Chapter Text

Playlist

“Fade Into You”

I wanna hold the hand inside you
I wanna take the breath that's true
I look to you and I see nothing
I look to you to see the truth
You live your life, you go in shadows
You'll come apart and you'll go blind
Some kind of night into your darkness
Coloured your eyes with what's not there
Fade into you
Strange you never knew
Fade into you
I think it's strange you never knew

-Mazzy Star

Part One

His whisper is louder than any scream.

Eddie Munson clenches and rips, forcing a pull and what slippery thing he has in his hand, this incredibly organic construct – a throat – leaves the body of it’s former owner and tears free, messy and imperfect departure. Eddie would like it to be cleaner, sometimes. He would like a clean evacuation, to fully rip the throat out as if it’s a removable weed, only human bodies don’t work that way.

It is still inherently beautiful.

The body twitches for a while, no longer able to scream and Eddie drops the oesophagus of a lesser man.

He turns toward the whisper he heard.

‘Baby,’ he pants softly. His boy is always patient with him, knows Eddie will come when he calls.  

This apartment is all Spartan chrome and glossy discomfort. High rise penthouse, everything in it cost money and everything in it is void of a soul. Eddie knows because his husband tells him. His boy has always shown him where the souls reside.

Steve Harrington is outside on the balcony, door open to let in the night air. He’s sitting on the wall as if it’s a beach lounger, legs slightly raised, leaning back. His whisper came in through the doors, through the air itself, carried on atoms and molecules.

He’s looking at the moon.

He’s naked, all except for the blood.

Eddie spies a trail of clothes, the way his husband sheds them like he’s leaving breadcrumbs and clues, like Eddie wouldn’t find him anywhere, any way.

The death rattle of the dead man is all but background to Eddie now, whose focus is solely drawn where it belongs. The natural magnetic polar pull of the man who wears his ring, his ink, his scars, and yet owns all of Eddie. Every ounce of him in weight, every droplet of him where his cells collude to run wet.

 ‘Baby,’ Eddie says again, more of a sigh as he steps outside onto the balcony. It’s vast, ugly, no plants, only furniture, a firepit and somewhere, the telltale scent of chlorine gives away a pool he can’t see.

All he sees is Steve.

‘Hmm,’ Steve replies, a single sound from low in his silky throat.

‘You found a song yet?’

Steve smiles a little, distant and distracted.

He whispers things and the moon beams down, purest white to make inky brown of the blood.

Eddie glances around the balcony, more of a terrace now that he’s out here for the sheer scale of it, and the glorious mess his boy made of the other guy.

While Eddie considers himself a clean and efficient killer, he knows he doesn’t have Steve’s flair for it., none of his talent or art or beauty.

‘No song,’ Steve tells him after a few beats.

‘What colour is the world?’ Eddie asks, laying hands on his husband, palm to shoulder, careful because he’s on the ledge and it’s not wide enough to feel completely safe and when Eddie peers over the side, the drop is dizzying. He grins, shaking his head. Steve has always been fearless.

Steve reaches up with a beautiful, bloody hand, fingers playing walking ‘round the garden, and he smiles. ‘Orange.’

‘That’s what we want,’ Eddie whispers, kissing his hair. ‘Did you have fun, sweetheart?’

Steve closes his eyes, fingers twisting with the grace of tentacles. ‘You’re too far away,’ he says, didn’t answer the question, often doesn’t. ‘My Pluto sway, I can bring you back into the sun and put you inside me.’ He places both his hands on his soft, flat stomach and rubs there, as if there’s something inside. ‘I’d grow you and make you ripe, put life in the core and love in the oceans and all your sharks would learn to walk on land, I just know it.’

Eddie makes a sound of non-committal adoration, stroking Steve’s hair back as he mentally calculates how much time they have before they’ll need to clean up. Time enough, there usually is.

He rests his hand atop Steve’s. ‘Then you’d be my Daddy.’

Steve smiles wider, a precursor to a laugh that’d be silky soft and strange if he wasn’t so captivated by the moon. ‘Maybe I’d eat you.’

‘Like rats?’ Eddie wrinkles his nose. ‘Gross.’

‘Eddie?’

‘What is it, baby?’

‘Tell me the story.’

‘You’d have to come down from there first.’

‘You should come up here with me. It’s nice.’

‘You know I won’t do that.’ It’s patient and calm, but he really would like Steve to come down. While his husband is fearless, Eddie is pragmatic and practical and doesn’t especially like heights.

‘If we fell, you could kiss me before we landed.’

‘I’d rather kiss you while not in freefall.’

Steve chortles but he rolls off the ledge and lands like a cat, agile and naturally imbued with a sense of unshakable balance. Naked and bloody, he’s a sight to behold.

Eddie feels instantly better. ‘There’s my boy.’

Steve rolls his eyes and pouts, but it’s wry and patient. He steps over intestines and drapes himself artfully around Eddie, pressing warm kisses to Eddie’s neck.

‘You worry too much,’ he whispers.

‘I don’t worry at all,’ Eddie counters with a razor thin lie right in the centre. ‘I know if you fell, you’d learn to fly on the way down. I just missed you.’

‘Missed you too, Daddy,’ Steve utters, sounds more like himself. He is, Eddie knows well, always somewhat detached after killing. It takes a while to come back around but he always does, Eddie just needs to be patient. ‘How was yours?’

‘Delicious. Fought hard.’

‘You like it when they fight,’ Steve observes with love, he’s said it a thousand times before, he’ll say it again. ‘Born in the wrong time.’

Eddie gets him by the hair to grip and hold, possessive after Steve was openly flirting with death beneath the moon. Steve’s smile only widens as he draws back, blood on his mouth, it’s all over him.

‘But if I was born in the right time,’ Eddie says, gripping hard enough to gift pain, watches it ripple across Steve’s face like bliss, ‘I wouldn’t have found you.’

Steve smiles, like he knows everything. All the secrets, all the songs, and the stories he still makes Eddie tell over and over. ‘Wherever you are, so I am too.’

Eddie lets his gaze roam appreciatively over the man he loves and feels himself soften inside. ‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah.’ Steve brings their mouths together, blood and spit and the way he kisses, this exquisite manner of contact, touch and consumption. Eddie’s wild for it, he has been ever since they met. ‘Tell me the story?’

‘The story?’

‘Uh huh, you know I like to hear it.’

Eddie smiles and then—shit, no, fuck. What was it?

What’s the line?

‘Fuck, sorry!’

‘CUT!’

The persona drops, the boom mic swerves away, the bell rings out. His co-star’s shoulders roll but he otherwise seems to stay in character. This is a closed modesty set with limited crew so Jason knows it’s annoying to drop a line but he’s struggling with parts of this scene where his co-star isn’t.

