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Steve liked to think that routine kept things relatively peaceful in the morning.
It kept him focused.
It kept him organized.
It kept him prepared.
Waking up at 8:00 in the morning, at the latest, ensured that he had at least an hour for his daily run. While he would have liked to do more than that, gym subscriptions could be expensive. His apartment didn't have enough space for a more homegrown workout area (alright, that was a small lie, he got away with planking along his 'living room' floor but that was it), and in the grand scheme of things, he only ever needed to be able to run to keep himself safe. Fighting sounded like a good idea in his head, and there certainly wasn't a shortage of people he wanted to punch.
Multiple times.
In practice, however? He knew from personal experience that sometimes, the best way to survive was to get the Hell away.
Regardless of how much he wanted to lay down a few beatings.
After his run, which he tried to finish before 9:15 on the dot, he could get himself properly cleaned up and still have enough time for a decent breakfast before he had to concern himself with getting ready for the rest of the day.
That meant his scent patches needed to be properly attached to the glands on his wrists and neck. His hair needed to be perfectly styled. His uniform from the previous night needed to be in the laundry bin from where it had been tossed on the floor. One of the two extras every employee was given needed to be packed. His sandwich needed to be made and then protectively stored so it didn't get crushed. His fruit of the day needed to washed and stored. He needed to spend at least 15 minutes basking in the only quiet time he got to enjoy before Dreamscape opened its doors.
Most importantly of all…
He needed to decide whether to bring his locket, or leave it within the relative safety of his bedroom. Within the safety of his nest.
Don't get him wrong, when he first started at Dreamscape, there was never any question about it: his locket went everywhere with him. It was his safety net, it was too important to leave behind.
Even when his duties were more mundane—regulated to waiting tables and getting shit clean (it didn't matter that he knew the world of liquer, Steve wasn't allowed to start working the bar until he was 21)—it was still a different world compared to the one he ran from. A vastly different one. It involved different routines, different people, different dangers; and he was alone to face them all.
For the first time in his life, he didn't have any support to help him make such a drastic transition.
So, on his own and employed in an environment that had a reputation for getting…uhhhh…crazy? Yeah, he knew he needed his older brother with him.
Nowadays, things had calmed down. Things had settled and he was safer than he was when he first moved to Chicago. Now, he was fine with leaving his locket behind. He preferred it, actually, since he'd started making more of a name for himself at work and couldn't always promise that his locket would make it through the night intact if he wore it for the entirety of his shift.
But…but this wasn't a normal shift. Not really.
Eddie…
Eddie would be there. This would be one of the few instances where Steve knew Eddie would be there ahead of time.
(Well, if they were discounting Fridays, that is. Eddie always made a point to show up for Steve's performances, but those same shows were the exact reason Steve didn't bring his locket with him to work. Too much going on; too many things needed to be done; too high of a chance he'd lose it in all of the chaos. But it was always fine! He and Davis traded their 'wish me luck' before Steve even left for his shift.)
Knowing Eddie would be there, and that there would be little interference from other people with how early it still was for Dreamscape, Steve felt like he needed his older brother's help. Davis would help ground him, just as he's done since they were pups. He'd help keep Steve calm; keep him from making an utter fool of himself.
And…and maybe, just…just maybe…
Steve and his brother could experience something they'd been robbed of in life. They could experience the mixture of protective drama and joy that came with discussing matters of the heart. They could talk about things like 'crushes' and 'love' (as new and as uncertain as both of those things were right now in Steve's case). They could share the beauty and the pain that came with it. They could be vulnerable with each other again.
Yeah…
That settled it.
The more Steve contemplated it, the more tempting it sounded. Davis may not be…around…anymore, he may not be there to experience love and loss with Steve anymore, but Steve still wanted his older brother to be part of his life. And given the place Eddie has carved out for himself, whether he knew about it or not, it only felt right that he be included.
