steve’s bed. The younger man barely has time to move his legs and computer out of the way, before Eddie lands half on his lap, his head knocking hard against Steve’s sternum and knocking the wind out of him. “Jesus Christ,” he wheezes, while Eddie groans and rolls onto his back, rubbing his forehead.

“Shit, my bad, dude,” Eddie grumbles, splaying out like a starfish, crushing Steve’s leg beneath him. “Just wanted to make sure your schedule is clear Tuesday night.”

Steve huffs, mostly to gain his breathing back but also — “Why are these shows always during the week? Some of us are too old to be out so late on a school night.”

Eddie snorts, dropping his hand to smirk up at Steve. “You’re 24, sweetheart, not 80. Live a little.”

Steve rolls his eyes and uses his free leg to kick Eddie in the ribs until he rolls off of him. The other man uses the momentum to roll off of the bed completely, landing on his hands and knees before springing up to his feet.

“So?”

“So what?” Steve asks, setting back in and returning his computer to his lap.

“You, me, Tuesday night,” Eddie chimes, pointing at Steve and poking the air with each word.

Steve chuckles and shakes his head fondly. “Yeah, alright, it’s a date.”

Eddie jumps then, hands fisted above his head like Rocky Balboa. “Hell yeah it is!” he exclaims before flitting off once more.

It’s not until Steve’s laughter tapers off that the reality of what he said sinks in.

“Oh, shit.”

----------------------

Maybe this is their new normal. Maybe it’s just show after show where Eddie introduces him to new music and Steve gets to pretend for a night that the arm around his waist is because Eddie is claiming him as his instead of just trying not to lose him in a crowd. Maybe when Steve called it a date two days ago and Eddie agreed it was just part of whatever thing they’re doing now. Maybe the dancing they’ve been doing around each other has shifted from a waltz to a tango and Steve realizes he really fucking sucks at dancing, but he’d rather stumble his way through than step away altogether.

Whatever the case, the Tuesday show is somehow bigger than the last yet still at a venue that probably isn’t meant to accommodate a crowd this size. He hangs on Eddie as much as Eddie hangs on him, chatting with a few people here and there, but always attached at the hip.

The opening band, Loathe, is really good, but the headliner, Spiritbox, is apparently the ones they’re here to see.

“Hey, I’ve heard of them!” Steve tells Eddie when the metalhead announces what band they’re there to see.

Eddie gives him a curious look, head tilted slightly like a puppy. Steve wants to squeeze him until he pops.

“You have?”

“Yeah!” Steve nods. “They came up on my Spotify when I was listening to Jinjer.”

The grin Eddie gives him lights Steve’s entire body on fire. When he leans in, his breath hot against the shell of Steve’s ear, and says, “I think I might have made a metalhead out of you, sweetheart,” Steve is pretty sure he’s about to combust.

He wouldn’t take it that far. The bands Eddie’s shown him have been objectively really good, and some of the ones he’s found when the Spotify mixes introduce new things aren’t half bad either, but it’s not really about the music at this point. In truth, it hasn’t really been about the music, specifically, at all. 

He’s loved doing this with Eddie, loved watching the way the older man gets so excited about things and wants Steve to be there with him when it happens. He’s always been a bit of a sucker for the person he likes, willing to go along with whatever as long as the other person is happy, so it does help that he’s actually having fun at these shows, but mostly he’s just enjoying it because Eddie’s happy he’s there. So, if Eddie feels some sense of accomplishment and pride, Steve isn’t going to correct him.

“I think you might be right,” he agrees, enjoying the lines around his eyes when his smile widens further and when his grip around Steve’s waist tightens, hauling him closer to his body.

The dimple on Eddie’s cheek is like a target, and Steve contemplates swooping in to press a kiss right into the divot. He wonders how Eddie would react, but before he can test it, the lights go out and the headliner takes the stage.

