“What is a pretty boy like you doing out here all alone?" Eddie asks.
Steve finds himself flushing at the comment. Eddie is closer now, still looking at him intently, and Steve pulls his eyes away, staring at the water rippling underneath his palm.
"Party blows."
———————
Rockstar/NBA Player AU | 80k | Rated: E
My first artwork for @snarkatthemoon ’s @steddiebigbang fic “Marry the Smoke”
I’ve had the immense pleasure of working with @snarkatthemoon and Cosmic_V0rtex (ao3) this year. This fic is truly one of a kind, and it was such a joy to bring some moments to life through art. With rockstars, family trauma, and steddie, what more could a reader simply ask for?! More artwork to come with chapter updates every Tuesday and Friday!! Go check the fic out!!
2026 Big Bang project reveal time! I'm so excited to get to work with @lamoabss as the artist for this Big Bang project! I'm thrilled you were interested in teaming up to work on my NFL Steve AU submission! I can't wait to have so much fun!❤️
Details:
Rating: E
Estimated Word Count: 60,000-65,000
Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson & Robin Buckley, Eddie Munson & Gareth, Steve Harrington & Robin Buckley
Characters: Robin, Gareth, Wayne, Dustin, Tommy, Chrissy, Goodie, Jeff
Tags: Sports AU, American Football, Modern Setting, NFL Football Player Steve Harrington, Hobby Shop Owner Eddie Munson, Getting Together, Falling in Love, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Closeted Steve Harrington, Gay Eddie Munson, Secret Relationship, Boys in Love, Happy Ending
Summary:
If there's anything Eddie Munson knows, it's that he doesn't give two shits about sports, or the people who play them. Professionally, or otherwise. It's practically the charter entry in The Munson Doctrine, despite growing up with his Uncle Wayne glued to games on the television year-round. Sports just don't interest Eddie. Never have, never will.
Enter, Steve Harrington.
Henderson dragging this football player into his store wasn't in Eddie's game plan, but, well, Eddie supposes there's an exception to every rule in the book. And now, here Eddie is, living a sports-filled life he never could have predicted.
Eddie learns about football.
Eddie cares about football.
It's honestly quite troubling.
Excerpt:
"Jesus H. Christ, look at that thing," Eddie says in a barely hushed whisper, reverent, eyes trained on Steve on the jumbotron screen at the end of the field. He looks to the other side of the field, because that screen is even bigger. It's trained on Steve as he swings his leg high into the air.
He's right there.
It's right there.
"Gareth. Look."
Gareth scoffs. "Would rather not."
"But you can see it, right?" Eddie asks, eyes glued to the live feed of Steve's lower body, his crotch, being projected into the stadium. It's all Eddie can focus on. The camera operator must be a perv. He deserves a raise. Why didn't Eddie bring binoculars? Fuck. Coulda, woulda, shoulda. "I'm not hallucinating it?"
"No, unfortunately everybody with eyes can see it. White pants? With that hog? Children are here."
Eddie laughs, "God bless tight white pants. I think I love football. I wonder if he'd wear them for me, up close and personal? For science."
The woman behind him says 'ew' through a laugh, but she leans forward, grasping both of Eddie's shoulders, making Eddie jump as she squeezes a little too hard, her lips resting near his ear, whispering, "Hi. Eddie? You're Eddie, right?"
Eddie nods. She continues:
"Great. He's not out. So can you just be cool? And less horny? Please?"
He turns. She's a cute lesbian. Well, he thinks so anyway. His gaydar is very rarely wrong. Steve did confuse it a little, he can't get everyone right on first impression. Why is she footballing? She doesn't look like she'd enjoy that any more than Eddie would. And why does she know his name?
"Nearly everybody around you are season ticket holders. They know exactly whose seats you're in. Just. Be quieter with your cock color commentary. Please and thank you."
Eddie swallows. He never would have thought of that.
"They come to every game?" Eddie asks, because, like. Seriously? That doesn't sound fun.
"Every game," she confirms, "and I'm really happy for him. You're cute. For a boy. But. Zip your lip. Got it?"
Eddie nods.
He knew she was as queer as he is.
"I'm Robin, I'm his best friend," she says, finally introducing herself.
Eddie turns, "Does Henderson know that?"
She rolls her eyes.
"He's a little shit. He can say whatever he wants, he's always running that mouth of his. But I know the truth. Who is here right now? Me. I don't see him, do you?"
