Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

🤖

“Steve, please, if you do this, I’ll never ask you for anything, ever again.”

Steve rolls his eyes, “Buckley, we both know that isn’t true.”

Robin groans and slumps over the counter. “Can’t we just skip to the part where you agree? We both know I’m going to wear you down eventually.” 

“What, you think you can just bat your eyes and I’ll give in and go to some dumb high school party with you?” He asks.

She bats her eyes.

“Buckley, I’m not taking you to Jessie MacDonald’s party. I’m not going to be that graduate who still goes to high school parties.”

“Oh please, just put on the King Steve act and strut around and no one will remember you’re not in high school anymore,” she says, and leans back, eyeing him up and down. “You might even get a date out of it.”

Steve fake retches. “Okay, well I’m absolutely not going to be the guy who needs to go to high school parties to find a date,” and he pauses before adding, “I did not strut. ”

“Well I wasn’t saying underage highschoolers, Jesus, Steve. Safe, sane, and consensual and all that,” she flaps her hand. “And you definitely strutted.”

Steve sighs, pinching his nose. “And what am I supposed to do for the night while you try to suss out if Vickie likes boobies?”

Robin throws a tape at him, which hurts, goddamn it, and he yelps. “That is not how you get someone to do you a favor, Buckley!”

“Hearing you say boobies makes me violent,” she says, “and Eddie is going to be there, I think. Chat him up.”

“ Chat him up?” Steve parrots, snorting. 

Robin gives him a look.

“What?” He asks, and her look intensifies.

“Didn’t your mom ever tell you your face will get stuck like that?” he asks, and pretends to start sorting through returns, just so he can stop looking at her dumb face. 

Another tape hits his side. 

“Why are we friends,” he asks,  mostly to himself, and picks the tape off the floor. “If any of these break I will definitely snitch on you.”

“No, you won’t.”

And yeah, he won’t.

“What if I need a bodyguard?” She asks, and he pauses looking through tapes at her words, then resumes. 

“I mean, Hawkins, Indiana,” she says, and he can hear her start to pace. “Not the most friendly place, between the monsters and the general rampant homophobia. I mean, what if something happens and you’re not there?”

And this is low, even for her.

“Really Buckley? You’re this desperate?”

And her face screws up a bit. “Well you straights weaponize my gayness all the time against me so this is just me weaponizing it right back!” She swings her arms a bit, and Steve sighs.

“It’ll only be a couple hours, I promise,” she says, and her voice has returned to normal. “I’ll even swap your Saturday shift with mine so you can sleep in.” He hesitates, meeting her eyes, and it’s like baring his neck to a predator, because she whoops , loudly, launching herself over the counter and hugging him fiercely, sending VHSs scattering.

“Robin!” He chastises, and he tries to catch the falling tapes as she lets him go.

“Sorry!” She squeals, but she’s still smiling.

“I can’t believe you’re using that against me,” he grumbles, righting the stacks Robin knocked over. 

She ruffles his hair and he bats her away, needing to keep up his charade of annoyance.

“Friday at 9!” She reminds him, and he looks up to her sending him a finger gun and walking towards the door. “You’re the best!”

—

Steve is not drunk enough for this.

He watches as Michael Thompson, legs lifted, chugs from a keg, beer foaming out of his mouth and onto the floor as the teenagers in the crowd cheer him on. The kid lasts longer than Steve expects, and the crowd's yells strengthen when his feet find the floor again. A little beer shoots out of his nose as he straightens, and Steve really hopes his keg stands were more graceful.

He knows they weren’t.

Spectacle over, Steve gives the room another once over. He glances over to Robin, who is still seated snuggly next to Vickie on the loveseat, some douchebag chatting both of them up from the ottoman in front of them. 

Steve pities him, a little.

He wanders away to the kitchen, knowing Robin can deal with their unwanted guest if she really wants to, and tries to find another drink. He shoulders through a couple of people before nearly colliding with Jonathan Byers.

They stare dumbly at each other for a moment, Steve recognizing Argyle next to him, and shaking himself out of it.

“Hey, man, I- er, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Jonathan laughs a little, “yeah man, could say the same for you.”

Steve throws a thumb over his shoulder. “Buckley dragged me here.”

Jonathan looks over Steve’s shoulder and nods, “yeah, Nancy dragged me here, too.”

Steve’s neck prickles a bit, and he shifts uncomfortably.

“I was promised alcohol,” is what Argyle says, and takes a sip.

Steve laughs, even though it isn’t really funny. “I was gonna-“ he motions to the liquid-filled tub behind Jonathan, shaking his cup.

Jonathan side steps, “right, see ya around, Harrington.” 

Argyle gives him a nod, which he returns, and gives one to Jonathan too as they walk away.

Steve lets out a harsh breath, and begins refilling his drink.

“Oh my god , Harrington, I mean, I know he fucked your ex, or whatever, but that was painful.”

Steve jumps, and his drink sloshes over his hand.

“God, you creepy motherfucker, you can’t sneak up on people like that,” Steve gripes, shaking the syrupy liquid off his hand.

Eddie grins wickedly, slapping Steve on the back and curling his fingers around his neck.

“I come by my titles honestly, Harrington,” Eddie says, eyeing him up and down. “So what is King Steve doing over here all by his lonesome?” Eddie’s hand drops, “no girls you’re trying to woo?”

Steve rolls his eyes, “I’m playing wingman tonight, for the record,” he says, gesturing to the two girls on the couch, now sans boy.

Eddie whistles, “think she’s” Eddie turns back to him, twisting his fingers in the air, and he leans in, whispering “a friend of Dorothy?”

Steve leans in too, mimicking his meaningless hand gesture, “no idea.”

Eddie snickers, sending another glance over his shoulder. “They sure are talking closely.” He notes, and turns back to Steve. “So, what, you came here just to watch Robin try to make a move in the most homophobic town of North America?”

“Chauffeur, wingman, bodyguard, I have many titles, Munson,” Steve says, taking another sip of his drink. He actually has to lean away slightly to do it, and he realizes just how close they are standing. 

Eddie smiles again, but it’s softer this time. “Tin man, you are, huh?”

“Shut up,” Steve says, reflexively, elbowing Eddie in the side. 

“Don’t worry, Harrington. I’ll keep the secret that you’re a softie. Worst kept secret in Indiana, though, mind you.”

“You’re an ass,” Steve says, and Eddie laughs. After a beat Steve asks, “which one said he needed courage?”

“The lion?”

Steve snaps his fingers. “That guy. If I’m a tin man, that’s you.”

A smile pulls at the corner of Eddie’s mouth. “You’re a tease, Harrington.”

Eddie turns, grabbing a cup and pouring his own drink.

“I didn’t think this was your scene,” Steve says, not wanting their conversation to die.

“Oh, it’s definitely not,” Eddie says, and he brings a lunchbox Steve only just noticed he was holding to eye level. “I’m working tonight, Stevie, a recently cleared serial killer only has so many employment opportunities.”

Stevie?

He feels guilty that was his takeaway from Eddie’s statement. He shakes himself out of it. “Well, lucky for me, then. Selling anything I’d like?”

“I’ll only be dealing for another hour,” Eddie says, in what feels like a non sequitur, “by then everyone who wanted anything in the first place will be high, and the time-to-product sold ratio just makes it not worth it anymore.” 

Steve raises an eyebrow in a silent question.

Eddie jiggles his lunchbox again, “I’ll save us a joint, Harrington.”

Steve smiles, “yeah, okay.”

Eddie smiles back and claps him on the upper arm, “back porch,” is all he says before walking away, and Steve feels Eddie’s fingers trail down his arm as he does.

Steve takes a deep breath. He can’t tell if he is too sober or too tipsy, anymore. 

He downs the rest of his drink.

The hour passes slowly. Steve doesn’t really know what to do with himself, but he doesn’t want to hover around Robin like some sort of helicopter parent, so he chats with James Young, the new captain of the swim team, who was always alright, if a bit of an idiot.

He brings up people Steve knows, fills him in on their chances on the championship in a couple of weeks.

“Eric’s come a long way,” he says, “he’s shaved seconds off his time since the beginning of the year, he’s quickly becoming our strongest.”

Steve lets him talk. The guy’s always been chatty, and listening to the simple anxieties of a high school swim captain is sort of calming.

Eventually a couple of James’s friends join them in conversation, and they start chatting about girls in their year, and Steve decides his part in the conversation is over.

He says a quiet goodbye, James the only one who really acknowledges it, and wanders to the living room, noticing the empty loveseat, and looks around, hoping Robin hadn’t strayed too far. The room is still packed, and ABBA booms from the speakers.

He feels hands on his arm, suddenly, and turns to see Veronica Reid pressed up close beside him. 

“I love this song!” She says over the music, pressing close to his side so she can speak into his ear.

“ABBA’s great,” he says, appeasingly, still glancing around the room for Robin.

He hears Veronica gasp, “I knew I liked you for a reason.” And her hands trail up his arm. “Dance with me!” she says, over the music, and pulls gently on his arm.

He knows Veronica a little, she sat behind him in biology last year, and he always thought she was pretty. She was smart, too, he remembered, she always helped her friend through labs.

“I’m not much of a dancer,” he says, but she shrugs.

“That’s alright.”

So he dances, awkwardly, and it’s almost fun. He’s definitely buzzed, and the music is loud, and the song switches to something by Wham! and he likes Wham! even more than he likes ABBA , so he starts to really get into it.

He hardly recognizes anyone. A few faces from the swim team, a few from the basketball team, but no one he remembers the names of. He’s happy about that.

Eventually, after an indeterminate amount of songs, Veronica gets up on her toes, again, and whispers, loudly, over the music, that there’s an empty bedroom upstairs they could use.

And for a moment, Steve is tempted, because she’s beautiful, and warm, and smells a little like perfume but also like sweat and alcohol, and, to be honest, it’s been a while. 

But then someone nudges past them in a dark leather jacket, and Steve remembers Eddie. 

So he lets her down, and she gives him a kiss on the cheek, and walks away.

He stares after her for a moment before checking his watch. He has about 10 minutes until Eddie would be expecting him, and he wants to find Robin before then.

Giving up on the living room, Steve turns to enter the kitchen, and nudges his way through the crowd, trying to peer over everyone’s heads. He quickly realizes Robin isn’t there either. Huffing, Steve worms his way to the edge of the crowd and sticks his head into the hallway.

“Steve!” He turns to see Eddie waving at him from the coat closet at the end of the hall.

He hesitates, wanting to find Robin, but Eddie is beckoning him over emphatically, so he relents.

“I have a message,” Eddie says in a stage whisper, once Steve is close enough.

Steve raises his eyebrows.

“From Dorothy ” he says, voice conspiratorial, and still stage whispering.

Steve raises his eyebrows higher.

Eddie drops the voice. “God, Harrington, you’re such a bore. I need to stop harassing you to play D&D and remember this moment whenever the urge strikes.”

“Robin talked to you?”

“God, yes, you grinch. Her and Vickie are upstairs. She made it quite clear she’s not going to need your services for the rest of the night,” Eddie says quietly, smirking. “Vickie is now officially her ride.”

“Blech,” Steve says.

Eddie shrugs. “You’re happy for them.”

“Unfortunately,” Steve says, toeing the floorboards with his shoe. He was off the hook, and, as he checks his watch, he realizes Robin had fulfilled her promise, it was barely past midnight.

“Still wanna share?” Eddie asks, and he holds a joint up between them.

Steve hums. “Yeah, but I drove here. Might not be the best idea.”

Eddie shrugs. “I’ll drive you home. Half these kids are leaving their cars here tonight. Host’s parents are gone all weekend, apparently.”

“Jessie,” Steve says. 

At the blank look Eddie gives him, he elaborates, “you’re in Jessie MacDonald’s place.”

“I have no idea who that is,” Eddie says, snapping his lunchbox shut.

Steve snorts.

“I’m smoking this either way, Harrington, so join me or don’t.”

It’s really not much of a choice, Steve thinks, and follows Eddie from the coat closet and out the back door.

The spring air is cool compared to the hot, stuffy atmosphere inside. Steve lets out a breath, takes a deep one in.

“Long day?” Eddie asks, digging around his pockets, joint hanging loosely in his mouth.

Steve shrugs. “Not any more difficult than any of the others.”

Eddie finds his lighter and ignites the joint deftly, getting it going with just a few puffs.

“Mm,” is all Eddie says, taking a deep drag before handing the joint over.

They stand there in silence for a moment, listening to the muffled sounds of the party inside.

“You know, I thought I was a deadbeat stoner before all this upside down business, but now?” He fidgets with his lighter, spinning the wheel. “It’s like I need it or something.” His voice is all pitchy as he speaks, making fun of himself, and Eddie rolls his eyes and gives Steve a crooked smile.

Steve passes the joint back, lets out his breath. “Take a page from our fearless First Lady, Munson,” he says, and, in a truly poor imitation of Nancy Reagan, continues “ just say no. ” Eddie laughs at this, and his smile turns more genuine.

“Ah, see here, Harrington, that just makes me want to do it all the more. We gotta give those pencil pushers as many heebie jeebies as we can,” he crouches, then sits on the top of the porch steps, letting his legs splay out in front of him. “I mean, what’s the point of all this” he gestures to himself, “if I’m not making a Reagan uncomfortable?”

Steve smiles and sits next to him. The short staircase they’re seated on is narrow, and Steve’s knee is only inches from Eddie’s. He stares at the space between their legs and Eddie passes the joint back. Their fingers brush as he grabs the joint.

“It helps, then?” Steve asks, nodding to the dope.

Eddie nods, then looks at him incredulously. “You’ve seriously never used it to take the edge off, after everything?”

