It had all started in Photography 101.
All he had needed was one more elective added to his schedule for the fall semester to be considered a full-time student. It was Robin who had suggested photography.
Steve had never had that great of a memory to begin with, the numerous blows to the head from juvenile high school fights certainly doing him no favors. Sometimes the amount of time it took to jog Steve’s memory surpassed the time it would’ve taken to simply tell him the story as if he hadn’t been there himself.
He was always able to grasp the memory eventually, but sometimes they were slippery in his mind.
He and Robin had found that his memory was ten times better if he had something to look at. Sometimes that was a souvenir from a trip, sometimes it was a takeout menu with his order circled in red pen, sometimes it was a physical scar on his skin from some silly injury. But most of the time it was pictures.
Steve took to taking photos of everything. His friends, his food, the landscape, a book with a pretty cover, anything he wanted to be able to remember.
The walls of his room grew to be covered with polaroids and prints, some staged, most not. Many blurry and out of focus, but in the moment just the same.
So when Robin suggested Photography 101, Steve saw an opportunity to take something he did for his own benefit and turn it into something he really enjoyed, something he was good at.
The semester was a breeze and Steve flourished under the attention of his professor. He was constantly drowning in compliments about the movement in his photos and his eye for composition.
(Robin would tell him on several occasions that she had never seen him enjoy something this much.)
By the time the semester was coming to a close, he was left with one final project. The professor had been intentionally very vague in her description of it throughout the semester, so Steve was a little on edge.
Sitting in the front row of the small classroom, he twirled the strap of his camera around his fingers while he daydreamed. The room slowly filled and the professor settled in behind her desk.
About five minutes after class was supposed to have begun Steve noticed they were all still sitting in silence. Glancing at the professor he saw her brows furrow and a frustrated lilt to her lips as she looked at her watch.
What are we waiting for?
She stood and dusted off her pants before clapping her hands together.
“Well,” she began, “I guess we can go ahead and get start–”
The door at the back of the room swung open and knocked against the wall with a resounding slam.
“Shit! Fuck! So sorry I’m late. Traffic was a bitch.”
Steve is so caught off guard by the man who just burst into the room that he barely even registers the words he’s saying.
He’is tall and all lanky muscle, dark curls and jewelry, tattoos and the smell of smoke, chains and leather and everything Steve’s not. Everything nobody in this class is.
He’s even more caught off guard when his professor laughs and pulls the man into a tight hug. There are only five other students in this class, surely he’s not the only person confused.
He keeps an arm around her shoulders as she introduces him to the group.
“Guys, this is Eddie. He’s a family friend and he’s going to be your subject for your final project.”
Steve’s own eyebrows furrow as he tries to understand how this was the project she has been keeping under wraps. They’ve had plenty of portrait sessions this semester, with models and subjects of their choice alike.
The guy, Eddie, claps a hand to his chest in a dramatic show of faux humility.
“Thank you for having me, Joyce. It's such an honor to be here.”
She smacks at his arm and carries on.
“So, Eddie is your subject and you have no parameters. The only requirement is that he is the inspiration for your shoot. This can look like a standard portrait session, this can be contemporary urban street photography, whatever you like. Eddie does not even have to be in the photo! He just has to be the inspiration for it.”
Steve's brain is already running a mile a minute, conceptualizing shots faster than he can keep up.
Dingy bars, backseats of cars, details of his eclectic style.
But one idea sticks out from the rest. As Steve lifts his eyes to Eddie once more and meets his own twinkling with mirth and smirking back at him he makes his decision.
He’s going to take his mugshot.
*****
“I want to take your mugshot.”
They’re at the campus coffee shop. Joyce had scheduled a few hours for Eddie to meet with the other students during their class time so they could talk through their projects.
Eddie barks out a laugh. “What, man?”
Steve twirls his straw around his drink and tries not to bristle at the reaction.
“Look,” he starts, running a nervous hand through his hair, “I don’t really know where the idea originated but once I had it, it stuck. I just saw this vision of the shot in my head and it was sick, dude.”
Eddie leans back in the booth, one of his boots knocking into Steve’s foot under the table. He crosses his arms and tilts his head.
“Thought this shoot was supposed to be inspired by moi,” he says, gesturing a hand towards himself. “You saying I look like I should be in jail?”
Steve groans and puts his head in his hands. “No. I already told you I don't know where i got the idea–”
But that’s a lie isn’t it. He knows exactly where he got the idea. It was somewhere between the chains dangling from Eddie’s jeans and the handcuff belt he was wearing the day they met.
He put his hands together on the table between them. “Okay. No, I’m not saying you look like a criminal, Eddie. I’m saying I think you want to look like one.”
Eddie blinks at him for a moment before his face breaks into a slow smirk. He huffs a quiet laugh and leans closer. “Guilty as charged, Stevie. Besides, I was arrested once actually.”