Eddie grins, "I own a hobby shop. Henderson is a regular. That's how I met Steve."
She raises an eyebrow, "I am aware of exactly who you are, Eddie. If you have any other questions, just ask."
Eddie grins, wickedly. "I do have one."
"Okay," she says, suspicious. Rightfully so.
He leans back, getting closer to her, "Is it a cup?"
She sighs, rolling her eyes as she slumps back in her seat.
He raises an eyebrow, waiting.
"It's not," she grits out, and Eddie is delighted with this information.
She seems to be weighing something, but finally she leans forward, "Do you know what Reddit is?"
Eddie rolls his eyes. Yes. He's new football, not earth. He nods.
"Check the NFL Bulges subreddit, then. He's a frequent post subject. I hate that I know this. I should not have to know this."
Eddie laughs, absolutely thrilled that this is a real thing that exists. Maybe he can get down with football.
I technically don’t have time for this. BUT guess what, I did it anyway.
I also added a few tattoos to Eddie because I imagined this was at the start of the 90s ;) it was fun trying to think of something he would get in this context. So there is a devil holding The nail bat and on his calf the text from the ring in lotr. And also a small sword that was supposed to be Narsil (also lotr), but I got lazy.
inspired by "Try Me" (Djo)
CW: mentioned/referenced sex and drug use
Rating: T | WC: 2,579 | ao3
Tags: pre-steddie, friends to lovers, angst with implied happy ending, jealousy, eddie has a crush (and is dealing with it Badly), self-esteem issues, stobin roommates, future fic
Steve isn’t jealous.
He’s not.
It’s just that this so-called “boyfriend” that Eddie brought to Dustin’s birthday party is fucking awful—Johnny or Jimmy or Joey or whatever his name is. Steve tried to talk to him a little while ago, and all the son of a bitch did was glare, offering short answers to every question Steve lobbed his way.
Steve has been stewing in the corner with a beer ever since.
Probably sensing his distress, Robin appears at his elbow, muttering, “That guy’s a piece of work, huh?”
Steve hums in response. He takes a swig from his bottle—the label halfway peeled off by his restless fingers.
She clinks her own bottle against his in an obvious attempt to draw his eye. He hadn’t even realized he was staring daggers at Eddie and Johnny/Jimmy/Joey until that moment.
“It’s not just you,” Robin reassures him. “Everybody else is skeeved out by him, too.”
“That so?” he mutters. “Then why doesn’t somebody kick him out?”
“Because Eddie would lose his shit,” she laughs. “Unless…”
He glares at her now. “Unless?”
She feigns nonchalance with a shrug. “I don’t know. I mean…I think you could probably get away with it.”
“Seriously?”
“I’m just saying, you’ve got some sway with our favorite freak. And seeing as you’ve been trying to murder the guy with your mind all night—”
“I’m not jealous.” Steve insists.
“Right. Sure.”
“I’m not!”
“You mean to tell me somebody else brought that little green monster that’s running around?”
He refuses to answer, taking another drink and resuming his attempts at emulating Jane’s ability to snap a man’s neck from across the room.
Robin sighs. “Look. I’m not gonna make you face your own feelings, dingus. But can you at least admit he’s an asshole and he doesn’t deserve Eddie?”
Steve snorts. “Okay. Fine. He’s an asshole and he doesn’t deserve Eddie.”
“Good. I’m glad you agree.” She elbows him. “So what are we gonna do about it?”
He rolls his eyes. “What can we do, Rob? Eddie’s a grown man. He can take care of himself.”
“Sure, but he might not see what we see. Or hear what we hear,” she adds, her voice soft.
Steve turns back to her. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Well…okay,” she says, sighing again. “I overheard Jeremy on the phone with his friend.” She pauses, then admits, “Via the extension in your room.”
“You eavesdropped on Eddie’s boyfriend? Jesus Christ, this is why I said you weren’t allowed to have the room with the phone jack.”
“Will you just listen to me? They were talking about him.”
Steve freezes with his beer halfway to his mouth again. “What?”
“Jeremy and his friend were talking about Eddie. Laughing at him. Apparently they’re getting a steep discount on their pot as long as Eddie’s his, um…well, I think the word they used was ‘cocksleeve’?”
The edges of Steve’s vision start to go fuzzy and red. “What?” he repeats, fainter.
“I knew you’d be pissed,” Robin mutters.