‘I’m sorry,’ Jason says again when the director comes over and a couple of others, including Billy’s PA, who has her notepad and water for him. ‘The story, I need a little insight maybe into the story.’

The director, Jason’s dream director on this dream job smiles patiently. ‘Jase, you’re not seeing what we’re seeing behind the lens, OK? The both of you are knocking this out the fucking park. It’s stunning.’

Jason smiles, appreciates the vote of confidence. ‘Thank you. It’s mostly Billy.’

‘It’s both of you,’ David assures him. ‘Did you want to take five and go over the story section?’

Jason glances over. Billy is engaged in conversation with his Steve Coach, the pair of them back and forthing to keep him in the dreamy mindset, the soft spoken tone, the movements and hand gestures that Jason and Billy had discussed and devised during the weeks they spent together before shooting began on AMC’s Small Town Boys.

It's season one, week one. Jason’s never worked on a show of this scale before, never been the lead, unlike Billy who was resident on a long running show and carries tangible disdain for how it ended.

Sometimes, Jason’s still not sure how he got this part.

The part of Eddie Munson, serial killer serving multiple life sentences, separated from his lover Steve Harrington, who’s locked up in a high security psychiatric hospital two states away.

Their story has never been fully told.

Jason really hopes it’s a hit out the gate, because it’s an ambitious five season series and no one these days dares plan for anything over three, but David’s different and it’s not fucking Netflix, so he does hope.

The outline for all five is jawdropping.

‘Jason?’

‘Hmm? Sorry.’ He runs a hand through the wig, knows for sure he’ll try to grow out his own for season two. He’ll take dye and styling over this. ‘Right, sorry. Uh, yeah, I think maybe that’d be good. There’s like this element I’m not sure about.’

‘Billy,’ the director calls, friendly and warm. Billy comes over, jacket around his shoulders, modesty apron on while they’re talking. Jason feels weirdly awful for, like, calling a little meeting while Billy’s all but naked, but he’s said multiple times he’s fine with nudity, confident in his own body. Jason thinks if he looked like that, he might feel the same.

And see, the cool thing about Billy is that he stays in character between takes sometimes because this character, this Steve Harrington, the part that Jason tried out for first, is fucking hard to perfect.

So, when Billy comes over, he drapes himself around Jason’s shoulders and Jason reaches up to rub his arms.

‘Story scene?’

‘Billy, how are you feeling about this scene?’

‘Yeah, I feel good,’ he says in Steve’s voice, the superbly affected tone, the hint of an accent. Jason, like everyone else, has seen all the clips of Steve’s limited interviews, studied over and over, and he has this slightly nasal quality to his speech that Billy’s just nailed.

Sometimes Jason, whose former bit parts in a cancelled series and three extra spots on a Marvel show no one cared about, feels a little intimidated to be working with someone of this calibre.

He absently rubs Billy’s arm, happy to respect the character bleed for such intense scenes like this, and David goes through the notes again.

‘Eddie tells this story often,’ he reads fast from the card. ‘It’s an anchor between them, dropped anywhere to make a bubble of home from the stories of their past. The story of how they met, how they live now, how they’ll die together, told fairytale style and then we have them dancing in the blood and Steve laughing before the sex scene. What are your thoughts, Jason?’

‘OK, well, my thoughts are that… we don’t know this story. Like, not how I—Eddie really told it.’

‘The witness who overheard it, the woman in the bathroom of the Vegas hotel—’

‘No, I know, she heard him telling a story, but we don’t know word for word what it was. Plus, others have said it’s different.’

‘That bothers you?’

‘I guess… if we’re gonna do it, I’d like to do it right, that’s all. It’s an important thing between them, it matters. They’ve told this story when they were on the run, when they had nothing, when Eddie got shot, when Steve almost drowned.’

David nods, listening.

Billy says, ‘You want to visit him.’

Jason sighs. ‘I just think this story really matters.’

‘It does, but it’s maximum security, there’s no way they’ll allow it and we already requested permission a dozen times,’ David points out and even he sounds disappointed. ‘Do you want to workshop the scene?’

‘No, no I’m sorry. I know the lines, I’ve got the feel. I just…’ Billy hums melodically, butts his forehead to Jason’s ear before he steps away. ‘I kinda want to know it, you know? Even if we don’t use it.’

‘Me too, to be fair,’ Billy says in his own voice, which is deeper and richer than the Steve Voice. ‘Maybe we could do something where we show it rather than voice over it. Little flashes, you know? The past scene sequence but more vague, a little unreliable narrator, so we never really get to hear their story but the reader—’ Billy always calls viewers readers. ‘-can put it together themselves.’

‘That could work in post, yeah.’ David scribbles a few notes. ‘All right, any other thoughts?’

‘No,’ they say at the same time and David smiles to himself, but makes no comment. They’re already getting an on set reputation for being weirdly in sync. The BTS crew is gleeful and Billy has gently warned Jason already about fan culture and how they’ll be paired up and “shipped”.

Jason doesn’t mind. He’s just so excited to make this series, to work with David and Billy and so many other cool people and to play… to play Eddie fucking Munson.

Even though he’s still not sure why he got the part.

He’s not one to look a gift-horse in the eye.  

‘OK, let’s get back in scene. From the top of “missed you too, Daddy.”’

Billy and Jason smile in tandem, and Billy wanders into Jason’s space, echoing the words in the Steve Voice, their own little anchor back into the scene, Jason so often lets Billy guide him into the scene with the voice.

‘Missed you too, Daddy,’ Billy says several times and Jason goes to his mark, sinking into the tone, into the scene, back into the inky depths of Eddie Munson, here with his lover Steve Harrington.

Tell me the story.

Jason wants to know it, before he tells it.

The true story.

And no one really does.

‘ACTION!’

*

They’re eating lunch together, Billy’s food in his lap, legs crossed, Jason’s sandwich on his knee, the lines between them, when David comes over.

‘Hey, Jason, so I wanted to let you know first, that we got a call last night from Eddie Munson’s lawyer.’

They both stare for a beat and Jason’s heart stumbles hard, because if it’s a cease and desist or a god damned lawsuit and the show folds before they even got to—

David smiles, likely sees whatever’s happening on his face. ‘It’s a good call. He said he’d like to meet you.’

‘Wait, what?’

‘I know, the timing is so weird.’

‘We only talked about that last night. Did someone contact him?’ Billy asks, line between his eyes.

‘I don’t know, but this is the first interest he’s taken in the show beyond permitting the creation of it legally. The lawyer was very specific. Only you, Jason. Not me, not the writers, no one else.’

Billy leers at Jason. ‘Well, hallo, Clarice.’

Jason rolls his eyes, snorts. ‘Shut it. David, for real?’

‘For real. I called the prison and they said he gets one weekly visit with his lawyer in a secure room. Glass separation, obviously. Full security. He’s in chains on the other side.’