Speed-walking back to his room, Steve hunched over the side of his bed (careful not to disturb anything in his nest) and spider-walked his fingers around the space under his pillow until they came upon an ovular pendant. Gold in color, just as its chain link attachment was, it only took up a quarter of his palm and was decorated with a gladiolus flower. Alone and center stage, it looked as if it had been carved directly into the metal work, but anyone close enough to touch it would notice that the outline was slightly raised.
August's birth flower; one that connected the locket to Steve more so than Davis, who'd been brought into this world in July. But that had been the intention. Davis might have been the one in the locket, but he told Steve there should still be something that tied it to its true owner.
Upon pulling it out, Steve immediately flipped it open, as he was often wont to do when he had its comforting weight against his palm.
Unlike what most people might expect from memorabilia lockets, the photo Davis left him with wasn't from his years as a pup. It wasn't a child's face looking back at Steve when he opened his locket. The photo he came face-to-face with wasn't reminiscent of a time where everything felt simpler; where the world was just Davis and toys and play and cuddle. Not only did that phase of their lives feel too short, thus rendering any memorabilia ineffective since it would undoubtedly bring back feelings of righteous anger and sadness rather than nostalgia, it also didn't match what Steve's locket was actually for.
The omega hadn't realized it at the time, and he kicked himself over and over again for taking so long to grasp the true depth of it, but the locket had been the first of Davis's goodbye-presents. The first of many. And when he sent Steve away—when he ensured his younger brother's safety away from their despicable parents and paid the ultimate price for it—they were far from children.
Time hadn't been kind enough for that. Life hadn't either.
Davis bore the brunt of that more than Steve did.
Come to think of it, Steve didn't know if he ever really got the chance to love the child that Davis hardly had the opportunity to be. He was so used to the Davis who had matured far too early and looked out for him in ways that only a truly perfect older brother could understand.
The Davis that stared back at him? The Davis that brought him comfort during the coldest, loneliest of days and the loudest, most overwhelming hours? The Davis that remained with him even as his body sat six-feet-under?
He could very well have been the same Davis that packed Steve's bags and told him to run; to never look back, to never come back if he could help it. Same age, same week, maybe even same day.
It was the same Davis that carried the burdens of their parents on his shoulders. The same Davis that fought his hardest to keep all of it off of Steve's. The same Davis that always knew what to do.
It was the Davis that Steve felt safest with.
Hazel eyes, the same shade that Steve saw every time he looked in a mirror, still held genuine warmth as they sat immortalized in Davis's photo. Honeybrown locks, which were slightly curlier than Steve's own head of hair would be if allowed to exist freely without the use of any product, were styled into a neat combover. His face lacked many of the stress lines and developing eyebags Steve remembered fretting over during the months leading up to his escape, though the omega had no way of knowing if that was genuinely because the alpha had released his troubles for the sake of this fucking photo or if he had caked on layers of make-up to hide evidence of his struggles (for Steve's sake).
His smile…his smile stuck out of the most.
Framed with a sharper jawline than Steve's own face, even as they shared similar cheekbones, Davis's smile always demanded more attention than the rest of him. Much like his gaze, there was a sincerity to it. There was no tension that Steve could see tugging at the corners of his brother's lips—and believe him, with a photo, that shit stuck out—nor was there an exaggerated curl at the corners. It was peaceful; content. There was a happiness to it, but given the context for the locket, Steve couldn't JUST see that happiness. It was edged with a dangerous sense of victory; a tranquil but hysteric relief; an encouragement to keep going.
A deep sense of knowing that he'd done what he'd set out to do, and damn whatever consequences came his way when everything had played out.
A protector then.
A protector till the very end.
A protector even now.
Steve smiled back as he pressed his lips to Davis's forehead. He had to pucker his lips in a manner that probably looked extremely ridiculous, something that did God-knows-what to his smile, but it was hard to care. Davis was always ready to kiss Steve's forehead to calm him down, to remind him that he was loved, now the omega could do the same.
