Bite Me Gently
Laughter stitched into cracked old bones,
Home found in glitter and broken tones,
They call us ghosts, they call us freaks—
We teach the night how to speak.
— Night O Sweet, Abaddon’s Vassals
SCENE: Eddie's Rooftop — Nightfall
Enchanted, glittering, barely holding together under the weight of queer immortality and too much sugar.
Someone had summoned mood lighting. Someone else had overfed the rooftop fire pit until it was vaguely sentient. The snacks were half-devoured. A bottle of vampire-safe prosecco floated midair, uncorking itself every five minutes and pouring directly into whoever gestured loudest.
It was bedlam. Glorious, warm, magical bedlam.
Steve sat on a love seat in an oversized hoodie, ankles bare, mug of blood-coffee going cold in his hands. Eddie sprawled beside him, sockless, rings glinting, laughing at something Gareth was yelling about synth pedals.
Dustin was across from them, gesturing wildly with a piece of naan. "And THEN they kissed again, and you could see the lighting shift. Like even the magic couldn't handle the tension."
"I rewatched it," Will said, nodding seriously. "Multiple angles. Someone enchanted a close-up of Steve's hand on Eddie's jaw. It was... emotional cinema."
"You guys are so embarrassing," Max muttered, but she was smiling. Curled up under Chrissy's borrowed leather jacket, legs draped over Lucas' lap.
"I'm just saying," Dustin continued, "you two are the blueprint. You're our dads now. No one else is allowed to be publicly in love unless they live up to it."
Steve groaned. "Please stop saying that."
"You're literally Dad #2 in my contact list."
"Who's Dad #1?" Steve asked.
"Argyle," Dustin said. "For different reasons."
"HELL yeah," Argyle called from across the fire pit, where he was showing Jonathan how to rig audio illusions into a photo frame. "I'm everyone's dream parent and also a club god."
Jonathan, who had not planned on smiling tonight, was definitely smiling now. "He made my voice sound like it's underwater but in a cool, haunted way."
"I'm haunted and hot," Argyle stated. "It's my brand."
Nancy arrived late, as always—coat trailing behind her like a dramatic punctuation mark. She dropped into a seat beside Robin, who was mid-argument with Gareth about whether throwing a guitar counts as performance art.
"Oh no," Nancy said, sipping from someone's abandoned glass. "I can already hear the chaos."
"It never stopped," Robin said, eyes sparkling. "I think the roof's cursed now. In a sexy way."
Sapphire, stretched out like royalty on a stolen velvet cushion, raised her glass. "You're welcome."
Chrissy, fangs glinting, leaned over and whispered something into Sapphire's ear. Sapphire laughed loud enough to startle the prosecco bottle into pouring itself again.
"Okay," Dustin said, clapping his hands like a boardroom exec. "Explain the band. All of it. From the top. This is now an oral history interview. Go."
Gareth took a dramatic breath. "We started in a basement in Montmartre with two amps, one cursed mic, and Eddie's need to scream."
"You make it sound romantic," Jeff said.
"It was romantic," Chrissy said, eyes glinting. "If you count sharing one blood bag and a broken dream."
"We didn't even have a name," Eddie added. "Until Sapphire appeared in a haze of smoke and said, and I quote—"
"'You bitches need an identity and a stylist,'" Sapphire supplied, examining her nails. "Which I then became. I play the game."
"And then Chrissy ate a producer," Gareth said.
"He was racist and soulless," Chrissy said sweetly. "It was activism."
Steve was laughing so hard he nearly spilled his drink.
"I wish I'd met you all sooner," he said, breathless, warm.
Eddie looked at him like he wanted to bottle that sentence. "You're here now," he said. "That's what matters."
And maybe it did.
Because in this mess of pillows and firelight and cursed prosecco and too-loud laughter, Steve didn't feel like a guest anymore. He felt like part of the noise.
Part of the whole.
And then—
His phone buzzed.
Once.
Twice.
Incoming Call: HOME
He stared at the screen.
