Archive of Our Own

Steve throws a dejected look at the clock. 9:25pm. Saturdays are usually the busiest night of the week, and Steve actually enjoys working the closing shift. People tend to be in a better mood when they're choosing their weekend entertainment than at 9am on a Monday when they're returning something that their five year old kid should definitely not have watched and they're trying to blame Steve for it even though they specifically picked something from the Adult Horror section (looking at you, Mr Edmonton.)

Not tonight, though. Tonight, Corroded Coffin is in Hawkins giving a concert and suddenly the whole town is made entirely of metal fans. Steve can't believe even Dustin's there. The kid's a nerd, how is that compatible with being into metal? Unfortunately, what remains a mystery to Steve was a foregone conclusion to Keith, who gave Robin the evening off in anticipation of just this, so here Steve is: alone in a deserted Family Video at now 9:28pm on a Saturday with two more hours to go before closing. The last customer came in and out over an hour ago. Steve is bored out of his mind.

Deciding that he might as well make the most of it, he ignores the pile of returned tapes behind the counter and goes to the television in the corner to switch Return of the Jedi for Fast Times at Ridgemont High before grabbing a Jolly Rancher Stix. At least Robin's not there to judge him.

A couple comes into the store around 10pm. Steve feels a little bad when the guy is clearly more interested in Fast Times that the movie his girlfriend is trying to pick for them. She must see it too because she ends up picking a copy of Dirty Dancing without asking him and beams at Steve over the register. Steve smiles back as he rings her up.

"Good choice," he whispers as he gives her the tape. She blushes, thanks him and drags her boyfriend away from the television on her way out.

It's 11:18pm and Steve is halfway through the closing routine, his back to the door as he turns off the television when he hears it open, followed by a hurried "Hey, man, I'm just gonna—" and barely catches the general shape of a person disappearing behind the counter.

"Hey, you can't go back there," Steve calls out hurrying after them, only to find a guy curled up on the floor in the corner under the computer looking up at him with big brown eyes from under a mop of long curly hair and a vaguely familiar face.

"Just don't tell them I'm here," the guy hisses, a hint of urgency in his tone, and yeah, now that's he's getting a good look at him, Steve can see that the guy looks a little freaked out.

"Tell wh—" Steve starts asking when movement outside catches his attention. A small crowd's gathering across the street. Family Video isn't too far from the theatre where the concert was held. Steve figured the show would have ended between 10:30 and 11 so he wasn't surprised to see people filling the street on their way home for the past half hour or so. One particular group is not moving, though. They seem to be watching everyone with a weird sort of intensity that makes Steve frown. He throws another glance at the guy hiding behind the counter, something niggling at the back of his mind before it dawns on him.

"You're Eddie Munson," Steve says, realisation hitting him a beat late.

From his spot on the floor, Eddie Munson —because it is him, Steve can't believe he didn't recognise him sooner, posters with his face on them have been plastered all over town for weeks now— gives him a winning, if slightly frazzled smile and a thumbs up. "Yep, that's me!" he says dryly. "You'd think people would stop believing in this whole satanic ritual bullshit after four years but nope! There they still are, chasing after little old me like I'm personally responsible for all the evils in this country."

He's biting his nails, but sounds more annoyed than scared and yeah, now that he's mentioned it, Steve distantly remembers Dustin ranting about some article he'd read saying DnD and metal music were promoting violent behaviour, satanic worship and shit like actual murder. It all sounded stupid to Steve but an alarmingly large chunk of the population actually believes it. Hell, Dustin and the rest of the kids have gotten shit when overheard talking about their latest campaign. It'd make sense that a band like Corroded Coffin would suffer from it, too, especially in a small town like Hawkins where some people tend to clutch their Bible to their chest at the first sign of non conformity. Steve walks back behind he counter and takes his usual spot, casual enough to not freak Munson out and not alert anyone outside.

"There's a dozen guys across the street," he says, voice low, pretending to work on the computer, all nonchalant. "They're not doing anything right now, just watching who's going where."

"Think they saw me come in?" Munson asks.

"Doesn't look like it, but even if they did it's okay," Steve shrugs, "I'm not letting a bunch of assholes come in and trash the store ten minutes before closing. I'd have to be the one to clean up and I'm not staying until goddamn midnight."

Munson lets out a surprised chuckle, as if this isn't the answer he was expecting.

"If you're going to stay down there, though," Steve continues, "here." He grabs a pile of returned tapes and deposits them on the floor next to Munson. "Those need to be rewound."

Munson gapes at him for a second, then something in his eyes shifts, a slow grin taking over his entire face. "Oh I see how it is, Steve," he says, pointedly glancing at Steve's name tag. "Your generosity was but a front. Like so many before you, you seek to exploit me. To use my defencelessness against me, to take advantage!"

Steve scoffs, eyebrows raised, an answering smile starting to form against his will.

"Tape player's right there, c'mon, chop chop, Munson," he says, nudging Munson's shoe with his own. Perhaps he shouldn't be doing that to someone who is, by most standard, a famous musician, but Steve's not into metal, knows next to nothing about Corroded Coffin except for what Dustin tells him, and the dude is hiding behind his counter. He isn't cutting a very intimidating figure. Plus, if Steve can distract him, all the better. He's sure this isn't how Munson was planning for his evening to go either.

Munson grumbles, kicks Steve's foot away but grabs the first tape of the pile, slips it into the player and pushes the rewind button.

"How come they got the drop on you, anyway?" Steve asks after a minute. He keeps his voice low enough and his head angled away, checking outside every few seconds, just in case. "Don't you have a whole crew with you?"

"Usually, yeah," Munson says, ejecting the first tape and putting another one in, "but Hawkins was a last minute gig Gareth asked us to do, and it's a relatively small venue so it was only the four of us tonight. And given that I'm the face of the band," he bats his eyelashes while cupping his face with both hands like a pinup, "people tend to seek me out more than the rest of the guys after a show, so I'm usually the last one to leave."

Steve gets stuck on the batting eyelashes for half a second. "Gareth?" he asks instead.

"Our drummer," Munson replies, working on the tapes as he speaks. "He's from here. I mean technically we both are, and given that we had three days in Indianapolis after our show there, we figured it was worth a quick detour back home." He says home with a sneer and a dismissive movement towards the door and the street beyond which, yeah, Steve can't blame him.

"Wait, you're from Hawkins?" Steve asks, stopping what he's doing to actually look at Eddie. "Is that why the whole town was at the show?"

Munson throws him a very unimpressed look. "Sure," he drawls, "or perhaps it's because our music is good enough for us to be one of only three metal bands to have made it into the top 40 this year. Along, you know," he jabs the eject button on the tape player, not taking his eyes off Steve, "Metallica and Iron Maiden."

Steve looks back, nodding absently. "Never heard of them," he says as flatly as he can and cannot quite keep the satisfied smirk off his face at Munson's outraged squawk.

"I'm going to assume you're lying, Steven, even though it's very disappointing coming from you," Munson shakes his head forlornly, although his eyes are bright and amused. "Then again, you are exploiting me for free labour, so I don't know what I was expecting."

Steve huffs an unrepentant laugh and Munson kicks his foot again. They exchange a smile. Munson seems a lot more relaxed now. His smile isn't strained anymore, he isn't curled up on the floor so much as sprawled there like he's lounging there on purpose, and he hums as he works, occasionally glancing back at Steve. His eyes are big and very brown.

They're very nice eyes.

Shit.

Steve clears his throat and looks away, back towards the street.

Shit.

"Be quiet and don't move," he whispers, just before the door opens and Jason Carver walks in.

"Hey, Harrington," Jason greets, all straight teeth and perfectly coiffed blond hair.

Steve slips into his best customer service persona but doesn't fake his sigh. "Hey Carver, we close in two minutes, I hope you know what you want because I'm not letting you browse, man, sorry," he says with his best tired-minimum-wage-worker smile to take the sting out of it, if not the sentiment.

Jason chuckles and raises his hands as he ambles towards the counter.

"The post-concert crowd cleaned you out?" he asks. His voice is casual but his eyes track the room, searching, definitely not browsing for a movie to watch.

Yeah, Steve's not having a great feeling about this. He slowly slides his feet to rest against Eddie's and puts an elbow on the counter, casual, leans towards Jason.

"Man, I wish, but no one came in," he scoffs. "All these people out and not one of them stopped. Tonight's been a total bust."

Jason makes a sympathetic sound. Stays there. Steve waits him out, almost jumps out of his skin when he feels Eddie grabbing his pants leg at the ankle. After a small eternity, Jason seems to shake himself, eyes stopping their scan of the store and returning to Steve.

"Sorry, man, that sucks." He smiles. "I won't keep you, then. Have a good night, Harrington. Be safe out there." He raps his knuckles against the counter and leaves without another word.

Steve waits half a minute before risking a look at Eddie, who's already looking back, unblinking. "Well," Steve says flatly, "that wasn't weird at all."

Eddie giggles, pats Steve's calf and lets him go. "You're a half decent actor, Stevie. Had me fooled."

"Gee, thanks," Steve snorts.

Eddie beams at him.

"I'm going to lock up, don't move."

"Isn't that your way out?"

"Nah, there's an exit door out through the break room." Steve turns all the lights off except the one above the counter. "All right," he says once he's back in front of the computer, next to where Eddie's still sitting on the floor. "I'm going to turn this thing off, switch off the light so no one can see us and then we'll go to the break room. The street is starting to clear but we should wait a little before going out, just in case."

Eddie just nods. "I haven't finished rewinding your tapes," he says hesitantly, like he feels a little bad about it.

"Yeah, I saw," Steve drawls. "You really are no help, man."

Eddie's eyebrows raise in shock before he gasps and slaps a hand over his heart, as if shot. Steve feels himself smile again at Eddie's antics and hopes he doesn't look as inexplicably charmed as he can tell he is.

He turns the light off and nudges Eddie's foot again, reaching a hand down. "C'mon, up you get, Rockstar Man, break room's just there."

Eddie grabs his hand and lets himself be pulled up. He ends up standing much closer than Steve anticipated, close enough that his jacket brushes against Steve's work vest, and Steve just. Stays there, breath suddenly a little short. Eddie's taller than Steve expected. Standing so close, they're nearly of a height. Eddie's still holding his hand between them, sort of cradling it to this chest. Steve makes no move to take it back. Eddie's also looking at him with his big dark eyes, shining in the low light coming in from the streetlights outside, and Steve, well, Steve's always been a sucker for a pretty pair of doe eyes. Standing in the dark as they are feels oddly intimate, Eddie holding his hand, the light in his eyes, the sound of his breathing, the scent of him. Steve likes it. He doesn't want to make any hasty assumptions, but Eddie hasn't moved away either, so.

"Hi," he whispers with a smile, leaning in just enough to keep the word trapped between them.

Eddie's eyes widen slightly, he wets his lips, mouth curving up at the corners in a closed-lip smile that makes him look like he has a thousand secrets and can't wait to spill them.

"Break room," Steve whispers, "come on."

Steve leads them in and closes the door behind them before turning on the light, making both he and Eddie blink at the sudden brightness. It's only once his eyes have adjusted that Steve realises this means he can see Eddie properly for the first time since he burst into the store. And it's. Quite a sight. With his long wild hair, leather jacket, ringed fingers, distressed tee, ripped black jeans and combat boots, he looks every inch the rockstar Steve is only abstractly aware he is. The worst thing is, it should be a ridiculous get up, except it isn't. Eddie wears it like he was born for it, as comfortable in tight jeans as Steve is in gym shorts.

When his eyes travel back up to Eddie's face, Eddie's already looking back, closed-lip smile still on. He's really very pretty. The posters for the concert did not prepare Steve for this at all.

"Hi, Steve," Eddie says, low and quiet and so visibly pleased that Steve would blush if he wasn't so familiar with the dance. His stomach still flutters.

"Do you want coffee?" Steve asks as he makes his way to the coffee maker. He can play it cool.

"Nah, man," Eddie shakes his head, following. "Between the show and this, I'll be wide awake for a few more hours without any help."

"How was the show, by the way?" Steve pours himself a cup and sits on the small green couch that lines the wall next to the door.

Eddie's whole body lights up, grin wide, eyes crinkling at the corners as he rocks on his feet. "It was awesome," he says gleefully. "I mean, I always love playing with the guys and, to be honest, Hawkins wasn't exactly metal when I lived here, so I wasn't expecting much but shit was I wrong!"

Steve watches him pace the little room as he recounts the highlights of the concert, all kinetic energy, dramatic hand gestures and a talent for tales that Steve finds himself caught in. He keeps addressing Steve throughout instead of simply talking at him. He's charismatic and engaging and Steve understands why people would pay money to watch him on stage. Even here, talking a mile a minute under the unflattering fluorescent light of the break room of Family Video, a dash of silly, over-the-top theatrics for Steve's amusement, Steve still can't take his eyes off him.

"It's a shame you missed it, Stevie," Eddie finishes, putting on his saddest face, comically downturned lips and big round eyes staring forlornly at Steve.

