Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Steve hears the front door of the apartment open, and a thump before it slams. Kicked it shut, no doubt, as he was wont to do when he was in a bad mood. 

He tries to remember the last time he'd heard the door shut quietly, calmly. The last time Eddie had crept in and eased it closed so he could jump out at Steve and startle him. He used to love doing that, had laughed so hard he cried at the little squeal or squeak or, once, not-so-little scream that Steve would accidentally let go.

It had been months, certainly, since the door had been closed gently. Maybe over a year. Longer since his last personalised jump-scare.

Which is why he had spent hours shopping for ingredients; he had had to go to three produce stores just to get fresh garlic. It was why he'd then raced home to tidy and clean the whole apartment. Why he'd spent the last hour chopping veggies and crumbing chicken and washing dishes as he went. Why he hadn't sat down since he left early this morning so that he could finish work ahead of schedule - the department store he worked at needed his section's roster for next month complete and submitted by close of business - and have time for all of this. All so that they might have a relax together while dinner cooked, something that had been sorely lacking in their relationship recently. It wasn't anyone's fault. They were both busy with their careers.

He heard the telltale impact of Eddie's combat boots on the entrance floorboards and sighed. "Shoes off at the door, Eds, come on!" The steps didn't stop, didn't even falter, as they crossed onto the ivory carpet in the lounge. "I only just vacuumed this afternoon when I got home from work."

He placed the last kiev on the oven tray just as Eddie came into view, carrying two laden, brown paper bags pressed together. He was scowling. Oh. He was pissed. At Steve?

"I couldn't unlace them while I was carrying all this, now, could I?" He demanded, placing them on the counter. 

"What's that?" Steve asked, but his heart was sinking.

"Dinner." Eddie turned on his heel and stomped back to the front door, flicking Steve a see? I'm doing what I'm told, are you happy now? glare over his shoulder. Steve bit back the snark that he could have sat at the island to take his shoes off before he walked back over the carpet. 

"I told you I was cooking," Steve reminded softly, sadly as he came back, gesturing to the full trays. "Chicken kievs; your favourite." 

"Yeah, well I wanted pasta," Eddie snapped. "So I bought pasta. I had a long day."

Pasta. Did he…? No. Sure, Eddie was angry a lot of the time, oblivious maybe, but he wasn't callous. 

Was he?

"Is that pasta from… Alfonso's?" He asked tentatively. 

Eddie blinked, then glared, almost daring him to be ungrateful. The irony. "What of it?"

What of it? Nothing really. Only that they always added something to their dishes, probably a flavour enhancer, that gave Steve a severe stomach ache. No matter how amazing it tasted, Steve couldn't justify eating it. It wasn't worth the agonising cramps and the bloating. Eddie knew this; he'd been the one, in the beginning, to get him a hot water bottle and tuck Steve into bed, swearing off that 'nasty food' until Steve convinced him that Eddie could still have it for lunch, or if Steve wasn't home, or even if they just got him a cheap and cheerful burger from the joint across the street. Steve had had many a dinner from there over the years. Appreciated the effort of Eddie going to two separate shops even if he didn't love the food. Even if, lately, Eddie kept forgetting to ask for no onion. 

"You forgot, didn't you?" Steve mumbled, feeling suddenly very defeated and not at all hungry. "You forgot that I can't eat it." At least Steve hoped he forgot. That he hadn't done it maliciously.

"Christ, stop nagging! I had a long day," he snapped, twitching out of his jacket "And I didn't want to get all the way home only to find you'd stayed late or didn't feel like cooking anymore." He tossed his jacket over the back of the couch like the punchline to a poorly considered joke. 

It was silly, perhaps, that a jacket being misplaced was what broke him. But it was on the back of so many other little things - the fact that he'd hung up three of Eddie's jackets while he was tidying today, one of which he'd needed to iron first, after it had slid off the pedestal fan it was placed on and sat rumpled on the floor; that Eddie never took his boots off where he was meant to, and never cleaned the floors to make up for it; that Eddie had forgotten he couldn't eat Alfonso's pasta; that he'd tried to turn it around on Steve, as though Steve had ever backed out on making dinner, or got home late, without at least warning Eddie before he was due to finish at the studio; that Eddie had complained about how long his day was twice, when Steve's shift was an hour longer than the recording session; that he had also gone to the shops and cooked and cleaned. For Eddie. 

Today of all days.

Steve saw red. 

He snatched the oven tray off the bench and dumped it, kievs and all, in the sink. The sink that was still full of dirty dishwater, from cleaning up as he cooked, so Steve only had to wash their plates and cutlery after they'd eaten.

Eddie gaped at him, shocked, but there was still a flicker of anger in his dark eyes. "What the fuck was that for?" He yelled, throwing a hand out towards the sink. Steve barely heard him over his own muttering as he shakily wiped his hands on the teatowel. "I'm done, I'm done."

He tried to thread the teatowel over it's rail by the drainer, but the trembling in his hands was making it difficult. Then he thought fuck it and dropped it on the floor. What did it matter anymore?

"Where are you going?" Eddie called after him as he strode past him and down the hall to their bedroom. It didn't take him long; he'd gotten good at throwing essentials in a backpack and scarpering off when his Dad started yelling. He used to run to Eddie, back then, even before they were together. When Eddie had been his safe place; he and Wayne both. 

Soon he was back in the living room, facing his boyfriend of five years. Two whole years of working his ass off on the way up the ranks while Eddie was a struggling artist, until he'd made it big. Of buying this place together just under three years ago. 

"You're leaving? Seriously?" Eddie crosses his arms over his chest and glowers. "I forget one tiny little thing and that's it? You're gone."

Steve stares at him. Takes in the vulnerability only he would see, the hurt under the anger. Knows that he's done all he can to keep him happy, and it's not enough. Once again, Steve is not enough to love.

He makes it to the door before he says anything. "Happy Anniversary, asshole." 

And then he's gone. 

Chapter Text

Eddie stares at the door, the sound of it slamming - Steve never slams the door, definitely not on purpose, and hardly ever accidentally - is enough to make his ears to ache. That's why he flinched. Not because of the apathetic, cold look in Steve's eyes, or the reminder of what day it is being slapped in his face. That had nothing to do with it, obviously.

Steve didn't lay a finger on Eddie, never would, but he still feels as if he's taken a sharp uppercut to the diaphragm, right up into his heart. 

Their anniversary. Eddie has been so agitated lately - increasingly tense as he waits, then waits some more, for the other shoe to drop, for the admission, for the inevitable breakup - that he's hardly even aware of what month it is. 

Well, the other shoe has certainly landed now, he thinks as he stares at the door.

Eddie breathes in a shaky sigh, and drops to the floor, legs bent beneath him. Yup, the other shoe has dropped and no amount of time expecting this moment, preparing for this moment, is enough to stop the bruised ache in his chest.

