Archive of Our Own ^beta

The metal strips lining the inside of the CPS worker’s car door are scalding hot when Eddie pulls it shut by the handle. 

“Ow,” he hisses, shaking his hand in an attempt to soothe his burnt skin. 

“Are you okay?” 

Eddie nods silently, eyes trained down at the little red mark blossoming across the pads of his fingers. He traces them with his other hand, imagining patterns and images in them. 

“A little hot, huh? Sorry about that.” The tall blonde woman, he thinks her name was Helen, offers him a sad smile, and warns him that the seatbelt is much the same. He hides his hand beneath the hem of his tee shirt to protect it from the hot metal of the seatbelt until he hears it click into place. The velvet interior rubs against his skin and he finds comfort in the softness— something he’s unfamiliar with, given how most of his childhood has shaken out. 

Clyde Munson hasn’t been a nice man, and he certainly hasn’t been a good father. At a fragile ten years old, Eddie already knows how to hotwire a car, how to use a driver’s license to cut lines, and the best form to wield a knife. He’d rather have been learning guitar but Clyde shut down anything that could be deemed artistic or unmanly, in his own words. Maybe he’d been kinder before the war, before the booze, before the drugs. Or  maybe at least not so mean, but that’s not the Clyde Munson that Eddie’s experienced so who was he to assume or imagine? 

Trees pass in a blur as they pull away from the little yellow house with broken blinds and bed sheets covering the windows. Eddie ignores Helen’s questions in favor of watching the scenery change out the passenger window. He can’t find it in himself to be upset about leaving— after all, this had been his wish when he’d looked out his bedroom window and saw a shooting star. Clyde was passed out in the living room, promises to watch the meteor shower forgotten in the haze of Jack Daniels. 

Of course, he’d also wished for his mom to come back but he’s old enough to understand that people don’t come back from the dead. 

He’ll take one out of two. 

“Boy, do you need glasses?”

Eddie startles from his reverie in his spot on the couch, curled up in the corner with an elbow perched on the arm and one cheek resting on his palm as Rudolph plays on the television. 

“The fuck?” 

“You need a hearing aid, too? You heard me.”

Wayne laughs in his gruff, rumbly way from the kitchen where he’s making dinner. 

“Maybe I do because you lost me, old man. What’s your point?”

“You know I’m not one for meddlin’ in affairs of the heart, but you really don’t think that Harrington kid has moon eyes for you?” 

Eddie nearly swallows his tongue. I wish. “No, it’s not like that. We’ve talked about this Wayne. We’ve talked about this more than we’ve talked about anything else actually so can we let a sleeping dog lie already?” 

And they had. They really, really had. 

The past two years have been enlightening for Eddie Munson, mostly because of the whole I almost died and can’t tell anyone why thing with a heaping side of what the fuck, Steve Harrington stuck around? Not only did he stick around as a friend but he’d become an anchor, an advocate, a North Star in the darkness that was Eddie’s life in Hawkins after nearly dying to save it. 

Eddie wasn’t conscious for the beginning of their friendship, which sounds strange but in the grand scheme of things he supposes it’s not all that weird. When he woke up from the induced coma, the first person he saw was Wayne and the second in rapid succession had been Steve. That’s how it’s been since: Wayne and Steve. 

Even before Eddie was brought to live with Wayne— nothing but a garbage bag of ill-fitting clothes, a toothbrush, and a couple of books held together with a prayer and some duct tape in tow— he’d been the one he cared the most about making proud, the one whose opinions mattered, the one who’d unconditionally carried Eddie’s best interests at heart. That made dating tough because no one has been good enough for Eddie in Wayne’s eyes. Girls and guys alike had failed the Wayne test. 

Until Steve. 

Steve, who Wayne encourages Eddie to make a move on. Steve, who shares his bed time and time again, always a few inches apart at night and tangled together in the morning. Steve, who Eddie knows isn’t straight but also knows isn’t interested in him. Sure, Eddie has a little crush but he and Steve are friends and he’s been burned more than once misreading something like that, so Eddie’s repeatedly told Wayne it’s not like that and to talk to Claudia Henderson about the adult adoption process he’s sure she’s researched if he wants Steve officially in the family. 

