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The first notes of Eddie’s guitar solo tear through The Upside Down; Steve watches in horrified fascination as the bats follow the noise, as they form a thick, black cloud, like a plague of locusts.
And it hits him then that he simply cannot set one foot inside the Creel House.
“Nance,” he says. His voice cracks.
She turns to look at him, and suddenly she isn’t a vengeful warrior with a sawn-off shotgun: she’s just a girl who lost her best friend, who has spent years haunted by ‘what if…?’
“Trust your gut,” she says firmly, and that’s all he needs.
He spends a fleeting second squeezing Robin’s hand, just to steady him, and then he’s running back to the trailer.
The one thing that reassures him is that Eddie and Dustin are perfectly on time, the song cutting off just as they planned. Now run, you two, Steve thinks, as his chest burns with the effort, get inside and be safe, be safe, be safe.
But then he reaches the trailer, and he knows that something’s wrong.
Because the bats are clustered in one spot on the roof, scrabbling over the top of one another, and it makes him think of flies descending on roadkill.
He gets past all the wire and defences, and none of them take any notice. He pushes the front door open with the force of his shoulder, slams it shut again, makes sure it sticks.
And then he hears screaming.
He whips around to find Eddie driving his spear through a bat with a guttural cry. He’s on the floor, his upper body shielding something.
And then Steve sees Dustin. Dustin on the ground. Dustin bleeding.
No.
He sprints across and covers Dustin, too, slotting next to Eddie to form a complete shelter.
“Steve,” Eddie whispers, and his face is ashen. “Fuck, it’s the vents, they’re in the fucking vents. I tried to—D-Dustin—I wasn’t quick enough, Christ, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—”
And he keeps repeating that, as if feverish, striking out again with the spear as another bat swoops for them. His aim is true, but that doesn’t matter now. It’s too late.
Steve looks down at the wound on Dustin’s thigh, at the blood spilling out relentlessly. And as Eddie cups Dustin cheek, pleads, “Stay awake, H-Henderson, you hear me? Dustin? Dustin, please,” Steve spots the bite on Eddie’s wrist. It’s barely anything, just a nick.
But it’s enough.
Steve knows that it doesn’t matter how fast he is—the bats will just keep coming. They’re on the scent, to hunt. To devour. And his wounds are dried up. Old.
Fresh blood dripping from Eddie’s wrist. Dustin’s bloody leg.
Oh, you’re going to die, Steve thinks. Both of you.
Then he thinks Well, fuck that.
He flings off his jacket, wraps it tight around Dustin’s thigh. Dustin whimpers, eyelids fluttering.
“Shit, sorry, bud,” Steve whispers. “I know it hurts, I know, I know…”
Underneath the screech of more bats, he presses a brief, fierce kiss to Dustin’s forehead, pushes back his sweaty curls. I love you.
Eddie takes out another pair of bats in quick succession, slamming them with his shield—narrowly avoids their tails wrapping around his wrist. His luck won’t last forever, Steve knows that.
So he just has to be quicker.
He rips the end of his shirt with his teeth, pushes the torn fabric into Eddie’s hand.
“Eddie. Eddie, listen,” he says urgently. “It’s the blood, okay? They’re coming for the blood.”
Eddie wraps the fabric around his wrist as if on autopilot, eyes wide with fear.
“It’s the blood,” Steve repeats, as calmly as he can. “You’ve gotta stop the bleeding, okay? You can do that.”
Eddie nods jerkily, and some of his panic fades away, replaced with a white hot determination. He sets his jaw.
“Hey, Dustin?” Steve says. Tries to be gentle while raising his voice, praying it breaks through the pain-induced fog. “Eddie’s got you, okay?”
“Yeah,” Eddie chokes out. “I’ve got you, Henderson.”
His hand strokes through Dustin’s hair, too, and God, Steve trusts him. Trusts him so damn much.
Trusts him enough for this.
Steve jerks his head upwards to the gate. “Stop the bleeding. Get him home.”
Eddie nods again, but a wrecked laugh comes out. He ducks as another bat breaks in; Steve temporarily takes the spear, kills it without flinching.
“Jesus! How the fuck are we supposed to do that, Harrington? There’ll be hordes of those fuckers in a minute.”
