Work Text:
Steve’s got a singular bag slung over his shoulder, and he’s already heading toward the front door, not looking back at where he’s left Eddie, shell-shocked and shaking in Wayne’s recliner.
Like that’s it, that’s all she wrote, no matter how many of his clothes are still stuffed into Eddie’s dresser, or the stupid fucking Farrah Fawcett hairspray cluttering up the bathroom counter, or the way he’s treading over Eddie’s still-beating heart, rubbing it into the carpet like yesterday’s trash.
Somehow, Eddie gets his shaking legs to slip, stumble, slide across the vast distance separating them just as Steve’s hand twists the doorknob and begins to pull open the door. He collides with Steve’s back hard enough that Eddie’s weight slams Steve into the wood, slamming the door back closed before it’s opened more than an inch.
“Eddie,” Steve sighs, like Eddie’s exhausting him.
He doesn’t let go of the doorknob, doesn’t even look back at Eddie, just stands there, waiting for Eddie to get off him so he can walk out the door and never look back.
“Don’t go,” Eddie cries, wrapping his arms around Steve’s middle and squeezing so hard that he almost expects to hear the sound of his ribs creaking.
Steve doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, like if he can just stay still enough, Eddie might confuse him with the door. It’s been like living with a doll ever since his fucking dad had showed up last week, full of ultimatums and empty promises that sounded more like threats. He’s all hollowed out now — Eddie wants to stuff all that life back in and have his Stevie back.
“You love me,” Eddie says, hating the way his voice cracks with the tears clogging up his throat. “I know you do.”
He can feel that love in his heart, circulating through his veins. It’s like a drug, Steve’s love. He wants to keep it in his chest, store it like a rare jewel just for them.
He wants a lot of things that are slipping through his fingers.
Steve’s strong shoulder slumps. His neck droops, head dipping down low like it’s too heavy to hold up. “Yeah,” Steve breathes out, voice full of a defeat that Eddie doesn’t quite understand. “I really do.”
Something shining and beautiful starts bubbling up inside of him — a supernova built on hope and dreams and all that sappy shit he thought he’d stopped believing in by kindergarten. Steve loves him. Every small smile, and brushing of fingers, and cheesy word wasn’t a lie.
Steve loves him. The present participle of loves, not the past. As in current, as in right now in this moment, packed bag and opened door be damned.
He starts to feel like he’s won, like they’re in a battle, and he’s just vanquished whatever dragon’s got Steve locked up in his ivory tower. He’d cut off Richard Harrington’s fire-breathing head and was seconds away from sweeping his fair maiden off his feet. He’s righteous with it as Steve turns around, back to the door he’d almost walked out of, eyes staring directly into Eddie’s own, close enough to kiss.
But then his gaze drifts away, looking past Eddie. Eddie knows what he’s seeing — Wayne’s threadbare recliner, their dinky little TV, outdated by a decade already. The dishes piled up in the sink, the stains all over the carpet, the shower not even big enough for two.
“Yeah, I love you,” Steve says, but it sounds different now, and Eddie’s hands are already shaking by the time Steve looks him dead on, gaze colder than it’d ever been during his high school reign. “Just not enough.”
Steve smiles, but it’s empty, devoid of all that warmth Eddie’s grown used to. He was wrong — Steve’s not a doll, he’s a puppet, and Dick’s got every one his strings.
He turns back around, opens their front door and walks out. Eddie doesn’t stop him. He slips, stumbles, slides away from the door until he’s collapsed onto their raggedy old couch. It smells like it’s older than Uncle Wayne, and Eddie’s ass fits perfectly into its cushions.
He belongs here, in the too-small trailer with its musty couch. He’d thought Steve had, too, but all it’d taken was seeing Richard Harrington in his three piece suit, sneering like Eddie’s entire life was less than shit smeared on his shoe for it all to come crashing down.
It’d just taken another week for the dust to settle. But, the door’s closed now, and Eddie’s back to how he’s always been, how he’s destined to always be: poor, abandoned, and alone.