Eddie doesn’t see the way Steve looks at him when he’s rambling about a campaign, or a new song, or the latest chapter of the most recent fantasy novel he’d borrowed from Dustin. He might be oblivious but Wayne’s noticed. For all of his feigned simplicity, he’s not a stupid man by any means and he’s had his suspicions since walking into Eddie’s room at Hawkins Memorial two years ago to find Steve holding an unconscious Eddie’s hand in one of his and his other brushing the hair out of Eddie’s eyes. It’d felt intimate at the time but now, Wayne has grown used to soft touches and wide smiles that Eddie is awake to experience but stubbornly refuses to believe mean something more than friendship.

The past two years have been enlightening for Wayne Munson, too. 

“I’ll leave it be, son, but don’t be surprised when it happens. I don’t need a scope to see this comin’.” 

Eddie scoffs and pulls his knees in a little tighter beneath him. “Sure, Wayne. Sure.” 

“You brought a Colts fan into our home?” Wayne laments with mirth in his eyes, wrinkles appearing in the corners. Eddie rolls his eyes and laughs while Steve sputters. 

“You’re a Bears fan?” Steve asks, turning to Eddie with a finger pointed in his direction. “Why didn’t you tell me I was entering enemy territory?!” 

Eddie hands out the beers he’d grabbed from the fridge during halftime of some game between two teams Eddie couldn’t remember the names of and plops down between his two favorite people. “I can tell you a Hell of a lot more about Middle Earth than I can football. Does it matter?” 

“Yes!” Wayne and Steve call out in unison and Eddie can’t contain his laughter. 

“Whatever, I’m neutral territory. Besides, they aren’t even fucking playing right now so why is this a conversation?” 

“The Christmas Game this year is the Colts versus the Bears, Ed.” Wayne says as though that answers any of his questions. 

“And?” 

“And?” He leans forward to look at both boys— men now, really, but Eddie will always his boy. “Steve and I are gonna have ourselves a time, that’s what. You’re comin’ for Christmas this year, right Steve?” 

Eddie looks to his right and grins hopefully. “Are you?” 

Steve rubs the back of his neck and smiles, lopsided with teeth, one of Eddie’s favorite Steve Smiles. If he’s mentally created a taxidermic catalog of his best friend’s smiles, that’s truly no one’s business but his and God’s. 

“I really appreciate the offer, but I don’t want to intrude or anything. And I might be on call, they haven’t solidified the schedule yet.” He wasn’t the newest paramedic on the team this year, so he might get a reprieve but Eddie knows he’s just making excuses anyways. He doesn’t take it personally though. Steve’s had offers for Christmas Day from across the board since his parents officially left town after the supposed Earthquake— the Buckleys, the Hendersons, the Byers-Hoppers, even the Sinclairs once they’d learned the bare bones version of the story. Steve is still Steve though. The sky is blue, the grass is green, and Steve rejects help at every turn. 

Eddie turns to face Steve and grabs both of his hands in his own. “You’re alone in that house on Christmas every year, just come spend it with us. You guys can yell about the Cults and the Bards and I’ll even pretend to know what’s happening!” 

Steve’s eyes fucking sparkle as he laughs and knocks his knee against Eddie’s, their hands still attached. “It’s the Colts and the Bears, you doofus.” 

Wayne wants to scream or pull out what’s left of his hair because how does Eddie not see this?

Weeks pass and much to Eddie’s excitement, Steve agrees to spend Christmas with him and Wayne. 

“I’ll show you a real Munson Christmas, Harrington,” he says, reveling in the weight of Steve’s legs laid across his own. 

Steve passes the joint back to where Eddie sits with his back against the wall and legs sprawled out across the bedspread beneath Steve’s. They don’t question or even acknowledge this, the casual intimacy and physical touch. Steve craves it and Eddie wants to give it, wants to give so much more than he should actually but he’ll take whatever closeness he can get. 

