Chapter Text
“Spider-Man! Help!” A woman screams from the rubble of a broken building. Her face is coated in dust from the fallen city around her. Green Goblin’s laugh echoes in the distance.
“MJ!” Spider-Man shouts. He swings from a distance. His red and blue spandex stretches, showing off his lean muscles. The hero lands besides Mary Jane, his lover. “MJ, are you alright!?” He lifts the support beams off his gorgeous girlfriend. Spider-Man tosses them to the side as if they were simply made of paper. The girl is bleeding and clutching her stomach. “MJ!”
“Peter, h-help…” she groans, reaching a hand up. The hero removes his mask, showing the handsome yet beaten face of Peter Parker, played by an actor Steve doesn’t remember the name of… Tom something.
“MJ, no…” he says as she spits up blood. The previously masked hero begins to tear up, as he realizes just how much his girlfriend is bleeding. He presses his hand against the hole in her stomach. “MJ just hang on, please!”
“Peter, I love you so much…” She responds.
“No, you can tell me when you’re better! Don’t say that! Don’t act like you’re…” the hero’s voice breaks, “Please–”
“Boo!” Steve tosses popcorn at the TV, as the season finale of The Fantastic Spider-Man plays on the screen. He shouldn’t be a hater, really; this show is technically about him. But, hey, when he agreed to letting Disney give him a show, he expected a somewhat decent one. Instead, it’s a glorified soap opera with occasional explosions and weird names. Seriously, who the fuck is named Peter Parker? His initials are literally PP!
Steve stares blankly when the screen turns black. ‘To be continued…’ appears in the middle of the darkness. “Fuck that.” Steve grabs the remote and switches the channel before shoveling some more popcorn into his mouth. His phone buzzes suddenly, and he gets a hopeful flutter in his stomach that it’s from the Avengers group chat.
It’s a Grindr notification.
Steve tosses his phone to the other side of the couch and starts eating more popcorn, as Spongebob starts playing on the TV. It’s usually his comfort show, but watching the yellow sponge hang out with his friends is far from a mood booster.
Steve doesn’t know why he tortures himself the way he does, but he doesn’t know what else to do. It’s been five years since the Avenger’s tower was sold, and two years since a campus was built upstate. He could’ve moved there—should’ve moved there, but the others were all in college and rarely stayed at the compound anyway. The Avengers still have monthly group meetings there and occasional giant villains to fight together, but, overall, Steve has no real motive to move to campus. After all, he likes New York–likes being the Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man… he just wishes he had more excitement in life. He just feels… trapped, while all his friends are moving on without him.
Nancy and Robin are celebrating their two-year anniversary. Argyle and Jonathan just got an apartment in Brooklyn. Max just started law school and is already the top of her class. Mike and Will finally got their shit together and started dating. Dustin got hired as SHIELD’s and the Avengers head engineer and physicist. Lucas is getting better dealing with his new mutation and celebrating his and Max’s six-year anniversary. Joyce and Hopper got married, and Steve couldn’t be happier for all of them. Really! He is happy. He is perfectly content with the life he has. He doesn’t mind that his kids are scattered across the country or that Robin only ever hangs out with Nancy. He doesn’t mind that his PhD is collecting dust in his office, or that he hasn’t been on a date in over six years. He doesn’t mind that the only things that bring him any joy are patrols, and even they are beginning to grow dull. He doesn’t!...
It doesn’t help that the most social activity he gains is when Max drags him over for her and Lucas’s game nights, or when he’s on patrol. Patrol doesn’t really count, though. Usually, people don’t purposefully put themselves in mortal danger when going out on the town nor do the people they’re socializing with try to kill them, but Steve’s got nothing better to do. It’s either fight a criminal or sit in bed watching rom-coms and feeling shitty about himself. At least fighting a criminal usually means helping someone.
Due to his only hobby, the days are worse than the nights, because he doesn’t patrol as often during the day. Afterall, most of the crimes in New York are committed at night. Therefore, he sees a lot more people—criminals and fellow superheroes alike—at night than in the day.
The secret hero stares at the last slice of cake in his fridge with squinted eyes, as he debates the chances of it being unsafe to eat or not. It’s been a week since Steve’s 27th birthday. The frosting is still creamy, albeit hardened from the chill of the fridge. The cake still looks squishy and moist. Steve leans forward and, sure enough, it smells fine.