Also, again, they were approaching an important milestone here! At least, Steve thought they were. Maybe he needed some way to soak in more of Davis's love as he freely gave away his own.
"You'll like Eddie." He murmured into the photo. When his lips disconnected from it, he snapped the pendant closed. "I know you will."
Pulling lightly at the 'necklace' portion of the locket, Steve allowed the weight of the pendant to drop once he had safely settled the thin chain link over his head. It fell just past the collar of his current top, and he was quick to tuck it under the fabric to protect it from prying eyes.
Finally, finally, it was time to leave. If he stalled any longer, he'd be late. And while many of his co-workers would only be annoyed by it, at their worst, Steve was mainly concerned with getting there before Eddie.
It would feel reeeaaally awkward if he invited the guy to come in before Dreamscape opened for business, only to leave him hanging outside for however long it took for Steve to meet him.
As he left his apartment, triple-checking to make sure everything was properly locked, he beelined for the staircase and took each stretch of stair two at a time. While there was an elevator, he rarely used it so long as he didn't have anyone with him or his carry-ons were limited to one-per-arm. Trust him; when you were in a mid-rise apartment that only went up twelve floors, and you lived on the third one, more exercise sounded much faster than waiting for an elevator that could still be at the top floor for all you knew.
Case in point: he got to the lobby in under two minutes, where he exchanged polite greetings with the kind elderly beta usually running the front desk in the mornings before making his way to the door leading to the car park.
Now, he appreciated that this was the kind of apartment building that had its own reserved area for tenant vehicles. He was truly grateful for that! There were a surprising amount of complexes that either had complicated driveways that he wouldn't want to navigate or forced their residents to find places along the sidewalk to park. Which, in a city this busy, wasn't always guaranteed.
However!
It was a liiiiittle annoying that people had to get to the ground floor to find the door leading to the car park, only to trek back up more staircases in order to actually reach their vehicles. In times like this, Steve wished that there was a more practical way to traverse the building. If the managers couldn't connet the two buildings together and have little…he didn't know…bridges?…that helped speed things along, could they at least have checkpoints so that someone from the top floor didnt' have to go all the way down and then all the way back up to get to their car?
Steve shook his head as he began his walk back up.
He didn't get it. He just didn't get it. And he was saying this as someone who only had to get to the third floor.
When he arrived on said platform, his car was easily distinguishable by its burgundy shade compared to the various blacks, greys, dark blues, and even white paint jobs of the neighboring vehicles. The degree to which it stuck out was quite humorous, actually, almost as humorous as his commitment to actually buying it when he first got to Chicago.
He got off the plane knowing that he would have to be more conscious of his spending habits going forward. Davis's parting gift to him was generous, don't misunderstand, but it'd be carrying Steve through a life where he needed to stay hidden. That meant a regular job, one that their parents would most certainly look down upon, which came with a regular check. Nothing that would push him to poverty, Davis would never allow that for his younger brother and he wouldn't allow Steve to do that to himself either, juuuuust…not the type of money that they grew up with.
Steve lived a comfortable life, but not one of luxury anymore. Which, you know, was fine. That worked for him, as someone who lived on their own and wouldn't risk traveling a lot even if they had much of an interest in doing so right now (he felt too alone to enjoy anything relatively touristy).
But the point was: he knew he needed to be more careful with how he spent his money now that he was working a job that paid less than the recommended salary for someone living in a city like Chicago.
In addition to that, he promised himself that there needed to be a chunk of cash in his accounts that he just didn't touch. It was for emergencies only, and not just any emergency. Specifically, the type of emergency that demanded he drop EVERYTHING and flee to the nearest city or town he could get to.
A car, on top of that? On top of the rent he was paying for a two-bedroom apartment, the instruments he needed to re-buy (because like Hell was he getting his original set from his parents' house), recording equipment, all the shit that went into making his music room ''soundproof, and all of the utilities that came with living on your own? It was a long shot then, and it sometimes still felt like a long shot now.
