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It’s a morning in late spring, a little over a month since Eddie came back to them. Albeit…not at all in the way that they’d expected him to. But, still, he’s here, alive and breathing–even if every breath he draws is with Steve’s lungs, now, his steady pulse the one they share.
Steve has never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth, though, and he’s not about to start.
That particular morning finds the pair of them standing in the middle of his closet, Steve totally uninspired on what to wear for the day.
A few more moments of quiet hemming and hawwing pass. Should he wear his yellow sweatshirt, maybe? The little pleased frisson that runs through them tells Steve Eddie’s partial to the suggestion, even though he doesn’t say anything. But, still, Steve isn’t sure.
As he brushes a hand over his navy polo, an idea suddenly strikes him.
He takes a step back then says, out loud, “You pick.”
“Uh…” he can feel Eddie’s bewilderment as he furrows their brow, “and just why would I do that, big boy?”
“Maybe because you have to wear it, too?” Steve asks, the no duh implicit in his tone.
Truthfully, he feels like kind of an ass that he’s never outright offered before.
Sure, there have been times when Eddie dressed them–usually on days they were just lazing around the house, or Steve was too tired from running after the kids to make a decision on what to sleep in. So far, Eddie tends to gravitate towards Steve’s softer, morn worn things when he has the chance–comfy sweatpants and his old swim team tee, for example.
On one memorable occasion, he’d pulled on a pair of Steve’s old athletic shorts from gym class, the green fabric stretching high and tight across their thighs.
All the better to show off that ass, Harrington, Eddie had said with a leer and a wink, giving him a quick spank.
Eddie’s horniness aside, he hasn’t so much as suggested a single other article of clothing for them to put on. Not a black t-shirt, one of those spooky rings he used to wear, nothing. There haven’t been any hints from him, even subtle ones, that they should try leaning into his own metal look.
The closest he’s gotten is teasing Steve a couple of times about his rotating rainbow of pastel polos, but never with any real heat. And, dramatic as he is, Eddie never puts up any fight when Steve tugs yet another one over their head. Like it hasn’t even occurred to him that he has a say in the matter.
Steve thinks it’s time to change that.
“Seriously, it just makes sense you get a turn.”
He feels Eddie smile with their mouth, but there’s a stiffness to it that isn’t usually there.
“Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but your style and mine…not exactly simpatico, Stevie boy.”
“So?” Steve asks, not getting what the big deal is. “Who cares?”
“Lest you forget, it’s your face we’re wearing, my liege.”
“Uh, not just mine, anymore, last I checked. Our face,” Steve corrects automatically, “which means it’s half yours.”
The noise Eddie makes is unconvinced.
“Sure, man. I mean…technically, I guess.”
Steve rolls his eyes. “There’s nothing technical about it, Munson. It’s our body, our face, our life. You get that, yeah? I mean…I thought that’s what we agreed. When we got together?”
Eddie shuffles their feet, fidgets their fingers, his uncertainty forming a tight knot in their stomach.
“Yeah okay, Harrington. Whatever you say.”
The sound that comes out of them then is wounded, and Steve can’t be sure if it’s his pain or Eddie’s seeping through.
Both at the same time, probably.
“Hey, don’t do that, Eds. I need to hear you actually say that we’re on the same page here.”
One corner of their mouth curls upward, wry. “Not sure there’s any way for us not to be these days, sweetheart.”
Steve huffs in exasperation. “Don’t be cute.”
“Can’t help that either, baby. I mean,” Eddie waves a flourishing hand at their face, “have you seen this cute ass mug of yours?”
Steve crosses their free arm over their chest impatiently. “Flirting’s not gonna distract me, you know.”
Shrugging their shoulders, Eddie says, “What can I say? Worth a shot.”
With a shake of his head, Steve turns abruptly, beginning to corral them out of the closet. “Alright, come on, then.”
“Where to now, your highness?”
“The bathroom. If we’re having this conversation, I’d rather do it face-to-face. So I can actually see you, you know?”
“Cheater,” Eddie grumbles, “you just wanna ensure I can’t use my many skills of subterfuge to conceal what I’m feeling from you. But I won’t crack under your interrogation techniques, no sir!”
Even now, Steve can’t help but laugh at Eddie’s theatrics. “Like you could. You’re literally in my head, dude.”
The reminder quiets Eddie, that somber mood from before falling over them.
When they step into the bathroom, Steve lifts their head, forcing it up from where Eddie had ducked their chin. Steve’s gaze settles on the mirror, and his boyfriend stares back.
Their eyes might not be quite as big and dark as Eddie’s used to be, but Steve would recognize the larger-than-life glimmer of him anywhere.
“Hey, you,” he says, softer now.
Eddie twitches their lips into another weak smile, like it’s second nature, an automatic response to Steve calling out to him. “Hey yourself.”