He doesn't realise he's crying until he feels a warm, heavy drop land on the back of his hand. He blinks, focussing on his thighs and notices there are several darker spots on his black jeans where the tears have wetted the denim. He smears a few of the fresher drops absentmindedly.

In his darkest thoughts, when Steve had stayed late at work for meetings, and covering shifts, and overseeing stocktake, Eddie had tortured himself with how this would go. He knew there'd be tears, and anger and Steve leaving him. Recurring themes in his morbid daydreams. He just hadn't expected the anger would be Steve's. Had always pictured himself yelling about the betrayal, throwing things maybe, as Steve tried to gather his belongings. 

He'd never considered that Steve might be angry. Disappointed, yes. Bored, clearly. Not angry. Never angry.

Eddie knows exactly where Steve was going when he left. He'd be there by now, probably, if he hadn't stopped at the bottle shop or something on the way. Eddie punishes himself picturing Steve there, with him. 

They'd gone to his house together once, to a party. Around the same time he and Steve had started to drift apart. Or at least when he started to notice, anyway.

He hadn't wanted the guilt-meal Steve had told him he was making. At least, that's how he thought of it: Steve making them dinner because he felt guilty about what he was doing, or going to do. Even the thought of having that in his stomach when Steve dropped Eddie's heart back into his hands and dusted them off made him feel nauseous. So he'd driven straight to his favourite restaurant. Chicken kievs were his favourite food, Steve was right; but creamy pasta was for making him feel better, and he'd needed that. Especially if today had been the day.

Eddie feels bad about the whole thing now; forgetting about Steve's issue with Alfonso's - and on their anniversary of all things, shit that was bad - but in his defense he had had a lot on his mind.

Like the fact that Steve had gone to work early, just like every day this week, no doubt to spend more time with Hayden fucking Montgomery. Again. Less than a week after he had gone out "with friends" and had come home drunk at five a.m. stinking of the guy's cologne and with an extra key on his keyring that he never made mention of. The key to Hayden's place, he was sure; the home of the beginning of the end of their relationship.

Hayden was the crazy-hot Ops Manager (or something) at the store where Steve was a department head; a half step above Steve. Like, he wasn't technically Steve's boss, but he could pull rank. 

Hayden had started a couple of years ago, during a department shake up, and suddenly Steve was spending longer at work than ever. Talked about him whenever (by some miracle) they were home together, repeated jokes Hayden had made, even the had-to-be-there ones. Then he just… stopped mentioning him. At least by name. Occasionally Eddie would hear a story about "a guy at work" who seemed to get up to very similar antics, or there'd be a phone call "from work" that involved far too much laughter to actually be job-related, and anyway, it was well after closing time. But he never said that name again. 

Eddie wasn't stupid. At the time, new to the music business, he'd been pretty stressed. Absent fairly often. Late nights, long hours, press interviews and album tours. Hardly ever home, exhausted when he was. They hadn't seen much of each other, back then. He had been starting to wonder if 'making it' was all that great after all. Almost missed the security of low-paying gigs at seedy bars. Nearly gave it all up a few times before he reminded himself that Steve had supported him so that he could be successful, so that he could focus on music. He owed him to keep trying, even if he missed him like crazy. 

But it made sense that his eyes had started to wander, around then, and fallen on the stupid, chiselled jawline of bloody Hayden Montgomery. 

The handful of times Eddie had met him, he'd seemed nice enough. Sweet. Hard to hate, but Eddie had managed just fine. 

Steve deserves sweet though, no matter how Eddie feels about the guy. So once the anger had died down, once he'd come to terms with the fact that he was in the wrong, he didn't chase after him. Didn't want to muddy the waters with his feelings. If you love them, let them go, right? That's what they say.

Even if it feels like cutting off a limb. After all he's done, he owes Steve that.

Eddie doesn't spend much time at home over the following days. He dragged the phone over to the coffee table and spent that night on the couch - the nearest soft surface - and probably ruined the fabric with his tears.

In the morning he went through the motions of getting ready for work, numb to everything but the ache. He stayed out late, until well after midnight, drinking away his sorrows. He found it fitting that the beer he was drinking was bitters, because that seemed to be the only thing he felt anymore: bitter. He brought home takeaway - not Alfonso's, hadn't wanted to eat all the food he'd bought last night, in the end - which he halfheartedly nibbled at, then collapsed onto the couch. He felt like he was living in a fishbowl, not really interacting with reality, but there, visually at least.

Then he did it all over again.

A week in, a little clearer headed, and Eddie walks into a clusterfuck of an apartment. At first, he thinks Steve had been home and ransacked the place. There are clothes all over the furniture, draped haphazardly and carelessly. The kitchen is a nightmare, despite hardly being home lately - can't stand to be in an empty space full of memories - and not cooking whenever he is. 

He blinks at the mess for a solid five minutes, then decides to busy himself with menial tasks as a distraction. That's what he needs right now, a distraction. Before he wallows too long on how he'd fucked up his… no. Distraction. Cleaning.

After throwing out the excess food he'd left on various crockery on the bench, then scrubbing the caked on remnants, Eddie moves on to picking up the clothes scattered throughout the house. He stacks away the books he's read when he couldn't sleep, then cast aside, and puts his acoustic guitar on the stand Steve bought him for their first Christmas living together.

It takes a bit of cupboard searching, but he eventually finds the vacuum in the hall. 

Once the other rooms are spotless, which takes about an hour, he decides to do the laundry.

There's a shirt soaking in a bucket next to the machine, so he pours that in first, water and all, before he stuffs the rest of the clothes in too. He adds the liquid, then presses play on whatever setting it's already programmed to. 

Then he rewards himself with a cup of tea.

A few minutes later, the machine beeps in error. Eddie puts down the kettle and goes to check what's happened.

'Out of Bal' scrolls over the little screen. So he adjusts the clothes better and presses start again, returning to enjoy his tea.

Until he hears the beep again.

It happens twice more, no matter how carefully he arranges the machine. 

He nearly just buys himself a new one - he has the money after all - but that feels too much like admitting defeat. So instead of giving up and getting a new washing machine... he gives up on doing the laundry altogether for a few days out of spite. 

Eventually, when he runs out of clean underwear, he caves and uses a laundromat. He's familiar with them, of course. He and Wayne used them when he was growing up, and when he and Steve moved to the city together, they hadn't had the money or space for their own washing machine until they'd bought this place. Owning a washing machine was a huge luxury for him, even if it wasn't for Steve. Eddie finds it symbolic; successful musician, making more money than he knows what to do with - he could buy this laundromat if he'd a mind for such things - but without Steve he's nothing more than the kid who grew up poor. He's an adult in age only. 

He's coping. Forces a smile, every now and then. Still sleeps on the couch with the phone nearby. But he's coping. 

But then he gets a call from Robin, nearly three weeks after he'd last seen Steve.

"Eddie, thank God." She gasps when he answers. Eddie has to rein in his disappointment that it wasn't Steve, asking if Eddie would let him come home. "Is Steve there?"

