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Under the Spotlight [Part VI]

Summary: King of Period Dramas Steve Harrington and Metal singer Eddie Munson hate each other. At least that's what the Press is saying. | WC: ~7,6k | Rated: T | Warnings: Language | Tags: Rockstar!Eddie; Actor!Steve; Made up rivalry; Drama; Humor; Miscommunication; Getting together. | [Part I] [Part II] [Part III] [Part IV] [Part V] [AO3]

His friends are nervous, Eddie can tell.

Their crowd is completely unaware of what’s happening, too busy vibing and screaming themselves hoarse with each song the band plays to really pay attention to anything else, but Eddie’s known his friends for over fifteen years now. He knows all their telltales.

Jeff has been unusually quiet throughout the whole show, barely interacting with their fans even when Eddie gives him cues to join him. Frank has asked the staff for water three times already, although they still have half concert ahead of them, plus an encore, and Gareth’s drumsticks have escaped his grasp after a song and rolled away from him in at least two occasions.

Chrissy talked to them, Eddie is sure. They are waiting for Eddie’s response to Harrington’s provocation. Dreading Eddie’s response, really.

Maybe it’s time for Eddie to get them out of their misery.

As they wrap up yet another song, the metallic sound of his guitar slowly echoing inside the venue and dying down as their fans scream the last verse with him, Eddie watches the crowd for a moment as he catches his breath. A sea of eager faces stares right back at Eddie, and the grin that stretches over his face is genuine.

He had dreamed of times like these. When he had been nothing but a kid, trying to survive in a small town that despised his own existence and shunned him for being different, for being too much, Eddie had dreamed of a time when people would be forced to look past his loud exterior and recognize him as the artist he knew, even back then, that he was. He dreamed of big venues, crowded with fans that would yell and scream and cry by the mere sight of him.

And he made it. His dream came true; he has a legion of fans that are loyal to him, critics had to swallow down their prejudice and recognize how talented he is. He fucking made it; despite all the shit he and his friends had to face to get here, each concert is proof that Eddie Munson became the rockstar he was born to be, and he can’t avoid the blooming pride that spreads through every tiny bit of his body and leaves him in ecstasy every single time this reality hits him.

The booming cheer of the crowd is deafening, to the point of making Eddie’s head fuzzy with overstimulation, but he loves it. It’s everything he’s ever dreamed of and more.

Panting, Eddie puts his guitar down on its support and pushes the sweaty hair out of his face before taking the mic out of the stand. The crowd screams even louder when they realize Eddie’s about to interact with them again, and his grin broadens, takes over his face.

“I’ve seen some loud crowds in all these years on the road,” he says, as he walks through the stage, until he’s right at the front, just a couple of feet from the edge. “But you’re insane. I didn’t remember you being this loud last time we were here, am I right boys?”

This time, Jeff takes his cue and answers, “Yeah, you’re making us feel loved.”

Eddie nods. “Yes, you are. We’re feeling very, very loved.” He takes a look back, searching for Chrissy, where Eddie knows she’s standing at the entrance of the stage. “Hey, Chriss, can you ask Howie to turn the lights on a little more? I gotta have a chat with our beautiful crowd, but I need to be able to see them for that.”

As far as warnings go, this is all his friends are gonna get. But they’ve been dealing with Eddie for long enough too to recognize his cues and tips, Eddie doesn’t need to explicitly tell them to prepare themselves; they know Eddie’s telltales as well as Eddie knows theirs.

The lights over the stands and the pit are turned on, and Eddie can finally see his fans clearly, bathed in white light and pushing against one another as they try to get as close to the stage as they can.

“That’s better. Thank you, Chrissy,” Eddie says in a sing-song voice as he takes the last step and stands at the edge of the stage. He puts a hand over his eyes, as he squints and takes the crowd in. “Wow, so many people. I remember when we couldn’t even fill a tiny venue back at home.”

The crowd laughs; yells their responses even though Eddie can’t discern what the hell they are saying because, you know, it’s impossible to understand anything when forty thousand people speak at the same time.

“Yeah, crazy,” he agrees, nodding, just to keep the conversation going. “And, hey, do you know what I find really crazy too? That apparently I have a rival now. I know you’ve seen this, it’s all over the press.” Eddie gestures, the hand not holding the microphone shoots up, making a wide arch in the air as he speaks to give a little dramatic flair to his words. “But in case you live under a rock and don’t know what I’m talking about, I’m talking about that Harrington guy.”

It’s impressive how utterly quiet the whole venue goes as these words leave Eddie’s mouth, just to explode in a cacophony of roars two seconds later. He risks a look over his shoulders and sees Jeff go pale. He can’t see Gareth, covered as he usually is by his drums, but he can see the astonishment in Frank’s face as he shoots Eddie a pleading look.