Steve shrugs. “I always got my supply from Tommy H. When we stopped hanging out I just stuck with beer.”

Eddie’s gaze gets wilder, “Tommy H? God, what a prick. I sold him my crappiest weed for triple the price, not like he knew the difference,” he takes the joint back. “This is the good stuff, sweetheart, you should pace yourself.”

Steve feels his face flush and he turns away, gnawing hard on his bottom lip. His tongue feels heavy.

The silence hangs, but it’s not uncomfortable. Steve hears the song switch to something slow, and he wonders if the party is starting to die down.

“Does it, um, get better?”

Steve looks back over, watches the smoke escape from Eddie’s lips, his downturned eyes.

“Sorry?”

“Just-“ Eddie looks embarrassed at his words. He drags his hand over his face and he glances back over at Steve. His cheek is all red where his fingers pulled at the skin. “ It, you know?”

Steve tries to give him a smile, but he knows it’s more of a grimace.

“Depends on which part of the it you’re talking about, I guess,” he says, stealing the joint from between Eddie’s fingers and taking a drag for himself. “I'm probably the wrong person to ask, though, Munson. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a bit of a basket case.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” is Eddie’s reply, and Steve watches as he drums his fingers on the step between them. “I just-“ Eddie shakes his head, soft, frizzy curls bouncing, “I guess you always seem to have it figured out.”

Steve scoffs, “I‘m glad my front is so believable.” He hands the joint back to Eddie. “Want to talk about it?”

Eddie shrugs through another inhale, then taps the ash of the stoop. “The cliche stuff, really.” Steve lets the silence hang for a moment, feels his high blur the world outside of the two of them.

“Nightmares,” Eddie says, eyes averted, “shit Robin calls panic attacks” he flutters his fingers around in the air at the words, and Steve watches as the light from inside glint off his rings, “I’m so fucking jumpy I can’t even practice without…” he huffs, trailing off, letting the joint roll between his fingers. He rubs his free hand over his face again. “Sometimes I feel like all my seams are tearing.” He whispers this last bit, and takes another long drag. 

Steve watches him, his mind wading through the high as he tries to grab the right words. “I wish I could tell you it gets better,” he says, and Eddie looks at him, eyes slightly glassy, “but I can’t.” And Eddie snorts derisively.

“It does get… easier , though.” Steve leans forward, angling himself towards his friend. “At first, it just, it all feels so goddamn overwhelming. Like all of a sudden you have all these memories and anxieties and you know the weight of them is just going to suffocate you,” he pauses, chewing on his lip. 

“But then life keeps going. And you drag yourself to school, or work, and you get home and sometimes manage to eat or shower. And the days don’t stop, so you keep going. And you keep going until the weight doesn’t feel so oppressive. And you’re able to carry the weight and also hold a conversation with someone who doesn’t get it. Or listen to music without thinking if this would be the song to stop your eyes rolling back into your head and your bones cracking.” Steve sighs. “Still working on that one.” He goes for joking, but it falls flat. His mouth is starting to get sticky. “So yeah. It doesn’t get better . Not the way you want it to. You’re never going to be the person you were before.” He pulls his eyes away from Jessie’s backyard and looks at Eddie. 

Steve doesn’t know what to make of the face Eddie is giving him so he shrugs, leaning back again. “Or something like that.” He says, beginning his backpedal. “I’m pretty high.”

Eddie snorts, but it sounds lighter. He passes Steve the joint. “You’re a right J. D. Salinger over there, huh?”

Steve coughs this time. “Who?” He manages, but it comes out more of a wheeze. Eddie smiles at him.

“The Catcher in the Rye?” Eddie asks, elaborating, and Steve laughs.

“Dude, I’m pretty sure I read a total of 10 pages of that book.”

Eddie hmphs, “how am I the one repeating senior year when you don’t even know who Salinger is?” His tone conveys annoyance but he’s smiling, and Steve’s stomach gets fluttery.

He takes another hit, passes it back. The joint is almost gone, and Steve watches as Eddie finishes it. 

“You know you’ve got us, though, right?” Steve asks, and Eddie meets his eyes again, eyebrow raised. 

“We’re all in this together now. Like, you’re fully stuck with us.” And Steve smiles. “I’m in your corner now, and I’ve got a pretty terrifying bat.” And god, his head feels fuzzy and light, and Eddie’s smiling at him, which makes him smile wider, and he knows he looks fucking goofy, just sitting on these stairs, staring at Eddie Munson, talking about his gorey bat.

“Ozzy would approve of the bat,” Eddie says, nodding. And he leans back, mirroring Steve’s position so their hands are next to each other, pinky fingers almost brushing. 

“So do I get any perks now that I’m officially part of this band of misfits? Or just the knowledge that Steve Harrington will be my knight in shining armor?” 

Steve grins, goofily again, and shrugs. “Pretty metal scars,” he offers, and Eddie cackles. “A permanent, uncompensated babysitter role for the seven most obnoxious brats in Indiana,” and Eddie’s smile softens.

“They’re pretty unbearable,” Eddie says.

“The worst,” Steve agrees. “I wanted to give Nancy full custody, but she insisted on me not becoming an absent father.”

Smiling, Eddie says “smart one, that Wheeler.”

“Someone’s gotta be,” Steve says.

“Something’s still there, then?” Eddie asks, after a moment, and Steve looks over at him, but Eddie is looking out into the yard. 

God, he’s high. The air feels thick around him, but it’s a comforting weight, feels like a hug. 

“Nancy and me?” He asks, and just moving his mouth feels like he’s wading through molasses.

“You were giving each other bedroom eyes,” Eddie says, “in the Upside Down.”

Steve shakes his head, trying to clear it, but it still feels goopy. 

“Not bedroom eyes,” he manages, and he opens and closes his mouth, trying to moisten it.

“ Not bedroom eyes,” Eddie repeats, then laughs. “I told you to pace yourself, Harrington.”

Steve giggles, because he’s so high, and Eddie’s right, he should’ve paced himself. He hasn’t smoked in years and this stuff’s stronger than anything he’s tried before. “Definitely not bedroom eyes,” he says again, trying to drive the point home, “and Nancy absolutely does not want to be on the receiving end of said, hypothetical, bedroom eyes.” He hopes he’s making sense, because he was worried he was going to lose his train of thought halfway through speaking.

Eddie throws his hands up, “not bedroom eyes, alright, I believe you.” And Eddie smiles at him, and a dimple appears, and Steve wants to touch it. 

“Thank you,” Steve manages, mouth still sticky, and he can feel his heart thud in his chest. He’s still staring at Eddie’s dimple, and he can feel how sweaty his hands are getting.

Eddie laughs again, and Steve watches him stand.

“C’mon, Harrington, lemme take you home,” Eddie offers a hand, and Steve manages to wipe his sweaty palms on his jeans before grabbing it.

Eddie hoists him up, and Steve stumbles a bit, which makes Eddie laugh again. He can feel Eddie’s breath on his face and their hands are still clasped, and Steve feels woozy in a way he doesn’t think has anything to do with the dope.

“You can barely open your eyes, Stevie, I’m not surprised you’re stumbling.”

“Shut up,” Steve says, but it comes out breathy. He meets Eddie’s gaze and he’s smiling, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Alright?” Eddie asks, and Steve nods, and Eddie drops their hands. Steve flexes his fingers at the lack of contact, but he follows Eddie around the side of the house, towards the street.

“‘M not far,” Eddie says, but Steve barely hears him, focusing on his feet, the up-down motion, and trying not to stumble.

They make it to Eddie’s van, and Steve is able to situate himself inside. He buckles his seatbelt and lets out a sigh, closing his eyes.

“Arduous journey, huh?” Eddie asks, and Steve hears the ignition click, and feels the van rumble to life.

“Shut up,” Steve says, smiling. He leans deeper into the seat, and his eyelids feel so heavy.

“So dope makes Steve Harrington sleepy,” Eddie says, and he feels the car move, “noted.”

Steve snorts, because that’s about all he can muster out of himself. He feels warm in Eddie’s van. It smells like weed, and actually a lot like sweat and cigarettes, but in a nice way, he reasons. He hears Eddie turn on some music, immediately dialing the volume back to a level so quiet Steve can barely hear it.

Eddie must, though, because he can hear him thumping his fingers on his steering wheel and humming.

“What is this?” Steve asks, eyes still closed.

“This is Deep Purple , Stevie,” and he turns the music up slightly, so the electrifying guitar is more audible. “Absolute legends, ” he says, and Steve honestly can’t hear the appeal.

“ Talking Heads are better , ” he says, yawning, and Eddie makes a strangled noise next to him.

“We’re picking this conversation back up when you’re sober, dear, you’re delirious.”

Steve thinks he might’ve said something in the affirmative, but his mind begins to drift, and the movement of the van is lulling him into a doze.

Eventually, he feels the van turn and slow, and Steve cracks his eyes open to his house.

He pulls himself from the seat and rubs at his eyes, which are hot and puffy.

“Think you can get yourself inside?” 

Steve glances over, and Eddie’s looking at him with amusement.

“Ha-ha” Steve says, but his tongue still feels heavy. He cracks a grin.

“Thanks for the ride, Munson.”

“Any time, Stevie.”

And Steve hesitates for a moment, eyes trained on Eddie’s, before grabbing the door handle and hopping out.

He waves, and is about to shut the door when he pauses.

“About, what you said earlier,” and Eddie raises an eyebrow. “The uh- nightmares and panic attacks and stuff.” And Eddie’s face tightens a bit. “Just uh-“ he fidgets, still too high for this conversation, and tries to concentrate on his point. “It helped me, knowing I had someone to call, who, who go it. So, I’m trying to say just, just give me a call, if it gets to be, like, a lot, or something. Yeah?” 

And Eddie’s face loses its tightness, and he gives Steve a small smile. 

“Thanks, Stevie,” and the smile Eddie gives him makes his insides feel gooey all over again. “Now, go inside and go to bed, alright? I think the strain of stringing those words together just shaved a decade off your already threatened lifespan.”

“Shut up,” he says, but he closes the van door this time, giving one final wave, and goes inside.

Chapter Text

🦁

Eddie hasn’t been this nervous for a gig since Corroded Coffin’s first appearance at the Hideout over a year ago. He’s all twitchy, can’t stop fussing with the tuning pegs of his guitar or adjusting his amp, twisting his hair and fretting with his jacket. It’s two minutes before they are due to come on and Gareth puts a hand on Eddie’s shoulder and tells him to chill the hell out. 

Eddie grabs the strands of hair he’d just attempted to stand just so and crosses them over his face. “Gareth, you either need to coddle me or shut up.”

“I’ll coddle you, baby,” Jeff coos, coming up behind him and twisting his arms around Eddie’s middle, attempting to plant a kiss to his neck.

Eddie twists in his grip and stamps on his toe which makes Jeff whine dramatically.

“Oh, c’mon, we all know who Eddie really wants to be coddled by, and said boy is also why our frontman is currently crapping his pants,” Dan says, and Eddie buries his face in his hands. 

“This is bullying. Homophobia. You’ve turned into what you swore to never become.”

Dan cackles and Eddie wants to strangle him.

“Aw, c’mon, Eds, we all know why you’re really interested,” Dan says, and gestures so lewdly Gareth shoulders him hard enough that he stumbles.

“Gross, dude,” Gareth says, laughing, then the bastard adds, “but I heard Harrington-“ and he makes another lewd gesture that Eddie elbows him for.

“Fucking Neanderthals,” Eddie says as Gareth and Dan continue to chuckle.

Eddie, ignoring them, returns to his guitar and anxiously plucks the strings. He finds a smudge of something on her as he does and spits on the corner of his shirt to wipe it off.

“It’s time boys,” Jeff says, and he feels a clap on his shoulder. 

Eddie wants to puke.

They come on stage to a very thin crowd, which is not unusual. Tonight, however, five new voices are whooping loudly at their entrance. 

Eddie lasts an impressive three seconds before allowing his gaze to sweep over his friends, to Steve, who is waving like Eddie could possibly have a difficult time picking him out from the crowd. Eddie smiles at them, waves, blows exaggerated kisses.

As soon as Steve realizes Eddie has spotted him he stretches out his shirt and points to the design. 

It’s pretty difficult to make out, they’re at a table several yards from the stage, but it’s hand drawn and all five of them are wearing matching ones. Eddie points and sends Steve a wink, pretending like he understands, then marches over to the microphone.

He actually feels a little calmer when he has it in his hands. He’s in his element, here, on stage, with his three best friends and his brand new guitar strung around him, and Eddie lets the theatrical, ostentatious part of him shine.

“ Hawkins Indiana!” He yells, and stums a chord, “it feels so good to be back and playing for you nasty vermin, you have no idea.” He strikes another chord, hears his friends’ cheers over anything else. “We’re back and better than ever baby, thank god scars make you look metal!” He looks down as he strikes another harsh chord, at the mottled flesh of his right arm, how he knows everyone can see through the sides of his cutoff tank top and to the mess that is his stomach. Thinks of how he’s survived being a freak for this long, and now he can survive being this kind of freak, too.

Gareth counts them down. The crowd gives some hoots, which makes Eddie grin. He knows most are here for the beer and the ambiance, that the live music is, at most, appreciated, but even these shouts of assent send thrills up his spine. And his friends, the ones who went to hell and back with him, are here, and Eddie knows their tastes in music couldn’t be more dissimilar, but they all scream and pound their feet and cheer and Eddie loves them.

He smiles. Lets himself relax into the feeling of performing. Of being on stage with his best friends and being able to fucking stomp his foot and thrash his head and sing his songs because he’s here and not rotting the goddamn Upside Down. 