"Steve?" He asks, incredulous. Had Steve not told her? She was his best friend. "No. He uh… we broke up, I think."

There is a long pause on the other end of the line. He checks the receiver, like that would somehow tell him if the line had been disconnected, or if the handset had disintegrated in his hand. 

"What do you mean, 'you think'?" She finally says. She sounds angry, like she is about to start ranting.

"Well, we… he didn't really… say the words?" Eddie tries, squinting one eye. "But uh… yeah. He uh, walked out. On our anniversary. Haven't seen him since." 

"Your anniversary?" Robin replies, sounding shocked. "But that was… what, three weeks ago. The fifteenth?"

So she remembered their anniversary, even though Eddie had clean forgotten. God, no wonder Steve left him. 

"Yeah." Even though it was rhetorical. What else could he say to break the icy silence.

"But… I heard from him, the week before last? Right on time, Friday at seven."

"Yeah, well I guess Hayden's place has a phone, just like any other." Whether he was letting go or not, Eddie couldn't help the bitterness that laced his tone. He slumps against the wall.

"Hayden?" Robin asks, sounding confused. "Like, the guy who oversees operations?"

"That's him." Eddie sighs and scrubs his hand over his face. 

"You mean the guy who couldn't cover Steve's shift on your anniversary because he was on his honeymoon in California?" 

"He… what?"

Robin huffs at him. "Steve tried to get your anniversary off, but Hayden had asked for the time off nearly as soon as he started."

"Steve…?" Eddie knows he should be focusing on the fact that Steve had tried to get the day off to celebrate, but his brain has stalled on the fact that Hayden wasn't in the same state as Steve that day. That Hayden was married, and had been intending to be for quite a while. The day Eddie had been certain Steve had gone into work early to spend time with him.

"I fucked up," he finally mutters to himself.

"Yeah ya did." Robin tells him anyway. Such an affirming friend. "And he missed last week's call, and he never forgets to call."

Eddie can hear what she leaves unsaid. Because he never forgets important things. Things like calling his best friend, or making dinner for their anniversary.  

"I'll find him," he promises, then hangs up before she can stab him with any more pointed words.

He's outside the house in half an hour, staring up the steps at the turquoise door. It's Thursday, Steve's "weekend", so he won't be at work. Figures that he might have been wrong about the relationship between Steve and Hayden, but Steve still had that key after spending nearly the whole night with him. And if Hayden (and his wife) hadn't been home… well, it was a great place to lay low, right?

"Here goes nothing," he murmurs.

Eddie has to fight down the habitual bitter jealousy he feels when Hayden himself answers the door - after a delay, like Eddie's knock interrupted something that couldn't be immediately paused - in sweatpants and no shirt, sweating profusely and looking… well, frankly that sated exhaustion was telling... 

But no, he reminds himself. He was married; even if he had just been having sex it wasn't with Steve. Hopefully. 

"Hey, Eddie right?" He frowns, but Eddie doesn't know him well enough to read the expression. Confusion? Anger? He has no idea.

"That's me." He tries to grin offhanded. "Uh, is Steve here?"

That blink is definitely surprise. "Steve? Erm, no. Why would he be here?"

If that's acting, he's very good.

"Look, man, if he's asked you not to tell me that's fine." Eddie huffs and looks away. "Just, when you see him can you ask him to call Robin? She's worried." 

"Well, sure but… that won't be until Monday. I'm still on annual leave, y'know." 

He's sticking to the story, then; Eddie can respect him for his commitment to the bit. But he's said his piece, now he can leave.

"Won't you see him first?" Hayden asks suddenly as Eddie is turning away without saying goodbye. Eddie tilts back his head and sighs, frustrated that Hayden is pushing.

"Look, there's no need to play dumb. I know he has a key to your place."

"Well yeah, he did." Hayden says slowly. "Gave it to him at my bachelor party in case the cat sitter locked herself out or something. Because we were away."

He wiggles his wedding-banded left hand obnoxiously. Well, it's not obnoxious, Eddie is just annoyed at the reminder that he'd assumed too much. "But he gave it back, night before last, when he picked us up at the airport."

Steve isn't here, he forces himself to understand, hasn't been here the whole time. So where is he?

"Did he say anything?" Eddie asks desperately. He reminds himself that he was fine the day before yesterday. He's not missing, just Eddie doesn't know where he is. Where he's been staying. How he's doing. "About where he's been staying I mean," he amends.

"No?" Hayden looks mildly panicked, seems to finally realise that Eddie is asking because he doesn't know either. 

"Was he alright?"

Hayden considers, leaning a shoulder on the doorframe.

"I guess he seemed a little down, a lot tired… but I just assumed it was because he'd been covering my job, too. Extra hours, y'know?

"I'll call around the others and let you…" he cuts himself and looks uncomfortable. He doesn't meet Eddie's eyes when he amends, "I'll pass on that message?"

Eddie nods, not sure he can speak through the sudden lump in his throat.

Where is he?

Chapter Text

It takes everything in him to pretend he's ok. Because, friends or not, Hayden just got back from his honeymoon and no way is he going to spoil their holiday by dumping his… well, him dumping Eddie, on Hayden and Fiona. So he gives his best estimation of a smile and asks, "So how was the honeymoon, lovebirds?"

"It was good," Hayden enthuses, settling back in the passenger seat. Steve gets a good look at him as he waits for a gap in the oncoming traffic, and he's gotta say, he looks like the very definition of bliss. He's all lazy smiles and drooping eyes, an air of exhaustion you only see in someone who is completely content. Good; he's earned it, he and Fiona both. "I haven't seen Fi for so long in one hit since we moved here. Scratch that, since we got together."

Fiona was a psychiatrist, top of her field, and often away doing seminars. Between that and Hayden's job as the second-in-charge of the busiest store in the region, time together was lacking. This was their first proper holiday. 

Leading busy lives and hardly seeing your partner had actually bonded Steve and Hayden in the first place. While everyone else at the store was complaining about needing to get out of the house to spend time away from their significant other, he and Hayden would sigh wistfully about yet another day of not seeing the person they loved. 

(They'd even had an unspoken agreement to call when their otherwise empty house felt a bit too cold, or big, or quiet. They tried to be respectful with timing, tried not to cut into the other man's limited time with their partner. But overlaps happened. They both understood that.)

And who was he to burst the bubble? He didn't want to be the one to show the ugly side of busy relationships. Not after they'd just gotten hitched. 'oh hey, you know how we both never see our favourite person? Well as it happens, we couldn't make it work so… good luck to you two!'

"He was worried we couldn't put up with each other for that long anymore," Fiona teases from behind her husband. 

"No!" He denies playfully, sitting up to twist in his seat so he can look at her. "I'll admit I thought I would have to disconnect the phone so you'd relax, but I wasn't worried about us."

There's a long, but comfortable silence as Steve merges onto the highway. 

"How's work?" Hayden eventually asks, and when Steve glances over, he's lolled his head towards him, a small frown in place. He's seen that face on him so many times in individual staff meetings, it's his 'I'm worried about you' face. Steve feels like he's staring straight through the facade he's put up, where he's pretending his life hadn't fallen apart during their holiday.

