Chapter Text
The fracture is so bad that he needs a wheelchair for a week. Which should probably make him upset because now what hasn't fencing taken from him? But he's not upset. He's never felt more free. He announces this to Robin over the hospital phone as he waits for the receptionist to clear him to leave.
"I think that's the insanity starting," she says pleasantly. He hangs up on her.
According to most of everyone Steve should be upset. He should be hurting. But he can't muster up that anger that people expect from him, and he can't muster up the courage to tell anyone, even Robin, that he's not going back to fencing. He's been playing the media circuit for longer than he's been fencing, so he knows how saying that would look. It would be more than detrimental. It would be an admission of defeat, which the media would use as a tagline for a bit. Steve Harrington to never return to fencing. And then they would start looking for Eddie.
Eddie. Isn't it funny that Steve has never called him his name to his face? He always uses his last name. But after a few weeks of moping the media would look for Eddie, and Eddie would obviously make himself known because he would never deny the opportunity to blast Steve's name in public. And then there would be an influx of articles about Eddie being the new "King" of the college fencing circuit (which, as far as Steve is concerned, he already is. Steve is not as good as everyone says he is). Steve would fade from the public eye. Which, yeah. He wants that. But he's not sure if he can handle the circus that comes with officially bowing out.
He needs time. He takes a leave of absence from Indiana University before his coach can kick him off the team and goes home to Hawkins, where he sits on his parents' couch and stares at their unnecessarily wide TV as it runs his old fencing videos. Robin keeps calling him from Chicago. He ignores her until his phone's voicemail fills up, which is an objectively bad best friend move, but whatever.
Winter break is coming soon, and Robin is coming back on the 22nd. Before Steve broke his leg and dislocated his knee, she would complain like crazy about it. "The University of Chicago hates their students," she'd say, and it was functionally the same as Steve rewinding a video tape because that was how often she did the same spiel.
But wintertime is the worst for fencing media, because even though the competitive season is always going, the university season starts in January. Which means all the star players are getting accosted at their houses so that they can be interviewed about their plans. Some of the players are smart and have hidden where they live. Some of them, like Steve, can't hide where they live because they've been in the public eye for so long. And some of them, like Eddie Munson, welcome the media into their homes.
To be fair. It works for Eddie because he's playing a specific angle. The kid from the other side of the tracks, who didn't have enough money to buy even a sabre, who sprang into the limelight because of his own talent and not his daddy's money. Which is very clearly a jab at Steve, of course, because Eddie is like, obsessed with him or something.
"You're equally as obsessed with him," Robin says the first time Steve brings it up. "He's all you talk about. You've got some weird symbiotic relationship going on."
He's not obsessed with Eddie. But he does turn on the TV for Eddie's first interview of the winter. He has to search through YouTube to find it. Eddie is standing in front of this squat yellow house, arms crossed and staring at the camera with his button eyes. He's wearing a knitted cap over his wild curls. People love those curls. It reminds them of the 80s. Steve thinks a curl cream would benefit him.
"We're here with Eddie Munson," says the reporter. She pats him on the arm and smiles. "What are your plans for the season?"
"To fence, I guess?" He gives her a smug look and runs his tongue over his canine. Fucking with her. She gives a helpless little laugh.
"Any opponents you're looking forward to fencing?"
Eddie shrugs. "I'm happy just fencing anyone."
"How do you feel about Steve Harrington sitting this season out?"
Mouth twisting, Eddie stares into the camera. "I'm disappointed," he says.
Well. Eddie can be as disappointed as he wants to be, Steve thinks. Steve doesn't exist to fence Eddie. Steve exists because his parents were on the verge of divorce and were too Catholic to consider it, especially when his father was running for office. So take that, Eddie Munson.
Steve rolls over on the couch and pulls his phone out. Only Dustin and Robin have his cell number and Robin has already blown up his messages asking if he's okay. He texts her im fine, cant wait to see you and then sends the double pink heart emoji twice. Then he opens Instagram.
His account has a blue checkmark because he's a public figure. That's what Instagram had said in their elaborately worded email. Steve had just emailed them back with an "Okay" and now he looks like a douche to anyone who stalks his page. He taps into Eddie's profile and stares at his newest post without tapping it. Eddie, smiling with his arms thrown around a boy with dark skin and a beautiful smile. He's tagged the boy as @jeffmonroe11.