“You’ll be fine,” Steve says. He discreetly pats at his pockets. Feels the handle of the switchblade. Touches Dustin one last time, a palm across his brow. “Look after him.”
“Hey, I—I don’t like your tone, man,” Eddie says. “We’re looking after him, together. Together, all right? Fucking promise me, Harrington.”
“You promised me first, remember? Stop the bleeding, get him home.”
“No, no, no, Steve, don’t you fucking dare—”
But Steve is already heading outside. He locks the door behind him, just in case, but he already knows Eddie can’t leave—won’t leave Dustin behind.
There’s a thump at the door, a desperate jiggling of the handle. Steve shouldn’t look behind. He shouldn’t.
But, God. He can’t help it.
Through the glass, he can see Eddie standing there, breathing raggedly. Terrified.
Steve can’t hear him through the cacophony of the bats’ cries, the thunder and lightning. But he can read his lips.
Don’t. Please don’t.
Steve brings out the blade. Slashes it right across his palm.
Eddie screams.
I’m sorry, Eddie, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what else to do.
Steve runs. He grins savagely as he hears the bats following him, all of them, like he’s the fucking Pied Piper of Hamelin.
Yeah, that’s right, you sons of bitches. Steve laughs through a searing pain in his side. You’ve already had a taste. Come and get me.
-
Steve had thought he already knew what delirium meant—remembers laughing hysterically in a Russian bunker with little say as to what bullshit came streaming out of his mouth.
But this is different. At least back then, the haze of the drugs made the pain temporarily float away, let him drift off into some form of blissful ignorance.
Now he feels it all. He’s hyperaware, can pinpoint each and every source of agony lancing through him; can even pick out the fact that the cut on his hand still throbs, the tar-like mud of The Upside Down stuck under his fingernails.
Sometime after he had fallen, the bats stopped coming. He doesn’t know why. Maybe they’ve had their fill. Maybe there’s nothing more of him left to take.
Sound comes to him as if filtered through a megaphone, loud and echoing. He hears a series of swears, yelling. Panting. The crash of a bicycle being thrown to the ground.
Eddie.
The words come pouring out, quicker even than the blood leaving him, a desperate chanting.
“Dustin, Dustin, Dustin—”
“He’s okay,” Eddie says. His face comes into view, pale and drawn, slick with sweat. No blood though, Steve thinks. No blood on him. That’s good. “He’s okay, you hear me? I didn’t leave him alone; the girls, they’ve—they’ve got him. Hey. Hey, Harrington, eyes on me. Dustin—he’s gonna be all right, man, I stopped the bleeding.”
“Good,” Steve gets out. I knew you could, I knew you could, you’re fucking incredible. “S’good. Hey, Eddie, he’s—think he’s gonna be really upset, ‘kay?”
“What do you—”
“But he has you,” Steve says. He hates the fact that his voice is slurring. If he can’t speak, how else is Eddie supposed to know that… “He has—you’ll help him, right? You can… play D&D, an’…”
Eddie’s laugh splits through the air. It sounds something like grief.
“Harrington, that’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”
“No, it’s not,” Steve insists. There’s blood in his mouth, in his throat; he tries to swallow without choking, to talk around it. “It’s—you make him happy, Eddie. Don’t you know? You make him s-so damn happy.”
“Shut up.”
Eddie’s breathing has an odd, thick sound to it, and Steve realises with a distant wonder that he’s crying. Crying over him. What a strange thing…
A series of sharp claps cut through everything; Steve blinks, can’t remember his eyes closing to begin with.
Eddie’s face is suddenly very close. His lips are shaking.
“Wake up. Now you’re gonna fucking listen to me, Steve Harrington. We didn’t go through all of this fucking bullshit, just for it to end here, you understand? I said, do you understand?”
“Are you mad at me?” Steve breathes. A far-off part of him insists that this is such a silly thing to ask, but he can’t help it. Everything hurts, and he has a sudden, awful burst of clarity: that he doesn’t want to die thinking that Eddie hates him. “Please don’t be mad at me.”
Eddie’s face crumples. “No, Steve,” he says haltingly, like he’s trying so hard to keep his voice from breaking. “I’m not mad at you. J-just. Scared.”
And then for a terrible moment, Eddie disappears. Steve tries to turn his head to search for him, but he can’t—
The sound of someone retching.