“I’ve survived alien bats, Russians, broken ribs, gunshots, and dealing with the government.” He points out to himself out loud, “I can survive a week-old slice of cake.” He grabs a fork, the cake, and a napkin before sitting back on the couch. Spongebob Squarepants is still playing loudly on the screen. He wraps a blanket around his shoulder and sighs, eating his birthday cake in the lonely apartment.
Robin has been on the Avengers campus for the past week, having stayed there after her and the team threw Steve his surprise party from the large base. It was, admittedly, a fun party, with the kids (now far from being kids) having decorated the entire Avengers living quarters with streamers, balloons, and confetti. He got as drunk as his mutation would let him before passing out in what would be his room if he had bothered to live on campus like Hopper wanted.
He's positive the real reason Robin stayed on campus is because she’s about to move out of their shared apartment onto campus. It’s not like he’s surprised nor upset about the fact. Afterall, she and Nancy are probably going to get married soon. Plus, it only makes sense for Hawkeye to live with her partner, Black Widow.
Steve eyes Robin’s extra bow on the wall at the thought before turning back to his slice of cake. Robin became a spy before she became an Avenger, and it was her skills with a bow and arrow that gained her a spot on the team. The same goes for Nancy, though her skills were more towards shooting, fighting, and being an overall badass in a black, leather uniform.
The cartoon on screen shows Spongebob singing “Best Day Ever” just as Steve gets a text from Joyce, trying to encourage him to book another therapy appointment. Apparently, Hopper told her Steve’s been depressed and lonely and not himself.
It’s bullshit.
He is happy. Despite his struggles, he is perfectly content with the life he has. He doesn’t mind that the only things that bring him any joy are patrols, or that even they are beginning to grow dull. He doesn’t mind it…
He doesn’t mind that, now that the world is safe for once, he barely sees his friends…
He doesn’t mind that a part of him just wishes that the world could be ending just for a day, just to see everyone together again.
Steve doesn’t even know why he would think such a thing. “Aw, man! Whatever am I going to do now that the world finally isn’t under constant threat?!” What an asshole thing to say, right? Steve should be happy. He should be, but life feels monotonous. He’s never felt more alone, and he doesn’t know what to do about it.
It’s stupid; really, it is. He just saw his friends at his birthday party, but it was different. Max had to leave early because she’s got an internship at a law firm. Lucas is still getting used to his new mutation, so he had to spend the entire time eating to keep up with his new metabolism. Dustin and Erica weren’t even there. Dustin is on the SHIELD space station for the next month, so he only showed up through a hologram, and Erica is studying abroad in England, so she only facetimed for an hour.
Nancy was there, but she and Robin were glued at the hip. Jonathan and Argyle showed up. Argyle brought pizza and weed, but weed doesn’t work that well with Steve’s powers, and it kind of sucks being the only sober one in a smoke circle. There were a few people there consistently for Steve’s celebration and keeping Steve company: Mike (surprisingly), Will, El, Hopper, and Joyce, but they all had their own stuff to do.
In other words, Steve got FOMO at his own party. He was lonely in a room full of people, and that is a feeling he’ll never forget.
The only consistent people he sees these days is Max, who, in case he didn’t mention, is the fellow vigilante known as Daredevil, Lucas, and a non-avenger, non-vigilante, mercenary, named Deadpool, who somehow shows up at nearly every one of Steve’s patrols after they met nearly seven years ago. The even worse part is the fact that Steve is even starting to see him as a friend…
Maybe he should talk to his therapist.
Steve doesn’t bother moving when Robin gets home. He’s still moping on the couch with the rest of his Ben & Jerry’s pint in his lap, which he had gotten up to get from the freezer around thirty minutes prior.
Each of the Avengers had a chance to make their own flavors for the ice cream brand. Steve designed Spider-Man's Sticky Surprise! (he didn't come up with the name) to come with marshmallow fluff, peanut butter, chocolate fudge “spiders”, graham crackers, and honey. It’s one of the least popular flavors of the company’s Avengers line according to Reddit. Even Jane’s Scarlet Witch’s Mad Magic sells more, and it’s just waffle flavored.
“Have you been on the couch all day?” Robin asks. Steve turns to find her still in her Hawkeye uniform.