“Uh, yeah. I’m pissed.” Steve glances back toward where Eddie and Jeremy are feeling each other up on the other side of the living room, and he swears he actually hears something in his mind snap. It’s the last thing he remembers when he’s suddenly next to them, yanking Jeremy away by the collar of his leather jacket.
Eddie’s startled voice calls out, “Stevie, what the hell?”
But he doesn’t have time to reply. He’s too busy wrestling with an indignant Jeremy and grumbling, “Get the fuck out of my apartment, you selfish prick.” As soon as the door is shut and bolted behind him, Steve turns and comes face-to-face with Eddie, anyway.
“What the fuck is going on, man? Why did you—?”
“He’s a jackass, Eddie,” Steve fumes. “Everybody here thinks so. You can do better than him.”
Eddie’s eyebrows shoot upward. “Excuse me? You don’t think I can decide that for myself?”
“He’s not with you for the right reasons.”
“‘The right reasons’? And what might those be, oh wise and omnipotent expert in all things love?”
The sarcasm stings, but Steve ignores it. “Whatever they are, they’re sure as hell not what he was in it for.”
“‘Was’? Did you break up with him for me, too?” Eddie shoots back. Steve steps in front of the deadbolt when he makes a move for it, so he commands, “Get out of my way.”
Steve plants his feet. He crosses his arms over his chest. “Make me.”
“What is this, middle school? Move out of the fucking way so I can catch him and apologize for you acting like a lunatic,” Eddie says. “Some first impression you’re making, by the way. I mean, you’re supposed to be my friend, not some cockblocking asshole.”
“Sometimes a friend is a cockblocking asshole.”
“Oh, really?” It comes out on a dangerous, exasperated chuckle. “That’s what friends are for, huh? Acting like a dick and throwing my boyfriend out of parties?”
“When your boyfriend is just using you for sex and cheap drugs, then yes. That is what friends are for.”
Eddie takes a step back. He lets out a breathy, startled laugh. “What?”
Steve’s heart stops, threatening to shatter into a million pieces at the look on Eddie’s face. His features are frozen into a sort of disbelieving grimace, but there are tears welling up in those giant eyes of his.
“What the fuck did you just say?”
Steve purses his lips and glances at the floor between them. “Sorry. I, uh…” He swallows, unable to look Eddie in the eye. “I could’ve put that better. It’s just that Robin heard him talking, and—”
“You know what? Never mind. I need some fucking air.” Eddie manages to worm his way past to unlock the door. Momentum sweeps Steve aside as it jerks open, leaving a gap wide enough for Eddie to slip out of the apartment.
“Eddie—”
As soon as he’s through, Eddie slams the door shut. Steve can hear him stomping down the hallway to the stairwell, his footfalls practically shaking the whole building.
“Fuck,” he murmurs, and he turns to look for Robin, seeking some guidance for cleaning up the mess his temper made.
“Hey.” Steve’s voice is soft. It’s almost like he doesn’t want Eddie to hear him.
Eddie doesn’t turn around, nor does he answer. He leans on the parapet and takes a long pull from his cigarette.
“The roof, huh?” Steve goes on with an anxious chuckle. “Thought I might find you up here.”
Eddie snorts, and smoke curls around his nose like he's a dragon. “Yeah, well, I know how much Robin hates anybody smoking in the apartment.” He doesn’t acknowledge the fact that he stormed out of it five minutes ago.
He expects Steve to say something like “Is that all?” or accuse him of subconsciously waiting up here just for him, and he wouldn’t be off base if he did. Instead he just says, “Yeah.” He sidles up to the edge of the roof next to Eddie and produces his own pack of Newports. He pulls one out and seems to hesitate, but eventually asks, “Can I get a light? Left mine downstairs.”
Silently, Eddie pulls his lighter out of his pocket and tosses it in his direction.
Steve catches it easily and holds it out when he’s done. Through a cloud of fresh smoke, he mutters, “Thanks, Eds.”
Eds. Nobody else has ever really called him that, except for Wayne. But Steve picked it up so naturally, Eddie had hardly noticed. Apparently he’d been saying it for a long time before Dustin pointed it out, but from then on Eddie has clocked it every single time. He has a complicated relationship with that fact.
Almost as complicated as his relationship with the man himself.