Oh, Steve thinks. Oh, it’s because of me.
“H-hey. Hey, Eddie, it’s okay, it’s okay. Don’t look.”
He hears Eddie spit harshly.
“Jesus Christ, stop talking, Harrington.”
And then Eddie is right there again, his hands just hovering, not touching.
“Steve,” he whispers, but Steve gets the feeling that he isn’t actually talking to him, not really. “God, I don’t—don’t know what to do.”
“You’re back,” Steve says, almost dream-like, and when Eddie laughs, this time it’s a pretty sound.
“Yeah, I’m back. Like a bad penny.”
“No,” Steve murmurs, feels like he’s floating somewhere—feels perhaps that he shouldn’t be, but he can’t help it. “You’re beautiful.”
Eddie’s eyes soften, and that probably should be a nice sight, Steve thinks, except for the fact that, for some reason, Eddie also looks like his heart is breaking.
There’s something soft being wrapped tightly around his hand, and it stings, but that’s okay, because when Steve glances down, he can discern just enough to see that it’s Eddie’s bandana.
And it’s a nice thought, that he can still feel this. Can still feel something of Eddie’s trying to heal him.
“Right, big guy, up and at ‘em.” Eddie’s hand in his, the clack clack clack of the metal rings.
Oh, he’s shaking, Steve thinks.
Then he realises what Eddie’s planning to do.
“Eddie, m’sorry, can’t—can’t walk, jus’—”
“Shut up,” Eddie says again. “I’m gonna carry you.”
“But that’s—s’too much. M’too heavy.”
“No,” Eddie says simply. “C’mon, on three.”
But Eddie’s a liar and moves him on two. That’s all right, Steve thinks. He knows that kind of trick, knows that Eddie’s pulling out all the stops for him.
Doesn’t stop him from screaming, though.
“God,” Eddie whispers, and Steve already knows this isn’t for him to hear, but he can’t shut it out. “Fuck, I think I’m killing you.”
You couldn’t, Steve wants to say. Wants to tell Eddie not to worry. You couldn’t ever hurt me.
But he can’t stop screaming.
“S’too much,” he moans.
“No, come on,” Eddie says. He’s straining, still walking. Not giving up. “Hey, Steve, just a few more steps. We’re almost home.”
Oh, you liar, Steve thinks. Wants to smile. Wants to cry. You beautiful, beautiful liar.
“S’too much,” he says again, and he hopes Eddie gets what he means, this time. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh my god,” Eddie says, and there’s a whine in there that hurts—like Eddie’s crying again. “Steve, don’t—hey, just keep talking to me. Don’t—please.”
Another step. Eddie tugs, pulls him closer and—
Steve gasps, feels a tear, right through the centre of him, through all of him, hears a dreadful scream—
And then nothing at all.
-
He has strange dreams.
Sometimes they’re not so bad. Sometimes he can hear Eddie’s voice encouraging him, “Yeah, there you go. That’s it, Steve, just keep breathing.”
Sometimes Eddie sounds strange, too, like he’s laughing and crying at the same time—muttering unsteadily, “C-come on, up you go. Shit, shit, shit. You’ve gotta help me out here, Steve.”
But then he’s flying, falling through darkness, and everything turns awful.
Fire. Flames all over his skin, burning, burning, and he has to kick, strike out, get away, but someone’s pinning him down—
“Y-you’ve gotta stay still. Wheeler, Wheeler, his leg, watch his—hey, Steve, shh, shh, just stop moving, man, please.”
Make it stop make it stop stop STOP STOP—
“Shh, shh, I know, I know. Take my hand, hey, you can break it, fucking go for it, man, I don’t care.”
Please I just want it to stop please please please just let me—
“Hey, hey, hey, you can’t go to sleep right now, okay? Just a little longer, Steve, we’re getting you some help, you’ve just gotta keep your eyes—”
It’s too much too much too much, just want it to end, I want I want—
“One more minute, Steve, you hear me? I’ll count, and then—you’re gonna be all right, this time it’ll be—”
YOU’RE LYING—
One last flash of lucidity.
Eddie. Eddie’s hand in his hair, Eddie’s lips against his temple, wet with tears.
“I’m sorry. I’m s-so—God, just. Please.”
-
Another dream.
A new voice. Makes him think of summer, and butterscotch ice-cream, and laughter.
