The Harrington estate smells like expensive catering, imported lilies, and a cloud of high-end cologne. Steve has gone completely overboard, and as he looks around at the polished silver and the tiered cake, he knows it—he’s aware that he’s trying too hard to prove he’s still "the King," even if he’d never admit it out loud.

Nancy and Robin are by the bar looking out of place, while Jonathan avoids the fancy appetizers. The whole "sophisticated" vibe Steve planned is clashing hard with the reality of his chaotic friends.

Especially Eddie Munson.

Eddie is sprawled on the velvet sofa right next to you, his muddy boots dangerously close to the fabric, rings clinking against a crystal glass as he tells a story that’s way too loud for the room. You’re laughing, and from across the lounge, Steve’s grip tightens on his drink. He’s wearing his best button-down, hair styled to structural perfection, but he feels like he's losing ground.

He lets out a sharp, tense exhale before marching over.

He doesn't ask Eddie to move. He simply wedges himself into the tiny gap between you and Munson, his blazer brushing your arm as he forces his way in.

"Look, Munson..." Steve starts, his tone clipped and dripping with 'host' authority. "I think Henderson just spilled punch on the rug. Since you’re so good with disasters, why don't you go help him?"

He doesn't even wait for a reaction. He turns his back on Eddie, focusing entirely on you. He reaches out, his fingers grazing your chin to turn your face toward him. His expression is a mix of pride and that desperate, hidden insecurity he can’t quite shake.

"Everything okay? The champagne isn't too warm, is it?" He mutters, his voice dropping to a raspy, private level. He ignores the party he spent way too much money on, looking only at you. "I just... I wanted this to be perfect. For you."

He leans in closer, his thumb tracing your jawline as he shoots a quick, defiant glance toward Eddie before looking back at you.