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Chapter Text

“There comes an end to all things; the most capacious measure is filled at last; and this brief condescension to evil finally destroyed the balance of my soul.”

― Robert Louis Stevenson

Chapter 1

The night outside was a deep purple, the moon a heavy eye in the sky. Steve watched the cornfields, stiff in the windless evenings, blur by from the backseat window. There was no crunch of gravel or faint rumble in the seat leather, but Steve felt he was going forward. He must have been young. It had been forever since he’d sat in a back seat, watching the world rush by.

His parents sat up front. They were young again, just as Steve remembered, but they sat stiff and silent as the night. This struck Steve as odd. Most car rides were filled with his parent’s tense conversations, his mom’s relentless fretting and his dad’s stern reassurances. Steve leaned forward in his seat. When he tried to ask his parents what was wrong, his voice came out as empty air. 

Outside, a red lighting bolt streaked across the sky. Steve started to panic, his silent shouts grew frantic. He tried to kick the seats in front of him to get his parent’s attention. But they weren’t his parents anymore. Steve saw himself older, sitting next to Nancy, vibrant in a way his parents used to be. Nancy was looking at Steve with a violent expression, a mix of agony and betrayal. Her mouth rounding into words unsaid, absorbed by the night. The older Steve didn’t notice. He wasn’t looking at her, but at the road ahead, where the curb of the gravel sharply turned and dropped off. 

Nancy, still silently screaming, tried to grab the older Steve’s arm and shake it but he held still. Tears were streaming down her face. The younger Steve kicked the seats in front of him, leaned over to try and grab his shoulder but the seat belt was a vice grip on his chest, coiling around and pinning him to the seat. The older Steve didn’t notice, didn’t turn the wheel. Just stared on towards the road ahead. The edge of the cliff came up fast. The nose tipped downwards before the car was floating and falling into nothing. 

… 

Steve was brushing his teeth, a tight feeling in his chest. He didn’t know why and didn't dwell on it. He took a deep breath in through his nose, and spat into the sink. 

He showered, got dressed and found his keys on the hook, where they always were. There was a message on his answering machine blinking in slow, measured alarm. Steve walked out the door. 

In the silence of his car, surrounded by the black leather smell of his BMW, a few moments of the dream return to him. The backseat drive, the familiar Indiana cornfields. His parents were strange somehow. They were different people, weren’t they? There was also fear, a tight feeling and a taut seat belt around his chest. 

Steve hadn’t dreamt in a long time. When he was younger, he used to dream of himself running through the cornfields, chasing something that he never caught. Or him and Tommy swimming in Lover’s Lake, but it always felt wider than the ocean. But as a teenager, there was a period where nightmares would shake him awake through the night. Failing grades. Being kicked off the basketball team for running too slow. Sometimes, his teeth would fall out. He tried to cover his hand, but blood would pour down the sides of his mouth as people laughed.

Now, years later, Steve had wondered if he'd worn out his ability to dream. For the past ten years, with his sixty hour work week, he hasn’t really slept . It’s more like he passes out at midnight and wakes up at six. 

It wasn’t enough, but he’s made it work. 

Merging his Beamer onto the I-65, south towards downtown Indy, he pushed all thoughts of dreams and nightmares aside. It didn’t matter. There were more important things to think about today.

Harrington Properties was in the finance district in downtown Indianapolis. Steve was always the last to leave the elevator, the doors dinged as they opened on the twentieth floor. Shelley was in her usual spot at the front desk, beautiful and dignified as she always was. 

“Good Morning, Mr. Harrington,” she said in a chipper, professional tone. 

“And a good morning to you.” Steve smiled at her, leaning over her desk and into her space. “How was the trip?” 

“Oh, it was great. Germany is beautiful in the fall. We did some hiking trips in the mountains, hung around in the city,” she sighed, a far away expression on her face. “Yeah, it was fun.”

“Good, good. Charlie had a good time?” 

Shelley nodded with a bashful smile. She was shy, Steve had learned early on. She didn’t like talking about her life. He’d only learned that she was married to her high school sweetheart after she asked for vacation to celebrate their ten year anniversary in Germany. 

“Great. I’m glad you had a get-away. You’re one of my hardest working employees, Shelley. You deserve it.” He smiled earnestly, really trying to sell it. 

Shelley waved him off, blushing. 

He straightened up and out of her space, a kernel of pride in his stomach. Even at thirty, he still hadn’t lost the Harringting charm. 

“When will your next get away be?” asks Shelley with ernest. "It's been forever since I've heard about a trip you two have been on."

The pride evaporated. 

“Well,” he taped his fingers on the desk, pretending to think about it. It was getting harder to talk around it, why no one’s heard from the two of them . “I want to be around for the full build of the Arlington condos, and then it’s right into the Cincinnati expansion. I’m hoping for some time off after that. Maybe we’ll try California. See some family. Sit and relax on the beach with a book. Maybe I’ll take up surfing."

Shelley gave him a questioning look. "You don't seem to be the surfing, or the book reading type."

“No, I guess I’m not.” Steve chuckles, hoping she’ll drop it. 

"Well, wherever you go, don’t wait too long. Hasn’t it been three years since you've taken a day off?”

It’s been five, but Steve didn’t correct her. Smiling, he gestured toward the door. “How bad is it inside?”

“Not to scare you or anything, but I'm thankful my desk is out here.”

Steve laughed. “Thanks for the warning.” Winking at Shelley, he spun around and walked through the door that read: Designs Not Just To Last, But To Impress. 

Past the threshold was chaos. The heavy air and loud voices reminded Steve of the crowd before a concert. Construction had finished in the downtown east for the Arlington condos a few months ago, and the deadline for the final property price is due for next week. People darted between offices, leaned over piles of paperwork, spoke encouragingly to potential customers on sleek black headsets. The cleaning lady, who Steve could never remember the name of, was crouched down with a damp cloth, wiping up a dark brown puddle with chunks of broken white ceramic. Steve stepped around her wordlessly as he continued walking. A frazzled looking Jason was having computer problems. He hovered over Cynthia as she politely explained to him how to use the search engine. Steve took a slow breath in. For a moment, he lost himself in the chaos, and felt content. 

Steve walked by Tommy’s office just as he was saying, “No Mr. Rocca, the architects do the handiwork, but we have final say on the design.” 

Steve stood in the doorway with his arms crossed, waiting. 

“Hey, can I call you back? Great.” Tommy hung up the phone as a compressed voice said “ now wait just-”

He climbed out of his chair and followed Steve out of the room and down the hall. “Today’s the day, Steve-O!” Tommy said, gripping Steve’s shoulder. He yelled to be heard over the noise in the hall. “When’s the mayor coming?”

“Noon,” Steve shook off his hand and jabbed his chest. “And stay far away when he does. I don’t want to remind him of that comment you made last time about his secretary.”

Tommy raised his hands in defence, but his smile gave him away. “Whatever you say, boss. He’s only mad because I think he’s banging her on the side.”

“He is, but that’s his business.”

Tommy laughed as he followed Steve into his office. It was the nicest room in their building, remodelled by Richard Harrington himself. Light hardwood from the Amazon, a brand new NeXT computer and the large glass wall facing towards the cubicle. The door sealed shut behind them and all the noise was smothered. The silence made Steve’s heart thump softly in his ears. 

“I’ll never get over that.” Tommy ran his finger along the seams of the door. “How did he get it sound proofed?”

Steve leaned against his desk. “No idea.”

“I never got why he did it, because we can all see into this room like a big TV screen.” Tommy turned back to Steve, a playful smile on his face. “Big-shot like him enjoyed being the star of the show, huh?”

That wasn’t the reason he did it. Steve learned why during one of their many lunches together, when Richard Harrington would try to teach Steve the ropes of running real estate development. Most of the lessons were boring, and involved his dad explaining the vast interweaving of all his connections in the business, while Steve ate his sandwich and nodded. On the first day the glass wall was installed, Richard Harrington quietly stared at it, hands on his hips with a pleased smile. 

When Steve asked what he was doing, he gave a hearty chuckle. “Keeping tabs.” 

Steve followed his eyes. It wasn’t the window he stared at, but the cubicle desks sat just outside. Some heads were bent forward in work, some were tipped up, talking, laughing over the white plaster walls. Others were angled off to the side, staring into nothing. 

“As a business owner,” his dad continued. “It’s important to have a sense of transparency. They see you, you see them,” his dad turned to him. “But only you know what’s really happening in here. And it’s best to keep it that way.”

Instead of telling this to Tommy, he shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

Tommy joined Steve and leaned against the desk, nudging shoulders with him. “The fuck’s the matter with you? Can’t deal with me making fun of your old man? Don’t worry, you pussy. He won’t overhear us in Florida.”

“I know that.” Steve said automatically. His brain replayed Tommy’s words from earlier, about this room being a television. Steve shifted down the desk a fraction to put a breath of space between them. 

“Well, what is it? Scared about doing the meeting without him?”

Steve rolled his eyes, reminded of a meeting last year with his dad breathing down his neck. “I’m not scared, man. It’s been three years since I’ve taken over, and since then” he started counting on his fingers “I finished the St. Louis condos. I scored the Cinci deal all on my own. The Arlington Condos have gone smooth so far, and so will this meeting. I’ve got a plan, and I’m certain it’ll work.”

“Okay! Fuck, I get it. Don’t get your panties twisted.” He stood up to leave, but turned back to look at Steve and smiled. “I’m just saying. You’re the new boss now, don’t let him steamroll you on the phone after. He’s just bored and mad about it.”

Steve nodded. Richard Harrington used to call him twice a day, a constant tone in Steve’s ear. It was down to once a week now, but it was still redundant; his dad’s voice had been in Steve’s head for years now, a critic and refiner of all his actions. As annoying as it was, Steve wouldn’t have gotten this far without it. 

“Well,” Tommy said , checking his watch. “I better call Howard back. He’s a real softie about people ignoring him, takes it real personally. Bit of a fag if you ask me. Oh wait.” Tommy gave Steve an exasperated look. “According to Shelley, you can’t say that word anymore!” 

Chuckling, Tommy walked out of his office as the heartbeat in Steve’s ears got louder. She said that? 

He pushed that thought away. Whatever, it’s not like it matters. 

The next few hours passed with emails and phone calls. At half past noon, Steve could see Shelley standing through the entrance window, greeting two figures blocked off by the door frame. 

Be smart. Take control. Don’t fuck this up , his dad’s voice rang in his head. Fluffing his hair, he watched Shelley open the door for them and guide them down the hall. 

Before client meetings, when Steve was the new owner and his dad was his constant shadow, he would lock himself in his father’s private bathroom and vomit. Richard Harrington, after seeing his pale and shaky-legged son stumble out, would scowl. “Man up,” he’d hiss. “Or I’ll give the company to someone who can handle it.” 

But now, as he watched the mayor walk down the hall, his secretary trailing behind him, he wasn’t nervous at all. It felt like just another day, like nothing at all. 

“Steven Harrington!” Mayor Hank Goldsmith pushed through the glass door with a bit too much force. Following him was, yes, still the same assistant as last year. The Mayor’s hand was cold as Steve gave him a firm handshake. “Sorry we’re a bit late.“ he continued. “Traffic’s terrible today, big protests downtown. How’s your dad? Still golfing in Miami?” 

“Miami, Pebble Beach, Sandhills. He’ll be a sure pick for the PGA next year, I hear.”

Hank laughed. “He’s still got it!” he almost shouted at his assistant. 

They all take a seat, Steve behind his desk, Hank and his assistant sitting across. Hank talks about the city for a while, the changes being proposed for next year, the strategy for re-election in the following year, while his assistant takes notes. Steve nods, concurs and commiserates at all the right times. Waiting. 

His dad’s voice again: Take control. But he ignored it for now. He will if he had to, but it would be better for Mayor Goldsmith to bring the topic up naturally. Made it seem like his idea. 

It doesn’t take long. 

“There’s also the streetcars I’m trying to bring back to Indy. Did you know back in the 1900’s, we used to have the best streetcar lines in the country? Imagine if we got that title back again. Now, the plans are looking good so far. We’re promising cars every ten minutes at the downtown stops, and every fifteen minutes on the outskirts. I’ve been getting a lot of push back about the construction and the cost and the feasibility , but I think all these folks will eat crows once they have better transit in this city.”

“Yes, I heard about that.” Steve leaned forward a bit, giving Hank his full attention. “I saw the map proposal, the routes make sense. Bridgewood, Northside, West End, the Hendricks and the Speedway. All with up and coming neighborhoods that’ll be better streamlined into the downtown circle.”

“Yes, exactly!”

“My only concern is, well.” Steve paused, pretending to think. “The Eastside. I saw the stop just outside of Arlington and 21st. I gotta ask. Why?”

“Well, the designers felt that it would be a good connection for the bus terminals downtown.”

“Do you think so?”

Hank barked out a laugh. “Do I think so? Frankly Steven, I don’t give a damn where the stops are. I just want this thing built without costing too much.”

“Trust me, I get it.” Steve softened his gaze, trying for sympathy “I know about all the little intricacies that come with planning. It makes my head spin sometimes.  But I was thinking, wouldn’t a stop further up Arlington make sense?”

Hank gave him a careful look, a warning. The room was silent. His assistant, Steve thought her name was Leslie, looked up from her notepad. 

“Isn’t that right where your new condos are built?”

“Yes, it is.” Steve poured more water into both of their cups. “And I put them there for a reason. Sure, the area’s got its reputation, but it has potential. It’s turning into a cultural district. Nice restaurants are popping up, a child care center is around the corner. Not only that, but when I get the prices released in a few days, it'll be a modern but affordable place to live for new families.” 

Steve doesn’t like the look on Hank’s face, but he kept his cool. Panic never looked good, especially if you’re the one losing. 

“Oh yeah? Seems like a good deal for you.”

“It is, but it could be a good deal for you too, Hank.” Steve leaned back in his chair trying to look casual, taking a moment to compose his next words carefully. Richard Harrington spoke in his head. Don’t fuck this up. 

“You mentioned earlier about cleaning up the rougher edges of the city. Having a streetcar stop will incentives working people to move in. Not only that, but I have power over the rental pricing.” A pause. “Who’s to say I can’t raise those costs?”

Steve stopped himself here. He wanted Hank to finish it, needed it to come out of his mouth and be his idea. 

Hank still looked angry, but that anger was turning inwards, considering. “Not everyone could pay that rent.”

“No,” Steve agreed. “Not everyone could.”

There was a lot that Steve could control on the social playing field. He could butter them up, name drop powerful mutual friends and shoot his best shot. But when there were seconds left in the fourth quarter, and you’re watching your three-pointer arc downwards towards the basket, at that moment, it doesn’t matter how much you’ve practiced. It's up to chance now. All you can do is watch and hope. Will it be enough?

Hank stood up and walked towards the windows, hands behind his back. He stayed silent for a while. Steve knew he had more to say. He waited.

“You know, Steven,” Hank sounded older then, like a few years he’d forgotten had caught up to him. “I was born and raised here. Actually, right there.” He pointed down the street. “Back when Maryland St. was lined with old Victorian houses. It was a beautiful place back then.” He turned to look at Steve, and Steve took the invitation to join him at the window. 

“A lot has changed. It’s not as cheap to live here. People are getting less for their dollar. Both parents have to work now. There’s less time for family. And a part of that is because the rent has gone up.”

Hank’s expression was unreadable. The ball has begun its descent down, just off to the wrong side of the basket. Steve barely stopped his face from sinking. Bile rose in his throat. He imagined having to tell the team. The call with his dad after: I should have never left you in charge. 

“But.” Hank raises a finger. “There’s another side to this coin. Sure, there was poverty when I was young, but it was nothing like we have today. Crime’s gone up. The drugs on the streets these days are getting crazy. And the people themselves are worse.”  

Hank looked stricken, a shadow passed over his face. “Jobless vagabonds, leeching off social services to spend all day getting high and committing robbery and fucking this whole city up. And don’t even get me started on the whole AIDS mess. I don’t feel safe walking down Church Street anymore, do you?”

Steve shook his head. He wouldn’t know, he’s never been down Church Street. 

“We’re a couple years away from a new century, and I’d like to see some real change. If this means having properties that only working people can afford. Well.” Hank turned and smiled at Steve. 

Steve breathed out, and smiled in relief. The ball sunk into the basket as the final buzzer roared.