"Yeah, I'm starting to agree," Steve replies, surprised at how much he means it.

Eddie drops on the couch next to him and leans in close. "Next time," he says, "front row. I'll throw you my shirt," he adds with a wink.

Steve snorts and elbows him in the ribs, ignoring the light heat in his belly. Eddie moves away cackling. Steve's whole arm tingles.

"Oh shit," Eddie says, suddenly serious.

Steve is immediately alert "What? What's wrong?"

Eddie nods at the clock on the far wall. "Looks like you ended up staying til midnight, after all."

Steve deflates, glancing at the clock and back to Eddie, who, as seems to always have been the case since he stumbled into the store, is already looking back. With those eyes of his, Jesus Christ. Steve takes a deep breath, misses the way Eddie's eyes briefly flick down to his lips.

"I'll go check if the coast is clear."

He turns the light off before opening the exit door, just in case, but the street is empty and quiet. Steve walks to the end of the block and back, doesn't see anyone.

"All clear," he says when he comes back. Eddie is still on the couch but has somehow procured some paper and a pen that he hastily shoves into his pocket before standing up.

"No angry townfolk waiting with pitchforks?"

"Nah, you're good to go."

Eddie nods but makes no move to leave. Steve busies himself dropping his empty coffee mug in the small sink next to the mini fridge. The short silence doesn't feel awkward so much as expectant.

"Oh," Steve exclaims, "do you need me to drive you? I mean, I don't know where you're staying but it is midnight and you are a wanted man." He sounds a little desperate to his own ears, which he is not going to linger on.

If Eddie's hearing it too, he's not letting on. Instead, he ducks his head, pulls a strand of hair to cover his mouth with and looks up at Steve, almost bashful. "Would that be okay? You already stayed late because of me."

Steve clears his throat to give himself a second. "It's fine. I mean, the fact that it's late is kind of the point."

"Alright, then," Eddie says with a small, pleased smile, rocking on the balls of his feet.

Steve leads Eddie out the door resisting the urge to guide him with a hand at the small of his back. The Beemer is parked close by, the only car left in the small parking lot.

"I don't have the address but I can give you directions from Main Street," Eddie says once they're both buckled up.

The drive is quiet. Steve taps his fingers lightly against the wheel while Eddie looks out the window, his own fingers tapping a restless rhythm against his leg. He seems lost in thought, so Steve leaves him be, focuses on driving. It takes less than ten minutes to reach the house Eddie and the band are staying at. It's in a quiet, middle-class neighbourhood that Steve's passingly familiar with. The porch light is on. Steve slides to a stop along the curb and turns to look at Eddie.

Eddie's already looking back.

And Steve thinks yes.

"When are you leaving Hawkins ?" he asks like an offer.

Eddie's eyes are soft and his smile rueful when he replies, "Today."

"Back to Indy?"

"Colombus. Then Pittsburgh, Cleveland, then back home to Chicago."

Eddie's voice is as soft as his eyes. They're both sitting sideways in their seats, angled towards each other, and Steve thinks it's a shame.

"Chicago's home?"

"Yeah."

It would be stupid to estimate distance and time, so Steve doesn't.

"Guess I should let you go, then," he says instead.

"Yeah."

And Steve has done this a hundred times before, driven girls home and waited until they were practically begging for a kiss goodnight and for him to call them later. He knows he's not reading Eddie wrong, and he knows Eddie's reading him just the same. But it wouldn't go anywhere. Tonight was a happy accident.

"I'm really sorry I missed your show," he says, because it's true and because he wants to see Eddie smile, and Eddie does.

"Next time," Eddie shrugs, unbuckling his seatbelt and getting out of the car. He leans in to look at Steve through the open door. "Good night, Steve Harrington." It's a whisper, a caress, a goodbye.

Steve takes a deep breath.

"Good night, Eddie."

Eddie gently closes the car door and skips to the front porch of the house. The door is unlocked when he tries it. He steps in and turns around. Steve is already looking at him. Eddie grins brightly and curtsies with a flourish, his nose practically touching his knees. Steve laughs and shakes his head.

Eddie disappears inside and closes the door behind him. The porch light goes out.

Steve drives away into the night, feeling somehow winded.

He needs to call Robin.

—

Steve tosses and turns until 3am then sleeps like a log until 11. The previous evening doesn't feel like a faraway dream in the light of day. If anything, it's even more vivid. Steve's heart beats just a little bit faster as he brings up memories of Eddie, his face, his voice, his eyes.

He gets up, takes a shower, and calls Robin. The line only rings twice before she picks up and immediately asks: "Was it horrible?"

"Hello to you, too, Rob," Steve greets, rolling his eyes, "yeah, it sucked. I had only, like, five people total."

Robin groans at the other end of the line. "I'm so sorry. I asked Keith to keep my shift."

"I know, but he was right, there was no need for the two of us to be there."

Robin makes an unconvinced noise that has Steve smiling even though she can't see it.

"That's not why I'm calling, though. I mean, not directly."

"What's up?"

"Someone did come by," Steve says, unsure how to say before deciding to just say it. "Eddie Munson."

The line goes silent for six whole seconds —Steve counts.

"Eddie Munson?" Robin practically shouts, before remembering that she's on the phone and whispers furiously instead, "as in Corroded Coffin's frontman and lead singer Eddie Munson?"

"Yep."

There's another four second of silence.

"Holy shit," Robin breathes. "What the hell, though, why would he go to Family Video after a concert? Did he rent a movie?? What did he rent? What do rockstars even watch? I mean, with the lives they have, most movies must be pretty dull, unless they're really into sci-fi and hard horror, in which case, yeah, that would be a big enough change—"

Steve lets her ramble. It's comforting, somehow, to hear her talk about Eddie with this casual indifference that he knows won't last once he tells her what happened.

"Steve? Sorry. Rambling."

"It's fine," Steve says and makes sure his smile can be heard through the phone. "Jason Carver and his posse tried to get him."

"Jesus Christ."

"Yeah," Steve sighs.

"Was he avoiding them?"

"Yeah." Steve can't help but laugh remembering how Eddie just beelined towards the counter. "Came right in and plopped himself behind the counter."

Robin lets out an incredulous laugh, doubtlessly picturing the scene. "Oh my god, what did you do?"

"Gave him the returns to rewind."

"Steve!" she gasps, then bursts out laughing. "Oh no, you didn't even know who he was, did you? You thought it was just some poor schmuck hiding from the Bible Brigade and you just. Put him to work."

"No, by that time I'd actually recognised him."

"THAT'S SO MUCH WORSE," Robin wheezes. "He is an internationally famous musician, Steve!"

And yeah, Steve knows that, could see it, but also.

"Robin," he says, and she must hear the change in his tone because she sobers immediately.

"Yeah?"

Steve takes a breath. "I'm pretty sure we had a moment."

"A moment."

"Several, actually."

"You? And Eddie Munson. Had several moments."

"Yeah."

Yet another silence.

"Steve," Robin says slowly.

"I drove him home, after, and we were just sitting in the car, and."

"…oh my god, did you kiss?" Robin sounds torn between sceptical and excited. Steve can't blame her. He is 100% confident that he read the whole situation correctly, but it's the kind of romantic comedy setup that's hard to believe on the phone on a random Sunday morning.

"We didn't, but—" Steve sighs, "you know."

"Holy shit," Robin whispers. "Are you seeing him again today? When do they leave?"

"Today. They might already have."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Do you need me to come over?"

Steve smiles, his heart growing about two sizes. He's not even sad, is the thing. If anything, thinking about last night makes him feel warm in a way he hasn't in a long time. Should he have tried his luck and kissed Eddie? Perhaps. Does he regret the way it went? No, not when Eddie looked at him the way he did.

"No. I mean, we can hang out if you don't have other plans, but I'm fine. I just wanted to tell you."

"That you had a meet-cute with Eddie Munson."

"It sounds weird when you say it like that, but yeah, I guess that's what it was."

"Holy shit," Robin repeats, her smile carrying through the line. "I'll find you a poster of him. You can make out with it."

"Okay, time for me to hang up."

Robin cackles. "See you, dingus!"

"Yeah, yeah, see you, too."

Steve hangs up and just stands there for a second, in the silence of the hallway, wondering if maybe he should have said yes when she offered to come over.

…No. He's fine.

—

Corroded Coffin finished their third national tour yesterday with a concert at the Aragon Ballroom on their hometurf of Chicago; a second date in the Windy City where the band kickstarted the tour two months ago. The fans were there to welcome them home and the band delivered a show worthy of their expectations, with the usual raw energy, powerful playing, and insane pyrotechnics. Frontman Eddie Munson surprised the crowd during the encore with what seemed to be an entirely new song. He took the stage alone, swapping his faithful Warlock for an acoustic guitar, and introduced the song as "Something I wrote on the bus and the guys are sick of it, so it's your turn." The song, called Movie Night, is a stark departure from Corroded Coffin's usual aggressive style but with Munson's characteristic talent for words and melody. The topic of the song —two strangers finding themselves seated next to each other in a movie theatre, feeling an instant connection, but going their separate ways once the movie ends, a classic if relatable case of missed connection— also took the crowd by surprise, exposing a softer side of the singer who offered a sober, intimist performance and already has fans wondering what might have happened on the tour to get the famously intense Munson in such a state.

Hit Parader, June 1989

—

It's been two weeks.

Robin has been watching Steve like a hawk for any sign of hidden heartbreak but Steve is fine. He gets a faraway look in his eyes and smiles wistfully at the most random times, but there's no sadness to him. He isn't moping, isn't shutting down, isn't even gloomy. He's just Steve. Who had several moments with Eddie Munson and is clearly still thinking about them a lot but is carrying on in his best I'm not sad it ended, just happy it happened fashion. Robin hates it. She doesn't hate that Steve's fine, she loves that Steve's fine, that part is great. But she hates that he's fine with just memories of such a meaningful evening that it's clearly been playing non stop in the back of his mind ever since it happened.

And, listen, Robin's not a romantic. She'd love to be! All the movies and songs make it sound amazing! But in real life, being a romantic is more likely to end terribly, especially for people like her. And. Well. Steve. Who had to go and pick Eddie Munson, of all people. Which is why, when you find something, someone special, you go after them! And, sure, she hasn't the faintest idea how to do that, and the guy is a fucking rockstar with thousands upon thousands of adoring fans ready to throw themselves at him at any time, but Steve is Steve, okay, he's the best! He's Robin's favourite person in the entire world! He could totally beat all of them! And also, Steve always goes after what he wants, so Robin doesn't understand what the hold up is, here. …Although, okay, maybe she does see, what with the whole Eddie Munson of it all. But still! She just wants her best friend to be happy. And if he thinks he's happy with a fond memory, well, it's Robin's prerogative as his best friend to disagree.

—

"Hello?"

"Hello Mrs H, it's Robin. Sorry to call so late, but is Dustin there, please?"

"Oh, hello Robin! Yes, Dusty's here, let me grab him for you. DUSTIN! PHONE FOR YOU."

"Who is it?"

"ROBIN."

"Hey Robin, what's up? Steve's not here."

"I know, I wanted to talk to you. You're a Corroded Coffin fan, right?"

"….yeah."

"I need you to tell me everything you know about them, and about Eddie Munson specifically."

—

"Are you going to tell us what's up with you?" Jeff asks, plopping down next to Eddie and entirely bypassing beating around the bush. That's what happens when you form a band with your best friends. You're together all the time, which is great, but they can ambush you whenever they want, which is less great.

Eddie buries his face in the couch cushion and groans. Jeff laughs at him without a hint of compassion. They just finished rehearsing, which was more brainstorming than actual playing, as it always is after the end of a tour, and everyone's relaxed and excited to start something new. Everyone except Eddie. Who's been moping.

"It's been almost a month, man, and we're very happy about the new song but you have to tell us what the hell happened."

"I did tell you."

"You said you hid somewhere for a bit."

"I did hide somewhere for a bit."

Jeff's stare is so potent that Eddie feels it from where he is stuffed under the cushion. "Stop that," he demands, which comes out muffled and completely ineffective.

"I'm not doing anything, man."

Eddie throws the cushion away and sits up like a demented Jack-in-the-box to squint at Jeff from a distance that would make anyone else uncomfortable but, unfortunately: best friend. Jeff has, over the years, grown immune to Eddie and it's in moments like these that Eddie feels it keenly. The guy doesn't even blink. Eddie deflates like a pierced balloon and flops backwards.

"I'm in love, Jeff."

A beat.

"Again?" comes the dubious reaction.

"Scorn! Ha! But I swear it is true! For I have met the fairest knight in all the land and my heart will now never know peace."

"Don't you say that every time?"

"Not every time!" Eddie squeaks. "Just because I'm not some sort of animal like Grant—"

"Fuck off!" comes Grant's opinion on the matter from the other side of the room.

Eddie gestures towards Grant and stares pointedly at Jeff, who rolls his eyes.