Buuuuuut the BMW X2 had served him well since his purchase, so it was hard to dwell on his incredulousness. Believe it or not, it was the cheapest car he had encountered while letting his eye wander (humoring himself at the time) and it felt like the perfect size. Small enough that it wasn't burdensome to drive around, but still big enough that if he needed to get out quickly, he could fit a few bags in the back and the trunk.
Fetching his smart key from his bag, Steve unlocked the car and got himself situated inside. His bag was tossed to the front passenger seat before he was turning the engine on and pulling out. Everything before and after his exit from the car park—only marked by his need to use the irritatingly-far keypad to punch in the code associated with his spot—passed by in a blur. He'd driven this exact same route, at this exact same hour, so many times that he knew the atmosphere he'd be cutting through and could probably navigate it while half-asleep.
(Not that he'd ever risk that, mind you, because what idiot would actually fucking risk that?)
Occasionally, his eye could be steered off to the side by colorful business signs and channel letters. For the most part though, his attention stayed forward until he was pulling into Dreamscape's 'employee only' parking spot and turning off the car. Since he never remembered to actually go into a store and buy one of those steering-wheel-cuff thingies, the best protection his car got whenever it was out and about was its locked doors.
Oh, and the fact that Steve was never stupid enough to leave anything valuable inside, but since when did car thieves really care about that?
Comforted by the signature clicks of it locking, Steve left it in its spot and walked to the backdoor of Dreamscape. Inputting the necessary code, he pushed his way inside and found himself alone when he got to the aptly-named 'employee communal area'. Converted from a backroom, Oliver had filled the space with a couple of black couches and lined the right wall with workplace lockers. In front of the couches a long, ovular wooden coffee table rested on four short legs. Its only company was a small bowl, one that looked as if it should be holding candies or small chocolates for the inhabitants, but really held a bunch of rectangular name-tags.
Small, plastic, and cheap.
Altogether, it may not have looked like much but man, when you were on your break or needed a breather before heading home, it was cozy. Especially if you shared break-time with someone you genuinely liked.
Steve surveyed the room, then walked to his designated locker, grabbing his nametag on the way there. After placing his bag inside, he pulled out his uniform and made quick work of changing. He didn't know how long the room would remain empty, and he wasn't comfortable with anyone other than Robin catching him nearly-naked.
He swapped his yellow lightweight sweatshirt for his short-sleeve black dresshirt, where his nametag sat on his right shoulder, and his grey joggers for a pair of black tuxedo pants.
To this day, he was disappointed that none of the uniform skirts in stock fit his proportions. They were either way too tight around the waistline, came up way too high on his thigh, or a combination of the two. Clearly, Oliver wasn't envisioning 5'10'' employees that wanted to wear skirts when he was putting together the more feminine version of Dreamscape's uniforms.
Which…rude.
And a damn shame. Steve liked the flowy feeling of a skirt (even when it was cold out, since he could just put on some thick pants to keep warm) and the tuxedo pants also felt too stiff. No matter how many employees have cycled through them or how many times Steve has washed them, there was something about the fabric that refused to give.
Steve sighed.
Oh well, it wasn't like there was anything he could do about it.
Stowing away most of his personal items, the omega kept his phone with him as he shut his locker and made his way to the front room. Stuffing the device in his back pocket wasn't the most comfortable sensation, it created a tightness around his hips that he didn't necessarily like feeling for hours on end, but Steve could tolerate it if it meant he had a means of communication on hand at all times.
Plus, when he really thought about it, the fact that he could feel his phone through his clothing only meant that it would be harder to steal. Someone would really have to try to get it out of his pocket, and by then, Steve would have noticed and given them a good smack to the head for their troubles.
When he got to the front room, Robin was already there, along with Amy and Emily. From Steve's position, he could see James as well, though the other man wasn't physically in the room as the women were. He swept the portion of sidewalk in front of Dreamscape's entrance, and given that task, Steve could only assume that he was the reason the windows looked so clear.
