"It's in the attic."

Eddie sneezed again, cursing Steve as he shifted more boxes. "In the attic," he muttered to himself, wiping his nose on his dusty shoulder because his hands were fucking gross. "Steve, are you sure it's up here?" He called through the open hatch and almost fell back when Steve's head appeared instantly. "Jesus Christ!"

"You said something?"

"Yeah, yeah," Eddie sighed, massaging his chest. "I asked if you're sure the book is up here."

"Positive. I packed it myself."

"Uh-huh. Where?"

Steve scoffed and climbed up beside him. "Move over."

The attic wasn't exactly big, and with two grown men kneeling inside, there was hardly room to breathe. Eddie tried not to look when Steve crawled over his legs to search the boxes at the back, face down, ass up. He failed miserably and didn't notice Steve was talking until he turned to frown at him.

"W-what?"

"I said I got it. C'mon, let's get out of here."

Grateful to be able to breathe fresh air again, Eddie waited for Steve and looked at the book he was holding curiously. It looked ancient, the pages frayed and misaligned where some had fallen out. "So… what is it?"

"My grandma's cookbook."

"You sent me into that dusty hell for a cookbook?"

"My grandma's, asshole. It's important, and you'll be thanking me soon enough." Steve marched downstairs, leaving Eddie to scramble after him. By the time he caught up, Steve was carefully leafing through the book in the kitchen. "Don't start complaining again."

"I wasn't going to!"

Steve's lips crooked slightly, but he ignored Eddie, who was still searching for the book. Finally, he stopped and stood up with a real smile. "Found it."

Peering at the page, Eddie saw it was a dessert of some kind. It looked fancy, but he couldn't read it because it was written in a different language. "Uh… you understand that?"

"Mostly. Grandma used to talk in Italian to me. She wanted me to learn. I can read enough to follow along." Steve turned away from him and began pulling flour and eggs from the shelves. "Grab the butter."

"So you're Italian?" Eddie asked as he obeyed, genuinely curious. They had only been friends a short while, despite his massive crush on Steve over the years, and there was still so much to learn about him.

"A little. Not enough, she'd say. We were supposed to go visit her hometown, but… she died." Steve paused and shrugged, focused on the batter he was making. "I'd still like to go someday. Probably have family out there."

"Sounds nice."

"You should come with me." Steve looked up and laughed. "Maybe we'll sort your hair out first. Come here." Dubiously, Eddie stepped forward so Steve could pull at his hair. He was gentle, removing cobwebs and a few spiders from Eddie's curls, and finally, his fingers combed through without getting caught. "There you go."

"Thanks."

"You should take better care of your hair."

"You should clean out your attic more often."

"Touch." Steve put the cake in the oven and sighed, looking around at the mess. "If you help me clean up, I'll share?"

"Only if you promise to take me to Italy?"

Steve glanced at him, expression softening in a way that made Eddie want to get on his knees and profess an undying love. Maybe after a date or two. "Yeah, you got a deal."