[ sometimes, things were the way they were, and no amount of silver linings would actually brighten up that shit. sometimes, things just sucked. it was what it was and, for all of the dread that the thought of returning to hiding might carry with it, for all of the uncertainty, when you face off evil, and somehow fend off death, the rest seemed less impossible to navigate. he'll have to figure it out and eddie certainly wasn't going to get ahead of himself and panic about it now. tomorrow? maybe a different story. ]
Yeah, you know, there was a whole lot off about that mall fire story. [ he continues the passing comment, but doesn't exactly carry on with the point. doesn't think its necessary to point out that if they didn't want things getting out, maybe they would try to clean things up faster than a group of tweens does. but that's neither here nor there either. he just hopes — he hopes he isn't the convenient scapegoat, a nonconformist freak on the sidelines thats the easy way out.
in retrospect, he considers the fact that steve would have more experience there, that steve spoke in passing about some russian lab and this or that and honestly? in that moment, that expertise would be enough.
he carries on with the approach to the house, trying to wave him off, can feel the guy hovering behind his every step and only comes close to slipping once, until they reach the front porch and eddie stops at the door, as though politely. there's some uncertainty there too, brows creased as he wonders how much more sneaking he would need to be doing until harrington answers it for him and says no one's home, reaching across to open the door and eddie is a little too slow to get fully out of the way — just enough to lean back, maybe. ] Oh, great. Because, you know, I didn't bring a fruit basket or anything. [ seeing it as much an invitation as anything, eddie walks on through, a little (a lot) stiff, before he's throwing looks around the spacious room. its quiet, telltale feelings that make it seem a lonely house, for all its rooms. ] So - this is home sweet home, hmm?
[ he'll fall back, and wait instead to follow steve in, giving him a slightly sheepish smile. the more time he spends standing, the more aware he is of how much he hates the motion, how much better sitting felt, and how heavy the jacket is sitting.
he rolls weary shoulders to shrug it off along the way — or tries to, if the action doesn't send pinpricks of pain through the shoulder up the neck, if his elbow doesn't get stuck in the sleeve, if the action doesn't feel entirely impossible right now and he must make some disgruntled noise as he struggles through it, only to knock a knee into a cabinet in the process. ] Ah, shit, come on.
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Yeah, you know, there was a whole lot off about that mall fire story. [ he continues the passing comment, but doesn't exactly carry on with the point. doesn't think its necessary to point out that if they didn't want things getting out, maybe they would try to clean things up faster than a group of tweens does. but that's neither here nor there either. he just hopes — he hopes he isn't the convenient scapegoat, a nonconformist freak on the sidelines thats the easy way out.
in retrospect, he considers the fact that steve would have more experience there, that steve spoke in passing about some russian lab and this or that and honestly? in that moment, that expertise would be enough.
he carries on with the approach to the house, trying to wave him off, can feel the guy hovering behind his every step and only comes close to slipping once, until they reach the front porch and eddie stops at the door, as though politely. there's some uncertainty there too, brows creased as he wonders how much more sneaking he would need to be doing until harrington answers it for him and says no one's home, reaching across to open the door and eddie is a little too slow to get fully out of the way — just enough to lean back, maybe. ] Oh, great. Because, you know, I didn't bring a fruit basket or anything. [ seeing it as much an invitation as anything, eddie walks on through, a little (a lot) stiff, before he's throwing looks around the spacious room. its quiet, telltale feelings that make it seem a lonely house, for all its rooms. ] So - this is home sweet home, hmm?
[ he'll fall back, and wait instead to follow steve in, giving him a slightly sheepish smile. the more time he spends standing, the more aware he is of how much he hates the motion, how much better sitting felt, and how heavy the jacket is sitting.
he rolls weary shoulders to shrug it off along the way — or tries to, if the action doesn't send pinpricks of pain through the shoulder up the neck, if his elbow doesn't get stuck in the sleeve, if the action doesn't feel entirely impossible right now and he must make some disgruntled noise as he struggles through it, only to knock a knee into a cabinet in the process. ] Ah, shit, come on.