Eddie is. Objectively handsome, in Steve's opinion. He has a long, angular face and really deep dimples. In the picture his nose septum is crooked and his hair is covered in snow. Steve taps on the picture, likes it, and closes out of Instagram.
*
Steve met Eddie during his freshman year of high school. They're both from Indiana, from around the same area too, but Steve was going to this bullshit private school called Sacred Heart and Eddie was going to Hawkins High. Hawkins High was a public school, but it got good funding so it had a fencing program. Steve had been fencing since he was ten because it was either that or horseback riding and Steve was scared of horses. They'd met at a school sanctioned tournament and Steve wiped the floor with Eddie so thoroughly that Eddie cried.
If you ask Eddie he'll say he didn't, but Steve knows he did. He'd seen that shiny film over Eddie's eyes and had felt so guilty that he'd dry heaved in the restroom before fencing his next bout. And even then he remembers Eddie's fire. How he was angry about losing but also about everything else: Sacred Heart's fancy refreshments, his oversized lamé, Steve Harrington existing. Which sounds narcissistic when he says it, but maybe this is where Robin is right about the symbiotic relationship. Because Steve knows that Eddie hated him in that moment, and has hated him in every moment since. He just feels it.
They're both sore losers. Eddie has beat him and Steve has beaten Eddie and there's still this burning feeling. Not enough, not enough, again again again. Steve isn't sure when it's going to be enough. He'll never find out because he's never going to fence Eddie again.
That's the thing that makes him upset. Not that he can't fence, but that he can't fence Eddie. "I'm disappointed," Eddie had said. Disappointed that Steve hadn't picked himself up and gone back to fencing, maybe, but maybe also that Eddie is disappointed that he won't be fencing Steve.
"Steve," says Robin in that pitying tone.
He grinds his teeth together. "Robin."
"Forget about him," she says. They both know it's useless advice.
He grunts and she kicks her legs up onto his thighs. Swings them back off, says, "sorry."
"It doesn't hurt there," he reaches down and grabs her ankle, pulls her closer with it. She shrieks.
They grapple for a bit but it's not as aggressive as it usually is because Robin is treating him like he's glass. "Have you been to the doctor yet?" she pants after they've finished.
He gives her a look.
"What are you scared of?" she asks. "They're not gonna saw your leg off."
"They're gonna tell me to start PT."
"What's wrong with PT?" says Robin in the sort of tone that implies that she's offended.
"There's nothing wrong with it," he says, "I just don't want to do it."
He can't drive yet so he'll have to get someone else to take him. His parents' secretary picked him up from the hospital, but she's back in Indianapolis now. "I need someone to drive me."
Robin gets the devious look in her eye and she takes her legs off his lap, so he knows she's going to say something bad. "Ask Eddie."
Well. He could, is the thing. They don't have each other's numbers but they follow each other on Instagram, so a DM would work. Eddie lives twenty minutes across town in the subsidized housing. But Eddie will definitely say no. And if by some miracle he deems it worthwhile enough to drive Steve, Steve will need to explain what his plans are for the coming season. Which will not go over well, he knows, because Eddie is incapable of acting reasonable when it comes to fencing.
Eddie really likes fencing. Loves it in a way Steve doesn't because Eddie not only chose it, he fought for it. He argued and argued with the school until they bought him a lamé in his size. He wore his Converse to fence his entire high school career, which Steve knows would have hurt. And Steve knows that Eddie likes fencing him, which is why he affords him the barest respect.
"Text him," Robin says,
He takes out his phone and taps over to Eddie's profile. hey he types. Erases it, types hi eddie, would you be willing to drive me to PT? He ends up sending hi eddie would you be able to do me a huge favor :). It's only after he's sent it that he realizes it's the first time he's called Eddie by his name to Eddie himself.
He stares at his profile picture. It's Eddie and his uncle hugging each other from the side, beaming at the camera. Steve's is one of those posed shots from his university's fencing photoshoot.
Steve locks his phone and throws it onto the couch behind him. "There," he says. Done.
Robin is staring at him quietly. During her time in Chicago her hair has been cut below her chin and maybe dyed lighter. She seems like a completely different person right now. Things were supposed to work out for them after they went to college. They're both sophomores because Steve took a gap year to stay with her, so it's not even that this is their first year apart. But it very suddenly feels like it.