“Hi, Steve. Got a present for you, so you—you’d better, um… God, you’d find this so damn f-funny, wouldn’t you? Guess it’s more proof we’re from the same womb, huh? Ugh, gross image, Rob, thanks. Sorry. Just thought I’d say it for you.”
Don’t cry, Robin. It’s okay. Don’t cry.
-
“Eddie.”
“What? Is Buckley okay? Wheeler.”
“Yeah, she’s—she’s fine. It’s—they said—”
“Oh God.”
“—it might not work.”
A strangled, pained noise. Footsteps. A door slamming.
Where are you going? Come back. Come back.
-
Sleep. Drift. Try to wake. Sleep.
-
He dreams of fire.
Fire.
Fire.
Fire fire fire stop STOP—
Hand pressing down on his forehead, cold, cold, but he’s much too hot, he’s going to burn up, he can’t—he’s going to die, he’s dead already, it’s too much, it’s—
“Steve, Steve, just try and—hey, it’s just me, you’re okay, you’ve just gotta—oh Christ, please, Steve, just lie back. I know it’s hard, I know, I know.”
The scratch of a needle.
DANGER, GET AWAY, GET—
“Stop, stop! You’re hurting him, don’t you get it, you’re—”
-
A hand in his. Cold metal. Rings.
EddieEddieEddie
“Oh, holy shit.” Shocked laughter, breathless with relief. “That’s it, Steve, that’s it. Break my fucking fingers, dude, I dare you.”
Everything slips…
-
The fire goes out. Cold sweat. Shivering.
Lips on his temple. A kiss.
“You did it. You fucking did it, Steve, you’re amazing, you’re—that’s it, sweetheart, just breathe. Rest now. I’ve got you. Shh, I’ve got you.”
-
Sleep.
-
“Everyone’s fine, by the way. …God, it was fucking terrifying me, saying that out loud, y’know? Like I’d jinx it, or… Then I started thinking that you made a deal or something. Was the only way it made sense. Like, what are the odds that everyone else made it, and… Even me, man, thought I was a goner for… So I —I kinda pretended you’d made a trade, with God or the Devil or—I don’t know. Your life for… Wouldn’t put it past you. But that’s—that’s bullshit, okay? They… they don’t need saving anymore, Steve. They just need you.”
-
Wake.
Eyes too heavy to…
“Hey, hey, you’re good. Take it easy.”
Tongue slow. Throat scraped raw. Swallow.
Try.
“D’st’n. Dust…”
“Shh. Dustin’s just fine, Steve. Promised you, didn’t I?”
“H-hurt?”
“Nah, man. Not anymore.”
“You?”
“…Me?”
“Hurt?”
“Oh. I’m—I’m good, Steve. You sleep some more, ‘kay? You’ll feel better.”
Hand in his.
Gentle.
Safe.
Sleep.
-
Waking up properly is a slow, taxing thing. Eventually he blinks leaden eyelids open. Sees his left hand, lying limp: palm covered with gauze so only his fingers are really visible.
Footsteps, pacing the room. Back and forth, back and forth.
Eddie.
Steve wets his cracked lips and says the only thing he can.
“Dustin?”
Eddie freezes. Glances over. Lets out a shaky kind of scoff.
“He’s safe. D’you know how many times you’ve asked me that, Harrington?”
Steve tries to straighten up. Humours him.
“I dunno, twice?”
Eddie makes a noise imitating a klaxon, like Steve’s just got an answer wrong on a quiz show.
“Nope! Lost count after ten.”
Then Eddie looks at him, really looks at him, and he somehow gets even more still, as if he’s suddenly holding his breath.
“You’re—you’re back,” he says. “Can see it in your eyes. You’re really… fuck.”
He starts pacing again, his spine a rigid line of tension. Steve follows his every move, even though his eyes start to ache with the effort.
“You’re angry,” Steve says quietly.
Eddie shakes his head, breathes out a laugh through clenched teeth. “Yeah. Guess you could say that.”
He comes to an abrupt stop at the foot of the bed—a hospital bed, Steve realises, as one of Eddie’s hands grips the bottom rail, like he needs it to keep standing.
“This much,” Eddie says conversationally, and he shows his thumb and forefinger with barely any space between them.
“What?”