Jason’s heart, now recovered from the stumble, is pounding. ‘Wow. Um. Can I meet him, then?’

‘You don’t need my permission,’ David points out. ‘But knowing what we do of Munson, I want a team with you.’

‘But there’s prison security and glass, and he’s—’

‘Not that. We know he’s sly. Persuasive, controlling, borderline hypnotic people have said. I don’t want him messing with your head.’

Jason smiles wryly. ‘He’s already messing with my head.’

And it’s true.

For Billy too.

These fuckers are infectious.

‘Even so.’

Jason looks at Billy. ‘What do you think?’

‘I think…’ Billy answers slowly, eyes narrowing. ‘You want to go, so go. But don’t talk about me, please.’

Jason puts his hand on Billy’s knee. ‘Of course. ‘ He looks up at David. ‘Well, can we keep it quiet?’

‘We’ll do our best but it’ll get out at some point,’ David says. ‘I’ll have Jim assigned to your security for the trip. Munson’s lawyer asked for Thursday night, does that work for you?’

Jason blinks.

Thursday night’s he doesn’t work, it was in his contract drawn up six months ago, back when he was still with his boyfriend. Their one special night. Now, Thursday nights are a hollow space, vacant and awful unless he spends it with Billy, but Billy has scenes to shoot Thursday, they were running lines for a few of them just now.

‘Uh, yeah, I’m free,’ he answers, frowning to himself.

David’s already making calls, winks at Jason as he walks away and Billy whistles low under his breath.

‘Man, I’m jealous but I’m kinda not.’

‘I’m actually terrified,’ Jason confesses easily. ‘But like, in a good way.’

Billy smiles at him, steals a little of his lunch but he looks concerned all the same. ‘Make sure you call me right after. I wanna know everything.’

*

Jason has notes.

He actually spent the car ride there writing up his questions on paper like a school kid, but it helps distract him and soothe a little of his nerves.

But when they pull into the prison, he can’t help but stare, knee jogging, heart hammering.

He feels like a little boy as they pat him down, ask him questions, all of which he answers no, take his ID and scan it while the head of his security team asks questions of his own for Jason’s safety.

They lead him into a room with a huge glass middle. It’s not like what he expected, the dividers and the phones. This is fully a room on one side and a room on the other. Four guards in twos like the top and bottom of a playing card, the glass in the centre. A chair, desk, Styrofoam cup of water and a small wireless microphone propped up, no holes in the glass.

‘Take a seat,’ the prison security guard tells him. Jason does, sets his notes down on the desk, pulls the pen out of the ring binder centre. The guard takes his pen, replaces it with a pencil. ‘You’ll get it back after.’

‘You didn’t catch that before?’ Jim asks the guard imperiously and Jason shoots him a look.

‘No problem.’

‘You’ll have an hour. I do not recommend mentioning Harrington,’ the guard says semi casual but laced with genuine warning. ‘Eye in the sky is watching and recording everything, but this is a closed session and will only be retained for security and training purposes. Any questions?’

‘Uh no. No, I think I’m—’

The door on the other side of the room opens.

Jason stares through the glass.

Two guards come inside, and between them in bright, ugly orange, is Eddie Munson.

His wrists are cuffed, chains leading down to his ankle cuffs, he can’t take big steps. Eddie’s hair is shorter than the last time Jason saw him televised.

It’s a fucking thrill seeing him in person, even with the glass and the guards.

Eddie doesn’t look at Jason yet. His gaze casts like a lighthouse around the room on his side, every inch of it. Windowless, secure, Jason wonders what he’s looking for. He knows Eddie once said he’s an escape artist, that he’ll find a crack in anything.

Surely not in here, though.

He’s been in prison for four years, after all.

The guards on the other side are speaking but Jason can’t hear it, even through the seemingly dead mic. They keep Eddie’s chains on and fix them to the metal table they sit him at. Eddie’s got no water on his side. Nothing.

He sits once chained.

Then his gaze swivels and lands on Jason.

The weight of it is incredible.

No emotion, nothing at first. It’s the way animals look, predators. Calm, reading, assessing.

Jason feels the crawl of Eddie Munson’s focus on him, his skin ripples as if being touched and Eddie has no insecurity or hesitation in drinking in every element of Jason that he can see as if he’s a book and Eddie’s a speed reader.

Finally, dark eyes lift to Jason’s own.

Eddie smiles.

Jason shudders, but buries it well.

A guard on Eddie’s side turns the microphone on from a switch on the wall and static silence bursts to life.

Eddie waits. Says nothing.

Staring.

Smiling faintly.

Jason swallows hard, licks his lips.

‘Hello.’

‘Hi, Jason,’ Eddie answers, light and swift, as if they’re friends. ‘How was your birthday?’

Jason blinks, neurons suddenly not quite firing right.

‘Sorry?’

‘Last week. Did you do anything nice?’

It’s bland, banal even, but Jason feels like he’s got Eddie Munson’s hand around his fucking throat. How does he know…?

But then he calms himself, reaches to dip his fingers into the shallow pool of knowledge he has about Eddie and remembers that Eddie does this to rattle people, to get a read of them. Jason supposed it wouldn’t be too difficult for his lawyer to tell Eddie a little about Jason.

Jason knows he has to start this properly.

With an immediate boundary.

‘My private life is not up for discussion, thank you.’

No reaction from Eddie, the same soft smile playing about all his features. ‘What about your co-star’s life? Can we talk about that?’

‘Absolutely not,’ Jason says, firmer than he meant to, helplessly protective of Billy.

‘I hear he does the voice real good,’ Eddie comments as if Jason hadn’t spoken. ‘But it’s a strange choice in my opinion, especially considering he auditioned for me and you auditioned for Steve. Is that to subvert the power dynamic or is the show distancing itself from the media portrayal of us?’

The question is a well layered trap. It takes Jason’s boundary and uses it as tripwire, pulls tight and taut, the glittering offer of discussion in the centre of the maze.

‘We’re not talking about me or anyone else.’

‘I asked you a question.’

Jason’s breath catches. It’s sharp, yet he never raised his voice. The part of Jason that has worked on these mannerisms, from what precious little footage and interview tapes there are of Eddie Munson, drools to witness a new one. To build his understanding and act of this man.

Another part helplessly recoils. Eddie so effortlessly commands attention, Jason’s entire body is rigid.

‘I set a boundary.’

Eddie cocks his head slowly, the smile dims.

‘Answer my question and I won’t test it again.’

‘With all due respect, if you test it again, I’ll walk out.’

‘But then you’ll never know how I told the story, will you?’

Jason holds fast. ‘I’m an actor. I’ll improvise.’

A wide smile splits Eddie’s face, gleaming teeth catch the harsh light for a moment before he chuckles. Jason’s mastered that, the chuckle, replayed it a dozen times over and over from the interview tapes.