“Did you have a mission?” he asks, not-so-subtle avoiding her question. She removes her belt from her pants and her arrow quiver from around her back. Robin recently upgraded to this foldable bow that Dustin designed, and she sets the compacted weapon on the counter.
“Nancy and I had to knock out this underground drug ring near Lake Erie… been gone for a week. We just got back this morning.” Steve isn’t sure if he’s relieved, since Robin actually didn’t stay at campus and has less of a chance of abandoning him, or if he’s more anxious, since apparently Robin didn’t feel the need to text him about her mission like she usually does.
“Did you steal any weed for us?” Robin blanches his way and Steve smiles innocently. Again, weed doesn’t work that well with his powers, but enough of it will make him high, and he will make the plant go extinct if he has to, dammit!
She takes off her (Nancy’s) tactical vest next and hangs it on their coat rack. Her combat boots are the next things to be removed, and she stares at Steve while removing her hearing aids. “Have you been on the couch all day?” Steve glances to the side and opens his mouth, “Don’t avoid the question again.”
Steve shuts his mouth and exhales through his nose. “No…” he crosses his arm with a snark, “I went to the bathroom a few times.” He uses one hand to sign and keeps his head turned to allow the woman to read his lips. Granted, he’s pretty sure they have some kind of platonic-soulmate-telepathic abilities by now, but he does his best to communicate. Even if it means getting lectured.
“Steve.” She scolds, tossing her boots to the side before heading to the kitchen. “Have you talked with Murray?”
Right, if he hasn’t already mentioned. Murray is the therapist Joyce has been wanting him to see, as well as the rest of the team’s therapist. And yes, Murray is also a spy, but he got a degree in psychology sometime in the 90s, so he volunteered to be the team’s free therapist. You can probably see why Steve doesn’t talk to him that much. “Yeah.” He lies once she’s out of view and winces when he notices her “home” hearing aids are missing from their usual spot on the counter.
Robin snorts after sticking her head into the freezer. She comes back out holding a pint of Hawkeye’s Hungry Hoard. It’s a nightmare of pretzel chunks, chocolate, caramel, cookie dough chunks, peanut butter cups, bird-shaped chocolate chips, almond pieces, and a Neapolitan flavored ice cream base. Yes, it still sells more than Steve’s flavor. He knows the Daily Bugle makes him not-so-popular but come on! Marshmallows are good!
“Your voice cracks when you lie.” Robin points out what Steve already knows before taking a bite of her ice cream; sure enough, her hearing aids are back in. Somehow, she’s unbothered by the noises of her meal. Steve, however, cringes at the loud crunches coming from the pretzel chunks. Steve stabs his own ice cream with his spoon. The pint is almost empty, just like his vat of excuses. “We’re just worried, Steve.”
“I am perfectly fine.” The best part about having a deaf friend and using sign language? They can’t hear your voice cracking when you lie. Nonetheless, Robin looks doubtful.
She stirs her spoon through the disaster that she calls ice cream. “Maybe you should get a day job.” She suddenly suggests.
“I’m not working at Scoops again.” He jokes.
Robin rolls her eyes, “Not that kind of job!” she nudges his leg with her foot. “Hopper’s still looking for some designers to work on that new helicarrier design.” She points towards a shelf with the edge of her spoon, “You could finally put that PhD to use.” Steve glances at the dusty degree.
“Okay, first off, my PhD is in no-way useful for that. Second, no!” he signs and waves his hands extra dramatically to make his point, “Last time I helped Hopper with inventing something, it was on shield’s space station, and we got attacked by skrulls, Robin. Do you have any idea how hard it is to fight skrulls?!” he asks.
“Aren’t skrulls shapeshifters?” Robin asks. Steve nods with a ‘duh’ expression on his face. “I thought your, fucking, Spidey-tingle helps with stuff like that!”
He blanches, “That’s very good, Robin! Now, please imagine fighting someone with your best friend’s face while they taunt you and insist it’s really them!” he snaps. “It was traumatizing, Robin—traumatizing!” he huffs and turns back to the TV.
Robin sighs and groans. “Steve! You’re 27 and a superhero. I don’t understand why you’re so stubborn in staying this pessimistic all the time.” She grabs the remote and pauses the cartoon, “Whatever happened to fun Steve, huh? The one who cracked jokes and webbed a big dick on Hopper’s window as a prank?”