"Until next week, you're still on annual leave, so you're not allowed to even ask, ok?" He deflects. "You've earned this break."

"Exactly, honey," Fiona agrees, poking Hayden's shoulder. "Listen to Steve." 

"Gees, you two!" Hayden laughs through his protest. "I wasn't asking if we made budget, or if anyone got fired." He leans across the centre console and drops his voice. "But did they?"

"I'll tell you all the juicy details on Monday, alright?" Steve laughs, taking a hand off the wheel to shove him back into his seat. "Eight o'clock sharp. Don't be late; you're not on California time anymore, got it?"

It's only once their front door shuts behind him that he lets the mask slip. No one can see him now, in his car in the dark. No one will look at him twice, back at the shitty motel, and if they did, no one would care. 

He'd spent the first week in his car. It wasn't the first time. He had spent many a night in his car in highschool - cursing Carol and her stupid, big mouth, and barbed tongue - when his Dad felt like being an asshole about his attraction to other boys. Harrington senior only found out when he and Tommy had had a falling out, and Carol had, in an act of solidarity, outed Steve as bi to everyone who'd listen to her. Steve hadn't even realised that Tommy, the only one he'd ever admitted it to, had told her, but that was probably naive of him. Thankfully his Dad wasn't home often.

Then he'd met Eddie, when he'd been caught sleeping in his car out near Lover's Lake. Eddie who made him swear he'd come stay at his place, no matter what time of night, instead of cramming himself in the backseat again.

Was it bad that a part of him felt guilty for going back on that promise to Eddie? Felt bad for sleeping in his car when Eddie had wrought a promise not to? Well, he couldn't run back to Eddie about this, so… So he'd compromised and found a motel. 

He'd deliberately chosen a cheap motel - he could afford nicer, could probably manage a hotel or even an apartment if he'd wanted; he and Eddie had no mortgage, they'd bought the apartment with a fairly small loan which they'd already paid off with Eddie's royalty cheques - but he wanted a motel. Something comfortable enough, but small. Steve felt small enough as it was, he didn't need to fade into the background of somewhere spacious.

But there was a part of him - a part that the rest of him was disgusted with - that wanted it to be temporary, and wanted it to feel temporary. Getting his own apartment felt too final. It felt like admitting it was over, that he would have to move out officially. That part just wanted to hold onto Eddie for a bit longer, even if that meant pretending this was just a fight, one that they could come back from. That he still had a safe space, where he was loved and good enough to be loved.

The other part of him wanted to wallow in self-pity. To remind him that his parents didn't love him back, that Nancy didn't care about his love, and now Eddie didn't want it either. Because he was unlovable, that there wasn't anything lovable about him. He could earn money and clean and and cook and love… but it wasn't enough. He was never enough. 

So he listened to the part that was being somewhat nice to him and stuck to the motel. 

There was also a tiny part of him screeching at him to have some self respect. Tried to remind him that he had more than pulled his weight, and if Eddie didn't appreciate that, then he didn't deserve to have Steve. That voice sounded an awful lot like Robin. He ignored it anyway.

Speaking of Robin… he'd missed their call last week. Rang and left a message the next day, apologising. He had deliberately called when she was at work, because he knew she'd know something was up, just because he'd missed it, first time ever. Didn't want the interrogation until she got him to spill his guts (which she always managed). Wasn't sure if she'd have called their - Eddie's - place when he was late, so she might already know, and he just… couldn't admit it, out loud. And she'd want him to.

She'd want him to be angry, and he knew he should be. But he was just sad. Distraught, really. Keeping busy was the only thing keeping him from being a miserable puddle on the floor of his motel room. He didn't know what he'd do next week, when Hayden returned to work and picked up most of the slack again. Plus, they worked so closely together that Hayden would definitely notice that Steve was avoiding going 'home'. 

He'll probably miss calling Robin tomorrow too, just out of anxiety.

He'd stayed late at work, that Friday, under the guise of having too much to do, while covering for Hayden. Heaven forbid they get a relief manager in for the duration. The management shakeup from a couple of years ago had made their life difficult - they'd merged sections together until they had a little under two-thirds of the number of managers as they used to, and still expected them to perform to the same - or better - standard.

The only saving grace was that they hired Hayden, who could probably have run the entire store on his own if he had to. Man was a godsend.

But maybe him being a godsend would be a bad thing now. Now that Steve was trying to hide the end of his relationship. 

It would turn out that he didn't need to be concerned about hiding anything. Because Hayden already knew.

He should have been worried by the sympathetic look his superior is giving him as he ushered him into his office Monday morning and closed the door behind them.

There are two mugs of coffee waiting for them, Hayden's usual sweet and black in his Bugs Bunny mug, and Steve's double strength and a splash of milk in the 'World's Greatest Nephew-In-Law' Wayne had handmade him years ago. He hasn't been able to look at it for a few weeks, at the no-longer-true statement in bold letters; he's just been using the generic white mugs, but refusing it now would just be suspicious.

Steve takes his usual seat, across from Hayden's, but Hayden chooses the other guest chair, the one beside Steve. Steve frowns at this change in habit.

"What happened?"

Steve, taken aback, does a mental assessment of the shop floor from when he had walked in ten minutes ago. Nothing had seemed out of place, it was tidy, there were enough people on the registers for this time of morning. He'd even managed to get all the aisles faced up before he left last night. 

"What do you mean?" Steve asks. "It's… I thought the store was ok?"

Hayden sighs, like this conversation is hurting him. "The store is better than ok; it looks great, Steve." He takes a deep breath. "Eddie came around on Thursday. Looking for you."

"Eddie… what?" But Eddie hated Hayden? For some reason Steve couldn't fathom, just Hayden's name was enough to put him in a foul mood. It was subtle enough that others probably wouldn't notice the tensed shoulders, the sharp glint in his eye - but just in case, Steve had quietly tried to keep them apart since that first house party - but Steve knows Eddie. He could tell that talking about Hayden set Eddie's teeth on edge. 

Or maybe you don't know Eddie all that well at all…

"He said to tell you Robin was worried about you," Hayden supplies in a soft voice. Careful, like he didn't want to push Steve too far.

"Did he… say anything else?" Steve asks tentatively. "Was he… was he alright?"

Hayden smiles gently and leans across to put a reassuring hand on Steve's wrist, giving it a squeeze. "He asked me the same thing about you," he assures. "What happened?"

Steve opens his mouth to say it doesn't matter, and the whole thing spills out like it had been waiting for the opportunity to break for freedom. 

" - and I miss him," Steve sobs when it's over, when it's all out in the open. "I miss him so much. But he doesn't want me anymore, and he couldn't just say it, couldn't break up with me, so he acted like a dick until I got the hint and broke up with him."

His declaration is met with several long moments of silence. When Steve looks up, Hayden is watching him. His expression would be condescending if it wasn't so fond. His eyes narrow fractionally as he considers what to say.

