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Coldwind Farm. Plenty of dead zones, but plenty of looping spots if you were lucky. Blood. Death. Corn.
The trial had barely started before the distant revving of a chainsaw rang out, immediately filling Steve with the emotion known as pure, complete annoyance. Please at least let it be Hillbilly and not–
The small hope he had was crushed by the distinct sound of the killer losing his absolute shit while throwing a tantrum. Because yeah, of course this was the warm-up match he needed. The one killer that always seemed to look at him with that stupid face and nod while he hung from a hook when he barely did anything to piss him off.
“Man, I hate going against this asshole,” he said when Quentin joined him at the generator.
“You just don’t like him ‘cause you suck at making him run into stuff. And you somehow always end up in a dead zone.”
“His power is bullshit! I mean, come on, one tiny little mistake and next thing you know he’s hitting you on a hook in the basement.”
Quentin took a moment to respond. “Your sacrifice is appreciated when we all escape while you watch him pitch a tent by your hook.”
“Oh shut up—”
“--Like, you always act so surprised when they nod at you and shit when you insist on flashlight blinding every time you stun them–”
“--It’s tactical-–”
“--And then you wait for it to wear off before pointing at them, and then throw a flashbang.”
Steve thought about it.
Okay, true, that probably had something to do with it.
“Don’t act like you don’t laugh when you see me doing it,” he retorted.
“Oh, it’s funny as hell, but it’s also funny when they hit you on hook for it.”
When he heard the slight laugh in Quentin’s voice, Steve didn’t need to see him to picture his face clear as day; his half-smile, bright eyes, dark circles that yell I have an awful sleep schedule and rely far too much on coffee and Red Bull. Probably wearing that beanie that’s practically glued to his head.
Steve had tried to get him on a proper sleep schedule once. Getting him to go to sleep at a normal hour and wake up before noon had been like trying to pick up marbles covered in baby oil, not to mention the poor results of dragging him along for exercise. He’d let Quentin think he’d given up for now, but–
C’mon, Harrington, focus up. Blowing up a generator while distracted would be a pain in the ass and would get him poked fun at.
The generator was chugging along, the loud noise of pistons whirring covering up any environmental indicators of what was going on. It always freaked him out; for all Steve’s talent in keeping a killer’s attention, he always got caught off guard by the initial attempted attack. He wouldn’t have even noticed that the Cannibal had given up on their other teammate had Quentin not said, “It’s so close, fuck it, let’s commit. We’ll split in opposite directions as soon as it’s done.”
Sweat beaded on the back of Steve’s neck as the terror radius grew louder. Somewhere further out, a different generator completed with a loud indicator ringing out. Their own generator finally came to life, the light above blaring like a God-sent signal of momentary victory.
Steve would’ve sighed in relief, but here they both were with two generators finished, probably a third with a good amount of progress, no hooks, and a killer right up on their ass. A killer who was probably, at the very least, incredibly annoyed. That did not tend to bode well for him in the getting my ass camped to death category.
The Cannibal’s chainsaw was already revved up and the two ran in opposite directions. Steve barely managed to get him to run into the generator, triggering a tantrum while Quentin disappeared into the corn. See? He wasn’t that bad at making him run into things.
“Go find another gen, I got him,” Steve called out, already heading towards the nearby shack and clicking his flashlight in an attempt at aggravation.
“Of course you do.”
The shack was a pretty generic looping spot; same exact shit regardless of the map. Going in, vaulting a window, trying to keep track of the killer’s position where you can, looping around and around and around until the window eventually got blocked, flashlight blinding at every opportunity. Like hell he was going to spare the single shack pallet. He never really understood why some people got so pissed about it being thrown early, anyway.
Oh, and the basement was here, cool.
Another generator went off right as he was downed. As soon as he was picked up, he saw the red wiggle meter that indicated the killer was using the perk Agitation, and he could already guess the rest of this guy’s build.
“Oh my God,” Steve said, turning down his game audio before his character could scream. This shit was exactly what he was talking about.
“What?” Quentin asked in a way that said he absolutely knew what had happened.
“Fucking basement with Insidious and everything. Just go finish the gens.”
He heard a hum from over his computer speaker. “How many blinds did you get in?”
Steve thought back for a second. “Like, at least four or five.”