It’s one he’s been desperately trying to parse for a year and a half, now. At first, he’d assumed they had a rapport a lot like the one Steve has with Robin. They hung out, talked shit, and went on little adventures whenever their friends could get a break from college life. Then he’d started to notice that more and more often, their “hanging out” meant cuddling while they watched a movie, or maybe getting high and talking about their deepest fears and wildest dreams—which still wasn’t far off from how Steve interacted with Robin, sans drugs.
The real problem came on an ordinary day of no real consequence, when Eddie turned to Steve and had the overwhelming urge to run his fingers through his hair and kiss him—the first real sign that he was falling for the guy.
That wouldn’t be so bad, if it weren’t for the fact that Steve is one of the best friends Eddie has ever had. Maybe the best, although he would never admit that to the band, or to Dustin. He wasn’t about to jeopardize the most important non-Wayne relationship, and he was terrified that if he didn’t do something to get over his crush on Steve, then he would do something stupid and it would all come crashing down around him.
So he found a boyfriend.
Eddie is painfully aware of his less-than-healthy romantic history. He’s never dated anyone who wanted more than mutually assured destruction, and he was under no real illusion that Jeremy was different. He was just there, and he wasn’t Steve.
Steve, whose smile lights up a room and all that cliché shit. Who laughs at Eddie’s dumbest jokes and genuinely tries to understand his interests, even when he doesn’t really get them. Who always knows when Eddie needs a night in, and who can see right through all his bullshit even when he’s built it up enough to fool even himself.
That was why he stormed out of the apartment. Not because he was mad about Steve insulting Jeremy, or even really because he’d kicked him out. He was upset that Steve was as perceptive as ever, and he was pissed at himself for putting that sad, disapproving look on Steve’s face.
Even now, the way Steve quietly stands there, smoking his cigarette and waiting for Eddie to initiate the conversation he knows they need to have…it’s like he has no idea how perfect he is.
Okay, Munson. Just bite the bullet and say something.
“Thanks,” he murmurs. He knows it’s barely audible over the wind, but he can’t make himself speak any louder. “For, uh…looking out for me.”
“If I’d known, I would’ve said something sooner.”
“I know.”
“Instead of, you know…causing a scene.”
“I know,” Eddie repeats softly. After another moment, he sighs and says, “If I’m being honest, I sort of had my suspicions. But, well, you know how these things go.”
“No, not really. How do they go?” Steve counters.
Without looking, Eddie knows the exact position of his eyebrow just by the tone of his voice. “Well, when a useless drug dealer and a selfish piece of shit like each other very much—”
“Useless?” Steve sounds livid, and Eddie thinks perhaps he shouldn’t find that as attractive as he does. “You’re not useless. Did he make you think that?”
“Fine. Not useless. Use whatever word you want: stupid, naive, cowardly…”
“I don’t want to use any of those words. Not for you.” Even his goddamn grumbling is cute when he adds, “That greedy, lowlife bastard, maybe. But never you.” His tone evens out, and he says, “I really am sorry, Eds. I should’ve just talked to you in private, or…or even just let you make your own decisions. I should’ve stayed out of it.”
Eddie grits his teeth, unable to take any more. “For fuck’s sake, Stevie. Why are you being so nice to me? I brought that asshole to your apartment, almost let him ruin Dustin’s birthday more than once, then acted like you weren’t totally justified in kicking him out for being a dick and a shitty boyfriend. Why the hell are you apologizing? I should be thanking you.”
“Thanking me? What—?”
“Man, I knew he was an ass. I knew it all along. Why do you think I was dating him in the first place?” He finally looks over at Steve and sees him absolutely bewildered. He looks like a golden retriever whose toy has just disappeared behind his handler’s back.
“Eds…why would you date someone who—?”
“Because I’m bad at dating, alright?” Eddie explodes, his voice echoing off the trees that surround the apartment complex. “Shitty relationships are all I know. And I needed a distraction. Something to do while I—”
When he cuts himself off, Steve tilts his head. “While you…what?”
Eddie swallows. He wants to look away, but he can’t find it in himself to break his gaze from Steve’s. Almost against his will, he says, “While I did my best to get over it.” Realizing his words didn’t make sense out loud, he shakes his head, finally squeezing his eyes shut, and clarifies, “I mean you. To get over you.”
Steve makes a small sound, somewhere between a choked gasp and a whispered oh. “I don’t…”
Eddie shuts his eyes impossibly tighter. He mumbles, “I know, you probably don’t want me like that, but—”
“No, I just don’t understand,” Steve interrupts. “Eds, why didn’t you say something?”
