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Chapter Text

When it ended, after Vecna was killed and the charges were dropped and when his skin more closely resembled Frankenstein’s monster than sloppy joes, Eddie got the hell out of dodge. 

He ran towards LA with nothing but his band and his guitar and their dream that Corroded Coffin was good enough to make it. 

The first year was spent couch surfing and playing at shitty bars that paid them in booze and exposure until Gareth graduated and could finally join them. 

The following year was spent living in a condemnable apartment building with leaky faucets and paper thin walls and lightbulbs that buzzed and a fridge that couldn’t keep anything cold, but played at venues that were more music than bar and started selling more tapes than they were bringing home and it was everything Eddie had ever wanted.

He made it out. It took two more years of highschool than anyone would ever want and a week of touch and go in the ICU but he and his buddies fucking made it out .

But then as ‘88 melted into ‘89 Eddie caught himself… longing. 

Not for Hawkins, not really. But for the good things he left behind. Because the calls to Wayne and Dustin and the kids and Steve fucking Harrington started leaving him more nostalgic than comforted, and he found himself thumbing the postcards he’d send home with a little more jealousy than he’d care to admit. 

And it’s not like the rest of them stayed. Robin and Steve went off to Bloomington, Robin for school and Steve because they can’t survive without each other, Nancy went off to Northwestern for college and Jonathan and Argyle traveled around the west coast, stopping by to visit Eddie when their routes aligned.

So he wasn’t the only one who left. But sometimes it felt that way, when Eddie would call and realize they were all together again. Because after nearly two years away he started wishing he could be there, with them, and not in Los Angeles. 

Which was absurd. Eddie spent every moment in that town wishing he could be where he is right now, and he can’t fucking appreciate it. Not when that traumatizing, soul crushing week of ‘86 bonded him so irrevocably to that town and those eleven others. 

So it must have been the stars aligning, or some other such nonsense, that when Dustin called Eddie at the tail end of spring of ‘89 that Eddie was feeling a particularly acute sense of homesickness. That when Dustin called to invite him on a conjoined highschool graduation trip with an excited please, everyone’s gonna be there, Eddie! he didn’t really put up much of a fight. Not even when he thought of the pathetic savings shoved under his mattress, knowing the plane ticket alone would wipe him clean.

——

“Eddie!” 

Eddie’s only just able to plant his feet in preparation for Dustin’s blind, full throttle assault, a hug so violent Eddie thinks it’s going to leave bruises on the both of them.

“ Dustin ,” Eddie greets, nearly chastising, but he doesn’t try to dampen the fondness in his tone. “It's good to see you, man.” He extracts his arms from where Dustin has them pinned to his sides and hugs the kid back, a little pained with how high he now has to put his arms.

Wayne, thank god, looks the same. As soon as Dustin lets him go he feels his uncle’s warm palm on the top of his head, fingers ruffling his already frizzy curls. “Eddie.” Wayne greets, and his tone is warm and there’s a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

Eddie loves him so much.

“Hey, old man.” He pulls Wayne into a hug. His uncle doesn’t reciprocate, but the fingers in his hair scratch at his scalp, and Eddie feels his throat constrict, just a little.

“I can’t believe you’re back!” Dustin cheers, when they break apart, “Mike didn’t think I could convince you to come, but I totally knew you would! Lucas knew too, for the record, and-“ the kid, who’s really not that much of a kid, anymore, continues as they wait for Eddie’s bag to get dumped on the giant conveyor belt. He brings up Hellfire and Mrs. O’Donnell and college like they haven’t talked through all of this over the phone. 

But it’s comforting, because Dustin hasn’t changed, no matter how tall he’s gotten. His arms gesture wildly as he works his way through regaling Eddie with their current campaign, and his ongoing petition for his university to allow him to bring his cat to the dorms, filling their car ride from the Indianapolis airport with noise. He doesn’t seem put off by the fact that Eddie isn’t matching his energy, which after two connecting flights (the cheapest airfare he could find) and one layover from hell, Eddie is grateful for.

“We’re leaving tomorrow at 10 sharp!” Dustin reminds him when Wayne pulls into Hawkins. “We’re all meeting at Steve’s. You can park your car there, his driveway’s huge so it won’t be an issue. He rented a camper for the weekend so we can all drive together, and there’s two beds in it but Will and Jonathan have some tents they’re bringing too, so we’ll have those and their camping supplies so you might need to ask them if they have an extra sleeping bag, but also Steve might have an extra sleeping bag-” he continues as Wayne pulls onto his street, continues as they park in his driveway, and only ends his soliloquy when he sees Claudia waving at Eddie from inside the house. “ Anyways, ” he says, and he wraps his arms around Eddie’s chair to squeeze him from behind. “It’s so good to see you dude.”

Eddie pats Dustin’s hands, unable to do much else given the awkward angle. “Me too, kid.” He pulls away from Dustin’s hold so he can twist and face him. “Proud of you, too. Fuckin’ high school graduate.” He ruffles Dustin’s long hair, remembering, for a moment, his dorky thinking cap hat. Eddie kind of misses it. 

“ Dude, ” Dustin admonishes, pulling away and opening the door. “You know I’m an adult, now, right? Like, actually, legally, an adult.”

That burns something in Eddie’s chest that he very effectively buries with a scoff. “Sorry, kid, but I take the role of obnoxious older brother very seriously, and I don’t think Stevie’s been pulling his weight if this has you all bothered.”

Dustin’s expression flits from indignant to fond and back again before he points his finger right in Eddie’s face and says, “10 am, Munson, or we leave without you.”

And with that the kid is gone, long curls bouncing as he makes his way back up his porch. Wayne doesn’t pull away until his front door closes behind him.

“Kid talks more than you did, at that age.”

Eddie glances over to Wayne, whose lips are still quirked in a small smile.

Eddie hums. “You miss it. ”

Wayne shakes his head, looks up to the heavens like those have ever helped him, and pulls one hand off the steering wheel to pat Eddie’s shoulder. 

“Jeopardy ain’t the same without your smart mouth.”

Eddie lets out an obnoxious coo, and yeah, he’s definitely gonna make Wayne regret he ever admitted that. “Sounds like you’re going soft on me in your old age, Wayne.”

Wayne’s gaze doesn’t leave the road, but Eddie can see wetness beginning to well in the corners of his eyes. 

“Uncle Wayne,” Eddie says, and for once he has the sense to let the humor drop from his voice. He pulls the hand from his shoulder to clutch it between his palms. “You know I missed you, right?” 

Because Wayne has to know. Their relationship was never one that was filled with I love yous or I miss you so muchs but they’ve always known what the other was saying, without saying it out loud. It was in the way that Wayne would make dinner whenever Eddie let the door slam too loudly behind him. In the way Wayne’s truck would suddenly stop making that rattling noise that he’d been meaning to get around to for days. It was an unspoken language of I love you and I love you too that maybe the distance between them had changed without him noticing. 

But Wayne squeezes his hand back. “I know, son. I know.” He clears his throat again, and his voice is steady. “‘S good to have you back, s’all.”

And being back is strange, nearly surreal. Because the patchy, crispy grass and the scraggly trees of Forest Hills are all exactly as he remembers, but they have to pass the spot where the only true home Eddie’d ever known was destroyed by Vecna, and he’s still not quite over that one. 

Now, at the very least, the scars the upside down left don’t feel as all consuming. He’s able to breathe as Wayne drives past the spot, eyes trailing the scars in the earth that still don’t quite match the rest.

That night, he and Wayne watch too many episodes of Jeopardy, the both of them devouring salty fries and greasy cheeseburgers in the type of silence only family can feel at peace in. 

Eventually, Eddie starts throwing his two cents in, Wayne rolling his eyes when Eddie throws out his obnoxious answers (mainly consisting of your mom and my ass ), mumbling the correct ones under his breath. 

It kind of feels like he’s in high school again. Which is a little disgusting, but not nearly as disgusting as he thought it would be. Because now are the parts of his life as a teenager that he misses. Dinners with Wayne and the calming certainty he’ll see his friends tomorrow. That he’ll see Dustin and Lucas and Mike and Max and Robin- and Steve , too.

Steve, the hardest person, really, to leave out of all of them. Because they had been on the precipice of- something- two years ago. The way they interacted wouldn’t have exactly had Nancy Reagan’s shining seal of heterosexual approval, too many touches and lingering glances and late nights spent in the same bed while couches sat unoccupied in other rooms. Eddie’s heart thudding staccato notes of maybe maybe maybe as he stared into those big brown eyes.

But it was a little obvious that Steve wasn’t ready for whatever they were crawling towards. That, as he had every right to be, he was scared of the feelings that were ballooning between them. So Eddie left, despite knowing that the cliff’s edge they had been balancing on might not be there when he came back.

And his mind reminds him of that now, as Alex Trebek announces the daily double, that the precipice might still be there. That he’ll see Steve again and be able to find his spot as easily as he did two years ago, right on the edge. That tomorrow, for better or worse, he’ll know. 

Sleep evades him that night. He blames the snoring from the adjacent room, snores that used to blend into the noise of the night now rattle every bone in his head. But even as he crams his pillow over his ear he knows that the snores aren't the cause. His mind swirls with the thoughts and feelings he’d locked up tight two years ago under the lid of never going to happen now decidedly unlocked with the key of but what if.

——

Lucas drives him to Steve’s the next morning. Which is humiliating in and of itself, but even more so when he’s relegated to the back seat in favor of Max, who apparently has shotgun in perpetuity in Lucas’s old sedan.

Her eyesight is weak at best, and there are surgical scars up and down her arms and legs, but she punches him so hard on the shoulder when they see each other he actually stumbles.

“Fuck, Red, trying to send me back to California?” He rolls his shoulder.

Max snorts. “Don’t be such a pussy, Munson.” But even she can’t dampen the blinding grin as she says it, and he knows it’s as good as I missed you.

Lucas, his solid heart still pumping away right on his sleeve, wraps Eddie in a hug when he sees him. “Eddie,” he greets enthusiastically, slapping him in that way bros do, on his back and open palmed, before releasing him. “You gotta tell us all about California.”

So that’s what he does on their short drive to Steve’s place, which he guesses is more Steves’ parents’ place now, considering he hasn’t lived there in over a year. 

“But like I wrote you, things really picked up once Gareth graduated,” Eddie continues, “we had a drummer out there but he didn’t really get us , you know?”

Lucas nods at the same time Max snorts and whispers get you under her breath.

Eddie grins. “I said what I said. He didn’t like Link Wray, Red. Link Wray! I mean, how can you respect metal as a genre if you don’t recognize its roots? Pretentious fucker.”

“Oh, yeah, he’s absolutely the pretentious one,” Max quips, and Eddie thanks whatever god may be out there that this hasn’t changed at all. “Because you’ve never been accused of pompousness.”

“ Pompousness.” Eddie mocks, “you let Lucas rub his nerd shit all over you with that SAT word?”

“ Hey ,” Lucas interjects, “I don’t even know what that means.”

“You said that way too proudly,” Max says softly, and clutches his hand on the console between them.

Which- he has a nearly overwhelming desire to ensure they’re being safe at that little act- a sentiment that disgusts him nearly as soon as it comes. He’s getting fucking old. 

The Party is already all there by the time they pull in at a respectable 10:05 am (not their fault a fucking combine harvester was getting towed down Main Street), and Dustin may, for the first time in recorded history, have underexaggerated. The behemoth that’s currently parked in Steve’s driveway is the biggest RV Eddie’s ever seen, and hideous to boot, with tan siding and brown racing stripes.

“Late!” Dustin accuses, his finger pointed accusatorily towards their car.

“Oh, can it, Henderson,” Robin admonishes, abandoning the luggage she had hoisted on her shoulders to jog up to Eddie.

She flings her arms around him, fingers digging into his ribs and rocking them aggressively side to side. “Phone calls aren’t the same ,” she complains, not letting him go, “I need you in the flesh. ” 

And god, does it feel good to hug her. He rests his temple against hers, relishing the way her bony arms wrap so completely around him, clutching him as if to prove her words. 

“Birdie,” he greets back, and he only lets the hug be cute for a moment before pinching her side. Because he’s allergic to sentimentality, and there’s been far too much in the air lately.

She squawks, releasing him, a bewildered half frown overtaking her previous smile. “Asshole.” She gripes, and punches him on the shoulder. 

He stumbles, hears Lucas grumble an already, Eddie? before he falls back into the kids arms. 

“Wounded!” He cries, over someone to his left mumbling someone remind me why we invited the theater kid?

“Saved from the brink of death only to be thrust into its maw once again!”

He feels Lucas’s arms push him back up and he stumbles, his left leg not quite ready for it before he (thankfully) catches himself.

“Nevermind,” Robin huffs, arms crossed, “I forgot, I never missed you and you’re the worst.”

He grins cheekily at her, an obnoxious quip at the tip of his tongue before another kid who isn’t a kid anymore shouts his name, and Mike Wheeler is there in all his long limbed glory to welcome him back to Hawkins. It’s a crowd after that, triggering his goddamned allergies or something, all tight hugs and warm greetings, even from El, Argyle, Will and Jonathan, who he had interacted with so little even while he was recovering. 

Call it trauma bonding, or whatever else, but the hugs and warmth and affection that flowed so easily from them all, despite the years of their friendship consisting of nothing but phone calls and postcards, let him breathe a little easier. They were still them- despite the distance he’d put between them.

“Steve’s still inside,” Nancy says, as if she’d clocked the way his eyes had been searching for him. “He might need help with the coolers, all half dozen of them.”

He gives her an awkward, aborted half salute in thanks before jogging up the posh Harrington front porch. 

The house is exactly as he remembers. Polished, clinical, and aggressively cream colored, a hue that would not have survived long in Forest Hills.

He hears commotion from the kitchen, a rustling that could only be ice and a frustrated sigh that brings a subconscious smile to his lips. 

Eddie enters the kitchen, and his view of Steve is blocked by the open freezer door, only Steve’s socked feet visible. Eddie stands there, lamely, for a moment. He suddenly doesn’t know how to announce himself, self consciousness gripping him around his vocal chords.

Steve shuffles again, and Eddie realizes he has to do something before Steve closes the freezer and sees him standing there like a jack off.

Hesitantly, he knocks on the door jam. “Stevie?”

Steve’s head pokes around the door, and his warm brown eyes widen when they land on Eddie.

“Eddie!” Whatever was in Steve’s hands is dumped unceremoniously to a spot he can’t see before the freezer door shuts and Eddie can see all of him.

It isn’t fair and certainly shouldn’t be legal that even after all this time apart just being in Steve’s presence makes his heart jump into his throat, his thoughts dribble from his ears and his eyes unable to cling to anything but Steve’s kind face. 

And the next moment Eddie’s enveloped in Steve’s strong arms. He’s gained weight in the last two years, his body in the transition from lean teenager to beefy adult and Eddie has the hideous desire to bite him.

Steve smells the same. Woodsy and warm, like he spent the morning outside and only just came back. His hair, longer, now, then it was when he saw him last, curls around his ears and tickles Eddie’s temple.

“Damn, I missed you, man.” And god had Eddie missed the starkly earnest way Steve speaks. 

“Missed you too,” Eddie manages, finally able to bring his arms up to squeeze his friend back.

Eddie feels it then, as the seconds click on. There’s one, two, then three too long before they break apart, and Steve’s smiling wide and blinding as he pulls away. 

“So glad you could come, we’re all so stoked.” Steve’s eyes sparkle as he speaks, those warm brown eyes trained on him, and, for a moment, it’s two years ago. Eddie hasn’t left yet, and they’re both still right there, waiting at the edge of what could be.

“For our kids? Wouldn’t miss it,” Eddie manages, again with the overwhelming sincerity, fucking allergies -

Steve’s expression jumps. It’s quick, barely noticeable, a twitch of his right eye and a faint twist of his mouth but it’s there for the briefest of moments and Eddie realizes that was probably a horrifically unfair thing to say to the one that didn’t move across the country.

But Steve breezes past it. “Wanna help me load these?” He gestures to the coolers behind him. “I think Dustin may actually start throwing punches if we don’t get out of here soon.”

Eddie grins. “Kid needs to learn to watch his tone.”

They load the coolers into the van. Eddie thanks the last two years of lugging around stage equipment, his substitute for actual physical therapy, because he’s almost able to move as gracefully as Steve.

“Thanks,” Steve says, when the final coolers are loaded. “I was trying to recruit Rob but she kept saying I make the patriarchy work for me whenever I ask her to lift something, so,” Steve gives a goofy little shrug, “we’ll have to get her back for that one.”