He looks up and his eyes find Steve’s. He’s staring at him raptly, fingers tight around the neck of a beer bottle, leaning over one of the standing tables the five of them are sharing. He’s captivating. His hair looks mussed in that beautifully artificial way and Eddie wants to run his fingers through it until he knows what Steve Harrington’s hair looks like without all that fucking product. 

Instead he blows a mocking kiss toward him as they finish the song and to Eddie’s horror and delight, Steve catches it. Mimes putting it in his pocket.

They play their third, fourth, and fifth songs of the night. Eddie tries not to let his gaze rest on Steve too often. Tries to let his gaze fade out to the crowd in general, but the space is small and there are only so many guests and Eddie has enough self awareness to admit he’s hopeless. His eyes find Steve’s more often than he’d care to admit and Steve waves and winks and Eddie tries to be cool about all of it.

Fingers numb, Eddie plays the final chords of their sixth song, an older one that has some of the regulars bopping their heads. Corroded Coffin had only taken a six week hiatus, between spring break and Eddie’s life or death stint in the hospital, but it feels like much longer.

They begin their seventh song. It’s heavier than their others, makes Eddie’s throat sore as he sings, and he thrashes his head around so his hair and spit go flying. 

It all ends far too quickly. They’re on a schedule, and two other bands are performing after them, and Eddie wonders if they can squeeze in one last song. The song he’s been waffling between doing and not doing since Steve asked him when Corroded Coffin would return to The Hideout.

Stomach knotting, Eddie trots over to Gareth and exchanges a few hushed words that his drummer smirks at him for. 

Eddie squints in a way that says shut up and sends quick nods to Dan and Jeff, who also smirk. 

Assholes , he thinks as he makes his way back to center stage.

“Alright, upstanding citizens of Hawkins,” Eddie says, and he’s still kinda out of breath and definitely sweating, bangs sticking to his forehead and shirt sticking to his back, but the attention is on him and he smiles. “I know you’re all used to our usual stuff, but we wanted to mix it up a bit.”

He starts his riff, then continues, “we don’t do a lot of covers, but we think this one is gonna be fun as our last song of the evening.”

Jeff joins him on the guitar, and Eddie jumps a bit once he does, excitement coursing through him. He’s been practicing this since Steve sang along to it on the radio weeks ago, because Eddie is a hopeless, queer freak with a hopeless crush. So Eddie’s not an idiot. He knows, he knows it will never happen, but he’ll take the moments he can get. And playing a cover of a George Michael song while Steve is watching? That’s a moment he can take.

“ Oh I guess it would be nice!

If I could touch your body,

I know not everybody

Has got a body like you!

But I gotta think twice

Before I give my heart away”

His voice is nothing like George Michael’s. But with Gareth’s drums and Jeff’s guitar and Dan’s bass, Eddie is actually confident that it sounds pretty good.

He’s stomping around stage, the sound of his footfalls drowned by the cacophony of noise, and he pauses to tear up his guitar with Jeff’s back pressed against his, still trying hard to move around enough that his necklaces and rings and chains can shine like disco balls.

He moves back to center stage when the chorus comes, drops his voice so it comes out gravelly and harsh, and screams the chorus of “ gotta have faith!” over and over again. He looks over to his friends, to Steve, and they’re so much closer now, having moved through most of the tables in front of the stage, and Eddie can finally tell what their shirts say.

They’re Corroded Coffin shirts. Hand drawn with black marker, band name at the top and a doodle of a coffin with a skeleton hand peeking out. Eddie chokes, almost, feels a swell of emotion roll through him, and he has to tear his gaze away before it gets the better of him. He knows his face is red, and he hopes it can be played off by the stage lights and throaty vocals.

As they reach the final moments of the song Eddie decides to lean into the corniness. He spins, microphone in his right hand and guitar hanging loosely around his neck. He stops when his back is to the crowd.

“Gotta have faith,” he sings, shifting his hips, and he feels ridiculous in the best way, because he hears Robin shrieking and even though it kinda hurts he keeps twitching his hips back and forth in a truly poor imitation of George Michael’s fine ass, and he keeps doing it until they hit the final note of the song, violently thrusting his hips to the left and swinging back around.

“Gotta have faith!” He sings, one last time, and his friends are going nuts, and Eddie’s smile twists into something embarrassing because Steve wolf whistles and Robin pounds her fist on someone else’s table, and Nancy jumps up and down with her hands in the air, and Jonathan and Argyle tunnel their hands around their mouths and whoop.

“Thank you, fine patrons of The Hideout!” Eddie yells, flashing one more smile and then waves goodbye to the crowd. 

Still smiling dumbly, he shuffles off stage, his band mates following him.

“I can’t believe you roped us into that, Munson,” Jeff says as he packs up his guitar, locking his case.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Dude, don’t even pretend like that wasn’t fun.”

“Oh, you and Harrington making sex eyes at each other the whole set? Sure Munson, totally my idea of a good time,” Dan gripes, and Eddie really wishes Gareth was here and not still on stage packing up his drums.

Eddie begins stacking their amps on a dolly. “You’re both unbearable,” he mutters and Jeff laughs.

“See, the fact that he can’t even make a joke out of it means it’s serious!” Dan laughs, singsonging the last words.

“Take the amps to the van, I’m going to help Gareth.”

Dan and Jeff ooo at his tone as he leaves and together he and Gareth make quick work of the drumset, meeting back up with Dan and Jeff at the back of Eddie’s battered van.

Eddie just wants to get back inside, and the unusual care Gareth is taking to load the van is making him antsy. “You’re doing this on purpose.” Eddie says, petulantly, as Gareth carefully stacks his cymbals and drums so everything fits snugly.

Gareth rolls his eyes. “If your driving was better, Munson, I wouldn’t have to worry so much about how my shit gets packed.”

Jeff and Dan are taking more time than usual to wrap their cords, untwisting kinks that have been there for months. Eddie knows they’re dragging their feet on purpose, just to fuck with him, so he snatches a cord out of Dan’s hands and throws it unceremoniously on one of the back seats.

“Goddamn antsy, Munson,” Gareth says, smiling, but he snaps the trunk closed.

“You’re all a bunch of pricks,” he grumbles as he grabs the last of the cords from Jeff and tosses them with the rest.

“Who knew Eddie would turn into such an annoying jackass once he caught feelings.” Jeff grouses and Eddie locks up his van. 

Gareth snorts in a way that says obviously, and Eddie leads them back into The Hideout.

“Shut your goddamn trap, man,” Eddie huffs, and Jeff rolls his eyes.

“Can we get back to the part where Eddie has it bad for Steve Harrington?” Dan asks, opening the back door. “And that all four of us are about to spend the evening with the King who treated us all like freaks?” 

Eddie bristles. “He’s a good guy, now, okay? Like, it’s Steve Harrington, not fucking, King Steve, or whatever. It’s also Robin Buckley and Jonathan Byers, yeah? I mean, do you think the three of us would hang out with him if he hadn’t changed?” Eddie pauses even though the four of them are crammed in the skinny hallway leading into the back of the bar. “Just give them a chance, okay? Even Wheeler. She’s not the priss everyone says she is.”

Dan and Jeff look unconvinced but Gareth gives a nod of assent, and he narrows his eyes at them all for good measure. “He’s nice, okay? Just, be nice back.”

Eddie opens the door and hopes he’s not about to send his little hobbits to Isengard.

To Eddie’s relief, it starts out just fine. The band’s icy front is warmed by Steve and Robin’s fast and enthusiastic praise of their music, Steve raving about Jeff’s transformation of Michael’s guitar, and Robin repeating over and over again that she could feel Gareth’s drumming in her chest .

Steve turns to him, face all lit up, and squeezes an arm around him. “Those vocals, Eddie, man, you’ve really been holding out on me.” He turns further into him, arm still tight around Eddie’s shoulders, and continues, “you said you could play, and could kind of sing.” Steve shakes his head, “Eddie Munson, humble, never would’ve bet on that one.”

Eddie smiles, shoving him away, mainly because he can’t think straight enough to speak with Steve pressed so close. “I contain multitudes.” Eddie says, then plucks at the shirt Steve is wearing. “This, however, I’m very interested in. Hope you didn’t lose too much beauty sleep working on these, Stevie. We both know that hair requires a full eight hours after all the leg work it does during the day.”

Steve snickers, “yeah, alright, Munson, I spend too much time on my hair. You need new material.”

“Some jokes never get old, sweetheart.”

Steve snorts, and Eddie wonders, for a moment, if Steve is blushing. Steve continues, “I am flattered that you think I have this much artistic ability.” He pulls at the shirt. “This was all the kids. Well, Will, mostly. They were upset they couldn’t be here tonight.”

And that just makes Eddie kinda want to explode.

Jeff and Gareth join them in conversation, after that. It’s a little awkward, but it’s not tense, and Eddie can tell that Steve is trying really hard to get the band to like him. He’s talking louder and more quickly than he normally does, clapping them all on their backs, offering to buy drinks and touching his hair so frequently Eddie’s half convinced he’s developed an actual tick.

Eddie knows Steve is overcompensating, and it’s as endearing as it is actually uncomfortable, watching the band try to navigate Steve’s new over enthusiastic character.

“So how’s Hellfire going? You guys- uh- battle any, dragons, lately?” Steve asks, and Eddie turns to him so quickly he cracks his neck.

Jeff cackles loudly at this, and Steve flushes, then downs half his beer in one go. Gareth takes a little more sympathy and attempts to answer Steve’s well intentioned question, explaining they had just entered a vast network of caves in search of a lost child.

“Ready to join the campaign, Harrington?” Dan interjects, interrupting Gareth who was in the midst of his patient explanation. “We’re talking D&D, right? Have we decided what your character type would be?” He asks, needling further, and Eddie kind of wishes he’d return to whatever conversation he’d been having with Buckley.

Steve shrugs like he’s just along for the ride, and Jeff says, “he asked if we battled any dragons lately.”

Dan’s bemused smile grows. “You strike me as a barbarian, Harrington.” He says, and clinks their half full bottles together.

“Naw, he’s a Fighter,” Gareth says, and Steve smiles.

“Are those good ones?” He asks, and it takes a moment for Eddie to realize that the question is directed at him. 

“Not good or bad, neither are you though,” and Eddie elaborates, “a barbarian is a warrior, which, yeah, the jock part I get,” he says, giving Dan a tight smile, “but barbarians are also usually not all that bright and go into these insane battle rages. Which, let’s be honest here, you’re way too soft for that shit, sweetheart.” He pokes Steve in the stomach.

Steve lets out an undignified little noise and bats at his hand, which makes Eddie grin. “And a fighter…” Eddie pretends to mull this one over. “You gotta be skilled in multiple weapons for that one, Stevie. What did you do in high school? Swim around and throw balls through rings? Doesn’t sound like you’ve had too much experience swinging a weapon around. I guess a case could’ve been made for baseball, but, alas.”

Steve's lips quirk and he shakes his head. “Damn, brutal,” he says. “Get made fun of for being the jock and then it turns out I’m not jock enough for your nerd shit.”

Dan waves them off. “Alright, what is he then? And don’t say Ranger or else I’ll know you’re really full of it.”

Eddie’s suddenly very glad Steve’s never read the Lord of the Rings.

Jeff raps on their table, “a paladin!”

Eddie taps his drink against Jeff’s. “You are absolutely correct .”

“The hells a pal- what did you say?” Steve’s question is directed at Jeff, but Eddie answers.

“You’re a warrior that’s bound to stand against the forces of evil .” Eddie says, and his DM voice is coming out, his pitch wavering over “ evil”, and Steve smiles at him, so he continues, “you’re devout to stand for righteousness, and your power comes from this devotion!” He raises his hands up over his head. “You will fight until all the darkness from this world has been vanquished and the citizens you are sworn to protect no longer have to live in fear!” He brings his fists down on their little standing table and it rocks their drinks. “Your power is holy. ” He stage whispers this last bit and leans into Steve’s space, his eyes now wide. Steve’s smile grows and he edges closer.

Eddie hears Dan laugh. “King Steve? A paladin?”

Steve breaks eye contact with Eddie to look at Dan. A different smile Eddie doesn’t really like breaks over his face. “Yeah, no, I’m probably the uh- barbarian? Or whatever.” He taps the side of his head. “I stuck with sports for a reason.”

Dan laughs, and Steve kind of joins, and Eddie frowns.

“That’s not-“ Eddie starts, but Steve wraps a hand around his elbow, cutting him off.

Eddie glowers at him, but Steve seems intent on changing the subject.

“Any particular reason you chose that last song to play?” He asks, and Eddie can feel his face heat.

“Even I can admit Michael has produced some catchy stuff, Harrington,” he says, and Steve smiles.

“Damn, you feeling okay, Munson? This some after effects of bat venom we need to be worried about? The metal head appreciating pop?”

Eddie grins, tilting on his feet so he moves dangerously close to Steve and then away again. “I guess you’ll just have to keep track of my symptoms, Stevie. Check my temperature and all that.”

“And if I start listening to Judas Priest ? Would you have to nurse me back to health?” Steve asks, and this is getting dangerous, Steve is so close and Eddie needs to get himself under control. 

He leans away a bit. “Might need to page Dr. Wheeler in for your case, Harrington. She has more experience with your medical crises.”

Steve smiles, lets go of his arm, and their conversation drifts to safer territory.

Jonathan, Argyle and Nancy leave not long after, and Nancy gives him a tight hug and a promise that they’ll come to another show, and Jonathan and Argyle both give him hugs and promises of a smoke session soon, which Eddie agrees to, as long as they can bring their Californian dope.

Eddie returns to their table to find Steve now at the other end, Robin nestled up to him, resting her head on his shoulder. Steve wraps an arm around her and whispers something that Eddie can’t hear. Steve blindly grabs for the water Robin had been sipping on, precariously placed on the edge of the table, and hands it to her. He watches the easy smile that comes across his face as Robin giggles drunkenly into her glass.