“Yeah? What’s the include?” 

“Oh y’know, a few drinks, canned ham, football, a little human sacrifice. Totally unrelated to me wanting you to come spend the day here though, don’t worry your pretty head about that.” 

Smoke makes little vortexes as it pours from his lips and he thinks he sees Steve staring at them but nope, that can’t be right. 

“Do you guys uh, do you do gifts or anything?” 

Their fingers touch when Eddie passes the joint back. “I always tell Wayne not to, and he tells me not to, and neither of us listen so yeah, I guess we do. You don’t have to get gifts though. You being here honestly is more than enough.” 

“Is that so?” Steve inhales and blows smoke up towards the ceiling, exposing the veins and tendons in his neck. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you kinda like me, Munson.” 

Eddie pretends the choking cough is from inhaling his next hit too fast. 

Steve Harrington is a giver. He’ll give his time, he’ll give his care, he’ll give his life if necessary although he’s slowly been working on unlearning that particular habit. The point is, Steve would rather face another junkyard full of demodogs again than show up to the Munson’s trailer empty handed on Christmas. 

That’s how he ends up at a Walmart on December 22^nd, fighting his way through crowds of decidedly not jolly last minute shoppers. He’s bitten back a few bitchy comments for the sake of not getting into a fight in the housewares aisle but people are testing his already low patience. The mug selection is pretty weak if he’s being honest so he works his way over towards the clothing section and, rivalry be damned, buys Wayne a Bears hoodie. It costs a few bucks and a piece of his soul but he really, really hopes he likes it. 

Eddie is much harder to buy for because he’s got something of a plan this Christmas. Or maybe a hope? A wish? Whatever it is, Steve wants to give Eddie something special because Eddie is special. Always the one to fall first and to fall hard, he’s familiar with the way his stomach twists and turns when Eddie smiles at him, the ache in his chest when a hug ends or when Eddie untangles his legs from Steve’s in the morning with an apology, the gravitational pull of his hands to Eddie’s… everything. He wants to touch him fucking constantly and just thinking about it makes him want to scream in the music aisle. 

Another shopper jostles him in their haste to get passed him and he almost sticks a foot out to accidentally trip them but refrains. There’s nothing here special enough anyways, he decides, and treks to the front to buy just the hoodie. For good measure, he tosses in a couple bags of both Wayne and Eddie’s favorite candy— Reese’s Pieces for the former and sour gummy worms for the latter. 

Thankfully, the Walmart was housed in something of a strip mall so he tucks the bag safely into the trunk of his Beemer after checking out and explores the various little stores. The record store is a bust but the little gift shop he almost walked by turns up pay-dirt. 

Twenty minutes later, Steve leaves the store carrying a small red bag filled with golden tissue paper and a deceptively little box. It feels heavier than it should as he places it carefully in the passenger seat, weighed down with hope and maybe a little Christmas magic if he’s feeling cheesy enough. 

“Why does your acoustic have that written on it? ‘This Machine Slays Dragons’?” Steve asks as he watches Eddie strum without looking at his hands. It’s a bit mesmerizing, the way his fingers glide along the strings of their own accord. 

The song stops and Eddie slaps the body of the guitar in his lap. 

“This old girl is an homage to one Woody ‘This Machine Kills Fascists’  Guthrie. Ever heard of him?” 

“He did ‘This Land Is Your Land,’ right?”

Eddie claps his hands together and points two finger guns his way. “Ding ding ding, we have a winner. Yeah, he wrote that and a shit ton of other political critique folk music.” 

“I didn’t know you liked that sort of thing. Sounds pretty far removed from Metallica, y’know?”

“Only in delivery. You’d be surprised how much overlap there is in meaning. But yeah, my uh—” Eddie stops and pulls the guitar closer to his torso and swallows the dust in his mouth that’s gathered from years of not talking about his mother. “My mom was a big fan of it. She loved Guthrie, Baez, Dylan, Grateful Dead, Cohen. You name it, she loved it.” 