Sweet Jesus. The fact that Eddie thought he could survive a week in Steve Harrington’s presence again is laughable. He is a weak, weak man and Steve is, probably always will be, his softest spot. He wishes the suave arrogance that seems to so easily overcome him when he’s on stage could help him out now, but all that comes out is a lame, “revenge is my middle name.”

But Steve smiles at him, full cheeked and bright, and he hopes that maybe the sauveness isn’t needed.

It doesn’t take long for the mega-camper to be nearly fully loaded after that, shelves and storage fit to bursting with duffels, pantry items and camping supplies that seem mostly funded by the Byers’s and Harrington’s garages. 

“Not like the old man would ever use them,” Steve had said offhandedly to Eddie as he crammed another sleeping pad in the storage unit under the couch, “closest he’s ever gonna get to camping is in his mistress’s bed.” Which was said with such frank aloofness that a horrible shocked laugh bubbled out of Eddie, a laugh he felt terribly ashamed of until he saw Steve smiling back at him.

It’s not until they have the last of the snacks packed away that Eddie remembers Dustin’s suggestion from the night before.

“Steve?” He asks, as the younger man is bent over a crisp map, eyes tracing the highlighted road.

Steve’s head snaps up, his finger paused halfway along the route. “What’s up?”

“Dustin let slip you might have a spare sleeping bag?” He doesn’t know why he feels so nervous asking, but his palms break out in a nervous sweat even as Steve smiles at him.

“Sure, man. I think I have one in the closet of my old room. It’s the second door on-”

“I remember where your room is, Stevie.” Eddie says, and, delightedly, he notices the faintest blush painted over Steve’s cheeks.

“Right.” Steve says, and nods, still staring at him.

“Steve!” Henderson appears a moment later, heavy footsteps echoing even as he crosses the carpeted flooring. “Did you bring the beer? Because don’t forget you promised you’d bring us some on this trip.”

Eddie takes that as his cue, leaving the both of them to hash out whatever that is.

He trots back into the Harrington house, careful to wipe off his shoes in the entryway despite Steve’s insistence that they could burn the place down and he wouldn’t care.

It’s strange being back here, too. Visceral memories of his bloody and drawn out recovery feel stitched into the carpeting, and his mind snaps back to Steve’s careful fingers during bandage changes as he passes by the guest bathroom.

Thankfully, Steve’s room is kinder to him. Still just as ugly, the plaid that Steve always insisted wasn’t that bad now brings a smile to his lips. Of course, that’s almost all that’s left in the room, now, besides a bare mattress frame and an old mirror still hung on the wall. Even the matching curtains are gone.

Eddie crosses the room to Steve’s closet, making quick work of locating the sleeping bag as it’s one of a handful of belongings still there. That, and a postcard which Eddie recognizes immediately.

It’s one of his postcards, back from the very beginning, before they’d even made it to LA. Eddie had sent it as he waited for the van to be repaired, a feat he wasn’t sure was going to be feasible after they’d had to be towed into Albuquerque earlier that day. The postcard is ugly, sporting large block letters in a font that barely legibly spells out the city name. On the back Eddie had merely written almost there! with a quick and frankly embarrassing sketch of their band on stage. But the edges are worn down to softness, the layers of paper splitting and fanning despite the pristine condition of the rest of the card. 

Eddie stares at the thing for too long, thoughts spiraling with unhelpful and unanswerable questions that he can already feel himself beginning to obsess over.

“Eddie?” It’s Robin’s voice, sounding close.

“Sorry!” He calls, “coming!”

——

The car ride is nearly as chaotic as their old Hellfire sessions. 

Steve, of course, is driving, which meant Robin unquestioningly had shotgun, which also meant the only voice of reason for the entire back of the RV is Nancy. 

El and Lucas are mid-arm wrestling contest, Max apparently staked firmly in the camp of her best friend, leaving Lucas to weakly defend himself with cries of using your powers is cheating!  

Mike, Will and Dustin are screaming along to Milli Vanilli’s latest album, which Robin currently has pumping at full volume, the weak bass of the speakers making the R&B songs horrifically tinny. Argyle and Jonathan are doing very little to disguise their joint rolling operation, rolling over a plate that appears to be duct taped to the synthetic wood table. 

“I'm glad you could come,” Nancy says into his ear as Blame it on the Rain comes to a close. “Mike-” she falters for a moment, glancing over to where her brother is seated, red faced and giddy, knocking shoulders with Dustin and Will as the next song swells into its opening. She sighs and looks back to him, a sad smile on her lips. “He doesn’t get excited about too many things. But he was really excited about this. He was really excited when he knew you were coming.” She bumps her shoulder into his. “So, thanks, Eddie. You made Mike really happy.”

He feels his nose burn at that. He nods. Clears his throat. “I missed the twerp too,” he says, and Nancy smiles at him.

Take it as it Comes filters through the speakers, Dustin’s grating voice pitchier and higher than the rest, but he can see Mike and Will’s lips moving, singing along in their more subdued way.

“How’s Northwestern?” He asks, turning his attention back to Nancy. “Giving old Tom Brokaw a run for his money yet?”

She rolls her eyes, but her smile widens at his words. “It’s good,” she says, then amends, “it’s great, actually. I have this internship lined up in the fall, it’s not paid, but it’ll really help me get my foot in the door-” 

It’s nice, he supposes, once they get the ball rolling. He’s never particularly clicked with Nancy, but she's funny in a way Eddie’s not really used to, and they’re able to talk about things that isn’t just music and marketing and how to get a record label and it’s so nice to remember that there are lives outside of the microcosm he’s been submerged in for the last two years. And then he kind of hates himself for thinking that, because those are the types of thoughts only cocky, self-centered musicians have, and he really wouldn’t be able to live with himself if that’s who he became.

Nancy loses steam on her internship, and they sit in an awkward silence for a minute, his eyes glancing over to Lucas, who’s now demanding a best 5 out of 7. 

“So,” Nancy begins, “it has to be strange, being back in Hawkins?”

Eddie glances to her, and her gaze makes the words he’s had swimming around his subconscious slip to the tip of his tongue. 

He swallows them back down. He shrugs instead. “Yeah,” he admits, then adds, “but also not as bad as I thought it’d be.”

Nancy nods, and the awkward silence is back. Eddie’s never been good with quiet. It’s why he liked the trailer park so much, why he and Steve would only ever sleep on his stained old mattress instead of on Steve’s buoyant king, because Eddie couldn’t handle the quiet of Loch Nora. Eddie gets fucking obnoxious in the quiet, due to his unyielding need to fill it, much to his uncle’s chagrin. So Eddie’s really fishing for a conversation topic when he blurts, “so, Ted Bundy? That was pretty fucked.”

And then Eddie remembers he’s talking with a journalism student. A journalism student who’s all too eager to discuss Bundy’s recent execution, then the end of Raegan’s presidency (Eddie admits he and the band opened a couple of beers on that night), how their celebration was, unfortunately, short lived, seeing as Bush is his replacement, and then, Nancy surprises him.

“It’s not like he’s going to give any more of a shit about AIDS than Raegan, performative schmucks.”

Eddie’s head turns so quick he feels his joints pop. Because Eddie has seen firsthand the way someone can be there one day and gone the next. No warning before nothing, ever again.

And Nancy’s eyes well as they speak, and it strikes him that maybe she’s lost people, too.

It’s a goddamned downer of a conversation. He’s glad when Argyle announces he’s gotta use the bathroom, quickly dittoed by El and Dustin. 

Nancy smiles at him again. "Are these lines how you get all the girls, Munson?"

He smiles, and elbows her, and things feel lighter again.

In the seedy gas station Steve pulled up to Dustin clogs the only toilet. He insists heavily that it was already like that , and then debates hotly with Mike over whether or not he has to be the one to let an employee know, losing the battle when Max loudly announces that she’s on her period and if he doesn’t unclog the toilet soon there will be hell to pay. 

Eddie watches sympathetically as the poor, pimply faced kid behind the gas station counter takes a plunger out of the Employees Only cabinet and tackles whatever Dustin left in his wake.

Nearly thirty minutes and eight bathroom breaks later they’re all piled back into the RV. Eddie’s now seated at it’s small dining table, sandwiched between Mike and Dustin with Nancy, Jonathan and Argyle across from them. It’s a tight fit, their shoulders are pressed together, but Mike’s excitedly telling Eddie all about the spot they’re going, having apparently visited the previous year.

“There’s a huge lake,” Mike’s telling him, Dustin nodding along eagerly, having apparently accompanied Mike on this previous trip, “and a giant slide, which is a little rusty so you’ve gotta be careful, but it’s worth it because it’ll launch you into the lake if you get enough momentum going-”

Eddie tries to listen, but his thoughts keep straying to the surly version of Mike he left, the one with the perpetual scowl and biting words, the one who seemed to carry the weight of it all on his thin shoulders. Because this Mike, who’s excitedly allowing Dustin to talk over him about the cryptid they’re certain they saw last time, has changed. Maybe Mike doesn’t get excited about much, but Eddie knows it can’t be just this trip and it can’t be just his presence that has him this at ease. He wants to hug him, suddenly, tell Mike mushy words about how proud he is, but he holds it in. 

He slings his arms around Dustin and Mike instead, tells them that they’ll have to search for this cryptid themselves to get to the bottom of it.

——

An hour later has Steve navigating them down a narrow dirt road, instructing them to look out for campsite twelve.

“There!” Max yells, and Eddie jumps, following her hand excitedly to see where they’ll be spending the next three nights. But the trees continue to rush past.

Max cackles, falling back in laughter at her own joke, waving her hand in front of her unfocused eyes. “Never gets old,” she smiles, wiping tears from her eyes, and Lucas rolls his, and Steve grumbles something under his breath, and El laughs like it’s the funniest bit she’s ever witnessed. 

It only takes a few more minutes of driving before Will actually spots it, and Steve pulls the oversized rig up a slight incline and into a large clearing.

Steve and Nancy seem to take it from there, dolling out instructions of tent set ups and safety instructions, the kids doubling up like they already know who is sleeping next to whom. 

He watches as Robin glues herself to Steve’s side, and the realization hits him that of course they’d be sharing, they’re probably taking the bed in the RV, and that Nancy probably had the forethought to lay her claim on the other, watching as she heads back inside. He’s about to ask Jonathan and Argyle if there’s room for him in theirs’ when he spots the balled up hammocks under their arms and realizes they’re definitely the type to think that would be fun. 

He feels, suddenly and horrifically, like he’s back in gym class.

But, of course, things have changed. Steve walks up to him, several bags in hand and asks, “wanna bunk with me? Robin snores.”

Eddie’s a little hopeless with the tent. He wrestles with the poles in ways that make Steve’s brows knit together in concern for the preservation of his gear, and eventually he’s relegated to the duty of holding the thing steady while Steve does everything else. And it shouldn’t be fair, the way that Steve can look so attractive in everything that he does. Because even after the four hour car trip, even as he’s hunched over with his briefs showing between the gap of his shirt and his shorts, he looks divine. Eddie wants to grab him by the hips and pull them flush together, to feel Steve’s flesh beneath his fingers and heat against his skin, wants Steve’s gaze reflected in his own.

But then Steve stands, and Eddie can’t see his briefs or that sliver of skin, anymore. 

“We should just need to stake it down, now.” Steve comments, nodding as he surveys his work. Then he smiles at Eddie, “you can let go now, ‘s not gonna fall over.”

Flushing, Eddie lets go.

Together, they force the stakes down into the dry earth and toss their bags inside, Steve helping him pull the sleeping bag from its overstuffed casing and lay them both out. It’s not a large tent, and with both their sleeping bags and duffels Eddie wonders how close they’ll be sleeping. A foot apart? Six inches? Less? His head feels a little fuzzy at the thought, his heart beat going staccato again. He reminds himself that Steve and him used to do this all the time - with much less than the fabric of two sleeping bags separating them. 

That thought does not help him.

Lunch is cold cut sandwiches and potato chips, the orange slices Steve had so meticulously cut that morning wasted on everyone save him, Steve and Argyle. 

Eddie’s fingers get sticky on the citrusy juices as conversation swells and falls around him, and for once his brain is content in the act of listening. He keeps quiet in the face of his friends’ chatter, trying to absorb their words into his very pores in a vain attempt to keep their conversations with him when he inevitably leaves them again. It’s sobering and invigorating all at once, and Eddie tries to burn the new way Dustin smiles into his memory, tries to memorize the new, relaxed way Lucas’s shoulders sit, the way Mike leans into Will’s space like it’s so natural for the both of them.

They’re so different and yet so the same, the kids he’d left grown into something resembling almost-adults in a way that he didn’t think would affect him as much as it does. His little sheepies, the kids he loved and almost lost and loves still, having grown and graduated and will soon be off to bigger and better things. 

And his kids aren’t the only ones, because Robin, in all her awkward, gangly glory seems to have settled into it, somehow, her gaze and movements not as nervous as they once were. Jonathan, still quiet and withdrawn, seems present in a way that he hadn’t in ‘86, eyes focused and alight and there . And maybe that’s partially Argyle’s doing, who hasn’t left his side, or maybe it’s the other way around, since Eddie’s seen them. Nancy, always self assured and strong, seems softer. Like the hard edges the upside down carved into her have eroded, like she has found a way to live with them. 

Like maybe they all have. 

And Steve- who Eddie had fallen for and then pushed away, feels less on edge. His eyes no longer scan the tree line. He doesn’t flinch when Max lets out a shout of laughter and his bat, without the nails, stays parked in the front seat of the RV. 

Eddie wonders how he’s changed, as he watches and listens to his group of people. He wonders what good LA has done him. He wonders if it’s worth it.

——

“You better be there at the bottom, Wheeler, or I’m going to kick your ass!” Max shouts, perched gingerly on top of the rickety aluminum slide that’s far too tall for anyone’s own good.

“Untwist your fucking panties and get down here, Red!” Mike shouts back, treading water dutifully at the bottom of the slide, ready to find Max’s hand when she gets to the bottom.

“He is there, Max!” El shouts from their game of Marco Polo not far away, putting her position in jeopardy as Lucas makes a lunge towards her voice. 

That seems to be all the assurance she needs, however, because soon Max’s shrieks are carrying across the water as she slides down, her legs drawn up as she careens into the lake. 

Mike is there when she resurfaces, hand on her shoulder before he guides her over to Lucas, where she quickly latches onto his arm as he guides her through the game. 

“They’re all grown up,” Eddie muses, and he hopes the comment carries more levity than he feels. 

Thankfully, Steve snorts. “God, it doesn’t feel that way, most of the time.”

Eddie takes a sip of his beer as he looks over to him. Swallowing, he asks, “no?”

Steve shrugs, gaze on the lake as it reflects the rapidly setting sun. “Maybe it’s just me and my own rose colored glasses,” he smiles sardonically, “but I don’t think I’ll ever see them as any older than fourteen. No matter how they change.”

He says it like he knows they’ll still be here in ten years, in thirty, in fifty, that when they’re all old they’ll be able to find their way together again and again. 

Eddie takes another sip of his beer as Robin shrieks out a laugh, her voice filling the air between them as she dives out of the way of Argyle’s lunge. 

“Don’t tell them that, though.” Eddie’s gaze flicks back to Steve, and he’s smiling properly, now. “They give me enough shit as it is.” 

Eddie smiles and nods to him as Jonathan fills the empty chair next to them, a freshly rolled joint between his fingers. He waggles it enticingly at them both, Steve waving him off the same time Eddie smiles. 

It’s good weed. Californian purple palms fucking something, and it only takes two passes between them before Argyle joins them, holding the joint between his lips as he shakes out his own lawn chair. 

He sighs when he sits, passing it back over to Jonathan. 

“Nothing’s better than this, man.” He says, and he leans so far back that his long hair nearly brushes the grass. 

Steve nods in agreement from his other side, a small smile on his lips. “Cheers to that,” he says, and brings his beer up a few inches before bringing it to his lips.

They sit there until the joint is nothing but filter and the beers are finished, until half the group is back on the shore and Steve decides he’s gonna go all Boy Scout and start their fire. 

Apparently, they need kindling. 

“Would you mind?” Steve asks him, like there is anything on this planet Eddie would mind doing for him. “Just little twigs and things. Make sure they’re dry.”

“I’ll help,” Robin offers, “let me grab my shoes.”

Five minutes later he and Robin are waltzing through the woods surrounding their campsite, Nancy’s words of warning regarding poison ivy on their heels. 

