Chapter Text
“Steve, you’re going to love it!” Robin screams in way of a greeting as Steve opens the door. He finds Nancy at her side, giggling up at her. Both girls are dressed head to toe in black, like Jonathan. An unspoken memo that Steve hadn't got.
By it, she means the metal concert she scored four tickets to, and Steve is sure he is absolutely not going to love it. He has a long list of things he'd rather be doing with his Friday night, but he promised his friends he’d be there, and he doesn’t want to drag the mood down before he’s even finished getting ready. He tries to match her enthusiasm.
“Yeah, I can’t wait!” he calls as he drags them both into the apartment with a bone-crushing hug. “Jon’s upstairs already. He’s been taking, like, a hundred photos of us getting ready. Go give him some better material, guys,” Steve chuckles before leading them into the kitchen.
Once they’ve all filled their glasses with a mix of rum and Coke, they make their way upstairs to Steve’s room. Steve pauses at the doorway for a second. A few glasses and mugs litter his bedside table, clothes of varying cleanliness are strewn along the floor, and his duvet is all bunched up, half hanging off his mattress. Maybe he should have tidied it a little before trying to cram all his friends into the single room.
Still, nobody else seems to care as Robin excitedly rambles about Corroded Coffin, the show, and their apparently beautiful and charismatic lead singer: Eddie Munson.
Steve's picked up little bits of Corroded Coffin trivia throughout the years. It's hard not to when Robin Buckley is his best friend. Robin had been beside herself with excitement when she first heard that the band were going on tour, and what's more, performing a short car journey away from their home.
As well as Corroded Coffin trivia, Steve had also been forced to listen to several songs of theirs. They weren't terrible — far from it, but they also weren't Steve's usual music taste. He originally wanted to decline the offer to go to the show tonight, as he was sure he'd much rather enjoy a lazy movie night with his friends, but the way Robin's face lit up when he agreed was more than worth it.
Robin is still gushing about Corroded Coffin as the girls settle down to sit on the bed. "I'm just so excited for the show. What songs do you think they're going to play?" She asks between sips of her drink. Steve doesn't have an answer. He doesn't think he knows a single title of one of their songs.
Suddenly, a bright blue shot is being passed in his direction as Nancy pours one for them all. Steve's not entirely sure what it is — a bottle that the girls brought with them — but he wastes no time throwing it back, before he settles himself down in front of his mirror.
He starts his familiar make-up routine. He starts with the concealer as normal, working it into his skin the way he’s done a thousand times, both in the privacy of his own room and in front of a camera, to share with the world.
The concealer gets to work blurring the moles that scatter his face. He doesn’t remember the last time they saw the sunlight outside of Steve’s flat, and he’s sure it’s not going to happen any time soon.
The conversation going on blends into the background as Steve adds the final touches. The eyeshadow tonight is a chunky glitter, the sort that falls and brushes against his cheeks, gets everywhere. He presses it on firmly with his ring finger, watching in the mirror as it catches the light just right, demanding attention.
“You look amazing,” Nancy says from somewhere in the room as Steve pulls back from the mirror. turning his attention to the others, Nancy is sitting on Robin's lap as they grin into the camera in Jonathan's hand, laughing loudly.
“I know, it's the make-up." Steve chuckles dryly as he goes to stand up. “Jonathan, help me take a photo for my adoring fans,” he mocks as he passes over his phone.
He hasn't posted anything on his Instagram yet today, and with 400k followers, he just can't pass up the opportunity of a night out photo dump. He's dressed nothing like the rest of his friends, but that's not what his followers are expecting from him anyway, and with Jonathan as his photographer, Steve knows his look will be perfect by design.
After several moments of Jonathan bossing Steve about, getting him to pose, and many, many photos later, Jonathan passes the phone back. “You’re all set.”
Steve looks through the endless stream of photos on his phone and selects the few that Jonathan says are best: photos showing the chunky glitter littering his face, a close-up of his styled curls, and a photo showing the soft expanse of his stomach between the hem of his trousers and the start of the small crop top he’s got on. He quickly types out the caption he’s been stewing over all day, and presses the send button.