Steve knew Spiritbox was fronted by a woman, but he had no idea she’d look like that. It’s not that she’s dressed particularly scandalously, but the leather mini skirt, black tights and heavy boots are a bit of a surprise. Clearly she’s not going to sacrifice an ounce of femininity despite the guttural screaming she lets out in the chorus of the first song. He’s mesmerized, beyond impressed already as she works the crowd, and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t blink once through several songs.

In a brief lull between songs, Eddie squeezes Steve’s hip and mutters in his ear, “That doing it for you, big boy?”

Steve hums in question, blinking a few times to regain moisture in his eyes.

Eddie gives him a sly grin, tilting his face down slightly to look up at Steve through his lashes before leaning back in to ask, “Would you look at me like that if I wore a skirt?”

Immediately, images of Eddie in a leather skirt and his Docs flash through Steve’s mind at the speed of the flickering stage lights, and he feels his heart rate kick into overdrive. His mouth drops open on a pleading noise that’s thankfully drowned out by the music and crowd, and Eddie’s eyes dance with mirth as he reaches up, pressing Steve’s mouth closed and patting him on the cheek.

“Good to know,” Eddie yells, and averts his gaze back to the stage. Meanwhile, Steve is stunned and mortified by the speed at which his pants tighten, and he barely thinks about the other people around him as he reaches down to readjust himself.

His attention is drawn back when the ruckus of the crowd intensifies, and another figure crosses the stage as the second verse of the current song begins. Steve has to blink a few times, thinking briefly that he must be getting things mixed up, but the longer he stares, the more he realizes his vision is correct.

“Is that —” he starts, yelling into Eddie’s ear who is bouncing wildly beside him.

“FUCK YES! Oh my god!” Eddie screams, either in confirmation or in excitement that Tatiana from the last band they saw is currently screaming the chorus of the song with the lead singer. It’s insane watching them both, being part of this experience, and Steve once again is so grateful that Eddie yanked him out of his comfort zone for this. 

The rest of the show is just as incredible, even after Tatiana leaves, and Steve already knows he’s going to be adding Spiritbox to his forever playlist.

As they spill out onto the street with the rest of the crowd, both men are still high off of the show’s adrenaline, bumping into each other and laughing, generally rough-housing in a way that sets Steve’s soul on fire. This is what he wants, always, this easy and exciting feeling he gets anytime they do something cool. Of course, he lives for the quiet moments they have at home, but this version of Eddie — the one that’s so energized and enthusiastic, dancing in the street and pulling Steve in like a meteorite about to crash and start a whole new world, just the two of them — this is what he loves best. 

When Eddie swings Steve around again, hauling him back against him, resulting in them stumbling back against a brick wall, Steve finally feels like he’s had enough of waiting, of biding his time for nothing more than because he was scared to get hurt. But Eddie’s laughter and the tears prickling in his eyes from how hard he’s been laughing have Steve hypnotized, and before he can think twice, Steve has a hand on the back of Eddie’s head and his lips on the other man’s mouth.

Eddie makes a squeak in surprise, but appears to get with the program quickly, because suddenly his arms are wrapped around Steve’s back, his hands digging into his shoulders to pull Steve closer. The kiss is harsh, but chaste, both seeming to savor the contact as it is for several moments.

When Steve finally pulls back, taking in the brand new flush on Eddie’s cheeks and the slow-growing smile, he leans in to kiss him again, still simple, but softer.

“Took you long enough,” Eddie breathes when they part again, and Steve couldn’t agree more.

One - Corroded Coffin

Steve finds the digital flyer for a show at the first venue Eddie took him to while he’s scrolling on Facebook. 

SHIP OF THESEUS
ft.
Corroded Coffin & The Calming Effect
Live at the Hideout

The writing on the flyer is hard to decipher unless he squints, but it still seems like something Eddie would be into. Especially because Eddie’s profile appears on the “likes” for the post.

It’s only been three days since the Spiritbox show, and Steve has settled into his new favorite reality: getting to kiss his roommate boyfriend whenever he wants. 

Or, well, he assumes Eddie is his boyfriend, they do kiss an awful lot. There isn’t a lot of anything else, but Steve’s just ecstatic that he gets to do that. He waited months already, he can wait a bit longer for more.