“We can get big branches and then break them up and that’s kindling, right?” Robin asks, pulling a rather large branch from the underbrush. 

“It’s all moldy, Robs,” Eddie says, and she drops it in agreement, dusting off her hands.

Eddie begins his small collection, fingers quickly becoming caked with sap and general woodsy ick. Robin sticks close as they wander through the underbrush, and Eddie feels like she’s gearing up to say something, her normal chatty demeanor absent as they search.

“So,” she says, after another minute, and Eddie wonders what this could possibly turn into. “You’re still liking LA, then?”

Eddie glances over to her but her focus is still on the forest floor, and he hesitates while she stoops to pick up another handful of twigs.

“Erm,” he starts, because they’ve had this conversation already. “Yeah, like I said, it’s not perfect and we’re not like, selling out stadiums, but we’ve got some fans who’re into our niche sound. And Jeff landed us this gig in a couple of weeks that could be really big for us. Like, other artists have been discovered there, ya know?” He stomps down on a thin branch, breaking it into pieces before he gathers them.

Robin hums, “you didn’t answer my question, though.”

This time, when Eddie looks up, she’s staring back at him.

“I asked how you like LA. Not how the band’s doing in LA.”

Eddie shuffles his feet, glancing up and over her shoulder, because how is he supposed to articulate this? What he’s never even told his band because he doesn’t want to admit it, even to himself. That maybe, after it all, after all of their years of planning, of their shared dream of making it , of moving to LA and doing the damn thing, they’re there, at the very edge, and it’s now that Eddie’s having doubts. 

He shrugs, goes for an easy smile, says, with as much ease as he can muster, “I’m happy, Robs.”

——

They clear too many packages of hotdogs and half a bottle of ketchup that night, and the air is warm and comforting as the setting sun colors the sky from orange to red to purple, finally fading into an inky black with more stars than Eddie’s seen since he left Indiana. He’s sat between Steve and Mike, which means Steve has to pass him the joint whenever Argyle hands it to him. Eddie should probably just move, but Steve passing it to him means their fingers keep brushing, and Eddie’s feeling selfish.

“That’s fucking disgusting,” Robin says around a mouthful of marshmallow, commenting on Nancy’s butchered second dog. 

She’s not wrong. Eddie loves ranch as much as the next good old midwestern boy, but it’s nothing compared to Nancy , who squelches tablespoons of it all over her plate so she can dip her hot dog into the condiment.

Nancy takes an exaggerated bite in retaliation, somehow not allowing any of the sauce to smear across her thin lips.

Robin fake gags, the effect ruined by the gooey marshmallow still clinging to her molars. 

Dustin, somehow, and definitely unwisely, finds a way to insert himself into that, voice going high as he defends Nancy’s condiment overusage. El, similarly unwisely, asks why they are arguing about a salad dressing. 

And soon the entire group is squabbling about ranch. 

It’s comforting, Eddie realizes, the way they can all bicker and jab at one another. In the way they’re all so comfortable - comfortable enough for Max to flip El off for calling ranch a mere salad dressing, enough for Lucas to wave his arms and let his voice grow when Argyle calls it overrated . And it’s all so much. They’re all so much. It’s borderline overwhelming, and Eddie can’t contain his smile.

And the thing is, Eddie loves his band. He loves Jeff and Gareth and Trevor more than he could ever express, but they’re his brothers. Family. Because despite anything that could ever grow between them they will always be together, any of their choices be damned. There’s no going back, with them.

But this? Around this campfire are the people who have over and over again chosen Eddie, and who he has chosen again and again in return. That even through distance and time they haven’t stopped making the same choices. 

And, as much as he loathes to admit it, the upside down changed him. Down to his bones he is different, as only a true toe to toe showdown with death can bring about. And that is something his brothers will never understand. That he desperately hopes they never will. With these people, it’s different. Different in a way he’s trying to excuse away, because he left this , it’s too late for him, now.

“Missed this, huh?” Steve asks, sarcastically, and Eddie’s broken from his train of thought as Steve hands him the last bit of the joint. “The beer makes them worse.”

Their fingers brush, again, as Eddie takes it, Steve’s fingers warm and calloused against his own. 

Eddie does little to temper his smile before replying, “you don’t know the half of it, Stevie.” It’s earnest, too much so, he realizes, through his high. But Steve’s hand lingers in his space, hand floating between them for a beat too long before he returns it to his lap. 

“Really?” Steve asks, and his face is illuminated by firelight, softening his broad features into sepia tones, his voice low from his third bottle of beer.

Eddie wants to reach out and touch him, have Steve’s hand back in his personal space so he can curl his fingers around it without the excuse of the joint, hold those calloused palms between his own until they’re both the same temperature, until having Steve’s skin pressed against his own feels like an extension of himself .

Eddie licks his lips, watches as Steve’s eyes track the movement, and he wonders, briefly, deliriously, if now, at this point in their lives, they could make it work. 

He’s about to reply, about to say something earnest and heartfelt like leaving you was harder than learning to walk again , but then Mike is slapping his hand from the other side, and the moment is lost.

“Eddie!” Mike nearly shouts, still slapping the arm of his chair, “we’re still going cryptid hunting, right?”

It takes Eddie a moment to claw through his own haze and realize what the hell the kid is going on about. “Y-yes.” He manages, catching Dustin’s hopeful gaze. “Yeah, man. Absolutely. Cryptids. Wouldn’t miss ‘em.”

“Okay, great, because last time we saw them was really early in the morning- so we should try going at the same time, we’ll wake you, okay?” Mike asks, looking at Eddie like getting up early was the given and he just needs to confirm whether or not he needs the alarm.

And Eddie’s used to late nights, not early mornings (he can’t remember the last time he woke before 11 am- this morning not included) but he’s always been a goddamn sucker for these kids. “Yeah, thanks, man, that’d be great.”

And then Mike fucking beams at him, the bastard, so Eddie knows he can’t wriggle out of this tomorrow morning with claims that he’s hungover or tired or whatever the hell else excuse he can come up with. 

Then Dustin says they better hit the sack now, if they’re gonna get up early, and Mike agrees, so Eddie looks to Steve for help, who just shrugs at him. Traitor.

“Right,” Eddie agrees, and he downs the last of his beer and gives a little salute. “I guess that’s my cue too.”

The bathrooms are a ten minute walk away and objectively disgusting, and Eddie’s been in a lot of disgusting bathrooms. Maybe he’s the fucked up one, but he’d rather have mysterious liquids on the floor than bugs, which are crawling around his feet on their little legs and buzzing around his head with their little wings and he wonders if this is truly worth the preservation of his enamel.

Somehow, through the little legs and the little wings, he survives, and is able to make his way back to his tent. 

Eddie lays awake for a long while. He’s not sure what time it is, but he knows it’s far earlier than he normally finds himself in bed. The minutes click by and he slowly becomes more and more aware of the bumps in the ground, the rock (pebble) that is burrowing its way into his shoulder blade. He tosses and turns, drifting in and out of half dozes, until he hears soft, crunching footsteps and then the zip of the zipper, loud in the now quiet night.

Eddie peaks his eyes open as Steve clambers in, his silhouette illuminated by the waxing moon.

Briefly, they make eye contact, and Steve winces.

“Sorry,” he whispers, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“‘S’okay,” Eddie mumbles, as Steve zips the tent closed behind him. “Can’t sleep anyways.”

Steve slips into his own sleeping bag. “Not used to the sounds of nature, Eds?

The cicadas keeping you up?”

Eddie smiles, hopes Steve can see it in the darkness. “There’s a rock that has it out for my spine, actually.” He scoots down until the offending specimen is no longer digging into him, causing his legs to bunch at the tent door.

He hears Steve huff a laugh. “That has to be more uncomfortable.”

Eddie shrugs. “I spent many a night on couches with far less leg room.”

Steve doesn’t reply, so Eddie lets his eyes fall closed, again, pretends he can hear Steve’s breaths over the hum of the insects outside, pretends he can feel his heartbeat through the earth.

He’s half asleep when Steve says, “c’mere, then.”

When he looks up, Steve is scrunched against the far side of the tent, leaving Eddie room right next to him.

Wordlessly, he obeys, stretching up until he’s face to face with Steve, close enough, now, that they could be sharing the same pillow.

“Better?” Steve asks, and now Eddie can hear his gentle breaths.

Eddie nods, doesn’t want his voice to break through the quiet of the night. He can’t see Steve’s face in the dark, but he feels him move, the slight curling of his legs until their knees are brushing through too many layers of fabric. 

Steve doesn’t say anything else, so Eddie closes his eyes, again, and pretends he can feel Steve’s heartbeat through the earth.

Chapter Text

Eddie’s never been a morning person. It’s one of many reasons his first attempt at senior year didn’t stick: 7:45 am was far too early for first period to begin.

So it ends up being Steve who shakes him to consciousness, Eddie not awaking at Dustin’s voice or the jabs to the soles of his feet.

Eddie doesn’t even get to appreciate seeing Steve’s bedhead in the quiet morning, the scene ruined by Dustin’s ardent insistence that they gotta get moving . 

Unfortunately, Eddie discovers he’d made the unwise decision of leaving his flannel and jacket on his fireside chair the night before, a decision he regrets as soon as he finds both damp with morning dew. Somberly, he hangs them on a tree branch in the sunshine, and he begins the trek into the cold morning in nothing but his t-shirt and cut off jean shorts. 

Dustin leads the way, and apparently the kid has respect for some things, because he preserves the quiet of the blue tinted morning with silence until they reach the trailhead. 

“So,” the kid begins, hair already frizzing, “Mike and I are pretty sure what we saw last time is a Puk-wudgie.” 

“Gazuntite,” Eddie excuses, and the twerps scowl at him.

“They’re real ,” Mike insists, “they’re about three feet tall and look like hedgehogs. Kinda.”

Dustin nods sagely. “The one I saw had big old ears,” he says, holding his hands up to the side in an attempt to mimic them. 

“And we think we’ll find them…?” Eddie gestures to the trailhead, eyeing the posted mileage wearily.

“They live in forests!” Dustin supplies excitedly. 

Eddie eyes the trail, feels gooseflesh begin to prickle his arms, and stretches his already apprehensive left leg. 

He’d really do anything for these goddamn kids. He nods.

“We gotta be careful though,” Mike says sincerely, “they’re known to lure people to their deaths.”

With that, apparently, they’re off.

Thankfully, the trail is mostly flat and the trees break the worst of the wind with their full branches. Their walk is slow and quiet, and Eddie keeps his gaze low. 

His kids’ descriptions are vague at best, and Eddie can only really picture these pukwedgies as hobbits, seeing as three feet tall and ‘kinda’ like a hedgehog is not much for his imagination to work with. 

Apparently, Dustin and Mike could agree these things are nasty little fuckers that will stab you with spears should you mess with the forest, so Eddie does his best not to step on any saplings.

The quiet feels less oppressive in the forest. As he follows Dustin’s footsteps in the waking morning the birds slowly begin to chitter around them, and Eddie breathes in the cool damp air. A wave of nostalgia engulfs him at the scent, and he remembers why he used to enjoy camping so much, back in middle school, when Wayne used to take him every year.

An indeterminable amount of time later, Mike thinks he spots one. They sandwich themselves together, Eddie pressed tightly between them, and they watch for movement. But then the thing turns, and it’s a doe.

“Damn,” Mike whispers. 

They continue.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t take long for his bum leg to begin to ache something fierce. The deep twinges make the easy trail feel arduous, and soon after his stomach starts to rumble, and he’s getting so cold his skin’s beginning to itch, and-

“Guys, look at this!” 

It takes Eddie a moment, but he follows Dustin’s finger to something in the dirt, and when he approaches, Eddie sees a small print in the soft earth.

“What is it?” Mike asks, voicing Eddie’s thoughts.

“A footprint!” Dustin explains, like it’s obvious. “Definitely not a hoof, and since it’s not a deer, what else could make a print that big?”

Eddie cocks his head to the side, trying to see what Dustin does. “I dunno, man,” he replies, unconvinced, “why would there just be one like that?”

“Um, because they’re magic?” Dustin argues, and Eddie forgot what a know it all his kid could be.

“Right,” Eddie says dubiously.

“I'm with Eddie on this one,” Mike agrees, “if they masked all their other footprints, why leave just this one?”

Dustin gives them both exasperated expressions. “No one’s perfect!” He exclaims defiantly, and gestures more emphatically to the indentation in the earth. “What else would’ve caused this?”

“Me not having evidence to the contrary does not your argument make,” Eddie concludes, and stands back up. “Plus,” he adds, leg throbbing, “‘m starving.”

——

Steve has the campfire going again by the time they return.

“Any luck?” Lucas asks when they approach.

Eddie lets Dustin explain the footprint, who is still nearly buzzing out of his skin at the very thought.

He gets closer to the fire instead, warming his fingers against the low flames.

“Coffee?” Eddie looks to his left to see Steve holding a cup of his own. Steve nods towards Dustin, “sounds like there was no time for it before you left on your adventure.”

Eddie smiles at him. “You’re a godsend, Stevie.”

Steve smiles, hovering close for a beat before heading to the RV.

“We have a coffee pot in there,” Robin explains, and raises her bowl of oatmeal, “food too.”

He nods and continues to warm his hands as he watches the rising sun reflecting off the calm lake. There’s muffled chatter from the RV, and Argyle and Jonathan are swinging gently in their hammocks.

“We’re gonna go tubing today,” Robin continues around a mouthful of oatmeal, “Lucas is really excited about it, apparently.” She waves her spoon around as she says this, bits of oatmeal flying in the air around her.

Eddie’s about to ask what tubing specifically involves when Steve returns with his cup of coffee. Eddie curls his fingers around it gratefully, the steam warming his clammy face.

“Where’s your jacket?” Steve asks, eyeing his bare arms.

Eddie nods towards his clothes, still hanging on a tree near the bank. “I left them out overnight.”

Steve rolls his eyes but leaves again, and Eddie watches as he goes back to their tent. It takes a minute before he emerges again, this time with a bundle of fabric in his left hand.

“Looking at you’s making me cold,” Steve grumbles, cheeks pink, and he takes the coffee out of Eddie’s hands so he can pull on the sweatshirt.

Eddie's heart just about lodges in his throat. It’s an old high school sweatshirt, frayed around the cuffs. HARRINGTON is blazed in bold, golden letters across the back. It smells like him, and Eddie resists the urge to bury his nose in the soft fabric.

“Thanks,” he manages, when Steve hands him back his mug.

It’s then that Eddie realizes the milky color of the coffee, the steaming liquid screaming he remembers!

He takes a sip, the taste of coffee barely recognizable, just how he likes it.

——

Eddie doesn’t like this one bit.

“I’m gonna fall on my ass,” he grumbles, eyeing the inner tube distrustfully. 

“If I can do it,” Robin says from a few feet away, “so can you.” She flicks down her dark sunglasses, rotating gently in her own floaty. 

He can’t believe he let Lucas talk him into this. Goddamn kid with his stupid, earnest face. Eddie hasn’t been swimming since- since. And maybe this doesn’t count as swimming, but the murky water isn’t helping his overactive imagination, every reflection of sunlight sparking memories of blood thirsty vines.

Tentatively, he turns, squatting, and feels incredibly foolish. He wobbles as he lowers himself into the inner tube, his bum leg shaking violently.

And then it buckles.

His exhausted leg can no longer handle his own weight and he falls with an ungraceful splash into the waiting inner tube.

“ Fuck, ” he curses, his sunglasses now askew and splattered with droplets of lake water, his legs angled uncomfortably in the inflateable. His face burns, hot and red and embarrassed as he attempts to reorient himself. His scarred skin is tight under the heat of the cloudless sky and the puckered edges twinge in protest as he pulls himself up. 

He knows he shouldn't let it bother him, because he’s lucky to be alive and lucky to be able to walk and run and lucky to be able to fucking move at all . But it frustrates him nonetheless when his wobbly arm and unsteady leg can’t perform like they used to. 

“Sea legs, Munson!” Jonathan cries, and tosses him the end of the rope. 

Frustrating and embarrassing , because his now exhausted left arm can’t catch it fast enough, and he watches as the rope slips off the tube and into the water. 

Tears of frustration are welling before he has time to process them, and pathetically all he wants to do is call it quits.

“Eds.” It’s Steve. Like it always is. His strong fingers grab the handle of Eddie’s inner tube and pull him close. “I got you,” he smiles, and threads his end of the rope through their handles. 

I got you. I got you. I got-

Steve tosses the rope to Argyle. His hand stays near Eddie’s. So close. So close, and when Eddie raises his disgusting sunglasses Steve’s looking at him. 