Eddie shrugs at his friends and turns his focus back to the fans.

“So, Steve Harrington has been talking some shit about me, and about the band, right?” Eddie asks, as he takes a few steps to the left side of the stage to wave at the fans there. He gets a choir of Yes! in response. “Yeah, so I’ve heard. I also heard that a few days ago he thought it would be very funny to mock the press over this stuff; made a shirt and everything. Very cute.”

When Eddie turns to go to the other side of the stage, he almost bumps right into Jeff.

“The hell are you doing, Eddie?” his friend hisses, eyes huge in horror

Eddie puts away the microphone just long enough to say, “I’m giving the people what they want. Relax, man, I know what I’m doing.”

He pats Jeff’s shoulder briefly, then marches across the stage again. Someone throws a bat plushie that lands inches away from Eddie’s feet, and he bends down to pick up the gift with a joyful little laugh. This one he’s gonna keep for sure.

“So, Harrington,” Eddie continues, as he makes the way back to the center of the stage with his new plushie. “I don’t know what his motivation to pull this shit is. I don’t know if he thinks it’s funny, or if he’s bored and has nothing better to do. I also don’t know if he’s mocking the press, or if he’s trying to mock me and my boys too, but since this clearly affects us in some way, I think it’s fair that I get to address this too.”

Eddie pauses to give emphasis to his next words, to create a tense atmosphere and to make sure everyone is paying close attention to him, just like he wants it. Forty thousand faces stare at him, barely blinking as Eddie slowly brings the microphone closer to his mouth.

Eddie’s looking straight at the camera when he says, “Harrington, whatever your motivations are, I hope you’re not trying to rage bait me, sweetheart, I wouldn’t recommend. Last time a pretty boy like you tried to fuck with me in any way, I made him fucking cry.”

It’s chaos after that. They wrap up the concert twenty later than usual.

-

As expected, Chrissy is in his dressing room waiting for Eddie when he opens the door. This time, there’s no water bottle or clean towels in her hands and Eddie understands right away she’s not in the same open, receptive mood she had been in yesterday.

Seated on the sofa, Chrissy quietly watches as Eddie drops Mr. Batty on the empty couch opposite her, then crosses the room towards the minibar and grabs a beer. He takes a large gulp, the cool liquid doing wonders to his overused throat after over two hours of concert.

“Can I ask what was going through your head when you thought that was a good idea?” Chrissy asks when Eddie finally turns to face her. There’s no judgement on her face, though; she’s honestly trying to understand what Eddie’s just done, trying to make sense of something she can’t see any kind of sense at all.

“I told you I was gonna give Harrington an answer,” Eddie shrugs. He picks a bag of peanuts from the basket over the coffee table and opens it, throwing a bunch in his mouth as he flops down next to Mr. Batty. “So, I gave him an answer. That’s basically it.”

Chrissy mutters something under her breath that Eddie can’t quite catch; his ears are still ringing after so long on the stage. Resting his tired feet on the coffee table, he munches on another handful of peanuts and enjoys his beer.

His eyes follow Chrissy when she gets up suddenly, watches her as she crosses the dressing room to get a beer for herself too and leans against the dressing table. Her expression is pinched, and even though she’s not really looking at Eddie right now, he can see how antsy her eyes are.

“You know the press is writing about this shit as we speak, right?” She says after a long drink, and Eddie can hear the exhaustion in her voice. “Fifteen minutes from now, every gossip page, every fan page, every media outlet is going to publish your video. The radio host tomorrow is going to ask you about this five minutes into the interview. You addressed Harrington by name this time, you said it was an answer to him. There’s no avoiding this matter after this, Eddie; there’s no saying the press is taking your words out of context.”

“Yeah, I know.”

And Eddie really does. He’s aware of all that, has thought about all that. Despite what most people think, Eddie can weigh the pros and cons of his actions, he can make decisions with his head instead of with his gut.

He just doesn’t fucking care about any of that shit because the whole situation is simply absurd.

“Chrissy, stop thinking too hard. Harrington provoked me, I provoked him back; the end. It’s not that deep.”

“Thinking too hard is kinda my job, Eddie,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “Because at the end of the day, I’ll be the one dealing with the mess if something goes wrong.”

And, you see, Chrissy doesn’t say it in any way that can possibly indicate she’s trying to berate Eddie, or what he’s done, but her words still leave him angry anyway. Because it always comes back to this; everything she’s been doing is her job. She’s hiding things from Eddie because it’s her job to keep the band from trouble, she’s freaking out about a silly joke Eddie decided to make on stage because it’s her job to think about how much it could impact their name.

