Chapter Text
It starts like this: Steve is in Los Angeles. He’s just began shooting his new period drama show and the first round of promotion is starting as well.
Personally, Steve doesn’t like this part of his job very much. It’s tiring, and also kinda boring, talking to the press. They’re always asking the same questions, always trying to make Steve give out more information about his personal life or trying to get on his good graces by flattering him in the most obvious ways. If he could, Steve would stick to just acting, but he’s still not famous enough to skip talking to the press and going to events if he wants his shows and movies to catch the public’s attention. So, he sucks it up and tells Robin she can let the reporter in so Steve can start his sixth(?) interview of the day.
The woman is nice enough, he guesses. She asks about the show, what Steve can share with his fans, what his fans can expect of this new role. Then, of course, just like every single reporter that came before her, she asks how Steve felt about working with Nancy Wheeler for the first time since they broke up. It’s so predictable that Steve would roll his eyes if he could. Sadly, he can’t. It wouldn’t be polite of him; it wouldn’t look good. So Steve plasters one of his trademark smiles and says the same thing he did to the other reporters.
“Nancy is a great actress and one of the best friends I have. Working with her is always a joy.”
And it’s not even a lie. Nancy is great and she is one of his best friends. Their relationship ended, yes, but it was a mutual understanding, and they parted in good terms, with no bad blood between them. They broke up almost two years ago, there’s no reason for things between them to be weird anymore.
That’s not what the press wants to know, though. They just want Steve to let something slip so they can explore it, distort it and publish it as truth. Steve’s been in this industry for enough time to know how it works.
The reporter seems unimpressed by his mild answer. She insists, mentioning Jonathan Byers, Nancy’s new boyfriend (fianceé, actually, but that information is not public knowledge yet) just to see if she can get a reaction out of him. Poor woman, she’s gonna have to do better than that.
When she realizes Steve’s not going to give her anything, the woman deflates. She moves on to other topics, prods Steve a little about his personal life, but her heart is not there anymore, Steve can see it.
“Alright, Steve, we’re almost done here, I promise,” the reporter (Anna? Anne?) says. “We asked your fans to send us questions on our Twitter page and selected a few.”
“Okay.”
The woman takes a minute to go over her notes.
“Okay,” she says, straightening her posture on the armchair she’s sitting. Steve does the same, more out of respect than anything. “@lysa_07 asks: did you always want to become an actor, or did you think about following a different career?”
“When I was in school, I played basketball and wanted to go pro. I was pretty good, actually, some universities offered me a scholarship and everything, but I got injured when I was in my senior year. Had to go through knee surgery and eight months of PT just to be able to walk by myself again.”
“So acting was your second choice?”
“At first, yes. But looking back I think I’m better off where I am right now. I loved playing basketball when I was a kid, but by the time I got injured it was more about winning than anything else. The fun I used to feel when I was playing was not there anymore because I was always worried about failing and letting my team and coach down. So, I guess even if I didn’t get injured, I would eventually have given up on basketball anyway. Living under that kind of stress is not for me.”
Nodding, Anne(?) types something on her tablet. “Yeah, I get that. I was on the soccer team in high school, the pressure really is crazy,” she agrees. “Okay, second question. @harringtons_fan_5_ever: What do you like to do in your free time?”
Steve chuckles. “Call me lame, but all I want to do when I have free time is go home, see my dogs and sleep as much as I can. There’s nothing better than that.”
“They don’t travel with you? Must be hard being away from them for so long.”
“They’re old dogs, travelling is too stressful for them now. And, yes, I miss them like crazy, they’ve been with me for over ten years.”
“Oh, I see. I hope you get to see them soon, then.”
Another pause as the reporter types something else on her tablet. Steve takes the water bottle on the small table beside him and takes a sip, his throat a little parched after talking for so long. He hopes the woman is being honest and they are almost done, because Steve can’t wait to get the hell out of here.
“Last question is from @justaccoffingirlie,” she says. “It’s two questions, actually. First, she asks: In terms of music, what are your favorite genres? And follows with: what do you think about Corroded Coffin’s last album?”
“I guess pop and classic rock are my main choices when I’m making a playlist,” Steve answers, thoughtful. “Sorry, but what was that second question?”
“What do you think about Corroded Coffin’s last album?”
“Is that a band?” he asks, a small frown forming on his face as he tries to make sense of whatever the woman expects him to answer. “I’ve never heard of them before.”
“Yes, it’s a metal band. They’re very popular, their new tour has been sold out for months. They released their third album a couple of months ago.”
“Seriously? People listen to a band named Corroded Coffin? Wow, I had no idea.”
For the first time since the interview started, the reporter smiles brightly, nodding once again, this time with more enthusiasm.
“Yeah, they’re pretty big, you know!?” she says. “Their fans are very passionate.”
“Oh, good for them, I guess.”