With just those eyebrows and a twist of his lips Steve asks, okay?

Eddie nods. Steve’s hand is still next to his. He knows, in a moment, that it won’t be. That, so selfishly, he wants Steve’s hand next to his. That maybe he wants Steve’s hand next to his in many more moments.

His arm twinges as he moves, his shiny mottled skin reflecting in the sun as he nudges Steve’s pinky with his own. 

It feels a lot braver than facing the demobats. 

Steve’s finger curls around his. Warmth that has nothing to do with the sun or the muggy air or the embarrassment from a minute prior surges through him and Eddie feels a dopey, cheesy smile overtake his face. He bites at his lip but Steve’s already seen, eyes crinkling as he smiles back at him. 

“Much better now,” Eddie murmurs. 

He’s okay with braving the water, after that. 

Robin, of course, clocked their little moment before they even had time to break eye contact, and Eddie pretends to ignore the soundless conversation Steve has with her. A series of pointed looks and eyebrow movements is all Eddie catches, but a frown line appears on Steve’s pretty face as he continues their silent debate. 

Despite his nosiness Eddie tries to give them their privacy. He glances at the kids, who’ve tied themselves together in their own awkwardly arranged cluster. Their voices break across the still water in fits of laughter and Eddie catches himself smiling when they do, his damn allergies kicking in whenever he spots Max smiling with the others. His ICU buddy, the one who was as touch and go as he was, still here. Because they kicked fucking ass.

Steve’s finger curls tighter around his, pulling his hand more completely into the warmth of his palm. They’re almost holding hands, two of their fingers now nearly overlapping, and it’s better than half the sex Eddie’s had over the past two years.

He wants to ask. He wants to whisper to Steve and wonder aloud if this is akin to his hand holding with Robin, which is frequent and mindless, or if the tentative nature speaks to something more. He eyes Steve’s hand, his fingers thick and tan against Eddie’s, his nails short and trimmed next to Eddie’s bitten ones. 

Robin and Steve continue their silent argument and Eddie’s skin begins to feel too tight. He loves Robin, knows she loves him, but their pointed looks are giving him the distinct impression Robin’s not giving this her seal of approval. 

So Eddie buries his head in the sand. Keeping his finger securely around Steve’s, he turns to Argyle. “You know where a metal heads could get some authentic ‘fits?” 

They stay in the water too long. Past when they should’ve had lunch and long into the afternoon, until Eddie’s skin is all the same shade of pink and the chill of the morning is a distant memory. He dips his toes into the cool water and flicks droplets onto the others when they’re not looking and takes a couple hits of the joint Argyle had artfully stored in his shirt pocket. They stay until the kids ask about food and water and shade, until Steve and Nancy slip their legs into the water to pull them to shore.

Lunch is the same as the day before. None of them, Steve , are willing to restart the fire for something warm, so Robin brings out the bread and cheese and meats and the slices of fruit and Eddie stands by the cold cuts for far too long trying to remember if Steve prefers ham or turkey.

“Turkey and mustard,” Nancy whispers to him as she passes, giving him a pointed look towards the RV where Steve is carrying out bottles of water and soda. 

“You’re my favorite Wheeler,” Eddie whispers back, and Nancy winks as he takes a quarter of the remaining turkey and too many slices of swiss.

He would’ve thought he’d given Steve a sandwich of solid gold with the way the guy smiled, bright and crinkly eyed when Eddie handed the thing over, mustard dribbling out of the sides and blending in with the juices from the orange slices, the paper plate bending dangerously under the weight of the food. 

“Thank you,” Steve says, quiet and heartfelt as he takes the plate from Eddie’s grasp.

“Of course, Stevie.” 

Eddie’s standing too close. He knows he is, he can see the droplets of water still clinging to Steve’s eyelashes, but he stays where he is and Steve doesn’t move, so Eddie grabs an orange slice from the buckling plate and crams the flesh into his mouth. Steve watches him, eyes flicking from his mouth to his eyes and Eddie grins, sucks the juice from the fruit before dropping the rind to his plate. “Thought we could share,” he says, and nods towards the picnic tables their friends are trickling towards. “Let’s go, yeah?”

Lunch is subdued. Apparently the sun did wonders for sapping even these kids’ endless wells of energy, because all six of them are quiet as he eats his food.

Unfortunately, however, their late lunch turns into cards, which is truly the bane of Eddie’s existence.

“No, Eds,” Steve corrects, picking up the card he played and setting it back in his hands, “this is the one you wanna play,” he takes a spade and plays that instead. “That’s trump,” he reminds him, voice gentle and Eddie kind of wants to rip his hair out. 

He thought he left sitting still and focusing behind, but apparently some people still do this shit for fun.

“I still don’t understand what that means,” Eddie whines, his voice just on the edge of distraught as Jonathan takes his turn.

Steve laughs at his pain, bumps their shoulders together, and Eddie sinks into him without a second thought. Their shoulders rest together as Jonathan plays his card, then Nancy, and Eddie doesn’t know what the fuck is happening as the cards get shuffled around but he can feel Steve’s warmth against him and doesn’t even look up when Nancy mutters damn. 

“I’m really bad at this,” Eddie murmurs, voice pitched low so Jonathan can’t hear.

“Just a little,” Steve agrees, and Eddie laughs. 

“I think your line is actually, no, Eddie, this game is just stupid ,” he picks a card randomly, and Steve’s hand stops him before he can toss it. 

“ This one ,” Steve corrects, and throws a down a different card. “Trump changed.”

“ Trump changed, ” Eddie mocks under his breath.

Unsurprisingly, Argyle and Jonathan win. 

His focus returns to the kids once they do, whose energy levels have apparently been rejuvenated by the sugary pop because they’re in a very spirited poker game with Robin. She’s dealing cards as the six people with the worst poker faces Eddie’s ever witnessed bicker with each other from across the table. El and Max have teamed up, much to the boys’ apparent dismay, because they alternate between accusing El of counting cards and telling Robin she’s playing favorites. 

In the end Will wins the pot (a giant mountain of marshmallows), as the only one able to keep his giant trap shut when he had a good hand.

The sun is low in the sky by then, and the lightning bugs are beginning their dance across the campsite.

“We should go up to the hill and see the stars,” Will offers through a mouthful of cold marshmallow. He swallows, and continues, “it’s only a thirty minute walk, you can see so many up there.”

Eddie’s leg aches at the very thought.

“Definitely,” Steve agrees, and he ruffles Will’s hair, “great idea, kid.”

The others voice similar notes of agreement, Robin noting she attended one meeting for the astronomy club last semester and could now certainly identify constellations.

Eddie walks over to Max, who has yet to comment. “Don’t know about you,” he whispers, “but I’m not sure if I’m up for stargazing.”

A smile twitches at the corner of her mouth. “Too queer even for you, huh?”

“Fuck off, ” Eddie grins, and elbows her, and Max’s smiles broadens. 

“I guess I can keep you company,” she muses, “considering stargazing doesn’t do that much for me, anymore.”

Lucas is very reluctant to leave Max behind, only relenting when she gives him a kiss on the cheek, her face going as red as her hair when she does.

Steve gives him his second look of the day that asks okay? and Eddie nods, and gives his wonky leg a pathetic little shake, before throwing up his arms in a what can you do? gesture. Steve doesn’t look particularly convinced, but he walks away with the others all the same.

“So,” Eddie starts, when the last of their group has left, “want some weed?”

They smoke out by the lake, which is all well and good for Max, but Eddie has to smack himself every couple of seconds as a new mosquito catches whiff of his deliciously nutritious blood.

“ Fuckers, ” he mutters around the joint, giving his legs a one two smack, his palms coming away bloody from his shins. He wipes the blood on his shirt before handing the joint over to Max.

“You’re really a horrible influence,” she says before inhaling, and Eddie shrugs. 

“Only for you, Red.” Which is true. He probably wouldn’t do this for any of his other twerps . “Us ICU buddies gotta stick together.”

Max snorts, “for a guy who claims to be so creative, you really need a better name for us.”

Eddie glares at her. “Okay, I haven’t heard anything better come from your smart mouth.”

“Critical care companions,” Max supplies easily.

“Naw, it needs to slip off the tongue, Red. That’s too much of a mouthful.” He pauses to think, “Almost-dead allies?”

Max screws her face up, passes back the joint. “Are we allies ?”

Eddie hums. “What about, maimed mates?”

Max laughs, “that makes it sound like we’re fucking. ”

Eddie gags, “oh my god please never say that ever again .”

Max throws up her hands, “you started it!”

They sit in silence for a moment.

“Broken brochachos?”

Max laughs, “crippled comrades!” 

“Pulverized pals!” He replies, and Max laughs again, bright and loud and Eddie doesn’t think there has ever been a more beautiful sound.

Whether it’s the lack of the upside down, the aging out of teenage angst, or something else Eddie isn’t privy to, her and Mike, the surliest of the bunch, have changed so much .

“So,” Max begins, and he knows that fucking tone, “even I could see the eye fucking that was happening between you and mom earlier.”

It takes Eddie a full second to realize who mom is. He splutters, which does not help his case, “I was not eye fucking him!”

Max snorts, and he passes the joint back to her. “Sure,” she agrees, “that’s just how you look at all your bros. I’m sure you behave the same toward Jonathan too, huh?”

Eddie can’t repress the shudder that runs through him, and Max snorts again. “That’s what I thought.”

Eddie digs his toe into the soft sand, then looks behind them in a paranoid double check that they’re truly alone. “It’s complicated,” he murmurs.

Max nods. “Yeah,” she says, “I figured.”

They sit in silence once again.

“We’re breaking up at the end of the summer,” Max says suddenly, and his eyes jump to her.

“What?” He asks, incredulous, because that can’t be right. They’ve spent all of high school together, in one way or another, they survived the upside down together.

Max shrugs at his reaction, and her face is hard as she faces out to the lake. “He’s going to Perdue on a basketball scholarship. I’m not going to hold him back from that.” She toes at the shore with her toes, her pink chipped nail polish bright against the sand. “And I just- I need to get out, Eddie.” And she sounds so old when she says it, says it the same way Wayne’s old war buddies talk about Korea, the same set to her jaw and the same cadence in her voice. “College isn’t for me, but Hawkins isn’t either,” she sighs. 

This is a lot, for Max, and he wonders how many others she’s shared this with. If she’s sharing this with him because she thinks he’ll get it or because it’s him. Or maybe if it’s just because they’re both a little high. “If anyone gets that, Red, it’s me.”

She smiles, and he can only see her profile, still facing the expansive lake. “El’s graduation present is a car,” she says, and there’s a hint of excitement in her voice now. “We’re thinking of doing the great American road trip. See what else this tragic country has to offer.”

“You’ll have to visit me, then,” Eddie says, “when you both make it out to California.”

She gives him a quizzical look, “do you want to go back?” She asks, and this time she’s facing him, her gaze unnervingly close to his eyes.

Eddie doesn’t know what does it for him this time. If it’s the quiet of the night or his defenses finally crumbling but he slouches forward to hold his face in his hands. 

“I don’t know.” It feels so good to admit. To have it said out loud and have someone else in on it with him. “I don’t know, Red. I have no goddamn idea.” 

Max is silent for a moment, and the only sounds are the orchestra of bugs and the slow, gentle lapping of the lake, and Eddie looks up to all the stars he can’t see in LA.

“You’ve always been sentimental as shit, man,” she begins, and there’s a small smile on her face now, “and soft as hell. I never thought LA was for you.” She stubs out the joint in the damp sand as Eddie contemplates her words. 

“I have no idea what I’d do if I came back.” He admits, which seemed like such a good excuse back in California.

“I’m like, 150% sure Steve would let you do him.”

Eddie slaps his hands over his ears, hearing Max cackle as he shouts, “you absolutely cannot make sex jokes in front of me! One more and I will actually drop dead!”

He hears Max say something about drama queen and waits a few extra seconds for good measure before letting his arms drop. He wishes he had another joint.

“There’s a new record shop in Bloomington.” Max says, “I heard the wonder twins talking about it. Robin was thinking of putting in an application for some summer work there.” She shrugs. “Just a thought.”

Eddie mulls this over. “There- there are probably mechanics everywhere too, huh?” He toes at the ground again. “I’ve always been good with cars.”

Max bumps her shoulder against his. She stays there, leaning against him, until their friends come back.

——

“We’re trying a different trail tomorrow.” Dustin explains around the now roaring fire, “last route was a dud.”

“Alright,” Eddie agrees easily, skewering his marshmallow with the perfect roasting stick he and Jonathan had found earlier. He sticks it directly into the fire.

“ Heathen ,” Steve admonishes to his right, who is currently on minute five of slow roasting his marshmallow to an even golden brown.

Eddie waits until the marshmallow is truly on fire before bringing it back out. “I believe satanist is the word you’re looking for, sweetheart.” He blows out his dessert and grabs the graham cracker he’d expertly laid out beforehand.

Steve snorts, “well, that marshmallow is definitely sacreligious.”

Eddie knocks his knee against Steve’s.

“S’me t’me t’morr, ‘ddie,” Mike reminds him, words barely intelligible around his own gummy mouthful. 

Eddie salutes him, “got it, boss. Won’t be late.”

“Eddie?” Will asks, his voice still so quiet, barely lifting over the crackling of the fire, “you brought your guitar, right?”

Eddie hesitates. He did bring his guitar, the acoustic, pretty much solely because he’s in a bit of a codependent relationship with it that he’s not ready to examine too closely.

“He absolutely did, Will,” Steve agrees, and turns, beaming, to Eddie. “C’mon,” he encourages, “bring it out.”

Eddie brings out his guitar. 

There are requests at once, and Eddie plays some Beetles for Nancy, some Violent Femmes for Robin and some Monkees for Argyle and Jonathan. The kids request Fleetwood Mac and Dexys Midnight Runners and they stumble through awkward, tipsy dances and off key singing and Eddie watches as Steve continually shepherds them all from the edge of the fire.

Music was his first love. It’s what got him through his parents’ deaths and his move to Hawkins and his six years of high school. But as his friends dance around him, he realizes Corroded Coffin does not have to be his only form of adoration. Because this, his friends’ happiness, is so much more than enough.

Nancy and Robin break off first. They’re followed closely by El, Max and Lucas. Eventually Argyle and Jonathan find their way into their hammocks, and by the time Eddie says he has one more song in him, only Steve, Will, and Mike are left. 

The settle into their chairs and chill of the night is warded off by the fire, and he can feel Steve's eyes on him as he plays.

Eddie draws it out for as long as he can, stretching out the interludes and the choruses, wanting to feel that gaze on him for as long as possible.

When he strums the final chord Will and Mike give quiet, sleepy claps and head off to their own tent.

“Damn,” Steve murmurs when they’re out of earshot. “A personal concert from the frontman of Corroded Coffin , what’d I ever do to deserve that?”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “It’s not like we’re selling out stadiums, Stevie.”

Steve shrugs. “You could make it big though, Eddie. I know you could.”

It’s on the tip of Eddie’s tongue- I want to stay here. I want you, and Wayne, and Robin, and home. I want to come home.

But would it be wrong to tell Steve that now, when he’s only just come to terms with it? When he hasn’t thought any of it through? When, after a mere thirty six hours in his presence Eddie’s ready to throw Corroded Coffin and LA and music away just for him?

But it’s not just for him , he reminds himself. It’s for Wayne, and the kids, and Robin, and the sense of home that he’d been away from for so long he almost forgot what it felt like. That he feels now. Because home isn’t LA, and no amount of fame could ever compare.

“Honestly, making it big is seeming less and less enticing,” he admits, and leans over to put his guitar away as he says it, not wanting to meet Steve’s eyes.

“Really?” Steve whispers, as Eddie fastens the buckles on his case again, “but, California, and…” he trails off, his voice uncertain.

Eddie leans back in his chair and meets Steve’s gaze in the dim light of the glowing embers. Eddie feels the weight of the moment. He knows, all of a sudden, that he has to get this right.

“Two years ago I felt like I was going to crawl out of my skin. I mean, Hawkins was trying to kill me, man, and my monsters were real and I almost died and everything was turned upside down . I clung to my teenage dream of making it because that was the only thing that still made sense .” He pauses. Steve’s hand moves in the dark. He links their pinkies together. “But I think I’ve known for a while that I want to come home.”

Eddie can only just see the outline of Steve’s face in the darkness. The moonlight is weakly filtering through the leaves of the trees and the embers of the fire are illuminating the wisps of smoke it’s still emitting. 

