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According to Robin, the first signs that Steve was getting a migraine were the little things, things that would seem normal if they were coming from anyone else.
Steve had walked into Family Video that morning fifteen minutes late, wearing sunglasses and clutching a thermos of coffee. And sure, it was summer. But the knowing glance that Robin shot Eddie told him this wasn’t that.
When Eddie and Steve had first started dating, Robin had sat him down and talked to him about Steve’s head trauma. “The only reason I’m blabbing to you about this is because Steve would never tell you himself.” She had told him that Steve liked to think he was good at hiding his discomfort, or acting like he understood the flow of a conversation even when he didn’t, but that if you knew him well enough, you could see right through it. “And you’re gonna have to take care of him, because he doesn’t, and his parents definitely won’t. If they’re even in town when it happens.”
Eddie had listened with rapt attention, nodding along to everything his friend told him. That was three months ago, and since then, the only migraine Steve had experienced had been when he was with Robin. And now, when the time came for Eddie to pick up on those signs, he had to rely on Robin to notice. He kicked himself internally.
“Nice of you finally show, dingus,” Robin teased, but there was no heat in the statement. If anything, she looked concerned.
The latecomer groaned. “Fuck off, Buckley.” Irritability. That was a sign. Eddie found himself listing them in his mind.
“Broken alarm?”
“I don’t know.” Steve shrugged, setting down his thermos on the counter and yawning. He still hadn’t taken off his shades. “Guess I just…forgot to set it. Huh.”
Eddie gestured at Steve’s face as he walked around the counter. “Are you planning on removing those glorious sunnies, so I may gaze upon your gorgeous chocolate irises?”
Steve seemed to snap out of a trance. Problems concentrating. Another sign. “Hm? Oh…yeah.” He slowly took them off, and immediately squinted, as if he were staring directly at the sun. “Rob, why are the lights in here so bright?”
Sensitivity to light and sound. Yet another sign.
Robin scoffed, grabbing a stack of tapes and moving to shelve them. “The lights are the same brightness they always are. Which is to say, shitty.”
“Right, yeah, got it.” Steve scrubbed a hand over his face, eyes sliding shut as he leaned heavily against the counter. Placing a hand on his back, Eddie spoke in a quiet voice. “What’s up?”
Steve’s head shot up to scan the room for customers, which only served to make him dizzy. What was he thinking? It was a Monday morning, and the store was completely empty. He yawned again, looking up at Eddie. “Just tired.”
“Mmkay.” Eddie pressed a kiss to the top of Steve’s head, as if he could chase away what was coming. “Just say the word if you wanna head home early.”
For the first half of the day, Steve fumbled his way through shelving while Robin dealt with checkout and returns. She and Eddie had figured it would be easier if Steve didn’t have to deal with talking to tons of people in his state.
After lunch, there was a lull in activity, and Eddie used that time to go check on his boyfriend. He found Steve in one of the back rows, struggling to slide a tape into its slot on the shelf in front of him.
“You okay there, hun?” When Steve didn’t respond, Eddie clasped his shoulder. “Steve?” He gently took the tape out of Steve’s hand, putting it on the shelf for him.
“I, um…I…” Eddie watched as the gummed-up gears of his boyfriend’s brain struggled to turn. “Can’t…the outside of my eyes…squiggly.”
Now Eddie was freaking out a little bit. “Stay right here, okay?” He jogged across the store to Robin, describing the situation to her.
“Sounds like an aura,” she responded, continuing to type on the computer. “That’s your warning signal.”
Eddie blinked, confused. “What do you mean, my warning signal?”
Robin looked up at him, unimpressed. “Do you ever listen, Munson? Remember our discussion.”
He racked his brain for information. “Uhh…once the aura hits, you’ve got about half an hour until the pain hits?”
“Correctomundo, buddy.” She nods in Steve’s direction. “Take him home. I’ve got it from here.”
That’s how Eddie ends up in the front seat of a BMW, with an incredibly disoriented Steve in the passenger seat. Harrington had tried to reassure Eddie that he was fine, but none of the words came easily. At some point, he gave up protesting, feeling too miserable to argue any longer.
The drive back is silent, aside from the soft sounds of the engine. Eddie keeps glancing over at his boyfriend, eyebrows drawn together in a frown. The frown deepens when, about five minutes away from the Harrington residence, Steve lets out a whimper.