And Eddie gets it. It is her job doing all that, sure. But when did her job become the reason behind every single interaction between them? At what point did their relationship change until they couldn’t even make jokes without fretting over the bad publicity it can bring?

“Are we even friends anymore?” he asks, his voice so serious that Eddie himself is a little surprised, and he sees the way Chrissy flinches as his words sink in.

The can almost slips from her hand, and Chrissy carefully puts it down on the dressing table, her movements slow and deliberate. She’s buying time. She’s mulling Eddie’s words in her head and trying to figure out what to say.

“What are you trying to imply by that?” she ends up asking.

Eddie is not buying that. He’s had enough stalling and deflecting.

“Let’s cut the crap, alright? I’m fucking tired of this shit, Chrissy, and I know you are too, so I’m gonna be straight with you.” He drops the bag of peanuts back on the table before he stands and rounds the couch towards his friend until they are just a couple of feet apart. Chrissy is as still as a statue; Eddie can barely see her breathing. “That shit you pulled back in Phoenix? That fucking sucked, okay? You had plenty of opportunity to tell me about the interview after our concert but you didn’t.”

“I already told you, I did what I had to do,” she interrupts, chin tipping up, not even a little bit intimidated by Eddie’s way taller figure, and her words make Eddie want to scratch his own eyes out in frustration.

“I know, and that’s exactly the problem here,” Eddie shoots back. “You did what you had to do, you did your job, but that’s all you’ve been doing lately. Fuck, it’s all that we’ve been doing lately.”

“Are you even listening to yourself right now? You’re not making any sense, Eddie.”

Her impassiveness is slowly melting away and being replaced by anger. It’s the way her lips press together in a thin line, how her whole body is tense with repressed energy that’s just waiting to be let loose.

Chrissy is getting pissed, that much is obvious, but Eddie doesn’t have it in him to stop now; he’s not gonna back away now that he’s started.

“I’m not making any sense?” Eddie says mockingly, a small part of him rejoicing when he sees Chrissy’s teeth clench in annoyance. “When was the last time we actually had a conversation that didn’t involve label deals or merch contracts, Chrissy? When was the last time we did anything together that wasn’t work related? I swear to you, I’ve spent the last few days thinking about this and you know what I got? Nothing. There’s absolutely nothing. We don’t talk anymore, we only interact with each other because it’s our fucking jobs. Face it, we stopped being friends a long time ago.”

“You cannot be fucking serious. You don’t mean any of this, it’s bullshit.”

“But I do. What really pains me is that I fucking do!” Suddenly, looking at Chrissy is too much. Eddie not only averts his eyes, he takes a step back too, hand coming to rub at his chest as if the motion could do any good to easy the tight, gripping feeling there. It’s useless, of course it is. “What you did back then, it sucks but I get it. You were being a manager, that’s your job. But you’re supposed to be my best friend too, you’re supposed to—no, not supposed to. I thought you’d have my back if some shit like that happened to me, but you didn’t and it sucks, okay? Knowing that the one person I thought I had in my corner cares more about bad publicity than they care about me.”

The slap catches Eddie by surprise. Chrissy’s hand becomes a blur and, suddenly, Eddie’s cheek explodes in sharp, hot pain.

He barely has time to understand what’s happening, his cheek still throbbing in pain, and Chrissy is at him again, shoving Eddie with such strength that he stumbles back, the backs of his thighs bumping on the edge of the couch and sending a sharp ache flaring through his leg.

Eddie curses under his breath, hand instinctively coming to the spot he just knows is going to bruise soon enough, but he has no time to dwell on it; Chrissy shoves him again, harder, and Eddie has to grab her wrists to stop her before he finds himself toppling back onto the couch behind him.

“Wait, Chrissy, stop that,” he starts saying. The rest of his words become lead in his mouth when he sees Chrissy’s face, a mix of anger and hurt like nothing Eddie has seen before.

His surprise makes his hold slip, and she manages to free her hands with a hard pull, but she doesn’t try to shove him again. Instead, her shaking fingers grasp the front of Eddie’s shirt and pulls him down until they are almost at eye level.

“You have no right to say this kind of shit to me after I spent half my life working my ass off to help you make your dream come true, you ungrateful piece of shit.” Her pretty face is contorted in fury, but her eyes are blood-shot and brimming with tears and so, so hurt Eddie’s breath hitches, a lump of guilt lodging itself in his throat before he can stop it.

But it doesn’t last. At least not her fury. It deflates like a sad old balloon, Chrissy’s tense body slumping little by little until her grasp on Eddie’s shirt loosens too and her arms fall to her sides.

And then she’s crying, first tears finally breaking free and rolling down her face, making a mess of her usually impeccable makeup.