“Why’d you keep that postcard?” Eddie asks. It’s been gnawing at him since he found it the previous morning, a constant questioning of but why but why but why that finally feels right to voice aloud.

“Postcard?” Steve wonders, and he wraps another finger around Eddie’s.

“The postcard I sent from Albuquerque. I found it in your closet, under the sleeping bag.” Eddie leaves out that it’s with him, now, tucked safely in the inner pocket of his leather jacket, the frayed edges pressed close to his heart.

“Oh,” Steve looks away, towards the lake. His voice is barely audible when he admits, “it was the only picture I had of you.”

The only picture I had of you. The only picture I had of you. The only-

Eddie can’t think. He can’t breathe. Steve continues, “I left it behind because Robin said I needed to let it go.” He meets Eddie’s eyes again. “That I need to let you go, Eddie.”

Eddie twines the rest of their fingers together. Steve’s hand is warm and solid against his. “Did you?” He asks, selfishly, because Steve should have. He should have let Eddie go and found someone else, found someone far more worthy than him of Steve’s attention.

“No,” Steve whispers, “never, Eddie.”

Steve’s so close to him. Another inch and their noses would brush, another inch after that would bring their lips together and Eddie wants to bring up his other hand, let it rest against Steve’s neck and feel that pulse beneath his fingertips, feel the steady thrum of Steve, alive, against him.

The RV door opens behind them.

Robin’s in the doorway, flashlight in her hand. She waves the beam toward the road. “Bathroom,” she says, loudly, and her face does something funny at Steve, an unreadable jump of her eyebrows that Steve must interpret far better than him. 

Steve’s grip on his hand tightens. Robin walks away.

“We should go to bed,” Eddie offers after a beat.

Steve looks away from Robin’s retreating silhouette. He can’t read his face in the dark, but after a moment Steve agrees. “Yeah, yes.” Steve stands, pulls on Eddie’s hand as he helps him up. “You have an early morning, tomorrow, Eds.”

Steve holds his hands all the way back to their tent. When they crawl into their sleeping bags, Steve curls around him, and Eddie can feel his heartbeat against him.

Chapter Text

Dustin and Mike do not comment on how they find Steve and Eddie wrapped around each other the next morning. 

Which is… unsettling. Dustin is the nosiest goddamn kid this side of the Mississippi and the fact that he stays silent on their walk to the trailhead sets Eddie’s teeth on edge.

He needs to talk about it. Definitely more with Steve and certainly with Robin, but with the kids, too. 

It’s not like he thinks any of them will deck them because of the whole two dudes thing, seeing as the potential end of the world tends to put things in perspective, but also…

Eddie’s not an idiot. He knows how this looks. Like he’s using Steve for the short time he’s back in Indiana and will drop him as soon as LA calls his name again. Because that may have slightly been what he did. The last time.

It’s different now. Eddie’s not the same person he was two years ago, for better or for worse. The better being he almost has a handle on his trauma now. He can sleep through the night about 70% of the time, hallelujah. He can fucking exist in the same state he almost died in. He can even look at the exact spot Chrissy died , and still inhale and exhale like a well adjusted human being.

And maybe he’s overthinking all of this because Steve is going to wise up and realize this, whatever their this is, isn’t what he wants. 

It would make sense. Eddie knows there’s no way someone like him was ever in someone like Steve’s life plan. But he also knows he’s ready to take a chance. Because if their little hand holding adventures were anything to go by, there’s a chance , so he has to try. He has to try with the guy he’s been pining for since all of his guts spilled out of him in the upside down and Steve was the one to hold keep them together.

Maybe Eddie’s being naive. Maybe this is insane. But Steve kept that stupid little doodle of him because it was the only picture he had of Eddie and then swore he never let him go. Which. That means more than just something , right? 

Dustin nudges him. “How’s the leg?” He asks, looking down at Eddie’s thigh as he asks, like his muscle could answer for him. 

Eddie grins, pinching the ridged edges of his scars together, “fantastic, precious!” He says in a raspy voice, the pink shiny edges looking far too much like lips.

Dustin fake gags and shoves at him, hand hitting air when Eddie dodges.

“We’re ready for an adventure, precious, don’t worry about us- ” 

“Dude please that’s so fucking creepy-” Mike whines, attempting to shove at him and missing -

“Don’t worry about us, precious!” He croons, and runs ahead of both of them.

“I literally can’t believe I thought you were cool,” Dustin grumbles.

Eddie turns, grinning maniacally. “We take great honors to that, precious,” he says, taking a deep bow.

“It’s too early for this shit,” Mike groans, but Eddie catches the smile that twitches at the corners of his lips.

Unfortunately, their smiles drop not five minutes later, once their hike truly begins, because this is serious business and Eddie’s not allowed to make jokes anymore.

The trail is much rockier than the first. There are steep inclines and large rocks in the earth they have to climb over, up and down and up and down and Eddie’s beginning to regret playing off Dustin’s concern so easily. But their idea is that since these pukwoodles lure people to their deaths by shoving them off ledges and cliffs, they should spend some time around ledges and cliffs. 

He survived the apocalypse, he reminds himself. He can survive some goddamn porcupines.

What he might not survive, however, is this hellish hike. Eddie wonders if they somehow woke up in Colorado, or Tennessee, or maybe even New York because he does not recall Indiana having fucking inclines like this. Even Dustin and Mike seem to be struggling after a while, and they’re not missing part of their muscle mass.

Eddie’s in the thick of contemplating his life choices when Dustin stops so suddenly Eddie nearly runs into him.

“Fuck, Henderson,” he gripes, “warn a guy!”

But then Eddie sees why he’s stopped. The trail ends abruptly, the bridge that once connected the two halves of the trail has rotted through in the middle, the last dregs of it still clinging on to either end.

Dustin’s shoulders have slumped, his face crumpling until his eyes take up half the goddamn real estate.

“Oh,” he exhales, and Eddie’s pretty sure the dude’s whole spirit blew out of him with that one little word.

“Hey, man,” Eddie begins, and even though he’s sweaty, and so is Dustin, he wraps an arm around him and pulls him close. “I know you were looking forward to this, but it’s alright, yeah? I believe that you saw the pukwudgie. You don’t have to convince me.”

Dustin’s expression doesn’t change, but he leans into Eddie’s touch. He shrugs. “We just thought it’d be cool, you know?”

Mike slowly comes up to his other side, so Eddie throws an arm around his shoulders, too.

“We-” Mike starts, and he sees him give Dustin a meaningful look before continuing, “we just wanted to make sure you had a good time.”

“We know all this is lame in comparison to where you are now.” Dustin hastily continues, and Eddie’s really glad he has both his arms thrown around these kids because he’s starting to feel a little lightheaded, “but we thought, you know, if we brought some of our D&D magic, the fun kind ” he emphasizes, “that maybe this trip could still be cool.”

“But we get why you stay away.” He adds, “because LA sounds great and Corroded Coffin is there and you’re going to make it big, Eddie, we really know you are and- and we’re not trying to get you to come back or anything- but,” Dustin chews at his bottom lip, looking to Mike.

“Shit isn’t the same without you,” Mike finishes.

F uck. This is not what Eddie was prepared for. All of this- because they thought he needed an excuse to come back ? That they needed to get him to spot some fucking cryptid so Indiana would be enticing enough for him to visit?

It takes him too long to reply, his throat tight and his nose burning because Mike begins to wiggle in his grip.

“It was dumb,” Mike says, and there’s that hardness in his voice again, the one Eddie left behind two years ago and he is not going to let that happen again.

He pulls them into a hug. It’s gangly and uncoordinated and he smashes all of their bones together at awkward angles, but Eddie holds onto them so tight he hopes they get the message.

He coughs wetly. “You guys don’t need to do anything to get me to come back, alright?” He asks, and he feels distinctly like a divorced father as he says it, unable to look either of them in the eyes because this damn forest is kicking up his allergies, but he presses his fingers roughly into their skin as he continues, “I spent the last two years being pretty damn selfish. But it’s out of my system, now, alright? Because- because I’m coming back. I’m over it. California blows. Everyone’s a stuck up jackass and performing is getting fucking boring.” He releases them so he can finally look them in the eyes as he says, “besides, I missed you all too much to stay away much longer, anyways.” He has to pause, wiping his cheek against his shirt sleeve. “I’m gonna be here by the time you both are at IU this fall.” He promises, because come hell or high water, he fucking will.

God, he loves them. Eddie doesn’t know if he sees them more as his kids or his brothers but when they pull him back in for a much less awkward hug, it feels like family all the same.

It takes them a long while to get back to the campsite, because unfortunately his body decided it’s had absolutely enough of this bullshit . Pain fires up his leg with such ferocity that by the time they’re back on the campgrounds Dustin and Mike are helping him along. 

“This is giving me deja vu man,” Dustin complains, “and not in the fun way.”

Eddie cringes, and the guilt that will forever be lodged like a thorn in his side swirls through him. “‘M sorry,” he murmurs, but Mike just snorts.

“He’s trying to get you to feel bad so you can take some of the blame off him when we get back,” Mike jeers, “but some of us, ” Mike emphasizes, glaring at Dustin, “face our consequences like men .”

Only five minutes later Eddie understands what he means. A very harried looking Steve Harrington storms up to the group of them when he sees them nearly carrying Eddie, and he practically pops a blood vessel chewing them all out. 

But Steve looks so hot when he does it, his handsome face all flushed, those perfect eyebrows pushed together and his hair all in disarray from running his fingers through it.

Eddie must start focusing a little too hard on Steve’s lovely face and not hard enough on staying upright because the world begins to tilt underneath his feet.

It’s only then that all the color drains from Steve’s charming face and Eddie’s weight is taken from Dustin and Mike. 

Steve smells good, the bastard. Who smells good after three days of camping? Steve Harrington, apparently, that’s who. 

Eddie leans into him a little more than is strictly necessary. “Sorry, sweetheart,” Eddie pants, and he feels his bangs sticking to his forehead as Steve helps him along, his borrowed sweatshirt now soaked through, “it was me. Not them. Dustin checked on me- I was,” he pauses, still winded, “being stubborn.”

Steve helps him into a lawn chair by the fire. He squats and rests his palms on Eddie’s clammy face. He runs his thumbs across Eddie’s cheekbones. “I’m gonna get you something to eat.” He says, then presses a kiss to Eddie’s forehead before walking away.

He glances up to Mike and Dustin, who are both smirking obnoxiously at him.

“So the eye-fucking has turned to forehead kisses ,” Dustin stage whispers, and Mike nods, stroking his chin.

“A very interesting development,” Mike stage whispers back, and if Eddie had more energy he’d whack them both upside the head. 

Alas, he doesn’t, and instead he brushes off the others’ concerns as they flood in front of him, playing it off with jokes about his old war wound acting up and how it always does this before a storm , then slaps it for good measure, a joke which falls flat as his friends cringe. 

Thankfully, however, his lightheadedness is beginning to lessen by the time Steve returns, a mushy bowl of oatmeal in his hands.

“Don’t even start,” he admonishes, at Eddie’s scrunched up face, “it’s got sugar in it, and you need the glucose.”

The texture is gummy and sticky, and if Steve wasn’t the one who made it for him he probably would’ve pushed it away like a maladapted toddler, but he chokes the slop down and drinks the bottle of water Steve thrusts at him, and even though his leg still hurts like a bitch he’s not feeling so weak anymore. 

“Thank you,” he mumbles to Steve, when his bowl is cleared. He nudges his toe against Steve’s. “Sorry.”

Steve tucks his still sweaty hair behind his ear. “Maybe just don’t do it again, yeah? I’ve seen Dustin carry you like that to last me several lifetimes.”

Yeah, Eddie’s a fucking prick .

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, and he circles his fingers around Steve’s forearm. “Won’t happen again.”

They sit by the fire for a while, after that. Until the sun has warmed their little campsite and his pain has gone from oppressive to aggravating , and the kids begin to discuss what they want to do with their day. 

El, apparently, desperately wants to go fishing. 

“I would like to catch a fish and then eat it,” she says resolutely, her big brown eyes wide with excitement, and Eddie wonders how Hopper could ever deny her anything.

Dustin quickly follows up her announcement by sharing that he saw a bait and tackle store on their way through town the other day, bouncing on his fucking toes as he does.

It doesn’t take long before all the kids are getting their knickers in twists about fishing. 

Eddie, for his part, doesn’t get it. He remembers long, early mornings with Wayne spent hunched over on rocky lake beds waiting for that dip of the bobber while he tried not to crawl out of his own skin. But, he supposes, El has a longer attention span than him.

So after much insistence from Eddie that yes Steve I’m completely fine, the man of the hour takes El, Max, Nancy, and Dustin to the bait and tackle store in that ridiculous RV.

The campsite feels much bigger without it. Somehow sunnier, too, and Eddie’s finally starting to regain normal sensation in his extremities after resting in the warmth. 

It is also, however, making the sweaty clothing he’s still wearing distinctly uncomfortable. 

He’s peeling off Steve’s sweatshirt when he notices it.

He clasps his hands around his throat, fingers stroking bare skin and he paws at his chest, then pats down his stomach like the chain could possibly be there. 

“ Fuck ,” he mutters, and in a last ditch attempt he flips Steve’s sweatshirt inside out like maybe the guitar pick could’ve gotten caught on the inside.

It didn’t, of course, and the fuzzy green interior stares bare and taunting back at him.

“ Goddamn it ,” he curses, again, because this sucks- this more than fucking sucks, actually, and he can feel himself starting to panic, a little, because that stupid fucking guitar pick means something .

“Hey,” Jonathan says, and his hand is on his arm when Eddie stands, “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, man.”

“I’m good,” Eddie grits out, like a stubborn fucking asshole, like he didn’t just have to be spoon fed oatmeal like a frail Victorian child not fifteen minutes prior, “I think I lost something on our hike, I just-” he hesitates, “I just need to find it,” he glances towards the path that leads out of their campsite, already knowing there’s no way he’d make it far.

Jonathan stands too. “Alright, well, Argyle and I will go look for it so you can take it easy, dude. What’d you lose?”

Eddie’s eyes dart to Argyle, who’s already looking expectantly at him.

“It’s my guitar pick necklace,” he says, with as much confidence as he can muster, because saying it out loud feels so pathetic.

Jonathan nods like this is exactly how he planned on spending his morning. “Alright man, no biggie.” 

“We totally got this,” Argyle assures him, “I lost my name tag at Surfer Boy once and then found it with the pepperoni.” He gives Eddie a meaningful look like that should hold some significance for him.

After a second of hesitation, Eddie lands on, “I trust you, dude.” Which seems to be the correct response, because Argyle tips his head back and smiles at him.

Mike, Lucas and Will are quick to tag along, Mike helpfully noting he can show them the way and Will blushing to his roots when Wheeler asks if he’d come, too. 

Lucas is recruited for his jock eyesight, whatever the hell that means, and after Eddie hesitantly explains he has no idea where on the trail he lost it, they’re bidding him adieu. 

The camp is silent when they leave. Eddie looks down at his traitorous thigh.

“Asshole,” he mumbles at it. “Just had to go and be all dramatic, didn’t you?” He sighs, sinking deeper into the fabric chair. “I guess you get it from me,” he continues, dipping his head back so he’s facing the sun. “I’m much less obnoxious, though.”

The hot sun sinks into his skin. His brain wants to get up and do something, fingers already drumming restlessly on the arm of his chair. He thinks about swimming, but he’s not sure he can change by himself just yet.

“Where the fuck did everyone go ?” 

Her voice nearly makes him jump out of his skin.

“ Fuck , Rob,” he gasps, rocketing up in his chair and clutching his chest like an actress in a dated horror movie, “how can your clumsy ass move so silently?”

Robin snorts, then takes a seat next to him, looking around. “Seriously, I go to take a shit and everyone leaves?”

“Well, we lost Steve, El, Nance, Dustin and Max to the irresistible lure of the bait and tackle shop, as you know. However the rest just recently departed on a truly noble quest to find my lost medallion.” Eddie answers, falling back to borderline nonsensical descriptions as his nerves grow in her presence.

She glances over to him. “Your guitar pick.” She translates, and he nods.

A moment passes by in tense, awkward silence. Eddie was ready to fill the next with his own obnoxious voice, something off topic and certainly inappropriate, but instead Robin huffs, stands, and goes to one of the coolers. She pulls out two beers.

“‘C’mon, Munson,” she says, wrestling her keychain bottle opener out of her pocket, “we gotta have a chat.”