His friend—his platonic soulmate, practically—was tending to the bar, wiping the top clean after, presumably, being the one to take all the stools off of it and arrange them neatly along the stand.
Amy and Emily performed similar tasks, though they focused more on the furniture scattered around the room rather than the bar. With how many tables were free of their stools, it was safe to say that they were behind the heavy notes of chemicals and citrus in the air.
All well and good, all well and good. But! There was one person missing.
Where was Ryan?
Steve didn't see the man roaming around the front room. He didn't see anyone when he moved to the bar and peered into the kitchen through their little window. He didn't hear the faucet running, or the signature click-and-clanking sounds of dishware being moved around.
If Ryan wasn't here, and no one was in the kitchen, who was tending to the dishes?
"Where's Ryan?" Steve posed the question to Robin, who looked up at him as he approached.
"No idea." The alpha shrugged.
Under normal circumstances, that would be completely fair. Ryan wasn't late, it was only 11:08. Steve just knew that since Fridays nights often brought in more people, it took longer to get through all of the dishes the following morning.
And they couldn't be serving their customers with unwashed glasses, now could they?
"But I wouldn't worry about it too much." Robin wiped one last line along the surface she had been cleaning, then straightened and turned towards Steve so they were properly facing one another. She smiled at him encouragingly. "We actually got through more than half of the glasses last night. So, as long as Ryan shows up early enough to finish the other half, we should be golden."
Oh…well, in that case-
"Cool." Steve nodded. He paused briefly after that, debating the importance of telling Robin about Eddie's early arrival, before ultimately deciding that it couldn't hurt.
Eddie WAS probably going to remain at the bar as he spoke to Steve, anyway. Might as well tell the person cleaning said bar they could expect one more person.
"By the way, Eddie's going to be popping in some time soon." His gaze turned apologetic as he continued: "I'll keep him out of your way, promise, but we're both a little disappointed that we didn't get to speak much last night."
"I'm sure." Robin snorted good-naturedly. There was a fondness to her tone as she assured him: "So long as he's off the floor when it's time to sweep, he's good."
"Of course." Steve knew his nod was a little too eager, but Robin was polite enough not to comment on it.
At least, not at the moment. Not when they had company.
When they were alone, either on their break or if Robin called for an impromptu sleepover (purely for the sake of prodding at Steve), that could change. She could start teasing him relentlessly about his crush and how he was slowly getting worse at hiding it, even from Eddie himself. It would be pretty in-character, for both her and their friendship.
That was something for future Steve to worry about though.
Present Steve took Eddie's absence as an opportunity to start bringing in fresh wine bottles, beers, and any bases he'd be using for cocktails—some alcoholic, some juice-based—from storage. Fruit would also need to be brought out from the kitchens, though he'd learned that cutting it at the last minute helped keep the slices fresh for when they went into someone's drink.
As the only part of his morning routine that would take him out of the front room, it was the best starting point.
Once he got everything out and properly stored in the various drawers and cabinets hidden away behind the bar's island front, he could keep his eye on the door as he went about refilling the taps. Previously, he would have been cleaning each tap before he got to that point, but Oliver decided that that task was best done during closing time rather than the following morning.
Something about not giving the alcohol time to settle and make a bigger mess, or whatnot.
Steve had just about finished, and was moving on to prepare the drink stations (good Lord, so many things went into those fucking stations) when he heard the door open.
It was quickly followed by James announcing, "Steve! You have a guest!"
Looking up, the omega smiled as Eddie stepped inside. The light coming in from behind him spotlighted many things, but Steve's eyes were immediately drawn to the other man's curls as they swayed gently with each step Eddie took. The texture those curls provided, and the waviness they helped create, were highlighted very flatteringly. The more Steve looked, the more he wanted to touch. The more he wanted to carefully run his fingers through Eddie's curls, and see for himself if they were as soft as the fuzzy appearance of his hair would imply.