“Seriously, Eds,” Steve says, unable to keep the slightly desperate note out of their voice, “Level with me. Please?”
Silence falls between them. Eddie’s never quiet, usually, a total chatterbox, and the loss of his running commentary now makes Steve feel twitchy.
Steve opens their mouth, gearing up to break the long, stilted moment when Eddie beats him to it.
“I mean, do I really hafta say it? You never asked for this, Stevie,” he murmurs, low and anxious.
Steve’s just relieved he’s still using their lips to do it, that he hasn’t completely retreated inside their head.
The first time Eddie had spoken with his voice had been a shock. But it had been a relief, too, knowing that Eddie wasn’t just a phantom trapped in Steve’s body.
He wouldn’t want to go back to that. Not ever again.
“Yeah, well, neither did you,” Steve points out. “So, what, are you saying you don’t want this, now? To be here, with me?”
“No!” The expression of Eddie’s horror that splits across their face would be comical, if it didn’t make Steve’s chest ache. “No, of course not, sweetheart!”
He huffs out a laugh, but it’s a flat, frustrated sound. “Then who cares what we asked for. I want this. This is me, picking it, choosing it. And I thought you were, too. That’s what actually, like…matters. Right?”
If he still had long hair, Eddie would be chewing on an errant strand, Steve just knows it.
(Which…there’s a thought. Should they grow out their hair? Would Eddie like that?}
But, as it is, he settles for twisting a strand of Steve’s around his finger.
“I mean…how do we know you’re not just…I don’t know. Feeling what I’m feeling?”
“Okay, well now you’re just being stupid.” Steve cocks an eyebrow. “I liked you before this happened to us. I know it wasn't that long, but, still, I was already starting to fall for you. And, what, are you saying you’re in love with yourself, Munson? There something you wanna tell me?”
Eddie lets out a contemplative hum. “Well now, given the situation, if anybody here can be accused of being a narcissist…”
Their cheeks heat, the x-rated images that flash through both their minds stirring up a jolt of pleasure and unburying some of Steve’s own past insecurities.
The physical aspect of their relationship is…complicated, given their situation, and Steve had felt a little embarrassed after their first few times together. And then worried that he didn’t feel more embarrassed, a fear Eddie had vehemently soothed away.
Steve hugs one of their arms around himself, shoulders hunching. “Low blow, dude.”
“Fuck! I’m sorry!” Eddie begins to babble apologetically–sounding more like himself again, at least. “You know I don’t mean that shit. That it isn’t about you, Stevie, not really. I’m only running my mouth and trying to run away from my own crap, as usual. It’s just…”
Suddenly, he turns and paces their body in a big circle, arms pinwheeling wildly, chewing at their bottom lip.
“Come on, man, you just had some…glorified ghost foisted on you!” Steve isn’t sure how, but it feels like Eddie manages to make his eyes even bigger as he turns to the mirror again, looking straight at Steve. “What if you start to…I don’t know, hate me? For screwing up your life, highjacking it.”
Steve sighs, but it’s a sadder one now. Reaching over, he places his hand on their shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
“Eds, I could never hate you. You think I’d be choosing to make this work with someone I hated? If I was stuck with Carver, or goddamn Billy Hargrove?” he shudders at the thought. “The priest would be here so goddamn fast, their heads really would spin around.”
At Eddie’s bemused look, he explains, “…Robin made me watch The Exorcist.”
“Gotta get you some culture somehow, big boy.”
“Between the two of you, I know way more about horror movies than I ever wanted to, trust me.”
Eddie has the decency to feel sheepish about it, at least, rubbing a hand over the back of their neck. “Sorry for forcing you to sit through so many marathons, baby.”
Viewing has become pretty much mandatory, considering Steve now has a horror hound for a boyfriend who shares his body.
“I don’t mind,” he admits, because he doesn’t. He likes sharing things with Eddie, would even if things between them weren’t…the way that they are now.
That, however, does raise another point for his argument.
“But, besides, who's to say you won't get bored of me?” Steve asks.
It's meant to be a flippant, rhetorical question, except that he feels a lump forming in the back of their throat as soon as it leaves his mouth. That fear, unfortunately, is very real for him.
“I mean, this,” he gestures towards their bedroom, the plaid wallpaper he keeps swearing he's gonna get rid of, and then to the hamper full of polos he never will, “isn't exactly the life you wanted. I know that.”
“Steve,” Eddie says. Their voice comes out wrecked, and Steve can’t tell how much of that is the tears he just fought back, and how much is Eddie’s disbelieving horror at what he’s said. “You gave me a second chance at life, man. I should be kissing the ground you walk on every day that you didn't instantly call up the damn exorcist and kick me to the curb, like pretty much anybody else would have. I–I’m so fucking grateful, sweetheart. How could I ever be anything else, when you've given me so much?”