He turns to her, “He died with Billy Hargrove, Barb Holland, Bob Newby, Alexei, Benny Hammond, Heather Holloway, and every other person who is dead now because I wasn’t good enough!” Robin clenches her jaw and steals the pint of ice cream: his last excuse to ignore the conversation. “Hey!”
She sets the ice cream on the coffee table and turns to him with a glare, “Steven Otis Harrington, I love you like a brother. I would die for you. I have literally killed for you. I am not going to watch you be miserable for the rest of your life and wallow in guilt that shouldn’t even exist.” He crosses his arms with a pout. “None of that was your fault.”
“I’m not miserable.” He grumbles, evading her added statement.
“Look at your hair, Dingus!” she snaps, pointing to his head, “It’s flat and dull and lifeless. The last time it was like that was after your parents died, when you ghosted us for months! You are depressed. You are traumatized. You need to do something about it, and I don’t just mean going on patrol and getting into fights.” She pauses to take a deep breath. Her face turns gentle, and she places a hand on Steve’s bicep. “Listen, I have this friend. She owns a gay bar just a few miles from here. It’s called The Hideout, and they’re looking for a new bartender. You don’t have to be good at making drinks. You just need to look pretty and have a good smile.”
Steve frowns. “A bartender, Robin?”
“You’d only work during the day! They already have a nighttime tender. All you gotta do is go to the interview.” Steve sighs and looks away before his eyes widen.
He turns to Robin with a clenched jaw, and she blushes and realizes her mistake. “Please tell me you didn’t get me an interview.”
She smiles sheepishly, “It’s tomorrow at noon. Her name is Chrissy, and she went to my high school. She’s super sweet, and I promise you, you’ll like the job.” She puts her hands together in a praying motion, “Please, just give it a shot.” Steve chews the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming.
“Fine.” He sneers, reaching over to snatch his ice cream back from the table. “But, if I don’t like it, I’m quitting on the spot.”
Robin cheers, “Fine with me! I’ll text you the address.” She grabs her phone and pulls up TikTok, making Steve snort. “What? If we’re no longer having a serious conversation, then I’m not suffering through another Spongebob episode we’ve already seen ten billion times.”
Steve signs a few insults before getting silenced with a pillow to his hands.
*
The next day Steve swings to the building. He would’ve walked or taken a taxi, but these days he’d been caring less and less about people discovering his identity. All his friends are superheroes or spies, he has no family, and it’s not like his love life is going anywhere; he’s got nothing to lose.
He tosses his clothes over his suit and stuffs his mask into his bag. The bar is a small place and secluded from the main street. The alleyway, like many in New York, is full of broken glass, and the bouncer at the door is towering over Steve and has biceps bigger than the man’s head. “Um, I’m—uh—I’m here to see Chrissy.” Steve has super strength, but this guy has bruised knuckles and a split lip, and Steve was always weak in the knees for guys in leather.
“Chrissy! There’s some twink out here!” The man shouts through the open door. Steve blushes darker than his suit. A disembodied and high-pitched voice responds, “Does he have nice hair?”
The man looks at Steve with a raised brow. “Yeah!” he replies.
“That’s the guy I’m interviewing, send him in!” With that, the man steps aside to let Steve pass. The Spider-boy involuntarily hurries past him, not knowing whether or not it was one of those situations where the guy would smack his ass as he walked by. The bouncer seems like the kind of guy to keep his hands to himself, but Steve isn’t taking any chances.
The bar is much nicer on the inside. It has a dance floor covered in glitter, a disco ball, colorful lights, a clean bar, and a few patrons standing around. There’s also a stage in the corner opposite the dance floor. Steve can’t help but smile as he approaches the bar, where a girl with blond hair and blue eyes is sitting with a smile. “You must be Steve! Rob’s told me all about you.” She greets, holding her hand out for him to shake.
“All good things, I hope.” Steve chuckles.
Chrissy winces, “Yeah, actually, about that… see, Robin showed me your Instagram, and I saw you have partaken in smoking marijuana, and I just wanted to let you know that I don’t welcome that kind of behavior in this establishment.” She explains, voice serious and mouth in a deep frown.
Steve’s eyes widen, “Oh! Um, well, th-that was just a one-time thing! I mean, I don’t even like to drink! Or, well, I don’t—I still like alcohol. I mean, I’d be a great bartender, and—” Chrissy interrupts him with a burst of snorting laughter.
