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Steve stares out at the wild unending sea and thinks of Eddie.
Years had passed since they last talked - years full of bitterness and apologies never spoken aloud and a distance wider than the Atlantic ocean - but he can never sit at his hometown beach and not think of Eddie.
After all, this sand holds their footprints. Thousands of them, from the pitter-patter of bare children's feet to the larger, more purposeful ones of young adults. Always mingled, those footprints; Steve may have been the faster runner but on their way to the waves he'd slow for Eddie every time.
Ironic, he thinks now with the ghost of a laugh.
It was Eddie that ran in the end.
All the way to California. Late at night, chasing the elusive possibility of a record deal, slamming the door in Steve's tear-stained face.
They'd argued a lot back then.
Steve had watched as Eddie grew out of their small hometown at a far greater pace than himself. As the frustration built within him, so did the desperation to go anywhere, plan be damned, and he'd raged against Steve's desire to stay just a little longer, against his pleas to save some more money and think his future through with all the earnestness of a nineteen year old who thought he knew how the world worked.
But Eddie hadn't had Steve's overbearing parents or the weight of the Harrington name anchoring him here.
He'd been right to run, Steve knows that now.
Years of regret and finally breaking free from his father's name and becoming his own man had taught him that.
And he'd watched from his empty New York apartment as Eddie made it big. As his sold-out tour made the evening news. As thousands fawned over the love of his life without ever really knowing him. As Eddie spread his wings and conquered the world without the burden of Steve holding him back.
Steve had almost called him. So many times. He'd bring up Eddie's name in his contacts, stare at it, thumb hovering over the call button. But what the fuck would he say? I love you, I was wrong, I miss you. How's the tour going? My dad died. I hear your songs on the radio and sometimes I cry and other times I just get drunk. I'll quit my job and sell the apartment in the heartbeat if you'll just let me come with you this time. Maybe it's pointless, but I go home once a year on your birthday and sit on the beach and think of you, it's quiet there in August. Do you still think about that beach too?
Finally, on a winter's night with the neighbour's too-cheerful Christmas lights bouncing off his white walls, Steve's resolve had crumbled. He'd called Eddie, and his only answer was a dial tone.
Eddie had disconnected his number, had severed his final tie to Steve.
Gulls cry above, circling the grey sky. Steve glances up at them. Wonders if any of them remember Eddie too, doesn't have a clue how long seagulls live, shakes his head and thinks he's a fucking idiot because it's been nearly fifteen years since Eddie had sped out of this place. He thinks of that one bird Eddie had rescued, that had hopped right up to him on weak legs and practically fallen into his arms. Steve had been a little annoyed because they were supposed to be swimming not running a wildlife rescue, but Eddie had looked up at him with a soft smile and the little bird cradled in his hands and something had fallen into place inside Steve.
In six hours, Eddie will be thirty five.
Steve wonders how he's celebrating. Surrounded by friends, he's sure. In some LA mansion, with the music up loud and the beer flowing and smiling easily. Would the years have tempered him a little? Would he stay up till the next morning, would he still drink too much and regret it later, or would he head off to bed around midnight and say his farewells?
Steve's not sure. Whatever he chooses, he just hopes Eddie's having a good time.
He'll head back to the motel room soon, he supposes. It's where the old diner had been, where he and Eddie had shared cigarettes and milkshakes and his hand had brushed up against Steve's and set his veins alight.
It's all gone now. Replaced by a soulless and shitty roadside motel, and yet Steve still sees Eddie's ghost lingering on the street every time he pulls up.
But for now there's salt on his lips and the decades-old memory of Eddie's laugh on the evening wind.
The first time Eddie had kissed him had been right here. On this sand, with the waves crashing on the beach in the wake of a storm. His lips had found Steve's, stolen his breath and his heart in a single moment.
"You'll catch a cold out here, sweetheart."
His heart skips a beat.
For a moment, even the sea is silent.