“Then I think it makes sense to move the streetcar route further north, and connect an express route to the Arlington condos. People need a fast and reliable way to get to work, right?”

Steve was weightless. His hand shook a bit when he held it out. “Hank, I couldn’t agree more.”

They shook on it, Hank's grip just as cold as before. “Let me talk to the design team, I’ll see what I can do. But they take my word pretty seriously. So it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“I’m glad you feel the same way. It's a step toward change in the city.” 

Hand still outstretched, Hank peered at his watch. “Fuck, that time already? I gotta go Steven, big council meeting I’m gonna be late to. Hey, say hi to your dad for me! Razz him up and tell him I haven’t forgotten about that party in Memphis. C’mon, Leslie.”

“I’ll make sure to tell him.” Steve won’t. “You take care of yourself.”

Leslie tucked her notebook in her handbag, and quietly thanked Steve as she typed away at her pager and followed Hank out the door. 

Steve was thankful to hear the glass doors suction closed, desperate for a moment to himself. To let another great success wash over him. There were coworkers out there back from their lunch break, waiting for an answer. And he would give it to them, but first. 

After big, high stakes meetings, Steve needed to come back to his body. It used to take hours in the beginning, whole afternoons would be wasted feeling numb and far away. Now, he had a routine. Hiding from the glass wall behind a cabinet, he stretched his neck, rubbing his hands up and down his arms against the fabric of his suit jacket. Then through his hair, separating the strands between his fingers, moving towards the soft fabric of his pants around his thighs. He knew it was weird, knew that Tommy would laugh and ask why are you touching yourself at work, Steve? But it helped to know he had a body, and what he was feeling was just a feeling, all he needed was to get a hold of himself. Take control. 

After a few rounds of rubbing his arms, his legs, crunching the hairspray in his hair, he felt settled. Now he waited for the success to wash over him, another great deal under his belt. He imagined his dad’s voice over the phone, you did good . He pictured his team, the uproar and elation on their faces. 

But as Steve stood there alone in his office, feeling the rise and fall of his chest, he was breathing normal. There was no soaring ecstasy or washing relief. He felt-

Well, he felt normal. He felt nothing. 

Chapter Text

Maybe the reality of it needed more time to settle. Maybe he needed a reaction, someone else to know it and make it real. 

The call with his dad was short, he was out having lunch with his friends. But he managed to give Steve some credit. 

“Great work, this will really boost up the budget for the Cincinnati project. Reminds me I should call Hank soon, it’s been too long.” And that helped, sure. But it didn’t give Steve what he needed

The announcement set a bomb off at the office. “Thirty percent price increase!” Tommy screamed down the hall. They all met in the lunchroom to celebrate. Someone, probably Shelley, brought coffee and donuts from the cafe downstairs. There were glasses of what looked like rum and coke, but Steve declined the offer. People shook his hand, grabbed his shoulder, congratulated him, but it all felt numb on his skin. He tried to breathe the excitement in, get the same contentment from this morning, but it didn’t work. Everything felt unreal, like Steve was watching this moment from his couch at home. 

Dread slowly replaced the apathy. What the fuck was wrong with him?

Everyone got the afternoon off. His older coworkers smiled at him, made comments about how like his father he had become before they headed home, Christmas bonuses on their mind. The rest of the staff went to the bar. 

When Steve declined the invitation, Tommy and Jason looked at each other and jumped at him. With Tommy at his legs and Jason at his shoulders, they made it as far as the elevators, chanting “King Steve! King Steve!”

The old name used to be a fond reminder. Now, with dread churning in his stomach, he just felt sick. He rolled out of the hold. “I have an early meeting. Let’s celebrate tomorrow.”

It was a weak excuse. A morning meeting had never stopped Steve from going out before. Tommy and Jason gave him matching looks of suspicion. 

He deserved that look. But he couldn’t tell them the real reasons he wasn’t going. The elevator opened and they filed in and pressed the button for the ground floor. 

“This isn’t because of Nancy, is it?” Jason asked. 

“No, it’s not Nancy,” Steve defended. He ignored the burning in his throat that came when he had to say her name out loud. 

Tommy rolled his eyes. “C’mon Steve. She knows that going out after work is just overtime. She’ll learn to respect that eventually.”

“It’s not because of that.” He paused, trying to both lie and tell the truth. “We’ve both been really busy. We haven’t spent quality time with each other for a while, and I’d like for us to sit down and just have a pleasant evening together.”

The dread in his stomach was getting worse with the drop of the elevator. He gripped onto the side rail with a sweaty palm. 

“But we never get to spend quality time with you, Steve.” Tommy said. He was still holding his empty glass. “C’mon, it’s time to let off some steam. You’re always working late these days.” 

“No.” He stood up straighter and crossed his arms. “Not tonight. I’ll come out tomorrow.”

The elevator doors opened as Steve hit the button for parking. Tommy and Jason both gave Steve one last, exasperated look before walking out of the doors. 

“Whatever man, have a pleasant evening” Jason spat. He heard Tommy mutter something that sounds a lot like yeah, fucking yourself as they both walked away towards the tall glass exit doors, laughing. 

The doors slid shut. Steve closed his eyes as searing anger grit his teeth. Who cares what they think? Fuck them, they’re fucking idiots. 

The elevator dropped further, the dread pushed up through his arms and down his legs. It made him nauseous, vision blurry like he was about to faint. Steve held onto the railing tighter. He needed to rest. Eat dinner and go to bed early. Then he’d feel normal again. 

Just as Steve got in his car and drove out onto the road, he remembered exactly why he never goes home early. 

Standstill traffic. Red brake lights stared back at him. The late afternoon sun turning his car into a large oven. Steve groaned and opened the window to let the cool fall air sooth his burning skin. The radio played George Michael, a commercial for discount back-to-school supplies, then a voice crackled through the speaker to give the traffic update. Whatever you do, folks. Don’t take Delaware north of 11th street! Major accident just south of the highway, expected hour wait time!

“Are you fucking kidding me,” Steve grumbled. The dread from before was easily replaced with the bitter annoyance of this city. Why the fuck is it so hard for some people to drive properly? Steve’s been driving for fourteen years, and he’s never gotten into an accident! He should speak to Hank about this, maybe add a lane of traffic just for Steve so he could drive around all the stupid people. 

Thirty minutes passed. Steve inched forward. He thought about rolling up the window just so he could scream in peace. Instead, he turned up the radio. Some heavy R&B song played, and he imagined getting a plow attached to the front of his car for situations like this. He could just push all these cars off the road and get home in no time. 

Steve noticed a flash of colour on the street corner. It was a young man, his pink hair falling back in laughter as he and his friend held onto each other in their efforts to stay upright. Steve shook off the unreasonable feeling that they were laughing at him. 

With nothing else to look at, Steve watched them. Eventually they stopped laughing, letting out a few last wheezes before falling silent. Smiling, they looked at ease, passing a cigarette between them and watching the traffic. The one with the pink hair was dressed formally, something Steve would wear himself. Navy pants, blue button up. Steve scoffed, wondering where he worked with hair like that. Certainly not at any major company. Never wear pink, Steven , his dad once said. People will make assumptions. 

The friend had long curly hair, dressed in all black under a leather jacket. A bell rang in the back of Steve’s memory of who he looked like, but he pushed that away. Like he always did. 

They seemed close, in each other’s space in the way that Tommy and Jason were always in Steve’s space. Gripping his shoulder, pulling at his elbow, getting close to whisper a private joke in his ear. Steve didn’t really like it, or understand it, but he put up with it. Now though, the two men were looking at each other with warm smiles and soft affection and oh . Oh it’s definitely not like Tommy and Jason. Not at all. 

Then the pink haired guy yelled something and started running onto the road. His friend startled, hesitated, before running to follow him. They zig-zagged between four lanes of standstill traffic, before butt-sliding over the rim of Steve’s BMW. 

“What the fuck!” Steve yelled, honking out his annoyance, but the two men were already on the other side, now laughing openly at Steve. 

Rage burned inside him. He wasn’t usually an angry person. It must have been the heat, the sweat collecting under his nice button up. Or the slow crawl, the waiting, the waste of fucking time.

Steve was patient. He knew how the world worked by now. Knew how to follow the rules to get what he wanted. But these two punks thought it was okay just to say fuck it all! Why not! Who cares if we’re two men with girl hair! Sure, let's put ourselves in danger of getting hit and making the traffic even worse ! Who cares if we slide across the hood of this car we could never afford and put a dent in it! Who cares about anything?

He stuck his head out the window and screamed directly at the pair.  “Fucking fags!”

It felt good. But after the words were out, Steve wished he could take them back. The pink haired guy kept walking down the road, unfazed. But the long haired guy quickly turned and saw Steve staring back. The look he gave Steve was so full of wrath, for a moment, Steve was scared this guy would drag him out of his car and punch his face in. Instead, he spat on the ground, and walked away. 

An old, sickly shame sat heavy in Steve’s stomach. He slid back into his seat. I shouldn’t be sorry , he thought. It’s a lifestyle choice, at the end of the day. If they get harassed it’s really their own fault.  Steve had made his choice, and they made theirs.

The long-haired boy was out of sight now, caught up with his friend. Or his boyfriend , he thought, with a mix of bewilderment and disgust. The inches Steve drove turned into a slow drag, then a sprint as he merged the Beamer onto the I-65. Steve focused on his drive, the leather of the steering wheel, the Spingsteen song that played on the 80’s station. All the while, he ignored the awful churning inside him. 

Then, halfway through his drive, the back of his neck started to sting. He swore he could feel the edges of wrathful eyes boring into him. Touching his neck, he checked his rearview mirror to find an empty backseat, but it didn’t ease his worry. Reaching back, he ran his hands along the seat leather and along the felted floor of the Beamer. There was nothing back there, no one in the car but Steve. 

Steve took in a breath, tried to laugh at himself and ignore the feeling that he was going crazy. 

***

As he walked past his overgrown lawn and turned the knob on the painted front door, he remembered another reason he didn’t come home in the daylight. 

For the first time in a long time, Steve could see his living room and into his dining room. The red-orange light of the early evening pushed past the drawn curtains and gave shape to the table, the chairs, the couch, the glass cabinet with delicate china and framed photos. The sleek wood and fabric was caked under a layer of dust. Particles floated in a slow drift across the room and into the shadows. The couch cushions were well fluffed and unused. The chairs around the table remained tucked in. 

Steve walked by these rooms everyday. But seeing them now after all this time looking so neglected and unfamiliar made his heart ache. A house like this was made to be lived in , his real estate agent once said. But Steve didn’t really live here anymore, did he?

Dread turned to nausea that burned in his throat. He coughed, trying to get some air in his lungs and not vomit on his floor. Breathing heavy, he forced himself to focus on the next thing he had to do. Took his shoes off. Hung his jacket up. Turned on the kitchen light. Threw some leftovers in the microwave. 

At six, Steve got the call. He wondered how long it would take her to give up calling his work phone, and take a chance that Steve had come home early. He ignored these calls most evenings, they always ended in fights, but he was desperate tonight. Desperate to scream at something, to unleash some frustrations and maybe feel a fraction better. There was also a small crumb of hope he still had that it was good news. That she'd be ready to come home. 

Steve pushed aside his uneaten food and picked up the phone. "Hi Nance" he started, casual. "How's it going?"

"Fine," she said. "Did you get the papers yet?"

"You know what," Steve's eyes went to the kitchen table, where an unopened white envelope stared back at him. "I think I'll have to check in with the post office, I haven't gotten them yet."

"Hmm." The small clicking of keys could be heard through her headset. Steve knew she was typing from her desk at work, but it felt like he was on trial, and Nancy was taking his testimony. "It's odd that it didn't go to the house."

"Yeah, it is."

The silence stretched. In the hall, Steve glanced around the dark house. He stood here years ago on move-in day looking out into the circle of rooms. The office, the living room, the dining room, the kitchen. He couldn’t see the upstairs, but could feel the layout like fingers spread out on his hand. Steve and Nancy’s room. The spare bedroom. An empty room that had potential , according to the real estate agent as she winked at Nancy. Everyday, as their things accumulated and took up space, Steve saw this house as a map of his future spread out before him. Having dinner parties in the dining room. Cradling a small bundle in the empty room, now occupied. Sitting on the front porch, retired, watching the people walk by. It had filled him with a sort of settled joy. It soothed his anxieties about being a failure, or not “making it” like his dad always warned. The house was a standing testament to how much Steve had accomplished so far, and how much it could mold and grow into new successes for him. For them. 

But now, the house had become a kitchen and a bedroom. A place for him to eat and sleep before heading back to work. 

"You there, Steve?"

"Yeah, sorry. What did you say?"

Nancy huffed in annoyance. "I said, it's been a month Steve. Why haven't you gone to the post office yet?"

"Because we're just about to close on the Arlington condo builds. I haven't had time to think, let alone drive to the post office. I had this big meeting with Hank today. Good news actually, I managed to convince him to-"

"It takes five minutes, I'm sure you could do it."

"Don't nag me. I said I'll do it, and I'll do it."

Steve hated when Nancy called. Hated standing here and listening to her voice on the phone, when it used to fill the rooms of the house. "Well, I wouldn't have to nag you if you didn't ignore my calls all the time."

Steve ignored her. "You know, Greta from the grocery store was asking about you. Same with Shelley and Tommy. People are wondering where you are."

"And why aren't you telling them I'm not coming back?"

Steve was sinking, whole chunks of him melting into the floor. It was the same unbearable feeling that he had six months ago when Nancy was by the door, bags packed, eyes dry. Talking about a dream job as a journalist in Chicago that she couldn't possibly turn down. Steve had tried everything to talk her down, screamed his throat sore trying to get her to see sense. But she stood in the hall, a tall and unmoving pillar, waiting patiently for Steve to move away from the door. After running out of options, he asked in a pathetic voice "What about us? What about your life here?" 

Nancy had given him a pitying look. "What about us, Steve? What life do I have here?"

Steve had tried to reason with her, to make her see how irrational it was, but Nancy held up her hand. “I think we’re done, Steve,” and Steve thought she had meant the argument, before he got the letter. 

He didn’t believe it then, and he doesn't believe it now. His knees sank with the weight of keeping him upright, but he forced his voice to sound strong. "Because once you realize the mistake you've made, you'll regret it. And you'll be back."

Nancy was silent on the other end for a moment, the typing paused. "Oh, Steve. You're still holding out for me?"

The last thread of Steve’s composure snapped. "What do you want, Nancy? I can get you a great journalist job here. I can be around more often, home every night. I can get us a cottage up north. I'll stop bothering you about having kids. I promise, I swear I'll stop. Just, come back home." He doesn't say come back to me. If he were a weaker man, he’d cry. Instead he ground his teeth, back molars grinding. The silence continued on the other line, and Steve took it as doubt. A small ember of hope burned in his gut.

“If you think that will change anything, then you really haven’t been listening to me for the past few years.” The typing resumed. “Sign the damn papers. I know you have them." He heard a click. Silence. Then a dial tone.

Steve slid down the wall until he was curled up on the floor. The small ember died as he let the dread finally feed on him, teeth grating at his muscles and skin. 

He knew how that call would end, and yet a stupid part of him still hoped it would be different. That she'd be impressed by his win at work, be proud of him in the soft and caring way that used to settle into a soft hum of approval under his skin. Maybe it would remind her of a Steve she could be proud of, that she could miss.

The envelope sat in his periphery but he didn't look, ignoring it like another room in the house. He lets himself be devoured for a long time. 

By the time he got up, legs and ass numb, he tried to be positive. Maybe Nancy would get lonely in Chicago. Maybe she’d crack under the pressure and miss being home. These thoughts licked at his wounds, and it almost helped. He threw out his abandoned dinner and turned on the TV. 

***

Steve laid awake in bed. He tried to read his proposal, an evening practice that helped him build momentum for the next big project, the next mountain to climb. But he only got half way through a Seinfeld episode before the words started blurring on the page. It was a testament to how bad his day was that it only made him more exhausted. 

The dread sat sickly warm against his insides, a sleeping monster. Steve didn’t understand. Work had always made him feel better. It’s the place where Steve started as just another assistant sales rep, but worked his way up to top sales clerk and CEO in under ten years. Sure, his dad’s inflence sped up that process, but it was his every day determination that got him on top. Late nights in the office, lunches spent predicting housing market trends, weekends spent taking shareholders out to dinner. At work, each step of progress felt like a personal victory, a step towards a better Steve. When speaking to him, Richard Harrington’s tone had changed over the years, from despairing to reluctant to accepting. Even his coworkers listened to him more, cared about his insight into their work decisions. It had turned Steve into a confident leader, a man that people took seriously. 