Steve’s heart tries to claw its way out of his body to run towards Eddie sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, timid smile, and fidgeting hands. 

“That’s really cool, man. She sounds awesome. How come you don’t talk about her more?” 

“It just—I don’t know. It still hurts, I guess. Which is stupid, I was eight when she died so it should get easier, right?” Eddie laughs humorlessly and stares at his strings like they hold answers to questions he didn’t know he had. He wants to crawl on top of Steve, desperate for warmth and comfort now, and looking at him makes the urge damn near impossible to beat back. So he doesn’t look up. 

Steve adjusts his position on the bed, subconsciously making room. “Hell no, that’s not how grief works, Ed. Wish it was that easy but I’ve seen a lot of death personally and with work, and it changes people. You can tell me to fuck off if I’m like, overstepping here but you were a kid. You’re allowed to be sad about her death, and you’re allowed to talk about it.” 

Eddie pauses for a long moment, considering the validation and how much he trusts Steve. He trusts him with his life, his soul, his heart, his  everything. Maybe everything could include his past, too. His voice is wistful when he starts.

“She used to sing Dylan’s ‘Forever Young’ around the house.”

Fresh snow covers the ground as Steve’s boots crunch over dried ice on the path to the Munson’s front door, a bag in each of his hands and no pager in sight. Thankfully, he wasn’t on call after all so he takes that as a Christmas gift itself. He doesn’t even get to pull the screen door back to knock before Eddie yanks it open, wide smile on display and looking just a touch breathless. 

“Merry Christmas! Welcome to my little corner of Winter Wonderland.” He steps aside and invites Steve in wordlessly with a flourish of his hand. 

“Merry Christmas, Ed,” Steve can’t tamp down the laughter and passes him, brushing shoulders as he makes his way towards the couch. A little Charlie Brown tree sits in the corner covered in multicolored lights and kitschy ornaments. Eddie certainly hadn’t skimped on the tinsel either. 

“Hey there, son. Got some beers in the fridge and the game oughta start soon. What’d you bring?” Wayne asks eyeing the bags. 

“Oh I, uh, I come bearing gifts!” He holds up both bags before setting them by the tree with the others. 

“You didn’t have to go and do all that, you know.” 

“Wayne, did you really think I was gonna show up empty-handed? Even if it’s to a Bears fan’s home, I still have manners.”

Eddie watches their easy banter from his spot by the front door with a fond smile and so much love in his stupid heart, he might just explode. Christmas has always been a complicated day for Eddie. He does genuinely love the season, but his earlier Christmases carried few good memories and it’s been marred with a tinge of grief since he was eight years old. This scene though—Wayne and Steve sipping beers, Wayne explaining something-something 1985 Bears defense, Steve pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head— is as good a Christmas as he can imagine. Eddie stands there for a few moments, silently committing the image to his long-term memory before squeezing himself in his rightful place between them on the couch. 

“Oh come on! If you can touch it, you can fuckin’ catch it!” Steve all but screams, sitting on the edge of the couch in a mirror pose of Wayne to Eddie’s right. 

“Apparently not, because it looks like he touched it and he sure as shit ain’t catch it!” Wayne rebuts, reaching across Eddie’s legs to clap Steve on the shoulder. 

It’s been like this for a few hours— the two teams going back and forth with scoring drives and Wayne and Steve going back and forth much the same. Eddie’s still unclear what a down is but hey, he’s enjoying his beer, he’s sufficiently stuffed from dinner, and Steve’s hip is pressed tight against his thigh so he’ll listen to Jock Speak without complaint. 

“There’s less than a minute left on the clock guys. Hate to break it to you Steve, but I think Wayne’s guys might win this one.” 

Steve shakes his head and huffs a laugh. “45 seconds in a football game is a lot different than 45 seconds in real life, Ed. Just you wait.” 