“Dude, I’m just messing with you!” she laughs. “I smoke all the time. I got no trouble with it, as long as you give me a hit.” She winks.
Steve sighs in relief, letting out a nervous laugh. Chrissy sighs when her laughter dies down. “Honestly Steve, I trust Robin. She says you’re a good egg, then I believe her. Just tell me when you’re available to work and all the important shit, and you can start this week.”
Steve frowns, “Really?” he asks, “But, I don’t even know how to make drinks.”
“Yeah, that’s why you’ll be working the daytime shifts. That’s when all the drunks come in, and they don’t care about what the drink tastes like. They just want something cheap or something strong, and I got a recipe book just in case. You’ll do fine, and with my wife pregnant; I’ll take whatever I can get.” She reassures, patting his arm. “Can you start this week?”
Steve sighs and glances around the room. What have I got to lose? “Yeah, I’ll start this week.”
As assumed, Steve starts that week. As Chrissy warned, most of the people who come in during the day are alcoholics asking for beers, shots, or something from the tap. Steve tries to ignore the fact that the older woman who sits in the booth in the far corner reminds him of his mother, ordering gin and tonics like her life depends on it. Instead of thinking at all, he wipes the counter ten times over and mops the floors. He takes out the trash and switches out one of the empty kegs, keeping himself busy.
His shift is from 12 PM to 8 PM. The bar is closed from 5 AM to noon every day, meaning Steve has to come in at 11:30 AM to get the place ready for opening. He doesn’t mind. He found the schedule helps. He patrols from 9 PM to 6 AM, so he gets a good four hours of sleep each night. His powers make it so he doesn’t need as much sleep as other people would, and he doesn’t have many hobbies outside of being a superhero, so he likes having a job. He meets new people and hears their stories.
He even makes some friends! The bouncer, for instance, named Jeff, is a lot nicer than he expected. The man was in the military, but he got kicked out for getting in a fight. “Wasn’t my fault, though. The fucker thought it’d be funny to touch my friend under her shirt, so I slammed his head into some rocks.” He explains when Steve asked for more details. “You ever been in a fight, kid?”
Steve nods, and the man laughs. “Who would punch that baby face?”
Steve scoffs, offended, “More people than you think!” He lifts his hair to show off a scar on his forehead before showing the place where he fills in his eyebrow to cover the scar there. “I also have a scar on my chin, neck, and lip, but I cover those with concealer.”
Jeff laughs and shakes his head, “You’re a fighter in makeup. You’ve earned my respect.”
It’s two weeks into the new job when an unfamiliar face walks in. He punches Jeff’s arm upon his entrance with a hearty laugh. He dodges Jeff’s returning throw, and Steve immediately feels drawn to the mystery man. He wears a leather jacket and a decorated denim vest. He has long hair and deep, brown eyes. Most noticeably, the small amount skin he was showing (his hands, neck, and face) is blemished with several deep scars. There’s a deep one on his cheek, one around his neck—like someone had tied a noose around his throat (Steve has a similar one from getting attacked by those demobats, but he covers it with several layers of foundation, powder, and a fake skin that’s usually used for Nancy’s undercover missions), and his hands are covered in little scars, tattoos, and callouses.
“Chrissy, daddy’s home!” The man shouts before stopping in his tracks, looking at Steve with furrowed brows. “You’re not Chrissy.” He observes and states the obvious.
“I’m Steve.” The man at the bar replies, mindlessly cleaning out the inside of a glass.
The mystery man smirks, “Of course, you’re new.” He stalks closer to the bar, “You know how I know?” Steve shrugs, the man smiles, “I’d never forget a face as pretty as yours.”
Steve opens then shuts his mouth, looking down as he feels heat rising to his cheeks. He bites his lip and looks back at the man. “I’m sure you say that to all the bartenders.”
“Only the ones I wanna get free drinks from.” He slides a twenty-dollar bill across the counter. “I’ll just have a beer, surprise me.” He waves his hand and takes a seat. “Although, with a pretty face like yours, I’m sure anything you give me will taste like fine wine.” He smiled in return to Steve’s blush.
Steve had almost forgotten what it felt like to be flirted with. Well, he forgot what it felt like to be flirted with as Steve. People flirt with Spider-Man, sure—Deadpool practically waxes poetry about him, but no one flirted with Steve. Steve is just some guy. Steve is boring. Steve is nothing, but this guy’s flirting with him. It’s a rush like the adrenaline in a fight, and Steve wants nothing more than for the man to keep talking the way he is, even if he is a stranger.