Noooo. No, no, no; down boy. You don't just grab people's heads like that. Noooo.
After taking a moment to berate himself, Steve forced his eyes elsewhere to better resist the urge to touch Eddie without permission. It was harder than it sounded. The next best thing to look for—the red guitar pick Steve has seen Eddie wear—was nowhere to be found. He knew why that was: when asked, the other man had openly admitted that once Steve started performing more consistently and Eddie started liking his music more and more, saving his guitar pick for Fridays felt more meaningful to him.
Special.
Probably because he used to play an instrument himself; hence, the pick in the first place.
Steve could understand that, even respected it when he could swear he heard some longing in Eddie's voice as he specified that he 'used to' play an instrument. But…still, it was unfortunate timing. It meant Steve couldn't stare at it and pretend that the color red and the smooth shine were what had initially held his attention.
Moving on from that, he couldn't stay too long on the man's face either, as close as it was. Not when it was Eddie's most dangerous asset. There was something about the sharpness of his features, namely the ever-changing gleam in his eye and the mesmerizing way his lips moved, that made him eternally distracting.
It didn't help that the lighting never stopped fucking with the brown of his eyes. Unlike Steve's, which were lighter in shade but still always looked brown, Eddie had moments where his iris looked black. They swallowed up his pupils and left him looking almost…demonic. Not in an unnatural or evil way, of course, but in an ominous way.
It was the look of a seasoned predator. One who prowled-no, who guarded the night. Who haunted and hunted trespassers that had no business in his territory. Who was too aware to be animalistic, too calculated to be wholly primal. Who was too focused to ever fall trap to a frenzy, yet at the same time, too greedy to ever let anything escape its grasp-
Shit…something else! Look at something else!
Steve full-on slapped himself, mentally, before his thoughts could go further down that path. His scent patches would only block so much, after all. And that wasn't getting into other ways his body would give him away if he lost himself in his daydream-like haze.
Traveling down further, the familiarity of the other man's black leather jacket felt like a safe thing to focus on, as did the blue denim jacket he slid on top of that. Nothing particularly thought-provoking about either of those! The sleeves of the blue jacket sparked an ember of curiosity in the back of Steve's mind, sure, but only because Eddie still hasn't told him whether the ripped texture of the sleeves was a design choice or something he did himself (he very well could have torn them off to better fit his style). He intentionally left the omega guessing.
That made it a trivial thing to focus on.
Those were all trivial things, really; details Steve has seen almost every time he's seen Eddie. They would be boring, if there was ever anything about Eddie that was boring.
Following that line of thinking, his shirt and pants were nothing of note: black fabric on black jeans. Ones that weren't ripped at the knees this time around, and held up by a belt that, in itself, had a couple of silver chains hanging from its length. The bottoms of each leg were tucked into a pair of black combat boots, ones that were clearly well-loved, if the visible wear on them and their laces was anything to go by.
Before he could get caught staring at Eddie's feet, Steve looked back up just as the man himself found a stool at the bar. As his hands came up to rest on the table top, his rings lightly clinked against the layer of glass protecting the wooden surface. Silver, chunky, and each sporting their own unique design; those rings should have looked tacky on anyone's fingers.
And, to be fair, they did once look a little strange on Eddie's. When Steve was still in the phase of his life where he hadn't yet gotten used to seeing the other man so regularly, those rings felt like disruptive accessories. They were big and must have been heavy, considering the designs and the metalwork.
It was only once Steve came to accept that he'd be seeing Eddie a lot that he realized those rings were part of his signature; almost like a trademark. They marked Eddie's sense of style as, well, Eddie's. And even if Steve personally didn't think he'd ever wear rings that thick, he could appreciate Eddie's taste and how he made them work.
How he made every part of his outfit work.