“Sounds about right.”
Steve sighed and leaned back on his computer chair. Truth be told, he didn’t give a damn whether he got camped, targeted, or left on the ground to bleed out every match if it meant he got to talk to Quentin. It’s called getting tunneled or slugged, he would’ve corrected him. Shit, he didn’t even really like video games, he didn’t need to be called a “normie” a dozen times by Dustin and the other kids to know he was very out of the loop when it came to things like this.
Once upon a time Dustin had complained, “How come I can tell you about Majora's Mask, like, four different times and you remember none of it, but this guy asks you to game once and suddenly you’ve got a shit ton of hours?!”
The kid had not been very happy when he’d responded with some bullshit reasoning like, “I dunno, maybe Zelda’s just a boring player character.”
Steve rubbed his face with his hands and closed his eyes, listening to Quentin narrate what was going on and talk about this and that. It was nice to just hear him talk. If he’d said “hey, do you want to play ‘grass growing simulator’ after this? It’s $50 and is exactly what it sounds like” he knew he would’ve said yes without a second thought.
Christ, he felt like a middle schooler on his first crush all over again.
“You there, Steve? Sorry if I was rambling.”
He snapped out of his thoughts and blinked before sitting upright again. “It’s all good, I like hearing you talk. The Megan is really just nodding instead of helping with the generator?”
“Yeah,” Quentin said, evidently unimpressed with the speed at which Alive by Sundown user Meganhead could move her character’s head up and down. “But she’s got Prove Yourself, so it’s still going faster than if she was just running around spam vaulting a mile away.”
Steve reached for his phone, quickly typing in ‘prove yourself AbS perk’. A quick glance reminded him it came with the base game and sped up generator repair.
“Can’t believe I’m over here hanging around like dead meat and she’s going for the world record for fastest nodding speed.”
Quentin laughed, and he couldn’t help the smile twitching on his face. Every damn time, it would make his heart pick up speed a little, always counting it as another win.
His phone began buzzing in his hand, the sound of the Star Wars opening theme playing from it. The telltale ringtone of one Dustin Henderson. If anyone asked, it was not true that the kid was the only one of “the Party” that he’d let set a custom ringtone. Totally not true.
“Shit, one sec, I’m getting a call. I’ll try not to die once this gets to stage two.”
“One of your kids?”
“Aaand I’m muting.”
‘His kids’, jeez. It wasn’t like he’d asked to be made the de-facto babysitter to a gang of young teenagers. Everyone was always saying shit like that.
Steve looked down at the screen and swiped to answer, his other hand fumbling for the mute button on Discord as he put the call on speaker. He looked back up and made sure to hit the space button every now and then so his character didn’t immediately die.
“What is it? I’m kind of in the middle of something important.”
Dustin scoffed. “I can literally see your Discord status, you’re playing Alive by Sundown with that guy again, aren’t you?”
“Nope. Must be a weird glitch.”
“I have the fucking game open and can see you’re in the same lobby!”
Steve drummed his fingers on the desk. His character made a short, ear-piercing scream before finally dying, the Cannibal smacking his corpse as it disappeared.
“Definitely a weird glitch on both Discord and in the game! Anyway, just tell me why you called.”
“You said, like, last week that you were gonna tell him how you felt and yet here you are. Bitchless. Single. Stop being scared.”
“First off, not scared. Second off, stop sticking your nose into my love life.”
“You know who’s not single? Pretty much every one of us that you keep calling nerds. I am dating someone and you aren’t. That’s messed up!”
“I know, I know!” Steve threw his hands in the air for nobody to see. “I’ll figure it out when I figure it out. Go piss off and play Fortnite or something, dingus.”
“Steve-”
He hit the hang up button.
Damn. There weren’t many people who knew about Steve’s… feelings for Quentin, but sometimes he regretted making Dustin one of them. He’d been supportive, sure, but lately he’d taken to repeatedly pestering him to make more moves than the ones he’d already made. What an expert on love, that fourteen-year-old with a girlfriend in another state.
Looking back at the game, he saw the match had already ended with the other three escaping. Yep, he’d been right. The killer had brought a whole build to do just what had happened to Steve.
Steve’s mouse flew over to the unmute button. “Alright, I’m back. Henderson was just bugging me about that event he wants me to drive him to.”