The laughter around him blurred for a moment, like someone hit pause on the world.
Eddie leaned in, sensing it immediately. "Steve?"
Steve swallowed. "It's my parents."
Max looked up. Robin stilled. Even Sapphire quieted.
No one told him what to do.
They just waited.
SCENE: Just Beyond the Rooftop Wards — Night
The rooftop laughter faded behind him.
Steve stepped out past the last ward line, past the humming shield spell, into the quiet between stars. He stared down at his phone. It buzzed again in his hand. Still ringing.
Incoming Call: HOME.
He hadn't heard their voices in years. Not since the Turning. Not since the fallout.
His thumb hovered over the screen.
Then he answered.
Silence.
Then: "Steve?"
His father's voice. Just as clipped as he remembered. Cold. Controlled. Paternal only in theory.
Steve didn't answer.
"We saw you. On television."
There it was.
"The mark," his mother said faintly in the background. "The Bonding."
He kept staring ahead, into the city lights.
"It's not a phase," he said, calm. Flat. "In case you were waiting for that."
There was a pause. Not a heavy one. A judgmental one.
"You've always been dramatic," his father said.
Something inside Steve flinched. That old ache. The ghost of who he tried to be.
"I'm happy," he said, through clenched teeth. "For once. In a way you never made room for."
Another beat. Then his mother's voice again, quieter.
"You had expectations."
Steve closed his eyes. "I still do. They're just not yours."
Silence.
And then—
"We won't be contacting you again."
The call ended. Just like that.
A breath.
Not relief. Just... space. Wide, cold space.
He stood in it for a moment. Let the silence stretch around him like a wound.
Then his phone buzzed again.
MOM - HOME.
Steve almost let it ring.
But something in his chest—old muscle memory, maybe—made him press accept.
"...Steve?"
Her voice was small this time. Shaken.
"I didn't know he'd say that. I didn't think he'd..." She swallowed. "He was angry. He's always angry when it's not about him."
Steve stayed quiet.
"I just—I saw you. Onstage. That moment. The boy. Eddie."
Still no response.
"He looked at you like you were the whole world." Her voice cracked. "And I realized I never made you feel like that. Not once."
Steve's hand shook.
"I can't fix what we did," she whispered. "But I wanted to say I'm still your mother. I still love you."
He bit the inside of his cheek.
"I'll keep the allowance coming," she rushed. "Not because of guilt. Because I want to help. Even if you don't want me. Even if you never call again."
A long breath. Her voice trembled.
"I should have protected you. I didn't. But I'm proud of you now. For living. For being brave. For loving someone anyway."
Steve's eyes burned.
"...Okay," he said, quiet.
"Okay?"
"You can keep sending it. Not forever. Just until I know I don't need anything from you anymore."
He could hear her crying softly on the other end.
"I'm sorry," she said.
They hung up.
No goodbye.
SCENE: Eddie's Rooftop — Moments Later
The rooftop called him back with firelight and noise. Someone had started playing music again. Laughter was rising. A bottle popped.
He stepped through the wards and the warmth hit him immediately.
Dustin, barefoot now, was trying to teach Max and Gareth a dance from some meme. Chrissy and Sapphire were doing an impression of Robin doing an impression of Eddie. Nancy was curled up beside Will, sketching something in his book. Argyle was levitating a disco ball the size of a grapefruit and making it spin above the fire.
Eddie saw him.
Just looked at him for one long beat.
Didn't ask.
Didn't press.
Just opened his arms, blanket still wrapped around him.
And Steve went.
Let himself be folded in.
Held. Finally.
The rooftop didn't even notice him cry.
SCENE: Eddie's Bedroom — Late Night, 3:19 AM
The fire's gone out. The city is dreaming. The bond hums low between them.
Eddie had dragged him upstairs without a word.
Not a performance. Not a question. Just his hand, gentle at the small of Steve's back, guiding him inside. Blanket still wrapped around his shoulders. No fuss. No questions.