‘I’ll rephrase, then. Do you think the show is a faithful portrayal or an artistic interpretation?’

Jason considers before he answers, glancing to the right, gaze landing unseeingly on the wall. ‘I think it’s both. As faithful as it can be based on facts, artistic license for the gaps.’

‘That’s a very good answer, Jason.’

‘Are you saying my name to unsettle me?’

‘You tell me.’

‘Yes.’

‘Then why’d you ask?’

‘Because I like hearing you talk,’ Jason says honestly, even though he hears Jim clearing his throat somewhere behind him. ‘I’m sort of mapping it.’

Eddie’s brows raise ever so slightly. ‘Mapping.’

‘If you don’t mind.’

‘What if I do mind?’

Jason filters through several choices, goes with honesty again and holds fast to his bravery. ‘You don’t mind.’

Eddie smirks. ‘Clever boy.’ His gaze then roams very obviously over Jason’s form again. ‘You worked out for the role.’

It’s not a question. Jason lets the feeling settle, accepts that this is how the hour will pass. ‘I did, yeah. I wasn’t quite your frame before. You kept yourself strong during the years you were in LA.’

‘So it’s focused on the LA years?’

‘The first season mostly.’

‘The other seasons?’

‘Uh, well, season two is very flashback heavy. A lot of…’ I do not recommend mentioning Harrington. ‘A lot of Indiana scenes.’

Eddie soft blinks. It’s the first time he’s blinked at all.

Jason can feel why.

‘Different cast for younger versions?’

‘No.’

‘Good. He’s always looked the way he does, my boy. Doesn’t age. He’s a vampire,’ Eddie whispers, eyes glittering. ‘Are you visiting him too?’

‘I’d rather not discuss…’ Jason searches for the best phrasing, but knows it would be an insult to refer to Eddie’s lover in any way but name, ‘Steve Harrington, if that’s all right.’

‘Did they warn you not to say his name?’

‘You know they did.’

‘Do you know why?’

‘I would think it upsets you, causes you to react in a way that’s not safe.’

‘The last guard who talked about Steve in a way I didn’t like now has one eye and six fingers.’

Jason holds his gaze. ‘I understand.’

Eddie leans forward slightly. Jason stiffens, briefly forgets about the glass. ‘I like that you understand,’ Eddie tells him, and his voice is soft, friendly and warm. ‘I think I see why they cast you now.’

Jason does not take the bait. ‘Would you be open to discussing the story?’

Eddie leans back. ‘Yes.’

‘Thank you. Would you prefer a dialogue or can I ask you questions?’

‘You can ask me questions, Jason. I like your questions.’

Jason acknowledges the warm curl of something in his middle, fascinated, mapping still. He replays what Eddie said a few times, knows he can replicate that charm pretty well.

‘OK, then.’ He opens his pad. ‘My first question—’

‘Say my name.’

He looks up. ‘Sorry?’

Mild as milk, Eddie repeats his words. ‘Say my name.’

Jason clears his throat, back of his neck hot. ‘Eddie Munson.’

‘Just the first part.’

‘Eddie.’

‘Again.’

‘No.’

Eddie smirks. ‘You say it how he says it. Your co-star.’

Jason can’t fathom how he knows that. ‘We are not discussing him.’

‘You’re protective.’

‘It’s a boundary.’

‘No, he asked you not to discuss him.’ Eddie’s eyes narrow slightly and he tongues his left incisor. Jason’s too pinned to even mentally make note of the mannerism. ‘You two should fuck. It’d help a lot.’

Jason rises neatly from the chair, gathers his things, gaze downcast. ‘This is over.’

Eddie laughs, it’s so fucking Steve Voice coded, melodic and pitying and sweet. ‘That’s it, Jason. Show me you won’t bend or bow. Who’s a good mediocre midwestern boy?’

Jim opens the door for Jason, who turns his back on Eddie, the glass, the rooms, but just as he expected, he’s almost free when Eddie calls out, ‘The story changes every time. That’s why no one has it right.’

Jason stops, staring ahead.

He knew it.

He fucking knew it.

No one believed him but Billy, not even David, none of the writers.

‘Don’t mention him again, please,’ Jason says with restrained force as he turns back around.

Eddie’s arms are crossed, smile dancing behind his eyes again, playful. ‘You have my word.’

‘All right, thank you.’ Jason returns to his seat. ‘The story changes every time?’

‘Yes.’

‘But it doesn’t.’

‘Clever boy.’

‘It’s the same story, just told in a different setting. A new viewpoint?’

‘Like your show.’

‘But no one’s heard all the story.’

‘No one but Steve.’

Jason looks down at his questions, closes the notebook and gives Eddie all his attention. ‘I’d like to hear it.’

‘I’d like to tell it to you.’

‘Please do so.’

‘But without an audience.’

‘Absolutely not, Munson,’ Jim warns dryly.

‘I get a private meeting with my lawyer once a week.’

‘Munson—’

‘If you’d consent to temporarily assigning yourself to the team, we could speak privately.’

Jason’s not stupid, he’s got decent instincts. They’ve served him well over the last few years in LA… after that first disastrous mistake. He knows this is such a moment where he has to make a choice.

He trusts the glass, the steel, the walls.

He does not trust Eddie Munson.

But he also wants this, he needs this.

His first big part on a potentially massive show and he’s playing an iconic real life serial killer.

‘If I did, you’d be willing to share this information with full knowledge it’ll be used in the show?’

‘I formally acknowledge that. I’ve already given my consent for the show to be made, haven’t I?’

Jason thinks slow, parsing it out. ‘I’d need to talk to the director.’ Eddie remains silent. ‘I’ll think about it.’

‘No, decide now.’

‘No, I’ll think about it.’

‘The offer expires when you leave.’

Jason hisses under his breath. ‘Fine. Yes, I agree.’

‘Good. You can still ask me questions if you like. We have forty two minutes left.’

But they’ll save the story for next time.

Jason’s queasy and thrilled, sweating heavily yet his composure remains cool. ‘I wanted to ask about the rooftop night.’

Eddie cocks his head and grins. ‘Which one.’

Jason smiles in response before he can catch it. He huffs a tiny laugh. ‘Yeah, there were a lot.’

‘My boy likes stars.’

‘Uh, the suite murders?’

Eddie’s voice drops all the way down, ground floor baritone. ‘The finance bros.’

‘Yeah.’

‘You wanna know which ones offered me money?’

‘No, not that.’

‘All of ‘em. Every single one. And each time, I pretended to consider it. And they would offer low amounts, even when they thought it meant saving their life. Can you imagine that, Jason? Life or death, you’d give everything, right? You’d give anything.’

‘Not anything.’

‘You mean not anyone.’

‘So do you. And no, I wanted to ask why you let the cleaner live.’