Without much thought, Steve buys two tickets to the show, equal parts nervous and excited to surprise Eddie with them.

On Friday night, Steve waits up much longer than he normally would, knowing Eddie won’t be back until well after he’s normally in bed thanks to his Hellfire stuff, but Steve didn’t want to just text him about this. He’s trying to be better about facing his anxieties head on, wants to tell Eddie in person how much of an impact he’s made on Steve by presenting him with the (albeit, digital) tickets so he can see his beautiful face.

Princess Fluffington immediately jumps off the couch when a distant car beeps, telling Steve that Eddie is finally home, which wipes his exhaustion from him faster than any caffeine drink could. He forces himself to remain laying on the couch, though his body is now stiff with anticipation.

“Oh, Steeeeviiiieee!”

Steve’s metaphorical tail starts wagging once more, and he barely gets out a “Oh Ed—” before the man himself is rolling over the back of the couch and landing on Steve in a tangle of limbs and wild hair. Steve wheezes while Eddie peppers his face with kisses, and Steve’s pretty sure he could die like this and be eternally happy.

“Hi, baby,” Steve giggles breathlessly, and Eddie — already stripped down to his undershirt and boxers again — only stops his onslaught to beam down at him.

“How was your day, pretty boy?”

Steve feels himself melt further under Eddie’s weight, basically goo as he stares up at the man above him. “Good. Better now.”

Eddie hums, leaning down to kiss Steve again, distracting him momentarily from the plan he’d put in place. 

Only momentarily, though.

“Mm, wait,” Steve mutters, words muffled against Eddie’s lips. He smells like motor oil and sweat and the last vestiges of the body spray he used that morning, and Steve wants to drown in it, but he’s on a mission.

It appears Eddie is too, given the way he makes a questioning sound against Steve’s skin as he drags his mouth across the younger man’s cheek and down his throat.

God damn, Steve thinks, wanting nothing more than to sink into the pleasure.

“I—” he mutters, clearing his throat and nearly choking when Eddie starts nibbling on the skin below his ear. “I h-have something for you.”

Eddie pops off of where he was sucking a mark into his skin, eyes wide and brows hidden beneath his fringe. “Oh? Something? For moi?”

“Mhmm. Tickets,” Steve responds, reduced to singular words as he tries to restart his brain. “Phone. There.”

Eddie snickers, sitting back on Steve’s lap — which absolutely isn’t helping his mind focus — and reaches for Steve’s phone.

“Oh,” Eddie quips as he scrolls the email confirmation, eyes darting back and forth over the text. “Tickets.”

Something in Eddie’s tone is hesitant, withdrawn, and that knocks Steve back to present. 

“Yeah, I mean,” he starts, sitting up on his elbows so as not to dislodge Eddie from his lap entirely. “I saw you liked this on Facebook and I wanted to surprise you.” 

Eddie remains silent, still staring at Steve’s phone, his face doing that thing it does when he’s trying to work through a particular campaign plot hole.

“Is that… is that wrong—”

“No!” Eddie interrupts, finally looking back at Steve. “No, this is… babe, this is amazing.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes! Um…” Eddie pauses, looking back at the email confirmation before nodding again. “Yeah, yes, absolutely. This Saturday.”

Steve watches Eddie’s face go through some complicated acrobatics, but he’s so confused he just nodes in return. “Yep, this Saturday. I know you normally have plans but—”

“Nope! No plans. Just you and me, big boy.”

A smile breaks across Steve’s face, too obvious in his pride that he did the right thing. Eddie giggles and smiles in return, tossing Steve’s phone aside to kiss him again, nibbling lightly on Steve’s bottom lip.

“Can’t wait to see what you think,” Eddie mutters against Steve’s lips.

Steve can’t wait either.

----------------------

Okay, thinking might be a bit of a difficult task.

“What d’ya think?” he hears, but the words are muffled like they’re underwater. “Babe?”