The call was quiet. Quentin’s mic wasn’t muted. Maybe he’d left while he was on the phone and had forgotten to mute.
A notification that showed there was an unread message from Dustin popped up in the corner of the screen.
Dustin :D#0420:
btw
if u didnt notice your profile said u were unmuted while we were calling
assuming u were vcing with him
His head snapped from the message to his profile, which now said he was currently muted. After he had thought he’d unmuted.
“...Uh,” Quentin finally said.
Steve quickly unmuted himself, but what the fuck could he say? My bad, that was a completely out of context conversation and you misinterpreted it, it was a joke, it’s related to some D&D campaign (which Quentin knows damn well he does not play), it was-
Shit.
He left the call and turned off the computer.
Wait a second. Henderson. Steve opened the app on his phone.
Steve#7634:
AND YOU DIDN’T TELL ME?
Dustin :D #0420:
im gonna guess he heard that whole thing
IN MY DEFENSE i didnt see it until halfway through our call
..at least u dont have to worry about telling him ur feelings now
Steve, hands buzzing with anxiety, barely shot off a final “YOUR SO DEAD” message to Dustin before flipping his phone face down. He rested his forehead on one hand, his head both blank and scrambling for what to do next. The phone buzzed, and he flipped it over.
Dustin :D #0420:
*you’re
“Oh fuck OFF,” Steve yelled right as another notification popped up on his screen. From Quentin.
quentin#0000:
steve???
Dread set in as another went through.
quentin#0000:
steve
answer
yuo cant just say that and leave the call
answer or i’m going to your house
Steve#7634:
DO NOT
Steve flipped his phone over again and made a noise halfway between a groan and a yell. Fucking Henderson just had to call him and he just had to miss the mute button and Quentin just HAD to hear all of that, because the universe is so in love with him that it insists on these things happening. Oh, hey, he hadn’t been entirely lying earlier— there was, in fact, some fantasy event Dustin wanted him to drive him to. Perfect idea, he’ll just drive part way there, pull over, and throw him in a nearby dumpster like the amazing babysitter he is. Yep. That would work. Fuck .
The phone buzzing was the equivalent of an ice pick poking straight at his brain, and God did he want a lobotomy right now. It wasn’t any of the custom dings he’d set for Quentin or Dustin, so who the fuck was blowing up his direct messages?
Once again unable to resist, he looked at his messages again. Pointedly avoiding looking at the message at the very bottom that had been sent after ‘answer or i’m going to your house.’
Mike W.#9231:
So did you tell him or what?
Hi this is el typing ignore him
madmax#0069:
heard what happened
L
Ranger Lucas#0842:
L
Will the Wise#1111:
maybe he likes you back though :(
Good fucking lord , of course that little shit had told his friends what had happened. Today was one of their campaign days. Another message appeared that, surprisingly, was not from someone too young to have a driver’s license.
ROBIN#8008:
HOPE ISNT LOST
NO REJECTION = STILL A CHANCE
I BELIEVE
He shot back a response.
Steve#7634:
AND HOW THE SHIT DID YOU KNOW
ROBIN#8008:
i have the right to remain silent and i will not rat out my informants!!!
Steve#7634:
Dustin went out of his way to message you didn’t he.
ROBIN#8008:
yeah it was dustin
Okay, let’s pause for a moment. Robin wasn’t wrong. He hadn’t been rejected. All he’d gotten was some clearly confused messages looking for clarification on the accidental pretty-much-a-love-confession he had made towards the first guy he’d had a crush on since he was fourteen. Clearly that could be salvaged, right? Sorry, Quen, Henderson got you confused with someone else and—
What if Quentin did like him back? Would he be opening his big mouth and breaking his heart and subsequently ruining any kind of possible relationship? No, that’s ridiculous. Steve remembered things he’d been told about the guy's ex, Nancy Holbrook, when they’d thought it was a funny coincidence that they both had exes named Nancy. Steve wasn’t anything like her. And the way Quentin talked about her… did he ever look at him like that?
Yeah. Ridiculous. Probably. Maybe. Well—
Steve ran over the stages of grief in his head again: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. Goddamn if he wasn’t playing bingo with that right now.
But what if. Just possibly, what if.
It felt like his heart was in his ears, in his head, in his brain.