"The man who showed up on my doorstep looking for you wasn't… let's just say he wasn't celebrating singlehood."

"What does that mean?" Steve sniffled and wiped his nose on the fourth tissue Hayden had offered him. 

"It means… I think you should call Robin first, she knows him better than I do. But maybe… maybe you should call Eddie, too."

"He won't want -" Steve begins to say, but Hayden cuts him off, his rare authoritive tone firm in his voice. 

"He's worried about you. He was ok until he worked out I wasn't lying, that you weren't staying with me - which you are more than welcome to do, as I said. Just turn up whenever you get sick of that motel - but then he seemed scared. Believe me when I say, I think you both have the wrong end of the stick." He waits, eyebrows raised, until Steve nods his agreement, then he stands and moves to the other side of the desk. Back to the 'boss' side.

"Now, the quarterly budget is coming up -"

Steve sighs after he hangs up the payphone from talking to Robin. Telling her had been a lot more refreshing than he'd expected it to be. He knew she was angry on his behalf - she'd made him swear that he wouldn't just let it slide, wouldn't just forgive Eddie for it - but she also agreed with Hayden: he and Eddie needed to talk.

"If you have any faith in me as your best friend, your platonic soulmate, then trust me when I say you've both made some gross assumptions. I mean gross as in large, like the French? but also gross because of the way you think about yourself as worthless - don't deny it, I swear to God I will fly out there just to slap you for lying - and gross because Eddie got hyperfixated on something which was, like, totally not true, I mean, at all. Furthest from the truth type stuff."

Steve could picture her expressive face, her wild gestures. She talked with her hands a lot. 

She'd also made him promise that he wouldn't leave the phone booth until he had called Eddie. If he hadnt changed his schedule, it was a writing-from-home day and they both knew it. Perfect chance to try to get a hold of his... ex.

So here he was, staring at the number pad. He had traced the familiar phone number twelve times with his eyes, touched the correct keys but didn't press them.

Then he took a breath and dialed.

It rang once.

"Hello?" Eddie gasped and Steve closed his eyes against the tears that sprang up at the beloved sound. He sounded out of breath, but he had answered so fast he must have been right next to the phone. When Steve couldn't get his throat to work, Eddie hesitantly asked "Steve?" Like he didn't want to hope. 

"It's me," Steve answered on a shaky exhale. "Can we… can we talk?"

Chapter Text

The panic attack holds off until he's back in their apartment. When he looks around and sees the dirt he tracked through the house since he last vacuumed, because Steve wasn't there to remind him to take his shoes off before he came in. At all the messy surfaces that had always been pristine. He hadn't realised just how much tidying up after him Steve had done until he wasn't there to do it.

Gees, no wonder he always nagged him so much. Far less than was warranted, by the looks.

Eddie never deserved him. He always knew that, but this just makes it clear. It's no longer the cute 'I, a mere mortal, don't deserve an angel like you' but a genuine 'why the fuck did I ever think it was ok to be with you?

Steve had been Eddie's for five years (to the day). He'd never earned that right, but he'd had it. And he'd thrown it all away. No, worse, he'd thrown it in Steve's face.

Now he didn't know where he was. If he was safe. That was what he worried about; that with no better options, he had had to choose someplace unsafe. Like their first dingy apartment, except they'd been together then. At least they'd been together then.

When he had seen Hayden today, his only assurance in Steve's absence was obliterated. Robin may have thrown a spanner in the works, but Hayden was the muscle behind it. 

Because Steve wasn't there, where he'd assumed he'd been the entire time: safe in Hayden's bed. He hadn't been there, and that meant that Eddie didn't know if he was safe at all. 

Steve was, if anything, good at hiding the things he was going through. He could sleep in his car in the middle of the woods, and turn up to school just as put together as he always was, smiling like he was doing great. Even his bloody hair was styled to perfection. No one would know that he'd had homophobic slurs tossed at him by his own father the night before, and run out of his house before something worse could get thrown. 

So he knew that Steve could turn up at work, and at the airport, with no one the wiser if he was doing that again: sleeping in his car. He kept all his suits at work, got the dry cleaners to deliver them to his office each week. No one would know.

The thought of Steve, teenaged-Steve, sleeping in his car the morning Eddie found him there, flooded his mind. Then the mental image morphed from the boy he met then to the man he loved now. 

He felt sick. He did that. He hoped it wasn't like last time. 

Eddie can't even write anymore. He's terrified, literally shaking.

His manager has been onto him for months to get songs out, pushing him to write new music. He had no issues with that, not at first. Music has always been an outlet for pain for him, and boy has he been in a lot of pain recently. He thinks he would be handling it better if it was just the heartbreak. If he was only mourning the absence of the love of his life.

As it stands though, after every triggered memory of Steve, of their good times and their bad times, he is instantly swamped with guilt. Because Eddie is the one to blame. His life sucks right now, and it's all his fault, but worse than that, Steve got hurt in the process. Because of him. For the first time in his life there's no one to blame but himself. No bully, or entitled boss, no deadbeat Dad or neglectful Mom. No arrogantly religious asshole who can't live and let live. No corrupt cop with a vendetta against low level drug dealing and petty crime. Just Eddie, the coward who couldn't handle his own insecurities. 

Before Thursday, before Robin's call, Eddie had been letting the songwriting consume him. He got an album's worth of work out in under a month, including recording. He wrote and wrote, barely eating, hardly sleeping, pushing out the pain like it might stop once he was done.

But it doesn't.

If anything, it's worse. He wrote until he was frayed out and hanging onto his mental health by a thread, one dropped guitar pick away from having a meltdown so spectacular that he would get himself hospitalised. 

He's staring at the ceiling of the living room Friday night when he becomes aware of why his chosen therapy - which has suited him to a T his whole life - has suddenly become his method of self-torture. Why the syringe that once carried medicine is injecting poison instead.

(He will end up writing those words into lyrics one day).

Eddie used to have Steve there for the comedown. After he'd let himself break into a million pieces, Steve would hold him until he had glued himself back together. Once he was done pouring out all the festering agony, Steve would fill him back up with love and care. 

Last week, when he cut his heart open and bled out lyrics and guitar riffs, instead of Steve leaning over and putting a hand on his knee in support, or saying, tears in his eyes, "that's beautiful, Eds," he's just left to wallow in his misery. There's no joy in his pain anymore, just the hurt. And it's taken its toll.

He barely moves from the couch for four days. Tells his manager he got food poisoning, or gastro or something, because he just can't do it. Can't think about living - or whatever approximation of living he's been doing since their anniversary from hell - until he knows if Steve is living too, and not just pantomiming a successful man with not a worry in the world.

He knows he may never find out the answer. Too much of a coward to go to the store, to force himself back into Steve's life to find out for himself. Plus, Robin was angry with him, and may not let him out of his misery. Hayden had actually stopped himself from saying he would let him know, so he isn't holding out hope on that front either.