"So you really did hide in a movie theatre, sat next to some babe, and…" Jeff trails off, waiting for Eddie to finish.

Eddie doesn't. Eddie gazes up at the ceiling like a forlorn maiden and lets out the longest sigh known to man.

"It was a video rental store," he says at last, devoid of any theatrics. "Not a movie theatre."

Sensing the shift, Jeff doesn't interrupt, just nudges Eddie when he doesn't continue.

"His name is Steve," Eddie adds with a tragic sigh, "and before you ask, we didn't hook up. We didn't even kiss." Eddie grabs another cushion and holds it to his chest. "We didn't even kiss, Jeff, and I swear to God I have never in my life wanted to kiss someone as badly as I wanted to kiss him."

"Why didn't you, then?"

"I don't know," Eddie groans. "It didn't seem right?"

"He wasn't into you?" Gareth asks as he sits on a nearby chair, having decided to stop pretending he hasn't been listening the whole time.

Eddie shakes his head. "No, I'm pretty sure he was."

"Intimidated?"

Eddie lets out a cackle, Chop chop, Munson ringing in his ears. "No, definitely not. It wasn't like that. It was just, ya know." Another sigh. "Different."

"Shit," Grant says, joining them, "you really are in love."

Eddie makes his most pitiful face at him.

Jeff nudges him again. "What are you going to do about it?"

"Eh," Eddie shrugs, "might have a couple more songs in me."

They all swear. There's a muttered Jesus Christ from Gareth. Eddie grins. No, he did not kiss the beautiful Steve Harrington when he possibly, almost certainly had the chance and that's on him, but by God is he going to make it everyone's problem. And if by chance Steve hears about it someday, then that's all the more reason for Eddie to sing about it.

—

Steve doesn't know why he did it. No, that's not true, he knows exactly why, but it's dumb, it's not going to change anything.

The cover of Heavy Metal magazine stares back at him and offers no help.

It was an impulse buy. He saw the name while he was browsing and his hand grabbed the magazine without any input from his brain and now here he is, scoffing at himself and feeling a little ridiculous. He doesn't even like heavy metal. He liked the way Eddie's leather jacket sat on his shoulders. He liked the chains dangling from the waist of his ripped jeans. He liked how deep Eddie's voice was. Looking at the magazine in his hands now, he's a little embarrassed.

On the other hand, better to just rip off the bandaid and get it over with.

"This is so stupid," Steve mutters, shaking his head and opening the damn magazine.

Ten minutes later, he's sprawled on the couch, head tilted back, arm thrown over his eyes, feeling even more ridiculous. Despite its deceptively explicit name, Heavy Metal magazine is a comics magazine. It is not a music magazine. There's some seriously weird shit in it but absolutely nothing that has anything to do with metal music, metal bands and, consequently, Eddie Munson at all.

Steve allows himself one laugh. Perhaps he should take this as a sign.

In a corner of his mind, he can't help thinking that Eddie would tease him for this, with his boyish closed-lip smile and his laughing eyes, and Steve would feel warm, warm, warm. He imagines himself nudging Eddie's ribs to push him away when Eddie would inevitably stand too close to better make fun of him.

Steve groans.

It's been a month and a half.

—

Robin stares at the letter in awe. It starts with "Welcome!" in spiky, nearly illegible letters. There's a letterhead at the top and four signatures at the bottom that look like real signatures, not photocopies. "You're a member of the official fan club?" she gasps.

"Well, I wasn't," Dustin gripes, "but given that you made it sound like a life or death situation, I thought it might get us some more insight into the band. You owe me five dollars, by the way." He throws his bag on the counter and starts pulling more things out of it. It's 9:15am on a Tuesday and Family Video is empty so Robin lets him invade the space with only mild grumbling. "And to be honest," he continues, "I didn't really buy your story."

Robin squints at him over the top of the letter. "What do you mean you didn't buy my story?"

Dustin gives her his flattest stare, raises a sceptical eyebrow. "On the night of the concert," he recites, "a friend of yours randomly met Eddie Munson," the second eyebrow joins the first, "and they fell in love. Mutual, reciprocated love." He stops there, letting the ensuing silence convey the depth of his disbelief.

"I know how it sounds!" Robin flails, "I didn't believe it at first either!"

"Are you sure your friend isn't delusional?"

Robin barely holds a hysterical giggle. Not telling Dustin about the identity of her mystery friend was a choice she made as soon as she realised she'd ask for his help. Steve and Dustin might be as close as Steve and her, it's still not her story to tell. It will absolutely come back to bite her in the ass, but hopefully after they've gotten Steve and Eddie Munson together, so Dustin won't be able to be too mad about it.

"I'm sure," she says once she has herself under control. "Did the fan club give you anything?"

"Of course. When have I ever had a bad idea?"

Robin takes a fortifying breath, glad Steve's not here because this would definitely set him off. She makes a get on with it then gesture. Dustin grabs a binder, pulls a bunch of sheets out of it, and a audio tape.

"This here is the band's agenda for the summer," Dustin spreads out a couple of sheets. "The tour ended so there's no big show although there are a couple of gigs in Chicago, but, more importantly," he points to three dates, "these are live radio interviews from shows that take calls from listeners. If your friend wanted to talk to Eddie directly, these would be the best way to do so."

"Yeaaaaah," Robin grimaces, "that might be a bit too direct, I'm not sure."

"Is it true love or is it not?" Dustin gripes, grabbing another pair of sheets. "This is a compilations of articles about the tour and press interviews given last month. This one," here, he brandishes one of the sheets and points at a highlighted extract, "is why I think you might not be entirely full of shit."

"Excuse me?"

"Just read it."

Robin slides the paper towards herself and starts reading. It's an excerpt from last month's Hit Parader about the band's last show of the tour. The song, called Movie Night, it says and Robin's eyes grow wide. Two strangers (…) feeling an instant connection. (…) a sober, intimist performance and already has fans wondering what might have happened on the tour to get the famously intense Munson in such a state.

"Holy shit," Robin breathes. She believed Steve, of course she believed him. She's been an unwilling witness of the Harrington's charm enough times to know that it is a lethal weapon, and she knows Steve. She knows he wouldn't have made it up, wouldn't have played up what happened to make it seem more important or meaningful than it had been. If anything, he's the kind of guy who'd do the opposite, honest about his feelings but not the type to yell about them either. So, to have it confirmed in writing, to read with her own two eyes that Eddie Munson might have written a whole entire song about it that he sang in front of thousands of people because he was still thinking about that night, too? About Steve? It fills Robin's heart with hope.

She reads the excerpt again and grabs the tape. "Please tell me this is the song."

"It's the whole concert, but I've fast forwarded it to just before the beginning of the song," Dustin says because he is insufferable but also a genius.

Robin rushes to the break room. "If anyone comes in, tell them to wait or handle it, I'll be right back!"

She almost trips on the couch in her haste to grab the small radio that sits on the fridge. It's one of those fancy ones that is also a tape player and recorder, and Robin should not say it but she has used it to record songs from the radio to make a couple of mixtapes but that is neither here nor there, she just needs to— The tape slides in, she presses play, and—

The crowd's whoops and cheers quiet down and someone says "So. Here's something I wrote on the bus and the guys are sick of it, so it's your turn." And yep, yeah, that's Eddie Munson's voice. The crowd screams and applauds, only falls quiet again when the first notes of an acoustic guitar start playing. Then Munson starts singing and—

It's a love song.

It's a goddamn love song. It's sweet, and funny, and soft, and the end feels like those caramel toffee candies that Robin used to eat when she was a kid, all sticky sweetness and nostalgia and that lingering impression of being held long after the other person has let go.

There's no explanation for a song like this except Eddie Munson is in love with Steve. Eddie fucking Munson spent one hour with Steve and fell head over heels in love with him.

Robin marches back into the main room and slaps the tape down on the counter, looks Dustin dead in the eye. "We are getting those two idiots together before the end of the summer."

"We're almost halfway through July and you might not have any plans for the summer but I do," Dustin starts putting everything back in his bag, his job here done.

Robin debates for two whole seconds, the new information making her reconsider her stance, before blurting out, "It's Steve."

"What?"

"My mystery friend. It's Steve."

Dustin's scream scares away the first potential customer of the day.

—

"What is he doing?"

"Staring at the phonebook. Has been for the past thirteen minutes."

"Is it—"

"No, it's Chicago. It's why I'm assuming he hasn't opened it."

"Jesus Christ."

"He's finished another song."

"How many is it now? Four? Five?"

"Finished? Four. He was writing again last night, though, so who knows."

"I hate that they're good songs. We can't even tell him to stop or that we won't play them."

"I know."

"…how long until he starts picking flowers and plucking petals out one by one?"

"Don't even joke about it, man."

—

This is stupid, Steve thinks. It's been two months since that night and he almost walked into a pole today because he saw a guy with long wavy dark hair on the opposite side of the street and could not look away. It was one hour and he has been busy since, what with work and the kids being on holidays and requesting rides all the time. How can he still be stuck on it? Every morning, he wakes up and remembers Eddie's laugh. Every night, he goes to bed and hears "Good night, Steve Harrington." Wherever he is, whatever he's doing, there's always some part of his mind that's rolling around in the memories of that night, a warm feeling in his chest. On the rare moments he manages to focus on something else, the smallest things make him relapse. And the worst thing is, he doesn't truly want it to stop. Doesn't want to forget. He hasn't felt like this since—

Since Nancy.

The realisation hits him like a brick to the face, keys falling from his suddenly lax hands. He picks them back up just as Dustin exits the arcade, grinning widely as soon as he spots Steve. Dustin hugs him when he reaches him, which is new. He started a few days ago for no reason that Steve has been able to discern, but it's nice so Steve quietly but gratefully accepts the affection and the distraction from his sudden epiphany.

"Had fun?" Steve asks, ruffling Dustin's hair, which Dustin tolerates for about one second.

Dustin makes a face. "Someone beat my record on Dig Dug."

"That's the one with the cars, right?" Steve says, knowing perfectly well it isn't.

Dustin levels him with a very unimpressed look. "I don't know why I'm friends with you."

"Sure," Steve grins, getting in the driver seat while Dustin climbs on the other side.

"So, how are you?" Dustin asks, oddly intense but trying to hide it, which only makes it more obvious. That's also new, but Steve's choosing to take it in stride. He loves Dustin but the way the kid's brain works remains a mystery to him and, honestly, that's fine with him.

"I'm good, buddy, how are you? Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Still bummed there's no science camp this year."

"Yeah, tell me about it, I'm the one who's gonna have to drive you around the whole summer instead of just July."

"Hey!"

They bicker the whole drive over to Dustin's house and it's only when Steve is pulling up to the curb that Dustin starts to fidget.

"Hey, um, do you want to come in?" His voice is a little high and his eyes keep bouncing from Steve's face to anywhere that isn't Steve's face. "My mom hasn't seen you in forever, she keeps asking me how you are."

It's a pretty transparent excuse, but Steve can play along. There's obviously been something going on with Dustin and if he's trying to find a way to talk about it, Steve's going to be there for him a hundred percent.

"Sure, I'd love to say hi to Mrs H."

Dustin gives him a toothy smile and they both exit the Beemer. Dustin's mom is happy to see Steve and does indeed keep him for a good ten minutes to catch up and make sure he's okay and doing well and that he takes care of himself. Steve likes Mrs H. He's rarely met a parent who is as supportive of their child as she is of Dustin. So if there's something that Dustin feels he can't talk to her about, Steve is going to make sure Dustin knows he can talk about it with him. And, he figures as he makes his way to Dustin's bedroom, helping Dustin might take his mind off Eddie Munson for a while.

Eddie, who is in Dustin's bedroom.

Steve's whole brain immediately freezes at the sight, his body stopping as if he'd hit a wall.

"…Steve?"

It's a poster. It's a fucking poster.

"Yeah, yep, I'm fine, right here."

It's a Corroded Coffin poster on the wall facing the door and Steve is going to be so normal about it, because anything else would be crazy. So what if he was taken by surprise? It's fine, it happens, he can totally work with it, he's cool.

"Didn't know you were such a fan," he clears his throat, heart beating a mile a minute, and gestures awkwardly to the poster, as if drawing attention to it was going to help any, Jesus Christ, Steve, get a grip.

Dustin throws him an odd look. "Uhhh yes, you do. I've been talking your ear off about them for ages, you used to complain about it."

Oh right, Steve remembers that happening. He just.

Eddie's right there. He looks ridiculous, he's making a face, tongue out, eyes wide, fingers held above his head like horns, what a dork, who would make this face on something that's going to be printed thousands of times? Steve's hands tingle with the urge to reach out.

"Steve, you okay? You're starting to freak me out."

Shit. Shit shit shit, he's supposed to be there for Dustin, not scare him.

"Yeah! Sorry!" Steve puts on his best airhead, you know me! face and resolutely turns his back to the poster to face Dustin, who's still looking at him strangely. "Sorry, bud, checked out there for a second but I'm here for you, you know that, right? Whatever it is that's been eating at you, I'm right here if you want to talk about it."