‘The woman who testified.’

‘Her account to the cops also pretty much led to your capture three months later, so yeah.’

Eddie shrugs. ‘Everyone makes mistakes.’

‘You don’t.’

‘But I did.’

‘So it was a mistake, then?’

‘I’m here, aren’t I?’ Eddie lifts the chains, drops his hands to make a loud bang of the metal. Jason doesn’t flinch. Eddie seems to like that. ‘One thousand five hundred and eighty six days since I touched him, saw him, got to breathe his scent and hear his voice. I’d say that’s a mistake, wouldn’t you?’

‘Was it Steve?’ Jason asks carefully. A guard behind Eddie shifts where he stands. ‘Did he ask you to… spare her?’

For several beats, Eddie is silent.

Quiet.

Still.

Then he asks, ‘Have you seen him?’

‘No.’

‘Maybe you should go and ask him.’

‘I’m not playing him in the show.’

‘But you are,’ Eddie counters slyly. ‘Because you know, Jason, that I am him and he is me. I dream his dreams and I piss his water and my blood eats his infections and I would dissolve all that I am just so he could bathe in it if he was cold. He’s here, he’s everywhere that I am. In my cells, my memory, my skin. And you know all of this, so why are you fucking with me?’

‘I… I know that, but…’

‘But?’

‘For me, there has to be a divide, a safety wall.’

‘From what?’

‘Playing someone like you,’ Jason says, choosing each word, ‘isn’t easy and for my mental health… for my sanity, I need boundaries.’

‘Then you’re not playing me.’

That irks Jason a little. ‘I didn’t think you’d want me to see Steve.’

‘Why wouldn’t I want that? My baby boy’d love to look you over. He’ll wanna read all the history in your skin.’

‘Watch it,’ Jim warns Eddie, who ignores him as if he’s thin air.

‘In fact,’ he goes on, ‘if you visit him, he’ll tell you why we left the cleaner alive. He can tell you better than I can. He could even tell you what happened the night we were caught.’

Jason’s breath snags.

His lungs lock up.

No one knows what happened that night.

No one.

Not the cops, the lawyers, the families whose relatives were found in the trunk parked up in Griffith Park Zoo.

‘Bullshit,’ Jason utters.

Eddie shrugs gracefully. ‘Go see for yourself. But man, I bet your show would get greenlit for the full five if you’re telling the true untold story of those small town boys, huh?’

‘All right, that’s enough,’ Jim says sternly. ‘Time’s up.’

It’s not.

But Jason gets it.

He feels like all the air got sucked out of the room, can’t look away from Eddie’s eyes, how dark they are, pure black in this harsh light, or maybe that’s just the glass.

Jason stands on shaky legs.

‘Don’t forget your notes,’ Eddie calls out helpfully and Jason turns, realises he did, but Jim Hopper is shoving the pad into his chest, turns him roughly and walks them out. ‘See you soon, Jase.’

*

He vomits in the bathroom of the lobby.

Splashes cold water on his face.

Then goes home.

Jim is silent the entire drive.

It’s only when they pull up, the older man says, ‘I already talked to David. He’s calling a meeting with the DA tomorrow and LAPD, scrambling the legal team, I think. But Jason, you don’t have to do this and I don’t think you should. They’re monsters. Both of ‘em. The show is one thing. This is something else.’

Jason gives a weak smile. ‘Thanks, man.’

Inside his apartment, he shakily calls Billy and tells him everything. Only then, with Billy’s voice to make him feel less alone, does he let himself cry.

*

There are several meetings over the next few days.

Jason is present for all of them.

The show has assigned him his own lawyer, someone whose entire lookout is his protection, even against the show if need be. Her name is Nancy Wheeler and she’s sharp as fuck. Multiple times she cuts right in, all, ‘My client won’t agree to that,’ before Jason even has to whisper to her.

The angle of the show is being changed.

Or potentially it is.

The problem is that new information could lead to new charges, all kinds of legality Jason’s not versed in.

After four days, David is certain they’re on solid ground so long as what’s shared by either Steve or Eddie is given transparently to the authorities, then it can go ahead and the show can use elements of the story (dressed up, of course) without legal recourse. The show can also boast true testimony from both Eddie and Steve if Jason should get it.

Jason is assigned voluntarily to Eddie’s legal team, Nancy included, as well as Steve’s legal team. He’s there in an “assistive capacity” whatever the fuck that means.

A private meeting is set up for Jason and Steve, the flight is booked, the hotel organised.

No one is more opposed to it than Billy.

‘You shouldn’t go,’ he says again the night before the flight. ‘I really don’t want you to go.’

He’s said it ten times or more by now, but each time becomes something more pleading and soft. ‘I’ll be safe,’ Jason assures him, folding his clothes for the overnight stay. ‘I’ve got a team with me. It’s Hopper.’

‘Steve Harrington is fucking dangerous,’ he says again and Jason sighs.

‘So is Eddie.’

‘Not like this! Not like this, OK? I’ve gone further down the rabbit hole than I should with this guy and trust me, you don’t want to get near him.’ Billy’s jaw clenches. ‘Maybe I should go too.’

Jason briefly falters.

This beautifully delicate newborn butterfly emerging from the chrysalis, it’s hard not to let it spread wide and fly. Character bleed is one thing, feeling bleed is another.

They both said right from the start that they were open to intimacy practice, to kissing in private, learning how to touch, establishing familiarity.

And they did.

They’ve done that.

In dressing rooms, in corners of the set.

Here.

Billy’s place.

It’s passionate and yet professional.

But Jason can see how easy it would be to fall for him.

‘No, I want you here.’

Billy slips off the bed, hand in his hair. ‘I’m worried about you.’

‘I promise I’m fine. And this… this is such a fucking opportunity. We could maybe even bring closure to the families.’

‘The same families who begged us not to make the show?’

Jason winces. ‘We’re not romanticising it. The sensitivity team is supervising all murder scenes.’

‘There’s a scene where we fuck in the victim’s blood.’

‘Come on, Billy, the whole show is predicated around depiction not equalling endorsement and we changed all the names, added fictional elements.’

‘Then why does getting the truth from them matter to you? If it’s fiction, let it be fiction.’

‘I don’t know, why’d it matter to you to get his voice just right?’ He regrets it as soon as he’s said it. Jason sighs, rubs the back of his neck and shakes his head. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘No, it’s OK. We said no judgement from the start, right?’

‘Right.’

‘I’m just worried. This guy fucks me up and I’m never gonna be in the same room as him. He’s in my head just from reading about him and watching him on TV.’

‘Which one?’

Billy cocks his head. ‘See?’

‘I know. I just… I can’t not go.’ It’s the truth. ‘And this could guarantee the fifth season.’

‘Because we’ll sit on the truth until we get it?’

‘Not from the cops but yeah, maybe.’

