Work Text:
Dustin sneaks out of the house, the morning after the night they save the world. Miracle of all miracles their plan went off without a hitch, Vecna beheaded by Steve’s machete on the Creel House porch by ten pm. By eleven everyone had dispersed to their various homes, apart from Lucas and Max and Erica filing a report with Chief Powell about Jason trying to shoot them. It’ll probably come to nothing, jocks and Christians get away with everything, but it’ll establish a track record the next time the lunatic attacks someone else. That, or Dustin’s still hoping Nancy will get ahold of Owens and get the official report for all of this onto Jason’s head, not Eddie’s. It would serve him right.
He spends the night trapped in his room, unable to sleep. After a frustrating and tearful confrontation from Mom about lying to cops it’s the best place to flee to, lest he go off defending himself about their utter uselessness. Save that for tomorrow, when he’s got proof in hand that no one in uniform gives a shit that Jason and his thugs tried to murder two black kids. But getting out of the frying pan of the living room lecture only put him into the fire of the prison of his room. For hours, he’s been laying on his bed, brain whirling with everything, as stuck as if there were bars on the windows.
Vecna’s dead, but that’s only one thing among many. There are still a hundred things wrong with the world. Robin bullied Steve into going to the hospital for stitches and antibiotics, and Dustin still hasn’t gotten a health report back. Nancy is hiding Eddie at hers, and Dustin has no idea if she’s successfully hidden him in the blanket fort Mike once used for El, or if she’s just used her impeccable logic to open her parents’ eyes to his obvious innocence. The Byers still aren’t picking up their phone, though Max says El is somewhere near a pizza freezer, whatever the fuck that implies. Murray isn’t answering either, and they could really use his expertise on how to control the narrative to save Eddie’s ass. Shit, even when Dustin got desperate enough to radio Suzie, despite knowing he’d be unable to vent about anything real and might end up more frustrated in the attempt, it was Peter on the airwaves telling him Suzie couldn’t talk, she was grounded for having inappropriate friends, whatever that means. Add onto that knowing the Upside Down hasn’t disappeared despite Vecna’s death. Add onto that the Lucas and Max near death thing, And the other Lucas and Max thing… It’s all a fucking lot. Too much for his standard calming technique of digging into a nonfiction book and teaching himself something new. He can’t focus on library books and chatting to a mental Mr Clarke right now.
It’s around dawn when Dustin gives up, gives in to his restlessness. He changes into a comfortable grape purple festival souvenir, and throws a striped button down overtop. Pretty soon he’s going to have to commit to making an endless point, wearing metal band and Hellfire Club shirts and fighting with whomever’s got a problem, because the alternative is abandoning Eddie and Dustin’s sure the fuck not about to do that. But for now he’s only going to one place, and it’s not a place he has to be righteous.
It’s undoubtedly mean to his mother, biking away in the sunrise while her anxiety is so high. She’s always been a bit high strung, Hendersons feel emotions to the fullest, but Dustin has to grant her this as justified. Every parent in town is probably on edge, after the three murders. Add that to the batshit Hawkins mob out to lynch him amongst others, and the thin ice he’s on with the authorities -if they even deserve that title- and she’s probably rubbed a bald spot onto Tews. And still Dustin tiptoes out of the house, because if he stays at home until she wakes up to give her a visual of his existence safe and sound, she’s going to try to talk to him about Wednesday’s interrogation. Dustin cannot handle that at this juncture, thank you.
The trip to Steve’s isn’t long, relatively speaking. It’s longer than it would be if he was in the passenger seat of the Beemer, but he knew he couldn’t call for a ride. If Steve hadn’t picked up Dustin would have completely spun out. Just one more Party member out of contact would have been the straw that broke the camel’s back. Especially it being Steve. Much better to just shove his anxiety out through his feet against the pedals, to trust that Steve will be there when he’s needed, like he always is, and make for his home away from home.
In keeping with the superstition of ‘Steve will be here as long as I don’t make him come to me’, Dustin doesn’t ring the doorbell. Instead he uses his key to enter Steve’s house. It’s been on his keyring for a while now, a jingling reminder of his eternal backup. Dustin loves all his friends, and is confident that they love him, but Steve’s the only one who’s given him a key. It means something to a childhood latchkey kid.