Now that he’s got a clear view on top, he doesn't know where else to climb. What was another condo built? A new city to expand into? All of it was old news to him. He thought back on his day; the meeting, the work celebration, the support from his dad and his coworkers. How nothing gave him that rush he needed. Maybe I’ve just been off since this thing with Nancy started, he wondered. But he knew, deep down, that wasn’t the case. 

His dad’s voice chimed in then. Hard work is the key to success, Steven. And successful men are happy men. 

Steve groaned. He had been in this spiral since he first laid down. Whether it was work, his dad, his friends or Nancy, he couldn’t figure it out. All he knew was there was apathy where satisfaction used to be. And that maybe it didn’t matter if Nancy decided to come back or not, because it didn’t feel like Steve was someone worth coming back to anymore. 

His dad’s voice continued. Weak men let weak thoughts take over.

The numbers on his electric clock read two am. Steve was weary and desperate for relief. He had a white flag, a secret practice that always soothed him. It was dangerous, something he couldn’t do too often. But he needed it tonight. 

Without letting himself think about it, he walked with soft footsteps to his home office, rummaged through his work folders and pulled out an orange manilla envelope, unlabelled. A magazine slipped out between his fingers, its glossy finish reflected harshly in the bright desk lamp. 

Steve would never buy this magazine, but Tommy didn’t feel the same hesitation. He showed Steve one day at work, explaining the prank he wanted to pull on Shelley. By hiding it in her filing cabinet, he would pretend to discover it and make fun of her. Steve didn’t feel good about it, but didn’t mention it. Instead, he laughed along, hoping it would explain his reddened face. 

Later, when Shelley came to him on the verge of tears demanding a week’s vacation, the magazine was left crumpled, clearly visible through the weaved pattern of the trash can. Tommy left it there, laughing at what the cleaning lady would discover. That evening, Steve stayed even later than usual. He knew what he was about to do was bad. But he was curious. It was just a magazine, really. 

When the office was empty, Steve grabbed it from the trash can and slipped it into his briefcase. 

Ever since that day, Mandate has lived in Steve’s home office. On bad days, when Steve was bored and alone, he used to flip through it, gradually getting further and further into the pages. At first, Steve was relieved, a big ball of anxiety unraveling itself. He didn’t even like this sort of stuff; stories about policemen sneaking into prison cells, or teachers having sex with students. It made him uncomfortable, the way that it should have. However, midway through the magazine, his doubt returned. 

A beautiful man dressed in a skirt and lingerie, kneeling down before a nicely dressed man. Steve couldn’t stop staring. He had always been a fan of lingerie, but seeing it on a man was compelling in a way Steve couldn’t describe. Not only that, but the long curly hair and sharp face of the kneeling man struck him, reminded him of a time in his life where he made a lot of mistakes. Steve put the magazine back and didn’t look at it for a long time. 

Now though, Steve opened it to that page. There sat the same kneeling man, his eyes half lidded, his mouth open to the fingers gripping into his mouth. Face serene, he looked ready to take whatever the other man gave him. 

Pathetic , said a spitting voice from the back of his head, but it was quieter this time, swept under the bubbling excitement once he accepted what he was doing. He walked back down the long hallways, already palming himself through his boxers. Could almost feel the soft curls of the kneeling man, and imagined his own hands collecting it at the back of his head and pulling it tight, the man arching back his neck in surrender. 

“Fuck.” He swore softly. Still on the page, he hid himself under the covers. He imagined dipping his thumb into soft plush lips, feeling the spit collect and soak around his skin. Take what I give you , he’d say, before shoving two more fingers in. The man would moan, tongue rubbing the underside of Steve’s fingers. Yes, just like that. You’re so sweet, baby. You take me so well. 

Steve grabbed the lotion on his bedside table, wanting to make quick work of it. He knew that indulging in a slow, tender fantasy would only make it worse later. His hand was wet and warm and tight and he imagined the kneeling man with his lips stretched around his cock, dick hard through his tight black panties, looking up at Steve with dark, tearing eyes. 

There was already a pull in the back of his groin. He looked back at the magazine, at the face of the pretty long haired man that felt so familiar. 

Don’t , he told himself. He tried to push away his thoughts and focus on coming and getting it over with. But his brain was too open and vulnerable like this and against his will, the image pushed to the forefront of his mind. 

Eddie Munson pulled off the base of his cock. He was wearing lingerie, staring up at Steve with a severe and beautiful smile. “You think I’m pretty, Harrington?”

Pleasure bloomed at the back of his spine as he willed himself to stop thinking about it. But it was already happening, that memory was a current dragging his mind with it. 

It was the third time they’d gotten together. It was a party at Paige Edworthy’s house, her bathroom was pink and frilly with framed pictures of flowers hanging from the ceramic walls. Steve almost knocked one of these paintings over as Eddie pushed him against the wall, pinning him down with his hips before licking into his mouth. 

Usually, that was all Steve needed to fold under Eddie’s touch, but he remembered being a bitch that night. He pushed against Eddie’s shoulders. “I swear I saw someone follow us around the corner. I thought you said the coast was clear.”

“Did I?” Eddie was staring at Steve’s mouth, already leaning back in. 

Steve held him at arm's length. “It’s not funny, Munson.”

“Hey, relax.” Eddie’s voice was drowsy, eyes unfocused in a way he always looked after smoking. “No one saw us. I checked, I promise. Anyways, most people just assume I’m selling to you.”

Steve froze. “Most people? Eddie, have people said anything to you?” 

“Steve.” Eddie held his face between his hands. Looking down, Steve tried to knock his hands away but Eddie put them back. “No one suspects. No one knows. I haven’t told anyone.”

There was a tone in Eddie’s voice that was off, but Steve didn’t worry about it. He was right, Steve could just say that he was buying again. They were at a party, it was a solid excuse. 

Steve let himself be backed up against the wall again. He wanted to protest more, to double check that they were safe, but once Eddie’s tongue was sliding against his and the friction of his hard cock rubbed against Steve’s, he gave up. Gave in. 

Steve let out an embarrassing sound before Eddie broke the kiss, ducking his head to kiss along Steve’s neck. He would never forget the next words Eddie said, could still feel them hot against his ear. “You like that, sweetheart? Fuck, Steve. I want to bend you over this sink and see how well you take my cock.”

A fear struck Steve so hard he gasped. Eddie, hearing that as encouragement, tried to maneuver Steve over to the sink. 

Steve’s hands shot out and gripped Eddie’s shoulders, just on the verge of pain. “No. You’re the one who’s going to take my cock.” He said, voice hard, before pushing Eddie closer to the floor. 

Eddie laughed, kneeling in front of Steve. “I knew that would get you all riled up.” 

Steve remembered how well Eddie sucked him off that night. Hard, wet pressure to the underside of his cock and around the head, balanced out with calloused hands grabbing his hips, his ass and running up and down his thighs. When he came, he felt a deep wave of release, not only from his dick but reaching up into his fingers and licking the roof of his mouth. 

But that’s not what he fixated on, what’s been haunting him since that day. It was bad enough getting his dick sucked by Eddie Munson. It’s worse to want more. 

Every day, Steve tried hard to be a good man. A good leader, a hard worker, a loving husband. He had to try hard. Because deep down, Steve knew he wasn’t good. Even at thirty years old, even after all this time, Eddie Munson still made Steve weak. 

Steve tightened the grip on his cock, pushing a finger into the skin behind his balls. He wished Eddie didn’t listen to him. Wished Eddie saw behind his eyes and gave him what he really wanted. He’d let Steve fight it. Let him struggle before shoving him over the sink, hips digging in the ceramics as he shoved his pants down. Ignored his protests. Fucked him slow and deep and unrelenting as he pushed Steve’s head down and forced him to take it. 

Good boy , fantasy-Eddie whispered in his ear. His eyes watered as the taunt cord of his pleasure snapped and he came all over his boxers and down his legs, pillow muffling the humiliating sounds that poured out of his mouth. 

He cleaned up. Showered. Tossed his boxers and top sheet in the laundry. Slid the magazine back in the manilla envelope and told himself to throw it out tomorrow. 

The clock read three. He tried to ignore his own mind but the bed was too warm and he still couldn’t sleep and all he could think of was how badly he fucked up. You let it get too far again, like you always do . He thought of the furious eyes of the curly haired boy in the traffic jam, how much Steve deserved that and more. He thought of Eddie Munson, who last Steve heard also lived in Indianapolis. It was a cursed thing to know, it terrified Steve enough to never stop looking at the faces in bars, on the sidewalks, sitting in a car at a red light. He thought of Nancy typing away at her computer, making a list of reasons why she’s never coming back home, adding “my husband is a queer.”

In their bed, in their room, in their house, Steve wished he was a different person. Maybe if he was the Steve that Nancy wanted him to be, she’d be sleeping next to him. Maybe if he was the Steve his father saw him as, he would be proud of his work today. But no, Steve was greedy and selfish. He had the path to a good and successful life laid out for him since he was a child. It should have been enough to make him happy. It was enough for his dad, for Tommy and Jason. Why wasn’t it enough for him? 

A blue sliver of morning light touched the bottom windowpane. Right before he fell asleep, he made a vow to himself. He’d get Nancy back. He’d forget all about Eddie Munson. He’d beat down the feeling of dread and try even harder to improve the Cinci project. He’d quit being so ungrateful, he’d make his own life enough for him again. He had to, there was no other choice. 

Chapter Text

The moment he left the bar, Steve knew he had fucked up. He knew it when his vision darked as he ducked into the driver’s seat. Knew it when he missed the keyhole twice to turn on the ignition and rubbed his numb hands into the leather of the steering wheel. 

Get your act together Steven, his father’s stern voice spoke in his head. He ignored the slight press of anxiety at the back of his neck. 

On the nights he drove to the bar, Steve had rules. Maximum three beers, no shots, and never an hour before he had to leave. Tommy and Jason always bothered him about it. They’d buy him drinks in protest, call him a pussy when he’d give them away, but Steve never gave in. 

Tonight was different. He didn’t care how much he drank. 

When Steve’s alarm rang earlier this morning, he was weighed down with a leadened exhaustion he couldn’t shake off. It was noon by the time he managed to drag himself out of bed. Jason and Tommy didn’t waste any time hounding him the second he walked through the office doors. 

“How was your special evening, Steve?” Tommy asked, while Jason let out a mocking, high pitched moan. Steve walked begrudgingly past, thankful to let the heavy glass door shut behind him. 

He was useless at work. Slumped in his office chair, he was in and out of wakefullness while memories and fantasies from the day before tormented him, spinning in an endless whirlpool of disordered sequences. Standing by the window in his office, the feeling of eyes on the back of his head as Hank’s red face screamed he’s still got it! Eddie Munson preening, asking Steve over the phone if he thinks he’s pretty. Nancy’s face next to him in bed, asking him why aren’t you telling them I’m not coming back? 

It didn’t take much convincing to get Steve to the bar later that evening. Six beers and three shots later, the nauseous, sinking dread that had been grating on his insides all day finally went numb. But now it was two in the morning. He was drunk, and his house was a forty minute drive away.

Just get a hotel , he told himself. Or stay at Tommy’s . But the thought of scratchy hotel sheets, or listening to Tommy and his wife stifle their gasps from a stiff pull out couch made him recoil. Steve wanted to be home . Lock his door behind him and curl up in his own bed. 

Steve could drive, he knew he could. He just had to be careful. 

The low tire pressure light flashed red on his dashboard. Steve groaned, rubbing at his face. The left front tire was always losing air. He tried to find the metal gauge in the glove box, but as he sorted through the receipts and cassettes, his fingers fumbled around uselessly without turning it up. 

He sighed. At least he’d see if the tire was flat. 

Steve opened the driver's side door with too much force. It swung back and slammed right into his shoulder. 

“Ow, fuck,” he mumbled, crawling out of his seat. Using the car’s frame to steady himself, he gave the left tire a good kick with his toe, feeling the solid bounce of the rubber kick back. 

“Good enough,” he said. He stepped backwards, hand resting on the door handle when he felt something solid press up against his back and force him against the door. 

Steve swore, his body squished between someone and the car. He struggled, tried to pull himself sideways, but a hand came up to grip his bicep. He took a breath in to scream for help, when a voice right behind him spoke calmly.

“Steve.”

The weight disappeared, leaving Steve’s back cold. He turned, heart racing to punch whoever it was behind him. But he was met with empty air. Breathing heavy, he looked around. The sidewalk was quiet. There were three other cars in the parking lot, all vacant. The bar he just left had no one loitering outside. He listened, trying to hear retreating footsteps, but all he could hear was the bass music from the bar and the low rumble of city life. He was alone. 

What the fuck , he thought. Pacing around his car, his anxiety pinched nails into the back of his neck. He expected Tommy to jump up from behind one of the parked cars, laughing, rolling around on the concrete. But as time passed, it became more and more likely that Steve was the only person in this parking lot. 

Okay, time to go. Steve decided as he scrambled back into his car, hit the gas pedal and veered left onto the road, heading north without another look back. 

Eventually his breathing levelled out, and he almost laughed at how physical his imagination could apparently become. He thought about the warm presence, the excitement of his own name being whispered in his ear. God, I need to get laid , he thought miserably. 

High Rise condos were slow moving giants outside his windows, their square lights like a thousand yellow eyes staring down at him. Steve was careful with his driving. He could see the pavement of the I-65 in front of him. He could read the speedometer, and was purposefully  driving five over the limit. He turned the steering wheel the exact caliber of left and right needed to stay in his lane. But Steve was not present. Despite turning the radio up to max volume, he caught himself drifting off numerous times, jolting in his seat as the road came back into focus. He could hear words being sung, but he couldn’t understand them. His foot on the pedal felt far away from him. Steve knew it had to be pushing down, but he couldn’t feel it. Couldn’t know for certain. 

Steve adjusted his hands on the wheel, breathing in deeply. None of this could faze him. He was Steve Harrington , after all. CEO of Harrington Properties. If he could earn the respect of some of the most influential men in Indianapolis, he could focus long enough to make it home. He successfully merged off the I-65 and headed north on the 465. 

Just then, a cop car pulled out from a hidden intersection. Steve’s nerves turned cold and metallic. Fuck , he thought. Act normal, ease off the pedal a bit . Five over the limit was nothing , but still. He checked the rearview mirror. The car followed the Beamer from a polite distance, sirens absent.

There was no way the cop could know Steve was drunk. No way at all. But the thought didn’t slow his heart rate, or ease his grip off the steering wheel. Trapped on the highway, too worried a hasty escape would be suspicious, Steve missed his exit, then the next exit. Eyes darting from the road, to his spirometer back to the rearview mirror, he was barely breathing. The music was beginning to hurt his ears, but he didn’t dare take his hands off the wheel to turn it down. 

The cop sped up behind the Beamer. This is it, Steve thought manically. It’s over, I’m going to jail. But the cop merged onto the exit ramp and off the highway, out of sight. 

His body went limp as Steve laughed, turning down the music and thanking whatever God was listening as he looked for the next exit sign. He had passed Westfeld, and now headed towards Baker’s Corner. All he had to do was turn around and head back south to find the Carmel exit. 

But as Steve merged onto the off ramp, he noticed the south exit was closed for construction. Cursing, Steve drove further east. Whatever major road heading south he found first, he’d take back home. I’m not that far , he thought. I can figure it out. 

The distant cornfields all around him were purple and blurry in the moonlight. Intermittent streetlights dilated and contracted the road ahead, but no lights came from the house-shaped shadows in his peripheries. As Steve drove up to each new intersection, headlights glaring on the green street sign, he didn’t recognize a single road. Bayfield Rd. Seymour St. Nothing familiar, nothing he could turn onto and know he’ll hit Carmel. 

The next sign he passed read Now Entering Baker’s Corner . Steve hadn’t been up this side of town before, but Nancy had. Apparently, there was a popular farmer’s market held on Sunday’s, but Steve had always been too hungover to go. There was a time where Nancy would ask, pulling stubbornly on his limp form in bed. “You always say next time! Why not this time?” One Sunday, Nancy stopped asking. Hadn’t asked since. 