He turns away. Eddie’s not jealous. He’s not, because Steve having friends is a good thing, a wonderful thing, because Steve is good and kind and funny and deserves to be surrounded by people who are the same. 

But he is also terribly and embarrassingly jealous, because he craves that sort of casual intimacy, no matter how pathetic of a desire. He watches Steve’s fingers curl around Robin’s shoulders and Eddie’s thoughts slip.

“I like Nancy,” Jeff says, snapping Eddie out of it, “she’s different than she was a couple years ago.”

Eddie nods, tears his gaze away from Steve. “Yeah. I think so too.”

“And your boy is alright,” Gareth adds, and Eddie feels his neck grow hot. “Not sure if I necessarily approve, but,” Gareth shrugs. “Maybe tonight was the first step to getting there.”

“You’re embarrassing,” Eddie says and knocks back the rest of his drink. “It’s never going to happen.”

“Eddie,” Dan says, and his tone is earnest, “the way he was talking tonight? He was trying to impress us, you know, like how boyfriends do?”

“Would you drop it?” Eddie snaps, harsher than he really wanted, and Dan raises his hands. Eddie drags locks of his hair over his face. “I just- it’s not going to happen. I don’t want- I can’t get my hopes up. Okay?”

The three nod, looking somber, and Jeff pats him on the back.

Steve rejoins their bubble not long after, a very tipsy Robin in tow, and they chat about nothing until Robin’s yawns start to become aggressive.

“I should take her home,” Steve says, and Eddie can tell he’s supporting most of her body weight. 

“Yeah, we’re probably going to leave soon too, honestly.” Because it’s true. Eddie is tired. They never stay this late.

Steve smiles, and Eddie thinks he might drown. “You were really good, Eddie. I normally don’t like-“ and he gestures like Eddie is supposed to understand that his hand wave is code for metal music in general, then continues, “but you’re awesome.” 

Eddie’s definitely drowning. He nods, tries to clear his throat. “Thanks, Stevie.”

They stand in each other's space for another beat, and Eddie watches the dim bar lights reflect in Steve’s eyes.

He feels that Steve is about to pull away, and he can’t help himself. He leans in a little more. “By the way,” Eddie says, and he taps the side of Steve’s head. “ Definitely a paladin.”

Chapter Text

🤖

Steve drums his thumbs on the edge of his steering wheel as he waits in the high school parking lot. He’s a little early and very bored.

“Ooh, I don't know what you're thinking

I don't even know what you're drinking

But it keeps this heaven alive!”

He sings under his breath, nodding a little.

Finally, the kids spill out, and Steve turns down the music and steps out of his car to wave them down.

Dustin, Mike, and Erica are in a heated conversation, using terms Steve doesn’t understand, and file into his backseat without sparing a glance. Will and Lucas walk behind them, and both give a hi before sliding in as well. Steve narrows his eyes at the fact that there are now five dweebs crammed into four seats, but Mike and Dustin send him the middle finger, seemingly on instinct, and he vows to drive ten under the whole way.

Steve glances up to see that Eddie has paused in the middle of the parking lot and is chatting animatedly to the other, older members of Hellfire.

They make eye contact, and Eddie quickly slips away and trots lopsidedly over to him, a smile plastered to his face, and Steve feels the corners of his mouth quirk to mimic.

“Stevie,” Eddie says, and he stops in front of Steve’s open car door, “light of my life, apple of my eye, I need a favor.”

Steve lifts an eyebrow as his chest thuds uncomfortably. He leans forward and rests his forearms onto the top of the car door. “A favor. Does this have something to do with Wheeler looking so comfy in my back seat?”

Eddie’s smile turns sheepish. “So, I may have bet Hellfire that they wouldn’t be able to figure out how to get through the lock on a door and into the next chamber before the end of the session, and then they asked me the stakes, and I told them I’d take them to Dina’s for milkshakes, and it all happened so fast, Steve!” 

Steve snorts, leans forward a little more. “How long did it take them?”

“Erica used her brute strength to smash the lock of the hinges!” Dustin says from the backseat, inserting himself into the conversation.

Steve looks back at Eddie whose head is dropped in shame. 

“I spent three hours creating the clues they would need to unlock it,” Eddie moans, and Steve snickers.

“Don’t laugh!” Eddie whines, “the children have already laughed at me enough.”

“It was awesome,” Mike says from the back seat, which Eddie grins at.

“Milkshakes, losers!” Dustin calls, snapping his fingers.

“I’m getting to it, Henderson!” Eddie huffs, and his attention turns back to Steve. 

“So, my van doesn’t have enough seats for all of them,” and Eddie stops, waits for him to fill in the blanks.

“So now you’re roping me into it, because you rang up a tab you can’t pay,” Steve tsks, and Eddie rolls his eyes.

“C’mon, Stevie, I’ll buy you a milkshake.”

Twenty minutes later the kids are squashed together in a single booth, Eddie, Steve, and the rest ostracized to a small table a couple feet away. How about you sit with someone your own age, for once? Dustin suggested, patting him on the arm like he was his elderly grandmother before cramming into the last spot in the booth.

So Steve is left to fend for himself in front of Eddie and his friends.

“Food just tastes better when you’re not the one paying for it,” Jeff says, tossing away his straw and sipping on his milkshake from the glass.

“You’ll get brain freeze like that,” Gareth admonishes, whose own milkshake is piled high with maraschino cherries. He pops one into his mouth, chews, and then pops the stem in as well. “I could never get this,” he says, though it comes out garbled.

“You’re an idiot.” Dan says, but is already reaching over to grab one of the cherries. Soon they are both struggling to tie the stem using only their teeth and tongue.

“You’re both idiots,” Jeff sighs, and he continues to berate them as they struggle through their endeavor.

“How’s the chocolate and peanut butter?” Eddie asks, and Steve’s attention comes back to him, and Eddie is pointing to his shake with his dripping straw.

“Exceeding all my hopes and dreams from the last twenty minutes,” Steve says, and Eddie snorts a laugh.

“How’s yours?” Eddie had insisted on a swirl of vanilla and chocolate, despite the waitress’s comment that it’s all blended together, so it can’t even really be a swirl, but Eddie assured her that he would definitely be able to distinctly taste both the chocolate and vanilla, swirl or no.

Instead of answering, Eddie spears his straw back into his shake and passes it over. Steve grabs the straw and meets Eddie’s eyes as he takes a sip. His stomach swooshes a little at the eye contact, and he drops his gaze as he passes the drink back over.

“Tastes like chocolate,” Steve says.

“That’s because your pallet is unsophisticated.”

“ My pallet is unsophisticated?” Steve laughs, “Eddie, did I or did I not see you finish an old, half eaten pudding pie from your van’s console, like, yesterday?” He shifts, resting against the back of his chair and sliding his legs forward. His foot nudges Eddie’s.

Eddie waves him off, foot moving so it’s flush with Steve’s. “Just because I choose to indulge in the culture of pallets lesser to mine does not portend my lack of one.” 

“ Portend?”

“I’m trying to pass English here, Stevie,” Eddie says, using his straw to shovel whipped cream into his mouth.

Steve chases the movement with his eyes.

“You’re gonna be fine,” he says, but his voice comes out raspy, so he sips at his milkshake.

Eddie hums, this time using his straw to swirl the thin layer of remaining whipped cream into the shake. “If demobats can’t stop this from being my year, nothing can.”

“Damn right,” Steve says, and taps the toe of his shoe against Eddie’s ankle.

“I give up,” Gareth says, and spits out the stem, now ragged with teeth marks. Jeff makes a face.

“You’re disgusting.”

Eddie reaches across the table and snags a cherry from Gareth’s rapidly dwindling supply. “I totally got this,” Eddie says, and tosses both the cherry and stem into his mouth. He struggles for about fifteen seconds before coughing violently and hacking both the cherry and shredded stem onto the table. 

His three friends howl with laughter and Steve smiles at Eddie’s reddening face.

“Yeah, well, none of you assholes could do it either,” Eddie grumbles. 

Steve nudges his foot in assurance and Eddie gives him a small smile in return.

“Harrington?” Gareth asks, and Steve breaks eye contact with Eddie to see  a pointed look, “c’mon, I’m not gonna believe you if you tell me King Steve never learned the cherry stem trick.”

“Yeah, well, that dude was a wannabe,” Steve says. Gareth grins, and for the first time Steve thinks the smile might be genuine. 

“Ah c’mon, Harrington. Show us freaks how it’s done,” Dan goads, nudging the shake closer.

There’s a shuffle under the table and Steve can feel Eddie’s foot shift. Dan makes a strangled sort of noise and soon he and Eddie are glaring at each other. The way they stare at each other is the same way Robin stares at him when she’s screaming full sentences with her eyes.

Steve glances between them, trying to decipher whatever argument seems to be raging. He can barely see Eddie’s face and he doesn’t know Dan well enough to interpret whatever’s happening with his eyebrows.

Steve considers leaving it, because it’s a pretty douchebag move, one he hasn’t used since sophomore year, but he’s pretty sure that he still remembers the mechanics. He glances back over to the melting milkshake, which is still somehow supporting three sloping cherries, and wonders why he cares so much if these three like him.

Steve checks to make sure Dustin isn’t watching, he’d never hear the end of it if he was, and says “I promise, I haven’t done this since I was a sophomore.” Dan and Eddie both look at him as he reaches over and pops the cherry into his mouth. 

He swallows the fruit quickly then sucks on the stem for a moment, trying to soften the fibers, then makes the x with his teeth and loops it through with his tongue. 

He holds the tied stem between his front teeth like a prize, then does an embellished jazz hands type of move before leaning over and letting it drop into his empty glass.

He looks up to see Eddie’s face turning a violent red. He’s staring at him with wide eyes and Steve shifts uncomfortably before glancing over at the other three, who are all looking at Eddie and seem to be choking back laughter.

Steve’s neck prickles. “I warned you, a wannabe,” he says through an uncomfortable laugh, crossing his arms over his chest.

Eddie barks out a laugh of his own, sounding strangled, before grabbing his hair and yanking it in front of his face. Dan rolls his eyes and Gareth snorts and Steve really feels like he’s missing something. As shame begins to twist into his gut he thinks he maybe doesn’t want to know what it is.

“Gonna,” he gestures to the bathroom but they aren’t looking at him. Eddie still has his hair all in his face and the other three are sharing looks Steve at least understands are about him.

It’s a single stall bathroom. He splashes some water on his face and grips the side of the sink and reminds himself that he was an asshole, and that a bit of teasing is nothing compared to everything he did for years. He needs to get over himself.

He looks in the mirror and, for a moment, all he can see is himself. His hair is slightly damp around his face and his cheeks are a little flushed from the cold water and his lips are a little red from the artificially dyed fruit, and then he wonders if he knows this person, staring back at him, or if the only part of himself he really knows is the one who called Eddie and Dan and Jeff and Gareth freaks because they dared to not be exactly what Hawkins Indiana wanted them to be.

He reminds himself that no one owes him forgiveness.

He wishes Robin was here.

When he returns the kids are restless, and Dustin moans that he’s going to miss his scheduled phone call with Suzie if they don’t leave right that minute.

Steve ends up paying because Eddie is so consumed with flicking the ball he’s made of straw wrappers into Jeff’s cup that he doesn’t even notice Steve flag down the waitress.

“You should’ve nudged me, Stevie! I have government hush money now!” He exclaims, far too loudly, as they exit the diner. “How is it supposed to do any good if I can’t even buy milkshakes for my favorite people?” He gestures to the crowd around them.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Okay, yeah, next time Erica emasculates you by destroying your fancy nerd door, you can pay,” he says, unlocking his car and letting the five kids clamber inside. “Promise.” He takes a couple steps away from the open drivers side door and leans against the front side of his car.

Eddie grins and takes a step closer, mirroring Steve’s position. “So there’ll be a next time for post-Hellfire milkshakes?”

“Yeah, and this time, I promise not to completely make a fool of myself by being a total jock the whole night,” he says, and something in his chest tugs.

Eddie’s smile sticks but his gaze softens. “Yeah, well, I promise not to be a total freak and hack half digested cherries onto the table.”

Steve lets out an embarrassing snort of a laugh and Eddie shoves at his shoulder. They’re close enough that Steve can see a smudge of chocolate at the very inner corner of Eddie’s mouth.

“Let’s go!” Dustin yells from inside the car,  banging on his window.

“Hey!” Steve says, turning and pointing his finger towards Dustin. “Respect the car or you’re walking.”

“Only make threats you’re prepared to carry out, Harrington,” Dustin bites back.

“Respect your damn elders, Henderson!” Eddie yells, “or you’ll have hell to pay next week!”

Dustin grumbles something unintelligible in reply and Eddie rolls his eyes. 

“Not sure what hell to pay entails but I hope it’s merciless,” Steve says, and Eddie grins at him again. 

He reaches out his hand and loops a pinky around Steve’s. “Promise.”

-

Dustin had insisted on being the first one dropped off, and had backseat driven so insistently Steve had practically kicked him out of the car when they finally pulled into his driveway.

Brat doesn’t even say bye.

Steve insists on a reshuffle, now that there’s an appropriate amount of people in his car, and the drive to the Sinclairs’ and Wheeler’s passes quickly with the teens’ excited chatter. 

The last one left is Will, after he drops off Mike, and Steve is about to pull out of the driveway when he hears the back door creak, and sees Will walk around the car before sliding into the front seat that Wheeler had just left.

Will has his shoulders up to his ears and does not make eye contact.