And then the Colts win it in the last seven seconds of the game. Steve’s already standing when the quarterback chucks it down the field, his knees slightly bent and his hands balled up by his hips. 

“Miss it! Miss it!” 

“Catch it! Catch the goddamn ball!” 

Both men yell at the same time and when the receiver does, indeed, catch the ball, Wayne sinks back on the couch with his hands atop his head while Steve pumps his arms over his head and claps. 

“Playoff spot locked up! Let’s go!” 

“Yeah yeah, enjoy it while you can, boy. Still gotta better record though!” 

Steve rolls his eyes playfully and sits back down next to Eddie, shoulders and thighs pressed back together. 

“What’d you think?” Eddie turns towards Steve to answer and finds himself far, far closer than he’d intended, his breath stolen by the mirth and joy on Steve’s face. Anything that makes Steve look like this is worth Eddie’s time. 

“It was fun, Stevie. I could get used to this.” The smile he receives in return could’ve lit up the entire Upside Down. 

“Yeah? You sure?” 

“Definitely.”

“So, are you finally makin’ a move, kid?” Wayne asks as he peeks over Eddie’s shoulder where he’s working on something at the coffee table in the living room. His hair is in a low bun, his tongue is sticking out ever so slightly, and he hasn’t made a peep in an hour. Clearly, this something-or-other is very important. 

Eddie sighs and his hand pauses where he’d been painting a miniature.

“This again?” 

“Yeah, this again. You doin’ it?”

“Well, sort of. Maybe. I don’t know. Just want him to see himself he way I see him and he can take that for what it’s worth.” 

“So what is it, anyways? Is he joining your game?” Wayne sits down on the couch behind where Eddie sits on the floor. This is something, Wayne thinks. 

“No, definitely not,” Eddie laughs. “I’m just making him into a DnD character. With a character sheet and a miniature and all that.” Eddie sets his paintbrush down on a paper towel and shows Wayne the character sheet he’s drawn up. Wayne doesn’t quite understand everything, but he does read the background and his own heart squeezes. Eddie fucking loves this boy if the way he’s portrayed him here is anything to consider. 

He claps his nephew on the shoulder and shakes him gently, setting the sheet back down on a clear spot on the table. “He’ll love it, Ed. He’ll love it. When are you gonna give it to him?” 

“Actually I uh, I kinda need your help with that. No offense, but I want to be alone with him when I give it to him? When we go to do gifts can you like, not be there? Or give us a reason to go somewhere else?” 

Wayne laughs and assures him that he’ll make himself scarce. 

“Ready to do gifts?” Wayne asks, shooting Eddie a glance that says are ‘you’ ready to do gifts? He nods subtly and stands to gather the little bags and boxes littering the floor beneath the small tree. 

Eddie doles out gifts one by one, making sure to keep his gift to Steve separate, as well as Steve’s gift to him. It’s only fair, he thinks. Steve notices that Eddie keeps both of theirs to the side and he’s internally grateful, not having considered the fact that he’d wanted to be alone with Eddie when he opened it. That was a freebie, he thinks. 

Wayne goes first and opens Eddie’s gift to him— a mixtape for his Walkman at work and earplugs as a joke. “No more complaining about guitar practice, okay?” Eddie jokes, poking Wayne in the shoulder. 

He laughs genuinely when he opens the Bears hoodie Steve got for him. “You gotta open yours, Steve!” Slightly confused, Steve opens the box wrapped in old Santa Claus paper to find that Wayne must’ve had the same idea. A blue Colts long-sleeve stares up at him and he joins Wayne in the laughter. 

“Is this a peace treaty?” Eddie asks, unable to decide where his football loyalties will lie when eventually forced to choose sides. 

“For now!” Wayne kids before thanking Steve for swallowing his pride. “Oughta make a bet of it though, kid. Whoever ends the season with the worse record has to wear the other team’s shit out ’n about?” 

Steve, never one to turn down a dare or a bet, shakes his hand with fervent agreement. “Game on.” 