And now he drove further into the darkness, lost in a place he could have known. 

God, why didn’t I see this coming? His thoughts spiralled into thoughts of Nancy, overwhelmed with moments from their past. Kissing on their honeymoon in Cuba. Nancy’s hesitant face when the movers brought in the new dining table. Driving together, wrapped up in tense conversation that felt comfortable to him. 

Steve thought about his vow he made the night previous, about being a better version of himself. He wondered if Nancy would ever give him a second chance. And even if she did, would he not just fuck it up again?

You will never be enough, said that stern voice that always sounded like his father, but over the years had begun to sound like Steve. 

A streetlight passed over his head as a wicked despair flushed through him. But his rumination was cut off by the Beamer’s tires dropping an inch and making a horrible grinding noise. Steve blinked, staring hard at the road. It had turned into gravel without him noticing. 

Steve blinked again and stared harder. He hasn’t even seen a gravel road since he left Hawkins. There couldn’t possibly be any gravel roads this close to the city. Which meant he was only driving further and further away from home. 

Steve grabbed the hair on his scalp and yanked hard, yelling in anger. His breath had gone shallow. There must have been a main road he missed a while back, too lost in thought to notice. He should pull over, maybe find a house and ask them for directions. But you’re just some drunk stranger who woke them up in the middle of the night, he ridiculed himself. They’ll call the cops and put me in fucking jail. 

Panicking, Steve’s vision tunnelled. All he could see was the few feet of gravel reflecting from his headlights. Everything else was black. It made Steve feel like he was going nowhere, driving on an endless road further into nothing. 

There was a flash, a figure standing just up ahead. Steve turned the wheel on instinct alone. The next moments happened in snapshots. The tires shredded as they turned on the gravel. The nose of the BMW ducking into the ditch and spinning. Steve was falling upwards. The coffee he had left in the cupholder rose and spilled all over the ceiling. The driver’s side window smashed. Steve’s head jerked left. Then he was hit by a full body force that yanked his head back and crushed his chest. A flash of white fabric, the airbags expanding. 

Everything stopped. Steve was upside down, the bag still pressing him against his seat. There was the sound of pressure being released under the hood of his car. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he had crashed, knew he might be hurt and needed to go to the hospital. But his thoughts swam thick in his head. How did he crash? Why was he upside down? 

Steve was in two places. Both in his car, headlights glaring in his vision, but also in a memory. Bright lights, loud crowd, he was back at Hawkins High, playing point guard in his junior year. They were up against South Riverdale, one of their oldest rivals. The center-point was blocking every shot Hawkins tried to make, laughing in their faces. Furious, Steve tried to trick him. He rushed him, pretending to slow down to take a shot before darting past him instead. But the center-point saw right through him. Without looking where he was going, Steve didn’t see him move to block. The force of the full body check knocked his heels right off the ground, and his head swung back and cracked loudly on the linoleum floor. 

The pain was explosive. It felt like his skull had shattered in his head. He was breathless, confused as the overhead lights burned the back of his brain. Back in the car, Steve closed his eyes against the headlights. All he could think of was how it didn’t make any sense. How it felt less like Steve had crashed his car, but that the world had crashed into him. 

It took a few tries to undo his seatbelt, thumb numbly pressing on the red button. He tried the driver's side door, but it only opened an inch, jammed up by the wall of gravel behind it. A wave of dizziness darkened his vision as he rode it out, breathing through pursed lips. After a few more failed attempts to push open the door, glass shards raining down on his arms, he sighed and looked to the shattered window. There was a small gap that opened up as the gravel slanted upwards from the ditch. If Steve could fit through the window, he could crawl up and out of the ditch. He signed, resigned. Guess I’m crawling out. 

Getting through the window was a harrowing experience. He had to spin in his seat to lift his leg up, kick away the sheet of glass still stuck to the edges of the windowpane. Then, Steve had to twist and turn to fit his shoulders through, all the while glass shards scraped along his arms and torso. The driver's side door was pushed up against the ditch, meaning Steve had to gently maneuver and fold himself in half to get his hips up and out of the car. For one, frightening moment, the car sunk further into the ditch and Steve had to jump out of the way to avoid being crushed. He crawled out and onto the grassy patch that connected the cornfields to the road. 

The wet grass was a cold relief on Steve’s back. He sighed, thankful to be in one piece, before his brain finally caught up to the present. 

Wait . Steve sat up. He didn’t just crash his car. There was someone on the road . He swerved to miss them. At least, he had tried. 

Glass crunched under his elbows as he hastily tried to sit up. “Hello!” Steve called out, his voice cracked and broken. “Is anyone there? Hello? Hello!” He knew he sounded fucking crazy, and he didn’t care. He had to find them, had to know for certain. 

Steve tried to stand but his legs didn’t hold his weight. Instead he squinted, eyes adjusting to the dark and there , the figure stood cast in shadow. Oh thank fuck , Steve thought. At least they’re standing. 

“Hey man,” said Steve. “Do you think you can call an ambulance?”

The figure said nothing, walking closer. Steve could hear the odd noises his car was making, hear the long static chirp of the bugs in the field. But he doesn’t hear the crunch of footsteps on gravel that should have been there. 

No, Steve thought. That’s not right. But as the steps got closer and the figure stayed in shadow, the headlights reflecting from the ditch didn’t touch them. A terrible feeling washed over Steve. It’s the same feeling he got when he watched Jason bend his elbows back farther than they should go. A churning mix of both sick and wrong . 

It dawned on Steve then, that he might be in danger. 

“Listen,” Steve sputtered, trying to stand again and failing. “It was an accident, okay? I didn’t see you on the road!” 

The shadow was right in front of him. Panic froze inside of Steve. He tried to pull his body away but his fingers were numb, his legs too heavy to move. In his head, he was crashing all over again, spinning upside down in a rolling car while his body lay trapped. 

“Please don’t hurt me,” Steve begged. “I have money! I’ll give you anything you want!”

The figure bent over and touched Steve’s hand. In an instant, a face came into view. It was a familiar, handsome face that smiled sharply down at him. 

“What?” he asked, tongue heavy in his mouth. None of this made any sense. He must be dreaming, he must still be at the bar, pass out on a table. Or he made it home, and this was all a fucked up intoxicated dream. 

Before he could figure it out, the man that wore his face grabbed Steve by the shoulder. His vision went black. 

Chapter Text

In the early morning dawn of pink, orange and blue, Steve was flying among the clouds. The sun was warm, the breeze caressed his skin with soft fingers and he was laughing, bursting with exuberant joy he hadn’t felt since he was a child. The world was his playground. He felt like he could go anywhere, do anything. 

All he needed was a place to land. 

There was a low rumble in the distant clouds. Looking down, Steve searched for land, water, anything solid. But there was only darkness. Doubt popped his bubble of ecstasy. He took a breath of sweet spring air to steady himself, but his doubt became a solid, heavy thing as Steve began to curve downwards. He tried to tilt up, catch a wind current to ride on but it was no use. He was falling. 

The sky began to darken, the clouds now grey stains in the distance. Air was being pushed out of Steve’s chest, his lungs spasmed with the efforts to breathe. He grabbed at his throat and found something choking him. It was thick and slimy and unrelenting in its grip. He clawed desperately at it with blunt fingernails as his head began to explode in fireworks of pain. Steve was suffocating, trying to scream but all that came out was a hoarse gargle that didn’t make it past his tongue. His vision tunnelled, shutting out the beautiful sky from his sight until there was only darkness. 

***

The blue-white light of the morning was a knife to his eyes as Steve woke with a gasp. Grabbing at his neck, he went to pull off whatever had been choking him only to find skin. Cold and clammy, but entirely his own. You can breathe , he told himself. It was just a dream.

The tangled bedsheets were warm and damp underneath him. Squinting his eyes against the light, he focused on the slow rise and fall of his wet dress shirt, now cool against his chest. Until he could think. Remember. 

The bar. Driving home. A gravel road, a sharp turn before spinning and crashing and-

Steve bolted upright, head pounding in protest. He ignored the light burning his eyes as he scanned the room. Light wooden dresser. Blue coloured walls Nancy picked out. His work shoes kicked off in the corner of the room. Laying in his own bed, wearing the same clothes from yesterday. 

So, he made it home. He breathed out one sigh of relief before another question crossed his mind.

How the fuck did I get home?

He knew for certain he left the bar, took the backroads and tried to find a road going south back to Carmel. But things were a bit fuzzy after that. The feeling of panic, of falling and spinning upside down. Of crawling. 

Fuck, did I crash my car into a ditch? 

Steve groaned. Never again would he break his rules about drinking and driving back from the bar. 

The clock on his bedside table read ten thirty. 

Oh fuck . He unbuttoned his shirt with stiff fingers as all thoughts of how he got home were smothered. He was late for the second day in a row and he missed his meeting. His dad was going to chew him out. 

As he pulled off his button up, there was a painful sting in his forearm. Looking down, a small piece of glass was wedged under his skin, no bigger than a tooth. It wasn’t deep; the edges were prominent beneath his skin, but it had been enough to make him bleed. Two small trickles of dried blood curled around the edge of the cut. 

Steve was surprised he hadn’t felt it earlier. Breathing in through his teeth, he took hold of the glass shard between his fingers and pulled. Steve hissed; the pain was a lighter pressed to his skin. As the glass came loose, blood pooled around the edges of the cut and began to drip down his arm. 

A memory passed behind his eyes. Steve’s foot kicking loose the glass shards stuck to a window pane. Groaning again, he ran to his ensuite bathroom to grab a tissue and wiped the blood off haphazardly, before picking out a dark button up shirt to hide the stain. 

He needed to go check the driveway. Had to know for sure that the crash wasn’t just some drunk dream. 

Steve stepped slow and heavy down the stairs. His whole body ached as he grabbed his jacket, his sunglasses and bent over to put on his dress shoes. The skin on his stomach and chest burned with every motion, but he ignored it. He looked towards the hooks by the front door to find that yes, his keys were hanging there, the same place he’s hung them for the last ten years. 

Steve’s legs sagged with the rushing relief that swept over him. Oh, thank fuck . His car had made it back home with him. Which meant either two things. One, he dreamed about the stupid crash and the glass splinter was from the bar, or two, that even if he had crashed, it couldn’t have been bad enough to not drive his car home. Maybe just a small fender bender, nothing to worry about. 

Walking out the front door and locking it behind him, he was cautious on his feet, the sun warm on his black button up. From here, he could see the back of his car sticking out from the side of his house, fully intact. It was fine , he thought. Laughing, he tossed his keys up into the air and walked around the side of his house. As he turned the corner, his footsteps slowed before hauling entirely. 

The Beamer was a wreck . 

The headlights, bumper and license plate were nowhere to be seen.  The hood had been pushed up and folded in half, ruffled and curved around the sagging engine that dripped a brown liquid onto the pavement. Metal bars and tubes and wires were all snapped and splayed out in a twisted mess that reminded Steve of a horror movie he once watched, where someone’s stomach had been blown open and all the entrails flew out in sinewy strands of gore and blood. 

The sight of it made his own insides turn. My car , he thought pathetically, before the full weight of this realization caught up to him. Steve examined the busted driver’s window. Almost all the glass was completely gone, save for a few shards with dark brown stains caked on the edges. Blood, he thought. That’s my blood. 

It was all real. The crash, the spinning, the crawling. And if the crash was real, that meant there was someone on the road that- 

No , he scolded himself. Sure, he crashed the car into a ditch. He got it out somehow, and the car apparently had no problems driving with the engine falling out. But there was certainly no one out there with his face other than him. It was impossible. 

His feet were walking backwards towards his house. He needed to be away from the Beamer. Couldn't stand to look at what he did. Unlocking his house on the third try, he got a glimpse of his watch. Almost eleven. He ran a hand over his face. He needed to go. 

Flipping through the yellow pages, he called the first car repair shop he saw in the ad section. “Yeah, It’s the black convertible in the driveway. BMW, 1994. I’ll need a towing too, I can’t stick around but the keys will be on the front seat.” Steve laughed without humour at the next question. “No, trust me, I’m not worried about it being stolen.”

The next number he called was a cab company, and he sat out front on the concrete steps until the white and yellow hatchback turned into his cul-de-sac. 

Steve ducked his head into the back seat and watched the cab pull out of his driveway. As they turned off of his street and onto the main road, another image flashed in his mind. His hands on the rear bumper of the Beamer, heels dug into the gravel as the car was slowly pushed out of the ditch. 

Steve laughed to himself even as he felt a sinking in his stomach. The cab driver turned around in concern but Steve ignored him. The crash must have fucked his head up badly. He was remembering dreams and imaginations like they were memories. 

There was no way, he repeated like a mantra all the way to work. No fucking way. 

***

Steve kept the blinds drawn in his office. There were black particles floating in the corners of his vision. He couldn’t focus; anytime he tried to read through his notes, he could see the words, but he couldn’t understand what they meant. Worse of all was his computer; even with his sunglasses on, Steve couldn’t read his emails without his head throbbing painfully. When his phone rang, it sent such a sharp panic through his body that he hung up immediately.

This wasn’t new to him. In freshman year, Tommy and Steve got into a lot of fights with the senior members of the basketball team. They both had a lot to prove back then, and didn’t take well to being pushed around. Steve would leave these fights with a busted lip or a black eye, and suffer through the next day’s dizziness and headaches. Fighting back was the first step to being noticed, and then respected as an equal. Years down the road, it led to Steve and Tommy being captain and co-captain their final year; the first leadership position Steve had earned all by himself. But after that basketball game in senior year, his head cracking on the linoleum, he was still not the same. 

It didn’t happen often, but any heavy blow to the head made him useless for the next few days. To prepare, he started the process again. Rescheduled meetings, pushed back due dates. Chewed four tabs of Aspirin while looking busy at his desk. His headset stayed on all day, so whenever any of his coworkers knocked on his glass door, he’d pretend to be on the phone, waving them off. In between these tasks, he kept his eyes closed, and held his ice filled water bottle to his temple. All he needed to do was make it through the next few days without anyone asking too many questions. He had always made it work, this time would be no different. 

At noon, he called Shelley to bring him lunch from downstairs. He left at four when he couldn’t stand the boredom and uselessness anymore. He waved down a cab back to Carmel. 

It was evening before Steve felt strong enough to shower. When he caught a glance of himself in the mirror, his swearing echoed off of the bathroom walls. Stripes of scratches ran up and down his chest and stomach. Faint, pink lines interweaved with dark red gashes. Steve prodded at a scab, feeling the dull ache of a bruise underneath his skin. He wondered, horrified, if there were any glass shards stuck underneath his skin that he couldn’t see. But that was a crazy thought. Surely he would have felt it. 

He showered, tenderly avoiding the worst of the gashes. 

***

Steve wasn’t sleeping. 

It was the worst of the side effects. It was like his brain had lost the ability to switch off. He’d crawl into bed, exhausted, and stay up staring at the ceiling for hours. Thoughts too mushy to be coherent, he’d swim around in formless scenes and watch the clock. Ten. Midnight. Three thirty. 

Seven. 

Feeling numb inside and out, he’d crawl out of bed and get ready for work. It was all unreal to him; riding in the back seat of the cab, rising up in the elevator, sitting in his dark office, laying in bed. Without sleep, his conscious life became a dream he couldn’t wake up from. 

Around him, time passed in a haze. Days became nights became mornings. At all hours, his anxiety swarmed in the corner of every room. No matter how many lights he turned on, how many dark corners were inspected or doors locked, Steve couldn’t shake this horrible feeling that someone was following him. 

***

By Monday, he was weary but better. At work, he still needed the curtains down in his office, but he could read his emails without a headache threatening to form. 

Tommy and Jason came in without knocking. “Is your hangover gone yet,” Jason sneered, “or are you still being a pussy?” 

Steve flipped them off without looking up from his computer. 

At noon, Shelley came to check if he wanted lunch again. “I’ll get it myself today, thank you Shelley.”

She nodded, hesitating in the doorway. 

“Yes?”

“I just-“ she looked uncertain. “Never mind. Call me if you need me.”

The glass door sealed shut behind her before she could hear Steve’s reply “Um. Okay?”