“That’s how close Henderson’s bite was to the femoral artery. Twenty seconds more? Hell, ten seconds? Those damn bats would’ve kept coming, and at least one of them would’ve fucking struck gold ‘cause I couldn’t fucking shield him properly in the goddamn first place, and he would’ve bled out in my arms. So yeah, Steve. I’m angry.”
“But that.” Steve frowns, hopes that he sounds understanding. Gentle. “That didn’t happen, Eddie.”
Eddie laughs again. He looks down, hair hanging so that Steve can’t see his face; he can see his knuckles on the bed frame though, turning white.
“I’m angry ‘cause you were right.” Eddie sucks in a breath, and when he raises his head, his eyes are burning. “I hate that you were right.”
“I don’t—”
“If you hadn’t done—done what you did.” Eddie falters, takes another breath. “Dustin would’ve died. I would’ve died. And I’m angry, I’m so fucking angry that that probably justifies it all for you.”
Steve sighs. “Justifies what?” he asks, though he suspects he already knows.
“That a world without you is any way fucking acceptable.”
Steve resists the urge to sigh again. “Eddie,” he says, tries to sound as matter-of-fact as he can without being a dick about it. “Look, man, I know you’re new to the whole—everything—but sometimes, things happen. People can get hurt, and—”
“No,” Eddie says. “No, you don’t get to do that. Don’t play that card. Yeah, I know I’m a fucking newborn to the whole alternate dimension shtick, but hey, the one thing I can say about myself is that I catch on pretty fucking quick.” He points at Steve, sharp and accusatory. “And I know if anyone else tried to pull the shit that y-you just—you would’ve stopped it in a heartbeat. I know you would have. So. Why?”
For a moment, Steve has to look away. He has the horrible feeling, suddenly, that Eddie’s eyes can see right through him. “Why what?”
“Why are you so determined that it has to be you?”
Steve swallows. He doesn’t know how to put it into words; doesn’t know how to say that his mind has played every scenario on a loop throughout the very worst of nights. That the thought of anyone else dying turns his world into static, the horror far too much to process. That, in comparison, the fear of his own death seems small. Trivial.
So instead, he looks Eddie right in the eye, because the guy deserves that, at least.
“Anyone else wasn’t an option,” Steve gets out.
He means for it to sound strong, determined, but he doesn’t think he succeeds, because Eddie’s eyebrows furrow like he can hear the fear in the words.
“And if—if it had to come down to it,” Steve continues, “I’d rather it—I’d—Dustin, he. He would’ve had you, and—”
Eddie laughs yet again, and it’s tipping into something hysterical. He presses the heel of his palms against his eyes. “You barely know me.”
“I know enough,” Steve returns.
Eddie drops his hands. “I’ve barely known Dustin a year, man! And what am I even—I’m just the leader of his glorified fucking after-school club, I’m not—”
“Eddie, come on. You know you’re more than that.”
So much more.
But Eddie is shaking his head again. “Don’t you get it?” he says faintly. “Don’t you get how irreplaceable you are? Dustin, he—when I left him with the girls, he kept crying out for you. He was in pain, he was scared, and he wanted you. Yeah, he might think I’m the cool weirdo at high school, fucking whatever, but you—you’re his family.”
Steve abruptly finds a spot in the ceiling, blinks back the stinging in his eyes. “You gonna—” He clears his throat. “You gonna sit down?”
Eddie answers by scraping a chair along the floor until he throws himself into it, knees almost touching the side of Steve’s bed.
“I really hate blood, you know?” Eddie says, after a long silence. “Like, there was a biology lesson where… it was a dissection, the teacher was demonstrating, she’d barely made a cut with that scalpel thingy and I just…” He claps his hands together. “Fainted dead away. It was so embarrassing. Was almost glad when the Satan rumours started, at least it was a distraction from…”
A pause. Eddie leans forward.
“But with you… when we got you—in the ambulance, and—I watched everything. I didn’t look away, not for a second. Not for one fucking second.”
Steve exhales. “Why?”
“So I could say they didn’t just call it. That they tried, at least. That they fucking fought for you. ‘Cause that’s what we all were doing, we—we weren’t letting you go just like that. You shoulda seen Wheeler, man, thought she was gonna murder the docs with just one look. And Buckley, she—” A flicker of emotion passes across Eddie’s face. “You know you two have the same blood type?”
