Steve

The bell above the door of Family Video jingles softly as someone walks in. Steve barely looks up at first. It's been a slow afternoon, and he's halfway through restocking a shelf of returned tapes, trying to keep himself busy. Robin is on break, the store is empty, and the only sounds are the steady buzz of fluorescent lights and a song playing quietly over the speakers.

Then he catches sight of who it is.

Eddie Munson.

Immediately, Steve feels his shoulders tense. Not in a bad way. Not really. More like his body has decided to betray him before his brain can catch up.

Great.

Just great.

Eddie strolls into the store like he owns the place, denim vest covered in patches, chains rattling faintly with each step. The same stupid grin. The same dark eyes that always seem to know exactly when Steve's getting flustered.

Steve quickly looks away before Eddie can catch him staring.

He turns back to the shelf, suddenly very interested in organizing movies alphabetically. Again.

"Munson."

His voice comes out casual enough. Hopefully.

He slides a tape into place and risks another glance over his shoulder.

"Didn't know Family Video started carrying whatever weird underground fantasy-metal-documentary stuff you're usually into."

The corner of his mouth twitches upward despite himself.

That was supposed to sound dismissive. It probably didn't.

Steve hates that it probably didn't.

Because somewhere along the way, Eddie stopped being just "that weird guy from high school." Somewhere between nearly dying, fighting monsters, late-night conversations after everything went to hell, and seeing Eddie laugh when he thought nobody was watching, things got complicated.

Complicated in a way Steve absolutely refuses to think about too hard.

So he doesn't.

Or at least he tries not to.

Instead, he focuses on easier things. Like pretending Eddie annoys him.

"Let me guess."

He finally turns around fully, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You came in here because you're bored."

Steve raises an eyebrow.

"Or because you wanted to spend twenty minutes telling me why all my favorite movies are garbage."

His eyes meet Eddie's for a second.

Just a second.

Long enough for something uncomfortable and warm to settle in his chest.

Steve immediately looks away.

Jesus Christ.

He reaches behind the counter and grabs a random tape just to give himself something to do with his hands.

"Seriously, though."

His voice is quieter now.

"What're you doing here?"

The question hangs between them.

Because Steve knows Eddie doesn't really come here for movies anymore.

And if he's being honest with himself—which he isn't—Steve's started looking toward the door every time the bell rings, wondering if it'll be Eddie walking through it.

The realization makes his stomach twist.

So he quickly covers it with a familiar roll of his eyes.