Steve gawks while Eddie laughs. He is unfairly attractive when his dimples pop and Steve is going to have such a hard time holding it together behind the camera.
*****
Steve takes his shoots very seriously. Every detail has to be perfect, even the ones not relating to the subject of the photo.
So it is wildly convenient that his professor happens to be married to the chief of police back in Hawkins.
One quick phone call from Joyce and Steve and Eddie were granted access to the booking room at the police station. You know, for the sake of realism.
Steve’s setting up his tripod while Eddie takes a chalk marker to the placard and writes up his own booking ID, a long series of random numbers with E.M at the end.
Steve would be lying if he said Eddie’s choice of clothing wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind.
He’s wearing a ratty, old band t-shirt for some group Steve’s never heard of. There’s his usual black leather jacket and the silver chain around his neck. His ripped black jeans and fingers covered in rings and black nail polish.
It's perfect for the shoot. But Steve’s sanity is struggling.
He gets the camera and the lighting set up just as Eddie steps into place in front of the height measurement wall.
Steve puts his hands on his hips and gives instructions.
“Okay, so I know you’ve done this before–”
“Hey! It was one time!”
“So you know how this goes. We’ll do one forward and then one to each side.”
Eddie shakes out his hair and rolls his shoulders back. He holds the placard up in front of him and levels the camera with a dead-eyed stare.
He looks good.
Steve is less than shocked that he looks even better on camera.
He lines up his shot. Click.
Eddie turns to his left. Steve gets a little distracted by the line of his jaw.
Click.
He turns to the right and of course only now does Steve notice his ear piercings.
Steve takes a deep breath and focuses.
Click.
Before he can even look through his shots Eddie is dropping the placard on the desk.
He’s halfway out the door before he grabs the frame and leans back in. “One second pretty boy, I have an idea.”
He’s back before Steve snaps out of his stupor at the nickname. This time, he has a pair of handcuffs swinging from his index finger.
Steve snatches them out of his hand. “Where did you get these?”
Eddie crosses his arms over his chest and shrugs. “I know a guy.”
He rolls his eyes.
He’s already picking up the placard and setting up some detail shots when Eddie grabs his wrist and stops him. He freezes for more than one reason.
“Hey, uh. Not to step on your toes or anything, but I actually have another idea.”
Steve is about to start on his spiel about ‘not messing up his flow’ when Eddie rubs his thumb over the inside of his wrist. Gentle and reassuring.
“Do you trust me?”
Honestly Steve has no reason to trust him, he’s basically a stranger.
A pretty one. His brain supplies.
But he does. Trusts him enough to let him take Steve’s creative liberties and throw them out the window apparently.
“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
Eddie’s smile is blinding. He turns Steve’s hand over and drops the handcuff key into it.
“Don’t lose this big boy,” he says as he snaps the cuffs around each of his own wrists.
Steve laughs, loud and shocked. He waggles his eyebrows at Eddie.
“Well, now didn’t this take a turn.”
Eddie rolls his eyes this time and lifts his hands as much as he can.
“Don’t try to sexualize my creative prowess, Steve. I am a professional.”
He nearly trips on his way back to his place in front of the wall and Steve has to hide his laugh into a cough.
Steve’s back behind the camera, hands back on his hips when he asks, “Alright, what’s the plan?”
Eddie smiles and says, “You just shoot, Harrington. I’ll do the rest.”
He leans down to finalize his camera settings and line up his shot. When he finally looks through the viewfinder his jaw drops. Because while Eddie was clearly joking about being a professional, if Steve didn’t know any better, this shot would have him believing it.
Eddie’s got both of his pinky fingers tucked in the corners of his smile, tongue bitten between his teeth. His thumbs are raised along with his middle fingers, while he’s got his nose scrunched and one eye squeezed shut. The cuffs hang right under his chin and accentuate his silver jewelry in a way Steve never would have anticipated.
Click.
Click.
Click.
The next is a close-up of the booking placard between his teeth.
His hands twisting to unlock his own cuffs.
He’s a natural, and Steve’s camera roll can attest to the fact.
It wouldn’t be until Steve was reviewing and editing the shots that he caught on. The booking ID on the placard looked long because it was. It was Eddie’s number.
*****
Steve got an A.
He got an A, an endless stream of compliments from Joyce and a dorky hot boyfriend.
The rest of the class went the route Steve expected them to.
Dingy bars, backseats of cars, details of his eclectic style.
But Steve’s mugshot series stood leagues above the rest.
Later in their lives, when one of their friends would see the photo in Steve’s wallet they would ask when Eddie got arrested and why.
It quickly became a game between the two.
He’s been arrested in high school for selling drugs (True.)
When he was twenty for public indecency.
At twenty-two for arson.
Thirty for contract killing. This one was followed up with the claim that he was in witsec and was now going to have to change his identity and flee the country.
But the real when and why Eddie got arrested is because when he was twenty-one Joyce told him there was a nice boy in her class that she thought he should meet.