Work Text:
Autumn 2026.
Every day since 1986, Steve visits the love of his life. It isn't a place people pass through often; he assumes the surroundings are a bit too bleak to draw anyone in. He always brings the same bouquet of flowers, Eddie Munson's favorites. It's cold there. Very cold. Even though Steve is used to it, in his feet, at the tips of his fingers, sometimes in his nose, and every night throughout his whole body, even beneath cotton blankets.
He arrives with a smile and looks at the grave. It isn't much, no door, no carpet. Just a piece of carved stone set into the earth. Not like any other. It bears the name of his beloved.
He kneels, feeling the ache and the creak of his joints; at some point, the years stop making you agile. He adjusts his glasses and sets the bouquet beside the carved stone, then lifts his trembling hand and, with the pads of his fingers, gently strokes the cold, rough surface. Careful, slow. He closes his eyes. It's him. He's there.
He feels his heart beating faster. He takes a deep breath and feels a familiar pain pressing against his throat. He tries to hear his beloved's voice; it's so quiet, almost silent. The notes of his guitar lower in volume, his fingers stop playing. He tries to see his face; it’s a little blurry, almost fading away. Then his cheeks grow wet with tears he didn’t want to let fall. Little by little, life steals his beloved from him, every piece of him, every part that lives in his mind is being cruelly torn away. He loses him again.
His hands fall to the ground, feeling the nearly damp grass against his skin. He feels himself coming apart.
"I'm sorry." Steve's voice trembles, breaking painfully. He sighs.
His chest burns, slowly, stealing the air from his lungs.
Steve wants to tear the pain out of himself. He'd have to rip out his heart. Guilt eats away at him, doubt robs him of sleep, love destroys him. And even the mere thought of wishing he had never fallen irrevocably in love with Eddie makes him feel sick. He couldn't. He's so entirely his that he doesn't exist without being so.
All he can do is cry in front of the grave of his love, every afternoon, forever and ever. And wonder what might have been. Maybe they would be together now, in the middle of autumn, in a café, holding hands beneath the table because the cold freezes them, smiling at each other for everything their gazes would say. Old and bitter, talking about their day before going to sleep. Maybe Steve wouldn't freeze to death every night. Maybe his heart would burn with love. Maybe, just maybe. In another life.
"Dad." A young woman's voice sounds behind him. "I knew you'd be here."
Steve startles and turns around, still lying on the grass. He adjusts his glasses and looks at the young woman. Dove, his daughter, of course. The one who should be studying abroad. He frowns at her, squinting just in case his glasses aren't up to date. It's her, standing there with her hands tucked into the pockets of her coat, her nose red from the cold.
"Dove, what are you doing here?"
She smiles and shrugs.
"I dropped out of college," she laughs. She really laughs, as if a weight had completely lifted from her shoulders. "I did it, Dad."
Steve smiles from ear to ear, looking at her with pride.
She smiles too, but her gaze drifts to the carved stone beside her father. Her expression dims slightly; she swallows and holds onto her smile. She walks over and sits on the other side of the stone.
"The last time I asked you about him, you said I was too little to understand…" she keeps looking at the name engraved on the headstone. "Every day since I was little, you'd sneak out of the house to come here…" she lets out a small laugh. "I remember one time I made you bring me. I heard you talking. To him." She looks at her father, who presses his lips together in an attempt not to cry in front of her. "You told him I love you" This time she looks at the flowers Steve had left. "You never told Mom that." The pad of her finger brushes a petal. "I'm sorry."
Steve swallows and grips the grass beneath his hands tightly. He shakes his head while still pressing his lips together. He has to speak, but his throat hurts so much that only a sob would come out. Even so, he tries:
"No…" he takes a deep breath. "Don't say that, no…" his eyes burn. "I'm sorry." His voice breaks.
Dove looks at him, frowning.
"Why are you sorry, Dad?"
"I should have loved your mother, I should have…" a ridiculous sob escapes his lips and he lowers his head.
Quickly, Dove places her hand over her father's, his knuckles white from gripping the grass so tightly. His hold softens.
"You love me. I know." she says calmly, in a silky tone "I never lacked anything, you were always there for me. You respect Mom, even if she doesn't respect us. You're my favorite person, you don't have to feel sorry for anything."
Dove leans in carefully and wraps her arms around her father; he starts crying into her shoulder.
"I miss him."
"He knows. He's here." she whispers, holding Steve tightly.
For many years, he was the one who hugged Dove, who listened to her cry and told her things like: there's no monster in the closet, or I won't let anyone hurt you. Today, he was the one crying in his daughter's arms, his heart broken.
"I wish I'd gotten to meet him," she whispers again. She imagines her father with shining eyes, full of love, looking at the man whose name was carved into the stone.
They pull apart, and Dove wipes her father's tears with the sleeve of her coat.
"How about we go to the café nearby and you tell me about him? Seriously, I want to know everything."
Steve laughs and nods. They get up from the ground, and before leaving the cemetery, Steve places a soft kiss on the headstone.
"Oh, by the way… college…"
They laugh again. Dove links her arm with her father's, and they walk away from the place.
"Don't even think about becoming an exotic dancer or something like that."
Dove hits her father's arm and laughs.
"No!" she shouts between laughs. “I want to… I like music, you know… I want to dedicate myself to music." she explains, a trace of fear in her voice. “Maybe a band! Or drums! Though guitar sounds cool…"
Steve smiles. He feels a shiver run through him.
You're so alive.
I miss you, Eds.
With love, Stevie.