Eddie’s next and he rips through tissue paper in the small green bag from Wayne to find a few new cassettes (“Good shit! Those earplugs might come in more handy than I thought!”) and a cassette organizer for his desk. They talk about the chaos of Eddie’s room and the haphazard way his music is stored for a few minutes before Wayne subtly offers to clear the empty plates and lug them into the kitchen. 

Neither know but both of their hearts are racing in twin tempos, the quick thump, thump, thump in harmony. 

“Think that meteor shower is kickin’ up if you boys wanna grab your gifts, maybe go try to catch a shootin’ star for me, huh?” Wayne dips down over the sink to take a look at the sky and sees a streak of light drop between the trees. 

Steve hadn’t known there was a meteor shower tonight but damn, if he had, he would’ve made that part of his delivery to start with. Eddie though? Eddie had known and he knows that Wayne knows how much he adores the Geminids. As he and Steve throw on jackets and gather their gifts, the cold air piercing through the spot where Eddie’s coat zipper broke months ago, he wonders what karmic being threw him this particular bone. 

Steve’s shivering. Or maybe he’s trembling, he truthfully isn’t entirely sure himself, but the bag in his hands as they sit on the hood of Eddie’s van for a better view is rustling from the movement. He tries not to consider Eddie reacting poorly, that he’s trying to take this memory he’d shared with him weeks ago and make it their own because he’s not. He wants Eddie to have something tangible of a memory he otherwise can’t hold, that’s all. 

He’s also in love with Eddie, but that’s a separate thought. 

Eddie may have chewed an actual hole on the inside of his lip at this point, watching another meteor blaze between stars, and he thinks he may erupt at any moment. His own wrapped gift box is placed carefully on his lap so his fingers don’t tear the paper— Eddie’s heart is wrapped in little snowflakes and reindeer, sitting on his lap, about to be handed to a boy with the power to crush it and he’s scared. 

“So,” Steve breaks the silence first. Of course he does. “Who goes first? Rock, paper, scissors for it?” Steve turns one of his brightest smiles on Eddie and there’s not a star or meteor or comet in the Milky Way that could fucking compare. 

They go best two out of three and Steve wins. “Ex-jock luck, that’s all it is,” Eddie teases and bumps his shoulder into Steve’s who decidedly does not break contact for as long as socially acceptable. Eddie watches Steve slowly unwrap the gift, pulling the tape away rather than ripping into it. There’s something symbolic there, he thinks. 

He pulls out the mug Eddie found for him first— white with a chunky handle, an ambulance in the middle and flocked with the words: I Drive The Wee Woo Bus. 

“I figured, y’know, you should have a mug for when you’re here. Much as I love seeing you with my Garfield mug, thought this might be more your speed.” Eddie pulls a piece of hair in front of his mouth and his voice pitches up at the end, as though his reasoning is a question. And it is, but he’s not trying to make himself that obvious. 

Steve catches the way Eddie says he loves seeing him with his Garfield mug and it plays in his head on a loop. “It’s perfect, Ed. Seriously, my co-workers are all gonna want one, thank you!” He opts for instead of his first thought: I will drink toilet water out of that Garfield mug if you love seeing it.

“There’s something else in there too, on the bottom of the box.” 

A piece of paper sits nestled in the bottom, turned over so only the back is visible with a little lump beneath it. Steve picks the paper up first and sees what he’s come to recognize— from both Eddie and Dustin trying to get him to play— as a DnD character sheet. “Ed, you know I wouldn’t be any good—”

Eddie shakes his head and points to the top of the page. “First of all, yes you would, but that’s not what this is. Just, just read it?” 

Steve leans forward with the character sheet to read beneath the light of the moon and Eddie still hasn’t taken a breath. He watches as Steve’s eyes dart across the page to see words like:

Half-elf Paladin, strength and constitution, athletic and survival, defensive fighting style, alignment: lawful good. He sees that he can also speak Dwarfish with a little note next to it that says You know, like Dustin! with a smiley face.