Wordlessly, Steve puts the car in reverse. They drive down the road in silence for a moment, Steve giving Will quick glances out of the corner of his eye before he breaks. 

“Everything alright?”

He sees Will fidget. “I- I wanted to talk to you.”

Will really looks like he wants the ground to swallow him up whole.

“About, dating.”

Steve hesitates for a beat, then says, “oh, okay. Yeah, shoot, kid,” he tries for casual, like him and Will have talked a million times before, and like he’s fully prepared to have what is terrifyingly on track to discussing the birds and the bees. Or the birds and the birds. Or the bees and the bees. He really wishes he committed more of the things Robin says to his memory.

At the very least, Will’s shoulders seem to relax at his words.

“I like, someone, and I just want to know how to-“ Will’s shoulders reach his ears again, “get them to like me back.”

The exclusion of the word girl doesn’t escape Steve’s notice. 

“Well,” and he shifts a little in his seat. “Firstly, always be yourself, okay?” Steve starts, and tries to think about what the hell he would’ve wanted to hear at fourteen. “You like this… person for them, right? You want them to like you for you, too.”

“Right,” Will says, and he sounds a little disappointed. Like Steve is another adult telling him to just be himself and everything will work out.

“But, you know, there are like… steps. You can follow.” He says. And he can see Will glance over at him from the corner of his eye. “Start by spending some time with them. You know, get to know them and let them get to know you,” he starts. He thinks about him and Nancy, and getting to know her, and how excited he was every single time. 

“And if you’re nervous, you can do group things first.” He says, trying to remember the start of their relationship. “So, when you ask them to hang out, maybe invite two of your friends, or their friends, to come too. Even better if the two friends are already a couple.” He says, which makes him think about Barb, and his chest gets tight.

Will is back to staring straight ahead, but he seems to be listening.

He tries to get his thoughts back to the present. “And then, if things seem to be going well, you can try, um, flirting, a bit. Which, flirting is a little different for everyone,” he says quickly, and thinks about high school, how he and Tommy acted, tries to turn all that bullshit he did into something useful for the kid. “So, touch their arm when you’re talking to them, or cover their bill when you go out.” His mind flashes to just a couple minutes ago. To the feeling of Eddie’s foot pressed against his. To covering the bill.

“Is this how you got so many girlfriends?” Will asks, voice tight.

His thoughts slip away from Eddie. “Um, yeah, in a way,” he says, and thinks back to high school again. “If you like a- someone, lay on the charm a bit, yeah? Sit a little closer than friends would.” He thinks about Jessie’s party, how close Eddie and him were all night. The feeling of Eddie’s hand in his, how he didn’t want to let go.

He soldiers on, coughs a little to clear his throat, “tease them a little, but in a fun way. Girls kinda dig it when you tease them a little, they get all giggly.” He thinks about telling Eddie to just say no , the grin Eddie had given him in response.

Will goes very still. Steve should stop talking. He should not be the one giving this poor kid advice.

Steve backpedals. “Will, figuring out relationship stuff is always difficult. But it’s totally worth it for the right person. And if they don’t like you back, then that’s cool. It might feel like the end of the world, but I promise, it’s not.” He takes a deep breath, “and if- if anyone is ever, shitty in their reaction, to you, or to any of you little gremlins, I’m not above making threats on children.” He straightens his shoulders, “or carrying out said threats.”

Will still looks tense as hell, but he nods.

They’re close to the Hopper-Byers place, at this point.

“Does that, um, answer your question?” He asks.

“What do you do if you’re already friends?” 

“What do you mean?”

“Like-“ Will fidgets some more, and Steve’s suddenly acutely concerned this kid is going to develop ulcers. “You said if you like someone, you should hang out with them, get to know them. But we’re already friends. We already know each other.” 

“Oh,” Steve says, through an exhale. “Well,” and he’s debating between staying positive, because this is obviously eating at the kid, and his desire to protect Will from whatever danger could come from his definitely-not-straight feelings. “Then, just flirt with them, a little. You don’t need to go from zero to a hundred, but you can test the waters a bit, and see if they test the waters back.” And his thoughts flick to Eddie again, to the fluttering he got in his stomach whenever he was around, to the absolutely subtle flirting he’d been doing.

That Eddie had been doing.

He pulls onto their street.

“So, flirt.” Will says, and he looks a little green. “Physical touch. Personal space. Teasing.”

“Exactly,” Steve says, and he feels a little dizzy. He thinks of Eddie, and his wild smile and wilder hair, of his big brown eyes and-

He puts a hand on Will’s shoulder, trying to bring himself back to the conversation at hand. “Kid, you’re a catch, alright? Anybody would be lucky to have you.”

Will gives him a small grin.

Steve’s hand is slick on the steering wheel.

He pulls into their driveway and Will gives him a small nod before hopping out.

He waits until he sees Will safely inside before dropping his head to his steering wheel.

What the hell.

What the hell.

He dated Nancy Wheeler .

He loved Nancy Wheeler.

But then he thinks of Jessie’s party, and the way he ditched a night with Veronica Reid just to smoke with Eddie on the back porch. 

How he hadn’t given it a second thought.

Steve screws his eyes shut and tries to take a deep breath. He needs to get out of this driveway before someone notices he’s spiraling.

He wrenches his car into reverse, peeling out faster than he should, and speeds away. 

Driving would help. The rumble of his car has always settled his nerves.

He can handle this. It’s fine. So what, if he has a crush? It doesn’t count unless you act on it, right? It doesn’t mean that he and Nancy were bullshit. It doesn’t mean anything.

And then he thinks of Tommy H, and those couple of parties where Carol hadn’t joined them, and they were both way too drunk, and the looks they had given each other. Looks Steve definitely wouldn’t have sent to anyone else.

And then he thinks of Eddie, and his stupid fucking dimple, and Steve realizes that he might actually be a bit fucked.

He slams on his stereo.

Dancing with the bulls in any old way

Running like a fox to keep up with me

Cause I've got my own way, I can find my own way, cause I've got my own way

Cause I've got my own way, I can find my own way, cause I've got my own way

“ Fuck,”  Steve hisses, because of course he paused right in the middle of My Own Way,  and he really feels like he’s panicking now, can feel tears sting the corners of his eyes. 

I'm on Forty-fifth between Sixth and Broadway 

Seven UP between Sixth and Broadway

'Cause I've got my own way 

I can find my own way

It’s such a stupid damn song.

And he thinks about Tommy, again, about how they used to listen to this album, together, when Carol couldn’t join them. About how happy he was, when Carol couldn’t join them, and maybe the reason he was happy was-

He finally gets home. He turns off Duran Duran . He walks inside, takes off his shoes, and tries to make himself some coffee.

But his hands are shaking so bad he spills boiling hot water all over the counter and over his fingers and he has to stand at the sink, cool water soothing the burn, and panic some more. 

“ Goddamn it ” he whispers, and tears really are dribbling down his cheeks now, and he kind of feels like he can’t breathe.

He grabs the phone with his good hand and dials.

“Hello?”

“ Robin,” he says, and god is he relieved that neither of her parents picked up.

“Steve?” 

“I’m having a crisis,” and he laughs, tries to go for joking, but he still can’t really catch his breath, so it comes out choked.

Robin's voice drops, “Steve, what’s wrong? Where are you?”

He shakes his head, “no- no, I’m sorry, nothing like that it’s just-“ he grinds his teeth. “How did you know?”

“How did I know ?” She parrots, “Steve, what the hell is going on?”

Steve can feel his heartbeat in his throat.

“How did you know you- you liked girls ?”

The line is quiet for a moment.

“Steve, what is going on?” 

“I’m absolutely freaking out, Robin!” His voice is high and reedy. “I mean, what if Nancy was right? What if it was all bullshit and everything I thought I felt for her was fake? Because-“ and he scrubs his burnt hand over his face, covering his eyes. “Robin, I’ve been having some very non-fucking-platonic feelings for someone who isn’t a woman and I don’t know what’s going on .”

He can hear Robin breathing at the other end of the line.

“Steve,” she mumbles, and he can hear her footsteps and then a door opening and closing. 

She continues, “whatever feelings you’re having, it’s okay, alright? Just, take a deep breath for me.” And she takes an exaggeratedly loud breath that Steve tries to mimic. “And unclench your fucking hands I can see the bite of your nails from here.”

Steve unclenches his fingers and flexes them, a couple of the joints cracking.

“Alright?” She asks.

“Okay,” he says, and takes another deep breath.

“Okay,” she says, “Steve, listen to me. None of this is easy, for anyone, so it’s okay that you’re freaking out a little. It takes a lot of people years and years to really come to terms with who they are. You don’t have to have it all figured out right away, okay?”

And he nods, even though he knows she can’t see him. “Okay,” he says, again. “But- but I think I like him, Robin, and this would be so easy, if he was a girl, but he’s not and I don’t think I want him to be, but what if I only think I like him and I hurt him? Blow everything up? What if I’ve just faked everything in my life for so long I can’t even-“ he stops and rests his forehead against his knees.

“Steve, I’m warning you right now that this is going to be a very earnest and sappy conversation, okay? Because this is some real shit, and it deserves me not being a total bitch about it.” He smiles a little, at that, despite being able to feel his blood pumping through his palms.

“Thanks for the warning, Buckley. I promise I won’t think any less of you.”

“Thank you,” she says, and takes a deep breath. “You are not an asshole, Steve Harrington. You, my Platonic Soulmate, are the most thoughtful, selfless, genuine person I know. And I have a very good taste in friends, and you are the best.”

And now he’s kind of crying again, but it’s the kind that’s sort of making him feel better.

“And I will say this until I’m blue in the face,” and her voice softens further, “it’s okay if you like guys. It’s okay, Steve, to like anyone, no matter what they have in their pants.”

He sniffs. “I just,” and he doesn’t know how to say this in a way she would understand. “It all just hit me, all at once. That I’ve probably liked him for a while and didn’t realize it. What if what I’m feeling isn’t real?”

“Steve, repression of feelings is like, textbook, for us. It’s not that strange that this is hitting you all at once.”

Us. He chews at his bottom lip.

“Tell me why you like him,” she says.

“What?”

“Tell me about him, and we’ll work through all this together.” He can hear Robin breathing steadily at the other end of the line, like this is normal, and he loves her. 

“This is cheesy,” he says, but his hands are shaking a little less, now.

“Obviously,” she says, and he sniffs again.

“He makes me laugh,” is the first thing out of his mouth, because that’s the first thing he can think of, and his nerves are still making his voice shake a little. “You’re the only other person who can make me laugh like that. After,” and he pauses. “After everything.” And Robin hums in understanding.

“And he’s a good friend. Like, loyal to a fault, really.” And this is coming out so corny, he’s never been good with words.

But Robin hums a little, again, and Steve lets a smile lift the edge of his mouth. “And he is always, loudly, himself. Even when it was difficult, even when it hurt him.” Steve picks at a loose string on his sleeve, thinking. “I wish I was more like that.” 

He trails off for a beat, because, really, he could be saying all this about Robin, and he doesn’t want to lock lips with her.

“I just, want to be around him, like, all the time. I don’t even care what we’d do. Because honestly our hobbies don’t really align all that much. But I’d be okay doing his nerd shit, if it was with him. I’d actually probably like it,” and the more he talks the more real this all feels, and it settles in him, the fact that he likes Eddie Munson . “And he gets a dimple, when he smiles a certain way. And I can’t stop goddamn thinking about it.”

Robin gags, which makes him relax, because she’s still acting like this isn’t earth-shattering.

“Steve, that was so fucking gross,” and he can see her face, knows she’s smiling. He laughs.

“Yeah, probably,” he says.

Robin hums again, like she’s thinking. “How long have you been feeling like this?”

“Consciously?”

Robin laughs, “subconsciously counts when you have your first gay feelings.”

Steve thinks about it, thinks about Eddie giving him his jacket, about the nicknames, and both of them almost dying, and the joint they shared at Jessie’s party, and sharing a milkshake and- “I think since I met him.”

Robin makes a sort of “tah” sound with her tongue. “Sappy.”

Steve smiles, then his face falls again, because- “Robin, how am I supposed to know that all of this is real- I mean, just flip flopping like this? I don’t want to hurt him, or to make a fool of myself. And Robin I think maybe I’ve, I’ve had these types of feelings before, for, for someone else, but it wasn’t like this, and then I met Nancy and I thought it was all okay but now it’s happening again and I just-“

“Steve,” Robin says, interrupting him. “You can like both.”

“What?” He asks, dumbly.

“Both, Steve,” and her voice is gentle, even though he knows she probably wants to call him a dingus.

“Oh,” he says, and he leans against his kitchen counter.

“Yep,” Robin says, “like David Bowie.”

Flashes of Bowie on his The Man Who Sold the World album cover come to mind. He smiles. “Okay, hell yeah, like David Bowie.”

He hears Robin laugh, and he snorts. He feels calmer now. Like he can handle this. Like maybe he likes guys, too, and maybe that’s not the end of the world. He’s seen what the end of the world could be. Him liking a guy really isn’t it. 

This, somehow, takes away the panic more than anything else.

“Can I ask if I know him?”

And he thinks Robin probably knows already. Knows because she’s his Platonic Soulmate with a capital P and a capital S, but also knows that she would take all of this at his pace, for the same reason.

“Yes,” he says, and lets out a sigh. He hopes that is enough of a confirmation as to who it is, too. He thinks it is. “What if I make it weird?”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” Robin says.

“But I’m smooth with women Rob, because I know what I’m doing and how to act and what to say, but with him-“ he pauses again, feels his heart rate increase, “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. And I’d rather be just friends than me fuck it all up and make it weird and never see him again.”