They were curled together now in Eddie's bed—sheets soft, everything smelling faintly of ash, cedar, and magic. Steve was on his back, staring at the ceiling. Eddie on his side, fingers tracing circles just under the sleeve of Steve's hoodie.
The bond was quiet, finally. Not surging or screaming. Just a steady ache. Like something breathing, slowly, between them.
Eddie didn't speak for a long time.
Then: "Was it bad?"
Steve didn't pretend not to know what he meant.
He let the silence stretch. Then nodded.
"Yeah."
Eddie didn't press.
Didn't rush.
Just shifted closer, pressing their knees together. "You don't have to tell me. Not if you're not ready."
Steve swallowed. "He said they weren't going to call again."
Eddie froze.
"Just like that?"
"Yeah."
"Fuck."
Steve turned his face into Eddie's pillow. "It's weird. I thought I'd feel free. I don't. I just feel... empty. Like they took something I hadn't realized I was still holding onto."
Eddie reached up. Tucked a bit of Steve's hair behind his ear. His touch was so gentle it made Steve's throat tighten.
"But she called back," Steve whispered. "My mom."
Eddie stilled.
"She said she loved me. That she was proud. That she'd keep sending the allowance." A bitter laugh. "I don't even know if I want it. But I said okay."
Eddie nodded slowly. "Because even if it's not what you needed, it's something."
Steve blinked fast. His voice was small. "I hate that it still hurts."
Eddie leaned in. Pressed their foreheads together. "That's what love does. Even the wrong kind."
They breathed like that for a while. Quiet. Wrapped in each other.
"You know what I wanted?" Steve said, barely audible. "I wanted them to see me on that stage. And finally understand. Not the Bond. Not the magic. Just... me."
Eddie reached down and took his hand.
Laced their fingers.
"You know who saw you?" he murmured. "Everyone who matters. Me. Robin. Dustin. Will. Chrissy. All those gremlin kids. Nancy. Your real people."
Steve didn't cry.
But his throat burned like he had.
"I know," he said. "It's just taking my heart a second to catch up."
Eddie nodded. "We've got time."
He pulled Steve close. Let him bury his face in his chest. Let the bond settle fully between them—soft, warm, steady.
And for the first time since the call, Steve breathed without it hurting.
SCENE: Eddie's Bedroom — The Next Morning, 8:42 AM
Golden light. Thick sheets. The bond still humming in its sleep.
Steve woke up warm. Heavy. Safe.
Eddie was draped half on top of him, a leg thrown over Steve's thighs, one arm tucked under his hoodie, face pressed into the side of his neck. His curls tickled, but Steve didn't move.
Didn't want to.
The world outside felt muted—thick-glassed windows, enchantments on the curtains, the buzz of wards that kept paparazzi and early-morning chaos far, far away.
Steve exhaled. A full breath. Nothing sharp. Nothing tight in his chest.
His hand slid up Eddie's back, slow, careful. He didn't want to wake him.
Which meant, obviously, someone else did.
"RISE AND BITE, BOYS," Robin yelled from the hallway. Followed by a thump and what sounded like an entire breakfast tray colliding with the doorframe.
"Robin," Steve groaned, "if you kick down this door, I swear to god—"
"I have croissants," she said, muffled but deeply smug. "And orange juice. And also Twitter screenshots."
Eddie groaned against Steve's skin. "She's worse than the sun."
"She is the sun," Steve muttered. "If the sun had Adderall and abandonment issues."
Robin banged on the door again. "I HEARD THAT."
Steve peeled one eye open. "Do we let her in?"
Eddie pulled the blanket higher. "We could fake our deaths again."
Before they could move, the door opened itself—probably due to a spell from Sapphire or just Robin's sheer force of will—and Robin breezed in holding a tray in one hand and a cursed tablet in the other.
She paused when she saw them.
Eddie half-buried in Steve's arms. Steve blinking up at her, hoodie strings tangled in his hair, a dried tear track still faint on his cheek.
Her smirk faltered. Just for a second.