“I just—I don’t get you, Eddie,” she chokes out, wiping her eyes furiously with her sleeves, even though it’s a useless effort. “Is this payback because I kept things from you? Are yo—are you trying to hurt me back just to make it even? Is that it?”

“Wha—No!” Eddie reaches out for her, heart aching with the need to comfort Chrissy, but he freezes when he sees the way she recoils, fingers hovering uselessly close to her arms without ever touching them. “It’s not—I’m not trying to be petty, Chrissy, this has nothing to do with payback.”

“So why would you say that then? Why are you questioning our friendship like this? I know that I hurt you when I kept that interview from you, and I’m sorry I did that. But I was trying to do what was best for the band at the time—”

“Maybe you did what was best for the band, but you didn’t do what was best for me, Chris,” Eddie interrupts her. He moves slowly, carefully as he gives Chrissy the opportunity to move away from his touch. This time she doesn’t, and Eddie cups her face gently, wiping a stray tear with his thumb as it escapes her eye. “And maybe I’m being a selfish asshole here, I don’t know, but I just wanted my best friend to have my back. That’s all, I swear.”

Chrissy sniffs, a pitiful, small thing that breaks Eddie’s heart in two. He’s always hated seeing Chrissy cry, and the fact that she’s crying because of him makes everything worse.

She reaches for his hands, grabs them and pulls them from her face, but doesn’t let them go. It’s not a rejection of his affection, but a way of catching his attention.

“Why do you think I work so hard to protect this band, Eddie?” she asks, voice a little shaky but strong nonetheless. She squeezes his hands before continuing. “Do you think I do this because I like the power? Or because I care about the money that comes with it?”

“That’s not what I—”

“Wait, I’m not done.”

Chrissy’s words are quiet, measured, but Eddie’s mouth click shut immediately, teeth coming together with a painfully loud clacking sound.

For a moment, they just stand there; hands intertwined and watching each other without reservation or judgement for the first time in days. The heavy tension from before is no longer there, and even though they are both still hurting, even though Chrissy’s eyes are still all red and she’s got twin tracks of mascara maring her pale cheeks, there’s a sense of understanding between them that’s new, promising.

Their fight, and the heartbreak that it brought to both of them, is still a vivid, unquestionable reality, but they’re no longer stuck on the hurtful things they said to each other. As they finally bare their hearts, their doubts, their views, Chrissy and Eddie at last open themselves to healing, to forgiveness.

“You need to understand,” Chrissy says, almost pleads, as she squeezes Eddie’s hands again. “Protecting the band is the only way I have of protecting you, Eddie. Corroded Coffin is your dream come true, a dream I saw you working hard for years to make it a reality, and I will not stand back and watch as some assholes try to destroy something that I know is precious to you. I admit that I could have dealt better with that interview situation, I should have told you sooner about it, I know, but please don’t think I did what I did because I was worried about bad publicity or some other bullshit. You’re my best friend, Eddie, I just wanted to keep your dream safe, nothing else.”

When Chrissy pauses, there are fresh tears slipping down her face, and the lump lodged in Eddie’s throat is worse than ever; he doesn’t even know how he’s managing to breathe right now, but he is somehow.

His trembling fingers squeeze his friend’s hands back because Eddie can’t bring himself to speak, and Chrissy lets out a long, exhausted sigh; her shoulders finally loosening the tight tension it had plagued her until now.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry that I hurt you,” she finishes. “And please never doubt the love I feel for you. You’re the most important person in my life, Eddie, and this is hardly gonna change, no matter how many times we fight or hurt each other with our stubbornness.”

The words aren’t even out of her mouth yet before Eddie is pulling Chrissy in his arms and holding her tightly against his chest, her soft strawberry blonde hair tickling his nose as he rests his cheek on her head.

“I love you too, Chris,” he forces out, doing his best to swallow the knot in his throat, and reveling in joy when he feels Chrissy’s arms circle his middle and hug him back. “I’m sorry I was a dick to you, I let my temper get the best of me.”

“It’s okay, we both fucked up, dwelling on it will do us no good. Can we please move on from this? I really miss you.”

Eddie misses her too, more than anything. Their fights have never lasted this long; as quick as they are to lose their tempers, they’re also quick to make up afterwards too. This is the first time they spend so long without talking to each other, and Eddie can safely say it’s an experience he doesn’t want to repeat any time soon. The hole Chrissy’s absence left in Eddie’s life these past days was no joke.

“I’d like that, Chris,” Eddie mutters, hugging her a little tighter and dropping a kiss on her hair. “I’d really like that.”

