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Steve is just about to call it quits and head home when he hears the sound of footsteps picking their way through the brush behind him. He checks his watch - nearly 45 minutes past the time they had agreed to meet. He’d smoked through two cigarettes just to give himself something to do, an attempt to calm the tremble in his hands that seems to never completely go away these days. God, he needed more sleep. And more than that, he needed something to help him sleep, hence why he was sitting here in the middle of the woods with the shadows of the trees growing long around him. The sight makes him want to shiver; instead, he squares his shoulders before pivoting on the table he’s sitting on to meet the newcomer head-on.
Eddie Munson pauses where he’d been approaching, like he’s wary of getting caught even though he was the one who’d chosen this spot in the first place. Steve can see the appeal - it’s out of the way from prying eyes, there are multiple ways to approach it to avoid any suspicion, there’s the table he’s currently sitting on, perfect for wheeling and dealing before going their separate ways. Steve wonders, suddenly, if the table has been here the whole time, or if Eddie had dragged it out himself at some point to mark the spot as his.
Steve gives his noodle arms a glance and thinks, probably not.
He can be such a dick sometimes. Goddamnit.
After a moment, Steve raises a hand in greeting, hoping it’ll put the nervous set of Eddie’s shoulders at ease. It doesn’t. He continues his approach, but there’s caution in the way he moves, like Steve is a dangerous animal that could snap at any time. This isn’t the first…arrangement of theirs, though they tend to be few and far between, but it’s the same every time, that wariness that never seems to leave. Steve had thought that by now it might feel a little easier, but maybe that was too much to hope for. Once an asshole, always an asshole. Or something. The fact that he’s actively trying not to be an asshole apparently hasn’t reached Eddie Munson’s circle yet. Or maybe it did, and nobody believed it. That’s fair. Steve’s not sure he would believe it either, if their positions were reversed.
Eddie finally reaches the table and raises his eyebrows before making a big show of actually sitting on the bench, plunking the metal lunchbox he’s carrying down. “Pretty sure you weren’t raised in a barn, Harrington.”
Steve rolls his eyes but slides off the tabletop so he’s sitting on the opposite bench. “Ever hear of a watch, Munson?”
“Well, you know me. Plenty of business to attend to.” He flashes Steve a grin, at odds with the way he’s holding himself like he’s getting ready to bolt. It makes him look slightly feral. “Not to imply you aren’t my favorite customer, obviously.”
“Funny way of showing it.”
“I’m a funny guy.”
Steve snorts, pulling out his pack of cigarettes to snag the third one of the afternoon before holding it out to Eddie. He just shakes his head, holding up a hand. “I’m on the clock.”
“Right, wouldn’t want to look unprofessional.”
“You know how it is. Got a reputation to uphold.”
“If you say so.” Steve lights up before jamming the lighter and the pack into his jacket pocket. He pulls the first drag into his lungs and sighs it out. When had this started to feel like a habit? He’d been sneaking cigarettes out of his mom’s purse since freshman year, but that was mostly to prove he could (and score some extra social points). Lately, it was starting to feel like a compulsion. Maybe he ought to cut back.
The smell reminds him of one of the Russian guards, stale tobacco staining the fists that collided with his face. He takes a breath through his nose before forcibly shoving the memory back and slamming the door shut behind it.
Eddie is watching him in a way that makes Steve’s skin start to itch. He’s more observant than people give him credit for - Steve only started to notice because they’d met up a few times by now, and he’s starting to notice a pattern. Eddie has a way of watching him that makes it seem like he’s putting the pieces together in his head. Steve wonders what the finished picture looks like to him, takes comfort in knowing that whatever he’s seeing is nowhere close to the reality. Still, he’s not used to being looked at that closely, and he’s not sure he likes it.
He wonders if Eddie has clocked the fading bruises on his face, the bags under his eyes, the slightly limp set of his hair. Steve knows he’s not at his best right now, but he’s confident he can hide it from most people. Out here, without the distractions of the real world, he’s not so sure.
Eddie’s fingers trace the latch on the lunchbox, but he doesn’t open it. Instead, he tilts his head at Steve, considering, and finally says, “I would ask how everything’s going, but it sounds like you’ve had an exciting couple of weeks.”
“Exciting. Yeah, sure, that’s the word.” By now, everyone in town knew that Steve had been involved in Starcourt - the fire, as proclaimed by the papers. He’d been featured in one of the photos from the first article to report the news - in the background, but clearly visible, soot-stained and blood-soaked and still wearing that stupid fucking sailor costume. In the days afterward, there had been plenty of stares as he approached and even more whispers behind his back, but eventually the gossip mill had moved on, and he wasn’t sure if he felt relieved or disappointed. But this was the first time anyone had referenced it directly to his face.
Now, Eddie just grins again. “I wasn’t sure I’d recognize you out here without the shorts.”
Steve lets out a soft little ha. “Yeah, well. Guess they didn’t survive.”