Robin’s shoes are on the welcome mat. For a moment Dustin’s overwhelmed with strong conflicting feelings. There’s rage that a bodice ripping harlequin novel healer/patient sex session was what prevented Steve from answering the walkie overnight. What a goddamn inconsiderate arrangement of priorities. Answer the walkie while fucking, for all Dustin cares, it’s not like he’s going to be scandalized. But there’s also happiness that Steve went with Robin in the end, the superior choice for him over Nancy. Dustin gets why Steve still loves her, he still has his own mild crush on her, after all, but Robin is clearly better for him. Dustin wants the best for Steve, and that’s the girl who practically shares a brain with him.
Except when he ascends the stairs, not only is something like Marvin Gaye not crooning from behind a locked door alongside rhythmic thuds of a headboard, they’re not even in the same room. Robin’s head is half under the blankets, but the lights are on in every room of the second floor and she’s easily visible from the doorway of the guest room across the hall to Steve’s room. Somehow, despite all the shared trauma of last night, they’re still not together.
Entering Steve’s bedroom, Dustin’s pleased to note Steve doesn’t sprawl out in his sleep. He could have guessed after the compact way he slept in the Wheeler basement, but one event on a graph is hardly enough to plot truthfully. That it continues to be true works out well for Dustin. He doesn’t hesitate before flinging himself onto the empty side of the bed. There are no weapons in reach, even for Steve melee weapon Harrington. Worst case scenario, he wakes up punching. Dustin is willing to be punched to help process the level of shit he’s in.
“Rob?” Steve mutters. How Dustin is supposed to believe they’re not interested in each other when Steve barely reacts at the concept of her crawling into bed with him? It is un-fucking-real.
“No, it’s me. Steve, I’m dying.”
Steve, king of reading a room and knowing exactly what to do at any given moment, correctly reads the lack of apocalyptic panic in Dustin’s voice. If something dire was happening -not that there’s not, but it’s nothing they can attend to and fix- Dustin wouldn’t be this casual coming in to wake him up, and they both know it. It gives Steve permission to stay under the blankets rather than bolting to his feet. He doesn’t even open his eyes to reply, “Henderson, I literally have wounds down to my organs, man. You’re way less dying.”
If Dustin gets off the bed to raise the blanket and crawl underneath, incidentally getting a look at the severity of the now professionally applied bandages, well, no one has to know he’s fussing. Not if he conceals his check with admonishment. “Steve, you’re not listening. I’m dying, man.”
Steve cracks an eye open just enough to glance at his alarm. Digital, thankfully, because none of them are interested in hearing a ticking clock any time soon. “Jesus fucking Christ,” Steve moans, eyes firmly closed again. “It’s like six in the morning. Why are you like this?”
“I ate my Wheaties?” Dustin jokes.
“How about you go cook me a five course breakfast, Wheaties included, while I go back to sleep, and I’ll gather up the energy for whatever this is after I reheat it in the microwave in like four hours.”
It makes Dustin’s heart hurt when Steve goes to roll over to make a point of dismissal, and whimpers. He’s been running on adrenaline and painkillers stolen from clients of Eddie’s in the trailer park, but now that it’s over he’s feeling all the pain. He’s their tank, and Dustin kind of hates it.
The best friend thing to do is let Steve go back to sleep. Nap beside him, maybe, see if his presence is enough to calm Dustin’s brain and allow him to nod off. But definitely to let him recuperate. It’s what he did when Will was in the hospital the first time. It’s what he did when Mike broke his leg in fifth grade. When you care about someone you help them feel better. Except he and Steve are a different kind of best friend, best friends willing to suffer for each other in times of need. He knows as soon as he speaks to his problems, Steve will be there for him, stomach shredded and stitched or not.
“Steve, wake up. I need you. I’m having girl problems.”
“Dude, Suzie-” Steve starts. If either of his eyes were open they’d be rolling.
Dustin sucks up all his nerve, all his grit, and concludes, “and boy problems.”
That, at least, gets Steve rolling over to look at him, grunting as his muscles pull but not letting it stop him. “What? Like boy problems like boy problems?”
That was incomprehensible. Luckily Dustin speaks Steve, after being friends for so long. Rather than confirm it outright, Dustin starts from another angle. “Did anyone tell you what happened in our Wheeler house while you were in the Upside Down Wheeler house?
“I know those idiots Callahan and Powell caught you all because you don’t play sports and didn’t have the endurance to run away in the woods.”