Steve turns around, bending at the waist to grab a beer. There’s a fridge under the counter facing the patron as well, and that one has more options, but Steve’s not ashamed to admit that he’s desperate. It helps that he’s also wearing his best pair of jeans, the lights in this place are relatively low, and this guy is ridiculously attractive. He wouldn’t be so desperate for a compliment if the guy were hideous.
Steve turns back around just to catch the man’s eyes barely flicking back up from where they were clearly staring at his ass. Steve tries not to smirk at that. He grabs the twenty from the counter and collects the man’s change. “I never got your name.” He speaks as nonchalantly as he can manage.
“It’s Eddie,” he answers, using one of his rings to open the beer before pushing the change back over the counter, “and keep the change.”
Steve widens his eyes and looks to the money in hand. It’s almost fifteen dollars, for fuck’s sake! He smiles giddily and pockets the cash. “Alright, Eddie. Let me know if you need anything else.” Steve grabs the rag to do his hourly wipe of the counter when Eddie stops him with a hand on the counter.
“Surely, you could stay and chat?” He asks, voice hopeful and eyes kind.
Steve smiles and huffs a short laugh, “I’m pretty busy. Gotta deal with all these other customers.” He adds a lilt to his tone and dramatically waves an arm at the four other patrons in the bar. Technically, it’s five, but Ralph passed out an hour ago. Steve would be worried if Jeff hadn’t already checked the man’s pulse and turned his unconscious frame onto its side.
Eddie laughs and takes a sip of his beer. “So, you just started working here. Am I right in assuming you’re a college student?”
Steve snorts, “No, I graduated years ago.”
“Years? How old are you?” Steve wrinkles his nose, well aware of his baby face.
“I turned 27 a few weeks ago.” Eddie’s eyes widen.
“Well, happy belated birthday.” Steve nods a thanks. “So,” Eddie continues, “if you’re not still in school and graduated years ago… you just did undergrad then?”
Steve smirks slightly. He tilts his head in a shrug. “I don’t like talking about myself.” He deflects.
Eddie groans and rolls his eyes with a smile, “Come on, man! Don’t chicken out on me now! It can’t be that embarrassing. What? Were you an art major? English? Film? One of the other majors that tend to horribly disappoint parents?” He’s practically bouncing in his seat for the possibilities.
“No, it’s not that. I… uh, well, I actually have my PhD.” Steve looks away to avoid seeing Eddie’s reaction. When Eddie doesn’t respond, Steve looks up to see Eddie with a slacked jaw and raised brows. Steve blushes. “It’s not that big of a deal—”
“What’s the PhD in, Dr. Steve?” he purrs, lip quirking up in a smile, as he leans forward to place his elbows on the counter. He’s so close that Steve can smell the scents lingering right beneath his clearly expensive cologne: smoke, whiskey, leather, and lavender. It’s comforting in a way that almost makes Steve lose his train of thought.
Steve coughs, flustered, “Quantitative biosciences.” He mutters.
Eddie furrows his brows, “What?”
“Quantitative biosciences.” Steve repeats, louder and clearer.
Eddie laughs. “Well, now I know you’re not bullshitting me because I don’t even know what that is.” He leans back and nods his head to the younger man in front of him, “What the fuck are you doing here, then? Shouldn’t you be out there getting a Nobel prize, or some shit?”
In 2019, the Avengers won a Nobel peace prize after defeating a villain some of the younger Avengers called Acererak after, yet another, D&D character. Something about stealing artifacts and trapping souls. Steve didn’t understand; all he did was punch and web up bad guys when he needed to. In any case, Steve did, in fact, have a Nobel prize. It was collecting just as much dust as his PhD.
Steve laughs and shakes his head. “What? And miss meeting you?”
“Hey, I know I’m pretty, but I don’t think I’m Nobel prize level.” Eddie leans back forward, resting his elbows on the counter. “So, outside of tending bars, being smart, and looking cute, what else do you do?”
Steve’s mind has never felt more blank in his life. Again, he doesn’t really have hobbies. Any free time is always spent training or patrolling or team meetings or top-secret missions or watching shitty television. What the fuck is he supposed to say? “I—I know a bit about D&D.” that technically isn’t a lie. Okay, good job Steve.