Steve sees personality traits like: 

I can stare down a hell hound without flinching. 

I would still lay down my life for the people I served with. 

I fight for those who cannot fight for themselves. 

I face problems head-on. A simple, direct solution is the best path to success.

Steve sees a background story: 

You come from wealth and privilege, but have made your own path after rejecting those principles. You're fiercely protective and a seasoned warrior in battle, retired now but only in practice, and have forged your family with blood and hope. Those around you cherish you wholly and would both live and die for you. You sometimes struggle to see your worth outside of battle, but you are everything to your loved ones. You're the glue, the home-base, the home of your family. 

Steve sees the little miniature, hand-painted with a yellow shirt and brown hair, holding what looks like a sword but painted to resemble a bat. 

And then Steve can’t see anything because his vision goes watery and his heart is in his throat. His hands are definitely trembling now, and not from the cold because Steve feels like he’s on fire. It’s all handwritten, all in Eddie’s cute scratchy penmanship, and if this is how Eddie sees him… oh.

“Is this—” His voice breaks and he shakes his head to start again, small smile beginning to blossom. “Is this how you actually see me?” He wants to look up but he knows he’ll lose it if he does, so keeps his eyes trained down on the paper. 

“It is, yeah. Do you, uh, do you like it?” 

All Steve can muster is an emphatic nod and an I love it that very nearly turns into an I love you. 

Another meteor passes by, clear and straight, and Eddie makes a wish he thinks is stupid. Kiss me, please. Moments pass and Eddie is swimming, his own gift entirely forgotten because Steve’s reaction is a gift enough. 

“Your turn, Ed. Gonna open mine?” Eddie remembers that, oh shit, there’s a bag sitting between them still and that it’s for him. From Steve. This night keeps getting better, he thinks. He grabs the bag and removes the tissue paper, revealing a small white box. It’s Steve turn to stop breathing as he lifts it out. 

“You proposing, Harrington?” Eddie tries for levity and falls short because that’s a thought he hates himself for actually wanting. Gooddamn it. 

“I’d never do it like this, don’t you worry.” Well, that’s not the response he’d expected. He doesn’t have time to think about that though because he opens the box and his brain turns into white noise. 

It’s a wooden box, big enough to hold some trinkets or even his rings, and when he opens it, there’s a relief of what he recognizes as Bob Dylan’s silhouette burned into the lid. Next to it, the words “Merry Christmas, Ed!” are engraved with a little heart next to the initials “S.H.” 

“Wind it up,” Steve whispers, scooting a little closer to hear it with him. 

The sound is a little muffled in the way all good music boxes are but the melody is undeniably Forever Young. Eddie doesn’t speak or move except to rewind the crank several times to play it through again and again for long minutes, struck with the weight his childhood wish coming true in the strangest of ways: his mom didn’t quite come back, but she’s present, and it’s all because Steve cared enough to ask about her. 

Steve sits quietly, their shoulders touching, waiting patiently. All the while, Eddie is having some realizations as he listens to the music box play. 

Holy shit, I’m in love with Steve Harrington. 

It hits him like one of the meteors he’d just wished on and leaves him a blast crater, ashed in its wake. 

“Steve, this is… why are you like this?” He finally croaks out, admission made to himself, voice thick with something. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You’re so goddamn just, good! And thoughtful, and caring, and sweet, and it makes me want so much more with you than I should. Than I can! And I’ve been,” Eddie takes a breath and feels Steve’s hand land on his thigh, pushing him forward. “I’ve been trying real fucking hard to stop it because you’re my best friend, and I know how this goes. I read into something and then it blows up and I lose a friend, and I don’t want that to happen with us but how can I get a gift like this and not just fucking love the shit out of you, man?” 

A meteor must have fallen out of the sky and taken him out, Steve thinks to himself, frozen and jittery all at once. 

“Wait— wait, you think you can’t have this? Can’t have me? Ed,” he turns to face him completely and Eddie follows suit, his knees resting on top of Steve’s with blown out pupils and cold hands toying with his rings. “I would’ve dressed myself up with wrapping paper and bows if I knew that’s what you wanted.” 