It takes Eddie a frustratingly long time to make it to the lakeshore. Robin doesn’t push him. She takes the steps slowly alongside, bottles clinking in her hand. She doesn’t do that obnoxious thing where she tries to hold his elbow, or his shoulder without asking, she just strolls along like this is the pace she’d set for herself, anyways.

He knows, at this point, that he should’ve brought his cane. But, as usual, he wanted to be a stubborn prick about things. 

He thinks of it longingly, still crammed under his bed in LA. 

They eventually sit at the edge of the lake, because it’s easier to stare out at the water than at each other, and at a respectable 10:30 am they each take the first sips of their beers.

Robin doesn’t waste any time.

“Steve told me you’re leaving LA.”

Right down to business. If his leg still didn’t hurt so goddamn much he’d probably be pacing, but instead he directs all of his nervous energy to the poor beer bottle label that’s currently sweating against his clammy palm.

Eddie nods. “I need to work it out with the rest of the band, and they’ll probably be pissed, but,” he’s gotten the top corner of the label separated from the bottle, “I’ve missed home for a while now.”

“Home,” she repeats. “What happened to being happy in LA?”

He’d said that not 24 hours ago, hadn’t he?

Eddie licks his lips, nerves pricking at him. “I lied.”

“You lied,” she says, parroting him again. “And you’re not lying now? That this is what you want? That this time, some abstract sense of home will be what makes you happy?” She pauses, and Eddie stares at the sand, wishing she could just open up his brain and rifle through and understand without him having to say any of it out loud.

“Because we’re not in Hawkins, anymore, Eddie.” She continues, “soon the kids won’t be, either. Do you think Steve’s magically going to provide that feeling for you? Because if you think he is, and then when a couple months in the novelty wears off and you get that itch under your skin again, I’m going to fuck you up.”

Hot annoyance burns through his chest but he swallows it quickly. 

He deserves this.

“I’m not toying with him.” He promises, and he looks up to Robin as he says this, so she can see that he means that. “It’s not-” he hesitates, wondering how to articulate this, the pain along his left side making his thoughts all cloudy, but Robin seems content to wait, sipping slowly at her drink as he gathers his thoughts. 

“LA isn’t good for me,” he finally lands on. And he’s gonna go all into it now, isn’t he? Because he’s definitely going to need to flay open soul or some poetic shit like that to get her to understand. 

He resumes his endeavor of picking at the beer bottle label, unable to meet Robin’s gaze once again. “I catch myself thinking just the worst shit , dude. Like the kind of stuff I used to hate in other people. Judgmental, superficial crap. And it’s easy not to notice when you’re, like, surrounded by it. But when I would call home and talk to you all it’s like I would come back to myself. I started realizing I was changing, and like, not for the better.” 

He hesitates again. Because he hasn’t told anybody this next part. Not Wayne, not the band. This, before now, had been between him and whatever deity may or may not be out there. “And then a couple weeks ago something kind of fucked up happened.” He continues, and his heart is in his throat as he speaks, the memories resurfacing that he’d tried so hard to bury, “I hooked up with this guy. We met after one of my shows and we were both way too drunk and we-” he stumbles here, his face flushing, “didn’t use protection.”

“I didn’t even realize until the next morning. I kicked him out and got tested like, as soon as possible. But I felt in my bones, man. I can’t even describe it. I felt like I knew I had it. Like that was it. I had made it to LA and now I would die there. Like, what a way to go. Very Liberace.” The joke falls flat against the wet sand, and he scrubs a hand over his face.

“But it took all of that for me to start thinking that maybe what I had wasn’t what I wanted from life. That maybe I didn’t want what I thought I had wanted for so long.” Robin’s still listening to him, silently twirling the neck of the beer bottle between her fingers. He swallows.

“But then it came back negative.” He says, in a huff of relief, even now. “Guy was clean, fucking somehow. And then that just fucked me up more, I guess. It felt like my second brush with death. Like,” he swipes a hand over his mouth, finally putting to words what he’d been grappling with for the past three months.

“Because I almost died in Hawkins, you know? Like I did die, a little bit, apparently. And like- I’m not religious, or any of that nonsense, but god, Robbie, it felt like the universe was giving me a sign , in bright red gorey letters, yeah, but a sign that I should get the fuck out. And then I thought I was going to die again. And it felt like another sign, like, this isn’t right for you either . But then it was fine, and I didn’t know what to think anymore.”

“But maybe that’s bullshit.” He mumbles. “Maybe it’s more like I was too chicken shit to come home with my tail between my legs.” He says lowly, “too afraid to admit to myself that the dream I’d chased for so long isn’t what I want anymore. To tell my band mates I’m out. It was just so much easier to duck my head in the sand and keep to the path I’d set for myself. So I didn’t tell anyone, and it was like it never happened.”

“But then I came on this trip,” he looks up at her again, finally, and her eyes are large and searching and attentive, “and I think I’m done looking for signs. I think I just need to listen to like, my gut. Or my heart, or some sappy shit like that.”

He’s been talking for too long. But Robin continues her silence, and he knows she’s listening in earnest, leaning forward on her knees.

“And I don’t know what will happen between Steve and I. But I’ve been like, half in love with him since he pulled my ass from the upside down and I think the moment I stepped back in Hawkins the other half started to fall, too. I don’t expect him to like, reciprocate, but-”

Finally he’s cut off, Robin’s snort of laughter breaking him out of his monologue, and he looks over at her, her face bright red with laughter.

“ Reciprocate ,” she parrots, then dissolved into a true fit of giggles, nearly spilling her beer all over herself as she tips back, her feet pedaling in the air as her laughter continues, “and lesbians get a bad rep for this shit I swear to god .” She takes a deep, steadying breath, finally tilting back up so her feet are on the ground. She looks at him, a lightness in her expression, now. Eddie releases the tension that had built up in his shoulders. He smiles back at her.

“Goddamn it, Eddie,” she says, shaking her head. “I was ready to like, make you fight for Steve’s honor. ” She holds up her fists in an imitation of a boxing stance as she says this, her eyes just barely meeting his above her knuckles. “But then you had to be all earnest and sincere- ” she drops her fists, eyes him up and down. “Unfortunately, you asshole, I trust you.”

Eddie can’t help the disgusting, giddy smile that overtakes his face at that. Robin trusts him - trusts him with her other half, and it just might be the biggest compliment Eddie’s ever received.

“For the record, though, Munson,” and her tone goes chilly at this, “be careful with him, or I’ll break every one of your fingers.”

Still smiling giddily, he replies, “I promise , Robbie.” 

He holds up his pinky. She rolls her eyes, and links hers around his.

——

Eddie’s nearly forgotten about his guitar pick by the time the others come back, he’s so happy. But one look at Lucas’s forlorn face confirms no dice.

“Sorry man,” Jonathan apologizes, taking a seat on the sandy shore on Eddie’s unoccupied side, “we couldn’t find it anywhere.”

Which is a little heartbreaking. His dad was a lot of things, a good parent not among them, but he was still his dad. Still the guy who bought him his first guitar and taught him to play Paranoid . Still the guy who would never be able to give him anything else, ever again. 

But Eddie nods. “Thanks for trying, dude.” He holds up his hand for a fist bump. Jonathan taps his knuckles against his. “I fucking appreciate it.”

Argyle slaps him on the shoulder. “I’m totally putting it into the universe, man. We’re gonna find it. Maybe this time it’ll be like, with the hot dogs. ”

Will wedges himself between him and Robin, and wraps an arm around Eddie, too. “Or we’ll get you a new one.” He offers, and Eddie wraps him in a one armed hug.

Lucas sits in front of Eddie, leaning back against Eddie’s good leg. “Sorry man,” he mumbles, and Eddie leans forward to ruffle the kid’s hair. 

“No apologies,” he reprimands, “thanks for trying, kid.”

On the shore of this objectively shitty lake in Indiana the seven of them sit, and Eddie knows there is nowhere else he would rather be.

——

El ends up catching a largemouth bass, but gets so excited when she does she accidentally sets it free.

Apparently, the kids had used some of their graduation money on fishing supplies. You know, instead of normal things eighteen year olds would want, like drugs or beer or concert tickets.

It’s nothing fancy, but the bait and tackle store had offered some cheap options. 

What really sends Eddie into hysterics, though, is the fact that Max and El had grabbed the last two decent-looking beginners rods, leaving Dustin with-

“It’s not that bad ,” Dustin moans, as Mike, teary eyed, watches him cast with his bright pink pole.

“It’s-” Mike’s nearly hiccuping as he laughs, pointing at the pole, “her hair is the reel!”

And it certainly is. Dustin’s bright pink Barbie themed pole has her ponytail as the reel, and Eddie feels a little bad for goading Mike on, but- 

He claps Mike on the back. “Jonathan, please tell me you brought your camera!” He laughs, and it’s less funny that it’s a Barbie pole and more funny at how fucking goofy it looks- little Barbie faces all over the handle- and how flustered Dustin looks about the whole thing.

Jonathan did bring his camera, but acts all chivalrous about it, only taking the photo when Dustin gives his reluctant permission.

He glowers at the camera as Jonathan snaps the photo, and Eddie can’t resist getting in the back of it, Mike at his side, each of them throwing up devil horns.

“You’ll see,” Dustin says smugly, “I’m going to catch more than El and Max.”

“We’ll see about that, Henderson,” Max says as she casts out for the first time.

She’d been adamant that she’d be able to feel the line pull when she caught one, no sight needed. “It’s because my other senses are heightened .” She’d explained.

She proves this point not ten minutes later, triumphantly holding up one very tiny bluegill.

Eventually, Mike gets over the Barbie pole. Dustin graciously allows him to take turns with it, a very self-satisfied smile on his face. Max nearly elbows Lucas in the throat when he asks if he can assist, but eventually she allows him to cast out a few lines himself. El gladly offers her pole to Will when he asks, their patience being enough that Eddie thinks Henderson might have to eat his words.

The distraction of fishing leaves the six adults free to chat amongst themselves, and Steve looks on so happily at Robin and Eddie’s conversations he’s a little worried the guy might just vibrate out of his own skin. 

The afternoon dips into a soft and warm evening. Robin falls into conversation with Nancy, and Argyle and Jonathan go on a walk , and Steve comes over to him with fresh beers for them both. He sits so closely to Eddie their knees brush.

“I didn’t mean to throw you to the wolves,” he murmurs, and nods at Robin when he speaks, “sorry.”

Eddie leans into him, presses his knee more fully into Steve’s, “it was a hard fought battle for your honor, my liege, but with my unparalleled wit, I was able to triumph.”

Steve’s smile grows as he rolls his eyes, dipping further into Eddie’s space. “So who do I have to fight for your honor, then? Because I’m not sure I could take on Wayne. I have a feeling he’d kick my ass.”

“Oh, Wayne’s already well aware I have no honor left.” He says with a smile, “he’s going to be very thankful if anyone wants my hand.”

Steve’s smile softens. He grabs Eddie’s scarred left hand in his. “Well,” Steve says, and the air around them changes, “I certainly do.”

Eddie’s pretty sure his whole brain just spilled out of his ears. 

I certainly do. I certainly do. I-

His face burns but he keeps his eyes on Steve, who’s still smiling so softly at him. 

If they weren’t surrounded by all of their friends Eddie would’ve kissed him, right then and there. Because what the hell reaction is he supposed to have to something like that?

Robin, however, is not eighteen inches away, and as much as Eddie understands (or doesn’t) their soulmate bond, he’s pretty sure she wouldn’t appreciate seeing him with his tongue down Steve’s throat. 

Thrillingly, however, Steve looks like he’s barely holding back too, his gaze falling to Eddie’s lips and then back up, a promise of later in his eyes.

Later, unfortunately, becomes hours later, because as they’re leaving bright and early tomorrow, the kids are insistent on staying up as late as possible.

Steve enters his Boy Scout persona once again, setting up a cooking stove operation using a large, thin, flat rock over the campfire. Steve explains that no, they won’t be using the stove in the RV to cook fish because they’d never get the smell out, and there’s no way in hell he’s paying those extra cleaning fees.

Eddie’s never been quite the biggest fan of seafood, but Nancy dumps ranch all over his cut of the bass Will had caught, and he finds it perfectly edible that way.

Steve stares at him like he’s rethinking every life decision he’s ever made, watching his ex and his new beau stuff their faces with fish and ranch, but then Robin does it too because “looking at the scales” was creeping her out, and it’s only then that Steve seems to resign himself to his fate.

They play more cards before the sun goes down completely. Games like Go Fish and Old Maid because Eddie has the attention span of a raccoon and none of the kids want to play poker after Will kicked their asses the day before. 

When he really feels like he’s about to twitch out of his skin, right leg bouncing and fingers drumming, Steve wraps his arm around Eddie’s waist. He presses his fingers into Eddie’s side and scratches gently there, his dull nails tracing the lines of his ribcage. 

Eddie now, contrary to the Eddie of two years ago, is not a virgin. But this- this casual, possessive touch, this act of desire even when they aren’t doing anything sexual, is very, very new. Steve wants him, him! Eddie Munson! Steve wants Eddie. Steve wants Eddie. And this reciprocation of want, is just so fucking nice. To know that the object of your desires unquestioningly wants you back? Eddie’s not sure anything else could possibly compare.

It’s with great difficulty that Eddie stays present. He tries very hard to not let his imagination slip into where else those fingers could be traveling, and instead stays focused on their game of Uno that Dustin is getting too competitive in. 

Eddie thought it’d be easier when they move to the campfire and have to sit in different chairs. Steve, however, knocks their feet together as they polish off the marshmallows, and even through layers of canvas Steve’s touch is intoxicating. His head swims with it, his skin buzzing with a constant thrum of touch! We're touching!

It’s only when Max asks him to bring out his guitar that Steve finally pulls away. 

Unfortunately, he can’t play for long. His body has shifted from tired to now we’re revolting because you pushed too hard , but he’s able to strum through a couple songs before his grip strength begins to wane, his fingers trembling so violently at the end Brown Eyed Girl (he wasn’t about to deny these people a campfire classic ) he’s barely able to hit the last few chords.

Steve takes his hand once he’s put his guitar away. “What’s wrong?” he whispers, grabbing Eddie’s fingers, “you’re trembling.”

“They do that.” He murmurs back, “after I overexert myself my hands and feet get all weak and numb.”

“Does anything help?” Steve asks, beginning to massage his fingers, and Eddie shrugs.

“Weed, sometimes,” he watches Steve’s fingers continue to work over the skin of his hand. “Although,” he adds, “what you’re doing feels really nice.”

“Good,” Steve whispers, smiling, “I’ll keep doing it, then.”

His fingers are firm but gentle, rubbing into Eddie’s stiff joints and keeping them warm. There’s a line between his eyebrows, like he’s concentrating very hard on this quiet endeavor.

And it does help, because by the time Will asks to look at the stars again, he’s able to curl his fingers into actual fists.

“Just out by the lake, maybe?” Will asks, and Eddie knows they’re all doing it for his benefit, but the fact that no one brings it up makes his insides go all gooey. 

They get sand in their hair and in the creases of their skin as they lie there, but Steve lies next to him and presses close, until their arms and legs are flush together. Nancy asks if any of them know anything about the stars, so Eddie finds different shapes in the sky, pulling stories out of his ass for constellations that may or may not exist. He’s definitely read enough Greek tragedies to get the gist.

Eventually, catching on, the kids feed off of it, branching off with their own stories, leaving Eddie to focus on the feeling of Steve’s arm pressed against his.

It’s a long while after that when the kids finally start to get drowsy. Their group trickles off, in groups and in pairs, until it’s just Robin, Eddie, and Steve. 

Robin stands, looking down at the both with her hands on her hips in a frighteningly close imitation of the man next to him. She points her finger at Eddie. 

“I’m trusting you-”

“Oh my god Robin-”

“To not be an asshole- ”

Steve kicks weakly at her and she jumps aside-

“So don’t take advantage of my decency , Munson-”

Steve kicks at her again and he makes contact, bumping her in the calf.

“Dick!” She admonishes, and kicks up sand at him, making Steve splutter, and sneeze, and he looks ready to kick her for real this time as he sits up.

“I’m doing this for you dingus,” Robin chides, then directs her attention to Eddie once again. “I’m not above still making you fight for Steve’s honor, so don’t give me a reason.”

“You’re so annoying ,” Steve gripes, this time grabbing at her with his hands.

She lets out a shout of triumphant laughter when she dodges. “You rule, ” she says to Steve, beaming, and then winks dorkily at him.