And it's easy to let his concern and care for Dustin take over, because Steve is genuinely so fond of the little shithead that his own problem seems inconsequential in comparison. From the way Dustin is looking at him, it's clear he's deciding whether to take him up on his offer or not, so Steve keeps his expression open and waits. At last, Dustin takes a deep breath and sits at his desk.

"I met someone," he says bluntly.

It isn't what Steve was expecting at all. His first reaction is joy, but Dustin's face is sombre and his voice quiet, so Steve keeps his congratulations to himself and offers a encouraging smile instead.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Dustin nods, not looking at him. "At the concert, back in May." He gestures at the poster and Steve carefully does not react in any way, be it to the poster or the mention of the night of the concert. This is about Dustin.

"You don't seem too thrilled about it," he says gently.

"I mean," Dustin fidgets, grabs random objects off his desk to fiddle with them before putting them back. "We hit it off immediately. It was one of those things, you know? When you meet someone and you can just tell."

Steve nods, ignoring the pang in his chest. He does know. The thought that Dustin might be going through the same thing as him is comforting, even though Steve feels bad he missed it until now. It mustn't have been easy for Dustin.

"But, um," Dustin continues, "she was only in town for the concert, she's not even from Indiana and we didn't exchange numbers or anything, so."

Steve lays a hand on Dustin's shoulder, squeezes a little. "I'm sorry, man."

"What would you do?" Dustin is leaning towards him, staring intently, like his answer will determine the rest of his entire life. It's Steve dropping him off at the Snowball all over again, except a lot has happened since and love advice doesn't seem all that straightforward anymore. But Dustin's still looking at him like Steve has all the answers.

"Do you want to see her again?"

Dustin sits up, a frown on his face. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, do you want to see her again?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

Steve shrugs. "Sometimes a moment is just that, you know. It's beautiful, it's perfect, but it's also a one time thing and if you try to force it, it just— It's not the same."

Dustin's face is the picture of betrayal. "Are you, Steve Harrington, telling me not to go for it?"

"I'm telling you that meeting someone under very specific circumstances, like a concert, can create a bond that would not exist or last if you'd met them in a different situation."

"So you're telling me to forget about it?"

What. "No, I'm not, I'm just saying—"

Dustin's looking pissed now, and honestly, the nerve of the kid. Why ask for advice if he's going to get mad if it's not what he wanted to hear? Steve's only trying to make him consider all the angles before making a decision. Jesus Christ. It's not like these things are always easy!

"You know what, Dustin?" Steve snaps, getting up to leave, "I don't know why you're asking me. You're clearly going to do whatever you wanted to do before we even started this conversation."

Dustin's face falls and he stands up, hands out as if to physically stop Steve from leaving. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

Steve immediately feels bad. "Don't be, it's okay, I'm sorry I snapped at you." It isn't Dustin's fault that Steve has been stuck in a bad movie with no ending.

"I understand what you're saying," Dustin hurries to add, "I do. But it's been two months and I can't stop thinking about her, that has to mean something, right?"

And isn't that the million dollar question.

Steve looks at Dustin, reminds himself that their situations are different, and tells him what he was always going to tell him. "Yeah, it does. And if you believe something can come out of it, you should go for it."

"That's what you would do, right?" Dustin insists, seeking confirmation and reassurance. Steve feels awful for making him doubt himself.

"Yeah," he says, "that's what I would do."

Dustin beams and hugs him. Steve returns the hug, happy to have been able to help.

"Okay!" Now that they're on the same page, Dustin is all business. He lets go of Steve and grabs a couple of things from his desk. "This here is the band's agenda for the summer." He shoves a piece of paper in Steve's face. "They're playing three gigs in Chicago. Small venues, nothing crazy like the tour. They don't even advertise these shows, so it's only their local core fans or members of the fan club who have access to the dates."

"You're a member of the fan club?"

"That's not important right now, Steve, keep up! Small venue, small crowd, the perfect place to both see the band up close and talk to someone you might meet in the audience!" Dustin snaps his fingers. "It's perfect!"

Steve has a sudden vision of himself standing a couple of metres away from a small stage, music blasting, stage lights swirling, and Eddie right there in front of him, mic held in front of his grinning mouth as he winks at Steve. Front row, he'd said, I'll throw you my shirt.

And Steve thinks yes.

"The next one is in two weeks, enough time to convince my mom to take me," Dustin is saying, and Steve nods even though he's not really listening. He takes a quick look at the paper Dustin gave him, just long enough to note the time and place.

It's been two months and I can't stop thinking about her, that has to mean something, right?

And Steve thinks yes.

He doesn't believe anything will come out of it, but he did miss the show last time.

He's not going to miss this one.

—

"So?"

"I think it worked, but it's hard to tell. He freaked when he saw the poster, it might have been too much."

"I told you to be subtle, Henderson!"

"It's Steve! He doesn't understand subtle!"'

"You're such a little shit, I swear if you blew this I will make your life miserable."

"Yeah, yeah, just stick to your part of the plan, Buckley."

—

The best thing about having been in Chicago so long and as a complete nobody for years, is that Chicagoans? Don't give a shit about Eddie Munson. Or rather, they do, but the same way your neighbours care about you, or your grandparents, or the overbearing aunt that you see at every Christmas who always wants to know when you're going to find a nice boy and settle down. They've known him for years, long before the rest of the country did, and to them he is just that weird kid with the hair whom they are reluctantly fond of. Eddie loves them for it.

Which is why he's only a little nervous when he steps into his usual post office and sees Stanley manning the desk. Stanley is in his early fifties, has been there for every single demo tape that the band sent to various labels when they were still young and green, got worried when they stopped, and congratulated them heartily when they came in one day and asked if they could make his post office the drop point for their fanmail, because they were starting to receive too much of it to handle themselves. Stanley is strictly a disco guy, bless his heart, but every single one of his kids has a Corroded Coffin tee-shirt that he bought for them. Stanley goes for beers with Uncle Wayne every Friday, he's basically extended family at this point. And that means that what Eddie's about to do will be all over the neighbourhood by the end of the day. He considers turning around while he has the chance, but the queue moves treacherously fast and all too soon it's his turn, and Stanley's beaming at him with his big round face and disarmingly friendly smile.

"Hey kid, come to pick up the band's mail?" he greets, coming around the desk to give Eddie a brief hug.

"Yeah, yep, that is why I'm here, absolutely," Eddie nods like a bobblehead for ten whole seconds as Stanley walk to the back to grab the band's bag of fanmail.

"A little less than last week," Stanley announces as he deposits the bag on the desk.

Eddie smiles. "Yeah, the immediate post-tour is always crazy, but it's been two months now." He pick up the bag and leaves it at his feet, not moving.

"Something else I can do for you?"

Eddie pulls the envelope out of his pocket, smoothing it out even though there's no need. "I, um, I'd like to send this," he says, shifting on his feet, "but I don't have the exact address to send it to. I was hoping you could help me out?" There must be something on his face, because Stanley takes one good look at him and his whole being softens, a knowing twinkle in his eyes. Eddie would be mortified if he still had any shame left. As it is, he manages mild embarrassment.

"What do you have?" Stanley asks.

"Full name, city and state. Hawkins, Indiana."

"Well you're in luck, kiddo, we have the white pages for all neighbouring states. Lemme grab that for you. Hawkins, you said?" Stanley rummages under the desk and emerges a minute later with a thick volume. "There you go."

"Thanks, Stan," Eddies smiles and moves away so as to not hold up the queue. He almost chickens out twice, browsing the book first to find Hawkins, then Steve. There's only one Harrington family listed, and for a brief second, Eddie panics that it might not be Steve's, but what are the fucking chances? Eddie traces the name with a finger with giddy excitement. Found you. He grabs a pen, writes down the address on the envelope and brings it all back to Stanley just as he is finishing with a customer.

"Found what you were looking for?"

"I hope so," Eddie exhales. "What's the fastest this can be delivered?"

"Two days."

"Two days it is." Eddie slides a fiver along with the envelope. "Keep the change, buy some candy for your kids, alright?"

Stanley shakes his head, disbelieving. "I'm a post office, you can't tip me."

"It's for luck!" Eddie grins, waving as he makes his way to the exit. He lights a cigarette as soon as he's on street, foot tapping an irregular rhythm on the sidewalk. The smoke feeds the frantic energy he can feel rising inside of him. He's reached out, it's up to Steve now, but Eddie's got a good feeling about this. He's got a feeling he could make a song about. Yeah, this is gonna work.

—

RADIO HOST: "Welcome back misfits and freaks, you are listening to Metal Mayhem, I'm your host James Howell, it is dangerously close to midnight, and we are still with Chicago-based band Corroded Coffin!"

[Corroded Coffin cheering and clapping]

JAMES: "How are you doing, guys? Still good?"

GRANT: "Still good."

EDDIE: "Yeah, we're great."

GARETH: "We're losing Jeff, though, it's a bit late for him."

JEFF: "Fuck you, Gar."

[All laughing]

JAMES: "So we've talked about the tour that ended in late May, and I know this is your first radio show since. Did you take a break? What do you usually do after touring for several months? I'm gonna ask you guys first, because we all know Eddie hasn't stopped writing."

GRANT: "Don't remind us."

[All laughing]

JAMES: "Jeff?"

JEFF: "We usually take a break, yeah. Our tours aren't as long or as packed as they could be, other bands go way harder than us, and we want to be able to do that too, but we're still working our way up to it."

JAMES: "You gotta work on your stamina, is what you're saying?"

[All laughing]

GARETH: "Also, we've all known each other for years and are all very good friends but I, for one, need to get away from them after two months in each other's pockets."

GRANT: "Oh abso-fucking-lutely. Going back home after two months stuck on a bus with these guys is as close to a religious experience as I'll ever get. My girlfriend's there, it's clean, it smells nice. It's practically heaven."

[Jeff, Gareth and Eddie protesting loudly]

JAMES: "Eddie?"

EDDIE: "For the record, and because these shitheads keep making me sound like a tyrant, I did take a break. I went to stay with my Uncle like I always do—"

GARETH: "FOR TWO DAYS!"

EDDIE: "As I was saying, I took a short break, caught up with the old man, saw the sights, shot the shit, smoked out a little. It isn't my fault that my creative genius has been particularly active as of late."

JEFF: "Oh, creative genius, really? That's how you want to call your massive bon—"

EDDIE: "Do NOT finish that sentence Jeffrey the Just, I will end you."

JAMES: "Thank you Jeff for making it easy for me to casually introduce my next question! Eddie… What's been going on? I mean, I am usually not one for gossip but that encore song? Movie Night? Where did that come from?"

[Jeff, Gareth and Grant cackling]

EDDIE: Every metal band is allowed a power ballad. Scorpions wouldn't where they are now without Still Loving You. I played it on the acoustic because it was brand new, but we've been working on a fully orchestrated version that we'll record when it's ready. It'll be very metal, perfectly acceptable, thank you."

JAMES: "It isn't just a power ballad, though, it's an honest to God love song."

EDDIE: "That is for my battered and cynical heart to keep and cherish, James the Curious."

JAMES: "Alright, fair enough but we're absolutely going back to this later. For now, though, it is time to take some listener calls! Folks, I know you're out there and desperate to chat with the members of Corroded Coffin, who will be with us until one in the morning. You know the number of the switchboard, call us and Andy will hook you up! Hello! Who do we have on the line?"

LISTENER: "Hello, my name is Anthony."

JAMES: "Hi Anthony, welcome to the show! You sound awfully young, pal, how old are you?"

ANTHONY: "I'm twelve."

[Corroded Coffin cheering loudly]

CORRODED COFFIN: "Hi Anthony!"

JEFF: "Shouldn't you be in bed, little man?"

EDDIE: "Very metal of you to still be up to talk with us, Anthony, don't let anyone tell you otherwise!"

[Anthony giggling]

GRANT: "Fuck, that's adorable."

JAMES: "Did you have a question for the band, Anthony?"

ANTHONY: "Yes. I wanted to know why you sing about wizards so much and if you have heard of Dungeons and Dragons."

JAMES: "Anthony, you can't see it because this is a radio show but Eddie Munson looks like you just told him it was Christmas morning and he's gotten a hundred presents with his name on them."

EDDIE: "Anthony, Anthony, Anthony, my man, my friend. Have we heard of Dungeons and Dragons? I'll tell you the truth, it's actually how the band met. We were in a DnD club together."

ANTHONY: "Really??"

EDDIE: "Yep, really. Grant's our Barbarian, Gareth our Fighter. Jeff's a Monk, and I'm a Bard but I mostly DM now. What's your character?"

ANTHONY: "I'm a level 7 warlock."

[Corroded Coffin whistling appreciatively]

GRANT: "That's really cool, Anthony, Warlocks are badass."

ANTHONY: "Thank you."

EDDIE: "And to answer your question, that's kinda why we sing about wizards so much, I guess. We all like fantasy, be it in games or movies or books. You've read The Lord of the Rings yet, little man?"