The shrill ring in the silence startles Eddie out of his usual blank reverie of the ceiling.

He snatches up the receiver so fast that he nearly fumbles it, nearly drops it, but manages to cram it desperately against his ear.

"Hello?" He asks, adrenaline stealing his breath. There's no answer, and there's a flicker of warmth, of hope, in his chest. He lets the continued silence drag over the flame like a gentle, encouraging breeze, until the hope is building. He banks it, so he can ask, "Steve?", without being swallowed whole if he's wrong.

"It's me," the most beautiful sound murmurs, full of his own emotions. "Can we… can we talk?"

Steve is early to the cafe they are meeting at. Eddie is probably going to be a little late. Pretty on brand type stuff. 

He taps a fingernail against the maroon mug in front of him and tries to blame his third coffee of the day for his jitters, but it's a lie. Steve lives on caffeine, basically chain-drinks it, and there's no way his leg (and heart) would be shaking until at least the seventh. 

He's already ordered Eddie a teapot of English Breakfast. The cafe provides cute little tea cosies - this one is decorated with wildflowers that reminds him of Indiana in spring or early summer - to keep the tea hot, and Eddie likes his tea strong; the more time to steep, the better. 

Maybe miracles happen, though, because Eddie shows up and he's - Steve checks his watch in surprise - he's four minutes early.

The sight of him, though, is enough to dampen his spirits. Because Eddie is a mess. 

Steve can tell he's run a brush through his hair, maybe even washed it since they spoke on the phone, but it doesn't hide the fact that he hadn't washed it in a while. It's dry and dull and lifeless in a way that Steve has never seen it. Like Steve, Eddie's proudest feature is his hair. It's the first clue that Eddie hasn't been looking after himself, and Steve's heart clenches.

The second concerning point is his cheekbones. Namely, that he has them. Eddie has always been strong-jawed and -chinned, but he's never had cheekbones. Steve always thought they were too buried in muscle from smiling and talking. So he's not eating either. At least not properly. Or maybe he's not smiling and talking, and he's suffering muscle wastage. Steve isn't sure which scenario is worse.

The third red flag is the deeply set, heavy-dark shadows under his eyes, set off by his sallow skin. So he hasn't been sleeping either, and it wasn't just in anxious anticipation of their meet up today.

Steve wants to wrap him in his arms, put a fluffy blanket around his shoulders, and take him home; take care of him. 

Guilt stabs him - he ran out; he did this - until Eddie's searching eyes meet his own and Eddie, beautiful Eddie, smiles at him from across the room, his shoulders relaxing under his leather jacket as he heads over. It's like the sun coming out for the first time in weeks of overcast skies and warming you when you hadn't realised you were cold. It's enough to send a pleasant shudder down his spine, the relief is so palpable. 

Silently, slowly, Eddie sinks into the seat opposite Steve at the little round table.

"Hey, sweetheart," Eddie says, barely audible over the cacophony of the busy coffee shop. 

"Hey," Steve manages over the lump in his throat. He doesn't know what to say, other than berating him for not taking care of himself. It's not his place anymore, but he hopes it will be again. Soon. "How… how are you?" 

Eddie's smile softens. "All the better for seeing you," he says, and Steve can tell it's not just a pretty line, that he really means it. Steve's presence is a balm, just like Eddie is for him. It hurts that he finds that surprising now.

He pushes the teapot and cup towards Eddie wordlessly, and Eddie says thank you with his eyes. He does a test pour, checks the colour, and clearly likes the tannin-to-water ratio because then he pours in earnest.

"Robin - and Hayden actually - thought we should… talk about what happened?" Steve says, for want of anything else to say. He doesn't mean for it to be a question. "They both think we're on the wrong page." 

Steve hadn't really understood that. He thought they were on the right page, but it was a horrid page, the climax of the story when everything falls apart and you're left in a pit of despair you should have seen coming, the clues were all there, but you kept hoping for that happy ending being dangled before you. But he thought they were both on that page; together in the worst way.

But then Eddie had called him 'sweetheart' so maybe that hellish page wasn't the end of the book like he'd thought?

But Eddie nods, clearly aware of this. He looks shamefaced and drops his gaze to the table, hands in his lap. He leans forward, rubs his palms on his thighs and settles them over his knees. He opens his mouth, then closes it, lifts a hand to the tiny handle on his cup and takes a fortifying sip. He puts his hand back on his knee. Steve wants it on his own instead, feels like he needs the reassurance for this conversation.

"So… I uh…" Steve can practically see the mental beating Eddie is inflicting on himself, complete with flinching and subtle winces like his thoughts are hurting him. Steve reaches a hand across the little table, palm up in offering. Eddie looks up at him in surprise, maybe even shock, before he gives a small smile and takes his hand with a trembling squeeze.

"What Robin meant - I don't think Hayden knows, but I was pretty… obvious with Robs - was that I assumed... something I shouldn't have, anyway. I can see that now. And it led to… all this." He gestures back and forth between them with his free hand. "But even if it was true - and I've been made aware that it's not - I should have… I never should have let it go as far as it did. Shouldn't have let it go on for as long as it did."

Eddie laughs, and it's not the sound it should be, the joyful boisterousness he's used to, but the flay of a whip on skin. "I was so scared to lose you that I ended up losing you anyway."

Steve stares at him, bewildered. "Let… what?"

"I was being an ass, Steve. You know that."

"I'm aware, yeah," Steve says, still frowning at the other man. "It's why I called you an asshole."

Eddie gives a wry chuckle. "An apt and eloquent description."

"I thought… I dunno, I thought you were just stressed with all the interviews and recording and stuff?" Steve tries to explain. "And that I was adding to your stress, overwhelming you with my petty grievances?"

Eddie shakes his head.

"It wasn't work. Or at least, not in the end."

Steve waits him out. Eddie sighs heavily, preparing for a punch and squeezing his eyes shut, then blurts, "Ithoughtyouwerehavinganaffair."

Steve freezes in his chair, absentminded thumb pausing in mid-reassuring stroke against the back of Eddie's hand.

"What?" Steve whispers. He heard, of course he did. Doesn't make it easier to process.

Eddie looks sick, like he's physically fighting down nausea. His next words are barely an exhale. "With Hayden."

Steve is reeling from that, his head is spinning crazily and the thump of his pulse is drowning out the din of other conversations, the whirr of traffic outside the front windows, the screech of the milk being steamed at the coffee machine.

Eddie is curling further and further in on himself with every drawn out second of silence between them. Steve wants to placate his worries, but he just… can't fathom where this has come from.

He tries to fill the silence with his thoughts. Thoughts of why this is entirely absurd.

"I have no interest in Hayden. Like, zero. Sure, he's one of my best friends; would be if it wasn't for Robin. I like his company but... Even if he wasn't married, or straight, or if he was actually my type -"

"He's not your type?" Eddie sits up straighter, looking confused. 