“Lucas does play sports and he ended up worse off than me. Jason whooped his ass, even before he got crazy. Crazier.”
“Don’t be a shit. There’s no point in which being able to escape or fight back better is a negative. We’re starting a jogging routine once my stitches heal. And before you start, it’s non-negotiable.”
As much as Dustin has zero interest in joining an outside of school hours gym class, it makes him feel warm, knowing Steve’s almost offended by how worried he had to be. His mother loves people in the same way.
“Do you know anything else?” He fishes.
“I know Erica knifed the police car. She's bragged about it a few times already.”
“Yup. She’s a menace. She’s great.” Dustin’s had a healthy disrespect of authorities not worthy of their reign for a while now, but he was never as proactive about it in his youth as she is. That knifing was inspired.
“Gotta say, still don’t get what this has to do with you being gay. Half gay? Bisexual, I think, right? Is that what you go by? I don’t want to put words in your mouth or anything, man.”
If Dustin wells up a little from how easily Steve takes it, nobody has to know. And by that he means Steve immediately scoops him into his arms, shifted positions on their pillows meaning Dustin’s face is pressed against Steve’s warm hairy chest. He doesn’t get aroused by it the way Max apparently does, but it is nice. He’s gotten more bosomly embraces from Mom than he can count, the Hendersons are an affectionate bunch. There’s something steady about Steve’s hard sculpted warmth. He doesn’t want to let go.
He does, though. Steve is okay with it, like Dustin knew he was doing to be, like Dustin needed him to be, because how would he live a life without Steve by his side? But he is, the ruthlessly smothered fleeting bouts of fear have turned to smoke and whisped away, because Steve knows, he knows, and he’s still hugging him half naked, only in boxers. It’s just another thing Steve knows about Dustin now, and if Dustin relates all the pertinent information Steve might be able to use his expertise for him.
Laying flat on his back, glancing over every now and again to make sure Steve is tracking, Dustin begins to explain the mire he’s found himself stranded in. “Well. Uh. So basically, Max and Lucas and I got collared by the law, and you could argue it’s Max’s fault for yelling them over in the first place, not mine for supposedly not being fast enough, but I digress. We got dragged to the Wheeler house, and we had to come up with an explanation. Which I was trying, but Max kept contradicting me. Not her fault, I know, we didn’t exactly have a chance to get a story straight in the back of the police car. Note to the Party, plan your story ahead of time.”
“I’d scoff about that being useful advice, but really, knowing us? Yeah, we should probably have a pocket full of prepped lies to tell the cops next time,” Steve agrees.
“I could tell they weren’t buying the night swim story, due to the damage Max did to it, so I changed it. It had to be an answer we’d initially lie about, to explain our behaviour. I could have gone with smoking a joint, but then they’d ask if Eddie supplied it, and if I’d said no it would have become a whole new lie with provable holes, since it’s not like I know where to find a dealer.”
Steve probably does. Steve’s cool, and experienced. Dustin knows he doesn’t buy from Eddie, so there has to be at least one other dealer in Hawkins. Dustin just hadn’t looked into it. Eddie’d told all of them he wouldn’t sell until they turned sixteen, and Dustin had been content waiting until then over struggling to find another contact, one with less impetus to sell them good quality shit. Callahan could have called him on it in the first five minutes of separate interrogations.
“So I went with something with no downsides, no obvious places to get caught. I said we were on a date, the three of us. That we went to Lover’s Lake to fool around.”
Steve makes a face at him. “That’s not a dating problem, man. That’s just a lie. I don’t think Max and Lucas are going to care that you lied, when you were trying to save everyone’s ass.”
“Yes, except I sold it too hard. Or rather, I didn’t have to sell it. I may have gotten a bit expressive in my pretend annoyance at being interrupted mid-event, and it made me realise everything I was saying I’d be okay with doing. I’ve known I like both for a little while, even if I haven’t told anybody. I’ve thought about it, about lots of people. It’s not cheating if it’s just daydreaming.”
“Don’t worry, I’m sure Suzie has thought about Joseph Smith once or twice.”
“Jesus Christ, Steve! Don’t make me think about that right now.” The last thing his precarious mind needs at the moment is to once again trigger atheistic panic about how bullshit all religions are, but what if one of them is right, and he’s screwed. It’s getting increasingly hard to respect Suzie being a Mormon, and the idea of Suzie wanting to get down with a liar who peddled magical undergarments capable of protecting you from natural disasters just makes it worse.