ANTHONY: "No, I've only read The Hobbit."

EDDIE: "Ohhh, then you are in for a treat, because The Lord of the Rings is going to change your life, my friend."

JEFF: "It's awesome, you're gonna love it."

JAMES: "Thank you very much for your question, Anthony."

CORRODED COFFIN: "Thanks, pal! It was great talking to you!"

ANTHONY: "Thank you, good night."

GRANT: "So fucking polite, too, man."

JEFF: "I hope he's going to bed."

[Gareth laughing]

JAMES: "We have another listener on the line, a young lady named Robin, hi Robin!"

ROBIN: "Hi James, hi guys!"

CORRODED COFFIN: "Hi Robin!"

EDDIE: "Good evening, my lady!"

JAMES: "What would you like to ask Corroded Coffin tonight, Miss Robin?"

ROBIN: "Well, it's not so much a question, and I might be overstepping by, like, a lot, but I really don't know what else to do and it's been over two months, which might not seem like much, but it really is and someone's gotta step in at some point, you know—"

JAMES: "Breathe, Robin."

ROBIN: "Yep, breathing, sorry. I'm just gonna—"

[Robin clearing her throat]

ROBIN: "Okay. Um. Hi. I'm a friend of Steve's."

JEFF: "HOLY SHIT."

GARETH: "FOR REAL? ARE YOU SERIOUS?"

[Grant screaming]

JAMES: "Wow, okay, what's going on, I'm lost."

GARETH: "Please please please tell us he's pining, Robin, I'm begging you."

ROBIN: "He's being very noble about it, but yes, oh my god. All quiet and soulful, with his sad eyes and his sad little face."

GRANT: "Jesus fucking Christ, he wasn't lying, they really found each other."

GARETH: "We'll trade you. Quiet and soulful sounds like a fucking holiday compared to what we have."

JEFF: "Robin. Robin, thank you so much for calling, but I have to ask: are you serious right now? Are you being a hundred percent truthful? If you are, you'll understand why I'm asking."

ROBIN: "I totally understand, and yes, I am. I've been debating calling for hours. I just want to help."

JAMES: "I'm still lost. Who is this? Who's Steve? Why is your fearless leader is being so uncharacteristically quiet?"

[Gareth slaps a hand over Eddie's mouth]

GARETH: "Don't mind him for now. Jesus fuck, Eddie!!"

[Eddie grinning like a maniac while Gareth wipes his hand on his shirt]

EDDIE: "GREETINGS, LADY ROBIN, FAIREST OF THEM ALL! It is an honour and a joy to hear from you. I would like to thank you, from the very bottom of my heart, for calling. You are a true friend."

ROBIN: "If you are making fun of me, or him, Munson, I swear on all that you hold dear that I will murder you."

EDDIE: "I accept those terms, and I swear on my honour that I would never. How is he?"

ROBIN: "He's doing okay, he's good. He just, you know, hasn't stopped thinking about it."

JEFF: "Robin, for the sake of transparency, I want you to know that Eddie has the most revolting hearteyes right now. It's embarrassing. I'm not the one doing them and I'm embarrassed."

EDDIE: "Don't listen to them, Lady Robin, I am having a perfectly reasonable and measured reaction."

ROBIN: "And how are you doing?"

GRANT: "He's insufferable."

GARETH: "The worst."

JEFF: "He is not being very noble about it."

GRANT: "He's being a pain in the ass about it."

EDDIE: "I'm expressing my feelings a normal amount."

JEFF: "We have enough new songs to make an EP, Robin, that's how bad it is."

[Robin laughing, sounding a little choked up]

ROBIN: "I'm so glad to hear it, even if it sucks for you, guys."

GARETH: "I mean, the songs are good so it's not all bad."

EDDIE: "You flatter me, Gareth the Great, as you should."

ROBIN: "Okay, I'm really glad, thank you guys for this, I was worried it wasn't, you know. What I was hoping it would be."

EDDIE: "It is. It very much is."

ROBIN: "Good, good that's good. I don't want to hold up the line longer than I already have, this being a live radio broadcast after all, which is insane, but um, before I hang up, is there any message that I could pass along, perhaps?"

GRANT: "Yeah, tell him to put us out of our misery."

ROBIN: "…Eddie?"

EDDIE: "Tell him to check his mailbox. And if he has the closing shift on the 29th, tell him to ask someone to cover for him. You too, by the way, if you want."

ROBIN: "Holy shit."

GARETH: "Eddie… what did you do?"

ROBIN: "I will absolutely do that, oh my god, I am on it. Thank you so much, guys!"

EDDIE: "Thank YOU, Lady Robin, I hope we'll see each other soon."

JEFF: "That goes for us, too. Thank you."

ROBIN: "Alright, have a good night!"

GARETH: "Bye, Robin!"

JEFF: "Holy shit, that was wild."

GARETH: "We've lost Eddie, man, look at him. He is gone."

JAMES: "Hello misfits and freaks, you are listening to Metal Mayhem, I'm James Howell, we are with Corroded Coffin, and I have no idea what just happened but I have a feeling we'll find out more soon enough! We'll be back after a short break, don't go anywhere! This is Pantera, Cemetary Gates."

—

Steve yawns as he pulls over in front of of Robin's house. He had to try four times before reaching someone at The Hideout, his nerves growing worse each times. The show's in one week, what if he no one picked up and tomorrow would be too late and there were no tickets left? In the end, he'd managed to talk to someone just before midnight, who cheerfully informed him that he was just in time as there were only a handful of tickets left and they expected them to not last until the end of the next day. The relief had been so strong he'd had to sit down. It hadn't helped him fall asleep, though, and he'd stared at the ceiling with unseeing eyes, a low simmer of excitement keeping him awake until the small hours.

Fortunately for him, Robin looks just as bad when she climbs into the Beemer.

"You alright?" Steve can't help asking.

Robin doesn't turn to him so much as lets herself fall in his general direction until her head thumps on his shoulder. "Good morning, dingus," she smiles dopily up at him.

Steve chuckles, confused. "Rough night?"

"The best."

"Oh-kay, not gonna ask, then."

"What? No, ew, gross, not like that," Robin scrunches up her face in disgust as she settles back into her seat.

"I don't know," Steve shrugs, "it could be!"

Robin groans and mumbles something Steve can't make out. They spend the rest of the short drive in silence, Robin occasionally humming along the radio, Steve trying his best to stay awake.

"I need coffee," is the first thing out of Robin's mouth as soon as they enter Family Video.

The Thursday opening shift is brutal. Steve and Robin have tried multiple times to pinpoint what exactly makes it the most boring shift of all. It's not the only time activity is low, but there's just something about Thursday mornings that turns an ordinarily boring shift into a slow and lethal crawl through hell. Steve beelines to the break room to get the coffee machine started while Robin turns the computer on.

"Keith left us all the returns to log, rewind and shelve." she calls from the main room.

"Figures," Steve mutters, but he doesn't mind. He can't. Nothing can go wrong today. He's seeing Eddie again. The bubble of excitement is going to carry him through the next seven days.

Robin drags herself to the break room just in time for Steve to hand her a full mug that she takes reverently.

"As much as it pains me to say," she leans into him, both hands around the mug, "I love you a disgusting amount, Steve Harrington."

Steve's heart goes all gooey soft. He leans back into her, drops a kiss on top of her head, hiding his dumb smile in her hair. "Love you too, Buckley."

"There's something I need to tell you, but I need to be fully awake first," she says, her head on his shoulder. And before he can worry about it, "It's good, I promise."

Steve hums, curious, but takes her word for it and doesn't push. "Okay." And because it's Robin and he loves her and wants to share the quiet joy that's taken residence in his gut, he says, "There's something I need to tell you, too."

Robin gives him an inscrutable look. "Yeah?"

Steve nods. "It's good," he smiles, "I promise."

Robin smiles back. "Okay."

Lunch comes after about a thousand mindless hours. Robin has broken her record of most pop corn kernels caught with her mouth, although Steve gives himself half the credit. Years of basketball have given him great aim. They had one person enter the store at ten on the dot and leave it empty-handed at ten two, with zero word addressed to either of them. Thursday.

Steve flips the sign on the front door from open to closed, locks up and makes his way to to the break room.

"Your feast, my lord," Robin announces grandly, gesturing to the paper bag on his side of the table, her own already open in front of her.

Steve snorts, even as his heart jumps a tiny bit. That sounded like something Eddie could have said, for some reason. And perhaps it's this, the fact that now that he's made his decision, thinking about Eddie doesn't feel like a fight anymore, doesn't feel like a memory but rather a glimpse into what could be. He finds himself saying the words without meaning to and they flow easily from him.

"I'm seeing Eddie next week."

Robin's sandwich makes a spongy splat sound as it drops on the table.

Her eyes are huge, her hands still curved around empty air. "Say again?"

"I bought a ticket for a show in Chicago next Thursday. And it doesn't mean that something's gonna happen," he adds while Robin stares at him, "but that's okay. I just want to see him. See what all the fuss is about, you know, big rockstar and all," he jokes, though it sounds too fond to really land. "…Robin, you okay?"

"The 29th?"

"Yeah."

She covers her face with both hands and start giggling hysterically. "You're so stupid, you're both so stupid, oh my god, it's so dumb."

Steve feels he should be offended by that, even though he can't muster any negative feelings at the moment. "I thought you'd be happy for me," he says like a question.

"I am," Robin says, dropping her hands, smile wide and eyes shining, "I am so happy for you, dingus. C'mon, grab your keys, we're going to your place."

"Um, no we're not, we're reopening in 30 minutes."

"We're not staying, we're going to pick up your mail. Come on, hurry up!" She grabs his arm, all but drags him to the door and off they go, the Beemer faithfully rumbling along.

"Are you going to tell me what this is about?"

"Nope!"

Eight minutes later, Steve's barely stopped the car that Robin's already out and rushing towards the mailbox at the end of the Harringtons' driveway. Her hand comes out holding an envelope and she takes just enough time to check the stamp before rushing back to the car and throwing herself in the passenger seat.

"Go, go, go, Steve!"

"Jesus Christ, what is going on with you? How do you know what's in my mailbox?"

"Drive now, talk later!"

"You know, despite what Henderson keeps saying, I can do both."

Robin actually, honest to god, giggles and kicks her feet. "Not this time, you won't."

Steve is so confused.

They make it back with time to spare before the store reopens. Steve watches bemusedly as Robin rushes back inside, still holding his mail hostage.

"What the hell is going on," he mutters to no one as he locks his car and follows at a sensible pace, thank you very much.

Robin's bouncing on her feet when he joins her at the counter, envelope held to her chest.

"Okay, so," she starts as soon as Steve's within earshot, "remember when I said there was something I needed to tell you?"

"How could I forget?"

"Well, I don't know for sure what's in this envelope, but I can make an educated guess." She slides the envelope towards him. "Because I spoke to Eddie Munson last night."

Adrenaline shoots through Steve, his body suddenly weightless as he grabs the envelope with shaky fingers.

"What?"

"Open it first?" Robin's wringing her hands, eyes pleading.

"No, Robin, what the hell? What do you mean you spoke to Eddie? How? Why?"

"The band was on this radio show last night, and—" she starts hurriedly, before visibly reining herself in and taking a deep breath. "Look, you don't know a lot about Corroded Coffin and I know you've kinda been avoiding anything related to them since that night, which I totally understand," she hurries to add, "you have totally valid reasons and this isn't about that. What I'm trying to say is that because of this, you didn't hear about a couple of things that happened, that they did, or rather, that Eddie did, after their show here. After he met you."

Steve's too busy staring at Robin to open the envelope clutched in his hands.

"So, yeah," Robin continues, "they were on a radio show last night and I called, because I wanted to make sure, I wanted to make absolutely sure that he wasn't joking around."

Steve's throat is dry and his breath is short, as if he's been running, but he asks, because he knows he has to. "And?"

"Steve," Robin leans in, looking him in the eye, her face serious but her eyes sparkling, "I introduced myself by saying I was a friend of yours, and they. All. Flipped. The entire band. And I mean honest to god screaming, Steve. Just because I said your name," she laughs, "because Eddie's been talking about you non-stop. He's been writing songs about you. He sang one at their last concert of the tour, in front of thousands of people and Steve, I heard it, I listened to that song. It's a love song, Steve."

The words drape around him like a childhood blanket, warm, comfortable, beloved. All the tension in his body drains away, the trembling in his hands stops. Steve finally brings his focus to the envelope. He notices the sender's stamp. Chicago. He blinks and he's back in his car, it's past midnight and Eddie's dark eyes watch him from the passenger seat.

"Chicago's home?"

"Yeah."

"What did Eddie say, when you spoke to him?" he asks, gently lifting open the flap.

Robin grins at him. "He said to check your mail and to make sure you were free on the 29th."

In the envelope, two tickets for a show seven days from now, and a scribbled note that says:

Front row ;)

E.M.

They're ten minutes late reopening the store and honestly? Steve could not care less.