“Stevie?” Eddie’s tone is cautious, hushed. “How you feelin’, sweetheart?”
“Ice- Icepick…” Steve’s lip trembles. “Head…feels like there’s- has an icepick n’it.”
And this . This is terrifying .
Steve has always been the tougher of the two of them, although Steve himself might disagree. He’s unflinching in the face of danger, taking the punches and powering through. And despite how many times Eddie has wished for him to drop his hero front, seeing Steve unable to form full sentences is not something he was prepared for.
Eddie catches himself. This isn’t about him. It’s about Steve. He should be focused on Steve .
He reaches out to the side, smoothing a hand back and forth across Steve’s arm, soothing. “I’m sorry, baby. We’re almost home.”
Getting Steve out of the car is a nightmare. Every movement causes a reaction similar to that of an injured animal. By the time Eddie hauls him through the front door, Steve looks frighteningly pale.
The dungeon master taps his boyfriend’s shoulder. “Steve? You still with me?”
“I think…” Steve starts, sounding breathless, “...think m’gonna throw up.”
Eddie all but shoves Steve in the direction of the downstairs bathroom. Steve barely makes it to the toilet in time to spew out the contents of his breakfast. The sounds of him heaving are enough to make Eddie kneel down behind him, gingerly wrapping an arm around Steve’s middle, the other hand smoothing up and down his back. When the heaving finally stops, the only audible sound is the choked sobs of Steve crying.
“It hurts,” he whispers, and Eddie’s heart just about breaks right there and then.
He continues rubbing Steve’s back. “I know, baby. I know it hurts.” He waits until Steve calms down a bit more before proceeding. “Wanna lie down?” Knowing that his boyfriend might not be able to answer, he adds, “Tap once if you want to, twice if you don’t.” He watches as Steve raises one hand up from the toilet rim, and lets it fall back down again.
Good enough for Eddie.
He slowly begins to heft Steve’s body into a standing position, ignoring the fact that Steve is slightly taller, slightly stronger, and therefore slightly heavier than Eddie himself. He begins to walk Steve up the stairs, taking them one at a time, pausing when Steve needs to catch his breath or shut his eyes. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Steve collapses into bed, drained.
Eddie takes the opportunity to close the curtains, and drags the trash can over to the side of the bed, hoping to avoid any potential mess. “What can I do to make this better, Steve?”
It takes him a minute, but eventually, Steve takes a deep breath. “Um…in the fr- freezer, there’s…a cold pack. It- Can…can you, um…” He trails off, struggling to talk through the pain.
“Get it?” Eddie finishes his sentence. “Yeah, of course I can. I’ll be right back.”
The metalhead rushes down the stairs as quietly as possible, skidding across the tiled kitchen floor until he’s in front of the freezer door, which he promptly yanks open. His eyes frantically scan the shelves until they land on a blue reusable cold pack. Snatching it from the freezer, he hurries back up to the bedroom.
Eddie opens the door to find Steve attempting to change out of his current clothing. It doesn’t appear to be going very well, so Eddie sets the cold pack down on the nightstand, helping to delicately pull Steve’s polo shirt up and over his head. After removing his pants as well, he eases Steve back down, pulling the sheets over him to make sure he doesn’t get a chill. However, that seems a little contradictory, considering that he’s about to put a cold pack on him.
“Can I touch your head, or is that a no-go?” He waits patiently for a response.
“I can put it- put it on,” Steve insists, but the determination is lost in the frailty of his voice. He reaches out with a shaking hand, cracking an eye open in the darkness so he can better see what he’s doing. Eddie hesitantly places the pack in his hands, watching as his boyfriend sets it over the left side of his face. “There we go, sweetheart.” Steve seems temporarily at ease, so Eddie decides now’s as good a time as any to head downstairs and call Robin at Family Video.
She picks up on the third ring. “How is he?”
“Uh, he’s…not great, Buckley.” Eddie is surprised at the lump in his throat. “He just- He can barely talk, Robin. He projectile-vomited a restaurant’s-worth of food, and he can’t walk on his own, and this- When you told me about all this, I thought it was just like a really bad headache, but it is so much worse than I thought, and I don’t know what to do!” He doesn’t realize that he’s crying until he feels hot tears rolling down his cheek. His voice breaks. “I’m scared, dude.”