"Should I transfer to Indiana," says Robin at the same time he says, "I should move to Chicago." They stare at each other before laughing.
"Don't do that," he tells her once she's stopped hiccuping. "You worked so hard."
"You worked hard too," she says.
Not really, though. He's ninety percent sure that without fencing and his parents' popularity he wouldn't be going to college at all, much less Indiana University. But he's not in the mood to argue with her so he shrugs. Leans over and turns on the TV.
The YouTube video with Eddie pops onto the screen. Robin stares at it.
Steve blushes. He's mortified. "I'm—"
"Oh," she murmurs, "I see how this is."
"What? How what is?" He squints at her.
"You and Eddie," she says. "I get it now."
"There's nothing to get."
"No," says Robin, "I think there is." Then she reaches across him and plucks the remote up to change the channel to Food Network.
They yell at the screen for an hour because one of the bakers is the stupidest man alive and Steve forgets all about him and Eddie until Robin is passed out on his shoulder and he picks his phone up.
what favor, Eddie's message says.
Steve tries to picture how Eddie looked when he saw that text. Was he worried? Steve's only seen him worried a couple times. He gets this little furrow between his brows and his eyes go wide. He remembers Eddie standing next to him, staring up at the scores rolling across the widescreen display at some tournament, the tiny red numbers shining on those eyes. Steve shakes his head.
can you drive me to PT? he sends.
PT? Eddie sends back half a second later. why???
i broke my leg. didnt you know that?
yeah no i remember. can you walk
sort of
ok. tell me when i need to pick u up
ok
*
His doctor's name is Sam Owens and he gives this huffy sigh over the phone when Steve tells him that he's willing to take PT.
"Hello to you too, Steve. And that was never really a choice, but okay."
"Are you gonna assign me sets or something," says Steve impatiently.
Owens sighs again. "No. I'm going to send the physical therapy place a prescription and they're going to figure out what to do."
"The PT place on Main?"
"Yes."
"Okay. When's my first class?"
"Tuesday. It was going to be Tuesday whether you liked it or not, by the way."
"Thanks." Steve hangs up.
He puts off texting Eddie until a week later, a day before he's supposed to be having his first session. Robin's spending New Year's with her parents and they've already gone to her aunt's. So there's no one to force him to text Eddie until he really needs to.
He's watching another YouTube video of him today. Steve remembers this one being filmed because it was inside Eddie's college's gym. Eddie's college is this tiny school an hour from IU, but they paid him an exorbitant amount of money to attend and Eddie's degree is in music theory. If you squint you can sort of see Steve in the background of the video. Eddie is walking backwards, his hair up in a fluffy bun and septum ring crooked again. "I'm really grateful to be able to fence here," he says, and it seems like he means it.
In the background, Steve laughs. It's loud. Eddie turns around and looks at him for a second before he turns back to the camera and rolls his eyes.
Oh, yeah. That reminds him to text Eddie.
hey my PT thing is tomorrow at 12pm. can you still pick me up?
He doesn't get a reply until dinnertime. yeah you got it your majesty. couldnt have given me a heads up?
you don't have to drive me
The text bubble under Eddie's name appears then disappears then appears again. i know. u owe me
anything you want
Eddie doesn't text him after that.
Walking around is easier now but he still feels stiff. He can't stand in the shower so he finds a step stool and leaves it in there.
An hour after Eddie doesn't text him back he sits on the stool and rubs shampoo into his scalp. Steve looks up and sees his razor resting on the alcove. It hasn't moved since sophomore year of high school when he quit swimming. Should he shave? Robin doesn't shave. Steve has shaved more times during his swimming career than she's shaved in her life.
He reaches up, fingers straining to grab the blue handle of it, and the stool slips out from under him. There's a moment where he thinks he might smack his head into the wall but then he gets a hand out and ends up sprawled on the floor. Dizzy. He's really dizzy. The tiled ceiling swims above him, white shifting to red green blue as he regains his bearings.
Steve didn't cry when he broke his leg. Owens told him that he was probably in shock. It didn't start to hurt until he was in the ambulance, but by then he'd promised himself he wasn't going to cause a scene. Because it would look bad, and it would get back to his dad, who would then call him and lay into him about "appearances" and "being strong". So he didn't cry. Hasn't cried, yet.
