Chapter Text
Steve’s days were a circle of bullshit (you’re bullshit). He forced himself from bed and did up his hair as if to maintain an air of his former glory, barely able to look at himself in the mirror without glaring at his own reflection, staggered to work, plastered a smile on his face for his friends, rinse and repeat. Day in and day out, and nobody saw that he was dying little by litt-
“You look like shit.”
“…Excuse me?” Steve blinked out of his stupor, adjusting that bullshit (you’re bullshit) little sailor hat. There in front of him was Eddie ‘the Freak’ Munson, a man he hated to admit he was jealous of, especially after their many conversations revealing just how much of a nerd the other was. Still, Eddie never had to worry about his image or what others thought of him, could actively sell drugs while selling records from across Scoops, wore nail polish and jewelry and everything Steve was too much of a coward to do.
“No offense, it’s just…I know what it looks like when you’re smiling but not really.” Eddie explained, drumming his fingers against the counter, “Trust me, I get it. What’s eating you?”
Steve opened his mouth to argue, but what came out was, “My life is bullshit.” He was expecting an eye roll, a proclamation that he had rich parents, a big house, all the parties he’d ever want to throw, so why was he compl- a finger flicked his forehead, pulling a sound of confusion.
“Steve, I come over here every day to eat ice cream and talk to you.” Eddie crossed his arms, “Not once have I ever heard you say something good about yourself! In fact, your favorite pastime seems to be shittalking yourself!” He let out a soft huff that reminded Steve of an angry kitten, “You have people who genuinely seem to care about you, you’re absolutely, breathtakingly beautiful,” Wait, what? “You’re shockingly smart, and you deserve to be happy.”
“Eddie, that’s…nice and everything, but flattery won’t get you extra sprinkles.” Steve was trying to deflect now.
“I watch you every day, striking out with people who you know wouldn’t make you happy.” Eddie refused to allow the distraction, “You…Do you really think you’re not worthy of genuine, true love?” He didn’t wait for an answer, “You’ve already surrounded yourself with it, from Buckley to those kids of yours, so why do you not let any of it in?” He shook his head, “What you need is somebody who can teach you how to be loved. Somebody who won’t just stop because you’re fantastic at self-sabotage.” He hid his mouth with a lock of his hair, “Somebody like me.” And he grabbed Steve’s hand, scribbling down his number with a Sharpie.
Steve wasn’t even upset at the way that permanent marker had been used on him, just sort of stupefied at Hurricane Munson blowing in to shake his world before turning to leave, “Wait!” He finally found his voice, “You forgot your ice cream!” He wanted to spend more time with Eddie, maybe muster up the courage for an actual date.
This was where Steve learned just how much of an idiot and/or a tease Eddie was because he merely smirked, “I’m lactose intolerant.” And then he walked out of the store.
Steve’s jaw dropped, broken out of his stunned silence by a whistle from the window. He turned to see Robin strike exactly one line in the You Rule column, perform just about the most sarcastic jazz hands he’d ever seen, and then close the shutters. He was left to stare at the messy chicken scratch on his hand, that fake smile becoming a little more real as he burned each number into his brain and his heart.