Steve still struggled to sleep at night.. Every time he got drowsy, his body shutting down and his thoughts sinking, he’d get this jolt of adrenaline. It felt like a hand clenching his heart and he’d sit up in bed, holding his chest and trying to breathe through it. Steve didn’t know why it was happening, but for whatever reason, his body was terrified of falling asleep. 

It took three tries, but eventually he succumbed.

***

By Tuesday, he managed to run an hour-long staff meeting by himself. A headache only started to throb in his temples near the end. Power through , said the stern voice. Ten more minutes left. 

All meeting, Tommy had been checking his watch. It annoyed Steve; he knew he wasn’t great at presenting. Every time he looked around at the glazed over eyes of his staff members, it made an ugly voice in his head say you’re boring them, wasting their time. But Tommy stood up right before the end of the meeting and declared “Hank’s on CBS in five! Everyone to the break room!” 

Immediately, everyone stood up and started gathering their things. Steve ignored the pang of insecurity that they were just waiting for Tommy to set them free, and followed the coworkers to the break room. 

They crowded around the 20” Sony that usually played sports highlights at lunch, but now had an image of Hank standing on a podium in City Hall. The headline read Mayor Goldsmith announces changes to projected Streetcar Routes. 

“And Arlington, which previously had a stop further south, will have a stop at 10th street. According to the city planning team, this will help more commuters access the-“ 

Tommy laughed. “He’s so full of shit. I bet people who work at that massive shipping plant nearby are pissed.”

Steve nodded in acknowledgement. The scene changed from Hank at the podium to a large crowd blocking off a city street. Protestors stood in the bright afternoon sun, shouting a chant too staticy to be heard on the TV speakers. Their signs read Social housing NOW! and Don’t Rezone My Home!

The newscaster spoke over the crowd. “Protests emerge at Church and Wellesley as a response to Mayor Goldsmith’s projected infrastructure changes to the downtown east. Community members fear that Goldsmith's safer housing plans will cost them more in the long run.”

Jason groaned. “These fucking people! Their houses are falling apart and they’re protesting better ones being built?”

“People always resist progress until they have it,” Steve quoted, word for word something his dad told him a long time ago. The camera zoomed in to interview a tall woman wearing men’s clothing, her dirty blond bob glowing in the sun. She looked familiar, but Steve couldn’t quite place her. 

“Holy shit,” Tommy turned around to whisper to Steve. “We went to high school with that girl.”

“Did we?” Steve whispered back. “I don’t remember her. Was she in our class?”

“Yeah, a year below us. Rachel or something.”

Tommy turned back around. Steve watched the screen, but he didn’t hear the words from the TV anymore. He was considering his own words; people always resist progress until they have it . It’s true, these people would be happier to have houses that weren’t falling apart. Better infrastructure was better for everyone. It brought more business and services and better funding to the community. It just made sense. 

But then why were so many people against it? 

The woman’s voice on the TV cut through his line of thought. “They’re just trying to make money. They don’t actually care about improving the city.”

Tommy booed before throwing a pen at the TV screen as a cluster of people laughed. As the pen collided with the woman’s face, she turned to look at the camera, through the screen, and right at Steve. 

The wet, coiling dread from before curled around his chest. No , he thought. It’s not true. Of course we care! Avoiding the TV, Steve looked around at his staff members, most of whom looked bored or disdainful. Shelley, who stood alone in the corner of the room, hand over her mouth, looked stricken. Like she was watching a car accident instead of the daytime news. She caught Steve’s eye and immediately looked back at the TV, face neutral. 

Steve stared at her a moment longer, before turning his face back to the TV. He’d never ask her why. Their relationship was strictly professional. Still, he wondered what she was so afraid of. If she felt the same as those people on the screen, chanting away with their signs held high. 

***

Richard Harrington called Steve that afternoon complaining about the restaurant at the golf resort repeating dinners from last year. He asked Steve what he got done that week, and he shrugged to himself. The lie came easy. “Calls about yearly safety checks on the new build. New policies for property managers. Meetings. You know how it is.”

“Yes but I want to know the details, Steven. Who did you meet with? What were the safety checks about?”

Steve wanted to snap at his dad to mind his own business. “It went smoothly. I promise it’s not even worth bringing up. You call Hank yet?”

“Don’t change the subject. I want a play-by-play of what happened this week.” 

Steve rapped a knuckle on his desk. “Hey, Shelley’s looking for me. I’ll call you back.”

“Steven Harrington, if I find out you’ve fucked something up I’ll-“ but Steve hung up the phone before he could hear what his dad would do to him, exactly. 

He sank down onto his desk chair and groaned, rubbing his hands into the meat of his eyes. With his dad, he could never hide anything. But as long as Steve could put off his question, let next week's events shadow this week’s bullshit, it would be fine. It will be fine. 

The dread curled tighter. Worried, Steve called Tommy to let him know his dad might try to get information out of him, and bribed him with beers to lie. He relayed the same message to Jason five minutes later. 

***

There were no calls from Nancy that evening. Steve wondered if she could feel his agitation from Chicago. She was always strategic, patient beyond what Steve could understand. She wasn’t through with this whole divorce thing, he knew. Just waiting in the shadows, biding her time. 

The extra time was good for Steve, too. He needed leverage for their next call. Proof that he could change. It wasn’t just proof for Nancy either, he needed to believe it too. 

His first step was something small, just for himself. After years, he finally took out Mandate, cut it to shreds and threw it in the recycling. It felt good to watch the confetti of his past mistakes be thrown away, never to be seen again. Steve didn’t feel relieved after, but the terrible feeling subsided slightly. 

Next time she called, he’d be ready. He had already taken one step to become a better Steve, now he just had to execute the plan. He’d get a gym membership. Volunteer to do some community work at the local food bank. Finally go to the Farmers Market this Sunday. It would all work out for him, he just had a feeling it would. 

Hopeful, he went to bed, and fell asleep soon after.

***

It was dark in the club. The speakers played a thunderstorm of bass that sent trembles across the crowd. The dance floor was packed with people, their sweaty faces lit up in snapshots of pink, purple and blue. They moved as one unit, a multicoloured undulating monster that shrieked and moaned and consumed , above all. 

A pungent smell sat heavy in the air, a mix of sex and overripe fruit, almost rotten. The bar table dug into Steve’s back as he looked out into the crowd. It was terrifying, watching people come into view before being drowned by the crowd. Steve was safe here, the bar table a life raft against the current. 

The song changed into a woman’s warbled voice over heavy synth, a song often heard at these kinds of places. 

These kinds of places? A thought began, but when he tried to examine it his mind was yanked sharply back to the present. Someone had tapped his shoulder. 

“S’cuse me honey,” a deep, feminine voice spoke in his left ear. “I’m trying to place an order. Unless you’re buying for me.”

Steve turned to look at her and, well. No, that was definitely not a woman, despite the heavy white makeup and strangely high brows. His dress was black and sleek, absorbing all the flashing lights around him. 

Defensively, he wanted to sneer, look down on this man and say “why would I buy you a drink?” Another, more feeble part of him wanted to grab his shoulder, look into his eyes and try to understand. How could dressing like that ever be worth it? More than anything, he wanted to run far away. Back home, back to safety. 

Instead, his body moved on its own accord, stepping smoothly to the side to let the man through. The man winked at him before taking Steve’s spot at the bar table. 

No . He tried to move his arms and grab a different edge of the bar, but his arms lay heavy at his side. Panicking, his eyes searched the club, desperate to find the edges of this nightmare. A wall, a door to leave, anything . But there was nothing. Just him, standing tall and immobile, adrift in the crowd as the bodies began to move closer. 

They were all men, he realized. Should have seen sooner. Between the snapshots of coloured light, Steve saw dark button ups and dress pants. Leather jackets, long hair. Mesh neon shirts that showed more skin than fabric. Glitter and sweat. One guy with bleach blond hair dropped suddenly to the floor. Still balanced on his toes, he began to kick forward in a dance Steve’s never seen before, but the crowd around him recognized. Their cheers rumbled like the bellow from a beast. 

Hot flashes of fear welled under his skin but his breath didn’t change, sweat didn’t prickle his skin. Eyes stuck open in the tomb of his own body, he watched the crowd open its wide maw and grab him with its teeth. Shoulders rubbed against him, arms ran along his back and chest. Hips collided with hips, a hand caressed his shoulder. Steve’s mind was screaming. Their faces were visible, smiles stretched too wide to be sober, teeth shining white and sharp. Two men were kissing, mouths eating and being eaten. An adventurous hand grabbed Steve's hip and tried to reach further down. 

He was boiling all over with need. To run. To be touched. To tear that hand away and break it.

How did I get here? Why can’t I move?

Eyes locked onto him without looking away. The man smiled, and Steve felt his mouth tilt up in return. He came closer, grabbed the hair on the back of Steve’s neck and leaned in before the club went dark. 

Screaming woke him up. Steve was bolt upright by the time he realized where he was. A dark room, familiar. In his own bed. At home. Safe. 

The scream must have come from him, he realized, throat sore. There was a puddle of cold sweat around him. The heavy thump thump of his heart reminded him of the club, his skin still buzzing with the music, the hands, people touching. 

Steve wanted to claw his own skin off. Instead, he curled up on the dry side of the bed, Nancy’s side. Get a hold of yourself, he told himself. It was just a dream. 

Hours passed. Steve was still awake as dawn touched his windowsill. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t turn his brain off. Couldn’t ignore the ghost of a hand on the back of his neck, the roughness of stubble he still felt tingling his cheek. 

Chapter Text

At noon, Steve walked outside his office and headed towards the shops for lunch. The cold morning weather had disappeared as the sun heated up the concrete beneath his feet. Soon, the cold north wind would make being outside impossible, and Steve wanted to enjoy the warmth while he still could. A few steps away from the front doors, Jason caught up to him. 

“We're getting Rueban’s today, or what?”

Steve forced a smile on his face. He desperately wanted to eat his sandwich in peace, but knew he couldn’t shake him off now. Twenty minutes later, they sat on the patio of the sandwich shop just down the street from their office. 

“Tommy said we have to grab him one. He’s in a meeting with Howard again. Couldn't slip out to meet us.”

Steve hummed in acknowledgement. The silence lapped over them before Jason spoke again. 

“I think we might be able to get some of Fitzrovia’s client’s. Since they lost that big contract deal, people are losing faith in them.”

Steve nodded and took a big bite out of his sandwich. The last thing he wanted to talk about was work, but the crowded patio and the loud speaker playing Spanish music was starting to make him tense up. He didn’t mind the distraction. 

Someone got up from their table behind Steve. The tight space between the chairs made their hips graze against Steve’s shoulder. Jumping out of his chair, Steve spun around and shoved the man to the side. 

He stumbled. The man was older, around Steve’s dad’s age and a few inches taller than him. He caught himself on a nearby chair and glared at Steve. “What’s your problem, man?”

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Steve grumbled, before sitting back down. 

“Jesus,” Jason levelled him with a look. “What’s wrong with you today?”

Steve rubbed at his face, trying to hide his embarrassment of reacting so impulsively. It had been a long week; the same nightmare every night. Large crowd, sweaty bodies, grabbing hands. Despite sleeping longer, he woke up more and more exhausted each day. 

He wanted to snap at Jason, ask him why he cared. But then a familiar man with black and grey speckled hair and a grey button up walked by their table. 

“Charlie!” Steve dabbed at his face with a napkin. “Long time, no see. How’s the firm?”

Charlie turned and smiled, held out his hand for a shake. Steve couldn’t help but notice how much thinner Charlie’s face looked, or the sagging fabric underneath the sleeves of his shirt. 

“Good, good. Accounting is never busy in the fall.” Charlie checked his watch. “Sorry Steve, I can’t stay to chat. But let’s call and catch up later, okay?” 

He turned before getting an answer and continued down the sidewalk. Steve turned to Jason. “That was weird.”

“Yeah, no shit, what did you expect?.” Jason laughed dryly, before picking up his sandwich and taking a bite. 

Steve sat back down and stared at him, confused. 

Jason’s eyes widened and he swallowed his bite. “You didn’t hear what happened?”

Steve shook his head and leaned in. 

“Oh fuck,” his tone was somber. “It was bad, Steve. Really bad. There were a few of his clients who got caught for tax evasion, and they all linked it back to him. We’re talking emails, recorded conversations, Charlie counseling his clients on how to rig the system. There’s a whole case at the end of the month. At best he’s bankrupt. At worst, it’s jail.”

“Fuck,” Steve felt cold in the afternoon sun. He imagined himself sitting behind his desk, cops looking through his filing cabinet, all his coworkers watching from the glass windows. 

“I know. I’m shocked he even has the balls to show his face around here. No offence, but if I were him…” Jason slowly ran his pointer finger across his neck. 

Steve didn’t need him to clarify. If he ever lost the business, the house, the car, his reputation and all of his friends, and was still expected to live a fulfilling life as a colossal failure? Yeah, he'd rather be dead too. He nodded solemnly. 

“Hey, uh,” Jason’s voice caught his attention. “You know that guy?”

Steve followed his eyes across the street to another restaurant patio. A man’s eyes glanced away just as Steve caught a look at his face. He was handsome; blonde haired and freckled under the midday sun. 

“I’m not sure. He looks familiar.” But Steve couldn’t tell from where. He groaned and looked away. 

It had been happening to him all week. He’d see a face, a posture or hear a laugh that would feel like a memory, but no matter how long he stared at them, he couldn’t recall a name, a place or anything. Even worse, was that these people seem to recognise him as well. They’d smile, wave and keep walking, clearing not having the same problem. The worst of it was yesterday. Steve was getting his hair cut at the barber. In the mirror, Steve could see a guy sitting in the waiting room reading a magazine. He wondered what that guy could possibly be doing here without hair. But the man looked up and noticed Steve staring at him in the mirror. He smiled, and again he felt this wave of recognition that he couldn’t pin down. Still staring, the man winked at him and mouthed Hi Steve before he stood, gathered up supplies and headed towards a chair near the other end of the shop. Steve could see how red his face was in the mirror and chastised himself for staring. Obviously he worked here, but Steve knew he’d seen him recently. Outside of the barber’s. But where.

It was infuriating. Steve hated not knowing people that clearly knew him. He had always prided himself on his mental contact book; names, positions, workplaces. Now, it felt like information was being written in without his knowledge, and he didn’t know why. 

“Fuck, he keeps looking back.” Jason sneered. “Want me to go scare him off?”

“Jason, don’t-,” Steve went to grab him but Jason was already standing, walking off of the patio and onto the road. 

The man, after seeing Jason storming towards him, picked up the rest of his lunch and ran down the sidewalk. Steve sorta felt bad for the guy, but didn’t \didn’t voice this thought to Jason as he walked back to the table. 

“God, what a pussy. Couldn’t even deal with a little confrontation.” Jason threw a few bills on the table. “Let’s head back, I’ve got a call at one.”

Steve sighed in resignation, but stood up, threw some of his own bills down and followed Jason out. 

He was feeling almost back to normal. Didn’t need the curtains drawn anymore, could even read his notes and his emails no problem. Every day at three, he still got a pressure headache, but it was nothing he couldn’t work through. The only problem left seemed to be his motivation. Whenever he had to call a client, connect with an employee or run a meeting, he dragged his feet. Sat in his chair, looked out his window and watched the birds soar high in the sky. 

Stop being lazy , the stern voice repeated. Do your job. 

Steve tried, he really did. He just couldn’t.

The phone rang in his office, an unknown number flashed on the screen. He watched it ring until the phone clicked and no message was left. He signed in relief, before a wave of dread overcame him. It was the same dread he felt after Hank’s meeting, the same dread that’s been expanding and receding these past few weeks but never seemed to go away. 

It’s the exhaustion, he tells himself. These fucking dreams.

It had been a long time since Steve had nightmares this bad. When he was a kid, he used to wake up screaming after visions of eyes staring at him from his closet, or tentacle arms crawling out from under his bed to circle his ankle and yank him under. They had felt so real at the time, bad enough to make him afraid of his room at night. His mom was racked with worry over it. Took him to see child specialists when his dad was away on work trips, but nothing ever came of these visits. Steve learned how to wake up quietly and fall back asleep, and eventually the nightmares stopped.

I just need to fall back asleep, he thought, just as Tommy and Jason walked into his office. 

“Good, you’re not busy. Listen,” Tommy looked at Jason before turning to Steve. “We were thinking, maybe we were being dicks about Nancy the other day. And we wanted to say that we’re sorry, and also ask if you wanted to stop being such a loser and come to the bar with us. It's half-off shots tonight, so.” 