But staring up at the ceiling is the first time he feels his eyes fill with wetness. Steve tries to convince himself it's water from the shower. He thinks that if he breathes right now he's going to start heaving and he can't handle that. So he doesn't breathe until the wetness is gone, and then he pulls himself out of the shower and into bed.
Here is the terrible truth that he has been hiding: Steve is happy that his leg is broken because it means he's not fencing. Steve hasn't wanted to fence for a very long time, probably since well before he went to college. And even more terrible than that is that Steve will miss Eddie once this whole thing blows over. Because Eddie was the one constant in his life besides fencing, and losing one meant losing both. So he'd stuck it out.
He's feeling kind of sick thinking about it. He closes his eyes and tries to think of anything else, but of course he ends up falling asleep to the memory of Eddie's eyes.
*
Steve's life has been sectioned off into neat little pieces since he was a toddler. His dad is a senator and his mom is his dad's wife, so they weren't around a lot, and Steve got used to that early on. As the son of a senator he needed to fulfill the all-American-boy role, so everything he did was based on spoon fed pieces of information passed through his string of nannies. He's old enough to choose his own clothes now, but he always defaults to his polos.
So he's sitting on the front step of his house with his lucky blue shirt on when Eddie's van wheels into the driveway. His heart starts pounding immediately. His fingertips tingle like live wires.
He tips his head back and stares at the roof of his house through his glasses. Focuses on breathing deep and slow.
"Harrington," says Eddie, "get inside. I don't have all day."
It's not like this is their first time meeting outside of fencing. They see each other in street clothes all the time in interviews and walking around the cities tournaments are held at. But seeing Eddie in his black turtleneck and a winter coat is. It's something.
"Harrington," he snaps. His septum isn't crooked. His hair is down and falling over his shoulders like a waterfall of dark chocolate.
Steve stands up and almost faints. His hand slams against the wall. And suddenly Eddie is right there, grabbing him by the shoulders and practically carrying him into his van. He helps Steve into the seat and leans over to buckle his seatbelt for him.
"I'm not an invalid," Steve says.
"Great," says Eddie, "you can buckle your own seatbelt." He lets go and the metal buckle snaps against Steve's shoulder.
Steve reaches over and clicks it in. "Are you going to drive me or?"
Eddie rolls his eyes and slams the door in his face. "I don't know why I'm the one doing this."
"I said you didn't have to."
He whips around to look at Steve. Sneers with his teeth out. "You don't have anyone else."
Which is objectively true. And because this is an objective fact that he has repeated to himself over and over, it doesn't hurt like Eddie had meant it to. He shrugs. Eddie visibly falters. Then his eyes soften a fraction and he clicks his own seatbelt on. "Let's just go."
The van starts and jerks onto the road. Eddie's music starts playing and it hurts Steve's ears immediately. Pound pound pound. His brain whacks against the sides of his skull in protest.
Eddie isn't, and has never been, nice to Steve. He's nice to everyone else, even the really invasive fans that touch his hair like he's a poodle. But he's never nice to Steve. He holds him at arm's length, always. People always expect them to be close and to have stories about high school since they live so close and competed so often, but the stories that he does have are too boring to tell. It's not like Eddie is particularly mean either. He's just. Prickly. And he doesn't like Steve.
He turns in his seat and looks at him. He's handsome. He's never seen Eddie not look like he stepped off the cover of a grunge magazine, even when he's wearing his white fencing jacket. Eddie turns his head and looks at Steve, squints, and looks back at the road.
"What?"
"Thanks for driving me," he says.
"You're welcome." Eddie's hands tighten on the wheel. "And you owe me."
"Yeah," says Steve easily, "anything you want."
He watches as Eddie's throat bobs.
It's quiet for a minute. Steve turns in his seat to look out the window. The houses pass by in a blur of beiges. Sometimes he thinks he wasn't meant to be alive because everything always hurts so much. He doesn't think other people feel in the same way he does. Too much and too fast and too painful. That's how he feels right now in this van with Eddie Munson.
"Can you turn the music down?"
Eddie is quiet for long enough that Steve thinks he hasn't heard him or that he's ignoring him, but then he leans over and rolls the volume dial down.
"Thank you."
