Steve Harrington knew what he was, he'd known for a little while now, he knew it simply and eloquently. Steve Harrington was, is, always will be, a placeholder.
Placeholder friend, placeholder son, placeholder boyfriend, placeholder brother, placeholder king. He existed for one reason, to be everything for someone, everything they needed. And, for a time, to feel that love and that everything in return. There until someone is more. More than he could ever be, more than needed. Wanted.
Nancy Wheeler had needed him for a while, a charming boyfriend who boosted her social status. She had needed someone to talk to, someone nice to look at, someone loyal with a good easy future ahead of him. But she wanted someone who would talk back, who was booksmart like her, who was interesting as well as interested. So she found that someone and walked away.
Dustin Henderson needed a big brother, some help with the "fairer sex" (Dustin's words), hair care tips and, along with the whole group of young little misfits, someone physically strong, broad and tall to protect them from monsters. Steve can already see this one waining, the wants outweighing the needs, who would want a bitchy older brother when you could have one who connects to your world, who plays your games, someone aloof and nerdy, dark and goofy, smart and funny. Someone better.
Even his parents had needed a child to carry their name and their status, but wanted a freedom he couldn't provide. Wanted a pride they could not find in him.
Robin will be the next to go, that one will hurt the most, she's basically a whole half of his own soul at this point, a full part of him. She's his everything. But college will be a whole new world, one where Steve's quips won't hold weight amongst Robin's new intellectual friends, where Steve's questioning nature about himself and his own sexuality won't hold a candle to the actual queer culture she's sure to find herself diving into. At least she'll call, she's too good, to perfect of a person, she'll stop needing him but she'll know he can't stop wanting her, so she'll call.
The thing is, it's all well and good figuring out your place in the world, how you fit around other people's lives. But it still hurts. It always hurts. It will never not hurt. Because hope, hope is a terrible thing, a thing that covers you in twisted vines until you can't see beyond the beautiful green of it, so when it's brutally stripped away darkness floods your vision and you cannot deny the loss. Hope hides the poison of loneliness, so, when it is pulled away, it's sweetness gone, it highlights the bitter poison left in its wake.
Thankfully, now he knows what to expect, he can prune and manage that hope, keep the green from obscuring his vision, keep the saccharine sweetness from disguising the poison. Leaving only a small tinge of green in the corner of his eye, and the bittersweet taste of liquorice on his lips. Of course the poison still burns his throat and eats away at his vital organs, but now he can see it being administered. Now he can't fall as far backwards.
The Eddie Munson of it all seems to have other ideas. Ever since meeting Eddie, properly meeting Eddie, and knowing Eddie, properly knowing Eddie, all Steve has seen is bright leafy green.