“Steve, please, just, trust your omnipotent best friend on this one, ‘kay? You’re not going to fuck this up. You’re a really good guy, and he knows that, too. He’s not going to hate you, and you’re not going to fuck this up, not over this.”

Steve rips the loose thread of his sleeve free. “So I should just, tell him?”

Robin makes a strangled sort of noise, “god, you really do just jump into shit headfirst, huh?”

“Well what else should I do? I’m open to ideas, Buckley!”

Robin sighs and it comes through crackled by static. “No, you’re just-“ and she laughs a little. “Didn’t you just say you admire him because of how unapologetically himself he is? I mean, Steve, c’mon, you came to the conclusion that you’re not straight and within-“ she pauses, “fifteen minutes you’ve come to the conclusion that you’re going to ask him out? I mean, what is that other than being totally and completely yourself?”

“Being an impulsive idiot,” Steve says.

“I’ll let you in on a secret, Steve,” Robin says, sighing long sufferingly, “unfortunately, you’re not an idiot. Not even a little. But don’t tell the children I told you this. They’ll never forgive me.”

Steve smiles again, “cross my heart, Robbie.”

“To be clear, though, go for it, okay? You guys would be cute. I mean, completely and absolutely disgusting, and I will bully you both forever, but, I think you’d be good together.” And he vaguely hears Mr. Buckley calling Robin’s name.

“I should let you go.” He says, “thanks, Buckley,” and he hopes she knows how much he means it. He thinks she does. 

“Anytime,” she says. “We can keep talking, Steve. They just want me for dinner.”

“No, it’s okay. I think I’m good.”

“Okay, dingus. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow,” he says, and hears her hang up. He puts the phone back on the receiver and slides down the wall until he’s seated on his kitchen floor.

He sits there until his tailbone starts to ache against the tile, until his legs cramp from their curled position against his rib cage, until he decides to buy some Bowie tapes on his way home from work tomorrow.

Chapter Text

🦁

“ KAWABONGA!” Eddie screeches, midair, before cannonballing into the center of Steve’s pool.

The cool water is perfect. It’s the hottest day of the year, so far, a respectable 80 degree May afternoon, and Eddie is still a little shocked he has friends rich enough to have a pool in their backyard.  

He resurfaces, flicking his hair out of his face and wiping chlorinated water out of his eyes, already hearing the grating screeches of dissent at El and Max’s judgements.

“Not fair!” Henderson moans, “he’s bigger than us, how’re we supposed to compete with that?!”

“Don’t be a sore loser, Dusty Buns,” Eddie says, swimming over to the edge of the pool where he can see El and Max’s notebooks with stark red 10s written on them. “Suzie isn’t here. She’ll never know El gave you a measly 6.” He lifts himself out of the pool, a little ungracefully, and he has to roll onto his side in order to get completely out and onto dry land.

“He should take a penalty,” Mike says, his dripping black hair is pushed back and bearing a striking resemblance to Danny Zuko.

Eddie rolls his eyes and stands, wringing out his hair so the drops splatter at his feet. “I seem to remember Sinclair challenging me in the first place, and he mentioned nothing about a penalty.”

Lucas sends him a betrayed look as the boys descend into squabbles, Max shouting over all of them that her and El didn’t want to be judges in the first place, and to shut the hell up.

“Language!” He hears Steve yell from across the pool, which does nothing to temper their bickering.

“Do- over!” Mike yells, waving his scrawny arms, “first one should be practice, I know how to make a bigger splash, this time.”

“Oh, do you, Mike? Pray tell, what secret could you have possibly learned in the last ten minutes?” Dustin asks, voice dripping sarcasm and gripping his chin between his thumb and forefinger. 

Eddie decides it’s about time to remove himself from the situation when he feels a tap on his elbow.

El is there, holding out her notebook. “You be the judge.” She says, and she hands him her notebook.

She quickly runs off, stopping ten feet from the pool and then crouches, taking a runners stance she undoubtedly saw in some movie, and gives Eddie a smile.

Eddie watches with growing anticipation as El takes a running jump into the center of the pool, her little body tightly coiled, and Eddie realizes the moment before it happens that it may have been a good idea to take a few steps back.

The slap seems to echo as El breaks the surface tension of the water, and what must be a third of Steve’s pool cascades over the edges, sending a wave over the concrete landing and spraying them all with thick drops of water.

He can hear Steve’s howl of indignation, Nancy’s shrieking laugh, and the boys shouted grievances, all of which make Eddie smile wider.

El resurfaces, her short wispy curls plastered to the sides of her head.

“No powers !” Dustin yells, and Eddie takes El’s red marker and scribbles a large 11.

“Supergirl wins!” He shouts, hoisting the notebook over his head. 

Max hoots, tossing her notebook to the side and jumps in next to El.

El smiles, looking up at him. “Metal?”

“ So metal!” Eddie yells, dancing a little, the notebook still over his head. 

“Bitching!” Max screams, and El laughs, and Eddie smiles like he’s used to all of this, like two months ago this wouldn’t have blown his goddamn mind.

“Only because she cheated ,” Dustin grumbles, but he’s doing a bad job at concealing his smile. Eddie smacks him with the notebook for good measure.

“Kid, I promise if you ever get supercharged, you can use your powers to beat me in whatever competition you want.”

Dustin rolls his eyes but quickly joins the girls in the pool, and Eddie can hear him whispering to El that her splash was sick, and asking if she could gas-up his cannonball if Suzie ever comes to visit.

Eddie glances over to Steve and Robin, who have somehow become the ones manning the grill, and he smiles a little at the way Steve throws his head back, laughing, at whatever Robin had just said. A little spark of irrational jealousy runs through him at that, and he tries to squash it, to press it down to the spot where he buries all of his Steve-related feelings, but the way his gaze lingers on the pale expanse of Steve’s legs, the way his mouth dries at the small peak of skin between Steve’s shirt and shorts, proves that those feelings aren’t nearly as squashed as he wants to believe.

“Marco!” Lucas calls, and Eddie jumps a little, attention refocusing on the screaming children, most of whom are now back in the pool. Will and Erica reply polo!, Erica nearly bowling him over in her haste to join the game.

“ Jesus,” Eddie grumbles, grabbing one of the kid’s towels and patting himself dry.

Unfortunately, his hair is a lost cause. Not only will it take the next six hours to dry, but he can already feel the chlorine creating mats at the base of his neck. He half heartedly tries to untangle them as he walks over to Steve and Robin, who are wrestling each other for control over the spatula, four sad looking patties and two half exploded hot dogs on the grill below them.

“Alright, Martha Stewarts, where’s Jonathan? Isn’t he supposed to be handling this?”

Steve finally wrestles the spatula from Robin's grip and immediately flicks the two busted hot dogs from the grill and onto a paper plate.

Robin huffs, sending Steve a scowl, who sticks out his tongue at her in return, before she turns to Eddie. “He is , thank you, but him and Argyle are currently, indisposed.” She points to the shed in the back corner of Steve’s yard, and he can see wisps of white smoke dissolve into the afternoon sky.

Eddie tsks, “assholes didn’t even invite me.”

Robin elbows Steve, “fine, you can go ahead and sweat over this nasty grill. I’m joining Nance.” She stalks off and Eddie hears a sizzle as additional hot dogs are added.

Eddie peers around Steve’s shoulder. “I’m no expert, Stevie, but those burgers somehow look raw and burnt.”

“Shut up,” Steve groans, poking the edge of the hockey-puck patty with his spatula. The patty immediately separates, the hard shell of its burnt exterior cracking and letting the raw interior slide out.

“Dude.”

Steve sighs and brings a small trash can to the side of the grill and scrapes as much of the patties inside as he can, but manages to let most of the meat fall onto the coals of the grill.

Eddie snorts, “you are really bad at this.”

“I know,” he says, and their eyes meet, and Eddie realizes he’s taller than Steve, by just a hair, but enough that Steve has to look up at him, and it makes his heart stutter. “Maybe I should stick to hot dogs. I promise, the only reason I messed those up is because Robin distracted me.”

“LIES!” Robin bellows from her chair next to Nancy, and Steve doesn’t even look her way as he rolls his eyes. 

Eddie helps Steve man the grill after that, and they even manage several half-decent burgers, adding cheese to a couple after Argyle and Jonathan reappear from behind the shed, eyes glassy and bloodshot.

“Dinner!” Steve shouts, thunking the spatula against the side of the grill in a grating resemblance to a dinner bell. Steve has managed quite the spread, with burgers and hot dogs with all possible variations of fixings, too many bags of chips, and two coolers full of drinks.

“ Abso-lutely not,” Steve admonishes as Max reaches for a beer, and Eddie can feel the redhead’s scowl. 

“Ah, c’mon, Stevie, better here than somewhere else, right?”

“They shouldn’t be drinking at all! They’re children!” He replies indignantly, voice just shy of shrill.

Eddie waves him off. “Here, red, have some of mine,” and Eddie pops open his drink and hands the bottle to Max.

She happily grabs it, taking a comically large gulp, which he knows is just to irritate Steve, and it takes everything in him not to laugh as Max’s face contorts in an obvious attempt to school her features. After several moments she manages to swallow, and she hands the beer back to Eddie.

“You can keep it, squirt, I'm not afraid of Harrington.”

“That’s okay,” she manages, immediately cramming several of the chips nearest her into her mouth, “I actually think I want Fresca.”

He finally lets his smirk out as her hand dives into the other cooler, pulling out a can and joining the rest of the gremlins at the edge of the pool. 

“You knew that would happen.” 

Eddie turns to see Steve smiling appreciatively at him.

He shrugs, “Wayne did the same thing to me, at her age.”

Steve’s smile turns lopsided, and Eddie hates the way his knees weaken at it.

The rest of them fill their plates now that the kids have served themselves, and they arrange themselves on the three lounge chairs, Steve and Eddie side by side, facing the pool and the seven goblins. They cheers , Steve the only one drinking soda, and no one mentions that the burgers are a little overdone, or that the hotdogs have all split across their manufactured casings, because somehow, they’re the best burgers and hotdogs Eddie has ever eaten.

They are soon a little tipsy, the exertion from swimming and the sun exposure from the last several hours making them all lightweights. Eddie is feeling buzzed halfway through his second beer, and Jonathan is quick to pull out three post-dinner joints that Eddie happily partakes in.

He tries to pass the joint to Steve, who waves him off, so he passes it to Nancy, who, surprisingly, which maybe makes it not surprising at all, takes several hits before passing it to Robin.

Eddie edges a little closer to Steve. “Alright?”

Steve eyes leave the kids to land on Eddie, eyebrows pulled together. “Yeah, man, why wouldn’t I be?”

Eddie shrugs, “hungover, then? Have a wild night last night, Stevie?” And he nudges Steve’s half finished soda with his toe.

Stevie smiles and leans towards him, and Eddie tries to be cool, but his heart is thundering so loudly he’s surprised it doesn’t pop out of his chest like a Tom and Jerry cartoon. He picks at the label of his beer bottle and tries to breathe normally.

“I just like to be sober when,” and he gestures vaguely, and Eddie’s not sure if it’s towards the youths or the pool.

“You take your role as babysitter far too seriously,” Eddie manages, and stops picking at the label to take a swig of beer.

Steve shrugs, looking back over at them, but for once they seem calm, the seven of them have their feet in the water, laying back on the concrete, talking animatedly to one another. He can see Dustin guiding Els' hands in what looks like a shadow puppet of an elephant, despite the lack of backlighting, and Max seems curiously okay with the lack of distance between her and Lucas.

“You made them real happy today, Stevie,” Eddie murmurs, and he bravely nudges their shoulders together.

“It was all of us,” Steve says, immediately, and nudges Eddie back. “I’m not the one who joined in their splashing contest.”

“I’m pretty sure all I managed to do was get them to argue.”

“Yeah, well, they do that anyways.” Steve says.

Then he feels a nudge from his right, and Argyle is handing him the joint again.

They sit out there for another hour, until most of the beers are gone and it’s dark enough that Steve declares the pool unsafe, which makes all of them, besides Will and El, grumble.

“Such a worrywart ,” Mike mutters, towel around his shoulders as he brushes past Steve, who is now cleaning up.

“ Hey,” Nancy barks, and Mike jumps a little at his sister’s voice. And a look passes between them, which Eddie chalks up to a sibling thing, because Mike’s shoulders immediately hunch, and he mumbles a “we were ready to watch the movie, anyways,” and scurries inside. 

Eddie laughs a little under his breath at that, as he wrangles the discarded beer bottles and soda cans into a trash bag, but then he notices Nancy place her hand on Steve’s arm, and they talk quietly for a moment before Nancy pecks him on the cheek. A gross, bubbling hot jealousy erupts within him, and Eddie turns furiously away as shame bleeds in, because he has no right to feel this way. Especially not about Steve, who definitely deserves a girl like Nancy Wheeler.

He still starts throwing cans into the garbage bag with much more force than necessary, because he can and because he hopes it’ll make him feel better.

Not bedroom eyes , Eddie reminds himself. Not that she would want to be on the receiving end of said, hypothetical, bedroom eyes.  

But, so what? So what, if he and Nancy got back together? Because if it isn’t her, it’s going to be some other girl, because Steve’s a catch, a single one, at that, and Eddie feels a pathetic tickle at the back of his throat as he reminds himself that he does not have a chance in hell.

“Those bottles personally offend you, Munson?” Robin’s voice pulls him out of his spiraling thoughts, and she gestures at the garbage bag with her own armful of cans. 

He opens the bag wider for her, wordlessly, and the cans clang loudly in the quiet evening.

“Something like that,” he says, and he resists the urge to steal another glance at Steve and Nancy. 