“Oh,” Steve breathes, then thinks it’s no wonder he survived, with Robin’s strength now flowing in his veins.
“Even that was touch-and-go for a while.” Eddie rubs a hand down his face, looks thoroughly exhausted. “Like, Dustin was feverish for a bit, and they reckon I’d already puked it up, but you—there were some white-coats who knew about… and they thought. That. That there was so much venom in you from those bats that you’d… your body would reject Robin’s blood.” He bows his head. “For a while, I thought… I thought…”
Steve puts all his effort into lifting his hand. Manages to reach the top of Eddie’s head, fingers curling weakly into his hair.
“Eddie, I’m—I’m sorry.”
It’s not enough; he knows it’s not enough. But it’s all he has.
Eddie gently removes Steve’s hand. Uncurls Steve’s fingers, like he’s seeing them for the very first time.
“This one was the worst,” he whispers. “Throughout all of it.” He stares down at the palm covered in gauze, and his eyes fill with tears. “Because when you—when you brought out the knife, that’s. That’s when I knew for sure. What you were gonna—” His voice breaks.
Steve doesn’t know how to make this better. Thinks that he’d settle for making Eddie smile. That would be worth something. Everything.
“I meant it, y’know. Wasn’t just the blood loss talking.”
Eddie sniffs. “Meant what?”
“That you’re beautiful.”
Eddie chuckles. One tear falls down his cheek. He doesn’t wipe it away. “Nah. When you said that, I was like oh, you’re really out of it, huh?”
“Don’t think that was it.” Steve gathers the last of his bravery. “Think I just—didn’t wanna die with it going unsaid.”
Eddie makes a noise, a pained mixture of a gasp, sob and laugh.
“I thought you were… beautiful, t-too,” he says through uneven, stuttering breaths.
Steve makes a face of distaste to get him to laugh again; it works, except for the fact that he also starts to sob even more.
“Yeah, bet I was a pretty picture.”
“Steve. I mean it. You—you were looking down at Dustin, I saw you, and I just. You looked so… so fucking devoted, you were glowing with it. I think.” His voice turns tearful again. “I think I knew even then. I just remember—remember thinking oh God, he—he loves so damn much that he’s gonna die for it.”
He puts a hand over his eyes. Weeps.
Steve’s heart shatters.
“But I didn’t,” he murmurs. “Eddie, hey. I didn’t. I’m still here.”
He lifts his hand again, reaches for him. Very clumsily touches his cheek, until Eddie jerks back with a muttered, “I’m gonna get your bandages wet.”
“Guess I’ll just have to kiss you instead,” Steve replies—and ordinarily that level of boldness might have shocked him, but fuck it; he’s been through enough that the nerves barely register. Can only really feel a sudden wave of exhaustion, anyway.
Eddie snorts—seems to be so taken aback that he stops crying. “Was that a fucking line? In a hospital bed, no less? You have zero shame, Steve Harrington.”
Steve smiles, suppressing a yawn. “Did it work?”
Eddie smiles back. Tears still shine on his face. He pauses, then says, “One,” lifting up a finger like he’s haggling. “Then I’d better go tell someone you woke up.”
“Deal.”
And Steve is quickly becoming too tired to do much in the way of responding, so that the whole thing ends up being just a brief press of lips against one another. Even then, it’s the best. Because Eddie’s lips are warm, and all Steve can taste is the salt of his tears. No blood.
Eddie draws back just a little, gives one last lingering peck. Then he moves away.
Steve’s eyes are delayed in opening; when he manages it, he sees Eddie giving him a tender smile.
“Oh, it was a goodnight kiss, I see,” Eddie teases.
“Mm-hmm.”
Eddie leans forward again, this time to kiss Steve’s forehead. It makes Steve’s eyes close instinctively, and then he can’t seem to open them again.
Eddie chuckles. Sighs. “You’re fading, sweetheart. Gonna go fetch a doctor, then I’ll be right back. Promise.”
“Mm. Trust you.”
Trust you with everything.
He hears Eddie standing up, pushing the chair aside—everything muffled, but softly so. Not frightening. Not anymore.
As Steve drifts off, his last thought is that Eddie had been right; he would’ve died for love.
But now…
Now he’d like to try living for it.