He cracks his eyes open and searches Steve’s expression for something other than confusion or concern. When he doesn’t find it, he sighs and says, “Because I didn’t want to fuck anything up between us? I mean, you know my history.” Then, saying it slowly as the truth comes to him, Eddie admits, “I didn’t want to hurt you.”
Steve laughs, startled and incredulous. “Hurt me?”
“Well…yeah.” Eddie says it like it’s obvious, complete with a shrug. “I’m a fuck-up, especially with guys. I didn’t want to risk things ending the same way with you as it always has.”
“Okay, but you’re forgetting something.”
“What?”
“I care about you?” Steve says, still chuckling a little. “I’ve met some of your exes, Eds, and trust me when I say you weren’t the problem with any of those relationships. To be honest, I’m a little insulted you think I’m enough like them that it wouldn’t work out. None of those guys were in it for the long haul, but I’d love being your boyfriend if you’d let me. And you shouldn’t be so worried about hurting me. I’m willing to risk it.”
Eddie sighs. “You can do better than me, Stevie.”
Steve smirks. “You don’t think I can make that decision for myself?” he parrots.
Eddie feels heat in his cheeks, though he can’t tell whether it’s from the implication that Steve wants to date him, or from the shame and embarrassment of being called out on his hypocrisy. He purses his lips, crushes his cigarette butt under his boot, and mutters, “Point made.”
“So, now that you’re not parading around some guy who makes me want to pull my fucking hair out,” Steve says, “you want to go back to the party?” He shivers, takes a final drag from his cigarette, then stomps it out, too. “Maybe we can finish this conversation somewhere warmer.”
Eddie forces himself to make eye contact, and he’s reminded of another beautiful thing about Steve: one look from him, and everything feels like it’s going to be alright.
(eeeeh screw it, I'm gonna post chapter 1 here in hopes that someone will bully me into getting back to writing chapter 3 XD)
Chapter 1
The tavern is boisterous, filled with noise from the gathered adventurers and the warmth of a multitude of bodies ranged around a raging fire. Behind the polished surface of the bar, the tavern keeper is a tall human woman with a collection of impressive scars that speak to her years of experience in the career path you are just starting out on, and your eyes linger on her for a moment but you know that she is not the one you’ve come to meet. Instead, you find that your attention is drawn to a table in the corner, where a richly-dressed man with a sneer on his face is pressing his attentions on a barmaid who is clearly too afraid of his power to express her disinterest. This is Esteban Barrington -
A loud snort interrupted him, and Eddie snapped his head around to glare Gareth into silence before he continued. Weirdly, little Henderson looked struck too, his head cocked to one side and a frown creasing his cherubic face.
“Esteban Barrington,” Eddie repeated, “a man as vile in his habits as he is pleasant to look upon. All of you have heard his name - heard of his dastardly deeds, his poor treatment of his companions, his arrogant manner. And yet,” he said with an exaggerated sigh, “he has coin to spare, and if you’re willing to deal with such a villain some of that coin could make its way into your purses.”
“I’m in,” Jeff said, and Alan nodded encouragingly at the newest members of the flock. But little Henderson’s frown had evolved into a scowl, and he stared at Eddie without the usual admiration that Eddie had to admit he kind of enjoyed.
“Seriously,” Henderson said flatly.
“Problem?” Eddie asked, putting an edge on his voice that would usually have the kid scrabbling to backtrack. Instead, Henderson folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair. A little too far, in fact, and when he overcorrected the clatter of the chair legs slamming to the floor made the rest of Hellfire jump. It was a moment of chaos that distracted Eddie long enough for Wheeler to reach out and snag the page of notes in front of him, a grievous misstep that Eddie was going to make him regret.
“Esteban Barrington,” he read out to the group. “Half-elf noble.” Henderson grabbed the sheet out of his hands and then somehow, inexplicably, entirely failed to return it immediately to Eddie. It was gonna be a shame to have to mercilessly slaughter both their characters right at the start of a new campaign, but -
“No no no,” Henderson said, scanning through the text on the page. “What the hell?”
“Unless you want to be rolling with disadvantage until Narfell rises again,” Eddie said silkily, “you’re going to put my notes right back in my hands.” He leaned back in his throne - with significantly more grace than Henderson - and steepled his fingers.
“Not unless you correct this piss-poor characterisation,” Henderson snapped back, and Sinclair’s eyes widened.
“Dustin,” he hissed, which meant at least one of them knew how to show the proper respect.