“Okay, moving on. So you’ve fantasized about a bunch of people. Welcome to puberty, buddy.”
“Fuck off,” Dustin cheerfully tells him. Steve has a way of defusing things that just feels so good. He hopes one day Mom gets a boyfriend like Steve. She deserves it. “I’ve thought about Max, and Lucas, but I’ve thought about a lot of people, and I never thought it meant more than thinking about Corey Hart meant. But declaring myself in front of the pigs made me really think about it, how much it’d actually be good, if it was true.”
“You know that’s fine, right? Is this the boy problem, the-”
As much as Dustin could spend all day listening to Steve justify his right to enjoy whatever mental porn he wants to, and might in fact spur Steve in the future to defend him to get that warm fuzziness back, it’s really only the tip of the iceberg. There’s a lot more he needs to get into.
“No, it’s not. So we obviously escaped, and the whole… everything happened.” Dustin doesn’t need to be thinking about Nancy’s eyes glazed white and everyone running and screaming in Eddie’s trailer trying to find music she’d appreciate. He’s never seen Steve so scared. It was terrible. Maybe even worse than the demobats attacking the trailer. Steve should never be so helpless. It’s just wrong, against the grain of the universe. “We all crashed at Max’s, how Ms Mayfield didn’t notice eight people in her living room I don’t know.”
They both know. Everyone who was in the Mayfield trailer to see the empty bottles of vodka in the trash under the sink knows how Ms Mayfield slept through a group of young adults crashing in her living room.
“Yeah, dude, I was there. This isn’t the part you need to recap, man.”
“Well, everyone slept pretty sporadically that night. I saw Robin and Eddie talking once, saw Erica and Max talking once. I’m sure you didn’t sleep through the night, probably had your own end of the world conversations. Hell, that’s how you and Robin bonded in the first place, the night in the elevator.”
“I mean, we were coworkers before that, but okay. Lets go with late night convos,” Steve agrees.
“So one time I woke up, and Lucas was up, in the kitchen. I got up, went over and apologized for making him appear like he’s into guys.”
Steve scowls. “That’s not something you should have to apologize for. It’s not like it’s bad to be gay or something.”
Dustin loves how ferocious Steve is about his statement. Maybe he knows some else who’s gay. Shit, maybe he knows-
“I know, but it was in front of his parents. The Sinclairs aren’t awful, it’s not like I did it to Mike in front of Ted, but it’s still awkward.”
“I fuckin’ hate Ted Wheeler so much,” Steve breathes out.
“Same,” Dustin agrees. He really is the shining example of everything that’s wrong with growing up to be the man society wants you to be. “So I said sorry. And you know what the fuck he said back to me? That it was probably worse for me, since Mom seemed shocked, and his parents and Erica have known for a while. Did you know? Did he tell you over practicing point guarding or something? Is that why you’re okay with gays already?”
A part of Dustin is distinctly jealous. A big moment like this is supposed to be for him and Steve, not Lucas and Steve.
“No, I didn’t.” Steve sits up to rise above him, frowning. “And I get you’re in crisis, but you do know outing people to others is bad, and you shouldn’t do it, right?”
Meeting body language for body language, Dustin sits up. It’s harder than it should be. He’s wracked with adrenaline, of need to problem solve with nowhere to attach the motion to. His mind is racing, wide awake, and probably will be for ages. But his body is exhausted, close to the end of its rope, and Steve’s bed is so fucking soft and warm. He really doesn’t want to move his body to vertical, even halfway. “Do I, Dustin Henderson, who’s name was blabbed to the Russians, know telling people people’s identities is bad? Yes, Steve.”
“It’s been almost a year. If they were gonna nuke you, they would have already done it,” Steve blows off.
Dustin could continue down that line, bitching about what Steve revealed in the middle of being tortured. Maybe say it’s a good thing Dustin came in and murdered a man, electrocuted him to death before Steve gave the Russians his social security number and the name of his childhood stuffie. It’s either joke about it, or think about it, and only one of those things is getting him through the day to day routine of life. There’s a reason Vecna preyed on Max and not him. It’s not victim blaming to acknowledge the necessity of humour.