His heart beats in his throat, just like every time he's posted before. He looks good, he knows. He thinks. He hopes. Jonathan took them, so they have to be good.
The phone shakes in his hands as he stares at the app for a few moments, his thumb hovering on the refresh button. When he clicks it, the comments are already coming in fast, like always. Steve lets his eyes glance down. He reads the comments as they hit his phone in real time. He knows it’s stupid, but he does it anyway. The first few comments he sees are simple:
They make Steve feel good, better than he’d ever admit, but then his eyes catch on a longer comment.
Steve finds himself re-reading that comment several times, his gut turning unpleasantly as he zooms into the photos, critically. The weight of the comment sits heavy as he focuses on the glitter — is it too much?
He brings his attention lower, as he fiddles with the hem of his top. Should he change into another outfit? Has he gone overboard? Will he fit in with the crowd?
Robin's voice telling them they need to go cuts off his spiralling thoughts. It's fine. He looks fine. The eyeshadow is good.
"Ready?" Nancy calls from the hall.
"Yeah," Steve says, taking one last glance at the mirror as he plants a fake smile on his face. "Ready.”
They file excitedly into the Uber as it pulls up. Jonathan is quietly sitting up front, flicking through the settings on his camera. He's sandwiched tightly between Robin and Nancy, who are chatting excitedly.
Robin is practically vibrating in her seat, talking a thousand miles an hour. Nancy looks at her girlfriend fondly.
“Should I be worried about losing you to a metal head?” She jokes.
“Absolutely not—” she pauses for a second, looking shyly at Steve, “but, I reckon you could get one.”
Steve shakes his head, laughing under his breath. “I’m good. I don’t think the rock and roll life is for me."
Robin doesn’t seem deterred as she continues to fangirl about the band. Despite Steve’s lack of interest in the topic, he can’t help but listen to her. Her joy is contagious, and Robin is animated and happy as she speaks, and Steve can’t help the small smile that finds its home on his face.
“I’m just so excited! Did you know that Eddie writes all the songs himself? Every lyric! There was all this drama about it when they first got signed, and the label wanted to bring someone else. Eddie wouldn’t let anybody else touch the lyrics.” Robin's hands are working nearly as quickly as her mouth as she gestures wildly.
“So he’s obsessive and doesn’t know how to share?” Steve asks dryly with a small smirk, mostly just to wind Robin up slightly.
“You know that’s not what I mean. It’s great that he’s so passionate about something and willing to stand his ground,” she replies.
Steve thinks maybe he agrees. He’s not sure he’s that passionate about anything.
Soon enough, the car pulls up, and Robin springs out of it without a second look behind, eager to get into the venue. Steve notes that the venue is slightly bigger than expected, and he can hear the bass of the support act, even out here in the parking lot. It’s loud.
They follow Robin as they flash their tickets to the security at the doors. It’s packed already, bodies crammed into every corner, stories unfolding wherever Steve looks. To his left, two friends are dancing excitedly, without any shame, as the music from the radio fills the room. He spots a man with a Mohawk — it's bright green and stands tall. Steve's first thought is that he's never seen anything like that outside of his phone screen or pictures in magazines. His second thought is that he hopes he doesn't end up standing behind him. There's a couple pressed up in the corner, their faces pressed close, as their hands explore the shape of each other. Steve doesn't look for too long, scared he'll see something he'd rather not.
The smell of liquor, cigarettes, and bodies mix together. It’s not completely unpleasant, but it makes Steve’s nose turn up slightly anyway. He hasn't been to a concert for a long time, and never one like this.
Jonathan splinters off from the group to go and find a good spot to take photographs, whilst the other three head over to the bar. Steve orders them all a drink, mostly just to give him something to do as the nerves rise in his chest. Looking around, he feels wildly out of place.
Steve sits down on one of the empty seats near him and takes a sip of his drink. Robin and Nancy are still standing, looking between the empty chairs and the sea of people in front of them, hesitantly.
“You know, you can go into the crowd, guys, I’ll be fine here,” he calls as he leans in close to make himself heard. Robin is unconsciously edging closer to the stage, like she’s a magnet that can’t fight the attraction, and Nancy is following closely behind her.
