[ no, you could never quite find your footing, here. never quite shake the feeling of being off-kilter, never quite feeling like you're the right side up. it isn't that you get used to it as much as it becomes easier to ignore, but the two aren't entirely the same thing. you stop wanting to hurl sometime between falling in and your first bat encounter, if you're lucky. maybe it's good that they aren't truly used to it? maybe it's important to not get used to hopping into this place every school year.
thunder rumbles, lightning threatens to strike and it is always that ominous scarlet and every time it had come, eddie couldn't help but flinch. couldn't help but look to the horizon, expecting a swarm to be scattered across. expecting to run (again) or to die (again).
except — he doesn't look this time. he doesn't look this time and he doesn't flinch and everything feels like it moves in slow motion, attention on - and only on - someone he half expected to not be real. the ache is momentarily dulled by the sheer disbelief, by the adrenaline that spikes through him as steve is the one that's suddenly right in front of him without hesitation. always without hesitation and what a frustrating trait this man has —
eddie feels himself open his mouth, take in a breath to retort something — and he really wouldn't be able to even say what — when harrington's pulling him in and it's that second where eddie's brain finally clicks in with real, holy fucking shit this was real. it takes a breath of hesitation through a suddenly tight throat before his arms are around harrington, fingers splayed across a shoulder while the others tighten on the back of steve's shirt.
the hold tightens and there's a small grunt of protest, some pain shooting through but he doesn't care even then, not really and who would have thought that eddie the freak munson would be nearly clinging to steve harrington for all he's worth?
in the end, he's glad steve's hands stay on his shoulders when they move away. he's insanely aware, now, that this is probably the only thing keeping him upright. his laugh is weak. ] I thought — maybe I was just making all that shit up, with the light, with you, with everything but —
This feels real, right? [ uncertain, hopeful? his own hands are on steve's elbow and tap along it for restless emphasis, warm against cold fingertips, and the other hand still hovers somewhere by the ribs like a tether. an anchor. he can be embarrassed about it later. he shakes his head, and there's a frown twisting his expression. ] I don't think I'm ready for this to be one bad trip, man.
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thunder rumbles, lightning threatens to strike and it is always that ominous scarlet and every time it had come, eddie couldn't help but flinch. couldn't help but look to the horizon, expecting a swarm to be scattered across. expecting to run (again) or to die (again).
except — he doesn't look this time. he doesn't look this time and he doesn't flinch and everything feels like it moves in slow motion, attention on - and only on - someone he half expected to not be real. the ache is momentarily dulled by the sheer disbelief, by the adrenaline that spikes through him as steve is the one that's suddenly right in front of him without hesitation. always without hesitation and what a frustrating trait this man has —
eddie feels himself open his mouth, take in a breath to retort something — and he really wouldn't be able to even say what — when harrington's pulling him in and it's that second where eddie's brain finally clicks in with real, holy fucking shit this was real. it takes a breath of hesitation through a suddenly tight throat before his arms are around harrington, fingers splayed across a shoulder while the others tighten on the back of steve's shirt.
the hold tightens and there's a small grunt of protest, some pain shooting through but he doesn't care even then, not really and who would have thought that eddie the freak munson would be nearly clinging to steve harrington for all he's worth?
in the end, he's glad steve's hands stay on his shoulders when they move away. he's insanely aware, now, that this is probably the only thing keeping him upright. his laugh is weak. ] I thought — maybe I was just making all that shit up, with the light, with you, with everything but —
This feels real, right? [ uncertain, hopeful? his own hands are on steve's elbow and tap along it for restless emphasis, warm against cold fingertips, and the other hand still hovers somewhere by the ribs like a tether. an anchor. he can be embarrassed about it later. he shakes his head, and there's a frown twisting his expression. ] I don't think I'm ready for this to be one bad trip, man.