Steve lets out a soft noise of frustration. “I don't want you to be grateful, Eds. I want you to be…happy. I want us to figure out what makes us happy together, and then go and do it.”
“Jesus, Stevie. I'm so in love with you,” Eddie says helplessly. It still makes Steve's breath hitch, his heart stutter in their chest, the easy way Eddie always says it. “You've gotta be hands down the sweetest guy I've ever known.”
“Not that sweet,” Steve argues, self-conscious.
“No, you definitely are. Can't hide it from me, you big softie.” Eddie taps his fingers right over their heart. “And I want that, too. Of course I fucking do. I wanna make you happy.” Steve sucks in a sharp breath, gearing up to keep arguing, but before he can, Eddie rushes to add, “And me, too. I wanna sort out what works for us both. Every step of the way, you and me.”
“Yeah? Me and you?”
“Not even death can part us now, baby.” Eddie declares, more back at himself again with his devil-may-care grin. “Hell, I'll haunt you, follow you to the afterlife, reincarnate with you into the next one, whenever wherever. Just as long as you promise to save me a seat in our new body.” He jokes, shooting Steve a wink.
“You know I would,” Steve says, too sincere.
Clapping a hand on their shoulder, Eddie gives it a fond squeeze. “Yeah, cuz you're a freak who's into that shit, Harrington.”
A rosy pink blush spills over their cheeks as Steve stills.
“Wait a minute, wait a minute. Jesus Christ, Harrington, are you saying…you like us like this?” Eddie blows their eyes so wide it feels like they might bug out of their head.
“Shut up!” Steve complains.
“Holy shit, you totally do!” He swears he can feel the phantom of Eddie's dimples when their lips spread into a megawatt smile, like the cat who caught the canary. “Guess I'm really not the only freak around these parts anymore, huh?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he waves a dismissive hand at his boyfriend. “And that's what I've been trying to tell you. We’re two sides of the same coin, Eds.”
Eddie whistles, pleased. “Well, I’ll be damned. I guess we are, sweetheart. Just a couple of freaky peas together in our cozy little pod.”
“Glad we got that settled.” Reaching up, Steve cups their cheek, relieved when Eddie leans into his touch. “Now, do you believe me when I say you’re not a burden? Or just some…I don’t know, squatter in my body, or whatever it is you’ve gotten all up in your head about? Because you’re mine, Eddie Munson, and I won’t let you lead some kind of half, shadow life. Not when you could just…share this one. With me.”
“Yeah, okay. You have convinced me, dear Steven, with your–frankly impressive–persuasive rhetoric and, of course, your endless charms.” Lifting Steve’s hand to their mouth, Eddie kisses the back of it, like he’s an old timey knight straight out of one of Hellfire’s campaigns. “Afraid you’re stuck with me now, baby. Foreverrrrr.”
Steve brushes his thumb fondly over the corner of their mouth, where it curves upward with Eddie’s familiar grin. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, Eds.”
Between Eddie’s battle vest, held onto and lovingly cared for by Steve in the interim before he came back to them, and the leather jacket from his Danny Zuko Halloween costume a few years ago, they manage to piece something together.
“We’ll get more,” Steve had promised, when a raid through the closet for some darker items had turned up very little. They were making due with a thin white t-shirt that had been hanging at the back for the time being. “Band shirts, jewelry. Whatever you want, Eds. Name it, and it’s yours.”
An old eyeliner pencil Robin had left behind on the bathroom counter makes for the pièce de résistance, according to Eddie.
“Whaddya think?” he asks nervously as he straightens, having finished tracing the messy, black lines around their eyes.
And the truth is, outside of a costume, Steve would never pick this get-up for himself. He even gets the sense, for all his teasing about preppy collars and light rinse jeans, that Eddie wouldn’t either.
But this outfit isn't for Steve.
It’s all Eddie, in their body, and on him? The leather and dark make-up are mouth-wateringly hot.
Steve lets out a whistle.
“Goddamn, babe. You look amazing.”
“You think so?” Eddie asks. Though he sounds tentative, even the sudden, uncharacteristic shyness can’t quite dampen the force of his blinding smile, all laugh lines and teeth.
Even now Steve’s still getting used to it, the flutter in his stomach as he stares into his own big, brown eyes, but it’s a feeling that’s not even remotely unwelcome.
“Seriously.” As his gaze roves over the way Eddie’s shoulders perfectly fill out that leather jacket, the white tee stretched taut across his chest, he admits, “I’m honestly gonna have a tough time not just immediately ripping it off you again.”
Eddie leans against the counter, shooting Steve a cocky, flirtatious smirk. “And who’s stopping you, big boy?”
Turns out, handing Eddie the reins on their wardrobe?
Best idea he’s had in a while.
Because as a shudder runs through him, skin warming under the weight of his boyfriend’s hot, appraising look, Steve has a feeling that, as hard as keeping their hands to themselves has been…it’s about to get a lot harder.