"Don't mention it," says Eddie. Not like "no problem, don't mention it" but "don't mention it" like it pains him to do something nice for Steve and he'd rather not think about it.
Steve's stomach flips. He wishes Robin were here. She's nice when she knows Steve's hurting.
She's his best friend. His only friend, unless you count Dustin Henderson. Who is away visiting his girlfriend this winter break because he's seventeen now. When he was fourteen Steve was his hero. Now he has a favorite beer brand and takes airplanes to Utah. Steve opens his texts and sends him a message asking how the weather is there.
"We're here," Eddie says. He unbuckles himself and then surprises Steve by coming around to help him out the van. "Don't break your neck, Harrington."
"Ha ha," says Steve. Eddie's hands slip up his forearms and dig into his elbows.
This close they need to make eye contact. Steve forces himself to keep looking at him, but it's hard because Eddie still has freckles from summer and his eyebrow is red and inflamed because he's stuck another piece of metal through his face.
"Is that new?" he asks.
"Yeah. Got it last week."
"How were finals?"
Eddie gives him a strange look. They're standing in the parking lot holding each other's arms, and Steve is asking his longtime frenemy how his finals went.
"Gooooood?" says Eddie slowly.
"I'm so glad," Steve tells him.
Eddie stares at him for a second more before he shakes his head. He grabs Steve under his armpits and tugs him into the PT place, but he's smiling. Or not really smiling, but his lip is curling up on his left side and his dimples are popping.
He gets dragged up to the front desk and deposited in front of a scowling redhead. "Steve Harrington," says Eddie.
"Wait here," she says, and then she wheels herself out behind the desk in a wheelchair. It's been painted red and has flowers and names written over the bars. Steve waits.
Eddie waits too, which is. Weird.
"You can go home, you know. I'll call an Uber."
"You're not gonna be able to get an Uber out here," says Eddie.
"Okay," Steve replies. Because he's not sure what to say to that.
The redhead wheels back in and stares at Steve. "You're the fencer," she says.
"Yeah."
She nods. "I'm Max. I'm the receptionist here. My girlfriend does fencing."
Steve brightens. "What weapon?"
"Épée."
"What's her name? I might know her."
"El. But her real name is Jane Hopper." Max wheels back behind the desk.
"I don't think so then, sorry."
She shrugs. "It's cool. I only know about the épée stuff from her. I guess you're some big shot because Joyce reacted weirdly, but I had no idea who you were."
"I'm not a big shot."
"You sort of are," says Eddie.
"Then you are too!"
"I never said I wasn't," Eddie replies. He grins, running his tongue over his canine.
Fucking with him.
"It's really nice of your boyfriend to bring you here," Max continues. "It must be really tough to handle. El had an immigration scare happen to her a few years ago, 'cause she's from Canada but they weren't sure the papers were real, so she couldn't fence for a couple weeks. She was really sad. I'm sure it's worse for you."
That makes Steve feel miserable immediately. "I guess."
A woman ducks her head out of the hallway. "Steve?"
"That's me."
"I'm all set, come on in."
Steve turns to Eddie. "If you're going to stay, can you help me stand up?"
Eddie is like, pink. He looks like he might be having an allergic reaction. "Are you okay?" Steve asks.
"Oh, yeah. Up we go," and then he's pulling Steve up and helping him hobble to the door. Helps him onto the examination table that's been lowered to a reasonable height. "I'm gonna wait outside."
The woman watches Eddie leave and turns to Steve. "I'm Joyce," she says. "And he's not your boyfriend, right?"
"How could you tell?" asks Steve, then isn't sure why he asked.
She gives him an amused look. "He's too nervous."
"Right," he says, even though he doesn't know what she means.
"Okay," says Joyce. She claps her hands together and moves to sit beside him. "So, you broke your right tibia. That's your lower leg bone. It's a weight bearing bone, so its job is to hold up your weight just like walls hold up a house. It's a super important bone, which is why everyone has been asking about your future fencing career. And you popped your knee out of its socket, but good news is that they popped it right back in. So we're gonna focus on your tibia, okay honey?"
"If I don't come to PT," Steve begins, "will it never heal?"
"The body will almost always knit itself back together somehow. It'll probably just heal wrong. Which we wouldn't want because then you might need a cane and you'd be in really terrible pain for the rest of your life."
"Will it ever heal well enough to fence again?"