“Huh?” Steve asks dumbly, dragging his eyes up to Eddie’s face.

The… hot, hot man is wearing a god damn skirt. A leather skirt. Not unlike Courtney LaPlante was wearing, but this is Eddie and Eddie is Steve’s boyfriend whom he gets to touch. And why did Steve think going out tonight was a good idea?

“Oh! Yeah, yeah absolutely,” Steve mutters, his brain working six steps behind the rest of his body. “Yeah, you look…. Fuck.”

Eddie snickers, stepping closer and bending down to kiss Steve quickly. “Later, big boy. We have a show to get to first.”

“But—” he tries, but Eddie’s already shaking his head and shrugging on his leather jacket.

“Nuh uh, Stevie. You wanted to go to this, so you get to suffer for a little before the real show.”

Eddie punctuates the invitation with a wink and Steve is scrambling to follow without question.

The drive to the Hideout is torture in itself, but showing up with Eddie under his arm is better than any championship he’s ever played or class he’s ever passed. Eddie, in all his leather and chains and dark eyeliner, wrapped around Steve who’s wearing his only pair of dark-wash jeans and a borrowed band t-shirt, looking like two opposites while they greet the security checking tickets and wave at a few people they recognize…

Yeah, Steve won the goddamn lottery here.

There’s once again a few people Steve recognizes, and Steve feels like the cat that got the canary when people keep complimenting Eddie’s wardrobe choice. Suck it, losers, he’s with me.

The first band is… loud. Not really in Steve’s wheelhouse, but he’s not complaining. He does notice that Eddie starts to get antsy through it, though, but when Steve asks him if he’s okay, Eddie just nods, presses a kiss to his cheek, and holds Steve tighter against him.

As soon as the band ends, Eddie turns to Steve and kisses him quickly. “Why don’t you go grab another drink, sweetheart? I have to go tend to something, but I’ll be right back.” 

Confused, Steve nods. “Okay. Do you want one?”

Eddie gives him a smile and shakes his head. “I’m good, babe. Just… try to find a spot closer to the stage, yeah? I’ll find you as soon as I can.”

Steve tries not to pout as he agrees, accepting a deeply scorching kiss, and watching the way Eddie’s leather skirt flutters as he practically jogs away.

Steve meanders to the bar, ordering a beer and — oh, thank god — a pair of orange ear plugs. He doesn’t mind standing closer to the stage, but he knows he’s going to need them. 

After five minutes, Eddie still hasn’t returned, so Steve uses the bathroom, then locates a couple of people he recognizes who are already pretty close to the stage and chats with them. Ten more minutes pass that way, while Steve keeps half an eye out for his missing boyfriend. The stage crew for the Hideout switch band equipment from the first opener to the second, testing instruments and making sure everything is hooked up correctly, and still Eddie hasn’t returned. He pulls his phone out, ready to text his boyfriend when a text pops up from Eddie instead.

Eds ♥️: 5 min baby

Steve’s brow furrows, but he waits, feeling the crowd start to close in because it’s clear the next opener is getting ready to start. At this point, Eddie’s going to miss it, and Steve might be comfortable to a certain extent, but it’s date night and Eddie’s just kind of abandoned him here without explanation. He doesn’t even know where he’d begin to search for him. 

When the bar’s lights change and the crowd erupts, signaling the next band, Steve can feel his irritation starting. He knows Eddie wouldn’t just ditch him — or he’s pretty sure, at least — so he’s mostly irritated in exchange for being worried.

The band members for Corroded Coffin start taking the stage, picking up guitars and one curly haired guy in a familiar looking shirt taking his place behind the drum kit, but Steve’s eyes are drawn immediately to the guitar player on the far left.

“What the—” he starts to himself, using his thumb and forefinger of his non-beer-holding hand to rub at his eyes, but nope, he’s not hallucinating. Up on the stage with a black and red spikey looking guitar slung across his body, is Steve’s sex-on-legs boyfriend, already looking back at him.