"Hey you." Eddie cut through Steve's thoughts with the efficiency of a heated knife. There was an underlying purr to his voice that soothed the omega. It was just gentle enough that it didn't scare him, innocent enough that it didn't entice him, but deep enough that he knew he could sink into that sound and he wouldn't carelessly free-fall. "Had a good morning so far?"
"Can't complain." Steve resumed grabbing the necessary utensils for the drink station he'd started on. No more looking; it was time to get back to work if he was going to allow himself the time to enjoy conversation with Eddie. "But that could change, depending on who walks through that door next. You?"
"Better, now that you're part of it." Eddie winked.
"Oh for-!" Steve looked down as he shook his head, a quiet laugh pushing its way out from the depths of his chest. His hands never stopped moving from where they continued to work, and that was probably the only reason Steve didn't try to cover his blush. Or do something even more risky, like grab at his locket. "That…geez, even you have to admit that's cheesy as fuck."
"Probably the cheesiest thing I've said in a while." Eddie was quick to agree. Proud too, he sounded close to boasting. "That doesn't make it any less true. Do you have any idea how dull the world becomes when I don't get my Stevie-time? Do you?"
…Jesus Christ…
Davis was laughing his ass off somewhere, Steve was sure of it.
"Stevie-time." The omega repeated slowly; a question and a statement packed into one utterance. He kept his eyes on the bar as he spoke, moving to the next drink station as measuredly as his words had been.
Eddie's eyes followed him without pause, so intently the omega could feel them track his movements. It really gave him more motivation to not look up and confront that intensity.
Not yet.
"Stevie-time…really?"
"Yep." The pop in Eddie's 'p' made Steve want to wilt.
He wasn't sure if it was out of a desire to escape Eddie's shameless need for his attention, or curl up further into it. It could have been both.
At once.
Things between them could get…interesting…like that.
"My Stevie-time." Eddie brought his right arm to the bar's table-top, palm open and ready to receive as he leaned over to rest his cheek against it. The posture itself was cute, especially with the way Eddie's cheek became slightly squished and his eyes sparkled as he marveled at Steve.
His voice though…
Steve couldn't call it cute.
There was a thick quality to it, one that surpassed the purr Eddie had greeted him with. It was hard to define, since Eddie's cadence remained normal and his tone wasn't particularly…anything, really. Nothing somber, or angry, or even flirty. There was just something heavy about those words, something Steve couldn't let himself latch onto if he wanted to make it through the rest of the day with his mind intact.
Davis…give me strength.
Steve took a deep breath and forced himself to meet Eddie's gaze again. His brother's memory urged him on. It helped Steve brave through the storm of emotions and thoughts swirling around in his chest and head respectively. It helped Steve keep every bit of turmoil inside. It helped Steve plan his next move; plan his next words.
Eddie may have caught him off guard, he may have flustered him, but he didn't get the last word.
"If that's what you wanna call it…you should know that your Stevie-time is ticking down." Steve moved his hands forward and braced them against a new patch of table top. They supported him well as he pushed himself closer to Eddie, the corner of his lips quirking up in what he hoped was an indulgent manner. "Wait too long, and it'll soon be everyone's Stevie-time. Anything about last night I should know about before that happens?"
The spike in Eddie's scent—a mouthwatering blend of warm cedarwood that has been further spiced with a hint of cinnamon yet kept fresh with a citrusy undertone of orange—was answer enough on its own. That didn't mean Steve limited himself or his fun.
He had somewhat of an upper hand now, he was going to roll with it.
He leaned forward as much as the bar allowed, nearly touching his forehead to Eddie's as he whispered conspiratorially: "Anything at all?"
Between them, Davis watched their interaction closely from the safe confines of his locket-home. The locket-home that was still hidden beneath the fabric of Steve's uniform shirt.
Silent and attentive. Inconspicuous and supportive. Protective and trusting.
Steve hoped his brother liked what he's seen so far.
He hoped Davis liked Eddie.