"I think so," says Joyce. She stands and pats his thigh gently. Looks away as she tugs gloves on. "But you don't have to fence if you don't want to."
"Right," says Steve.
"Right!" Joyce beams. "So because it wasn't exactly a break but a fracture, you're in luck. You can stand and everything! So right now I'm gonna see where our baseline is and we'll move from there." She points at a spot on the floor. "Stand here."
Steve shuffles off the table and onto the floor. He looks at her, feeling so fragile that a single touch would break him into slices.
"Do you want him to come back in?" she says gently.
"Who?" He sounds out of breath.
"The boy who brought you here."
"Eddie? He'll make fun of me."
Joyce's expression turns serious. Her voice is stone as she says, "Steve."
"Yes?"
"I can guarantee you that Eddie won't make fun of you. In fact I think his presence might ground you a bit."
Steve stares at her. Everything feels very far away, floating in outer space. He's scared of outer space, actually. Outer space and horses and the deep sea and his dad. He's scared of a lot of things.
"Okay," says Joyce firmly, "I'm going to get him."
It seems like hours might pass before she returns with Eddie.
"What's going on?" asks Eddie. It sounds like his voice is moving in soup. Really, really thick soup.
"I think he's having a panic attack."
Then Eddie's hands are on Steve's shoulders and they're cold. He's very close. Everything smells like him, cinnamon and Old Spice and something flowery. This is a smell that Steve intrinsically associates with Eddie even though he's never stopped to think about what Eddie smells like. "Harrington," he says.
"Munson?"
"Yeah," says Eddie. He sounds relieved. "Yeah, it's me. I'm here with you at the PT place in Hawkins."
"You sound like you're in soup."
He laughs. Puts his cold hands on Steve's chest and breathes in deeply. "What's your favorite type of soup, Harrington?"
"Chicken noodle. What's— what's yours?"
"Broccoli cheddar."
"That's gross," says Steve, shivering back to awareness.
"You're gross," Eddie says. That furrow between his brows is back.
"Steve," says Joyce softly. "If you wanna bow out of today's session you're free to. We'll take this one day at a time."
Steve thinks about Eddie driving him back. The van would be quiet, and Eddie wouldn't say anything to him. "I'm disappointed," he'd said, dressed in his winter coat, snowflakes melting on his pale skin.
"One exercise," he amends.
"Okay." Joyce steps back and Eddie sits down in a chair by the door. "I'm going to ask you to jump. You're probably not going to be able to. We're gonna go super slow." She bends into a weak squat. "Can you follow me?"
Steve bends into a squat as well. It doesn't hurt much more than walking. "Okay?"
"Perfect. Now, when you're ready you're going to bend a little lower and then jump as high as you can."
He bends lower. Jumps. It does not feel like a jump and it takes him a very long second to realize that he hadn't jumped, that he's sitting on the carpet.
"That's okay," murmurs Joyce. "That's totally fine, honey."
The eye wetness is back. He refuses to call them tears because then that means that he's sad or he's overwhelmed, and Steve hasn't felt sad or overwhelmed enough to cry in years. Or maybe he's never felt this sad, this overwhelmed before. He stares at his shoes until they turn into watery blobs of white. He cannot cry. Not in front of Eddie. He thinks he would be okay with crying in front of Joyce, but not Eddie.
He glances up at the ceiling and blinks. "One more."
"Okay," Joyce says, "one more."
An hour later Eddie drives Steve back home. It's quiet in the van. Steve goes to turn on the radio but Eddie says, "Don't, please," and it's the first time he's ever said please to him, so he puts his hands on his lap and stares at them the whole way home.
Eddie helps him out of the van. His hands find Steve's waist this time.
"Hey," Eddie starts once Steve is inside and unbuttoning his jacket. "I'll drive you next week too."
"I can get an Uber."
His mouth twitches in an approximation of a smile. "You're not gonna be able to get an Uber out here."
Steve smiles weakly. "Okay," he says, and then closes the door in his face.
*
Dustin Henderson
are you seriously asking me about the weather
Steve Harrington
can i not be interested in the weather
Dustin Henderson
://
i heard eddie took you to the pt
Steve Harrington
robin told you? he did
Dustin Henderson
i like eddie
in case you were wondering about my feelings towards him
Steve Harrington
why would i care about that?
Dustin Henderson
no reason