—

"You're working on the 29th, though, Rob."

"Oh, Keith is absolutely going to take my shift. He has a crush on me AND is scared of me, it's a done deal."

Steve laughs.

__

"Wait, that's why Dustin's been on my case lately!"

"I told him to be subtle about it, but that kid doesn't have a single subtle bone in his body."

"Well, to be fair, he's missing a few of those."

"Oh my god, Steve."

"What? It's true! Also, we're giving him our spare ticket so he can't complain."

"I can't believe he looks up to you."

"Are you kidding, he's horrible to me."

—

"What if he doesn't show?"

"You heard Robin, he's going to be there."

"What if something happened? What if he changes his mind?"

"Eddie. You're trying to convince yourself that you are in a drama but trust me, man, you're the lead in a cheesy romcom. You have nothing to worry about. No, let go of that pen right now, do NOT WRITE ABOUT THIS, JESUS CHRIST."

—

"You already tried this one."

"Yeah, but what do we think? Is it good?"

"You're going to a metal concert and insisting on wearing a polo shirt, Steve, nothing I say can help you."

"I'm not going to pretend to be someone I'm not. That's the whole point. We have to be ourselves for this to work. Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I'm just so proud of you."

"Shut up, Buckley."

"It's true! Anyway, yes, this one's good and you should wear the jeans that make your ass look good."

"What? Which one? Wait, why do you have an opinion on my ass?"

"Ew, gross, I don't, but we rent 15% more videos when you wear them so I'm assuming that's why."

"Jesus Christ."

—

"What's he doing?"

"Freaking out over his outfit for the gig."

"…the gig? At the Hideout?"

"Yup."

"The one in three days? Where there'll be, like, two hundred people tops?"

"Two hundred people, including Steve."

"Are you telling me that because his crush will be there, he's considering not going on stage shirtless like he usually does?"

"Look, I don't pretend to understand how his brain works, I'm just here for the entertainment."

"I can't believe people think he's cool."

"I CAN HEAR YOU."

—

"What do you mean TOMORROW?"

"Yeah, and it's a four hour drive so be sure to be ready when we pick you up."

"DID YOU WAIT UNTIL TODAY TO TELL ME ON PURPOSE? DO YOU ENJOY TORTURING ME?"

"Oh Dusty, don't be so dramatic. Aren't you happy to go to the concert?"

"Mother, I love you, but the fact that you knew about this and kept it from me is still too painful for me to forgive you."

"Rude! Your mom is awesome!"

"You have also betrayed my trust, Buckley."

"Okay then, as the driver and owner of all three tickets, I say we don't take you if it causes you such pain."

"Steve, I love you and would do anything for you."

"That's what I thought. Three on the dot, Henderson, not a second later."

__

Eddie's been bouncing off the walls since he woke up this morning. Mid-morning. Closer to lunch, really, but that's what happens when you stay up until 5 in the morning. And how could he not?

He's seeing Steve again today.

His hands ache for his guitar at the mere thought, needing to do something, to touch, to play, to let the feelings out the best way he knows how. He may have written some more last night but he will not be telling the guys about it yet. Not today. Because today is going to be spectacular. Eddie's got a feeling.

He hums through his morning routine of coffee and cigarette, shower, and breakfast. He throws on whatever clothes are already out but carefully picks and packs his outfit for the gig. He did promise Steve a shirt, after all. Although— wait. He's got a better idea.

He calls Wayne, who, of course, has heard things from Stanley and is being very polite about it, because his uncle is a stand-up guy who wouldn't pry and tease him with knowledge acquired via unsportsmanlike ways. Which is why Eddie ends up blurting out that he's seeing the love of his life later tonight of his own free will, and can't even be mortified about it because one, it's true, and two, Wayne takes it in stride the way only someone who's raised Eddie since he was eight can. Wayne's only advice is to "mop yourself up before you see him, what with all the running around you do when you're up there on a stage you look like a drowned rat by the end of it." It's harsh but not untrue. Eddie promises he will.

It's mid-afternoon by the time they hang up and Eddie looks at the time. Wonders if Steve is already on his way. Feels hopelessly warm at the thought. He can picture the car, picture Steve in the driver's seat, relaxed yet focused on his driving. He remembers what it felt like, stealing glances at him under the streetlights, his profile basked in the orange glow. And what a truly exceptional profile. Eddie's fingers had tapped an erratic staccato on his thigh the whole time, the only way to stop himself from reaching out. He could have, though. He wasn't entirely sure at the time, but he is now. That certainty powers him like a small sun as he bounds out the door and to the train station.

And, look, he knows that he should be mean and scary, what with being the leader of a metal band —an honest to god famous one at that— and don't get him wrong, he loves the look and the theatrics and the drama of it all, and his stance about political issues and the limits imposed by the current society are genuine, but Eddie Munson is, to his core, a sweetheart. And today, of all days? He can't stop goddamn smiling. He gets recognised by a group of girls in the street and grins at them with a wave. There's a baby in a stroller in front of him on the train. Eddie makes silly faces at him until the baby gurgles happily and flails his chubby fists at him. "That's a lot of hair you have," the old man sitting next to him tells him dubiously. Eddie nods gravely and says "Would you like some? I've got scissors." The old throws him a most weirded out look for two whole seconds before bursting into incredulous guffaws.

You're the lead in a cheesy romcom, Jeff said, and yeah, he might be right, but you know what? Eddie's not mad. Because it means that Steve is going to show tonight. It means that tonight, Eddie is going to see him again and most importantly, he is going to kiss Steve Harrington right on his beautiful mouth, possibly in front of witnesses. Possibly with tongue. The mere idea has him ready to jump out of skin. He must look like a madman, beaming with all his teeth and practically skipping down the street to The Hideout.

"Good day, fair people!" he booms when he finally gets there, his voice carrying easily throughout the place. Grant and Gareth are on the stage at the back, setting up their instrument so conveniently brought by the crew earlier in the day —Eddie loves having a crew, it makes things so much easier. Jeff lives closest so of course he's going to be the last one here. There's a chorus of vague greetings as Eddie makes his way to the stage, stopping here and there to say hi to the staff .

The Hideout is a bit of a second home for Corroded Coffin. It's a small but iconic venue, and getting their first gig there was and remains a milestone for the band that they honour by playing there at least three times a year. They didn't intentionally set out to make it their regular first post-tour show, but after the second tour it just seemed fitting, so here they are for their first show after the third tour.

Eddie loves going on tour. He loves the stadiums filled with tens of thousands of people screaming the band's lyrics back at him, the rush that comes with playing places that big and feeling connected to every single person in the crowd, giving them all he has and getting their love in return. But small venues like The Hideout, like the bar one block away from Gareth's place, like the very first theatre that let them play with an admission fee, these places are special. These are the places where you can actually see the people who come to hear you. There are no blinding stage lights, no special effects, no five-metre gap lined with security guards between the band and the crowd. Playing small venues feels like inviting all your friends to your living-room because you're excited to show them the songs you've been working on.

Eddie loves it.

Knowing that Steve will be there, sharing this moment with him, in this place? Makes Eddie want to jump around from sheer joy. He looks around for a clock. Three hours to go. Eddie grins, bounces to the stage to start setting up.

One hour before the show finds him lying face down on the sound mixing desk, in the throes of the most wretched despair.

"Wotfsazollnmed?" he wails, smushed against the desk, possibly drooling a little on the controls.

"I can't hear you, Eddie," Paul says, very patiently. Paul is The Hideout's sound guy. Paul is great. Paul has been put on Eddiesitting duty by the band, who watched Eddie's enthusiasm turn frenetic, then manic, then into plain panic and collectively decided to just… not. Hence: Paul.

Eddie peels his head from the console and throws him a pitiful look. "What if it was all in my head?"

"You talked to his friend, though, right?" Because of course Eddie had to tell Paul about the whole thing. Can't have a proper last minute breakdown with someone who doesn't have all the necessary details.

"Yeah, but that's just it!" Eddie cries, as he jumps from the console and starts pacing the space between Paul's chair and the few steps that lead to the sound booth. "She said she was a friend of Steve's. A friend. Steve is the kind of guy who must have hundreds of friends, okay. How do I know that she was telling the truth, huh?" Eddie gestures frantically. "She might not know him that well!"

Paul looks ready to throw in the towel, which Eddie think a bit rude, Eddie's only been there 45 minutes. "Eddie," he says. "Does it matter?"

The words slam into Eddie so hard he doesn't so much stop as yanks himself back from the step he was about to take. "Of course it does!"

"How?"

"Well."

Paul lets the silence stretch while Eddie fidgets, trying to come up with a reason that doesn't make him sound like a lunatic. Paul lets him stew for almost a whole minute before rolling his eyes.

"Here's what's gonna happen, Munson. You're going to go out there on that stage and you and the guys are going to have the time of your lives. You're going to play and sing and give it your all, because you always do, and every single person in the audience is going to fall in love with you. And in the audience, there will be a boy who will, maybe, stay in love with you even after the show has ended." Paul swivels on his chair to face the mixer again. "The maybe is for my own benefit, by the way. You already know whether he'll stay in love with you or not."

Eddie's throat feels oddly tight, but he manages a squeaky, "How could I possibly know that?"

Paul shrugs. "Because the whole time you were freaking out, you never mentioned the possibility that he might not come. Not even once."

And— that's true. Eddie didn't even notice, but Paul's right. There's not doubt in his mind that Steve will be there. Front row.

"Since when did you become all wise and shit?" Eddie mumbles.

"Always have been, Munson. Now get the fuck out of here, go grab a beer or something before you fuck up my levels again."

"Shit, did I really?" Eddie grimaces, hiding his face in his hands.

"No, I locked the controls when you started climbing on the console, you weirdo."

An undignified giggle makes its way through the lump in Eddie's throat and he escapes to the bar with a skip in his step.

Five minutes til the beginning of the concert and Eddie's very carefully staying hidden in the far corner of the bar, not looking at anyone. It's not fear. Or perhaps it is. But mostly, he wants the surprise. He wants to be playing, wants to hit that sweet spot where everything flows, where his guitar is an extension of himself, he and the guys share one mind, and Eddie's floating, floating, high on the rush that performing always gives him. He wants to be right there when he sees Steve in the crowd.

Grant, Jeff and Gareth have no such compunction, mingling with the regulars and anyone who approaches them, as if this really is nothing more than an evening jamming with friends. To be fair, these small gigs sort of are, what with half the audience being the same people every time, a bunch of them people the band knows by name by now. The boys make excuses for him. As in, they keep telling everyone that Eddie is saving himself for his very special guest, which has Eddie glaring uselessly at them from where he is, indeed, saving himself for his very special guest.

Three minutes. The boys start making their way to the stage and Eddie downs the last of his beer. He's got his chosen outfit on, put on some eyeliner, made sure to touch up his nail polish. Now that it's time, he can feel the stage calling, his treasured Warlock waiting for him. He's bouncing on his feet when the boys meet him, sharing a conspiratorial grin between them.

"Close your eyes, Casanova," Jeff says, "wouldn't want to ruin the surprise."

Eddie's heart thumps violently against his ribs and it's all he can do not to scream. Because surely that means— it means— Except how could they know—

"C'mon. Showtime, Munson," Gareth pats his shoulder with a smug smile, "you've got some serenading to do."

The guys walk past him and on the stage without waiting for him and are welcomed by roaring cheers. Eddie's still catching his breath, smiling so wide he can feel it in his cheeks. He lets out one loud whoop! and because he is ridiculous and too much and unbearably himself in all circumstances, he proceeds to walk on the stage taking exaggeratedly long steps and holding both hands over his eyes. The cheers from the audience don't quite cover Jeff's laugh. And because Corroded Coffin is just four friends who wanted to make music together, soon enough there is a hand guiding him to the mic, and someone is slipping his baby over his head and into his hands, mindfully placing the strap on his shoulder. In the dark as he is, it's easy to hear the fond chuckles of his bandmates as they indulge and help him, moving him this way and that until he is standing and all the noise comes front right in front of him. Eddie keeps his eyes closed and blindly grabs for the mic. His whole body is vibrating with barely contained giddiness as he leans in, lets his lips brush the mic.

"Good evening, gentlefolk," he greets, voice low and slow. "Tonight is a very special night, so I hope you're ready. We are Corroded Coffin and we," the syllable lingers, then a soft inhale, enhanced by the microphone, "are about to change your lives."

From his place behind the drums, Gareth hits his stick 1, 2, 3, 4 and they're off.

They're halfway through the fifth song when Eddie sees him.

He will later describe it as a Moment, capital M: time stopped, all went quiet, gone were the band and the crowd and the rest of the world, it was only Steve and him finally sharing the same space again, lost in each other's eyes, two souls finding and recognising each other, two hearts beating in sync and the universe uttered a loud, victorious at last!

