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Summary
“That one’s on the house, okay?” Eddie says, and Steve opens his eyes to look back down at him. On his face is the slightest hint of concern, and something else Steve can’t place.
He’s still holding his hand.
“Thank you,” Steve says. He’s not sure exactly which thing he’s thanking Eddie for, the weed or the hand in his or the lack of judgment at his fucked up head. He just knows that he’s grateful.
Eddie gives him a smile, a gentle curve of those pretty lips. “Anytime, Harrington.”