Eddie has no idea what the hell is going on, but Steve’s face goes red at her words. “Yeah, whatever,” he grumbles, but his evident joy bleeds through every syllable, ruining the intended effect.

Robin stoops and presses a loud, smacking kiss to the crown of Steve’s head. “Love you,” she singsongs, then wiggles her fingers as she walks away.

Steve buries his face in his hands.

“Unbearable,” he mutters, words garbled through his fingers.

Eddie grabs at his elbow. “She’s sweet,” he says, truthfully, and Steve drops his hands, looking back at Eddie with a flushed face.

Eddie smiles, tugging at him again and this time Steve complies, falling next to Eddie so he’s on his side, facing him.

“I’m glad you think so,” Steve admits quietly, “other people I’ve dated haven’t- they haven’t liked her. Us .”

Eddie turns slightly so he can cup Steve’s face with his hand.

“They’re idiots,” he whispers, “why wouldn’t I want you to be friends with someone who makes you so happy?” Eddie grins, adding, “I know that means I’m gonna have to share you.”

Steve huffs a laugh. “Good, because I think she’s serious about fighting you.” He curls his fingers through Eddie’s, and then his smile dims, all at once.

“I’m going to miss you.”

Eddie edges closer to him. “I’ll call,” he promises, “every day until I’m back. I have two months left on my lease, and then I’m coming back.”

“Would you- I mean,” Steve stumbles, biting his lip. “Will you be moving back to Hawkins?”

“Maybe for a little while,” Eddie reasons, “it’s been a while since I’ve seen Wayne. And he’s just,” Eddie adds, smiling, “so lost without me, you know? Don’t even know what he’s been doing the past two years without me bothering him, so I gotta go do my due diligence there for a while.”

Steve's smile returns. “Of course, of course. He probably doesn’t enjoy his quiet mornings at all, or the fact he can watch his shows without your music shaking the windows.”

“The fact that you think I was ever up early enough to not give Wayne a quiet morning is a little adorable.”

Steve rolls his eyes, flushing, his cute cheeks round in a grin, and Eddie wants to kiss him. 

Steve props himself up on his elbow so he’s looking down at Eddie. The moon lights up his fluffy hair and Eddie’s certain he’s never seen anyone so beautiful in his entire life. 

“You’d- want to make this work, then? Because…” Steve trails off, unsure, and Eddie thinks of Robin giggling at his uncertainty, thinks of all his own worries and his unwillingness to push, to take that last step, and-

“Yeah, Stevie,” he assures, grabbing his hand. “Hundred percent.”

Steve kisses him. 

On the sandy shore of fucking nowhere Indiana, Steve kisses him, with his soft mouth and his warm hand still around Eddie’s, and yeah, Eddie would give up a lot more than his life in LA for this. He thinks he’d give up music altogether. He’d give up D&D and weed and literally anything and everything if he could keep Steve like this, pressed against him.

Steve’s free hand curls around his face and it’s all Eddie can do to wrap his arms around him, feel the sturdiness of Steve’s back and the softness of his skin as Eddie rakes his fingers under Steve’s shirt and- it’s wonderful. 

Steve’s hand leaves his face to crawl into his hair, palm against the side of his head and this is the softest way Eddie’s ever been kissed- gentle caresses and Steve’s tongue slowly licking into his mouth.

There’s no urgency.

Steve’s thumb slowly strokes along Eddie’s hairline, like he would be content to stay there all night, just kissing him. 

Not like Eddie would have any objections.

But then Eddie moves his hand, trails it up Steve’s back and into his hair and pulls , just slightly, because he finally gets to touch that gorgeous head of hair (the hair he’d been fantasizing running his hands through for years , thank you very much) and Steve moans.

Low and rumbling and quiet, but Eddie hears him in the silent night and Eddie’s dick, already half hard, very much likes the sound of that.

“Should’ve known hair pulling would do it for you,” Eddie mumbles against Steve’s mouth, trying to regain some semblance of cognitive function.

“Fuck off ,” Steve groans, breath ghosting over Eddie’s face, but his eyes are bright in the dark night and he’s smiling, that warm, gentle smile Eddie hopes is just for him.

They pause for a moment, Steve still hovering over him, until a particularly strong gust of cold wind carries sand into both their faces. 

Attractively, Eddie coughs, and spits the sand in his mouth to the side. 

“Let’s go to the tent,” Steve offers.

It’s a bit of an affair getting to the tent. Eddie’s leg fucking aches - bone deep and biting, exhaustion creeping into his other limbs and up his spine until he has no choice but to grab Steve’s offered arm.

He hates doing it, knows he should’ve brought his cane, or better yet told Dustin and Mike no I cannot go on a cryptid hunting adventure with you , because that would’ve been the smart thing, knowing his limits, and all that jazz. But Eddie’s never been good with that. He always has to nudge the line, and this time he went careening past it. 

It was worth it, though.

When they enter the tent, Steve unzips both their sleeping bags completely, laying them out so there’s one on top and one on bottom. Steve tugs the sleeping pad he’d been using the past two nights to Eddie’s side, and gestures for him to lie down.

Painfully, Eddie crawls in. Which is a bitch, because he’s still very hard, still very much wants Steve’s hands on him, but he’s also positive he wouldn’t be able to do anything besides lie here. 

Steve crawls in next to him. He props himself up on one arm and stares down at Eddie, his face barely visible in the dim lighting on the tent. He tucks Eddie’s errant hair behind his ear, dips down, and kisses him again. 

It’s a different kiss this time. More heat, the flick of Steve’s tongue in his mouth and soon a free hand is rubbing across Eddie’s stomach, calloused fingers stroking reverently across his gnarled skin.

“Is this too much?” Steve asks, as he dips a finger under Eddie’s waistband.

He wants it to be a definitive no, wants to shake it off and be able to wrap himself around Steve until they both come, but he doesn’t think he has enough feeling in his hands for even a measly handjob.

“I want to,” Eddie murmurs, “I don’t think you have any fucking idea- but,” his face flushes, even though Steve knows , was there for the worst of it, when Eddie couldn’t even make it to the fucking bathroom without help, “I think my body would actually revolt if I did anything besides lie here.”

Eddie can barely see in the dark, but he sees the glint of Steve’s teeth as he smiles. 

“You definitely don’t have to do anything other than just lie there.”

And- oh.

Steve looks at him expectantly, waiting for explicit permission, and yeah, he’s hurting, but fuck it. He hurts half the time, anyways. He nods.

Steve dives in, kissing him again. He moves around Eddie so both his knees are bracketing Eddie’s hips, careful to not press his body weight into him, and licks into his mouth. 

Their shirts go first. Eddie’d be damned if he didn’t at least claw his fingers through that perfect chest hair- so he does- drags his hands down Steve’s chest and back up, tries to ingrain the feeling of Steve’s skin against his into his very pores, the sensation of their tongues in each others mouths and the breathy little gasps Steve gives when Eddie digs his short nails into his skin.

Steve’s mouth leaves his and begins kissing up his jaw and then down his throat, and down. 

He pauses at Eddie’s one remaining nipple, grazing his teeth over it and then sucking- and Eddie has to physically bite down on his hand to keep quiet.

Eddie’s not sure if Steve’s ever been with another guy before. They’ve definitely never talked about it, but there’s no hesitation as Steve reaches into Eddie’s pants and takes him into his hand.

Eddie’s pretty sure his brain short circuits. Because this is Steve, his Steve, the object of all his romantic hopes and dreams and he’s here with his hand wrapped around Eddie’s dick.

He’s leaking precum not three strokes in. “So pretty, ” Steve whispers, stroking a finger over Eddie’s slit.

Eddie clamps his jaw shut, whining high in the back of his throat. He hasn’t been with anyone save his own right hand in weeks - and Steve’s so warm and so close, his large hand around Eddie’s cock.

“Wanna taste you,” Steve whispers into his ear. “Please?”

Oh fuck. It takes him a moment to reply, overwhelmed already.

“Yeah,” he whimpers, and his voice is almost unrecognizable already, high and needy.

“Gonna make you feel good, baby,” he says, and gives Eddie one chaste kiss before dipping lower, sucking open mouthed kisses down Eddie’s stomach. 

Eddie’s never been self conscious about his scars, per se, but having Steve press his plush lips to them as he goes lower is new . No one ever particularly wants to touch them, but Steve seems to be forming a new religion down there.

He sucks and nips and kisses down Eddie’s stomach and past his navel, pulling down Eddie’s pants and boxers so he can continue his work on the inside of Eddie’s thighs, taking the soft flesh into his mouth and sucking.

It makes more precum dribble out of him, and his dick is so hard it’s nearly pressed against his stomach, dark red with want.

Steve brings his mouth away from Eddie’s inner thigh. 

He looks up, eyes hooded. He locks his fingers between Eddie’s before licking a long, wide stripe up Eddie’s dick.

It’s a miracle Eddie doesn’t come from that alone. His hips buck reflexively, chasing the sensation, and Steve gives him one last grin before taking him completely into his mouth.

And holy shit does Steve have a nice mouth. He makes obscene, wet noises as he swirls his tongue around Eddie, taking the time to pump the base of Eddie’s cock with his free hand. 

Maybe it’s the fact that it’s been a while, or maybe because it’s Steve (it’s most definitely the latter) but Eddie can feel his orgasm building already, deep inside of him, a warm pool that’s slowly engulfing each one of his organs-

There’s a noise outside. Right outside their tent.

Steve, apparently, didn’t hear. He keeps going, and Eddie’s about to write it off because he’s so close- 

And he hears it again. And if it’s one of the kids, the thought of any of them hearing-

“Steve,” it comes out breathy, but Steve looks up at him, stops at the expression on his face. 

There’s spit on his reddened lips and his eyelashes are wet and holy shit if it’s one of those kids Eddie’s going to fucking murder them for ruining this-

“Did you hear that?” He whispers.

“What?” Steve’s voice is all fried, and it’s possibly the hottest thing Eddie’s ever heard. 

“There’s someone outside,” he whispers. 

Steve raises one attractive eyebrow. “Babe, I didn’t hear anything. You sure it wasn’t just the cicadas?”

“I know what cicadas sound like, you jackass.” He curls his fingers into the sleeping bag below him. “Just- what if it’s one of the kids? What if it’s Max with her- super hearing- or whatever?”

Steve grins at him. “You loud when you come, sunshine?”

Eddie’s exceedingly glad for the dark so Steve can’t see his flushed face. Instead, he bites out a, “how about you double check there’s no rugrats outside, big boy, and you can find out for yourself?”

Steve, expression unreadable in the dark, places a kiss to the inside of Eddie’s thigh- sweet Jesus - and grabs their flashlight to take a look.

The flashlight beam goes left, and right, Steve even stands to look to the other side of the tent. 

He crawls back inside. “There’s no one there,” he promises.

Eddie chews at his bottom lip. He is positive he heard something.

Steve crawls back over, cradles Eddie’s face in his warm hands. “Hey,” he soothe s, “hey. Take a breath. It’s just the cicadas.” He kisses Eddie’s forehead. “No kids, not even the ones with super hearing.” He brings one palm to Eddie’s cheek. “But if you want to stop, Eddie, just let me know. No rush.”

And yeah, over his dead body is he not going to let Steve suck him off.

He shakes his head. “No, sorry, must’ve been the stupid fucking cicadas.”

Steve kisses Eddie chastely on the lips. “No apology necessary.”

There’s not much talking after that. Steve undoes his own pants, too. Steve sucks and swirls his tongue and twists his fingers around the base of Eddie’s cock until breathless chants of Steve’s name fill their tent. 

It doesn’t take long for all of Eddie’s organs to fall into that warm pool of desire yet again and he comes so hard he feels tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

He has to blink a couple of times to clear them. His breathing is labored, but holy shit orgasms are the best fucking painkillers- what the hell.

Then he realizes Steve is still hunched over him, stroking himself. 

“Steve,” god does his voice sound fucked, “c’mere.” He tugs on Steve’s strong biceps until he shuffles forward several inches, until Eddie can wrap his hand around Steve’s weeping cock and flick his thumb over the head.

Flat on his back with Steve still on all fours over him, Eddie jerks him off, whispers filthy things into his ear until Steve’s the one who’s moaning, fisting the fabric underneath them.

“C’mon, pretty boy,” Eddie murmurs, “come for me.” 

And three strokes later Steve does, his noises buried in the skin of Eddie’s neck. Eddie strokes him through it, until Eddie’s stomach and chest and his fucking shoulders are covered in Steve’s spend.

He likes it more than he thinks is probably normal.

Steve collapses beside him, breath still slightly labored. “That was-” Steve begins, then cuts himself off to kiss Eddie instead, warm, and sweet. He strokes a hand over Eddie’s face. He pulls away, “I thought we agreed you could just lay there.”

Giddily, Eddie smiles. “Yeah, but then you looked so good- couldn’t help myself.”

Steve snorts, kisses him again, and curls into his side. “I’ll find something to clean us off with-” he breaks off in a yawn, and Eddie resists the urge to poke him on the tongue- “just, give me a minute.”

Steve curls into him further, tucks his head into Eddie’s sweaty armpit, seemingly uncaring about the objectively un-fresh scent. 

Eddie threads his fingers through Steve’s hair, and he sighs contentedly, breath fanning over Eddie’s shirtless side. 

“Next time,” Steve murmurs, “we’ll have a bed . My bed. I’ll kick Robin out of the apartment, and make you dinner beforehand. I’ll pull out all the stops, man.”

Oh fuck, Eddie loves him. Completely. Devastatingly. He is ruined for anyone else.

“ Man ?” He parrots, because he can’t say the I love you , and poking fun is much safer pastures. “You just had my dick in your mouth and you’re calling me man ?”

Steve fucking giggles , pressing his face deeper into Eddie’s side, “what, man isn’t good enough for you, anymore?”

God, if Eddie didn’t have tacky cum all over his stomach he’d pull Steve into his chest. He curls his fingers into Steve’s hair instead, scratching at his scalp. “I think I deserve an upgrade from man, by now, don’t you think?”

Steve unwedges himself from Eddie’s armpit and props himself up on his arm instead. “An upgrade , huh?” He muses, and then turns to his side and begins rummaging around his duffel. After a moment he pulls out a pack of wet wipes. Because of course that’s something Steve Harrington carries around with him.

“Any upgrade in particular?” He asks, pulling one from the packaging. 

He wipes at Eddie’s stomach, and the cold wetness makes him shiver.

Eddie pretends to consider this. “Hmmm, well, exclusivity, first and foremost.” He begins, “but, you claimed my hand if I do remember- so what do we call courting nowadays?”

Steve finishes up with the wipe, and chucks the disgusting thing in the corner. He reclaims his spot in Eddie’s armpit, pulling the sleeping bag over them this time. 

Steve hums. “I think they call it dating ,” he says, and Eddie can hear the little smile in his voice- “boyfriends, I do believe the term is.”

Oh, goddamn it. He’s so perfect.

“Mm, boyfriends ,” Eddie murmurs, pretending to roll the word around in his mouth. “I think I like the sound of that.”

Steve wraps an arm around Eddie’s middle. “Good,” he says, “me too.” Steve wraps a leg around Eddie’s, locking them together. 

I love you, he thinks. I love you so much, Steve Harrington.

And then- why shouldn’t he say it? One last jump. He knows it. Has felt it since he woke up in Steve Harrington’s house three years ago, torn to shreds and still in hiding, because what should’ve been the worst moments of Eddie’s life weren’t all the bad, not with Steve beside him.

“Steve?” He whispers.

“Mhm?” comes Steve’s sleepy confirmation.

But Steve’s half asleep, eyes closed, breath coming in even gusts. Maybe Eddie can wait on this one. They’re in no rush.

Chapter Text

For the first time in days, Eddie sleeps in. Or maybe his perception of sleeping in has just been warped by spending half a week with these early goddamn risers. He hears them before he even opens his eyes, their hushed chatter and clinking plates sharp in the quiet morning. 

Eddie’s okay with the alarm. He can feel Steve’s warmth still next to him, the press of his skin, a small shift as he repositions himself, and before he even opens his eyes Eddie’s smiling.

“Morning,” Steve whispers, when Eddie finally cracks an eye open. He’s no longer in Eddie’s armpit. They’re sharing the same pillow, now, Eddie nearly going cross eyed in his attempt to look straight at him.

Steve’s gorgeous, because of course he is, the sleep rumpled shit. There’s a pink line across his cheek from his pillow and his hair is sticking up at odd angles and despite smelling like sweat Eddie wants to press his face into his skin.