The hurt is not all gone, Eddie can still feel, in the deep corner of his heart, some lingering disappointment and betrayal that situation brought him, he knows his own apology isn’t enough to erase the damage his hurtful words caused Chrissy and the boys. Eddie isn’t naïve, he’s aware this is just a first step; he’s aware that they’re still gonna have to talk about a lot of things, that they’re gonna need to work on their communication and points of view because, clearly, he and Chrissy aren’t on the same page when it comes to how they should handle these band crisis. But it is a first step in the right direction, and maybe for now this is enough for them.

-

The worst part about working with eccentric directors is that they are unpredictable. You can give your best performance, put your soul and everything you’ve got in a scene you’re shooting just for them to look at you and say it’s all wrong and you’ll have to do it all over again, ‘but this time with feelings, Harrington’.

And sometimes you’re gonna be so tired that you’re gonna do your minimum and they are gonna tell you it’s your best performance so far, even though you’ve just fucked up half your lines and improvised most of the scene.

So, yeah, working with eccentric directors is always a pain in the ass, but it comes with the job, unfortunately, so Steve can’t do much about it.

“Cut!” Brenner shouts in that hideous megaphone of his, and Steve, Nancy and Argyle stop what they are doing; Steve lets his arms fall from the hold he had on Nancy’s waist and Argyle puts down the briefcase and flower bouquet.

The director’s face is scrunched up in displeasure, his mouth downturned as he shakes his head. This is never a good sign.

“Argyle, with me, we need to talk,” Brenner orders, and Steve winces in sympathy as he watches his co-star cross the studio towards the man. “The rest of you, twenty minutes break, then we’re finishing this up. Harrington, Wheeler, do not fuck up your costumes again, we’re already behind schedule as it is, I don’t need you two making me waste even more time.”

As Argyle slowly drags himself towards Brenner, where twenty minutes of nagging a word vomiting awaits him, Steve and Nancy share a relieved look, then get the hell out of the set before the director changed his mind and decided to talk their ears off too.

Steve offers Nancy a hand and helps her hop down the platform the set is built-in, her deep blue ball gown and heels making this simple task more difficult than it should be.

“I can’t stand this damn dress anymore,” Nancy huffs out impatiently, holding the skirt up so she doesn’t end up faceplanting in front of two dozen crew members and fellow actors. “This corset is killing me. How much longer is Brenner gonna keep us here? It’s been hours.”

“I don’t know, the man is bitching about everything Argyle does, even though he’s doing exactly what Brenner is telling him to.” When Nancy is safe on the ground again, Steve lets her hand go and they head to the refreshment table; he’s parched after so long shooting, but more than a drink of water Steve could really use some coffee right now. Considering they started shooting at ten, it must be way past midnight already. “I think Brenner is just being an asshole and using Argyle as an example to show the rest of us who’s in charge.”

“So usual Brenner behavior, then.”

Steve cracks a smile. “Yeah, usual Brenner behavior.”

There are a lot of people by the refreshments table, everyone clearly making themselves scarce so not to get caught in the crossfire of Brenner’s bitchiness. Steve pushes his way through the small crowd, while Nancy has to stay back thanks to her ginormous dress. He fetches a couple of waters for them, some pretzels and the last ham sandwich from the tray, a small pout forming on his lips when he can’t find coffee anywhere.

Outrageous!

Judy, from makeup, bumps into Steve as she’s leaving the table. She gives Steve a once over, brows furrowing immediately as she takes him in.

“The hell did you do to your face, boy?” she asks, leaning in a little to check his face. She doesn’t look satisfied in the slightest, her red painted lips pursing in disapproval. “I don’t remember letting you out of my trailer with these bags under your eyes.”

Steve gives her his best guilty face. “Sorry, Judy, I tried not to touch my face too much, but it’s too fucking hot in here.”

And it is. It’s early August, the days are still hot as hell, the nights aren’t much better, and the AC inside the studio really needs some tinkering because it’s not doing its job as it should; Steve’s been sweating like a pig the whole night, he’s lucky his costume is thick enough that doesn’t show how drenched his shirt actually is under that jacket.

Judy tsks at him. “Spare me from your excuses, I don’t wanna hear any of this. You and Wheeler go sit at your chairs while I go get my things, I’m redoing your makeup.”

“But Brenner said—”

“Boy, I don’t give a shit about what that whiny bitch said. I’ve been in this business for over thirty years. Do you know how many times I’ve sent an actor to a scene with melting foundation on their faces and bags under their eyes? Zero. That’s why I’m the best makeup artist in this goddamn city. So you go cool off a little with Wheeler while I get my stuff, drink your water, eat your snacks, and then we’re redoing your makeup, understand?”

Steve is humble enough to admit defeat when he’s faced with an argument he can’t win, so he just nods, scrams out of Judy’s sight and goes back to where Nancy is waiting for him.

“No coffee?” she asks, accepting the water and pretzels Steve offers her.