“It sure is. Thank you very much for your time, Steve. We should publish this interview in two weeks. We’ll send all the details to your team when the article comes out.”
“Sure. It was great talking to you.”
In retrospect, Steve should have suspected something was not right. Anna had looked too satisfied by the end of their little chat. But he suspected nothing. After almost two hours, Steve just wanted to go back to his hotel room. He had a plane to catch that night and an eight-hour flight to Europe awaiting him.
-
-
Two weeks later, that interview he’s given is the last thing on Steve’s mind.
The make up team is working their magic on him whilst Steve reads for the last time his lines for the scene they’re about to start shooting that morning. Nancy is in the chair beside him, chatting with the hairdresser as the woman works on her as well. It’s all a little chaotic, but familiar enough for it to be relaxing in a way.
That is, until the door to the make-up room is slammed open and a pissed off Robin shows up on the threshold.
“Robin? What happen—” Steve begins to say but stops when Robin starts beating him with what seems to be a rolled-up magazine.
“You are a dumbass!!” she says, hitting him with no mercy. “Why do you do this? Do you fucking hate me, Harrington?!”
“What the hell, Robin!? Stop!”
The make-up artists scramble away from the woman, letting Steve all by himself to deal with her. Traitors!
“You. Are. An. Idiot!” she says, furious.
Steve grabs her wrist when she tries to hit him again and takes the fucking magazine out of her hands. That doesn’t stop her; Robin just starts slapping him with her bare hands.
“Hey, Robin, come on, stop hitting him,” Nancy, beautiful, sweet Nancy says, coming to Steve’s rescue. She grabs Robin’s arm and pulls the other woman away from Steve, forcing her to sit down on the chair she had previously been using. “Breathe, Buckley, you’re not making any sense.”
“You want me to make sense? I’ll make sense. I’m gonna kill this fucking idiot!!”
Steve gets up from the chair before Robin can reach him again. “You’re crazy!”
“Of course I am! You’re always trying to make my life difficult by opening your big, fat mouth. Why can’t you shut up, Harrington? Why?”
“What the hell are you talking about? I didn’t say anything.”
“Yes, you did!”
“What did he do, Robin?” Nancy asks, just as confused as everyone else in the room.
Robin takes a deep breath, massaging her temples.
“Look at the fucking magazine, Steve,” she hisses.
Still lost, Steve unrolls the magazine and looks at its cover. It’s him. It’s a picture from a photoshoot he did a month ago, his name printed in big yellow letters announcing his interview on page 17.
“They published my interview, so what? Why are you pissed at me?” he asks, staring at the flattering picture with narrowing eyes. There’s no mention of Nancy on the cover, which is good in his humble opinion.
“I’m pissed at you because you are a dumbass who doesn’t know how or when to shut up. Why did you have to mock Corroded Coffin? Have you lost your mind?”
“I did what?”
“Oh, Steve,” Nancy says, mournful. “Tell me you didn’t do that.”
“I have no idea what she’s talking about, Nance, I didn’t mock anyone.”
Nancy grabs the magazine from his hands and opens it, flipping pages until she finds Steve’s interview. Her eyes roam over the page for a moment, then she lets out a small sigh.
“’When asked about Corroded Coffin’s new album, Steve Harrington claimed he has never heard of the band before and found funny the idea of a band with such a silly name being so famous,’” Nancy reads aloud, whilst Robin glares daggers at him. “’Seriously? People listen to a band named Corroded Coffin? Wow, I had no idea.’”
“I never said their name was silly!” Steve defends himself.
“But you implied it, that’s more than enough for these people, you know that,” Robin says. “What were you thinking, Steve?”
“Oh, come on. You’re overreacting, Robin. No one’s gonna care if I find a band name funny or not. Relax, woman.”
“Sorry, Steve, but Robin is right,” Nancy says, closing the magazine and giving it back to Robin. “Corroded Coffin’s fans are crazy loyal. They’re gonna go nuts when they read this.”
“Not you too, Nance.”
“But it’s true, Steve. Seriously. Corroded Coffin has one of the biggest fanbases I’ve ever seen. Their concerts are always packed. I went to one of their concerts with Jonathan last month and the crowd was insane; they screamed so loud my ears were ringing for hours after the show.”
“If they’re so famous, why haven’t I heard of them before?”
“Because you’ve been listening to the same ten artists since High School, that’s why,” Robin says, flicking him on the forehead. “Pray to God that their fans don’t take this shit to heart, Harrington. Because if they do, they’re gonna make your life, and by extension my life, a living hell.”
“At least he didn’t say anything about Munson,” Nancy laughs. “Now that would be a bad call.”
“Who?”
“Oh my God, you’re hopeless,” Robin groans, throwing her hands up in the air in frustration.
She throws the magazine at Steve, then storms out of the room, slamming the door shut and without looking back.
Steve frowns at the magazine in his hands, his own face looking back at him from the cover as if mocking him somehow.
Robin was just overreacting, right?