The truth, as the band and all involved will make a point to remind him as often and as loudly as required, is that Eddie's finishing his solo —completely lost in it because goddamn Paul was right, music's Eddie's thing, it's his blood, his life, he can't not give himself to it entirely regardless of who is or isn't there to see it— and, as he comes out of it, his eyes open and catch on a spot of bright, ugly orange in the crowd. It's a tee-shirt. A truly atrocious tee-shirt but when Eddie's eyes stop hurting from the aggression he's able to read words on it. HI I'M ROBIN says the tee-shirt. His eyes snap to the face above the tee-shirt just long enough to register a messy bob and a smile almost wider than the face it belongs to before sliding to the side and—

There he is. There's Steve. Front row. Looking at Eddie like he's the best thing in the world. Eddie nearly trips over three cables, his body moving closer with zero input from his brain, forgetting that the stage is tiny and covered in equipment, stay in your designated space Eddie, do not move. Steve laughs, makes an aborted movement as if ready to catch Eddie should he fall and Eddie's about to explode, there's too much inside of him to be contained by this mortal suit of a body. So Eddie beams right back, holds Steve's eyes for two more seconds, lets his fingers fly over the strings of his guitar, gets back behind the mic and sings.

The song lasts eight years, at least. Eddie almost wants it to last longer so he can live in this feeling of incandescent joy a little more, but: Steve. Steve's right there and Eddie's on stage which is too far and thus intolerable. The last note hasn't finished ringing that he's sliding his guitar on his back and jumping off the stage and right into Steve's arms.

"You're here!"

He's holding onto Steve like someone's trying to steal him, both arms wrapped around his neck, nose in his hair, body pressed entirely into him and it's so good, it's so good. Steve's hands are on Eddie's waist, his chest to Eddie's chest, his thighs against Eddie's thighs. Eddie's pretty sure the whole place can hear his heart beating. Steve smells nice, how did he not notice that the first time? Or wasn't he wearing any cologne then and he decided to wear some tonight? Distantly, Eddie registers cheering, whistling, and laughing from both the crowd and Jeff, Grant and Gareth. He manages to unstick himself from Steve just enough to be able to look at him.

"You're here," he says again, quieter, like a secret. He must look like a loon, his smile so big it hurts and his eyes wide in wonder, but Steve's are are bright and roving over Eddie's face and his hands are still on Eddie's waist.

"Someone made sure I had tickets," Steve says with a smile that is nothing short of smitten. Eddie is hit with an urge to kiss him so strong that he has to clench his hands where they're resting on Steve's shoulders.

He giggles, ducks his head, but that causes him to not see Steve anymore and that won't do so he lets his forehead bump against Steve's shoulder instead. Steve's hands squeeze his waist. Eddie never wants to leave.

"You've gotta go back on the stage," Steve whispers in his ear and oh, oh, feeling his breath so close to Eddie's face is doing things to Eddie. Which means Steve's probably right, he has to go right now before it's too late and they have to pry him from Steve with a crowbar. Someone clears their throat next to them and right! Robin! Eddie seizes the distraction and Robin with both hands, picks her up, spins her around and dips her before planting a giant smooch on her forehead while she laughs with her mouth wide open. He has to go, he has to go! He climbs back on the stage and behind the mic.

"Apologies for the interruption, gentlefolk! My very special guest is here, I had to say hello."

Several people wolfwhistle and Eddie laughs, can't help taking another look at Steve. Who is here. He's wearing a pastel yellow polo to a metal concert, he looks like he's going golfing. He's ridiculous. He's the best thing Eddie's ever seen.

Jeff pointedly clears his throat.

"Right!" Eddie says, tearing his eyes away. "Time for some more music! Shit, where even were we?"

Gareth, once again, gives them the tempo. Eddie winks at Steve, and they're off again.

—

The crowd moves around Steve like the tide, ebb and flow, wave, crash, but Steve stands untouched, untouchable. There is no force strong enough to move Steve Harrington from his spot right now except the one singing up on the stage, and he's pretty sure Eddie doesn't want him to go anywhere either.

They'd made it with time to spare, the four-hour-drive going by in the blink of an eye. Dustin had come prepared with every Corroded Coffin album on tape to start Steve's musical education.

"Does Eddie even know that you've never heard a single Corroded Coffin song? It should be a pre-requisite to being sent free tickets to an exclusive semi-secret concert," Dustin complained.

"I'm sure Steve has other qualities that Eddie appreciates," Robin said, managing to make it sound lewd enough that Dustin's face scrunched up in disgust.

Steve tried to prevent her from wearing the shirt she'd made in the morning but her refusal had been steadfast. "I intend to find Eddie's bandmates and skip the introductions to go straight into commiserating, we've earned it." And, reluctant as he is to admit it, the stupid shirt had worked.

So here is Steve now, standing among a small crowd of people, all of them watching Eddie Munson make music like he was born to, all of them a little in love with him. He can still feel the weight of Eddie's arms around his neck, the press of his body against Steve's, the rapid beating of his heart in his chest, a near exact match to Steve's own. Steve didn't have any expectations going in. He just wanted to see Eddie again, talk to him if he got the chance. Was he confident that they would get along? Yeah. Did he believe it would naturally lead to something more? That depended on Eddie's reaction. And boy, what a reaction. So yeah, here Steve is, surrounded by people in love with Eddie Munson but he knows he's the one who'll get to kiss him once the show's over.

Eddie's not wearing a shirt. Steve hasn't decided yet if he's disappointed or not. On the one hand, he was expecting to be thrown a rockstar's shirt during a performance, which has to be metal, right? Being singled out to get a faceful of sweaty cotton is understood to be a highlight of any concert experience! On the other, well. Eddie's wearing a sleeveless denim jacket covered in patches with nothing underneath. There's a lot of skin on display and Steve's only human. He's okay with skin on display. Had to muster all his self control to keep his hands on the denim when he found himself with an armful of Eddie Munson, because he's pretty sure that, had his hands come into contact with Eddie's naked waist, that would have been it, show over, he was not giving Eddie back.

All this to say, it was a silly joke and Steve has made peace with the fact that Eddie will not, in fact, be throwing him his shirt. So he is completely unprepared when he blinks and suddenly Eddie's topless. Completely topless. Naked from the waist up, his jacket dangling from his fingers as he sings into the mic in a way that has Steve's blood growing a little hot —do his lips really need to cling to the mic like this, Jesus Christ. He's looking at Steve, because of course he is, and Steve laughs, because fuck but Eddie's an asshole. Eddie raises an eyebrow, his singing mouth curling into a smug smile, and shakes the jacket enticingly. Steve shakes his head and takes a moment to enjoy the fact that he and Eddie don't know each other well yet. That Eddie can't tell what he's about to do. Steve's not an idiot. This is Eddie's scene, Eddie's world, he is king here. But Steve knows what it's like to be king despite this not being his kingdom. Also, it's the height of Summer and half the guys in the audience are shirtless, and Steve? Is hot and a bit of a slut. In one smooth movement that has won him many a girl's heart (and more), he pulls his polo over his head, leaving him bare-chested, and holds it out, expectant.

The missed notes and squeak in Eddie's voice are deeply gratifying. Steve would feel bad for disturbing the band's performance but by this point the entire audience is in on it, someone grabbing Steve's ridiculous yellow polo and passing it along until it is thrown right in Eddie's face in a satisfying reversal of what he'd promised. Eddie makes a show of sniffing it and rubbing his face in it, the absolute weirdo, then sticks it in his back pocket with just enough trailing behind him that he looks like he's being pursued by a sun coloured ghost. His jacket is carefully entrusted to the crowd who, as is fair, passes it along until it reaches the person next to Steve. He's a tall dude, long hair, tattoos all over his arms and neck, wearing his own sleveless denim jacket. His has spikes on the shoulders. He is someone that obviously belongs here more than Steve ever will. Steve gets worried for a second, but then the guy holds the jacket up, waiting, and Steve laughs. He slips an arm in, then the other, and feels the guy make sure the jacket sits properly on his shoulders before patting Steve's back with the force of an entire rugby team.Steve grins at him. The guy grins back. On the stage, Corroded Coffin keeps shredding.

"Dearest friends," Eddie announces grandly, "as always, it has been a pleasure and a privilege to play for you, and were are truly so grateful to see so many familiar faces when we play here." Whoops and whistles from the crowd. "Jeff, you still owe me five bucks!" someone shouts from the back and the whole room cracks up.

"This next one is the last song for tonight," Eddie says once everyone's calmed down. "Most of you will have guessed what it is, but can you blame me?"

Jeff, Gareth and Grant all put down their instruments —his sticks in Gareth's case—but stay on the stage. Eddie puts the Warlock away, disappears behind the curtain at the back of the stage and comes out a few seconds later with an acoustic guitar.

"Oh my god," Robin gasps, grabs Steve's arm.

Steve's heart rate picks up as Eddie makes his way over, grabbing Grant's mic as he goes. He steps over cables and speakers until he finds the spot closest to Steve. There, Eddie sits down, right on the stage floor, his guitar nestled comfortably in his lap.

"Everyone," he says softly, eyes on Steve, "this is Movie Night."

And then he plays, and Steve is gone, gone, gone.

—

Eddie had imagined that he would be nervous, singing Steve's song to Steve before they even got a chance to talk. Because everyone's right: it's a love song. A very obvious one, at that. And Eddie's been told that he's too loud, too intense, too much, which he reclaims with pride and doubles down on with spite most of the time. This, though, could have been different. Could have been one of those rare times the fearless Eddie Munson would have toned himself down a little, made himself more palatable, to make sure the beautiful boy he wanted to kiss would give him the chance to.

But Steve came, and held him, and took off his goddamn polo right in front of everyone for the sole purpose of calling Eddie's bluff and it had worked. Steve Harrington, Eddie suspects, might very well be the love of his goddamn life. So he isn't nervous, but he's feelings oddly shy.

Steve's gaze is warm, soft and unwavering. It carries Eddie through the song, through the cheers and applause, through the heartfelt thank yous he and the boys give to the crowd, and finally, finally, back to Steve. Now that the music is over, the place is beginning to empty, half the people heading on home while the rest, the band's regulars, stay for a drink and a chat. Steve, Robin, and a third person that is evidently with them but Eddie didn't even notice until now —wow, way to be obsessed with your crush, Munson— are at the bar, accepting free drinks and good-natured ribbing from pretty much everyone. It fills Eddie's heart. Seeing Steve wearing his battle vest and nothing else fills other parts of Eddie, which he is resolutely ignoring for now. He can always write about it later.

As if sensing his presence, Steve turns away from the conversation he's having and catches his eyes from across the room. Anticipation shoots through Eddie, zings down his spine and makes his entire body tingle. Helpless, he lets his feet carry him to the bar, enjoying the way Steve maintains eye contact the whole time. His appearance is met by many greetings, hugs and slaps on the back but no one tries to engage him in conversation. Eddie feels very obvious, but then he's standing next to Steve, shoulders touching, and he doesn't care about anything else.

"Hi," he grins, leaning in.

"Hey," Steve replies, eyes darting between his eyes and his lips. Another zing down Eddie's spine. "May I introduce my companions?" Steve says with a flourish.

Eddie giggles, delighted by the theatrics. He gives his best benevolent nod.

"The lady Robin, which I believe you already know."

Robin is beaming at him. Her tee-shirt is even worse up close, but he loves it, loves how the uneven letters speak of a rushed job but the best intentions. Eddie falls into a deep bow, gently takes her hand and kisses it.

"Tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Robin! I had hoped you'd be able to join us on this auspicious evening! It gladdens my heart to see it is so."

Robin cackles like a witch. "You're a nerd, oh my god, this is great."

Eddie exchange a look with Steve, who winks at him.

"That's Dustin," Steve continues flatly. He gestures to the curly-haired teenager standing stiffly next to him without another word.

Eddie waits for the rest. So does Dustin. When Steve doesn't add anything, Dustin splutters in outrage. "Really? "That's Dustin"? Jesus, Steve, tell us how you really feel, why don't you?"

The two start to bicker while Eddie watches, bemused and entirely forgotten.

Robin bumps his shoulders. "Dustin's a big fan of Corroded Coffin," she says, voice low. "Has been for years. He hid it well but he was super nervous at the thought of meeting you."

And what can Eddie reply to that? He keeps watching as Steve teases and ribs Dustin until the kid's posture relaxes, and feels himself melt. He's good with kids, a treacherous, presumptuous voice in his head whispers and Eddie hurriedly shuts it out. Sensing a breach in the bickering, he gracefully slides between Steve and Dustin and bows to the kid as he did to Robin.

"Greetings, Dustin the Dismissed, the Disparaged! It seems the company you keep leaves much to be desired." He throws a mock scowl at Steve, whose stupid face is just shy of literally glowing, before turning back to Dustin. "Fear not! This shall all be rectified soon! I, Eddie first of my name, hereby name thee Dustin the Dashing!" and adds in his normal voice, "A Weird Al shirt? You and I are gonna be great friends, man."

Dustin has stars in his eyes. Fuck but Eddie loves it when kids love him. He remembers meeting Ronnie James Dio the first time, how it made his entire year. Knowing that meeting him feels the same to some people? Blows his mind every fucking time.