Robin narrows her eyes, a little, as if trying to read him. She takes a couple steps forward, getting in his space. “You’re a much bigger idiot than I already thought you were, Munson, if you think anything is going on between Nancy and Steve.” She pokes him in the shoulder. “As if I would let that happen.”

“I don’t-“

“And it was probably good for him,” she says, her voice still a harsh whisper, “Steve owes her a lot,” and she takes a steadying breath, “but, never again.”

Eddie doesn’t exactly know what she means, but he can understand her tone. He glances over to Steve and Nancy, who are now rolling up the bags of chips and buns and beginning to take them inside. Nancy says something, and Steve punches her lightly on the shoulder, and she laughs, and Eddie tries to recognize it as not flirtatious. 

He sighs and looks back to Robin, who’s still within poking distance.

“Since when were they so chummy? Like, two weeks ago Steve couldn’t even talk to Jonathan.”

Robin’s gaze doesn’t waver as she assesses him, pausing before saying, “he didn’t really say. I know him and Nance had a chat though. He would’ve told me the details, if it was important.” She nods to herself. “I think he just wants everyone to get along.”

“That sounds like Steve,” Eddie says, because it does.

Robin nods again, says she can take the trash out, and Eddie hands her the bag.

“Hey!”

Eddie turns to see Jonathan in the doorway, waving. “You guys coming in? The twerps have already made their first bowls of popcorn and demanding The Breakfast Club. ”

It turns out El is the one championing for The Breakfast Club , but Max and Erica are piggybacking on it simply by the fact that the girls support one another on everything, with the sole reasoning of them being Not the Boys, and must present a unified front, and Will likes The Breakfast Club just fine, so Mike can never say no to it, and both Dustin and Lucas are too afraid of Max to say anything else. 

So, The Breakfast Club it is.

They’re all properly seated by the time Eddie waltzes back into the living room, fresh beer in hand, and he has the choice of sitting very close to Steve on the loveseat, or joining Jonathan and Argyle on the floor. He hesitates for a moment, contemplates what he would do if he was straight, if he didn’t have this massive, embarrassing crush on the prettiest boy in the room, until Steve makes eye contact and pats the cushion next to him.

It’s proof that god is homophobic, really, because as soon as Eddie sits, their legs and arms are pressed together, and Eddie thinks he might suffocate on the simple fact that there’s too much blood pumping through the veins of his neck. He feels lightheaded, and he’s sure it’s not from the beer or dope.

He is now very deliberately not looking at Steve, focusing on the Party settling themselves, the children crowded on a pile of blankets in the center of the room, Jonathan and Argyle resting comfortably against the couch Nancy and Robin are on, legs tangled and heads on opposite ends.

Mike is fiddling with the VCR, fast forwarding through all the beginning bits until David Bowie’s quote has filled the screen, and then he nestles himself back in between Lucas and Will. 

“Cold?”

And Eddie looks over to see Steve lifting the corner of a blanket, the right side of which is already draped over Steve’s lap, and yes, god is homophobic and all those kids in school are right, because there’s no way this isn’t his punishment.

He manages a jerky nod, somehow, and Steve drapes the soft fabric over him, patting for good measure. “I don’t let the preschoolers use this one,” Steve says, adjusting himself so one of his arms is thrown over the cushions behind Eddie, “it’s the coziest one, can’t have them ruining it.”

Eddie laughs, a little hysterically, because Steve’s thigh is still pressed against his and he can feel the sleeve of Steve’s shirt against his neck and they’re sharing a blanket and this is so much more than his little queer heart can handle.

Steve smiles at his insane laugh, and budges closer, and now their sides are pressed together and Eddie is sure he’s going to die. He’s going to pass out, at the very least.

He then remembers the beer in his hand, so he takes a gulp, just to distract himself. But he swallows too much, too fast, and he chokes a bit and coughs, and now he’s coughing and spraying beer spittle all over the blanket Steve just said he doesn’t let the preschoolers use, and now Eddie wishes he really did die in the upside down. The fizzy beer is making his throat burn and his eyes water, and he feels Steve’s hand move from across the cushions to his upper back, fingers pressed firmly against him.

“You alright?”

Eddie manages a thumbs up through a shaky smile and more feeble coughs, and Steve’s hand does a couple circles on his back, which is not helping , before returning to its original position on the cushions.

Eddie takes some deep breaths and tries to focus on the movie. He’s actually always kind of liked The Breakfast Club , if he’s honest with himself. He always found himself identifying with each one of them, a little, which is probably the point.

However, Eddie cannot pay attention to the movie. He can feel the expansion of Steve’s chest as he breathes, can smell the scent of his clothes and the weight of his knee against his, and Eddie pretends, just for a little, that Steve’s arm is wrapped fully around his shoulders, and Eddie could lean into him properly, if he wanted. Pretends that option is available to him.

“I hate this part”, Steve says, as Allison comes on screen with the hair out of her eyes and a bow in her hair.

“What? Why do you hate love, Steve?” Henderson asks, twisting from his spot on the floor to look at him.

He gestures at the screen, “yeah, but she has to change her whole look for him! Now that she looks conventionally attractive, he deems her worthy of him.”

“Steve read one article on the Guerrilla Girls and now thinks he understands sexism,” Robin quips, and Nancy laughs, throwing a piece of popcorn at her.

“Am I wrong?” Steve asks, forging ahead, and on screen, Andrew asks, What’s wrong? It’s just… so different.

“She shouldn’t have to be different for him to like her!” Steve says, voice going a little high.

“Very Carol Gilligan of you, Harrington,” Argyle says with a nod.

Steve still looks mad, like he wants to say something else, but he just chews on his lip as the scene progresses.

“Stevie,” Eddie says after a moment, nudging into him. “It’s just a movie.”

Steve nods, but moves his hand from the couch to his lap, under the blanket, and Eddie feels like he said something wrong.

His hands start sweating, because he’s nervous, now, and he shoves his hands under the blanket to wipe them on his jeans. He brushes Steve’s hand as he does, because they’re still pressed together, and Steve’s pinky hooks around his. 

Eddie stills. Steve’s finger grabs tighter around his.

“I guess I just have a soft spot for basket cases,” Steve whispers, and Eddie meets his big brown eyes, his face so close to his, and Eddie doesn’t know what this is.

“Don’t Kings stick to marrying royalty? I mean, what would the lands think, Stevie, if their ruler never went for the princess? If Arwen gave up on Aragorn?”

More fingers curl around his. Eddie thinks he might explode. He can feel his heartbeat in his cheeks.

“I think I had my fall from grace a long time ago.”

And they’re holding hands fully, now, Steve’s fingers are interlaced with his, Eddie can feel the ring on his pointer finger turn as Steve begins to fidget with it.

He’s weightless, now, he must be, because Steve’s hand is the only thing he can feel, and this is proper flirting, right? This isn’t the type they can brush past. This isn’t teasing nicknames or twisting words into sexual innuendos. That was a borderline confession, and now they’re holding hands the way couples do, and this isn’t what straight friends do. This is very gay. Eddie doesn’t know how to navigate this. The limited experience he has was in the bathrooms of clubs, fast and desperate and with people he can’t remember the names of, if he ever knew them at all. 

But this is soft. This is Steve. And he’s still twisting the ring around Eddie’s pointer finger and Eddie wants to be brave but doesn’t know how. 

He gives Steve’s hand a squeeze.

Steve squeezes his hand back, so tightly it almost hurts, and then he stops playing with his ring and starts rubbing the inside edge of Eddie’s hand with the pad of his thumb. It’s tender and sweet and more than anything Eddie let himself believe could happen to him. To him, the freak, the outcast, the basket case, the serial killer and the super- super senior, he is all of these things and Steve is holding his hand like he’s something good. 

He tries not to wonder what this means. Tries to savor the moment for what it is and drink up the sensation of Steve’s calloused hand in his, to commit it to memory in case this never happens again.

He doesn’t want the movie to end. But it does, eventually, with Bender throwing up his fist outside the school, and the end credits lighting up the tired faces around them. The kids are already nudging each other and talking quietly as they arrange themselves more comfortably, getting ready for sleep. Robin and Nancy are already passed out on the couch, feet beside each other's heads.

Steve gives Eddie’s hand another squeeze before he lets go and stands, taking their blanket with them as he drapes it over the sleeping girls. 

Jonathan and Argyle stand, and Eddie can hear Steve quietly tell them that the guest room is the second door on the right upstairs, and that one of them can take the loveseat that Eddie is currently occupying, if they want. Which is awkward, because Eddie was preparing for a mildly uncomfortable night crammed on this tiny couch, but Steve took away his blanket and now he doesn’t even have the couch, and he wonders if he’s the only one who isn’t invited to spend the night. 

Jonathan and Argyle seem content to share the guest bedroom, though, so now Eddie really doesn’t know what to do, because Steve and him just held hands for the last forty five minutes, but he also made it pretty clear the one spot left to sleep wasn’t open to him. 

So Eddie steels himself, the same way he does for every other boy he thought would possibly call him, or meet back up with him next week, or have anything beyond a quickie in a bathroom stall. He gets up, grabs his jacket from the chair he threw it on earlier, and heads to the front door where he left his shoes all those hours ago. 

“Eddie?” Steve calls his name as he’s lacing his boots, but he doesn’t pause as he hears Steve enter the foyer, just grabs his other boot.

“Oh, do- do you have to go?” And Steve’s voice sounds small, small enough to make Eddie look up at him, and Steve is in the doorway, a toothbrush still in its packaging in his hand, and his eyebrows look all confused and sad and pinched.

“I mean, it’s late, I just, everyone’s going to sleep so…” he trails off, throwing his thumb over his shoulder.

“Oh, yeah, right. Yeah, no pressure. You don’t have to stay.” The packaging crinkles in Steve’s grip and Eddie wonders if he may have read this wrong.

“Do you want me to stay?” He asks, still crouched over his shoes, and Steve shifts, plastic crackling again, and he chews on his bottom lip.

“You don’t have to,” Steve says, and then, with more panic in his voice than Eddie has heard since spring break, Steve adds, “I’m really sorry, if I made things weird. Earlier. During the movie. We can forget about it, if you want. Let’s actually, please forget about it, if you didn’t want to, I let Robin get to me. You know how she is. She said it wouldn’t be weird. And now it’s weird.”

Eddie could be brave. He has the scars to prove it. 

“You didn’t make things weird, Stevie. I thought you wanted me to go,” he lets his left boot fall out of his grip. “I wanted to hold your hand.”

Steve smiles. His eyebrows unpinch. He huffs out a breath. “Oh,” he says, and it comes out a little giggly. “Good.”

And then they smile at each other, and warmth blooms in his chest as he looks at Steve, who he insanely, unbelievably, may have a chance with. He unlaces his shoe.

“My room’s upstairs,” Steve says, nodding to the staircase behind them. “I can give you a change of clothes, if you want.”

They walk upstairs. Eddie has never felt a more intense mix of panic, excitement, and anticipation. It’s moment by moment which of the three he experiences most intensely. 

They get to his bedroom, which is hideous, a putrid plaid wallpaper with curtains to match and no discernable personal touches. He has a bed, a small desk, and a wardrobe. There’s a closet door and a door which is open to an attached bathroom, because of course. 

“Sweats?” Steve asks, and Eddie turns to see a pair of soft looking green pants in Steve’s grip.

“Nothing in black, huh?” Eddie asks, grabbing the pants and unfolding them to reveal the Hawkins Swim lettering down the right leg. Eddie’s face warms.

Steve shrugs, goes back to his dresser and starts shuffling through. “I left that spare toothbrush on the sink, you can use it, if you want.”

So Eddie does, he changes in the bathroom and brushes his teeth with Steve’s toothpaste and splashes his face with cool water, which dampens his bangs and the edges of his hair because he forgot something to tie it back with, and he does his best to untangle the knots that have formed from the chlorine. The finger brushing has made his hair even frizzier, so he comes back into Steve’s room looking a little like a drowned rat. 

Steve is already on the bed, over the covers, fiddling with something on the nightstand. “I normally take this side, I hope that’s okay.” Steve’s on the side closest to the door, and Eddie finally notices the only Steve thing in his bedroom: a large baseball bat is leaning against his nightstand, and the handle of something else is poking out from under his bed.

“I’ve never had to choose a side,” Eddie says, smiling, and he walks up to his side.

Steve smiles back, hops up. “Make yourself comfortable, I’ll be right back.”

Steve walks to the bathroom and leaves the door slightly cracked, and Eddie can hear him moving around as he climbs into Steve’s bed. 

He’s in Steve’s bed. In Steve’s bed. He glances around, tries to take it all in, even the aggressive plaid and the sad looking lamp, because this is more than he ever thought he could hope for. Because this was romantic, right? This is how this works? He held his hand and then Steve asked him to spend the night in his room? Eddie tells himself not to get his hopes up. To school his thoughts to protect his heart, but when Steve comes back into the room, face a little red from washing it, Eddie knows this boy coud break his heart without even realizing he held it in the first place.

“Am I okay to turn the lights off?” Steve asks, and Eddie nods, so he does, and it takes a moment for Eddie’s eyes to adjust.

“Hi,” Eddie says as Steve slips in next to him.

Steve laughs, “hi, Eddie.” 

He can feel Steve fidget a bit, and then Steve’s hand finds his and he stops moving so much, letting their fingers slot together. Steve is on his side, facing him, but Eddie is on his back, and he has to turn his head to look at him. 

“Is this still okay?” Steve asks, and Eddie can barely see him, in the dim light, but they’re close, can feel where the mattress begins to dip under Steve’s weight.

“Yes,” Eddie says, and the moment feels so fragile, and Eddie’s never been good with fragile things, he’s always been brash and wild and too much . Steve starts running the pad of his thumb up and down his hand again, and Eddie remembers the baseball bat by his bedside, and the scars on his stomach and the upside down and Eddie remembers that Steve is not fragile at all. 