Steve shakes his head. “No coffee. And Judy said she’s gonna redo our makeup. Told us to wait for her in our chairs.”

A clear, amused laugh rolls down Nancy’s lips as they cross the studio, out of the worst of the crowd.

“I wanna see Brenner trying to bitch about being behind schedule with Judy,” she says, popping a pretzel in her mouth. “She’s gonna bite his head off.”

Steve has no doubts that she probably will. No one messes with their Head of Makeup, no even Brenner.

With their snacks safe in their hands, they make their way to the line of chairs placed behind the cameras and lighting equipment. Argyle is still with Brenner, the director yelling something at him and waving his hands dramatically as he speaks, that awful beret almost flying from his head because of his incessant movements.

Steve makes a mental note to check in with Argyle later, just to make sure the director isn’t traumatizing his co-stars again; this is Argyle’s first time in a big project, and the guy is good, it would be a shame if he ended up discouraged because he had the misfortune of having an asshole like Brenner as his director.

With a small sigh, Steve unwraps his sandwich and takes a bite, almost moaning as he tastes the sweet mustard and the savory ham after hours working without a break.

A loud buzzing sound interrupts Steve’s intimate moment with his sandwich.

“Sorry, it’s my phone,” Nancy apologizes. Her hand disappears inside a hidden pocket in her skirt, just to resurface with her cellphone clutched in her fingers. Nancy takes one look at the screen and frowns. “Weird, it’s Robin.”

“Huh?” Steve asks through a mouthful of bread.

It’s basically the middle of the night, Robin’s supposed to be in San Francisco, meeting with some bigshot from a studio interested in having Steve as the lead actor in their next thriller movie, why would she be calling Nancy?

“Hi, Robs, what’s up?” Nancy says cheerfully. Steve watches as she nods her head, taking a sip of her water while Robin talks. “Yeah, we’re on a break right now.” Another brief pause, then Nancy shoots him a curious look. “No, I don’t think so. We’ve been shooting all night, neither of us had time to look at social media yet.”

Oh no, this can’t be good, Steve just knows it. Robin never calls him while he’s working, especially when he’s working with bitchy directors like Brenner. The mention of social media doesn’t help ease that bad feeling either.

Stomach twisting with nerves, Steve swallows the last piece of his sandwich and extends his hand.

“Let me talk to her,” he asks.

“Wait, Steve wants to talk—Robin! No way, you talk to him, he’s your client and your best frien—Robin!!” Nancy lets out an impatient groan, pulling the phone away from her ear and glaring at it, as if the small object had personally offended her somehow. “She hung up on me!”

“What the hell is happening? Why did Robin call? She should be in San Francisco.”

“She is in San Francisco, that’s why she called. Otherwise, she’d be here panicking, probably.” Nancy types fast on her phone, biting at her lip in concentration as her eyes roam over the screen. “Robin said she texted you and tried to call you all night but you didn’t answer, that’s why she called me.”

“My phone is back in by trailer, charging. What did she even want?”

Nancy raises her finger, silently asking Steve to shut it while she resumes her furious typing. She’s got that focused look on her face, the same one she gets when she’s preparing for an important scene or studying a new script.

This is definitely not good. Robin talked to her less than five minutes and got Nancy like this? What the fuck?

“Found it!”

“Found what?” Steve says, distressed. Jesus Christ, his heart is thumping like crazy in his chest; is he having a heart attack? “For the love of God, Nancy, what the fuck did Robin tell you?”

“That Munson finally responded you,” Nancy says matter-of-factly. “And that you have to watch it.”

It’s like a stone just dropped in his stomach at the same time that the sandwich Steve just ate tried to go bully its way back up his throat.

“He resp—the hell does that mean? Responded how?”

Nancy doesn’t say anything. She does, however, scoot her chair closer to Steve’s until they are shoulder to shoulder, then shoves her phone in his hands, hitting play on what looked like a YouTube video.

Steve looks down, eyes fixed on the screen as a blurry video starts. He can’t see much at first, it’s dark, the person recording is shaking badly and the camera is unfocused as fuck. But then someone turns the lights on, and Steve finally recognizes the place as some kind of concert venue.

The place is packed, but the person recording is close enough to the stage that Steve can see the band. There’s a lot of yelling going on until the crowd quiets suddenly and the camera zooms on the man Steve now knows is Eddie Munson as he takes the mic and strolls around the stage, speaking to the fans.

He is gorgeous; black leather pants, chains, tattoos and that glorious hair damp with sweat. Steve’s mouth goes a little dry as he watches Munson in his element, mic in hand and talking to the crowd, all teasing smiles and dripping charisma as people yell back at him every time he asks a question. Steve’s so captivated by the man that he completely forgets to pay attention to what he’s saying.

That is, until his own name is mentioned.

