hairsprayed | Inbox (The City)

STEVE

THS IS IMPORTANT

( For as cowardly as Eddie claims to be, even he has to admit that a coward wouldn't face his problems head-on like this. Even if said problem is reconciling with Steve Harrington after the haunted house had left them both shaken to their very core.

Eddie is not likely to forget that anytime soon: the way Steve looked at him like he was some kind of monster, how nothing seemed to convince him that he knew Eddie and that Eddie was a friend, that he wouldn't hurt Steve.

He also won't forget the souvenirs Steve must have walked away with, assuming he did walk away. Eddie wants to believe that's what happened, as it's a better thought than thinking someone else came by to finish the job. He shudders at that possibility before shoving that thought not so gently away so he can focus on the task at hand: convincing Steve to open his damn door.

He starts with a simple knock, but is there really anything simple to it? The rhythm that he knocks out sounds deceptively like a song. )

Steve, I know you're there. ( Only because Eddie hasn't really left his apartment that much lately either, but that's beside the point. ) Please, just...can I come in? At least let me, um. Let me take a look at that nasty cut on your hand?

( At some point on the 25th, Steve will come across a package wrapped surprisingly well, considering Eddie's usual brand of chaos. Inside is a hardcover sketchbook filled to the brim with a mixture of lazy doodling, song lyrics, and a more classical style depicting things from back home -- Hawkins. One page has a portrait of Robin (at least as Eddie remembers her) and something that's probably supposed to be a trumpet, but who can really tell? The opposite side has Dustin wearing his thinking cap and Weird Al shirt -- you get the picture. (Probably) unsurprisingly, there is more than one page to feature Steve, and some of the song lyrics are less veering towards metal and more...sappy. Huh, interesting.

Sitting next to this package, Mr. Squiggles is wearing a Santa hat, and there's a lengthy note written on the front and back of an index card attached to a ribbon around its neck: )

Hey Stevie,
I knew I wanted to get you something, but I wasn't sure what. It felt like everything that I considered wasn't enough for what I wanted to say. Which is thanks for everything. You didn't have to help with trying to clear my name or help get me situated here, but you did, and without expecting anything in return. I guess I've grown kind of cynical, but enough people letting you down will do that to you.

You never let me down. Not even that shit with the haunted house. It feels like this kind of shit deserves more than just a nice bottle of wine or bourbon or some crap. Then I got to thinking. This sketchbook started out with less of a purpose, but I knew, even though there's so much about that place we called home that I loathe to my very core, I didn't want to forget the people who made even the worst week of my life bearable. And I don't know about you, but the more time that we're here, the harder it is to remember.

And Mr. Squiggles here just wanted to remind you that you're very brave even when facing your fears. Sometimes, I think we could all use that kind of reminder.

Merry Christmas, Steve. I might not have more mistletoe, but maybe cracking open a beer and playing shitty Christmas music from memory would entice you to come visit? Just a thought.
--em.

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