They looked at Steve expectantly. He wanted to laugh in their faces. He knew an apology from them would be insulting, but this felt like a new low.

“Absolutely not.”

Jason looked exasperated. “What, you have something better to do?”

No , he thought, I don’t . 

Misery enveloped him. God, he missed Nancy like a limb that was still bleeding out. She would always listen to him vent about his work, his dad, how shitty Tommy and Jason were. It wasn’t just listening, she would see him too. Notice him sagging at the dinner table and come hug him from behind, ask him what was wrong. Knew when he needed sympathy, and when he needed to be told to pull up his bootstraps. Tommy and Jason knew him, in a way. They knew about him, his company, his likes and dislikes. They had been around for all of Steve’s big moments in life. But they never knew him like Nancy did. Well, the way she used to. 

She was more than just my wife, he thought. She was my best friend. 

“You two go ahead. I’m going home.” 

Tommy looked thunderous. “What the fuck, Steve? We said we were sorry! What more do you want?”

Steve tried to push through the bitter misery, to shrug at Tommy like it didn’t matter. Still, a small part of him thought more, I want so much more.  

Tommy put his hands on Steve’s desk and leaned into his space. “Look. We’re trying to help you. Last week we saw Bill Harrison at the Vault. You know Bill Harrison? Multimillionaire ? Yeah, and you know who convinced him to join their client list?” Tommy slammed his hand on the desk between sentences. “Fucking. Al Stevens . Slocan Developers, Steve! That could have been you!”

Steve backed up further in his chair when a bead of spit hit his face. Tommy straightened, still looking furious. “The work day doesn’t end at five anymore. If you don’t respect that, you’ll end up missing out on more big opportunities. I don’t know what’s going on with you and Nancy, and I don’t care. Fix it, or mark my words, we’ll start to see contracts dry up.”

Tommy and Jason both left without another word. 

It was only once he was on his drive home that Steve thought of a good response. Well why didn’t you talk to Bill Harrison, multimillionaire? You’re a sales rep, are you not? But he knew that wasn’t fair. Sure, Tommy and Jason were doing well for their positions, but their names didn’t carry as much influence as Steve Harrington. They needed him, and he wasn’t there. 

Even worse, he didn’t care. 

Lazy , said the stern voice in his head. Undisciplined. Not fit to lead. 

Steve argued back. I just need to sleep, god dammit. 

As much as he hated it, Tommy was right. Steve needed to be there in the evenings. Without networking and keeping up with new clients, they would fall behind. Even if Steve didn’t have the motivation, he couldn’t let his team down. But to do that, he needed to be dialed in. Which means he needed a good night’s fucking sleep.

Feeling exactly like the loser Tommy accused him of being, Steve crawled into bed at eight pm and fell asleep immediately. 

***

It was a different place this time. Brighter, less crowded, more people drinking at tables and booths. The air was humid with laughter and smoke. More like the bars Steve usually went to. He sighed in relief. Finally, a break. 

People were still dressed strangely, but at least there were women here. Two sat at the table right next to Steve, heads bowed together in laughter. 

It reminded him of Nancy. About the things they’d whisper to each other out at the bar with their heads bowed down, especially in the early days. She’d always give Steve a heavy look late in the evening, one that asked “Is it time? Can we go back home?” 

It was never a question. He would always say yes. 

Their faces were hidden from view, but it was unmistakable the moment the women leaned in and started kissing. Steve knew it was rude to stare, but he was shocked. He had never seen two women kiss before. Sure, there were pictures in magazines Tommy used to hide under his bed. Women kissing, naked and posed. He could practically hear Tommy rumble quietly next to him. Shit, that’s hot . But it felt wrong for Steve to think that now. This kiss was intimate, private. Not for him. 

They broke apart. The short haired woman looked up and Steve recognized her immediately. It was the woman from TV, the one he’d gone to school with. Her eyes had begun searching the faces at the bar, expression sour. Assuming the worst. 

Fuck , though Steve. He had long given up trying to run in these dreams. Please don’t look this way. 

Like she could hear his thoughts, her eyes fell right on him. Shane flushed under his skin. Perv , he told himself. He couldn’t handle it; he closed his eyes against her judgement. 

But when he opened them again, the woman was smiling. Beckoning him over to their table. 

Steve’s foot unstuck from the floor just as the scene changed. The lights had dimmed and the music was louder. His body was shifting, swinging against his will to the rhythm. He was dancing . Steve couldn’t remember the last time he danced. But now, along with the short haired woman and a handful of similarly dressed people, he danced and it felt– It felt incredible. A small part of him was mortified knowing people could see him, but it was washed away with a full body high. It was similar to the euphoria of working out, of playing basketball with his friends on Sunday morning but better . The woman was laughing at him, not unkindly. 

”Where did you learn your moves, Steve? Did you stare too long at those inflatable men at car sales?”

Steve felt himself laughing. His arm reached out and their hands wove together before he twirled her around. She squealed and slipped, almost falling back onto the floor. After she regained her footing, she poked Steve in the stomach in protest. 

He never felt the jab of her finger. Instead, a deeper burning pain gathered in his stomach and clawed up his throat. 

The bar disappeared. It was dark except for the thin shadows cast by streetlights. They were outside sitting on the concrete, backs pressed against the cold brick wall. Steve felt like he was drowning. Head pounding, he tried to catch his breath as she rubbed his shoulder. 

As he dragged his sleeve across his face, it came back wet. Wait, am I crying? 

“It’s okay.” the woman soothed. “Steve, I’m so sorry.”

Steve gritted his teeth, squeezed his eyes shut. Fuck , he thought. How humiliating . He hadn’t cried since he was, what, eight years old? And now he was sobbing like a baby in front of this woman he just met. He didn’t even know her name . Steve breathed harder, trying to control himself. 

She curled her thin arms around his shoulder. God, he couldn’t even imagine what she must think of him right now, how pathetic he must look. “You deserve better than Nancy.”

Nancy . Steve sobbed harder, hiding his face in his sleeve. It all came back; everything he felt those first few weeks after she left. He denied it, at first. Spent every night sitting on the living room chair and watching the door, expecting her to walk in any minute now. He was so sure then, felt it in his chest that she would. But she never did. 

That’s when it really hit. He started calling her non-stop then, trying to get her to see reason, to understand. But mostly, he did it because not hearing her voice made his evening’s empty. Made the house unliveable. At work, Steve was twice as productive. Even started calling Tommy’s client list when he ran out of things to do, much to Tommy’s indignation. But he couldn’t stop, couldn’t sit down for a moment and let the agony of it settle the way it did at night. Those long nights. 

So Steve kept busy, kept moving. Hadn’t stopped since. 

He had gotten so good at keeping everything at bay. Why now? Why couldn’t he control it? Stop crying. Man up, he thought, feeling the same firm hand of his father clench his shoulder after Steve whined too much as a child. But as he took a shaken breath in, he realized it was different. This grip was a heavy blanket, solid and soft. 

Steve rubbed at his face, keeping his hands there. “Don’t tell anyone about this.”

The woman peeled his hands away from his face and held them, smiling at Steve. There were black smudges under her eyes and trailing down her cheeks. It made her look a little crazy, but also cool. Metal. Steve thought she was beautiful. 

The cold brick wall disappeared from his back. Steve turned from the woman to look around. They were at a park sitting on a set of swings. A golden dawn painted the grey city sky and shone off the dewy grass. It was freezing out; his hands and feet tingled painfully but he didn’t shiver, his chest was warm. He rubbed his hands together and breathed into them, feeling the warmth blossom on his fingers when he realized that he just moved his body on his own.

Oh . He stomped his feet. Grabbed at the cold chain of the swing. Laughed on purpose. 

“Care to share?”

He looked at the woman. Red cheeks, a hood pulls tights around her head. She looked like she could use a good night's sleep. 

It wasn’t like the club dreams. Steve didn’t feel like running anymore. In fact, he felt settled in a way he hadn’t in a long time. Settled like sleeping in with Nancy on the weekend. He knew he would sound insane, but he had to ask. “Is this real?”

The woman didn’t laugh. She grabbed Steve’s hand on the swing and threaded their fingers together. “I know, I can’t believe it either. Tonight was so surreal.”

Steve laughed awkwardly, knowing he couldn’t say well your night didn’t exist, I made you up in my head . Instead, he looked down at their joined hands. “I think I might be getting mixed signals here.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve never held hands with a girl who just wanted to be friends.”

Steve knew he was ruining it, breaking the spell of this strange and wonderful moment. He couldn’t help it, he didn’t know how to be in this world without asking questions. Poking holes in it. 

She didn’t look uncomfortable. In fact, she grabbed his hands with both of hers as if worried he’d pull away. “Welcome to having a female friend, Steve. I think it’ll be good for you.”

Steve woke up slowly, the dawn making a golden halo around the edges of his curtains. He was still bone-tired, heavy with exhaustion, but felt at peace underneath. For one, blissful moment, he didn’t feel the dread, the anxiety that dragged him out of bed every day to make something of himself. He just was, and it was enough.

There was still a small weight in his right hand, but when he grabbed at it with his fingers, it disappeared. I didn’t even get her name. He chastised himself, the peace broken.

Robin , his brain softly supplied. He didn’t know how he knew that, but he knew it was her name. It just felt right.

***

Despite getting a full night’s sleep, Steve felt like he barely got a wink. At work, he was a livewire, overtired and annoyed. One of his new interns sent a fax to the wrong client and it took all of Steve’s willpower not to scream at him. Instead, he walked stiffly back to his office, sat down in his chair, and exhaled. 

There was a gentle knock at his door before Shelley poked her head in. “Hi Mr. Harrington, do you have a minute?”

Steve gathered his composure, reminded himself to calm the fuck down . “Sure, have a seat.”

Shelley sat in the chair in front of him, back straight, hands clasped around a file folder. “I’m not sure how to say this.”

She paused, took a breath. “I was filing the monthly expense reports. And I know it’s not my job, I’m not an accountant, but I always double check to make sure all the numbers match up with what we have on file. And I found some discrepancies.”

She pulled out a piece of paper and placed it on his desk. Steve picked it up, started scanning the spreadsheet as Shelley continued. “I don’t think it was purposeful , if that’s what you’re worried about. Just a few numbers switched around, but enough to make a big difference to the amount we were paying for property tax on the Arlington condos.”

Steve couldn’t believe his eyes. Harrington Properties almost paid fifty grand more than they should have. “Who signed off on this?” he whispered in an effort not to yell. 

Shelley looked uncomfortable. “You did.”

He looked down at the signature and, sure enough, Steven Harrington was written in his cursive script at the bottom of the page. 

Steve was frozen in shock. He didn’t remember ever looking at this page, but it was dated one week ago. It couldn't be true . Someone must have forged my signature. Even as he thought it, he knew it wasn’t right. The members of the accounting department had been working here longer than Steve’s been alive, and he’s never found an error before. 

Which means it was entirely his fault. 

“Shelley,” his voice shook when he spoke, he tried to cough to hide it. “Shelley, you did a great job. Thank you for finding this, I have no words. I-”

“It’s okay,” Shelley said. “You’re the only other person who knows.”

Another world came alive around him. Steve was back on the dancefloor, Robin was nowhere to be seen. The lights were dimmed. There people tucked in all around him but all Steve could see was Shelley. She was wearing a dark purple dress that stretched tight over her body. Her hair was done in waves down her shoulders, eyeshadow a golden brown around her eyes. She’s stunning , he thought. Dressed to impress. 

There was a ringing in his ear that muffled the loud bass music. Shelley was staring at Steve in horror. “What are you doing here?”

Steve took a step forward, pausing when Shelley took a step back. “Same reason you’re here. I think.”

She covered her mouth with her hand. Steve was reminded of the expression she wore watching the broadcast in the meeting room. Her voice was muffled when she spoke. “I’m begging you. You can’t tell anyone I was here. It would ruin me.”

A tear dropped from her eye and Steve watched it cascaded down each of her knuckles. He held out his hand. To his surprise, she took it. “I won’t, I promise. Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Mr. Harrington?”

Steve was back in his office, paper in hand, staring at the concerned face of Shelley, still sat in the office chair in front of him. 

What just happened?  

“I-” he began, finding his voice. “Nothing. I’ll call the bank to hold off the transfer and hand you the final copy when I’m done. Thanks, again.”

Shelley nodded. “Anytime.”

Steve turned back to his computer and began typing out his password. His hands were numb, he was still coming back to his body after whatever the fuck that was. When Shelley didn’t stand to go, he looked back. “Anything else?”

She looked concerned. Steve was about to reassure her that it was an easy mistake to fix, that she shouldn’t be worried about overstepping her position before she spoke. “If you ever need anything, you know you can ask, right?”

Steve gave her a wary look. “Yes? I’m aware. I ask for your assistance all the time.”

She shrugged with one shoulder, blushing. “That’s not what I meant.”

Before Steve could ask what she meant exactly, she stood to go. Opening the door, she gave him a warm smile and waved before stepping out. 

He slumped in his office chair. The dread ached in his bones now, sinking deeper. It had been ages since he’d fucked up something this bad at work. Even worse, he didn’t remember doing it. Steve knew he was slipping, being less diligent with his work. But he didn't know how to fix it. He didn't know what was wrong. 

He thought about Shelley’s offer. You know you could ask, right? 

He yearned to tell someone. For a sympathetic ear to relieve his endless rumination of work, his dad, Nancy, and these crazy, vivid dreams. Someone to help him make sense of it. To give him a solution, a way out. 

But there was no one left in his life he could talk to about this. 

He thought of Shelley’s warm smile, her kindness over the years. The omen of her in his dreams. Maybe I could trust her, he wondered, before mentally slapping himself in the face. Remembering that they barely knew each other, and that he was supposed to be her boss. 

There was no other option. Steve had to deal with it on his own.

He sighed, thinking about Robin. He felt stupid wanting the company of an imaginary person, but the exhausted part of Steve was comforted by the possibility of seeing her again. Maybe she’d know what was wrong with him. 

Outside his window, a plane made a silent white trail across the sky. Steve wondered how loud his office could be if the windows were made to open. Wondered if he could hear the construction, the sirens, the signs of life from all the way up here.

Chapter Text

Steve dragged himself from one day to the next. Every day he slept longer and longer, but his exhaustion only deepened. 

There was a low grade sickness under his skin. He had no gas in the tank, no drive left to even pretend to look busy. At work, he stared off into nothing each day until four o’clock hit. Today, he watched a whorl of woodgrain in his desk. That used to be a branch , he thought, before zoning out for the next three hours. 

He ignored emails and phone calls. Pushed back his meetings again. For the meetings he couldn’t push, he improvised. Smiled, said the pieces he thought he needed to say. Whenever clients or his employees looked confused, he’d look at his watch and dismiss himself, citing a back to back schedule. So far, no one has questioned his behavior. Not that he knew of, anyways. 

Even worse, he was falling asleep at his desk. Shelley had caught him twice now, knocking on the glass window and smiling sheepishly when she saw Steve’s eyes blink blearily back at her. He felt worthless when it happened, she must think I’m the worst boss ever . 

At least it wasn’t Tommy or Jason. In fact, Steve hadn’t seen much of anyone the past few days. The activity in the office had picked up significantly. With buyers moving into the Arlington condos in two weeks, there was still a lot of work to be done. This didn’t help with Steve’s motivation; it only made him more miserable at his own idleness. His phone rang again and Steve watched it go to voicemail. 

Lazy. Undisciplined. Not fit to lead. 

The stern voice was now a constant loop in his head. But for the first time in his life, Steve was numb to the words. I fucking know that already , he’d respond. Knowing it didn’t change anything. 

The dread coiled tighter, and Steve wondered when it would snap. How long he could keep going like this before a vessel broke in his chest and he’d fall dead to the floor. 

The week’s almost over , he told himself. Just today and Friday left. 

On weekends, Steve didn’t go into the office until eleven. He wasn’t just looking forward to it; it was the only thing getting him through the day. Two mornings of sleeping in, of resting and finally feeling normal again.

But that was only half of it. Deep down, he knew that sleeping in meant more time spent with Robin. It was hard to admit, the reality of that statement too depressing to handle. But his dreams from the past few nights, the snippets of laughter, dancing and motion mixed in with conversations that felt like a warm hug soothed the endless ache in his chest. The best were the mornings. Those moments when he would wake up, half conscious and basking in the post dream comfort, right before the dread came crashing back down. 

