Steve is back later that night with a group of eight rats for Eddie to turn, which he does as quickly as possible. Once he's done and the rats are all safely separated so that they don't massacre each other when they all wake up, Steve looks at him, slightly guilty. "Look, about earlier..."
"What about earlier?"
"I'm sorry that I called you bro. That was weird."
"We call each other dude." Eddie says, trying very hard to seem like somebody who doesn't care. "No different from that."
"Eddie, you literally made a face like I'd just stomped on Gandalf in front of you."
Eddie sighs. "Yeah, well, it was weird, okay? I'm not used to having to...hide that sort of thing. I mean, I've been called every gay slur you can think of. But you're all..."—He puts his hands on his hips, putting on an exaggeratedly suave voice—"I'm Steve 'The Hair' Harrington, I love the ladies and the ladies love me, who wants to make out in my burgundy BMW?"
Steve, whose eyebrows have been slowly creeping up, looks like he doesn't know if he should laugh or be offended. "That's how you see me?"
"It's how I did before." Eddie says. "...Not now, obviously, now, you're..." He feels shy, suddenly, clearing his throat. "I'm cool with you wanting to keep it between us. And Robin. And Vickie. I get that it's...new, for you, or whatever. The bro thing just threw me off, for some reason."
"I promise to never call you 'bro' again." Steve says seriously, sinking to the floor and patting the old rug. "C'mere." He reaches into his pocket to pull something out, setting it on the rug. It's Eddie's mixtape. Steve is smiling up at him, looking so goddamn... dreamy that Eddie's already forgotten why he was even upset. God, that face is a get-out-jail-free-card. Eddie sits.
"You wanna know what I thought?"
Eddie tries very hard not to chew his nails, conscious of the chipped black polish that he'd repainted to stop himself from chewing them since he'd really rather not have bits of it in his teeth. Steve's the one who should be nervous, not him, because his music taste is objectively great and this mix is also objectively great and he totally isn't panicking at all about just how many songs on it prominently feature the "L" word. Nope, not at all. What song doesn't have that word in it these days? Just a coincidence, really. Nothing for Steve to even take note of! Eddie's getting ready to say all of this out loud in an uncoordinated rush when Steve smiles and grabs his wrist, pulling it down from his mouth. "You told me to stop you whenever you're biting your nails."
"...Right."
"Anyway, I wrote notes." He digs around in his pocket again for a minute before pulling out a folded up bit of paper.
Eddie can't believe it. "You wrote notes?"
"It seemed like the polite thing to do." Steve says, completely earnest. He unfolds the paper, tapping it. "Okay. My favorites were Just Like Heaven and I'm Gonna Crawl."
"Right, right, makes sense." Eddie says, nodding along like he totally didn't put his heart and soul into this mix and totally isn't hanging onto Steve's every word.
"...And the Depeche Mode and the Bauhaus. Pretty goth." He leans forwards, something mischievous sparking in his eyes, and Eddie doesn't point out that he pronounced Bauhaus wrong. "I liked all the metal, too. Lots of songs about death. And rats and bats and spiders. I thought the Heart was a nice touch. You are quite the romantic, Eddie Munson."
Eddie can feel Steve moving in for the kill, and he's helpless to do anything but sit there. He doesn't blush, much, not now that his blood runs cold, but he feels pretty close to it now, fighting the urge to squeeze his eyes shut.
"...The last two songs, especially. You're in Love."
Eddie blinks, confused for a moment when he thinks that Steve is just saying that as a statement, oddly defensive like he should deny it, but then he realizes that Steve is just naming the song title and he exhales, feeling ridiculous. "It's a good one." He says evasively. He's used to being the one making Steve go all puddle-ish, not to be the one actively trying to avoid turning to goo and seeping through the floorboards.
"And About You."
Yeah, well," Eddie says, steeling himself and leaning forwards. "I guess there's something warm about you."
If there's anything else on the paper, Steve doesn't get around to reading it.
Some time later, his hair everywhere and his lips dark red, Steve seems to remember something, groping around for his jacket. "I forgot, I also started one for you."
"A what?" Eddie asks, brain far too mushy to know what he's talking about.
"A mix."
Eddie sits up. "Really? What's on it?"
"It's just a few ideas, so far." Steve pulls another crumpled paper from his jacket. "But I thought you should steer me in the right direction so that you don't completely hate it."
Eddie's beaming, now. "What's on it? Wham, right?"
Steve's immediately defensive. "What's so bad about Wham?"
Eddie looks at him like he doesn't even recognize him. "I can't believe you just asked me that. Who else is on there, Huey Lewis & the News?"
Steve looks guilty, trying to subtly move the paper behind his back. "No..."
Eddie's mouth drops. "Who are you?"
Steve throws his arms up in defeat. "We can't all instinctively know the best screamy songs to put on a mixtape!"
Eddie looks at him, scandalized. "Really? 'screamy'? You just said you liked it!"
"I do! Clearly you don't feel that way about mine."
"Alright, alright, I guess I can't judge something off of only a few songs." Eddie holds a hand out, crooking his fingers. "Hand it over. How bad could it be, right? It's not like you put Phil Collins on there, or something—"
Steve, who had been in the process of handing the paper over, promptly fumbles to pull it back behind his back again. "You know what? Maybe I'll give it a little more time."
Eddie bites his lip to keep from giggling, disbelieving. "Oh my god, seriously? Phil Collins? Steve, have I taught you nothing?"
"What did Phil Collins do to you?"
"What didn't he do?"
"It isn't a crime to like catchy music." Steve sniffs, tape still held behind his back. "But I'll try and fix it to be more up to your pretentious standards."
"It's really the least you could do."