There’s silence on the other end of the line for a moment, until he hears Robin sigh. “I get it. I was- I was really afraid my first time, too. It’s…When you love someone, it’s hard to see them in pain…”
Huh. Does he? Love Steve? Eddie, you do not have time for this crisis right now .
“-but you don’t have the luxury of panicking until after the worst of it is over,” Robin finished, almost like she could read Eddie’s thoughts. “I promise you, even if Steve feels like, one hundred times worse than you do, he will try to fuss over you. So- Just wait until he’s in postdrome at least before you let it all out, okay?”
“P-Postdrome? What-”
Robin doesn’t give him the chance to spiral. “Just be there for him. The worst of it should pass in the next five hours or so, and he’ll probably sleep through most of it.” She sounded calmer than he was used to hearing her. “If you need anyone to keep you company, I’m just a ring-ring away.”
Eddie takes a deep breath, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand. “Thanks, Buckley.”
“Anytime, Munson.” She hangs up.
Eddie takes a minute to collect himself before venturing back upstairs. He knocks softly on the door of Steve’s bedroom, letting it swing open. “How are we doing up here?”
“Y-You can go.” The comment has Eddie taken aback. It’s said so casually, as if he hasn’t just witnessed how bad this migraine is. “M’probab-ly just gonna…sleep- try and…and sleep it- I’m gonna…” Steve restarts the sentence, clearly frustrated at how difficult it is to speak. “I’m, um…shit.” He pulls the cold pack off, wincing at the change in temperature and brightness, and Eddie can see that his eyes are wet.
Moving to sit next to him on the bed, Eddie reaches out to take Steve’s hand. “Stevie, baby, what’s wrong?”
Steve huffed, eyebrows furrowed. “I can’t…don’t- I don’t…feel good.”
“I know you don’t, baby, that’s why I-”
“N-No,” Steve cuts him off, squeezing his hand weakly. “Can’t…talk. I wanna…I jus-” His face crumples. “M’tired, Eds…n’it hurts.”
Eddie doesn't know how much more of this he can handle. He leans down, pressing a feather-light kiss to Steve’s forehead. “I’m so, so sorry, darlin’. This royally sucks.” He brushes away a few strands of hair that cling damply to his boyfriend’s face. “Why don’t you try and sleep through the worst of this? I’ll be right here the whole time.”
Steve moves to put the cold pack back on. “...Promise?”
Eddie smirks. “I swear on Dustin’s mother.”
And it’s worth it, just to see a small smile creep its way onto Steve’s face.
When Steve wakes up, the drilling in his skull has been reduced to a dull, throbbing ache. A familiar fog has settled over his brain, a fatigue that permeates his bones.
He moves to sit up, but a wave of dizziness sends him right back to the pillow on his first try. A hand settles on his shoulder, followed by a soft voice. “Easy there, sleeping beauty.”
“Mm, good morning,” Steve greets, voice raspy, which gets a chuckle out of Eddie.
“It’s nighttime, sweetheart.”
“What?” Steve turns around to look out the window and sure enough, it’s dark outside. This realization is followed by a growling noise, which he realizes is coming from his own stomach. “I should, uh, I should probably eat something.”
Eddie nods enthusiastically. “Right, yeah. Duh.” He eyes the doorway. “You feel up to migrating downstairs for your midnight feast?”
Steve doesn’t nod, not wanting to re-aggravate his head. “Yeah. Just let me put some clothes on.” He starts to make a move to get out of bed, and suddenly Eddie is standing in front of him, ready to catch him if he falls. Holding onto Eddie’s forearms, Steve stands, resting his head against his boyfriend’s shoulder until the world stops spinning.
A couple of minutes later, he’s heading down the staircase in a cream-colored sweater and pajama pants. Bare feet pad across the wood floors until they feel the tile of the kitchen, where Eddie guides Steve onto a bar stool and passes him a large glass of water with a straw in it. “Drink up, Harrington. Jesus knows you need it.” Eddie also slides him two slices of toast, lightly buttered just the way he likes them, and a peeled banana. Steve looks up to see that Eddie’s also peeled one for himself, eating it contentedly.
Steve pokes at his toast, sips his water. Guilt gnaws its way through his gut. “Thanks, man.”
Eddie just stares at him, amber eyes blinking in the low light of the kitchen. “For what?”