Eddie lifts a hand and twiddles his fingers, and it takes Steve’s molasses brain several seconds to realize he’s shed his leather jacket, standing up on this stage in just the skirt and band t-shirt he’d ripped the sleeves off of so most of his ribs are also exposed. He looks ethereal under the stage lights, the small nervous (?) smile he has on his face doing nothing to distract from how he holds himself tall and confident with his guitar in hand.

Steve knows he’s gawking, can feel his mouth go dry from being stuck open in shock, his eyes starting to burn from not blinking while the lead singer introduces the band and leads the crowd in an applause for the band that went before them. The guy is still talking to an overzealous crowd when Eddie winks and blows a kiss in Steve’s direction, and Steve, helpless against the gravitational pull, immediately tries pushing his way closer.

“This one’s called Hold Me Down,” the lead announces, and the drummer counts them in before the first guitar riff screeches through the speakers.

Steve is stuck, literally and figuratively, in a sea of people while Eddie stands on stage like a god, shredding through chords and drawing everyone into a frenzy. The song itself is heavy, and the lead singer’s voice is deep and resonant, but Steve can’t take his eyes off of the man of his dreams as he plays. 

When did Eddie even have time to do this? Is Steve really that blind to his roommate-turned-boyfriend’s whereabouts that he missed the fact that this guy’s a literal rockstar? God , Eddie must have thought he was an idiot for buying tickets to a show he was playing.

Except, he didn’t treat Steve like an idiot, did he? He’d seemed hesitant and then excited.

“Can’t wait to see what you think,” had been his exact words. He’d known, obviously, but the way he’d kissed Steve had been genuine.

Well, Steve can barely think, if he’s honest, not with the way the skirt Eddie put on sways around his thighs while he flawlessly (Steve’s pretty sure) plays through power chords and struts the stage. He’s barely thinking when Eddie leans down to accept someone wanting to put Mardi Gras beads around his neck from the front row of the crowd. He’s definitely not thinking when the song ends and another begins, led by Eddie’s playing, and Steve is pushing his way to the front by force. He has one brain cell vibrating at max speed along with his heart rate and both are screaming for Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

He takes a brief moment to tear his eyes away — mostly against his will — to glance at the other band members. From the much closer vantage point, he realizes the shirt the drummer has on is a Hellfire shirt, the same one Steve’s seen in their combined laundry countless times.

Pieces start to fall into place, and Steve can’t even be upset that Eddie hid this from him because holy shit is the surprise fucking worth it.

The man himself is once more so close to Steve he could touch him, just yank him down from the stage and smother him, but by the grace of god or whatever, Steve refrains. It’s a tough battle, though.

Honestly, he’s not sure how much of the actual music he takes in. He’s pretty sure they’re good, but he might just be incredibly biased. His throat starts to hurt from all the screaming, arms waving wildly like he’s trying to get Eddie’s attention even though it’s regularly drawn back to him throughout the set. 

When it finally ends, Eddie throws out air kisses to the crowd like confetti, blowing one directly at Steve before he takes his leave with the other members, and Steve feels borderline feral with the need to get his hands on Eddie now.

For several minutes, Steve paces, chucking his warm, half-drank beer in the nearest overflowing trash can and shaking himself out of a million scenarios where he pins Eddie to the stage itself and ravages him. No, he has to wait. 

“You get to suffer for a little before the real show.”

Well Steve is certainly suffering. He needs Eddie carnally.

Suddenly, a strong arm wraps around his waist and there’s a warm breath against his neck. “How was the show, sweetheart?”

Steve feels his entire body heat up further at the contact, acutely aware of the pressure in his pants after watching that errotic display, and he’s turning Eddie’s hold and hauling the man’s mouth against his with a hand behind his sweaty head before he can get a word out. Eddie makes a startled sound and then hums, wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist as the younger man licks into his mouth without preamble.

“Fuck,” Steve mutters, each word smooshed between their lips, “You’re. So. Fucking. Hot.”