Steve gives him an unimpressed look for the interruption. "No, Eddie. He's not my type. Far too clean cut and… broad." He spits the last word like it's a gross character flaw. "And he's great and all, level-headed and calm in a crisis. A good listener. Funny. But I can't imagine being with someone like that. I think I'd get bored."

There's silence between them as Eddie fidgets his way through those revelations. Steve seems to be waiting for permission to continue.

"So what is your type?" Eddie demands. Honestly, it's the least important question in his head, but it's distracting him from thinking. 

Steve doesn't answer, not with words. Just gives a sardonic raise of one eyebrow and looks him up and down pointedly. 

Oh. Oh.

Well isn't that a confidence boost.

"Why? Is he yours?" Steve smirks at him, all confidence bordering on arrogance. He looks like he did in Highschool. Before his crown was knocked from his head by an angry, homophobic mob.

Eddie thinks of broad shoulders, thick arms and a sharp jaw. Thinks of someone sweet and caring...

"That's not really here or there, is it?" He sips his coffee to hide behind.

Steve grins, like he knows Eddie hadn't been picturing Hayden at all, but someone with much darker eyes and a stunning collection of moles.

"But even if he was my type… Eddie I -" Steve falters and Eddie is shocked to see his eyes fill with tears just before he drops his gaze to his own coffee. "Eddie, I love you. I love you. I wouldn't do that to you. I couldn't, even just thinking about it makes me want to shrivel up and puke. I'm sorry if I ever made you doubt that."

But Eddie is shaking his head so vehemently that his hair swishes around his head. "No. No. That's on me. I was the one who saw someone attractive and felt… inadequate. You should be allowed to be friends with whoever you want without me losing faith in you." He leans away from the table, looks out the window, but he leaves his hand in Steve's atop it. "I was just… I was never there. I thought you were going to leave me because of that, and Hayden was just… the personification of my worries. Or the scapegoat, maybe. Pushing the blame onto him."

With the big lie (Eddie's to himself) out of the way, they talk about other things. Steve admits ruefully that he did sleep in his car for a bit, but he felt like he'd been betraying Eddie, breaking his seven year old promise to him, so he'd shacked up in a motel. He gets really cagey about it, so Eddie thinks he's avoiding mentioning something and is hoping Eddie won't ask.

In turn, Eddie tells Steve there's a new album being edited, and his manager is pushing for more, but he's not feeling it lately. Tells him he turned down several interviews for it's release because he doesn't want to talk about the subject of the songs. He hopes Steve understands that their breakup was his muse for this one, without having to say it, and Steve nods like he does.

Then Steve tentatively asks, eyes flickering everywhere but at Eddie, if he can come home.

Eddie knows what he's asking. Are we good? Are we back together? It's a wrench, because he feels like he has to break Steve's heart again. This time for Steve's own good.

He bites his lip. "I'm going on tour. Tomorrow morning." He says, starting with the easy bit. "You're welcome to come back to the house, obviously, it's still yours too."

"But…?" Steve murmurs, his expression shuttered. This man knows him too well.

"But… I don't feel like I deserve you back." He admits quietly. "I want to! I desperately want you back, but I haven't… earned that right. Not yet. But I want to."

Steve takes that in for, it seems like, several hours, gaze resolutely focussed on the face in front of him. Assessing it.

"I'm not asking you to wait for me," Eddie assures. "But I want to be worth you again. So when I get back from tour, can we catch up? See where we're both at?"

Steve considers him. Then he nods. 

"I'll wait for you anyway," Steve tells him. "I could wait the rest of my life and you'll still be the best thing that's ever happened to me. So I'll be here, waiting for you to believe me."

.'

Chapter Text

Eddie has only been home for an hour or so when he hears the knock on the door. 

He sets down the kitchen knife from cutting celery for stew, one of Wayne's favourite meals. He figures cooking is the first step towards getting to have Steve back. Earning his keep, and all that.

He's surprised to see that it's Steve himself on the landing. They'd agreed it would be best for him to come home tomorrow, after Eddie had left for his tour. Steve was meant to be working late tonight anyway. 

"Sweetheart?" Eddie asks, doing a visual sweep for anything that's changed since they'd last seen each other. The only thing he can see is a fierce determination in his eyes. He was still in the same clothes, even; he hadn't gone into work yet. 

"I have something to say, and I have to say it before you leave."

Eddie is a little taken aback at the forceful tone.

"Sure? Uh… this sounds stupid; do you wanna come in? It's your house, of course, but you didn't use your key so I… never mind. I'll make us a cuppa."

Steve looks around their apartment in open surprise, while the kettle boils and Eddie busies himself with a percolator and a teapot. It's like he's never been there before, their home of three years. It's only been a month.

"Did you hire a maid?" He finally asks.

With a jolt and a subsequent stab of guilt, Eddie understands: Steve had been expecting the apartment to be trashed, given that he himself had done nearly all of the housework. 

"No." He fidgets with the knife, wanting to do something with his hands, wants somewhere to focus his eyes, but he doesn't want to be rude, or appear dismissive of Steve's presence. "I told you; I want to do better. I want to deserve you."

Steve smiles, small but pleased. Then his eyes get a far away look and he bites his lip.

Eddie continues chopping the celery when Steve waves him on, but keeps an eye on Steve who is now pacing. 

"It's been bothering me that you think you need to 'deserve me'. Like, I get the concept. But it makes no sense to me."

Eddie watches him carefully, his every head shake, the frown at the floor.

"A relationship isn't a transaction, babe… it doesn't have to balance out at the end, there's no… broken contract or whatever, if it doesn't. 

"But even if it was." He inhales, shaky and vulnerable. "Eddie, I owe you so much. I was outed before you knew you were gay, remember, and yet you still took me in every time Dad was a prick about it. You risked… I don't even know what. Angry mobs, disgust on every face you saw, just for openly being friends with the queer kid. But you didn't even hesitate. Just brought me in, made sure I was comfortable and you'd put on that mix tape you made of all my favourite songs, even though you hated my taste in music. 

"And it wasn't just me; it was all the little nerds you flocked to your side - Dustin and Mike and Lucas and Will - so they had someone in their corner for what could have been the worst years of their life."

"My little sheepies," Eddie grins to himself, still a little forlorn. 

"And-and Chrissy," Steve holds a hand up, palm out, in offering the next exhibit, "you helped Chrissy when she needed someone to talk to about the horrible things her Mom said to her, kept her safe when she wanted to get high so she could to let go for a few hours, or when her dickhead of a boyfriend was a manipulative, chauvinistic bastard and she needed a break." Steve looks up, earnest and firm. "I loved you for all that, long before I fell in love with you. 

"You talk about me like I'm some… angel or something. Like I've never done a thing wrong in my life, and you're blessed just because I looked at you twice. But I was King Steve - until Carol told the whole school about me after that falling out. I was an asshole, you know that, you saw it with your own two eyes, heard the shit I said about people with your own two ears. Yet, when I became the town pariah, you put your arm around me and told me it was ok to be different. That popularity meant shit if you weren't yourself."