This is the permission they were clearly looking for, as Robin plants an exaggerated wet kiss on Steve’s cheek. “Love you, catch you later!” she calls as Nancy shoots him a small wave. Then, they're melting into the sea of bodies.
Steve makes quick work of his drink. He really doesn't mind being left alone, and more than anything, he wants his friends to have a great time. He'd much rather be sitting here than in the sea of sweaty bodies anyway, but that doesn't mean he has to suffer through the concert sober.
The lights drop without warning, and the crowd surges forward, and Steve, alone with his second drink, turns to look at the stage for the first time.
The screams are loud as the music starts to fill the busy room, and the band steps onto the stage, the atmosphere charged.
He reaches for his phone and fishes it out of his pocket. If he's got to spend his Friday night listening to a mediocre band, he might as well get some content out of it, he figures.
Steve watches the show unfold through the small pixelated screen for a moment. He then quickly types a small caption and hits post. Like always, he watches closely as the like count climbs up quickly. The dopamine hit rushes to his head, and the buzz from his drinks makes him feel like he's floating. Then the crowd cheers, and Steve looks up.
His attention gets caught by the crowd. The light from the stage illuminates people from all walks of life, people who would never usually be in a room together, united by one thing: the music. Joy plastered on their faces as they sing, dance, and hang onto the band's every word. Steve doesn't think he's ever been in a room filled with so much happiness before.
His phone buzzes nonstop in his hands, causing Steve to glance down at his phone again, finger hovering over the comment section, but the magnet pull of the stage is stronger. Intoxicating, almost. As Steve turns his attention back to the stage. His phone screen goes dark as he slips it into his pocket without thought.
His phone continues to vibrate against his leg as the notifications come rushing in, but for the first time in a long time, Steve doesn't pay attention. He can't.
His eyes are focused on the lead singer. Eddie, Steve remembers. He's attractive, annoyingly so in fact. His jeans are at least two sizes too small and hug him tightly like a second skin. He has long dark curls that fall onto his exposed shoulder blades, and despite the distance between them, Steve can make out the blurred lines of tattoos scattered across his skin.
He's charismatic in a way that's almost annoying, serving only to get under Steve's skin. What's worse is that, standing here in the crowd, Steve has to admit he really can sing.
Suddenly, he's no longer looking at the tattoos littering Eddie's body. He's looking into his eyes, and they're staring right back at him. Steve feels a blush rising high on his cheeks under the uninvited attention. He refuses to look away, though, holding Eddie's gaze, his lips lifting into a smirk that mirrors the one on Eddie's face.
Steve's not sure how long they're staring at each other before Eddie is forced to break eye contact as he screams into the mic. Steve pointedly keeps his gaze away from the stage for the rest of the show.
Steve stays glued to his seat as the music fades and the lights come back up, pulling him back into the real world. He turns when he feels a tap on his shoulder, expecting Robin and Nancy or Jonathan. Instead, an unfamiliar man stands beside him, flashing the lanyard around his neck with a small smile.
"I'm part of the Corroded Coffin team," he says, eyes curiously running over Steve. "Eddie wants to meet you backstage." He says it as a statement, not a question, which makes Steve's skin prickle and want to say no on principle alone, but then the man gestures behind him, to where Steve's friends have seemingly materialised from nowhere.
"You can bring your friends too."
Steve swallows down the no that's dancing on the tip of his tongue. Robin is practically vibrating beside him, and he can feel the excitement radiating off her. He's doing this for Robin, he tells himself, as he gives the man a small, reluctant nod and follows him through the venue, his friends wide-eyed and close behind.
Steve's eyes don’t know where to settle as they scan the small backroom they’ve been directed to. It’s quieter than the main venue, but it’s still loud. Clusters of people are scattered around the room.