There’s another satisfied hum against Steve’s mouth and it’s like Steve can’t keep his hands at bay anymore. He keeps on hand tangled in Eddie’s hair, but the other free-roams, sliding into the opening against Eddie’s ribs to pull at his back, reaching down to grip his thigh and slide up under that goddamn skirt —

“Stevie, wait—” Eddie starts, attempting to pull away despite Steve’s iron grip. “Gotta— shit — gotta help load the equipment—”

“I’ll help,” Steve murmurs, still not releasing the other man. “I’ll help, and then we’re going home and I’m sucking you off in this fucking skirt.”

“Jesus H. Christ, deal.”

This isn’t exactly how he imagined meeting Eddie’s friends, horny beyond reason and trying to rush without breaking anything, but the Hellfire/Corroded Coffin guys simply snicker and shoo the couple away as soon as the tiny UHaul toy box is packed, and Steve drives like a bat out of hell to get them home. He worries about crashing when Eddie slumps in his seat and lets his legs fall open, the bottom of his skirt sliding dangerously high, but somehow he manages to get them there without incident.

He practically drags Eddie into the apartment, not even sure if he locked the car after half-carrying the other man — cackling and kissing all over Steve’s face — into the building and through their front door. The door is pressed shut by Steve pinning Eddie against it, mouth ravenous and hands grasping and groping everywhere he can reach.

“You’re so fucking talented and I can’t believe I’ve never seen this before,” Steve mutters, pressing open mouthed kisses to Eddie’s throat and stretching out the neckline of this shirt to get to his shoulders.

“I wasn’t sure you’d like it,” Eddie admits, clutching onto Steve’s back to pull him closer.

“Like? Fuck, baby, I love it. I loved seeing you up there.” Steve yanks on Eddie’s shirt until the metalhead wriggles free of it, then presses his lips and tongue against every inch of his chest and stomach he can reach as he drops to his knees.

“I said I’d make a metalhead out of you,” Eddie quips, but the last words are breathy as Steve forces Eddie’s legs apart, licking and biting at his thighs just below the skirt’s hemline. 

“It wasn’t about the music,” Steve groans, sucking a dark bruise just above Eddie’s knee. “It was you. All you. You’re my favorite song, my favorite everything.”

“Steve—” Eddie gasps, but it cuts off when the younger man flips the skirt up, revealing — fucking hell — Steve’s goddamn briefs, a wet patch clearly visible where Eddie’s hard cock is soaking the fabric.

Steve mouths at the tent in front of him, sucking the taste of Eddie through the material and moaning appreciatively. Eddie fists his hands in the shoulders of Steve’s shirt, his hips rocking like he can fuck Steve’s mouth through the cotton. 

“Steve, please,” Eddie begs, his head dropping back against the door with a dull thud before lifting once more to look down.

Eddie’s desperation is palpable, or maybe Steve is just too desperate himself, because in one hand he holds Eddie’s skirt up and with the other he works the waistband of his underwear down, and the fabric hasn’t even hit the floor before Steve has Eddie’s cock in his mouth.

“Fuck!” the metalhead cries, hips jolting and shoving himself deeper. Steve chokes for a second before gaining his bearing and breathing through his nose, taking Eddie deeper until he’s pressed against the slightly wild patch of hair at the base. He only holds himself there for a moment before pulling back with a gasp, while Eddie shudders and moans above him. “God, Stevie, your mouth—”

Steve hums in agreement, feeling full and blissful, falling into a rhythm that’s easier than breathing. The hand holding the skirt out of the way serves the extra purpose of holding Eddie in place, while Steve brings his other hand up to work the bottom of Eddie’s shaft what he can’t quite fit in his mouth without effort, and as much as he wants to choke on it, be held down and used, that seems like something they should talk about first. 

“Steve, baby — shit — ‘m not gonna last long—”

The man on his knees pulls off with a pop, tugging on the full length of Eddie’s cock while he turns glassy eyes up to him. “Good. Cum for me.”