Eddie sees the reflection of another falling star behind him in Steve’s warm eyes and it doesn’t matter. The best and brightest thing in his world is sitting in front of him, giving him permission to want him. Steve smiles and reaches out, holding Eddie’s hands in his own much the same as when he’d held them for dear life in the Upside Down, and again in that awful ICU. He sees the shift in Eddie, frustrated longing giving way to relief and hope in the way he looks up and down at their hands, arches his eyebrows, and bites his bottom lip. 

“You’re not fucking with me?”

 Their breath is visible, little puffs of fog in the cold air that mingle together in the closing distance between them. Steve shakes his head no and leans in further.

“Can I?” Steve asks, their noses brushing. 

“Please.” 

Eddie has never been one to believe in miracles. Shit, until he’d woken up from what he’d thought was certain death, he’d had no reason to. There were plenty of things to be thankful for— strokes of luck and bones thrown to him by the universe or whatever deity fit, but miracles? Things to truly marvel at, to wonder at, to hold carefully lest they crumble in his hands, unfamiliar with soft, gentle things? 

No. 

Not until he felt the warmth of Steve’s lips on his, his tongue slipping gracefully between them, his hands sliding up to cup both of Eddie’s cheeks like he’s something precious. It feels like the beginning of something important, something special— because it is. Eddie kisses back until they topple over on the hood of the van, a mess of tangled limbs and Steve beneath him, both men grinning so wide it’s less of a kiss now and more of a conjoined smile. 

Eddie props himself up on one elbow, one hand holding his own cheek and the other lightly stroking the hair at Steve’s temple. 

“Didn’t realize wishes worked that quick, shit.”

“Huh?”

“You kissing me. That’s uh, I wished for that earlier, when I saw one of the meteors. ”

“God, you’re so cute,” Steve smiles that favorite smile of Eddie’s again— crooked and toothy— before sliding himself to get closer. “I hate to break it to you though, but you wasted a wish on something I would’ve done years ago. Just needed to ask.”

Steve leans up to kiss him again, this time softer and less urgent with one finger under his chin. Steve pulls back and wants to scream his love at the top of his lungs but opts not to frighten the neighbors. 

Eddie huffs a laugh and shakes his head. “Remind me to add seduction to your character sheet.” 

“You care about him, dontchu?” Wayne asks quietly from his seat next to Eddie’s bed. It’s just loud enough for the Harrington boy to hear over the steady beeping of machines connected to his nephew. 

Steve startles and turns to face Wayne, someone who’s come to feel like a father figure in a way his own had never been, but never drops Eddie hand. He never does, even now that Eddie’s out of his coma and just sleeping soundly. 

“I... well, yeah, of course. He’s— he's my friend.” 

Wayne nods his head curtly and sets his newspaper aside on the little wooden table. “I see the way he looks at you when he’s awake, and I see the way you look at him when he’s not. Christ, that Dustin kid wouldn’t shut up about how you damn near died carrying my boy out of whatever sinkhole the ‘quake caught you lot in. So, whatever kinda care that is, just know that I’m happy if he’s happy. And when he gets out of here, you’re always welcome.” 

He claps a slack-jawed Steve on the shoulder and picks up his paper before Steve can respond. 

Wayne stands at the kitchen sink, rinsing out a beer can and peeks out the window to find quite a sight: Steve with his back resting against the windshield and Eddie with his back against Steve’s chest, Steve’s arms wrapped around his waist, and his chin nestled on Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie points at something in the sky and Steve just pulls him in closer, offering what looks like a kiss to his cheek. Wayne’s eyes aren’t what they used to be but he’d know that big smile of Eddie’s from miles away. 

He pulls the curtain with a smile of his own, affording them the privacy they’ve more than earned. 

Steve’s a good kid, he thinks, turning off the faucet. Better taste in men than he does in football, that’s for damn sure.