Billy sighs.

Jason wanders into his space.

He waits, reading him.

Billy opens his arms. Jason fits himself into the embrace.

‘We’re already bleeding,’ Billy simply says, the voice almost like Steve’s, he’s slowly losing his own sometimes. ‘Seeing them and talking to them will make it worse.’

‘Better for the show, though.’

‘I know. But you matter, Jason. You matter even without the fucking show.’

‘I do?’ he asks tremulously and though he stays soft on the outside, everything inside twists and splits and strains.

Billy hugs him tighter. ‘You do.’

The whole flight there, Jason will wish he’d kissed him.

*

Hospital security is shockingly low.

Maybe Jason’s biased because he’s fresh from Maximum Security, but he thinks this place would be insanely easy to break out of. Nancy’s on the phone to someone as they walk together, her tone low, but he can tell she’s scanning the place as much as Jim.

They’re led to a room with no glass divide, windows full of sunshine, plastic cups of water between the two opposing chairs. One of the windows is slightly open, a breeze drifting inside.

‘Um,’ Jason says to Jim, who was talking to security. ‘Are we… safe?’

‘They say he’s docile as anything, never hurt a single person his entire time here,’ Jim explains, but the tone of his voice, Jason senses he’s not happy. ‘Hence minimum security.’

‘Our Steve has made great progress with us,’ Doctor Owens explains with a happy smile. ‘He’s social, well adjusted and compliant at all times.’ His focus lands on Jason. ‘We’re all very excited for the show!’

Jason forces a smile. ‘Oh, thanks.’

Steve is brought in by an orderly.

He’s in a mesh straitjacket, breathable and semi-transparent. Jason’s heart lurches despite himself.

Steve Harrington is fucking beautiful.

His hair is so much longer than it was four years ago, currently tied in a little half up half down. His court photos were all of him with that buzzcut the guards gave to punish him for biting that one guy’s cheek so bad it needed stitches. He’s grown it out fully now.

His gaze is serene, calm and pleasant.

He sits opposite Jason.

They’re breathing the same air.

The table moves as he nudges in, helped by the orderly.

‘Thanks, Diane,’ Steve says softly and Jason’s skin crawls, it’s so like Billy, or Billy is so like Steve, fucking god. ‘You’re the best.’

‘Do you want a drink, sweetie?’

He looks up at her, wrinkling his nose like a kitten. ‘Warm milk, please?’

She honest to god ruffles his hair.

Nancy Wheeler scribbles something. ‘Wow.’

‘So, we understand that this is a legal meeting, no recording devices allowed but our good faith agreement for viable information stands, yes?’ Owens checks.

‘Yes, absolutely,’ Nancy assures him.

‘Sam,’ Steve says and everyone looks at him. ‘We need more chairs and a table, please.’

Samual Owens cocks his head. ‘Why’s that, Stevie?’

‘I don’t want the lawyers sitting here,’ Steve whispers loudly, almost like a child. ‘They want to take notes, so they’ll need a table of their own back there, plus chairs for the bodyguards, please.’

‘Well, I’m sure we can do that,’ Owens chuckles and goes about seeing to it.

The whole time, Steve won’t look at Jason.

‘Is there some reason you don’t want me in your eyeline, Mr Harrington?’ Nancy asks.

‘Lawyers give me nightmares.’

‘Nothing to the ones you gave your victims, I’m sure.’

‘They don’t have nightmares, they’re all dead. That perfume does not suit you, by the way. You should just tell him you don’t like it.’

Owens brings the extra table in just as Nancy’s jaw drops. ‘Here you are, Miss Wheeler. Chairs for you too, Mr Hopper and your associate.’

Jim makes a show of dragging his chair within eyeline of the main table. Steve doesn’t seem to mind that. Nancy moves her things, pats Jason on the shoulder and then, when Diane has brought Steve a warm milk, complete with a straw, Owens says they have an hour.

The door closes behind him, does not sound locked.

Steve hums softly, bends to drink his drink and then raises his head slowly, licking his lips.

‘That’s better.’ He looks at Jason. ‘Hello.’

‘Hi. I’m uh, Jason Carver.’

‘Middle name?’

‘No.’

Steve smiles. ‘JC. People call you Jace?’

‘I always imagine it with an S, but yeah.’

‘Can I see your palm?’

Jason blinks. ‘I’d rather not.’

‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ Steve says, all sympathy and soft whispers, such sadness blooming. ‘I should have known.’

It feels like the world turned upside down and no one else has noticed. Jason’s collarbone compresses hard, his vision sways. There is no way… no fucking way he’s talking about that, but the way he’s saying it…

No.

It’s just a trick.

It’s Jason’s mind fucking with him.

‘No problem,’ he says levelly. ‘I already established boundaries with Eddie and it’s probably good to do the same with you. I don’t want to talk about my personal life, or anything involving other people on the show. I’m just here to talk to you.’

‘Me?’ Steve echoes, eyes wide and pretty, innocent. ‘No one ever wants to talk to me. Daddy’s the star.’

‘I do. I’d like to talk to you.’

‘He sent you here. I can smell him on you.’

Jason swallows. He’s tried to prepare himself for this, the way that Steve is, how he speaks, his state of mind. ‘I saw him last week.’

‘He gets in everywhere, doesn’t he?’ Steve muses, drinking more milk. ‘Hard to shake.’

‘Eddie said you could tell me what happened the night you were caught.’

Steve hums to himself while Jason speaks and shifts his arms beneath the mesh straitjacket. His forearms and fingers are heavily tattooed. ‘My Pluto sway, he’s always sending me roses.’

It’s unnerving, how much it reminds him of Billy.

Jason doesn’t like it.

‘Roses?’

‘To say sorry.’

‘For what?’

Steve rolls his head and cracks his neck bones. The sound is loud. Everyone in the room watches it.

‘Do you know what the first stars were?’

‘No.’

‘They were…’ Steve muses, voice introspective and soft, like he’s high or drunk, ‘these great, ungodly monstrosities of helium and hydrogen. Massive, unstable, gorgeous beings. Epochal events that preceded the formation of all solar systems. Heavy elements born as these big, beautiful behemoths grew too large, too bright and then collapsed into supernovas. My love, my Eddie…’ Steve smiles, like Eddie is there. ‘He’s got more of those old stars in him than anyone else and we share that. We’re made of the same star. But we are not the same. And he hurt me, that last night.’

Despite himself, Jason is raptly fascinated. Listening and drinking in every word that Steve Harrington says.

‘He’s been sending roses ever since,’ Steve adds, his gaze swivelling onto Jason with somewhat alarming precision, given how dreamy he was not two seconds before, waxing poetic about stars or whatever the fuck. ‘But you’re the first one I like.’

Jason’s lips part, but he can’t phrase the thought he has.