"Oh," she said. Quiet now. "You look... okay."
Steve smiled. Sleepy. "I'm okay."
"Yeah?" she asked.
"Yeah."
Robin set the tray down. She didn't say I was worried. She didn't have to.
Instead, she flopped at the foot of the bed like a feral cat, kicked her shoes off, and immediately shoved a still-glowing tablet toward them.
"Okay. So. Sapphire's fanbase started a Change.org petition to canonize your soulbond," she said. "Max wants to know if she can crash here 'for aesthetic reasons,' and Dustin updated your Wikipedia pages to include 'vampiric co-parenting.'"
Eddie blinked. "He what?"
"Look," she said, turning the screen toward them. "He included footnotes."
Steve laughed so hard he choked on air.
Robin watched them with something soft behind her grin. Something old. Something like finally.
Eddie reached for the croissants. Handed one to Steve first, then broke his in half.
They ate in bed.
Let the day roll in with light and magic and crumbs.
No stage. No scripts. Just warmth. And laughter.
And Robin, still in pajamas, holding up tweet after tweet and asking, "Okay but seriously, what possessed you to kiss him again during a comedy sketch??"
Steve just leaned his head against Eddie's and said, "It wasn't a possession."
Eddie grinned. "It was a decision."
SCENE: Sapphire's Penthouse (aka fashion war zone) — Later That Day
Steve stood in front of a gilded mirror, shirtless, arms halfway into a custom-tailored black suit laced with blood-thread embroidery. The back was open just enough to flash his soulmate mark.
Robin was laying across a fainting couch in full hair and makeup that she insisted was "ironically Met Gala." She was holding a glass of something sparkling and probably illegal.
"You're gonna make someone faint," she said, chewing a piece of mango.
"I'm going to faint," Steve muttered, staring at his reflection like it owed him answers. "Who decided I could do a gala?"
"You did," Sapphire said, striding into the room in a gown made entirely of midnight. "When you looked hot on live TV and then trended for six days straight. You're the moment, baby."
Chrissy was behind her, zipping up a velvet number that shimmered with wards. "And it's a charity gala. You're raising money for magical blood donation access and anti-glamour exploitation legislation. We're doing good."
"While being hot," Sapphire added.
Eddie entered like a storm—already dressed, already glowing. His suit was torn in just the right places. His hair was chaos tamed only by luck. Around his neck, a silver charm pulsed faintly with soulbond resonance. His eyes went straight to Steve.
"You look illegal," he said, grinning.
Steve blinked. "You look like you haunt opera houses."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
Robin fake gagged. "Okay, Phantom. Let's go."
SCENE: The Gala — Mystique Opéra, Paris
They arrived in a glamour-proof limousine that shimmered like oil and smelled like lavender smoke. The venue pulsed with enchanted lighting and floor-to-ceiling windows that showed constellations, regardless of the weather outside.
Inside was insane.
Floating drinks. Walking art installations. Vampires and witches in suits that changed color when you looked too long. Someone was dancing with a projection of their dead ex. The band was half-incorporeal. Eddie loved it.
Steve held his hand the entire way up the stairs.
Photographers turned. The crowd parted.
The second they entered, a ripple went through the room—gasps, whispers, the magic equivalent of a red carpet earthquake.
They'd arrived together.
Not by accident.
Not caught in a backstage kiss.
But together.
Steve felt Eddie squeeze his hand.
He looked up.
"You good?" Eddie asked, voice low.
Steve swallowed. The nerves were still there. The ghosts. The calls.
But so were the lights. The pulse. The music. Eddie.
"Yeah," he said. "Let's burn the whole place down."
Sapphire met them at the top of the stairs like a queen at court. Her gown now glowing faintly with shifting constellations.
"Perfect," she said. "Now kiss, or trip, or make a donation. We're here for impact."
Chrissy floated by on someone's arm, fangs visible, eyes lined sharp. "Remember: smile. But make it haunted."
They laughed. Held on tighter.
And stepped into the light.