“What?” Henderson’s voice cracked on the word, something that sounded far closer to outrage than fear. “It’s Steve, this is supposed to be Steve, and - lawful evil, what the hell?”
Sinclair and Wheeler scrambled to get closer to Henderson’s sides, Wheeler smirking over the kid’s shoulder as they read through the character notes. All campaign-relevant information was still tucked safely behind Eddie’s screen, otherwise he would have made more of an effort to snatch his work back; instead he feigned relaxation, kicking up his legs to cross on the table, watching as Henderson’s face flushed a furious red.
“It’s not that bad,” Wheeler said eventually, and as Henderson elbowed him his aggravating smirk widening into an even more infuriating grin. And then, inexplicably, he added, “but he should be wielding a mace.”
“It’s a travesty,” Henderson insisted. “Steve’s not - he’s -”
“I’ve been in school with the guy for four years,” Eddie interrupted. “Pretty sure I know him a little better than you.” He shook his head and leaned forward, Henderson making only a token effort to keep hold of the sheet Eddie snagged between his fingers. Henderson looked - actually, he looked almost distressed, which made Eddie feel a little bad for all of the second it took to notice the rip across half of the page.
“Wheeler, Henderson,” Eddie said, his voice quiet and almost friendly-sounding. Alan hissed out a low breath and scooted back in his chair. “You will be rolling with disadvantage until it pleases me otherwise. And,” he continued, raising his voice over Henderson’s protesting noise, “you will be lucky if I change my mind this side of Christmas, you little assholes.”
Wheeler slumped into his chair, a petulant pout making him look like an oversized kid. Henderson muttered something uncomplimentary and kicked out at his chair before retaking his seat, mutinous dissatisfaction in every line of him. When there was no further protest forthcoming Eddie leaned forward and took up the tale again, skilfully leading them into a verbal trap that had Esteban promising them far less than they assumed he had, which would be a satisfying reveal a couple of sessions down the line.
Not his fault if they bought into the jock - sorry, noble - bullshit. Really, he was doing them a favor.
*
It was a quarter after the hour by the time they wrapped up, the kids hastily shoving miniatures, dice and notebooks into their bags. Jeff and Gareth were on clean-up, already dragging the stacked chairs noisily across the floor, so Eddie grabbed his bag and followed the freshmen out, shrugging into his leather jacket as soon as he stepped out into the chill Fall air. He grabbed a cigarette, offered one to Alan and fumbled for his lighter, watching as the kids tumbled across the parking lot, heading for -
“What the hell?” he muttered.
“You’re late. Again.” Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington, fallen king of Hawkins High, was standing by his Bimmer with his hands placed firmly on his hips, scowling as Eddie’s sheep approached. He was wearing some kind of retail-uniform vest but otherwise looked exactly like he had in high school, preppy and perfect and petulant as always when Wheeler flipped him the bird.
“You’re not my real mom, butthead,” the kid complained, and almost managed to duck the swat Harrington aimed at the back of his head.
“Don’t call me a butthead, butthead.”
Sinclair scrambled into the back of the car and Wheeler grabbed for the handle at the front before Harrington made a loud buzzer sound.
“Not a chance, Wheeler. Dustin’s got privileges.”
“What? Why?”
“Mm,” Henderson said obnoxiously, “maybe because I’m not a butthead?”
The ensuing slapfight didn’t seem to phase Harrington, who folded his arms across his chest as he waited for them to stop. After a few seconds he rolled his eyes and leaned back against his car, catching Eddie’s eyes on him and letting the corner of his mouth lift in a small smile.
“Hey Munson,” he said, lifting a couple of fingers in acknowledgement, and Eddie breathed out a curl of smoke, along with any pressing urge to question the fact that, Jesus, Harrington knew his name?
“Hey, assholes,” Harrington continued, in a hell of a different tone, “sit down, strap up, or I’m leaving you here for the wolves.” It took a couple more minutes wrangling, but eventually he started the BMW and pulled out, Eddie refusing to respond to his wave goodbye.
“Was that Harrington?” Gareth asked behind him, and Jeff hummed thoughtfully.
“Pretty decent of him to give them a ride,” he said.
“Shut up, Jeff,” Eddie snapped, and crushed his cigarette against the wall of the gym.
My attempt at depicting the guys in a vintage 80's illustrative style. A bit belated but I consider this my final send-off for a (mostly) incredible show, really gonna miss it man