“G’morning,” Eddie murmurs back. He stretches, still naked from the night before, and only flinches slightly at the pain that fires up his left side. 

Steve curls an arm across his middle and pulls Eddie flush against him.

Eddie becomes very aware of their nakedness at that little maneuver. His bare thighs are up against Steve’s, his soft cock up is against Steve’s hip, and despite how new this all is, it doesn’t feel unfamiliar at all.

“Sleep well?” Steve asks, his fingers scratching lazily across Eddie’s skin.

“Mhmm,” Eddie agrees, wiping the sleep from his eyes, “you?” He asks, and presses his face into Steve’s chest.

Steve’s other arm wraps around him, holding him close. “Perfectly.”

The chatter picks up outside, Dustin’s high voice audible through the rest, his words lost to the morning air.

“What time is it?” Eddie asks.

He feels Steve shrug. “Not sure. I woke up about an hour ago, probably, so, 9?”

Eddie lifts his head from Steve’s chest. “An hour ago?” He repeats, “what’ve you been doing for an hour, watching me sleep?”

Steve’s face blooms with color and he looks away, wiggling uncomfortably under him. “Well, I couldn’t have you waking up alone, so…” He trails off, fingers lightly grazing the puckered skin of Eddie’s back. 

Something warm and soft and gooey unravels in him at that. He knows his face is probably doing something goofy so he pulls a lock of hair in front of it, hiding his giddy delight under his frizzy, unwashed hair. 

And because Eddie's completely incapable of letting a moment be sincere he asks, “mmm, and what plans did you have for when I woke up, big boy?” 

But Steve just grins, making eye contact with him once again. “Lots of fantasies, but,” and he gestures vaguely to the commotion outside, “someone slept too long.”

Eddie sighs dramatically. “Cockblockers,” he mutters, and Steve smiles wider. “I mean, cockblocking me from my boyfriend,” he huffs, “truly unforgivable.” He can’t help another cheesy smile that comes to his face at that little number, his brain sending off little fireworks of boyfriend! Boyfriend! Boyfriend! 

The hand on Eddie’s back presses him closer. “Homophobes,” Steve accuses, making Eddie snort, “every one of ‘em.” Steve reaches out and grabs a lock of Eddie’s hair, twirls it around his fingers. “Also had to check a couple of times to assure myself this is real, though,” Steve murmurs, almost to himself, “felt too good to be true.”

Eddie can't really do anything except kiss him, then. Because he’s real, and so is Steve, and Eddie’s finally figuring his fucking shit out.

What then becomes a little too real is Eddie’s interested dick, which twitches when Steve sighs into his mouth, and then comes to near full attention when Steve’s hips shift against his. 

So it’s with a Herculean effort that Eddie stops, gaze lingering on Steve’s kiss swollen lips when he does. 

“Later,” Steve promises, kissing him on the palm of his hand, “stay for a while after we drop off the kids.”

Eddie has to take some deep fucking breaths after that. 

Then he has to imagine Richard Luger naked- harrowing- and Steve has this smug little look on his face that Eddie wants to kiss right off, which brings him back to square one.

All in all it’s several minutes before Eddie's able to pull on the sweatpants Steve hands him and compose himself enough to face their friends.

He, unfortunately, is absolutely unprepared.

In a blink Mike and Dustin are in front of them, talking over each other with such eagerness Eddie at first thinks they’re continuing their cocky little game of teasing him and Steve.

But then he hears pukwudgie and woke me up and guitar pick and Dustin keeps pointing dramatically towards the picnic table and then Mike’s grabbing his arm and dragging him towards their friends.

“We didn’t touch it,” is the first thing Lucas says when they approach, the lot of them huddled to the far side of the picnic table. Which is ominous, until Dustin moves his gigantic head and Eddie can see-

It’s his guitar pick necklace. Laid out on the far end of the table, still attached to the chain and looking no worse for wear.

“It was there when we woke up this morning,” Nancy says, “we have no idea how it got here.”

“Yes we do!” Mike replies hotly, glaring at his sister, “look!”

Mike points aggressively to the ground, where several small imprints in the earth are just barely visible.

“It’s the same prints Dustin saw on the trail the other day!”

“ And- ” Dustin adds, face nearly splitting in his toothy grin, “we saw them !”

“You didn’t see anything,” Max interjects, “stop lying.”

Dustin’s smile does not falter. “Okay,” he concedes, “we didn’t see anything but we heard them! Last night, we heard them walking around outside our tents and saw their silhouettes in the moonlight!”

Oh, holy shit. What he heard last night, that was- that was-

“I told you I knew what cicadas sounded like!” 

That seems to be too much of a non-sequitur for Steve, whose eyes grow wide as Eddie turns on him.

"Wha-"

“It wasn’t cicadas last night,” Eddie interrupts, then gestures imploringly at the prints in the dirt, “it was the pukwudgies!”

Nancy, Max, and Lucas groan at the same time Dustin and Mike cheer, the former whispering don’t know what I expected and the latter cheering I knew he’d believe us!

“I mean,” Robin muses, “we’ve had much stranger things happen.”

“Ex actly !” Mike agrees, face flushed, “and normally-” he continues, facing Eddie again, “they hate humans- will do things to mess with them and stuff, but sometimes- ” he adds, even pausing for dramatic effect- “they can be helpful .” And he gestures again at Eddie’s lost necklace.

God, it feels good to see it again. With his unsteady leg Eddie goes to grab it, his fingers still uncoordinated when he wraps them around the thin chain. He knows he won’t be able to work the clasp so he doesn’t even try, holding the pick up to the sunlight for a moment before pocketing it. 

“Told you we’d find it, man,” Argyle says shrewdly, “although I do think we need to reassess how we always attract this type of shit.”

“I mean,” Eddie reasons, and he stares meaningfully at Dustin and Mike when he continues, “this type of shit is pretty fucking cool.”

They have to pack up after that. Their campsite needs to be cleared by 11 and with Eddie on bedrest per one Steve Harrington, it means a bigger clean up job for the rest of them. 

At the very least, Eddie's fritzed out leg means he gets shotgun this time, guaranteeing him room to stretch out. 

Steve and Robin had some psychic argument about it, Robin undoubtedly arguing I always get shotgun and Steve arguing I only get 24 more hours until my hot boyfriend goes back to California for two months so his busted ass gets shotgun.  

Eddie is maybe putting some words in Steve’s mouth there, but that was definitely the gist.

The trip back to Hawkins, however, feels like a goodbye. Eddie’s not sure when they’ll all be together like this again, all occupying the same space. They will certainly never be like this again, not really. Not with Max so easily leaning into Lucas’s side, not with Mike and Will still dancing around each other in an awkward waltz of uncertainty, and not with Eddie making constant eye contact with Dustin’s smug face in the rear view mirror, an expression that says I knew it that could apply either to the Pukwudgie or Steve. Probably, he eventually reasons, to both.

No one explicitly asks them about them . He guesses they don’t need to, between his and Steve’s complete lack of subtlety and Robin’s loud ass speech from the night before, but none of them even blink when Steve kisses Eddie’s cheek before hopping out to get gas. 

It shouldn’t surprise him. He knew it would be okay. 

It feels fucking amazing, anyways.

Steve lays his hand on Eddie’s thigh after a an hour or so, his fingers curling gently into his skin. The trees whiz past them and the kids’ chatter swells and crashes like waves behind them, and Eddie’s comforted by the knowledge that while they may never be exactly like this again, they will always, always, find each other.

——

Steve drives him to the airport the next morning.

He’d spent the previous night with Wayne, finally unloading the weight of his wants and worries to his uncle, who, in turn, grabbed Eddie a beer and told him that whatever he wanted to do, they’d work it out. 

It felt less overwhelming with Wayne. His uncle’s calm assurance that nothing he could do would ever make those boys love him any less made his future conversation with the band feel a little less earth shattering.

He made a plan with Wayne. He’s going back to California for now. Just until his lease is up, so he can pack up his things and sort everything out with his boys, but then he’s coming back to Hawkins to spend time with Wayne. Eddie’s missed him, and the town doesn’t feel quite so suffocating anymore. He might even be able to see the kids for a couple of days before they all go off to college. It won’t be for long, but, as Steve so wonderfully reminded him, Hawkins is only a thirty minute drive to Bloomington. 

Eddie’s not too concerned with the after. He doesn’t feel like he’s balancing on a tightrope, anymore. His future feels sturdy and solid despite the uncertainty. Because what he’s uncertain about aren't the important things, anymore. He has Wayne, and Steve, and Robin, and the rest of the Party, and his band mates are going to be pissed at him but they’re going to come around. They’re stuck with him, the unfortunate bastards. 

Now, though, Eddie has to prepare to say goodbye. He thumbs the guitar pick that’s still resting in his pocket as Steve drives. He hasn’t put it on yet. He knows he could’ve asked Wayne or Steve or literally anyone to help him with it, but he didn’t because he’s been thinking about… giving it to Steve.

He’s just not sure if it’s too corny. Or if Steve will hate it because he’s never seen the guy wear jewelry. 

But, also, maybe, Steve would like it because it’s Eddie’s. Just maybe. Just maybe to keep in his pocket and be able to hold until Eddie gets back.

“I can hear you thinking, you know,” Steve says, a smile in his voice, “you should probably get it out before you blow up.”

Eddie snorts, rolling his eyes, and reaches across the console to grab Steve’s hand. Because they can do that now. “It’s nothing,” he assures. “‘M just… going to miss you.” Which is nearly the whole truth. He is going to miss Steve. He thought leaving the first time was hard, but this? This is worse. Which is also kind of why he wants to give Steve his necklace. That possessive, needy edge of him wants Steve to wear it while he’s gone. A silent, undeniable sign that Steve is his.

Steve’s fingers curl tighter around his. “I’m going to miss you, too.” 

They don’t say much after that. Steve rubs his thumb soothingly up and down the side of Eddie’s hand, and he lies back in his seat and watches Steve do it. 

His throat gets tight when they make it to the airport.

“Eight weeks,” Eddie reminds him, “and then I’m coming back.”

They’re parked in passenger drop off, hoards of people around to stare into Steve’s front windshield, so they don’t dare inch any closer.

Eddie’s hand tightens around the necklace in his pocket. “I’ll call so much you’re gonna get sick of me.”

Steve snorts, his eyes slightly red. “Not gonna happen. If I could listen to you talk about D&D for the entire four hour trip back yesterday, I’m pretty sure I can put up with anything.”

“You’re an ass ,” Eddie chokes out, even as his nose starts to burn. He thumbs the guitar pick again. 

“I, um,” Eddie stutters, already fucking it up, “here.” He says, and pulls the necklace out of his pocket to hand to Steve. “I want you to have this.” He’s gripping onto the damn thing so tightly it kind of clings to his skin as he releases it, the slightly-sweaty chain finally falling into Steve’s open palm.

“My dad gave it to me,” Eddie explains, “he taught me how to play the guitar and all that. I don’t really take it off, but... I want you to have it.” Eddie wanted this moment to be perfect, for him to be eloquent and poetic and all that crap, but he thinks maybe honest will have to do.

Steve’s looking down at the necklace, not meeting Eddie’s eyes as he thumbs over the thick red plastic.

Nerves already biting at him from Steve’s half-second pause, Eddie amends, “you don’t have to wear it. I’ve never seen you wear jewelry, but I just… wanted you to have something of mine that isn’t that cheesy little doodle.”

Because that cheesy little doodle is Eddie’s, now, actually, because being able to run his hands across the same surface Steve’s fingers had traced so many times provides him with a bit of comfort. 

He’s turning into a goddamn sap.

Steve meets his eyes then. They’re red, and a little watery, but he’s smiling. “Man, I’m going to wear this every day until you’re back.” 

“The man again,” Eddie chastises, as Steve turns so Eddie can fasten it. His fingers still feel a little off, but he’s able to hook the clasp and secure it around Steve’s neck. He lets his hands linger too long, his fingertips loitering on Steve’s neck as he feels the warmth of his skin for a beat too long before forcing himself to pull away. 

“I thought I got an upgrade.”

Steve turns back to him, the red pendant sitting starkly against his blue polo. “Oh, you absolutely did.” Steve reassures, grinning. “You’re everything , now. Boyfriend, sweetheart, sunshine, dude, baby, man, you’re all of it .” He takes Eddie’s hand again, low against the console. “Because I love you, too.”

And of course Steve knows. Understands what Eddie’s trying to say in his own fucked up little way. Because Eddie can’t just say it like a normal fucking person. He has to give Steve this necklace that has too many complicated feelings attached to it, subconsciously hoping Steve would just get it .

And he does.

So, sue him. Eddie gets choked up, looking in those big earnest eyes as Steve tells him he loves him. 

He wishes he could kiss him.

“I have a reputation to maintain, you know,” Eddie huffs, tears welling at the corners of his eyes, “I’m very tough. And scary.” 

Steve’s thumb rubs soothing circles across his knuckles, and Eddie wants to kiss him so badly it hurts. 

“You’re very tough,” Steve agrees, and then grins, “not very scary, though, love.”

Eddie wipes at his eyes. “Because you ruined my reputation, ” he huffs again, and grips tighter at Steve’s hand. He glances at the clock in Steve’s car. He has to get going.

“Eight weeks,” he reminds himself out loud. He looks back to Steve. “And I’ll call everyday, I promise.”

“I know you will,” Steve reassures.

——

6 Months Later

“Dante was wrong,” Eddie moans, “the 9th circle of hell isn’t a frozen lake, it’s fucking moving. ”

“You’re so dramatic,” Robin sighs, embarking on their last flight of stairs, “we have, like, two trips more, max. ”

Eddie knows he doesn’t own much. He has some clothes, the surviving dregs of his D&D gear, his guitars, the rewards of his custody battle with Wayne over their mug collection, and the various knick knacks and belongings that survived two across-the-country moves in less than three years. But when it’s all packed and Eddie has to move it ? Fuck this.

They get to their landing, and Steve passes them, looking far too perky for moving all of Eddie’s garbage up three flights of stairs in the middle of December.

But his face is rosy, his hair messy under a weather-appropriate beanie, and his lips are just starting to chap in the blistering cold. Eddie’s chest seizes just looking at him.

“Almost there, man,” he says encouragingly, squeezing Eddie’s arm as he passes.

Thankfully, he's right. Not twenty minutes later the three of them are crammed onto their small couch, hot mugs of cocoa spiked with rum nestled between their palms.

The place is small, probably too small with him as a third, but it’s perfect.

The walls are painted a warm, pastel yellow, making up for the fact that their tiny windows barely let in any sun. There are books everywhere, the small bookshelf in the corner piled high and nearly buckling under only a small portion of them, the rest finding homes in piles in the corners of rooms. 

It comes with having a linguistics major as a roommate , Steve had explained. 

Eddie likes it. He likes the clutter, likes the piles of Robin’s books and Steve’s corny posters on the walls. He likes their slouching Christmas tree, the tiny thing weighed down by too many ornaments, likes seeing Steve’s EMT bag that he keeps by the door, half concealed by their pile of shoes and their coat rack overflowing with winter jackets.

Eddie likes seeing the spots where his things could find their home, too. The pile of books that looks sturdy enough to hold his record player, the shelf in the kitchen they’d already cleared for him, the window sills where he could put his D&D figurines.

Robin lets out a heavy sigh and drops her head to Eddie’s shoulder, her short cropped hair tickling his neck. “No more moving until I graduate,” she says, “we’re stuck with each other until then, deal?”

She holds her pinky up to him, angled awkwardly in front of him given their cramped seating.

He links his finger around hers anyways, giving it a little shake for good measure. “Promise.”

Steve leans over and links his pinky around theirs, too. 

“Promise,” he echoes.

They don’t bother with much unpacking that night. The weather outside turns colder and windier and snowier, and Robin makes them more spiked cocoa, and when the buzz from the alcohol makes Eddie’s eyelids droop, he doesn’t hesitate to drop into Steve’s side.

Steve’s arm wraps around him. Pulls him close. He presses a kiss to the top of Eddie’s head. Steve breathes in and out against him, his heartbeat a steady ba-bum ba-bum ba-bum that lulls Eddie into closing his eyes. 

Robin kicks her legs over both of their laps. The TV chatters on. 

As his breaths deepen Eddie makes a mental note to pick up wrapping paper on his way home from the garage tomorrow. They’ll need it to wrap everyones’ Christmas gifts in time for this weekend.

Faintly, Eddie registers the commercial break. Robin asks if they want to order pizza. 

He’s asleep before he can hear Steve’s reply.