A loud banging coming from the front of his house nearly made him drop his phone.
‘answer or i’m going to your house’ he’d said. And then another message had gone through not too long after, and Steve had been too freaked out over his fumble to face it. He reopened the DM.
quentin#0000:
im on my way
Another loud knock went through his incredibly empty house.
quentin#0000:
PLEASE answer
Steve’s legs moved before his brain and his heart moved before either. He shoved his phone in his pocket and somewhere in the corner of his brain he registered the sound of another message going through. Before he knew it, he was swinging the door open.
He caught Quentin as he fell forward, steadying him by the shoulders, the boy evidently having been leaning against the door while he waited. He was wearing a worn yellow sweatshirt, pajama shorts, and a single shoe. His hair (missing its beanie) was far messier than usual, which was saying something, but—
The sweatshirt had the words HAWKINS HIGH SCHOOL across the front and a very specific old stain on the shoulder.
Steve stared. That was his sweatshirt. The one he’d accidentally left at Quentin’s house forever ago and had completely forgotten about the day after. The one he figured went to the same alternate dimension where spare socks and hair ties go.
“Are- are you okay?” was the first thing Steve asked.
Ignoring the question, Quentin took a step back and took a deep breath. “Were you being serious?”
He averted his eyes. There really was no getting around this.
“Were you being serious, Steve?” His voice shook.
‘at least u dont have to worry about telling him ur feelings now,’ Dustin had said.
He looked him in the eye.
“Yeah. I, uh, like you, Quentin, I really, honestly do.”
Quentin’s eyes went wide. Then, pointing at himself and leaning in, he said, “You like me? You like like me? In that way?”
“Yes! I like you! In that way!” Steve felt his face heat up.
The biggest smile he’d ever seen split across Quentin’s face. He tried to cover it with a hand, but his laughter made that pointless. “Like like? What are we, teenagers?”
Relief flooded Steve’s chest and his hand went to the back of his neck. “I mean, yeah? What else are we? You said it first.”
Quentin held his hand, the two looking at each other in the quiet entrance of his house. Honestly, his brain was still processing everything that was going on.
“So, does this mean—”
“Yes, you idiot, I like you, too,” he said, squeezing his hand.
All the tension left Steve’s body at once and he collapsed against Quentin with a groan, burying his face in his shoulder. “I can’t believe this. This is the dumbest way I’ve ever told someone I like them. Accidentally, on a phone call, over a video game, because I missed the mute button.”
He felt his hair get ruffled. “Are you kidding? Most romantic shit I can think of.”
Steve lifted his head and thumbed at the sweater. He’d left it over at Quentin's house so long ago.
“When did you, uh,” he started, “first start being into me?”
Quentin looked away in thought. “I’m not really sure, I think it just… happened. At some point we were hanging out and I realized, shit, I have a crush on Steve fucking Harrington. And that I’d been feeling like that for a while.” He looked back at him. “You?”
Ah. Well that was a question Steve definitely knew the answer to.
“Remember the video store Robin and I used to work at? You came in and asked if we had Final Destination. Took like 10 minutes of talking to you. Robin said she could see it all over my face, didn’t give me a break for like a week.”
Quentin shoved him on the arm. “You’re making me look terrible over here, knowing the exact moment and everything.” His eyes crinkled. “Either way, I am so glad you’re shit at using Discord, otherwise I’d have never gotten the experience of driving to your house in the middle of the night with one shoe on.”
Steve glanced down at the time on his phone: 10:37 pm.
“Wait a second.” He ran the numbers in his head. “Your house is like, 15 minutes from mine or something. How the hell did you get here so quick?”
Quentin scratched at his neck. “I may have gone a bit over the speed limit. And ran a red light or two.”
“May have.”
“Hypothetically. Possibly. The road was empty.”
Steve exhaled, his entire body exhausted. He could bother him about running red lights some other time.
“Do you want to sleep over tonight?” It was fairly late, and he didn’t know if he’d be able to handle just being like, awesome mutual love reveal here, bye! see you in class! and then escorting him out the door.
“Oh thank God you asked, the adrenaline’s wearing off and I’m about to pass out. My last Red Bull was two hours ago.”
…Maybe he wouldn’t leave Dustin on the side of the road after all.