Steve nudges him. "Want something to drink?"

"Are you offering to pay for my drink, Stevie? Are you putting the moves on me?" Eddie bats his eyelashes, hides behind a lock of hair, plays up the bashful maiden, but Steve just stares steadily at him, soft smile still on his lips.

"Yeah," he says, matter-of-fact.

Zing. Eddie's entire brain fritzes. He's certain that he's blushing, which is intolerable, Eddie Munson does not blush. "Whisky, then, please and thank you," he manages, ignoring the snickering coming from Robin's general direction. While Steve goes to order their drinks, she bumps his shoulder again. Eddie bumps back, and they stay like this, sort of leaning on each other.

"He already had a ticket, you know."

Zing.

"Bought it the day I called. He told me the next day."

Once again, Eddie finds himself uncharacteristically at a loss for words. Steve's at the bar, waiting to be served. Eddie's jacket looks almost better on him that it does on Eddie. Eddie's not mad, not even a little bit.

"I have a notebook full of songs that are all about him," he says.

"Good," Robin smiles, "because remember: I will murder you, Munson."

Eddie laughs. "You're a good friend, Lady Robin."

"Oh I'm the best. Watch this. Hey Dustin! C'mon, we're going to find the band and get drunk, ditch those two losers."

Dustin seems ready to argue but a look at Robin's face has him changing his mind, though with obvious reluctance.

"We'll catch up later, man, don't worry," Eddie holds out his hand for a fist bump that Dustin promptly accepts.

"Okay, yeah, good, great. It's awesome to meet you, Eddie."

"Likewise."

And then he and Robin vanish in the direction of Jeff, Grant and Gareth.

Eddie's path to Steve is clear. He takes a second to appreciate the view —those are very nice jeans— and goes. Steve's elbows are resting on the bar, he's chatting with Evan, the barkeep. His face is flushed, his hair swoops in a way that would be ridiculous on anyone else but somehow works for him, and his arms are muscled yet still soft-looking. Eddie drinks him in, feels drunk even though he hasn't had his whisky yet. He puts an elbow on the bar, props his head on his hand.

"Was starting to think you'd forgotten about me," he lies, looking at Steve through half-lidded eyes. Hey, Eddie has moves, too.

Steve excuses himself to Evan and returns the look. "I knew you'd find me if you got worried."

A glass of whisky slides in front of him, a beer in front of Steve. They both nod absently in thanks, and then it's just them. Steve moves a little closer.

"How have you been?" he asks, taking a pull of his beer.

Eddie would love to answer that question, he is great at answering questions. Talking? Oh yeah, he's a pro. But Steve's mouth is wrapped around the bottle lip and woop, there goes Eddie's brain, goodbye! Words? Pffffft.

He makes a noise to at least contribute something. Steve smirks, the asshole, because he is doing this on purpose and it's working. Eddie must look pathetic enough to inspire pity because Steve's face softens when he puts the bottle down, and says, "I missed you."

Zing.

Eddie exhales with his whole body, stomach fluttering. "Missed you, too." He can tell his face is showing too much, that he barely knows Steve and that, by all accounts, this is a bit crazy. But crazy has never stopped him. And Steve, the polo shirt wearing freak who casually almost saved his life, looks really, really hot in Eddie's battle vest. So. Yeah. Fuck it.

"Are you going to kiss me this time, Steve Harrington?"

Steve blinks, once, and then he's nodding, moving ever closer. "Yeah," he breathes, "yeah." And then he's there, nose sliding against Eddie's, and there are lips on his and hands on his waist, his still very naked waist. Eddie gasps into the kiss, and Steve's hands clench reflexively, squeezing. Eddie makes another noise, scrambles closer, thighs to thighs, chest to chest, heartbeats echoing each other. He doesn't know what to do with his hands, runs them through Steve's hair, slides them down his back and then up his chest —the chest hair? totally doing it for him. That wasn't a thing Eddie knew he was into but yep, yup, definitely into it.

When he imagined this —and he has, more times that he'd admit— reuniting with Steve, it was always a little frantic, a little rushed, Eddie projecting his own restlessness and energy on the fantasy. Here, now, Steve kisses him like he's running the show and holy fuck does he know what he's doing. It's all languid and slow and sweet and so very intentional, his focus warm and non-threatening but so fucking intense, Eddie feels like he's being consumed. Steve's hands are on his waist, then in his hair, then cupping his jaw, then stroking down his neck, his back, his ass, fuuuuuuuck. Steve's tongue is in his mouth, slow and wet and sweet and fuck, has kissing ever felt that good? Eddie could do this for hours.

He doesn't realise he's pulling on Steve's hair until Steve gasps softly and lets out a quiet hmmm that has Eddie's whole body suddenly tense with need. He closes his eyes, inhales deeply and forces himself to lean back lest he does something that might get them thrown out and nobody deserves that.

"Holy shit," Eddie breathes, eyes wide but glassy. "You're good at this."

"Yeah."

And good God, Steve has game, Eddie both loves and hates it. There's a whole millimetre between them and it's too much, he needs to be closer, closer, closer. His whole body is straining forward, desperate to crawl into Steve and Eddie kinda hopes it's leftover excitement from the gig because if it isn't he's fucked, totally and utterly fucked.

"You alright?" Steve asks and nips at Eddie's lower lip, Jesus Christ.

"Yep, yup, fine." Eddie buries his nose behind Steve's ear, nuzzles there like a fucking kitten because it's either that or Steve's armpit at this point, or just plain rutting against his very very nice thigh, he wants him so bad, but he is NOT looking to add public indecency to his record, thank you.

Steve seems to get it. He doesn't say anything, only wraps his arms around Eddie and squeezes tight, tight, tight and yeah, that's just what Eddie needs, fuck. He feels held, warm, arousal still simmering low in his belly but comfortable. His hormones must be crazy compatible with Steve's is Eddie's last conscious thought before he just. Checks out completely. Only the smell of Steve in his nose and the feel of his body against him register as Eddie spaces out. He doesn't mean to, but then he opens his eyes —when did he close them?— and there's a lot less people around that he remembers, and also he's moved? He's in one of the big leather chairs near the back of the bar, half in Steve's lap, and Robin, Dustin, Jeff and Gareth are there.

"Look who's back," Gareth says with a grin when he notices that Eddie is back in his body.

Eddie blinks at him. Steve's thumb is stroking along the small of his back.

"Where's Grant?" Eddie asks, squinting at the group and yup, no Grant.

"He went home like thirty minutes ago. You were out of it, man."

Eddie drops his head on Steve's shoulder and looks up at him.

"Did you spike my drink, Stevie? Do I need to call the police?"

Steve chuckles. "You didn't even touch your drink, Jeff took it."

Jeff raises the now long empty glass in salute.

"It's the all natural post Harrington kiss high," Robin explains like it pains her. " We've seen it happen before." Next to her, Dustin's nod is long-suffering. "It'll fade after a while, don't worry."

"Shit, I hope not, I feel great. You did that to me, Stevie? Oh, I'm going to keep you forever." The last words are mumbled into Steve's mouth, who accepts them and offer them back in the form of one more kiss.

There's huffs of laughter, a heavy, put-upon sigh that Eddie figures must be Dustin, and the conversation flows. It takes a while before Eddie is awake enough to join, is only lightly teased when he does. Steve's thumb keeps his steady rhythm the whole time.

Yeah, Eddie's never letting him go.

—

EPILOGUE

JAMES: Good evening, misfits and freaks, you're listening to Metal Mayhem, it is two in the morning and Andy and I are about to bid you good night, but before that! Some of you might have been listening when we had Corroded Coffin over back in July last year. It sure was an interesting show and we got a loooooot of letters and calls about it afterwards! For those of you who weren't there, one of the calls we received for the band was from none other than Robin Buckley! That's right, Rockin' Robin's first time on the radio was here, on our phone, threatening Eddie Munson about… you guessed it, Eddie Munson's muse and paramour, the very lovely Steve Harrington. What? I can say it. I'm a straight man but I can admit when a man is beautiful and boy did Munson win this round with Harrington. Now, you might be wondering: wait. July? And you would be right! It was right before the infamous Chicago gig, you know the one. Why am I telling you all this when it's made a splash all over the music sphere, far escaping the borders of our little metal world? Because, my friends, it is now the middle of night, which means I can offer you this gift: with special permission from the band themselves, here is, for the very first time ever on the radio, the as-of-yet unreleased and steaming hot song from Corroded Coffin's exclusive EP: Front Row. Now's the time to take any child that might still be listening away from the radio, get some water, and enjoy!

STEVE, OR THE EDDIE MUNSON SCHOOL OF COPING FOR ROCKSTARS IN LOVE

Look. We would love to tell you that Steve, the latest EP by Chicago-based band Corroded Coffin, sucks. First, it's way too long. Ten songs? Some LP don't have as many, just make a full album. Second, the whole story behind it is gag-worthy. The chance meeting? Love at first sight? Months long pining? The dramatic and very public reunion? Please. The most cynical of us had to be escorted to the bathroom when we first heard of it.

But listen. We gotta be honest with you.

It's a fucking banger.

Yes, we now know a lot more about Eddie Munson's sex life than we ever would have wanted to. Yes, that means gay sex. And yes, poor Steve Harrington has now become a country-wide obsession despite being the most normal guy we've ever met. Because yes, we've met him and yes, he's charming as all fuck and has the most refreshing lack of ego we've ever seen, especially given his current situation. He's great, okay, don't judge us.

But the songs are all more than worth a listen in spite of all that. Or perhaps because of all of that. A few words about our favourites:

The EP opens with the studio version of Movie Night. When Munson first played the song live on stage at the end of the last concert of their tour last year, it was just him and his guitar. The melody was already the kind that sticks in your head for days. Now fully orchestrated, it's a thing of beauty. Powerful but never overwhelming, making the most of its moments of silence between soaring instrumental breaks. It's a love song, it's a power ballad, it's got a drum solo right in the middle that works for a reason we still can't comprehend but does.

The fourth song, We're Going to Trash the Place (Hunt the Freak), is pure Corroded Coffin: aggressive, angry, loud, with sick guitar riffs and a truly insane bassline (really, it's been days and we're still not over it.) Munson's lyrics are incisive and he spits them out with all the rage of years and years of being bullied and hunted for what he is, what most of us metalheads are: outcasts, misfits, rejects, freaks, pariahs. We're Going to Trash The Place is, we have no doubt, on its way to become an anthem that will carve its place in metal history.

And, look, you know about Front Row. We all know about Front Row. Yes, Front Row is about fucking. And it's hot as hell. The band dips into glam, which can be tricky but they pull it off and it's a perfect fit for a song that could otherwise have become a caricature: grotesque and too obvious to be anything but awkward and in poor taste. It is none of those things. It's heady, in turns languid and slow, then fast-paced and frantic without ever falling out of balance. The guitar is visceral, a full-body experience, as it should given the subject matter. The lyrics have gotten the band slapped with several parental advisory warnings, but more than the lyrics, it's Munson's voice that's obscene. We'll not expand on that, if you haven't heard it yet, we can't tell you whether you're missing out or not. Let's just say it's an experience. We're already curious to revisit this song in twenty years and find out how many of our readers have been conceived to it.

Sidekicks on a Main Quest and The Paladin are both enormous fun and a nice nod to the band's origin as a DnD party. One could argue that The Paladin is just Munson being horny about Harrington again and yeah, no dispute there, but it remains close to family-friendly and we've found ourselves humming it under our breath without meaning to since we first listened to it.

The surprise, though, comes from the second to last song on the EP. Staying 'til Midnight is a demo. One can never expect too much of a demo, yet this one, despite being unpolished and rough, strikes a chord. The singing is perhaps the best we've heard from the band, the harmonies almost reminiscent of Queen. The music is pared down to its essential: acoustic guitar, bass, drums. Munson's Warlock, his first love before Harrington crashed the party, only gets a tiny part. While Movie Night was the band's very first love song, a relatable, if perhaps simplistic story, Staying 'til Midnight is a more elaborate take on love. It was written after Munson and Harrington reunited and it shows. There's a maturity there that was previously lacking. And the music, while kept to a minimum, goes hard. Should they ever release a finished studio version, we're absolutely certain that this is one of the songs that'll break containment and become popular in mainstream circles in no time.

That's our verdict. Call us saps, call us sell-outs, but we genuinely found Corroded Coffin's Our-frontman-is-in-love-and-making-it-everybody's-problem EP to be a truly good piece of music. A definite milestone for the band, not only thematically, but musically as well, and an exciting preview of what they will be coming up with next.

Metal Hammer, June 1990

__

Steve EP - 1990

1. Movie Night

2. Minimum Wage Hero

3. Rewind

4. We're Going to Trash the Place (Hunt the Freak) (E)

5. Streetlights

6. Sidekicks on a Main Quest

7. Front Row (E)

8. The Paladin (bonus track)

9. Staying 'til Midnight (demo)

10. Movie Night (live acoustic version)

END