But haring off into another talk about the Russians doesn’t get Steve the knowledge he needs to be his interpersonal relationship guru self. Dustin needs help, needs to sort out what he’s going to do next before he goes home to explain himself to Mom. “That’s not where it ended. And this is the shit I can’t stop thinking about. I said I apologize anyway, because just because they know doesn’t mean they want their kid to have a threesome in the woods. It’s still awkward. And he said, and I quote, because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it, it’s burned into my brain at this point. He said that it wasn’t a big deal, it’s not like dating me would be a hardship if I really was bi.”
“Wait. What? If? But you are. Right? Dustin,” Steve’s tone changes. “Dustin, did you not tell him?”
Dustin doesn’t appreciate that aggravated tone. “Do you know how close I’m bi and I’m bi because I truly think you and your ex girlfriend are both hot reside in my brain? It’s like one synapse away! I’m honestly kind of surprised Vecna never called me out on my sad crushes, if Max got ‘how dare you want your abuser dead’, and Nancy got ‘how dare you have sex with your boyfriend’. But it didn’t matter before. Now Lucas is an option.”
“An option, but not available. You know he and Max are going on a movie date tomorrow, right?”
“I know! Listen, numb nuts. I don’t want either of them. I want both of them. I have a May-Clair crush, and for the first time in months they’re back together, and I’m dying. Dying, Steve.”
“Okay. That’s kinda-” Steve visibly cuts himself off as the King Steve in the back of his head whispers something poisonous that he’s choosing to ignore and be better than. “But okay. You want them both, and you think there’s a chance Lucas could return your feelings. But if that’s what you’re into, that’s only half of the equation. What did Max have to say?”
“Less.”
“Colour me surprised,” Steve says, the slightest bit bitter. Dustin’s certain he’s still kind of fucked up about being the first to see her cursed, white eyed beside Hargrove’s tombstone. If Max talked about her feelings the way Dustin does, the way Mike endlessly does, they wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place. Even depressed and humourless, venting even once could have made the difference. Dustin doesn’t want to victim blame, he really doesn’t, but it burns him up thinking about how long Max was miserable, when she could have been getting help. He knows Steve feels the same.
“Enough to provide me even more hints though. Hers was before Lucas’s, even. She went with the story, when Callahan interrogated her. You know that? Even if it made her look bad, the poor trailer trash girl with two boyfriends, she did, and I don’t know exactly what she said, wasn’t able to eavesdrop on her because we were doing the Lite Brite thing, but I know that Callahan thought she was mean, and he regretted interviewing her.”
“I fucking hate that guy. He slut shamed Nancy too, when Barb first disappeared. in front of her fucking mom, too.”
So that’ll be the second time that Mrs Wheeler has seen Callahan be a judgmental piece of shit. How were any of their parents under the delusion that the cops could be helpful? It just baffles Dustin. If he ever has kids, he won’t ever call the cops on them, no matter what happens.
“He’s the goddamn worst. I’m going to buy Erica a new set of minis for her knifing the car, I swear.”
“Ice cream. For. Life.” Steve quotes, and they both giggle for a minute.
“So I don’t know exactly what she said to keep selling my backup lie, but on the way upstairs, before I explained what the fuck we were doing, I asked if she was okay. Her answer was ‘Third base? That’s about how far you’d think you’d get?’ It didn’t sound sarcastic. And it’s Max. Everything’s sarcastic with her. She was thinking about it, I could tell. Maybe not seriously, maybe just ogling the concept like she ogled you. But not a turn off. And I know before they broke up the last time they lost their virginity to each other. So she has opinions on sex, for sure.”
“Let me summarize. You think Max might want to fool around with you, and you think Lucas might want to date you. And you put them in a position where everyone had to believe your lie to be true, to save your asses.”
“I don’t know what anyone believes. Mom didn’t get to that freak out last night, it was mostly about fleeing the cops. You’d think they’d be smart enough to see through it, but Karen and Ted bought that a Russian sleeper agent stayed in their basement for a single night, and the Sinclairs never noticed their eleven year old was hijacked, or asked why she was picked up from a random hill on July fourth. We don’t exactly have braintrusts around us.”
“But they willingly lied about it, for whatever reason. And you want the lie to be true.”
“Yeah. That about sums it up.” Steve is good at this, at explaining and understanding relationships. One day he’ll date a girl worthy of him, worthy of a second date, and they’ll be the happiest couple in the world. Picture perfect. It’s fun to make fun of him for never landing a girl, but Dustin knows beyond the jokes that Steve’s not striking out, he’s walking away from a ballgame he’s not interested in. It’s smart of him to not invest in something he can tell won’t work.
