To Heal All Wounds

Nothing to Wear

Steve had nothing to wear, which was not a problem that he was used to having. And, to be perfectly fair, if he was going anywhere else, he would have no trouble finding something to suit him. The issue was that he had nothing to wear to Eddie's show that night. And sure, he could wear his normal uniform of preppy polos and khaki pants and Eddie wouldn't care. He'd said as much when Steve asked him about dress code when he'd invited everyone above the age of 18 to the show the previous week. He's said that he was just overjoyed to have someone there who wasn't a geriatric drunk. Even more so that his friends would be in the crowd.

"Just scream extra loud for me, Big Boy," he cooed over the phone, the sound so close to Steve's brain that it rattled around in his skull.

And yeah. Sure. Steve believed him. Knew that if he showed up in his normal attire, Eddie wouldn't care. The band probably wouldn't either, more shocked to see Steve there at all, regardless of what he wore. But the thing was, he didn't just want to go and watch Eddie in his element. He wanted to feel like he belonged with Eddie in his element. He'd never heard Eddie play, never heard his band, but he knew that polos and chinos were probably not up to dress code for a metal show at a dive bar.

He started in his own closet with Robin, certain that he had some black button downs somewhere. And he did, way at the back, purchased for some event that he'd attended with his parents years ago. The issue with that was that he either paired it with a tank top underneath and looked like a gigglo, or buttoned all the way up and looked like a waiter. He'd even tried taking a page from Billy's book and leaving it unbuttoned to the navel, but then Robin gagged and followed that sound up with a bark of laughter and Steve clawed the offending garment off so fast he nearly tore the seams.

Needless to say, the black button down was out.

"I'll bet Eddie's got something for you to wear," Robin sighed, hanging the offending black button down back up on it's hanger from where Steve had thrown it on the floor in a huff. And... yeah... she was right. Eddie most definitely had something that Steve could wear. The man was a walking, talking, dramatizing billboard for both his band and the musical genre as a whole. The only issue was his size.

"There's no way anything that he has fits me, though," Steve sighed, hands on his hips as he stood in his closet in nothing but his boxers and frustration. "Man's a beanpole, I wouldn't even be able to get my thighs through the legs of his jeans."

"That's a weird thing to brag about," Robin hummed as she considered a particularly dark pair of jeans on Steve's hips but then shook her head and put them back. "So maybe just borrow a shirt?"

"Arms won't fit."

"Another strange thing to brag about, I do not understand men, but you could always borrow one of the shirts he cut the arms off of." She held another pair of lighter jeans up to his hips, sighed, and decided that those would do in the pinch they found themselves in. They weren't acid washed like Steve had seen Eddie wear before, but they were at least light enough to trick the eye of someone in the low lighting of the Hideout.

"Any chance you'll let me take a cheese grater and some scissor to these knees," Robin asked hopefully which... Steve understood the scissors, but why the cheese grater? What would those possibly do to the denim that scissors couldn't?

"Not a chance," Steve answered, snatching the clothing from Robin. "These are expensive jeans, and I'll still be wearing them after this."

"Well, nothing ventured, nothing artfully distressed, I suppose," Robin sighed as she turned back to Steve's closet. "We've sorted the bottom half of the outfit, but I think you're sunk on the top half. Sorry to say this babe, but you're wardrobe, impressive though it may be, is useless to us."