The band are in the middle of the chaos, surrounded by a mix of what appears to be desperate fans and people on their team with lanyards around their necks. Steve can’t help but notice how Eddie is sandwiched between two fans, practically hanging off his arms, eyes wide as they stare in awe at him. The girl on the left got the unspoken memo of the night; she dressed head to toe in black, with heavy boots laced all the way up her legs, leaving just a sliver of thigh visible. The man pressed against Eddie's other side, looks like he could be the fourth member of the band. He's got a leather jacket and tight skinny jeans. Short, messy black hair, a sharp contrast to his pale skin.
Eddie isn’t looking back at them, though. In fact, Eddie’s stare is fixed on Steve, once again. Steve's breath hitches as Eddie starts closing the space between them, sauntering over with the confidence of someone who’s never been told no in his life.
“Hey there, pretty boy,” Eddie says, his lips curling upwards when he gets into Steve’s space. Steve scoffs out loud as Robin makes a sound close to a squeak beside him, before Nancy wordlessly takes her hand and pulls her away, across the room towards the other band members.
This does nothing to dampen Eddie’s resolve, as he seemingly doubles down. "What, you’re not going to ask for my signature? Tell me how much you loved the show?"
Steve feels the force with which he rolls his eyes. He’s not sure how to respond to such obvious arrogance and self-centeredness as he looks Eddie up and down. Annoyingly, he somehow looks even prettier up close. Really, it’s a shame his obnoxious personality lets him down.
Steve knows Eddie's not interested in him, not really. He just wants the attention, figures he's owed it by everyone. Steve catches himself looking at the two dejected fans that Eddie has just abandoned. Figures if that's the sort of people Eddie usually goes for, then he's definitely not interested in Steve. Eddie must think he's stupid if he's expecting him to just fall on his knees for him. Still, Steve figures it could be fun to tease a little, put him in his place. God knows he needs someone to.
Eddie fills the silence and interrupts Steve's thoughts by reaching into his pocket, the rings on his fingers catching the light as he brings out a cigarette and places it between his lips, blatantly disregarding the fact that he definitely shouldn’t be smoking in here. Steve grabs his own lighter from his pocket, bringing it up to Eddie’s mouth and lighting the cigarette for him. Eddie lets out a little hum of appreciation behind the cigarette.
“You were actually a little pitchy,” Steve starts, looking up at Eddie, whose eyes widen a little for a split second at the criticism. “But I wouldn’t mind taking that signature, actually. It might actually be worth something to the people that idolise you.”
Steve sees Eddie’s smile falter slightly at the corners, presumably at the fact that Steve hasn’t immediately turned to putty under his attention. Eddie doesn’t answer for a few seconds, and Steve takes this as his cue. He turns and walks over to Robin, touching her shoulder, “I’ll meet you outside.”
He feels Eddie's gaze on him the entire time until he’s safely outside. Steve can’t shake the feeling that it would have only taken a few more seconds before his exterior crumbled and he did something stupid.
Robin practically runs into Steve, squealing excitedly the entire time as she wraps her arms around him. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!” she screeches.
Nancy and Jonathan follow behind her. They’re slightly less hysterical, but they’re wearing matching grins, and their eyes are wide as they stare at him.
“Steve, we were just joking in the car about you getting a metalhead boyfriend, you know?” Nancy laughs gently.
“Well, I wasn’t joking about the life not suiting me,” Steve replies easily. “Plus, he’s so arrogant. Honestly, I don’t get how any of you like him.”
“Well, personally, I think it’s just an act,” Robin answers. “I think it’s a big old mask. I bet he’s a proper softie under there.”
Steve laughs. “I’m not so sure about that.”
“I just can’t believe the Eddie Munson was flirting with you, Steve, and you just walked out on him?” Jonathan says with a small chuckle.
“He’s nothing special,” is all Steve says to that.
“Honestly, how are you so calm about this?” Nancy echoes.
“He’s nothing special,” Steve repeats with a shrug.
“But… but, it was Eddie,” Robin adds, aghast.
“As I said, he’s nothing special,” Steve cuts her off, his voice firm.
He’s glad when nobody presses again. He’s not sure if he would mean the words if he had to say them one more time. For some reason that he doesn’t want to explore right now, he can’t shake the feeling that maybe Eddie Munson is, in fact, something special.