“So, Steve Harrington has been talking shit about me and about the band, right?”

Steve’s blood runs cold, and he can barely breathe as Munson goes on, mentioning the stunt Steve pulled a few days ago. He doesn’t look mad or anything, keeps using that carefree tone and strutting around the stage as he talks, but Steve just can’t shake his uneasiness. At some point, one of his bandmates approaches him, just for Munson to dismiss the man quickly and go back to his tirade, the crowd responding to it with screams of support.

And then there’s a pause. Munson observes that sea of people stretched in front of him for a moment too long, staring back at him with expectation, until he slowly brings the microphone close to his mouth once again and says, “Harrington, whatever your motivations are, I hope you’re not trying to rage bait me, sweetheart, I wouldn’t recommend. Last time a pretty boy like you tried to fuck with me in any way, I made him fucking cry.”

The crowd is eerily silent for only a moment before it explodes in roars, the camera shaking so bad Munson is out of focus again. Seconds later, the video ends, and Steve stays right there, staring at the black screen of Nancy’s phone like an idiot.

He blinks once, twice as his brain process what he’s just watched and then…

“Holy shit!! What the actual fuck???”

Beside him, Steve hears a choked laugh and only then does he remember that Nancy had been watching the video with him. When Steve finally looks at her, Nancy is wiping a small tear off the corner of her eye and grinning like a lunatic.

“You saw that,” Steve blurts out, hands trembling a little as he tries to return the video back to the point Munson mentions him just so he can play it again. “Nancy, tell me you saw that.”

“Oh, I definitely did,” she laughs.

Taking pity of her friend, she takes the phone back and finds the exact part Steve was looking for before hitting play.

They watch it again and, this time, Nancy makes no effort to disguise her amused cackles.

“Oh my God, this is so amazing,” she says, voice coming out breathless after laughing so much while wearing that damn corset. “Oh man, I thought Munson would be pissed when he found out about the t-shirt thing, but this is so much better.”

“It is?”

Nancy gives him this look that let him know his question is pretty fucking stupid.

“Steve, this guy right here, he’s known for his bad temper. Do you see any ill intent in this video? Did you feel threatened by what he said?”

Threatened isn’t really the word Steve would use to describe what he’s feeling right now. Hot would be a better choice.

Maybe horny too.

He bites his lip, unsure if he should share this specific line of thought with Nancy, but judging by her wolfish grin she’s seeing right through him.

“What I’m trying to say is that if Munson was pissed, he wouldn’t be so nonchalant like he is in this video. We’re talking about the guy who got into fistfights with paparazzi that were bothering him, more than once. But this video? The man is flirting with you, Steve. He’s heard about what you did and he’s openly flirting with you, in front of thousands of people. So, yeah, I’d say this is much, much better than the alternative.”

Well, when Nancy put it like that, it does seem better indeed.

The heavy stone of dread that settled in his stomach earlier morphs into a fluttering, and definitely not unpleasant feeling. A drop of sweat slides down the back of his neck, but this time Steve knows it has nothing to do with the studio’s bad AC.

“O-oh, I know that blushy face, Harrington. You’re enjoying this. Munson flirting with you, I mean. You like that he’s flirting with you.”

An airy giggle bubbles out of Steve’s mouth, and he does his best not to hide his face in his hands like a maiden.

“He is hot, okay?” he admits, to Nancy’s utter delight. The way she’s smiling so big at him, it’s a wonder her face isn’t splitting in half yet, and Steve has no other option but to smile back at her. “I’d seen some pictures before, I knew he was a pretty one, but I didn’t know he’d look like that on a stage.”

“And openly flirt with you,” Nancy repeats, and Steve shoves her playfully which only makes her laugh even more.

“Yes, Nancy, and openly flirt with me.” Damn, just saying it out loud made Steve’s cheeks heat up. What the hell is happening to him, he’s not this lame. “He caught me off guard. I wasn’t expecting him to respond me in anyway, and I really wasn’t expecting… that. Do you think I should respond? Robin says my platform is big enough already. Rationally speaking, I don’t need to address this anymore, I can let this go and go on with my life.”

Nancy doesn’t answer him right away. Resting back against her chair, she considers Steve for a while, sipping her water as she does so and making Steve weirdly anxious.

“Come on, Nance, stop with the suspense.”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s not suspense, I’m giving this an honest thought. You said so yourself, you don’t need to address this anymore, you could let this go, but do you want to let this go? I think this is what you should be asking yourself. But if you really want my opinion on the matter, I don’t see why you shouldn’t respond. Munson is hot, he’s flirting with you and since the beginning of this thing he hasn’t shown any ill feelings towards you, so why not?”