“We thank them for their service.”
“Speak for yourself.”
“Oh, I am.” Eddie’s grin turns sharp, like he’s trying to prod a reaction out of Steve. When he doesn’t get it, his face settles into something a little more natural. With a shrug, he says, “The perils of minimum wage, I guess. Not that I would know, it seems I’m not cut out for the working class. Hence our meeting today.”
“Could be worse.” Stev shrugs. “At least we’re not still stuck in high school.”
A shadow flickers across Eddie’s face, there and then gone like it never happened, and Steve’s not sure what he said to put it there in the first place. After a moment, Eddie turns to his lunchbox, finally flipping the lid open as he says, “Truly, the stuff of nightmares.”
He starts to rifle through the contents of the lunchbox, air gone slightly tense between them. Steve finishes off his cigarette before stubbing it on the bench beside him, one more mark to match the ones that came before. Eddie pulls out a baggie and offers it to Steve, his usual, but Steve rubs the back of his neck, suddenly self-conscious, and says, “Any chance I could get a little more?”
Eddie glances up at him. “There’s always more where that came from. How much were you thinking?”
“I don’t know. Like. Double?”
Now, Eddie’s eyebrows raise. “Sounds like more than a little, Steve.”
“Just having some trouble sleeping, that’s all.”
Eddie is still watching him, considering. After a moment, he says, “If that’s the case, maybe I can offer you something a little stronger.”
Steve is already shaking his head. “No, no thanks. Just weed.” Anything else and he runs the risk of losing all his control. He needs something to relax, not put him into a coma. If something happens and he’s not there because he couldn’t wake up in time…no, he can’t even think about it.
He’s expecting Eddie to dole out the weed and name his price, but he’s still watching Steve. Still putting pieces together. Finally, he says, “Listen, I don’t normally ask, and it’s none of my business so feel free to tell me to fuck off, but…is everything okay?”
The question feels so absurd that Steve actually barks out a laugh before he can stop himself. Eddie shrugs, looks slightly ill-at-ease, like he recognizes the absurdity of even asking in the first place (but he couldn’t, not really, no one could unless they were there). “Yeah, okay, I know the thing with the mall, that was fucked up. Obviously. But, like…beyond that?”
“Almost dying in a mall fire isn’t enough?” The lie comes easily now. Steve hates how commonplace the secrets have started to feel.
“Yeah, well. Fires don’t punch people in the face.”
Too observant by half. Steve is regretting coming out here now. He’s starting to prefer the whispers behind his back.
When Eddie adds, “Is it shit at home, or…” it sounds like he knows what he’s talking about, and Steve hates that, too.
Lucky for him, it’s not even a lie when he shakes his head and says, “No, nothing like that.”
“But it’s not just the fire.” It’s a statement, not a question.
Steve is so close to just spilling his guts across the table. He wants that, suddenly, that feeling of unburdening, that acknowledgment of just how fucked up things have become, a confirmation from the outside that this shit sucks. But he doesn’t. He can’t. Instead, he shakes his head and says, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, trust me.”
“Hm.” Eddie continues to stare at him for a moment, but apparently, he decides to let it go, because he drops a larger baggie on the table between them and names a price considerably lower than Steve had been expecting. His surprise must show on his face, because Eddie waves a hand at him and says, “I’m including the crazy bullshit discount. I don’t advertise it to a lot of people so I appreciate your discretion.”
“Your secret is safe with me,” Steve says, counting out the bills and passing them over.
“Yeah, I’m starting to get that impression,” Eddie says, tucking the money into the lunchbox and snapping the lid shut.
With their transaction complete, that should be the sign to get up and walk away, but they both stay where they are, though the air is silent between them. A breeze rustles through the leaves above their head, a hint of the change of season to come.
Eddie is the first to break the quiet. “Listen, I was planning on having a smoke before I headed back, if you’d care to join.”
It’s tempting, Steve is surprised at how much he actually wants to stay, but he pushes himself up from the table and rolls his shoulders, trying to unknot some of the tension that’s apparently taken up permanent residence there. He already feels like he’s stayed too long. “I should head back. It’s getting late, don’t like being caught out here once the sun goes down.”
“Ah, yes. I hear that’s when the monsters come out.”
Steve laughs again. “You have no idea.”
Still, he pauses as he turns to leave, and Eddie notices, tilting his head again like he’s waiting for Steve to change his mind. When he doesn’t, he taps two fingers to his forehead in a mock-salute and says, “Take care of yourself, Harrington.”
“You too, Munson.”
Steve finally gets his feet to move, and he turns away to head back in the direction of his car, parked off the side of the road and far enough away that it would be easy to miss by anyone driving by. Behind him, he hears the telltale click of a lighter. He doesn’t turn around, even though he wants to.
There’s another breeze through the trees, low enough now to raise goosebumps on the back of his neck. He walks a little faster and tries to ignore the feeling of leaving something behind.