"People are allowed to change, Stevie." Eddie murmurs. "You're not that kid anymore; you haven't been for years."

Steve scrubs his hand down his face. "You're not getting it. I changed because of you. I saw your kindness and your big heart and your self-confidence in the face of judgement and it made me want to… like, purge the badness out of me."

"You can't follow a great word like 'purge' with preschool vocabulary, honey, it's goes against the laws of decent language," Eddie berates with mock severity. Steve pokes his tongue out at him - like a preschooler - but otherwise disregards the reprimand.

"You told me it was ok to be different, and I didn't want to be different just because I was out. I wanted to be different like you were. I wanted more of that in the world, and I realised I could be like that too.

"I owe the person I am now, to you."

"You don't owe me anything, Stevie…" Eddie shook his head.

"That's my point, Eds." Steve took a deep breath. "I owe you who I am, but I don't owe you. Just like how I made the money for us for a few years, but you don't need to earn enough to make up for it. You being happy was its own reward, that's all I ever wanted. I didn't grapple my way to the top just so I could, what, reap the rewards when you got famous? I did that so you could enjoy what you were doing, without worrying if we could make rent that week."

Eddie is stunned. Who was Steve to talk about Eddie's big heart when he just came out with that?

Steve takes a big breath. "What I'm saying is, if you aren't happy doing what you're doing, being a busy rockstar… then quit. Go back to playing for a crowd of five drunks." Eddie laughs wetly. "I'll support you. Or, if you want to go on tour, then I'll quit and come be your groupie. Whatever you need, Eddie, so long as you're happy."

"But… you love your job," Eddie protests. 

Steve nods his head slowly, conceding his point. "I do. But it's nothing compared to how much I love you."

Eddie was crying now, teeth making white dimples in his bottom lip. 

"You were a right fucking bastard for the last year. Not gonna lie. I wish you'd just… talked to me."

"Coulda saved us a whole lotta pain, right?" 

"You're damn right." Steve laughs. "But - and don't tell Robin this, she'll kill me - I'll forgive you if you promise not to do it again."

Eddie nods enthusiastically.

"On my life."

Epilogue

five years later

He gets home early, before Eddie for once, so he can spend time with him while their dinner cooks. Hayden (now his official boss) let him go early, their work complete for the week.

Three and a half years ago, Hayden had left the department store, opening his own homewares and hardware shop. Steve had nearly quit too, fully aware that the money-hungry company directors wouldn't replace the Ops Manager, and Steve would be left to cover two jobs again. Permanently this time.

So when Hayden had asked Steve if he would come with him, take the Ops position at his new store, Steve hadn't hesitated. He may have taken a sizable pay cut, but he was working with one of his best friends. Plus, it was a huge bonus that he no longer worked weekends, leaving Steve free to attend nearly all of Eddie's gigs on Friday and Saturday nights. 

And he hasn't looked back since. Taking Hayden's job offer was the second best thing he'd ever done in his life.

The first being calling his boyfriend an asshole all those years ago.

If not for him walking out that day, nearly five years earlier, who knows where they'd be now. If they'd even be talking. 

It's their ten year anniversary the day after tomorrow. Time has flown, and yet at the same time, there are so many memories. Their time together is so full, so rich.

Precious.

Because they make time for each other now. 

It's a far cry from the bad moods, walking on eggshells and near constant nagging. From the frustration of not being listened to, of feeling like every day was the day it was going to end. 

The front door is nearly never slammed, and only accidentally these days. If Steve cooks, Eddie appreciates it, and if Eddie orders Alfonso's, he asks the chef to keep the flavour enhancer out of both their meals, so that they can share. Steve hasn't had to nag, because Eddie does the cleaning too.

In fact, he does most of the cleaning now, seen as he is home more. Ever since he flipped his demanding manager the bird, both literally and figuratively. Nowadays he works for the joy of it, small scale concerts in cities near enough to travel to for a weekend. 

He still hasn't given any interviews for the album he released back then, The Lies I Told Myself, the one critics referred to as such things as 'beautifully painful' and 'the sound of a heartbreak'. 

Eddie doesn't play the songs from it often, only at the end of his sets, and only if Steve is backstage waiting for him. Waiting to hold him back together, to replace the outpouring of pain from that month with the joy and love from every month since. 

Steve is taking off the oven mitt after checking on their chicken kievs when arms suddenly wrap around his waist from behind. He startles with a curse.

"Jesus H. Christ, baby!" Steve admonishes with a laugh, slapping one of the arms painfully. "I didn't hear you come home."

Eddie chuckles in his ear as he hooks his chin over Steve's shoulder, tightening his arms. "You're lucky; I nearly jumped around the corner, but I heard the oven tray just in time. I reckon it was about… a third of a second warning." 

Steve hums contentedly, and they slowly begin to sway back and forth, a rhythm they both feel beneath their skin. 

"How was work?" Eddie asks eventually, unwrapping himself and taking Steve's hand instead so that he can tug him over to the couch. 

"It was good!" Steve says instantly, a relaxed smile on his face. He settles against Eddie, half laying in his lap and under one arm as he props his tired feet up on the opposite arm. "We got everything done, so Hayden let me out early for good behavior."

It's Eddie's turn to hum, and he leans in closer to press a kiss to Steve's cheek, smiling all the while. "Is he still coming for dinner?"

"Yep. He's bringing a bottle of that wine you liked last time. It's meant to be a better year, or something? I dunno." Steve shrugged and laughed self-deprecatingly. "You can nerd-out with him about it when he gets here."

Eddie chuckles fondly into Steve's hair. 

"Are you ready for tomorrow?" Steve asks. He knows he sounds a little nervous, and Eddie squeezes him tighter in wordless solidarity. 

"Physically? Yes, I'm all packed. I got most of your stuff packed too - just need your say so on a few of the shirts - because I wasn't sure how much time you'd have tonight."

"And mentally?" Steve asks quietly, what he'd really been asking to begin with.

"Also yes," Eddie grins, Steve can hear it in his voice. "So very ready to spend every moment I can with you for the next month." 

Every year for the last four years, they'd both taken at least a week off for their anniversary. No matter how busy their work, or how full their schedules, this took priority. Hayden certainly understood, and it had been coming up to five years now since Eddie had ditched his demanding manager and scaled back his music career. As Eddie often said, "I kept the music and ditched the bullshit." 

This year, being the celebration of a decade together, they decided to make it a whole month, a vacation to Canada; their first full day away will be on their anniversary itself, and their last is the anniversary of the day they rekindled things in the coffee shop.

Because they talk about their worries now, Steve admits "I'm worried about our vacation being overshadowed by that month apart."

It's not a new worry; they've discussed it before. Eddie hums again, this time in recognition of the familiar concern.

But maybe Eddie has been considering it since their last discussion, because he says: "People can change. I'm not the asshole I was back then, and you're no longer the man who'll let me get away with it. 

"And I think that's worth celebrating."