It's in times like these that Steve is grateful for staying friends with Nancy after their break up, all those years ago. No matter how silly or stupid Steve’s problems may seem, she’s always ready to help him in any way she can, always takes them seriously and tries to be reasonable and level-headed.

Their relationship ended up not working, their feelings for each other changed over the years, but Steve is really fucking happy for still having her in his life.

His anxiety settles, eases, and Steve reaches for Nancy’s free hand, intertwining their fingers and planting a loud kiss on the back of it.

“Have I ever told you that you are the smartest woman I know?” he asks, cheeky smile in place as he feels Nancy squeeze his hand back.

“Not today, no, but thanks for mentioning,” she says, expression knowing. “I suppose you’re gonna give Munson an answer soon, then.”

“Oh, I will,” Steve nods. They hold hands for a moment more before Steve lets her go and gets up from his chair. “Actually, I’m gonna answer him right now. Do you think you can stall Judy and Brenner while I go get my phone back in my trailer?”

“You know what, you’re lucky I love you, Harrington. But you’re gonna owe me big for this. Judy and Brenner? Seriously?”

Steve laughs. He takes a step closer, smacks a kiss on her cheek, and ducks just in time to avoid her slap.

“Thank you, Nance! I’ll be back soon!”

“I hope so!!” Nancy calls out, but Steve is already dashing out of the studio.

-

As stubborn as he is, Eddie is willing to admit that having his friends with him again feels really fucking great.

After his heart to heart with Chrissy, the two of them went to Gareth’s changing room, where the rest of the boys were gathered, and announced that they had finally talked things over.

“You can stop walking on eggshells around me, we’re cool.”

“Fucking finally!” Gareth exclaimed, and that had been it.

Now, they’re back in their hotel, this time gathered in Jeff’s room and getting wasted after a successful concert, something they used to do all the time when they first started but gradually stopped doing as the band got more popular.

In a way, this right here feels like coming home, honestly.

“How many articles have we been tagged in since Eddie’s monologue tonight?” Frank asks Chrissy, as he passes a joint to Gareth. He’s sprawled out on the couch, eyes closed and the most relaxed Eddie’s seen him these past few days.

Perched on her armchair, Chrissy’s been keeping track of their social media, reading out loud the posts she finds funny and showing them some reaction videos the fans are posting.

“Official articles? Five,” she says. “Fan pages? I’ve lost count. Eddie, stop being a glutton and share the fucking dumplings, you’re not the only one who’s hungry here.”

Yeah, Eddie’s missed this. Just the five of them drinking half their weight in liquor and stuffing their faces with takeout; reminds him of those first years when they were still so broke that they couldn’t even afford separate rooms for everybody, so they had to share every night.

Those are some of Eddie’s favorite memories.

“Eddie!”

“Alright, alright,” he says, passing the container to Jeff so he can give it to Chrissy. “You’re awful when you’re hungry, Cunningham, I hope you know that.”

Chrissy shows him her tongue, like the grown, successful woman that she is, and Eddie stretches his leg as far as he can to kick her foot that’s dangling off the armchair. She kicks him back right away, cursing as she almost drops the dumping container.

It’s the buzzing sound of Eddie’s phone on the coffee table that interrupts their very mature argument. Jeff lets out a groan of annoyance.

“Dude, turn this thing off,” he bitches, as he takes the joint from Gareth’s mouth and ignores his friend’s protest. “You don’t even check your social media, why do you leave the notifications on?”

“Because he’s a lazy motherfucker, that’s why,” Frank chirps in, and Eddie gives him the finger.

The phone buzzes again. Then again. And again. Okay, so maybe Jeff is not the only one annoyed by that thing.

The buzzing persists.

“Dude!”

“Fine! I’ll turn it off,” Eddie barks out. “Stop fucking whining, Jesus Christ!”

Eddie drains the last of his beer before snatching the phone from the coffee table, where it had been lying abandoned, the damn thing vibrating like crazy the entire time.

He unlocks it, goes straight to settings, muttering curses and ducking down when Jeff tries to smack him upside the head.

“Fuck off, I’m doing what you asked me, asshole.”

“Do it faster, then.”

Eddie opens his mouth to answer when a new notification flashes on his screen and he finds himself suddenly stuck into place.

Steve Harrington tagged you in a story.

-

Tagging: @cinematicvests, @steve-loves-eddie, @standsinthecorner, @eternal-sunflowers, @peachesandcows, @cheshire-smiley-fries, @emberfire, @not-the-goat-345, @fan-of-a-lot, @thecrazedindividual, @mugloversonly, @practicallybegging, @grtwdsmwhr, @exasperatedsighohmy, @tinyplanet95, @pentapoctopus, @abstractnaturaldisaster, @godsweakestboy, @sidekick-hero. @steddiefication.

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