Steve thinks the universe has been playing a cruel joke on him for nearly half his life now, but this was a particularly low blow. Because that had sounded exactly like the voice on late-night talk shows and the morning radio, the voice Steve had cried over in his lowest of lows.
But he turns. Hope had always been a fickle weakness of his; it's what kept him coming back to this lonely beach year after year.
Eddie looks the same, and yet different. Same deep brown eyes with that wild glint, same sharp features if a little softened with age, same long curls now pulled back behind his head. There's new tattoos, so many of them, untraced by Steve's fingertips. He seems…taller, maybe taller than Steve, but maybe that's because Steve stopped growing the day Eddie left.
He's staring at Steve, the smallest smile quirking at his lips. Only a mere few feet stands between them but the distance is far greater than that, crafted by tears and time.
Steve stands. Feet shaky, heart thudding.
Just like that little injured bird, he stumbles towards Eddie.
And falls into his arms.
Eddie catches him. Sinks down into the sand, damp grains sticking to his jeans.
"Eddie -" Steve chokes out, tears on his cheeks.
"I know," Eddie murmurs, "I know. It's alright, I've got you."
Steve holds onto Eddie like a life ring. Waves tug at the pebbles behind him as the sea begins to breathe again, rolls them back out towards the depths, but Steve's not going anywhere.
"I missed you," he whispers. "I'm sorry. I still love you, I'm sorry." Steve's not even sure what he's apologising for - for that night so many years ago, or for still not being able to move on from Eddie, for the love that would weigh Eddie down again if he let it.
"I visited here a few times," Eddie tells him, rubbing circles on Steve's back. "I thought maybe I'd see you, maybe you'd still be here but...you were gone. I'd sit on this damn beach for hours and think about you."
Steve laughs; a harsh, wet, hitching sound. "I always come back for your birthday and do the same thing."
Eddie winces like that confession hurts him. "I was nearby today, I'm on a break from touring, um - I'm in this band -"
"I know. I saw, I heard."
"- right. We're a couple of idiots, huh? You know, one time when I came back, I went into the store and asked after you. Patty - you know she still works there, right? Shit, she was old when we were five! - she came striding over, told me I broke your heart when I left, to get out the hell out of her store."
"Patty's scary when she needs to be."
"I was terrified." Eddie laughs, but it's hollow.
"You did, you know. Break my heart."
Eddie sucks in a breath, Steve feels it. "I know." He pulls his head back a little, catches Steve's eye, and there's tears in his own too. "God, you're still beautiful."
Steve reaches out, fingertips brushing against Eddie's cheek, ghosting across his lips. "I…I don't know what to do, I don't know how to make you happy, I don't even - fuck, do you have someone? A…partner, or…?"
Eddie smiles. A small, sad thing. "There was never anyone else, Steve."
"…oh."
"Yeah." Eddie chuckles, gestures out to the wide empty beach. "Still looks the same, huh?"
"Looks smaller to me. It does every year, I think. Eddie, I tried to call you -"
"My fault, I know. I was young and stupid and angry at everything, I deleted all my contacts and changed my number. A fresh start I guess - but all I did was cut off everything I'd known."
Another tear tracks slowly down Steve's cheek. He reaches up, rubs at his eyes under his glasses. "I'm happy to see you. So happy, but I don't know what to do," Steve admits. Where once they'd fit together like two puzzle pieces, he isn't sure they align anymore - life had carved chunks out of Steve, had left him with scars and deep caverns he wasn't sure Eddie wanted to fill or even see.
Eddie palms his cheek. Swipes a thumb under Steve's eye, collects salt. "How about this?" he whispers, and his mouth finds Steve's.
As the sun dips below the horizon and the sky alights with orange and gold, Steve kisses Eddie. With every passing second, the years fall away - they're nineteen and Eddie's fists are balled, they're sixteen and invincible, they're eight and laughing, hands intertwined as their toes sink into the sand.
Something stirs inside Steve; the hesitant feeling of being alive for the first time in a long time.