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Steve slowly glanced up at the sound of Eddie’s soft footsteps coming into the kitchen; the sound was familiar to him by now. They’d barely spoken since Eddie had moved in after his trailer was destroyed, and usually stayed on the opposite sides of the house during the day.
The nights brought nightmares for both of them, but Steve’s had grown steadily worse. What had started out as nightmares had ramped up into something worse, ones where he’d wake up screaming, soaked in searing sweat, his mind flashing with images of stainless steel needles, tightly tied restraints, cold pliers…
Steve had heard quiet knocks on his bedroom door after particularly bad episodes and assumed Eddie, but never answered the door to find out.
So Steve fought the nightmares and midnight screaming sessions the only way he knew how: evading sleep altogether.
“Thought you had a campaign today,” Steve said in a pseudo-greeting as Eddie entered.
“No campaign,” Eddie answered. “Just doing some planning for one.”
Eddie reached in the cabinet for a cup and filled it. The man looked worn out, almost as if he wasn’t sleeping much more than Steve was.
Eddie glimpsed at Steve. “You look like shit, Harrington.”
“Thanks,” Steve deadpanned, but he felt his ears heat red. He wondered why he suddenly felt so…exposed. Then again, it’d been two days since he slept..
“For nightmares,” Eddie started. “They say to avoid eating cheese before bed. Supposed to keep ‘em away.”
Steve’s brain struggled to make sense of what he’d just heard. “Wait, what? Cheese for nightmares?”
“Yeah, some old wives tale. Don’t think it’s true, though. Tried it a few times with no luck,” Eddie admitted.
“Not sure avoiding cheese is enough to keep everything away.”
“Some pretty fucked up shit we saw.” Eddie blew out a breath as he leaned against the fridge.
“Is it…” Steve paused, almost abandoning his question, but asked it anyway. “Do you knock on my door sometimes? At night?”
Eddie swallowed and then nodded a few times. “Mainly just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” He winced. “The screams are pretty…”
Steve felt his face flush. He probably sounded like a banshee whose sole mission was to wake up the neighborhood. “I’m–I don’t mean…”
“No, it’s not that, Harrington,” Eddie quickly corrected. “It’s just…you sound terrified. Almost scared to death.”
“It’s more exhausting than anything. I’m alright.” Steve’s voice sounded hollow in his own ears. Suddenly, all he wanted to do was lay down.
“Steve…”
Steve looked up at the sound of his name. Eddie never used his name.
“Can I help?” Eddie’s voice was softer, more concerned.
Steve blew out a short laugh as he slipped off the bar stool. “Keep knocking, I guess. Might actually answer one of these nights.” He paused before heading upstairs. “There’s extra chamomile tea in the cabinet. Sometimes it helps me sleep.”
Eddie met his eyes with gratitude. “Thanks, Harrington.”
“Night, Munson.”
And Steve turned and headed up the stairs.