He keeps his eyes on Eddie’s face as he holds the head of Eddie’s cock against this tongue, licking over the slit and the sensitive gland underneath, jacking him off with long, firm strokes. A wrecked sound leaves Eddie’s chest and Steve quickly closes his lips around the head just in time to catch the moment of release. Eddie shakes and swears, releasing one hand on Steve’s shoulder to bury his fingers in Steve’s hair, holding him in place as he pumps his load down the man’s throat.

Steve works him down until Eddie is whining and tugging on Steve’s hair, and only then does he release him.

“Get up here,” Eddie groans, attempting to pull Steve up off his knees, but he’s weak in his post-orgasm state and Steve has to do most of the work. Not that he’s complaining, and certainly not when Eddie fumbles Steve’s pants open enough to shove them and his underwear down, his painfully neglected cock springing free.

“Fuuuck,” Steve moans, half in relief and half in desperation.

“Come on, baby, how do you want me?” Eddie asks, bringing Steve against him once more. 

Steve’s lips crash back to Eddie’s, licking into his mouth where Eddie can no doubt taste himself there, and his cock slides up against the crease where Eddie’s hip meets his thigh. 

“Perfect,” Steve mutters nonsensically, reaching down to hoist Eddie’s leg over his hip, creating a tight space for him to rut against. He releases his hold on the skirt in favor of pressing his hand against the door to hold himself up, giving him the leverage to grind against Eddie in sharp, frantic movements.

Eddie chants Steve’s name and rolls his hips to meet Steve’s thrust, crying out when the younger man kisses down his throat and bites down against his pulse. The sound, combined with the slick glide thanks to how much precum he’s leaking against Eddie’s hip, and the fact he’s been on edge since Eddie put the goddamn skirt on and strutted around a stage, has his own orgasm barreling toward him at full speed. It only takes another handful of thrusts before his balls draw up and he cums across Eddie’s hip, likely covering the fabric draped over their laps.

“Fuck, yes!” Steve cries, his mouth pressed tightly against Eddie’s throat as he rides the waves of his release. Eddie keeps his arms tight around him, a saving grace because Steve’s knees are as weak as his brain capacity at the moment.

It’s only when he starts to come back down that he hears a silent whispering of “love you, love you, love you.” 

“I love you too, sweetheart,” Eddie replies, and oh— it was Steve muttering the confession against Eddie’s sweaty neck. Hearing Eddie say it back relaxes the rest of Steve’s body, and he slumps heavily against the metalhead as Eddie runs his fingers through Steve’s hair, the other hand rubbing up and down his spine.

They’re quiet for several moments, basking in the afterglow, and Eddie presses soft kisses against Steve’s temple.

“So…” Eddie says, barely above a whisper. “Safe to say the skirt was a success.”

Steve snorts, pressing a kiss against the blooming bruise on Eddie’s throat before pulling back to look at his face. “Yeah, you could say that. Or we can blame the fact that my boyfriend is the hottest musician I’ve ever seen.”

Eddie’s face, already flushed from their activities, reddens further. “I really didn’t know if you were going to like it. The music, I mean.”

Steve hums and kisses Eddie’s lips softly. “I would have loved it just because it’s you, but I can’t say I don’t appreciate this weird test run you did the last few months.”

“You got me, sweetheart,” Eddie chuckles. “It was all an elaborate scheme to get in your pants.”

“I knew it,” Steve replies with mock sincerity, kissing him again.

Eddie lets it happen for a moment before wiggling his hips, reminding Steve that he still has a grip on his leg.

“Shit, sorry,” Steve says, finally letting go.

“‘S okay. The door’s a little hard on my back. Maybe next time we can try a bed.”

“If you give me 30 minutes, I can make that happen.”

Eddie laughs boisterously and gently pushes Steve away.

“Come on, big boy. I need a shower.”

Steve only feels a little bad for how his cum must be drying uncomfortably on Eddie’s skin, and helps the other man undress the rest of the way before following him to the bathroom.

“Oh, we have another show in three weeks,” Eddie tells him as Steve shucks his own clothes.

“Wouldn’t miss it, babe.”