It was stupid. Out in the world, Robin was a real person, a stranger to Steve. But her fictional company had such an effect on him. It felt wrong, how much she mattered to him. But he refused to look at it too closely. Didn’t want to risk ruining it. 

The phone ran for the fifth time that day, a shrill pitch that rattled his head. Make it stop, he thought wearily, but knew he couldn’t keep ignoring it. He picked up the phone. “Yeah?”

There was silence on the end, before. “Steve?” 

His body went cold, pins and needles of panic ran through him. I should have known she’d call , he beraded himself, realizing he didn’t even look at the number on the screen. 

“Nancy, hi.” He took a sip of ice water, trying to focus.“How’s work going? How’s news in Chicago?”

The usual clacking of the keyboard was missing. Steve could hear Nancy’s voice echo in the silence. “Um. News is good.”

“No, no.” Steve rubbed his face, wanting to slap himself. “Sorry, that didn’t make sense. I mean, how is the writing going? For the news.”

“It’s going well.” Nancy had a careful tone that he didn’t like. It rubbed sandpaper against his already thin patience. “Steve I-“

“Hey, listen. Can I call you back?” Steve wasn’t ready to talk to Nancy. He needed to prepare more, to execute his plan to be Better Steve and get his leverage. “I’m swamped at work right now and I really need to-“

“No, Steve.” Again, the careful tone. “I think it needs to be now.”

It didn’t take much these days to set him off. What little patience he had was gone. All that was left was a burning, bitter rage. 

“Well, Nancy. I’m not free right now. As you are well aware, I’m at work! But it’s not like you care, since you call me at all hours, whenever your please. As if I didn’t know what you want. As if calling me all the time is going to make me sign the papers any damn faster. If I ever wanted to sign then, trust me, you’d be the first to know. But until then, stop fucking calling me!” 

The only noise Steve could hear was the blood rushing in his head. Regret filled him like a slow stream of sand. I went too far this time. 

“Are you okay, Steve?”

He froze. It wasn’t the words that shocked him, but the care behind them. It brought him right back to their kitchen table. He could almost see her sitting in front of him, rumpled work clothes still on, a line between her eyebrows. 

“I-“ he started, but paused. Didn’t know what to say. 

Nancy continued. “Listen, I know I’ve been hard on you these past few months. Work has been stressful, the social climbing here is insane, and I end up taking it out on other people. Now, you can’t depend on me the way that you used to. But if you are having a hard time, you can still talk to me.”

Steve felt the last shreds of his sanity crumple into ash. All the dread, the fear, the apathy and the ever pressing weight of expectations backed up behind his throat. He wanted to tell her everything; the misery of being awake everyday, the small respite of Robin in his dreams. Fuck, he even wanted to tell her about Eddie, the horrible guilt that wrapped around him whenever he came to mind. Anything to lift this horrible curse off of him and feel like himself again. 

“I need to tell-“ he began, but stopped. There was a vice-like grip on his shoulder, a familiar heavy hand. “I want to-“ he tried again, but the grip bent his collarbone as the stern voice whispered in his ear. Don’t whine like a child, Steven. Grit your teeth and bear through it. 

“Steve?” Nancy asked, just as Steve dropped the phone back on the receiver with a heavy clunk. 

Fuck . He laid his head down on his desk, barely holding back from hitting his head against it. What was he thinking? He couldn’t tell Nancy. It would ruin his whole plan of getting her back. She’d listen to him complain about sleep and work and realize he was still the same person she left. 

I’ll deal with it, he told himself for the hundredth time. I’ll change. Then I’ll call her back . 

The clouds were a dark grey outside his window. Steve watched them, head resting on folded arms. At first, they looked motionless. But the longer he stared, the more he could see their slow migration across the sky. 

***

Going to the bar that evening made sense for two reasons. For one, It would get Jason and Tommy off his case. But there was also this small hope that staying out late would tire him out more, force his body into a deeper sleep. It seemed unlikely, but Steve was desperate enough to try. 

The walk over to the Vault was cold and sharp, the fall wind burrowing under his skin, but once inside the air was instantly muggy. Despite the large crowd, they managed to score a table in the middle of the bar. Jason waved down a waiter and bought the first round of shots. Steve had barely recovered from the burning in his chest before he ordered another for the table. 

Tommy laughed and shook his shoulder. “King Steve’s back, baby!”

Steve rolled his eyes and shoved Tommy’s hand off, annoyed. It only made him laugh harder. 

The next few hours were hazy. The bar got louder as more people tried to speak over the music. After four shots, Steve could no longer speak in full sentences. Instead, he drank his beer and stared off into the crowd while Tommy droned on about his wife. “I mean, who cares if I leave my socks on the floor instead of the hamper? She’s already doing the laundry, it takes two extra seconds to pick them up.”

Jason hummed in agreement. “Chrissy always complains that I’m not doing enough around the house. But I can’t come home at the end of the day and clean. Like. c’mon babe. I work all day. I need to sleep.”

Steve didn’t recognize any of the faces at the bar. They all wore the appropriate attire: sleek suit jackets or slim cocktail dresses. Everyone was smiling, either talking or waiting for their turn to talk. Steve wondered if they were having any fun. He missed the raunchy conversations and heaving laughter that would break out at the different tables in his dreams. There was a spare chair next to Steve and he imagined Robin sitting there, rolling her eyes at the preppy atmosphere but listening anyway, cheap wine in her hand. He was sure she’d have a terrible night, but the thought of her by his side brought him some comfort. 

“Steve?”

He turned back to Tommy and Jason. “Yeah?”

Tommy looked annoyed. “Are you deaf? I tried to call your name three times.”

‘Sorry, sorry.” Steve hated how heavy his tongue felt in his mouth. “What’s up?”

“I said, does Nancy nag you about cleaning? She seems like a bit of a neat freak”

They still don’t know about Nancy , he realized. It shouldn’t be a shock; he had purposely not told them. But still, it had been months since they’d seen her. Hadn’t been over to Steve’s house in almost a year. Not only that, but Steve knew he had changed. That Nancy leaving had made him more irritable and unpleasant to be around. All this time, and not once did Tommy or Jason wonder about Nancy’s absence or ask how he was doing. 

Tommy mistook his silence as hesitance. 

“Oh wait, I bet neither of you clean. Do you guys have a maid? That’s hot.”

Steve set down his beer with a loud clunk. He opened his mouth to snap at Tommy when someone familiar walked up to their table. 

It was the blonde man that they saw outside the sandwich shop the other day. He smiled slowly at Steve and leaned into his space.

“Having a good night?” he slurred. 

Their table was silent. Again, Steve was hit with a rush of familiarity, but didn’t know why. From the corner of his eye, he could see Jason straighten his back and close his hands into tight fists. 

Steve didn’t want the conflict. Leaning slightly away from him, he tried to keep it casual. “Yeah, it’s good. How’s your night going?”

The blonde man looked confused and then laughed a little too forcefully. “What, you don’t recognize me?” 

Steve tried to laugh along but it came out wrong. “Um, sorry. You seem familiar, but no. Did I meet you at a conference before?”

He stared at Steve before letting out a genuine, loud bellied laugh. When he recovered and leaned against the chair again, he didn’t crowd into Steve’s space. “Yeah, you could say it was a conference.”

Steve was so confused. Clearly there was a joke he wasn’t in on, and he had no idea how to navigate around this obvious hole in the conversation. 

Tommy took advantage of the pause in conversation. “Fuck off. He doesn’t want to talk to you.”

The blonde man ignored Tommy and looked at Steve instead. All bravado had left his expression, and what was left was genuine. “Do you want me to leave, Steve?”

Maybe it was his tone, or the pale eyelashes and splatter of freckles Steve could now see, but the familiar feeling expanded as a quiet voice spoke from the back of Steve’s brain. Liam, his name is Liam. 

Jason stood up off his chair. “Of course he wants you to leave, fag. He’s not into that shit.”

“Woah man,” Liam backed off, hands up. “Relax, it’s not like that.”

“Then what’s it like?” Jason teased, walked around the table and got up in Liam’s face. “Tell me.”

Liam took a step back as Jason slotted himself between him and the table. Steve knew he should reign Jason in and prevent this from getting worse. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t stand up for Liam, for what he was asking, and what it might imply.

Liam took one last look at him, letting Steve’s silence speak for itself. He shrugged. “Whatever, man.” he spoke right to Steve. “Have a good night.”

Steve was almost convinced that he really wasn’t fazed. But as Liam walked back to his table, Steve watched him grab his jacket, yell something to his friend, look back at Steve before stepping out the front door and into the night. 

Where the fuck do I know Liam from?

There was a pang of guilt in Steve’s abdomen. He turned back to Jason. “Did you really have to do that? He was just trying to talk to me.”

Jason looked aghast. “Steve, don’t be stupid. He was trying to get in your pants, right out in the open.”

“Yeah, it was like-” Tommy got off his chair and leaned into Steve’s space, batting his eyelashes and speaking in a high pitched voice. “Oh Stevie! Please let me suck your cock! I’m begging for it.”

Jason laughed loudly. “Fuck, people like that are disgusting.” 

The last gulp Steve took of his beer tasted sour in his throat as it sunk down and down and down. He imagined Robin listening to this, watching Steve stay silent, the look of betrayal on her face. Sure, he might deserve to hear shit like that. But Robin deserved better. 

Enough is enough , he thought. 

He looked back and forth from the two of them and spoke. “You guys are such fucking assholes.”

Tommy leaned away from Steve, a look of awe on his face. “What did you just say?”

Steve patted down the wallet in his pocket and grabbed his coat. “I think I’m gonna head out.”

Tommy pushed his hand on the back of his chair, keeping him tucked into the table. “Steve, what the fuck? We’ve only been here for two hours.” 

Steve shoved his chair back, the wooden legs scraping against the floor. Tommy’s arm fell away “I don’t care. I’m tired. We have a meeting tomorrow morning, and I’m going home.”

Walking towards the front door, Steve heard his name being yelled but he ignored it. The cool air wrapped around him again as he walked outside. The loud music was shut behind the bar door and Steve could finally think. That wasn’t tactful . He knew he’d have to deal with that tomorrow. But it felt right. It wasn’t forgiveness for all the other shit Steve’s heard over the years and didn’t say anything about. But it was a start. 

After counting out bills in his wallet and waving down a cab, he tried to stop himself from being excited to go to bed. She’s not real , he reminds himself, but he couldn’t deny the pride of standing up for her. There was a sudden, intence care behind that pride that reminded Steve of when he used to stand up for Nancy. It wasn’t romantic though, it was something else. 

It’s different , he thought. To care for a friend that way. 

Steve has always had Tommy and Jason. Through elementary school, high school and now Indianapolis, they’ve been by his side. They’ve shaped, defined and reinforced one another. Steve would defend their honour, fight alongside them in battle, all that shit. But it’s been a long time since he’s really liked them. As hard as it was to admit, their friendship felt old and worn out, a joke he was tired of hearing. 

Maybe something new wasn’t in the cards for Steve. Maybe he was meant to have Tommy and Jason by his side for life, and he should just be grateful. But when he thought of Robin, he wondered if he could have other kinds of friends. People he chose to be with, not because it felt normal, but because he wanted to be with them. And they wanted him back. 

As he got out of the cab and unlocked his front door, he wondered what kind of person he could have been instead. If Better Steve wasn’t a goal, but an opportunity he missed out on. Melancholic, he tucked himself into the cold sheets and turns his lights out

***

Steve’s body ached with satisfaction as he stood outside the bar with Robin. The cool air was heaven on his hot skin. He leaned back against the brick wall and let it wash over him. In dreams, Steve still had minimal control of his body when it came to dancing, but he didn’t mind anymore. He enjoyed being carried away by the force of beat and rhythm. Even singing sometimes too, much to Robin’s amusement. 

But here, in the quiet moments in between, Steve’s words and actions were his own. 

Robin leaned on the brick wall next to him. It had been years since he’s had a cigarette, but when she pulled a pack out of her plaid shirt and rattled the box at him, he couldn’t say no. He was desperate to settle this high, to sooth his muscle jitters into a bone-deep contentment. 

The first inhale of nicotine was golden, exactly what he needed. The smoke rising out and around him was both new and familiar. Just like the people I’ve been seeing around , he thought. He laughed to himself.

“What?” asked Robin. She had her own cigarette, and blew the smoke out of the side of her mouth

“I’ve had the craziest past few weeks,” said Steve. 

Robin smiled, curling her sleeves around her hands to keep them warm. “You’re a crazy man, Steve Harrington.”

“No, that’s-” he paused, trying to shape his next thought with his hands. “It’s hard to know how to say this. I think there's something wrong with me. When I’m at work, when I’m awake, it’s like I’m sleeping with my eyes open, walking through a dream. But here,” he rubbed his hand against the rough texture of the brick wall, scuffed his shoes on the sidewalk, petted the soft texture of Robin’s shirt. “Everything feels more real than when I’m awake. Like I’m more here, more alive. Does that make sense? Am I crazy?”

Robin considered his words. Steve watched the ash fall from her cigarette and float to the ground. 

“I don’t think you're crazy. I think you’re just redefining your own definition of sanity.”

Steve gave her a look. “What does that even mean , Robin?”

She started laughing, trying to hold it behind pursed lips. But it was contagious, and soon they were both bent over, wheezing out bits of hearty laughter. 

“Okay fine. That was a bit pretentious. Let me try again.” 

Steve waited, watching the sky. There were a few stars shining through the grey city smog. He watched them wink back at him until Robin spoke. 

“I think it’s crazy that you work in real estate, I think I’d rather die. But it's not just real estate that’s crazy, it’s the work you do. What’s expected of you, and worse, that you agree to do it every day. I also think it’s crazy that you’re still friends with Tommy and Jason, and that you let your dad and Nancy walk all over you. But since I’ve really gotten to know you, I think you, Steve Harrington, are not crazy.”

He looked at Robin now, the street lights shining like small stars in her eyes as she continued. “I think how you feel makes perfect sense.”

There was a slight chatter to Steve’s teeth as the night air dug under his skin, but he didn’t mind. Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. 

“You do?” he asked in disbelief. There were still threads of doubt left, tight knots from all the years of thinking you’re the problem. You’re the problem.  

“I do.” She smiled. 

Steve was glowing. It was a radiant thing that spread from his chest and out to his arms as he reached out and enveloped Robin into a hug. With his arms wrapped around her and his chin in her neck, he hoped to pass on a fraction of this feeling. To share it with someone who finally saw him again the way Nancy used to. By some miracle, despite knowing about his work and Nancy and seeing him cry, Robin didn’t think he was wrong or a failure. I think how you feel makes perfect sense. 

In their bubble of happiness, the low hum of bass music like a heartbeat, Steve thought about what she said, laughing softly at I’d rather die than work in real estate . He remembered a moment from earlier tonight. It was always the same bar, same dance floor he’s seen Robin at for weeks. Except this time, Shelley stood in front of him. Beautiful shiny black dress on, hair up. She was no longer fear stricken, but smiling, hand held out towards Steve in greeting. 

“Robin,” he pulled away to look at her as two pieces of his memory finally slotted together. “Do you know Shelley?”

Robin looked forlorn. She leaned her forehead into Steve’s shoulder, blocking her face. “I mean, it’s hard to say. I only know the parts of her she shows me. But there’s a lot she keeps to herself.”

There was something Steve was missing. It was right on the edge of his brain. Annoyed, he tried to think harder, to pull at that thought and get a better look at it. But a flash of white light blocked his vision and he yelled in surprise. 

“Steve?” Robin asked, concerned. “Are you okay?”

He tried to cover his eyes but the light slipped through his fingers, shards of glass burrowed into his head. The head on his shoulder disappeared, the cold of the evening replaced by hot, stale air. 

“Mr Harrington?” asked a serious voice. 

Steve uncovered his face and opened his eyes. Bright midday light was streaming in through the large windows. He was standing in their fanciest meeting room, the one with the sleek marble tables and espresso machine in the corner. There was a binder of notes open in front of him. His cuff sleeves were green, he was wearing one of his more expensive work suits. Sat in front of him were two of his oldest clients, the Dupont Brothers. They looked confused. On his right sat Tommy, looking like he wanted to scream at Steve. 