He’d sound insane.

‘Would you answer a few of my questions?’

‘Would you show me your palm? I won’t touch it.’

God fucking damn it, this should be a non-issue. The guy is in a straitjacket, he’s supposedly a puppy dog sweetheart. It’s minimum security. But Jason just feels so hesitant.

He thinks of what Billy would say.

How sternly he’d refuse.

But he wants the story.

‘All right,’ he says, sliding his hand across the table, palm facing up. ‘Just for a second.’

Steve smiles at Jason like they’re best friends, lovers, brothers. ‘Thank you.’ He drops his gaze to study what he’s given and cocks his head once or twice before looking up again. ‘Ask your questions, Jase.’

‘Can you tell me why you let the cleaning lady live?’

‘You already know.’

Jason stares. ‘You don’t know what I know, Stevie.’

It gets the little response he’s hoping for, a tiny flash in those golden brown eyes. ‘Careful, little rose, he’d gut you for calling me that.’

‘I don’t think so. I think he likes me.’

‘He likes cheeseburgers too, but he doesn’t treat ‘em too nicely,’ Steve adds, smiling as if he’s about to laugh. ‘How was it seeing him? You’ve been training to be him for months now, they tell me. How did it feel?’

Honest. He knows he has to be honest.

‘It felt… surreal, fascinating and scary.’

‘Did you like him?’

Careful.

‘No. But I’ll probably think about him every day for the rest of my life.’

‘He gets in everywhere, my Pluto sway,’ Steve sighs. ‘We let the cleaning lady live because we didn’t go there to kill her. We only kill who we chose.’

Jason’s never heard it phrased like that before. ‘So, you chose people in advance?’

‘There was no degree of premeditation in any of the accounts,’ the other lawyer speaks up, Steve’s lawyer.

Steve rolls his eyes but does not contradict. ‘I would dream them,’ he says instead. ‘And besides, we only killed a certain breed of man.’

‘You’ve killed men and women.’

‘I’ve killed three women, yes. Eddie never has.’

‘But only people you dreamt of?’

‘They’re all here, wandering around, trailing red. I can see them, Eddie can’t. The orange days are the best, the brightest, keeps the flies away.’ Jason makes no judgement on this manner of speech, nor does he attempt to course correct. He just listens. ‘Humans will bleed entire species into beakers while alive, they will bleed them for research and medicine. What makes us so special? Animals are slaughtered every day. Humans deserve to know how that feels. Make it red in all nine corners, all nine strings.’

‘And you decide who?’

‘I see their colour. I know their hearts. I know where they’ve been.’

Nancy clears her throat. ‘Good to see you didn’t just cop a plea there, Mr Harrington.’

Jason says, ‘That’s not why Eddie kills.’

‘That’s not why I killed either,’ Steve points out calmly. ‘We enjoy it. We like it. We would waltz together over the bodies and I could feel his heart, how at peace he was.’

‘Did you feel at peace?’

‘I felt like a star. Do you imagine him when you play him?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you slip into his mindset?’

‘I try to.’

‘How do you see him?’

‘I see him… as efficient, ruthless and pragmatic.’

‘And how do you see us?’

‘I see you as twin moons in a death orbit. Obsessed, unable to pull away, headed for collision.’

‘Oh, I see why he likes you,’ Steve utters, watching Jason unblinkingly. ‘So, little rose, ask away.’

‘Will you tell me about the night you were caught?’

‘Hmm.’ It’s offhand, calm. ‘That’s not really what you want to know, is it? That’s what they want you to find out.’

‘I do still want to know. Eddie told me to ask you.’

‘Of course he did. He wanted me to meet you. He licked you like a letter, and folded you up. He’s still saying sorry.’

‘How did he hurt you?’

‘Eddie broke his promise, the seventh ring. He’s never supposed to kill without me. He has a temper, the old star in him groans and screams slow, it yearns for the death it carved in time-space, the supernova. He’s a Titan, he’s my moon, but he’s a motherfucker too,’ Steve adds with surprising lucidity. ‘You want to ask about the story.’

Jason blinks, but can’t waste time asking how. ‘Yes, I do.’

‘To know the story, I’d have to tell you the story,’ Steve says with emphasis. ‘The whole story. Everything.’

‘I’m listening.’

‘No, you’re not. But don’t worry, there’s a seed in your brain and we have the sun. You just need to let it in. Are you ready?’

‘Yes.’

‘Say my name.’

Jason swallows. ‘Steve.’

‘No, say it the way that would earn him gutting you if he heard it.’

His heart is pounding behind ribs, every breath is shallow and delicate. He can hear his pulse, see it in his eyes. ‘Stevie.’

‘There you are, good boy,’ Steve praises intently in a way that makes his blood run warm and his mind go soft around the edges. ‘Now wear him and listen. Once upon a time, I was broken and you were lost.’

*

He doesn’t go home.

He goes to Billy’s place.

Jason is still in his flight clothes, he’s exhausted, hasn’t slept. No food, running on bad coffee, he’s a mess and he knows it but there’s nowhere else he can go except to Billy.

No one else will understand.

Billy opens the door, he’s wearing a tee and shorts, nothing else. He looks at Jason, says nothing, and opens his arms. Jason almost falls into his embrace, desperate and weak and heavy with what Steve told him.

Somehow, Billy gets them inside, closes the door behind him and bends to take Jason’s weight without tipping over. Jason just clings, helps where he can, but he can’t come out from the safety of Billy’s skin.

He can hear Steve’s words in his head.

In his heart.

Billy gets them both on the couch, rubbing Jason’s back.

‘It’s all OK,’ Billy says.

Jason pulls back, eyes wet, fucked.

He’s so fucking fucked.

‘He told me the story.’

Billy’s eyes move between his own. ‘I’m sorry.’ His hand slips into Jason’s hair, cradling the back of his head, rough and knowing, they’ve practised all this before, touched one another, talked it through.

‘I want…’ Jason gasps, tries to stop himself. ‘I need to act it out.’

Billy goes still.

‘What?’

‘I need… I can’t keep it inside me. I need you to be him and I’ll be Eddie. I… Billy, I can’t get level, I’m all fucked up. The bleed is killing me. You were right, I shouldn’t have gone. It’s… I feel like I’m infected, like I can’t get it out!’

‘Jase, hey, it’s all—’

‘Don’t call me that,’ he begs, hears only their voice framing his name in that familiar way. ‘Call me Eddie. Please. Please.’

‘This is so fucked up.’

‘I know, but we always said if the bleed got bad, we’d help each other. I’m begging you.’

‘We’re gonna cross the line,’ Billy tells him, voice dropped low, a rough husk that’s so authentically Billy that Jason can’t stand it, feels like cheating, like he’s betraying Steve, oh god. ‘We’re… if we do this, I know we’re gonna end up—’

‘I want it,’ Jason blurts out before he clumsily crushes his mouth to Billy’s. ‘I… Stevie, please. Please, baby. Let me tell you the story.’