Eddie’s face lights up. “Seriously?! I’m a DM. Well, not anymore since my party moved on to other things… but that’s awesome! What class and level are you?”
Never mind, Steve, you’re a goddamn idiot. “Uh, well…” Think, think! What would Dustin say? “I like the bard class the most, and I'm at a pretty low level. I don’t play much.”
Fun fact about Steve: Despite being a man living a double life, he’s shit at lying. It’s the only reason Hopper won’t let him do spy work. Robin was right when she said his voice cracks whenever he lies, but it’s even worse than that. His voice doesn’t just crack, it gets all high-pitched, and his hands start to sweat. He already has trouble keeping eye contact with people, but, when he lies, it’s like his eyes get glued to the floor. That’s why, talking to Eddie, he’s sticking to half-truths. He’s not technically lying. He does like the bard class the most, and he doesn’t play much, thus he is a low level. See? Half-truths.
“Really? When was the last time you played?” Eddie asks.
Steve shakes his head, “It’s been so long. I think I last played in high school.” Dustin tried to get him to play during the boy’s junior year of high school. He made Steve a character sheet and everything, but Dustin gave up after Steve asked what it had to do with him being Spider-Man. “Not everything in your life has to revolve around Spider-Man, Steve!” Dustin snapped, already frustrated by the rest of Steve’s confusion and consistently quick to being a total butthead.
Even now, as one of Shield’s top scientists, Dustin acts like that same buttheaded gremlin.
“Same here.” Eddie speaks truthfully. “Anything else?”
“I like music.” Steve answers, excited to change the subject. This is the full truth. He has several playlists, including one for patrolling and swinging around the city. It’s mostly 80s music with a few modern songs mixed in. He doesn’t have a diverse music taste, but he likes what he likes. “I mainly listen to 80s music, but I also like some oldies and songs from the 90s. I don’t listen to much pop outside of the occasional Harry Styles song or whenever I’m at the store and hear the radio.”
Eddie has a mischievous expression, “Let me guess, the 80s music is preppy… don’t tell me! Abba? Tears for Fears? Duran Duran? Madonna?!" He looks like he’s naming the seven deadly sins.
“Okay, there is nothing wrong with 80’s pop.” Steve defends, “And I mostly listen to Bowie, Elton John, Blondie, and… Tears for Fears,” Eddie snorts, “but I listen to other bands! I got some Metallica in my playlist, and a shit ton of Iron Maiden.” Eddie looks skeptical but hums proudly. He leans back and crosses his arms smugly.
“Now, you’re speaking my language.”
They spend the rest of their time talking about music and movies. Steve learns that Eddie’s favorite movie is The Return of the Living Dead, and he gives credit to Steve for saying The Lost Boys is one of his favorites. They talk about Eddie’s old band and where he went to school—“I’m not a college graduate, but I did go to a school for other things.” He doesn’t clarify, but Steve only assumes he’s talking about trade school.
It isn’t until the night bartender comes to switch with Steve that the vigilante realizes how long he’s been talking with Eddie. He can only imagine the teases he’ll get from Jeff tomorrow afternoon. For now, Eddie offers to walk him home. “I don’t live far from here.” Steve insists, knowing he would prefer to swing home to have time for dinner before his patrol, “And I have to get home in time for dinner.” He adds.
“I know this diner a couple blocks from here.” Eddie offers, taking a step closer. He seems nervous, as he stares at his feet, “Besides, I like talking to you.” Steve chews his lips and looks just past Eddie’s shoulder, where Jeff just happens to be standing.
The bouncer raises his brow, nods his head, and urges Steve to go out with Eddie. Steve sighs and looks back to the man in front of him, “I’d love to.”
Eddie’s head snaps up like he’s just learned he’s won the lottery. The man laughs, and his blush deepens. “Awesome! That’s… great! Yeah, let’s, uh…” he swallows before holding out an arm, “Shall we?”
Steve snorts, “Yeah, let’s go, prince charming.” He takes Eddie’s arm in his.
Normally, Steve isn’t so keen on going places with strangers. Hence the whole hasn’t been on a date in over six years thing, but he likes Eddie. There’s something about the man that’s almost comforting, like he’s met Eddie before.
Like he’s known him for years.