Steve sighs, rifles a hand through his pillow hair. “This is a big thing to pursue, man. And you’re sure you’ve thought about it, all the way. If it does happen, you won’t be able to hide it safely. People already know, or think they do. Your mom will know why you’ve closed the bedroom door during your study date. Can you handle that?”
The truthful answer is not quite. He did flee before seeing her for that exact reason, to not have to explain his bisexuality.
“I never want you to be anyone but you, okay, Henderson? But as we’ve recently found out, half the people who live here are psychos. It freaks me out, thinking about what they’d do to you. If fuckin’ useless Chief Powell would even intervene, if he saw someone giving you three shit.”
Steve pulls him into another hug and hair tousle. Sometimes he feels like Dustin’s dad, or what he imagines a quality dad would feel like. A Charles Sinclair, not a Ted Wheeler. But who talks to their dad about who they want to fuck? It’s like he’s a best friend, but more on an eternal level. Dustin said it in the elevator. He meant it then, and it’s only been nine more months of steadfast friendship since. You die, I die. they’re in it til the end.
And yeah, you could say it’s the same between everyone in the Party. They’d all die for each other, and the last week has freshly proven it, as if it hasn’t been clear for years. But it feels different with Steve. There are a few Party members Dustin wants to kiss, namely Max and Lucas. Nancy Wheeler, a little bit, although he’s fully aware of how hopeless that crush is. Then there’s people he’d be revolted to kiss. Mike, El, Jonathan. Just a full body cringe at the idea. Steve feels like if they ever kissed it wouldn’t be from sexual or romantic attraction, it’d be a sign of affection. They find comfort in each other. The only person who finds more comfort in Steve than Dustin is the girl sleeping next door. And as confusing as it is, that’s not romance or desire either, even if it should be, because they’ve had like a million chances to get it on, and haven’t. Steve just inspires platonic devotion. Dustin kind of never wants him to stop hugging him.
“Don’t get me wrong, Henderson. I’m not saying don’t do it. I’m just saying acting like this is just the next crisis you force your way to the top of is a bad way to do this. Take a breath, let yourself be humble for thirty seconds, and figure out if this is an exciting whim, or something worth the towering pile of shit you’ll be crawling into and flinging your best friends on. Budding love, that could make it worth it. A masturbation fantasy, probably not.”
“I love them. I think. I think I love them. It feels different than Suzie.” He’s seen them at their worst, Lucas striving for popularity and Max attempting suicide via evil twice. But he’s seen them at their best too, and their most terrified, and their sweetest together. Science summer camp isn’t enough to see someone at their extremes. Suzie was a fluffy and fully positive first love, a boost in confidence and proof that there are people beyond the vapid girls at Hawkins, people that like him. He can’t regret that relationship, won’t ever. But Lucas and Max just seem ugly, and scarred, and real, and he wants to be scared and furious with them.
“Each girlfriend- or boyfriend!” Steve hastens to add, “will feel a little different. It doesn’t have to be the same to be right. Just let your brain detox from all the panic, and we’ll talk it out again. Nap with me, and think about shit. And if and when you’re still falling in love, we’ll figure out the best double wooing ever.”
This is everything Dustin needed six hours ago, confined to his room. He aches with how much he needed this acceptance, comfort, love, and how good it feels to receive it. Mom will freak out when she asks why he lied to Officers Shithead and Fuckface about dating his best friends and he tells her it’s not a lie. Dustin knows she will. She’s not homophobic, but histrionics are in her nature, and it’s going to get rough before it gets better. But he’s got Steve on his side, indelibly. If Dustin ever follows in Eddie’s antiestablishment fashion choices enough to get a tattoo it’s going to be 274 in an artistic font, maybe with some flowers or a dagger or something. The number of the home Steve’s opened up to him, the number for the key in his pocket. They’ll be roommates one day, Dustin is certain of it, him and Steve and maybe Robin. If not in Loch Nora than somewhere else, wherever they’ve all moved to. Dustin’s not putting up with another instance of Party members living across the country. Homeownership is going to happen, it has to. Even if he’s dating Lucas and Max, he’ll never leave Steve behind. He just can’t fathom it. Steve is not the kind of guy you walk away from.