Billy groans, grip turning soft and cruel, his fingers digging in and yes, fuck he needs it, wants his boy to make that pretty pain with those lethal fingers.

‘Promise me we’ll still be OK.’

‘I promise,’ he swears, and then lets his mind sink fully where it begs to, where he’s too deep to let shame touch him. ‘I promise, baby boy.’

Billy makes that sound, whispers, ‘Daddy,’ and Eddie fucking loses his mind.

‘God, I missed you,’ he groans, shaking all over. ‘I missed you, Stevie, fuck.’

He’s outrageously hard, hips rolling shallow and rough down where his boy’s hard too, needy, panting for breath.

‘My Pluto sway, where were you?’ Steve croaks like he’s crying and Eddie can’t bear it, can’t take it, he pushes Steve down to pin him, kiss deeper, it’s all tongue and spit and later, blood, so much blood, fuck, they need new scars, new ink, all of it. He’ll put roses in his chest and watch them bloom.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Eddie says, force behind it that leaves him fractured, hurting, vulnerable. ‘I’m so sorry for leaving you, hurting you, breaking my promise.’

Steve slaps his cheek hard enough that it stings and Eddie relishes the pain, the burn, he fucking loves it. Makes him growl into the kiss and grind his cock down onto Steve’s own.

‘Gonna tell you the story, baby,’ he promises, fuck-drunk already, he’s not even naked. ‘Gonna carve it into your skin.’

‘Tell me, tell me, Daddy, fuck.’

They’re fumbling with clothes, need to be free, bare and beautiful together, make love and come and cuts and bruises. It’s frantic and desperate and Eddie wishes he had a knife, he’d write a poem in his arm and let Steve name it.

‘Once upon a time,’ he says, throat hurting from the swollen words that need to come out, ‘you were broken and I was lost. I was a man without North, and you were missing pieces. And I could feel you,’ he says, voice cracking, eyes filling, ‘all my life, every moment. I didn’t know what to call you. This feeling in here.’ He lifts Steve’s hand to his heart, where the ink lives, where all the pieces reside. ‘It was you, and it was broken. And I dreamed of you in a hundred faces and I heard you speak a dozen languages and I watched you die a hundred deaths and I couldn’t touch you. And I would wake in my room and hear you crying but I couldn’t find you fast enough. You left pieces of yourself all over this country and I’ve been chasing them forever. And then,’ he grunts, finally inside his love, his boy, his Stevie, his darling killer, they never think it’s him, he’s inside him now, tight and perfect and warm, ‘You found me.’

Steve bites his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood and the pain of it makes his cock throb, the blood tastes so good, and it’s theirs, all theirs, forever. They’ll share, they’ll swap and trade and live always in this cycle, this circle.

‘I found you,’ Steve echoes. ‘I found you, didn’t I?’

‘You fucking found me and you touched me and I loved you and there was never any going back. You let me touch you and the world knew… it just knew we belonged together. And all your broken pieces are set with my blood and you’re my North. And I wanted to just kiss you, I wanted to love you under the moon and take you to pieces and you… you let me. You’re mine and I’m yours and I could never lose you because we will always find each other.’

He's buried deep inside his lover, clenching around him, he kisses more, never wants to stop, it’s so fucking perfect and beautiful. It’s flowers opening and the sun in Italy and waterfalls and stars and the open road and the way their mouths fit so perfectly together and the taste of him and how good it feels to be home.

And the story.

The fucking story is inside Steve now, he put it there, fucked it deep, it’ll grow and his love will shine and everything is all right in the world as he comes, comes so hard his lungs lock up tight, violent and the room turns red and all he knows is that he loves him.

Eddie Munson loves Steve Harrington.

‘I love you too,’ his boy mutters and he must have said that out loud. Steve kisses him, he’s softly kissing him all over. ‘Love you, Daddy. So much, fuck.’

They fall asleep that way, sharing dreams.

*

Billy makes coffee the next day.

They’re both quiet, tentative.

Jason feels sick.

‘Billy,’ he says, voice shaking when he can find it. He grips the coffee cup hard, makes it burn. ‘I am so, so fucking sorry.’

‘No.’

‘What?’ He looks up, stares at Billy, who’s stirring his own coffee around and around.

‘No,’ he simply repeats. ‘No sorry. No regrets. No guilt, all right? I wanted it. I wanted you, Jason. I know it’s fucked up, but it’s what we both need to do the show, I think. All I want you to know is that I actually want you. Not him, not them. You. When the curtain falls, I still wanna be with you, if.’ He shrugs, blinks several times. ‘If that’s what you want.’

Minutes pass.

Jason’s replaying the words over and over.

Then he gets up, walks around and hugs Billy. He wraps him up in his arms and breathes in the scent of him; cologne, skin, soap and sea, Billy surfs every day.

‘I want that,’ he confesses. ‘I’ve wanted it since we met.’

Billy kisses him. His lips are soft, and he’s a fucking good kisser. It’s beautiful, perfect, it makes Jason crazy. ‘Me too, Jase. You’re so… fuck, I’m wild for you. I’ve tried not to be, but I can’t help it.’

Jason smiles into the kiss, feels so light and full and happy. He wants to say I love you because he knows he does, but he holds the words inside like helium for now, they make him weightless and bubbly.

‘I wanna be yours,’ he mutters, kisses Billy more, harder, deeper, fingers through his hair, the soft curls he refused to let the stylist straighten for the role, said it’d be good to have some visual distinction.

They fuck in Billy’s bed, terrace doors open, the sounds of the sea drifting inside as they break sweat and drink spit and Jason comes inside him with no condom because they were tested before the show started shooting, potential blood issue due to the physicality of the kisses, and besides, it’d feel stupid to wear one now when he didn’t last night.

After, they go out for breakfast and then head to the set together, making out in the car.

It’s a secret.

A glittering, beautiful secret that Jason feels sure everyone’s gonna know the second they lay eyes on them, but Billy insists they at least try, and Jason agrees, he gets it.

Later, there’ll be a meeting with David to discuss and debrief everything that happened with Steve, but Jason feels so light, so hopeful and borderline horny he honestly doesn’t care anymore. The terrible weight he had inside him after Steve told him the story is gone now, and he knows the show is gonna be a smash hit, he just fucking knows it. He’ll buy his Momma a house and he’ll buy one for himself on the beach, near Billy maybe, and he’ll get a dog and his life will be beautiful and perfect.

Billy’s fingers will brush his own whenever he passes.

He’ll whisper his name. ‘Jase.’

And Jason will turn where the sound came from, he’ll seek him out from that sound alone.

Jason would hear it anywhere.

To him, it’s louder than any scream.