“‘ For what’ ?” Steve repeats, appalled that his boyfriend didn’t catch on. “For, you know, dealing with me!”
“ Dealing with you ,” Eddie repeats back to him. “Uh-huh, right, because I’m the kinda guy who leaves his boyfriend in pain, alone, in a big, empty house.” He scoffs, taking another bite of his banana and talking with his mouth full. “Of course I was gonna stay with you.”
But Steve can see the relief in Eddie’s face, paired with exhaustion. He knows that Eddie has a hard time coping with stressful situations. He knows that. And he already feels bad for wasting so much of Eddie’s time. So he extends an olive branch. “You’re allowed to be freaked out by this, Munson.” Steve sighs, sliding a hand down his face. “I know that it’s- I can be scary to watch, when I’m like this.”
And it’s almost like it’s exactly what Eddie needed to hear, because the next thing Steve knows, he has tattooed arms wrapping him up in a gentle embrace, a head of frizzy brown hair buried in his neck. “You scared the shit outta me, Harrington.
“And I- I know that I sound fucking selfish, and I’m making it about me, which is why I didn’t say anything, because, I mean, you were suffering way more than I was, and Buckley, she said to not to bother you about it, because then you’d try to fuss over me and you wouldn’t get any rest, and she was like, ‘Wait until the postdrome’,” Eddie rambles, pitching his voice up to mimic Robin’s, “but I don’t even know what the fuck a postdrome is and I just- you could barely talk , and I didn’t know how to fix it, and it just…it sucked.”
Eddie’s voice is tense the way it is when he’s about to start crying, and the guilt in Steve’s gut chews its way through. He wraps his arms around Eddie’s waste, pulling back to kiss him on the cheek.
“I’m sorry for scaring you, baby.” Steve pets Eddie’s hair in a soothing motion, waiting for his breathing to even out and murmuring reassurances. “You’re not selfish, you did just fine, I love you-“
Shit .
That wasn’t what he’d meant to say.
It sorta just…slipped out.
Steve loosens his grip, leaning back to scan his boyfriend’s face for a reaction. And Eddie’s…
Eddie’s grinning.
“Fuck you, Harrington, I was gonna say it first.” And Steve exhales like a boulder has been lifted off of his shoulders. He laughs tiredly, nuzzling into his boyfriend’s chest.
Their lips meet in a soft kiss, calming one another’s nerves from the day. It slowly turns into something heavier, rough, and needy, only breaking apart when Steve gets hit with another dizzy spell, nearly falling off the bar stool. Eddie catches him, giggling. “Maybe not the time to be getting hot and heavy, sweetheart.”
They move to the couch after that, Steve curling up sideways in Eddie’s lap, the left side of his head resting on his boyfriend’s shoulder while he finishes his snack. Eddie is playing with his hair, something only Eddie is allowed to do, when he asks, “But seriously, what is a postdrome?”
“Hm?” Steve had totally zoned out. “Sorry.”
“No worries.” Eddie stops playing with his hair, switching to stroking it instead. “What’s a postdrome, angel?”
“Oh,” Steve sounds surprised by the question. “My doctor says it’s just the phase after the headache. I mean, this is postdrome.” He gestured to his position, his body. “My brain’s all fuzzy, I can’t move too fast, otherwise I get dizzy, and my body feels kinda like it’s been hit by a Mack truck.” He sniffs, rubbing his eyes. “Think, like, a really bad hangover. But I’d take this, though, over the attack itself any day.”
“You are one tough cookie, Harrington. Going through this shit every month.” Eddie kisses the top of his head. “One of the many reasons I worship you.”
Steve yawns, cuddling closer to Eddie. “I love you, Munson.”
“You too, sweetheart. I love you too.”
They fall asleep like that, on the couch. And when Steve wakes up the next morning, there’s a blanket draped over him and a bottle of Gatorade on the coffee table. He can hear Eddie in the next room on the phone.
“Uh, yeah, absolutely not, Henderson. What part about ‘migraine’ are you having difficulty grasping? He’s in postdrome ,”- as if he didn’t just learn this word - “which, if you bothered to do any research, you would know is a vital part of the recovery process. So, no, Harrington cannot drive you and the other munchkins to the movies today. Ask Wheeler or Buckley to take you.”
Steve chuckles to himself, letting his eyes slide shut again, safe in knowing that he’s cared for.