What the fuck?

Chapter Text

“Sorry, gentlemen,” Steve began, flipping through the notes in front of him. “Let me just-” He skimmed through a few pages, but nothing clued him in to what they were just talking about. Budget 1.5 mil for Cinci, hoping for above 2 mil. Location options on Bathurst St, 57th and Washington. 

Oh. It’s Friday morning’s investment proposal meeting. And Steve was bombing it. 

Tommy stood up. “What I think Mr. Harrington here is trying to get at is, we are one of the oldest real estate companies in Indiana. Even back when Harrington Sr. built his first three floor condo here, the two of you saw an increase of twenty percent after five years, and we haven’t dipped below that five year increase since. We’ve even reached up to a proposed forty percent with this last build, and we’re planning on doing even better in Cinci.”

Tommy walked around the table and stood next to Steve. He knew he needed to take control of the meeting, but Steve didn’t even know what he’d interrupt with. He had nothing planned. 

Tommy continued. “We know 800k is a stretch. We know housing took a dip in profit last year. But Cinci is projected to see a ten percent population growth, and their two Fortune 500 companies are expanding operations. People need places to live. We’ve never let you guys down in the past, and we’re not planning on it this time either.” 

The meeting room was silent. Steve could feel Tommy’s eyes burning holes in the side of his head, but Steve avoided looking at him. Dread was no longer a sickness under his skin, it had taken over his entire body. He wanted to puke, to scream, to release the horrible pressure in his body. I don’t remember waking up. I don’t remember getting to work this morning. I don’t remember starting this meeting. 

The DuPont brothers, older than Steve’s grandparents by now, look at each other in consideration. They both stood, gathering their notepads. 

One brother, Lester, looked towards Steve unsmiling. “You’ll hear our final answer by the end of the week,” he said, walking out the door. 

The other brother, Ben, stayed behind and walked up to Tommy. “What’s your name again, son?”

“Thomas,” he said, reaching out to shake his hand. 

“You did great. You have a knack for speaking,” he smiled at Tommy before heading out the door. 

Steve was standing in the conference room, but he was somewhere in the past. Back when he used to run client meetings with his dad sat in the far corner. Panicking, Steve would fumble words and stats while his dad’s furious stare continued to knock him off balance. He’d given Steve an earful the second they were alone. That was disapointing, Steven. Do better, or I’ll give the company to someone who’s earned it.

Tommy crowded him. “What the fuck was that, Steve?” 

“I don’t know. I just-” he began. A shiver went through him. He still felt the ache of dancing in his body. 

“Look.” Tommy sat on the table in front of Steve. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but it’s been long enough that it’s a problem. People are starting to notice, Steve. Talking in the lunch rooms about bad meetings and missed calls. Your dad even called me because you weren’t picking up your phone- Yes! You’re dad! He was pissed, threatened to fly back and everything. I convinced him to stay away, that you had everything under control. But I’m not super confident in that anymore.”

Steve was barely standing, his legs were shaking so bad. He gripped the chair in front of him like a crutch. He thought about lying, lashing out at the accusation, but there was no denying his poor performance.

“I’ll handle it,” he gritted out. 

“You fucking better.” Tommy spat back. He stood up and walked backwards towards the door. “Or the next time your dad calls, I’ll tell him to pay a visit.” 

“You wouldn’t dare.” 

They stared daggers at each other. Steve was reminded of a bad fight they had in highschool, when Steve won captaincy. If it weren’t for your rich daddy-! Tommy had shouted, but didn’t clarify. Later, he apologized, saying Steve had earned the title fair and square. 

But Steve had never forgotten that unfinished sentence. 

Now, twelve years later, Tommy broke the silence by saying “Then don’t make me call him,” and Steve knew what he really meant. Earn it. 

Tommy walked out the conference room and shut the door without looking back. 

Steve ran to his office, barely making it to his ensuite bathroom before dry heaving into the toilet. It felt like his insides were exploding, dread bursting out of him in nauseous waves of sour bile. It needed out, needed to escape but no matter how many times he heaved or spit, nothing came out. Head swimming, Steve tried to remember eating breakfast, or dinner the night before but nothing came to mind. 

You’re a fuck up. You’re a disappointment. You shouldn’t be running this company. 

“I know I am!” Steve shouted to no one. “Leave me alone!” Eyes watering, he heaved again. Nothing but empty air came up.  

The cool floor soothed a fraction of his nausea as he laid down, curled up. He felt like a drunk teenager at a party. But there was no music, no friends to laugh with and comfort him. Just Steve Harrington, thirty years old, puking in the CEO office because he couldn’t stand what his life had become. The dread, the exhaustion, the endless voice telling him how worthless he was. He needed it to end, to go back to when things made sense. When his life had meaning and his work was fulfilling and he had Nancy to share it all with. He’d give up anything to have that again; all of his savings, years of his life. Anything. 

Time passed. Eventually, his hips began to ache on the cold tiled floor. Steve got up on unsteady legs and walked slowly back to his desk. Feeling sorry for himself, he checked his phone log. Thirty two missed calls. Fuck, I’ll never get through all of these, he thought, before resting his head on his folded arms. 

It took an embarrassing amount of time to notice the take out container on his desk. The lid was clear, and Steve could see that it was bacon carbonara from the small Italian place around the corner. It was only a treat he got sometimes, as it was messy to eat and made him sleepy in the afternoons. But it was one of his favourites. 

No one’s ever gotten Steve lunch at work without him asking. It was unlikely to be Tommy at this point, and Jason was working out of town this weekend. Which left only one suspect. 

Dread gnawed on his insides as he thought about all the added stress he had caused Shelley this week. On top of the workload of an impending deadline, Shelley would have dealt with the call backs of irate clients wondering why Steve wasn’t picking up. Even worse, all the times she caught him sleeping at his desk. He didn’t know why she would ever get him lunch. 

There’s a part of him that wants to pretend he didn’t see it, to pull the blinds on the windows and lock the door, but he stomped down on that urge and called Shelley’s front desk extension. 

Minutes later, Shelly walked in his office, tucking in her brown pencil skirt as she sat down. 

There was a professional smile on her face. “What can I do for you, Mr. Harrington?”

“Did you get me lunch today?”

Shelley shrugged, and looked down at Steve’s desk. “Well, yes. You usually get lunch on Fridays, and I noticed two pm passed and you still hadn’t called. So I made an order. Was that okay? Should I not have?”

“No! No.” Steve felt like the worst boss ever. “I’m glad you did. I called you in to say thank you.”

“Oh.” She still looked nervous, waving him off. “Yes, well. It was nothing. Happy to do it.”

“It wasn’t nothing. It was really considerate. I-” Steve took a deep breath. “There’s something else I want to talk to you about. I’m sorry I haven’t been the most-” he paused, thinking of a word. “ Present boss these past few weeks. There’s just stuff going on, and I’ll take the time to deal with it. You won’t have to make up for my slack any longer.”

Shelley’s eyes widened. “You’ll take the time to deal with it? Are you telling me you’re taking some vacation?”

“What? No I-”

“Are you kidding me?” 

Shelley's hand covered her mouth in shock, a now familiar expression. It was the first time she had ever interrupted him. Richard Harrington would have never tolerated a secretary speaking to him that way. Steve was surprised, but not angry. Mostly curious. He waited for her to continue. 

Shelley uncovered her mouth. “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t be saying this, but God. Someone has to tell you. I’ve been working with you for about,” she counted in her head. “Eight years now. You were always bad with taking your vacation, a few days here and there around the holidays. But I haven’t seen you away from this office in almost eight months. Eight months of being here every day! Then these past few weeks; I mean, no offence, but you look like you haven’t slept in days. I know it’s none of my business, and you can tell me I’m overstepping. But I think you need some time off.” 

Steve felt his face redden. He turned to the window. “I can’t right now. We’re so close to the move-in day. I need to be here for the team.”

“Oh, c’mon Mr. Harrington. Your core team’s been working with you since you became CEO. Do you really think we can’t handle this on our own?”

It was true. As Steve got more and more projects under his belt, there was less for him to do on move-in weeks. Up until now, he thought it was because he’d really grown into his CEO role. But that was a selfish thought. Along the way, his team had their own improvements, including becoming more and more self-sufficient. These days, they didn't need him as much as they used to. 

Maybe it was less about his team needing him, and more about Steve’s fear of not being needed. 

Steve turned back to Shelley. “It’s Steve.”

“What?”

“If it’s true, if we really have been working together for eight years, I think you can call me Steve by now. And I think you’re right. I think I need to take some time off. Maybe I won’t come in this weekend.”

Steve thought that was sufficient, a reasonable amount of time off, but Shelley still looked pissed. “A weekend? That’s all? Take the week off at least.” 

“A week? Are you crazy? I’ve never taken a week off.”

Shelley scoffed and crossed her arms. The annoyed expression reminded Steve of Robin, and it made him smile before saying, “How about four days as a compromise?”

Shelly considered this. “Fine. Four days.” She held out her hand, smiling back at him.

Steve held her hand and they shook on it. “It’s a deal. You want it in writing, or what?”

Shelley leaned back in her chair. “With what you’re willing to sign your name on these days, I don’t trust that at all,” she said, tone teasing. 

A jolt of shame hit Steve even as he smiled. He liked this version of Shelley. She was bold in a way he could never be. “God that was bad, wasn’t it?” 

“Yes, it was.” Shelley stood from her chair, pointing a finger at him. “Now, go sleep for four days and come back as a new person. Hopefully, someone who can read.”

Shelley paused, face worried, finger frozen in the air. Steve wondered if she listened back to her own words, worried she had overstepped, but then Steve was laughing. 

“You’re hilarious.” he said genuinely, and she looked relieved. The dread was uncoiling ever so slightly, like stiff joints finally stretching. He thought about the reality of four days away from the office. Everyone had his home phone in case of emergencies, but he wouldn’t have to do anything. No expectations. I can finally just sleep. 

Lost in a daydream, he didn’t notice Shelley still standing there. “Oh sorry, there’s nothing else. I just wanted to say thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” she said. “And I may not have been clear last time, but I did mean what I said. If you ever need someone to talk to, about your stuff going on. I’m happy to listen.”

Steve looked down at his desk. “I appreciate that Shelley. But I’m your boss, and I don’t think that would be appropriate.” 

“Well,” she considered this, before tilting her head towards the other offices. “You’re friends with Tommy and Jason, yeah? And you’re their boss.”

“It's different.” Steve replied automatically. He’s known Tommy and Jason forever, and they were always an exception to Steve’s rule of keeping a professional, arms length relationship with his coworkers. But Shelley had a point. How long was long enough to know someone, before they could become both an employee and a friend?  

Shelley signed dramatically. “Okay, Steve. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.” She walked towards the exit, hand paused on the door handle before turning back. “And by the way, you owe me a few cocktails.” she winked, and then walked out the clear glass door.

Steve was still daydreaming about having four days off before Shelley’s words sunk in. Owe me a few cocktails? Steve’s never offered to buy Shelley drinks. But his train of thought was interrupted by his phone ringing. The contact name read Rick’s Car Repair .

Steve picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Mr. Harrington? Your BMW’s ready for pickup.”

***

The wind whistled through the open windows of the Beamer. The evening air was frigid and whipped Steve’s hair around, but he loved it, finally feeling awake. The sky was a burning red-orange as he drove into the sunset. These past few weeks of riding in the backseat in a cab had been awful. Steve had missed his car, missed driving wherever he wanted to go. And now, Steve didn’t have to be anywhere at all.

He thought he’d be bored, irritable without upcoming work in his schedule. In the past he always was; either he’d pace around the house cleaning or sit restless on the couch watching TV, grumpy and complaining to Nancy. But it was Friday night, Steve had no plans for the next four days, and he couldn’t be happier. Sure, maybe the bordom and irritibility would come, but he was curious to find out. To see if it would be different this time. 

A heavy metal song came on the 80’s station. Usually he’d change stations, but after a moment, he turned it up to hear it over the wind. The powerful voice screamed out of his speakers. Maybe it’s just what you need, letting the river in you flow. 

He knew this one. It wasn’t Black Sabbath, he was almost certain. He racked his memory until an image appeared of Eddie and Steve smoking weed in Eddie’s bedroom. Steve had only been there a handful of times, but it was always a mess, covered in clothes and posters and such an accurate expression of Eddie himself. Steve never stayed long after they finished. Sometimes Steve dressed immediately and headed out the door. But sometimes it was harder to leave. So he lingered, asked to share a joint, and watched the time slowly burn away. Music played as Eddie took a drag, and with a soft smile he looked at Steve and sang along, voice raspy but full and hitting every note perfectly. Caught in the middle, just like the way you’ve always been.

Dio, it must have been Dio. Steve let it play. His instinct was to crush these thoughts when they came up, but he listened as Eddie’s voice sang along in his head. Steve always wondered why Eddie would sing and just watch him. It always made him uncomfortable, he always looked away. But as Eddie’s voice continued, music in his head, Steve realized it wasn’t just practice, or Eddie singing for the joy of it. It was for him, the song was for Steve. 

An old ache like a bruise pushed down in his chest, but it didn’t hurt like it used to. Sure, Steve had fucked up. Had made the wrong choice and had cared when he wasn’t supposed to. But at that moment, Eddie had sung a song for him. And there was nothing Steve could do now to ruin that. 

When the song finished, Steve smiled to himself. Finally accepting Eddie’s gift. 

Steve drove past a high school where a group of boys were playing basketball. He turned the Beamer into the parking lot, driving around until he found a spot that was mostly hidden, but good enough to watch. 

Opening all his windows, the cold air smelled wet and earthy. The court lights got brighter and brighter as the sky began to darken. The boys were young, not even in highschool yet. But one of them really stood out in skill. He wasn’t the tallest player, but Steve watched as he leaped up and scored goal after goal, laughing as he listened to the complaints of the other team. 

God, he missed being this young. With no responsibility and infinite potential. Back then, his life felt endless. He could have played basketball on the weekends with his friends forever. In highschool they still played on weekends, but it became more of a competition to make the team, and fun took a back seat. Then it was girlfriends and jobs and moving to the big city and basketball became much harder to make time for. Until he stopped playing all together.

Steve had always strived to have a good life. Up until recently he thought he knew what that meant; to be successful, to be happy. To add another shine on the Harrington name. His dad had given him an opportunity to be widely successful, and successful men are happy men. But as he sat in the parking lot, watching these boys play basketball with their whole lives ahead of him, Steve felt he had been lied to. He was more successful than ever, and yet-

The night air sent a shiver down his spine. Robin’s words rang clear in his head. You’re not crazy, you’re just redefining your own definition of sanity . Steve thought he knew what she meant now. 

Something needed to change. Steve had been riding on this train of thought for a long, long time but he had finally reached his stop. The end of the line. Success wasn’t the only answer, not for him anymore. 

The court lights turned off and the parking lot was flooded in darkness. Steve heard a collective groan from the group before he saw short, dark shadows gather their stuff and head towards the main road. The sharp ricochet of the basketball still echoed across the parking lot. 

Steve sighed, starting his car and driving back onto the main road. On his drive home, he made a deal with himself. He’d still run Harrington Properties , but he needed an exit plan. A beacon in the future to guide his path. He already had more than enough money to retire, but ten more years of his salary would ensure a future for him and a potential family. Ten more years, Steve promised himself. Then he’d retire, and figure out exactly what he wanted to do with his life. It made him scared, made him feel like a lost teenager trying to make something of himself again. But if not now, then when? 

There was an obvious piece missing. A family; a reason to save this money. Although it pained Steve to consider it, felt like breaking an old promise, maybe his life partner didn’t have to be Nancy. The plan to be Better Steve was still on the table. But maybe there could be someone else out there. Someone Steve could give his heart to, who accepted his all-in nature with relationships and gave it back in return. 

A thought twisted in Steve’s chest as he slowed to a stop in front of a red light. Maybe I was never meant to have that. It curled and tightened but it was crushed under the soul-deep determination that Steve knew he would try forever. He was meant to be with another person; felt it when he laid in bed at night, ate dinner alone, and sat in his car this evening. Even if all his efforts amounted to nothing, as sad as that would be, at least he could give the real Robin a heart attack when an absolute stranger showed up at her door with a giant check. 

Chucking to himself, Steve watched the light turn green, and he drove on.