He scoots a little closer. He can feel Steve’s breath on his face. Their breaths both smell like Steve’s toothpaste. Like spearmint.

“I like you, Eddie.” Steve says, and Eddie knows there never has been and never will be anything as beautiful as Steve Harrington looking at him like that. “It took me a while to realize it. I think, despite the last couple years, I still have some work to do on becoming not an asshole.” Steve pauses, licks his lips. “I’ve liked you for a while, and I couldn’t admit it to myself. I kept it under wraps because it was scary and I was always told how wrong it was, from my parents and from my friends-“ and Steve stumbles a bit there, explains that he means Tommy H and Carol, who weren’t really his friends, but that all those words just repressed that part of him, until they couldn’t anymore. Steve squeezes his hand again. “I just- I like you. But I’ve never- it’s only ever been girls, before you. So it took me a while.” Steve takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry, if that’s a lot.” 

And Eddie wants to laugh, to say that Steve could never be a lot, could never be too much, especially not compared to him, but he doesn’t. Eddie smiles, and turns to his side so their noses are almost pressed together. “It was just enough, sweetheart.” And then Eddie kisses him, and it’s so soft, and gentle, and Steve kisses like they have all the time in the world. There’s no teeth. No urgency or hurried hands, there’s just Steve’s lips, and then his tongue, and then Steve’s hand moves out of Eddie’s grip to clutch at his waist, fingers worming their way under the fabric until his hand is tracing the puffy scars across Eddie’s side and stomach.

Eddie uses his now free hand to cup the side of Steve’s face, runs the pad of his thumb across his cheekbone, and god, he’s already half hard and they’re only kissing, barely making out, but then Eddie shifts his hand to the back of Steve’s head and pulls, gently, at his hair. Steve moans and then Eddie really is hard then, getting a jolt of pleasure because he made that sound come out of Steve.  

And Steve is such a good kisser. So Eddie gets it. Gets why girls would fall all over him, if word got around at how good he is with his tongue. Eddie never got much practice with kissing, not too many guys wanted to pause at the make out stage when the pleasurable part could happen much more quickly if they skipped it. But Steve isn’t skipping it. He’s slow and practiced and makes all these little noises that really start to drive Eddie crazy. So crazy that he’s getting a little concerned that he’s going to cum in his pants if Steve makes another noise like that. He has to pull away before he does something embarrassing.

He tilts his head back, then presses forward so their foreheads are touching. “Steve,” and his voice sounds wrecked, already, his voice thick with desire.

Steve’s breathing heavily, and he pulls back, just an inch, so they can look each other in the eyes. “Was that okay?”

Eddie lets himself laugh, this time, because the thought that all of his wildest fantasies hadn’t just come true is laughable. Steve gets this little giddy smile on his face and presses his fingers tighter into Eddie’s side.

“Yeah, sweetheart, I think I may have liked it, ah, a little too much,” and he shifts a little so his dick isn’t pressed so uncomfortably against the sweats.

Steve pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, runs his hand up and down Eddie’s side. “We could, you know. If you want.”

And Eddie does want. He wants so badly that hot, swirling desire coils just with those seven words. But he also knows that all he has to do is think about Steve touching his dick and he would probably cum, because while the men at the bars in Indianapolis were always more than happy to let Eddie suck them off, not too many were keen on returning the favor. Not that it had never happened, but, he wouldn’t really label himself as experienced. 

“I won’t last long,” is what comes out of his mouth, like that isn’t the most embarrassing thing that he could have possibly said, and his face heats with the admission. He thinks about how easy it would be for Steve to kick him out here, to remember that Eddie is the freak, and an inexperienced one at that, and that Steve could do so much better.

But Steve smiles, pulls Eddie close so he can wedge a leg in between his, and now Eddie can feel how hard he is too, which makes him feel better, calms his nerves a bit. “You sure know how to stroke a guy’s ego, Eds,” and then they’re making out again. Steve presses on him until Eddie is on his back, Steve above him, and now both of Steve’s hands are running up and down his sides, pushing up on his shirt until Eddie has no choice to tug the thing off, quickly pulling at Steve’s shirt as well, the eagerness of which makes the other man laugh, a little, breathless thing, which is possibly the hottest thing Eddie’s ever heard.

Steve’s mouth doesn’t go back to his. His lips find Eddie’s jaw bone, planting kisses down the side of his neck, sucking and kissing across his collarbone and down his chest, through the scarred flesh and mottled skin of his stomach and hip like it’s nothing. Like it’s everything. 

Steve works slowly, like he’s enjoying every moment he’s on top of him, and he licks down the trail of hair that disappears into the borrowed sweats.

Eddie can’t help it, he moans, grabbing one of Steve’s hands that’s planted on the bed beside him, and twists their fingers together.

Steve gives his hand a squeeze, “we gotta get your pants off, sunshine.” And then Steve’s hand leaves his, grabbing the waistband of his pants, and Eddie’s brain doesn’t even have time to process the nickname. “Lift,” he says, and Eddie doesn’t need to be told twice. His pants are gone in one quick movement, which is unfairly hot, before Steve is shucking his own pants off.

They’re both naked. Steve’s dick is rubbing against his, and he gasps, doesn’t know how he could handle much more of this, and Steve’s hand finds his again, twists their fingers together, and grinds against him, lips locking against his throat and kissing his way back up to Eddie’s mouth. It’s the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him. It’s the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him by a mile.

And then Steve tops it by wrapping his hand around their cocks, stroking them both and grinding into him and Eddie is already feeling tingly. He’s so close it’s embarrassing and he wants to be able to last, but Steve is kissing him and is gripping his hand like he’s afraid Eddie’s going to slip away, and this is everything he’s fantasized about since throwing Steve his vest all those weeks ago.

“Steve, I’m-“ and Steve shushes him, grinding harder against him, and Eddie’s toes start to curl and he’s breathing so heavily he’s suddenly so glad Steve gave him a toothbrush so his breath doesn’t smell like beer and weed.

“Just focus on feeling good, Eddie, I got you,” And then Steve’s hand leaves his cock and Eddie whines. Steve smiles at the sound before licking his hand wetly, saliva dripping from his palm before grabbing them both again and grinding, and it’s ecstasy.

It takes everything in Eddie not to cry out, knowing that Jonathan and Argyle are just down the hall.

“Holy… shit,” he says, and he’s never heard his voice sound like this before.

Then Steve is kissing him again, and Eddie wants this moment to last forever. He brings his hand up to the base of Steve’s head, to the short wispy hairs, and he drags his nails across them. He feels a surge at the noise Steve makes in response, and then hot, vibrating pleasure shoots through him. Eddie’s fingers curl deeper into Steve’s skin and their kiss breaks because Eddie is gasping out Steve’s name. He feels warm cum on his stomach and Steve gently strokes him through it, his mouth now on Eddie’s jaw. 

This is the best night of Eddie’s life. He’s sure of it. He’s desperately trying to catch his breath and Steve is still stroking him gently, still planting kisses to his throat.

“Stevie,” he manages, and his voice is croaky.

Steve stops his hand and kisses him chastely on his lips. “You’re so hot,” Steve mumbles against the corner of his mouth, and Eddie takes back every thought he’s ever had about God being homophobic. God must love him, for some reason, to allow Steve Harrington to be saying these things to him. To be doing these things to him.

“You’re one to talk,” Eddie says, “that was the single hottest thing that’s ever happened to me,” and Eddie barely has time to be embarrassed, to remember he shouldn’t say those things, because Steve’s smile is crinkly and gooey, and his face is quickly being peppered with kisses. 

Eddie laughs ( giggles ) and pushes Steve away, grabbing his shoulders and flipping them over. It’s a little gross, because Eddie’s cum is still all over his stomach and some of it is on Steve, now, too, but Steve is still hard and Eddie can’t let this go unreciprocated. 

“You don’t have to,” Steve says, “not if you don’t want to.”

And Eddie shakes his head, “I want to.” Because he might not have a whole lot of experience with people touching him, but he sure has a lot of experience touching other people, and he knows he’s good at sucking dick, and he wants Steve to feel good.

He kisses Steve, a little rougher this time, just to show that he wants this, that he’s even a little desperate for it, running his hands into Steve’s hair and pulling just slightly, the way he had before, when Steve moaned. He does the same thing, now, which breaks the kiss, so Eddie turns his attention to Steve’s neck, and selfishly sucks a hickey to the flesh just over his collarbone. He lets the pool of spit lay there as he runs his tongue down Steve chest and stomach, through the drips of cum and thatches of hair, and prays that he doesn’t fuck this up. Please don’t fuck this up.

Eddie tries to relax. He grips the sides of Steve’s hips and massages gently. “You’re so handsome, Stevie,” he says, and Steve’s face flushes and he tips his head back. “Shut up,” he says, and Eddie kind of wants to devour him.

So Eddie bends over, drags his tongue up Steve’s dick and swirls it around the tip, and he can hear Steve’s breath hitch and feels hands crawl into his hair. He lets spit dribble out of his mouth until Steve is slick, and he starts with a slow, easy drag of his hand up and down before he takes Steve into his mouth.

It’s so different from anyone else. Steve’s hands are gentle. They massage into his scalp without pressing him down, his hips twitch from pleasure and not from trying to make Eddie take as much of him as he can, and the noises coming out of his mouth make Eddie’s soft dick twitch.

He works him until Eddie’s jaw is sore and Steve is panting, breathing uneven and labored, until Steve says, “Eddie, I’m close.”

And his voice is breathy and high, and if that isn’t an ego boost, than nothing is, and Eddie continues what he’s doing, lips tightly curled over his teeth, his fingers twisting over the base of Steve’s cock, cheeks hollowed and tongue swirling until Steve seizes one last time, spilling into Eddie’s mouth with a cry.

Thankfully, Eddie has experience with this, too, and he’s able to swallow, able to hold onto Steve until he stops twitching. 

He collapses next to him and Steve immediately rolls over, pressing sloppy kisses to his cheek.

Steve is beautiful. He’s perfect. His hair is floppy and mussed, his eyes are bright and his face is flushed pink. Eddie wants to bite him. Wants to shrink Steve down and bottle him up so Eddie can carry him around wherever he goes.

“Wow,” Steve says, and Eddie laughs, delightedly, but holds Steve back before he lays completely on top of him.

“I’ve still got-“ and he gestures to his tacky stomach.

“ Shit, so sorry, Eddie,” and Steve, stumbling, pulls away and nearly falls out of bed to get to his bathroom.

“Careful!” Eddie says, laughing, and Steve rights himself, leans against the door jam for support.

“Sorry, just had my whole brain sucked out through my dick or something,” Steve says, and Eddie grins harder. Eddie wants to pinch himself.

“ Sap,” Eddie says, and his fingers curl into the sheets as Steve enters the bathroom and he loses sight of him.

Eddie hears shuffling and then a tap running, and Eddie tries to see if they got anything on Steve’s bed. He finds a couple spots, but they’re small, nothing that would be too gross to sleep on. He settles back, wondering if he should put on clothes, or get under the covers.

But then the tap shuts off, and Steve jogs back into the room, smiling. “Sorry, it takes forever for hot water to come out of that thing.” And then Steve is back in bed and using a very warm washcloth to clean Eddie’s stomach. Eddie’s not too sure what swooning is, but he’s pretty positive this has to be it.

“There,” Steve says, and he chucks the washcloth so it lands with a splat on his bathroom floor. “Better?” Steve asks, and it’s all Eddie can do to nod.

Steve smiles, and it’s all gooey and crinkly again, and Eddie’s chest sings.  

“Good,” Steve says, and then he pulls Eddie onto him, so his head is on Steve’s shoulder and his stomach is pressed against his side. They’re still naked, but it’s the most comfortable and at ease Eddie has ever felt being naked with someone. He wraps an arm around Steve’s waist and Steve plants a kiss to the top of his head.

“I like you too, just in case that wasn’t clear,” Eddie says, and Steve laughs and squeezes him tight to his side. “I dunno, Eddie, you might have to remind me tomorrow. I might forget.”

Eddie snuggles closer, and will deny to his dying breath that he has ever snuggled against anyone, and mumbles, “I can do that.”

🤖

Steve wakes to darkness. It’s late, the streetlight is still casting a soft glow behind his curtains, and he closes his eyes to the light. Shifting slightly, it takes him a moment to process that he’s alone in his bed. 

For a moment Steve wonders if it was all a dream. If he’d imagined Eddie’s hands and his words and the feeling of his sleeping breath on his chest.

But then there’s a noise in his bathroom, a flush, and Steve relaxes back into the mattress.

A few moments later Eddie walks back out of the bathroom. He’s got his boxers and a shirt on, now, and Steve turns towards him as Eddie slips back under the covers.

Steve drags Eddie to his side, pulling him in so they’re flush against each other.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Eddie says, into his chest.

Steve plants a kiss into his fuzzy hair. The strands tickle his nose. “Glad you did.” And Steve wonders for a moment if Eddie thinks he’s laying it on too thick.

“Sap,” Eddie says, then, tangling their legs together, and Steve thinks that might be his new favorite word. 

“Mm,” Steve hums. “Get used to it.”

That makes Eddie giggle, a sound Steve hadn’t heard until last night, and it makes him grip onto this man in his bed a little tighter.

Fingers start dragging up and down Steve’s ribs, and he quickly falls into a doze, eyes closing contently at the sensation. 

“This okay?” Eddie asks, an echo of Steve’s question from last night.

“Yeah, Eddie,” his voice is a little slurred with sleep. He licks his lips, tries to reduce the cotton feeling in his mouth. “All of it. Las’ night, this morning. A lot, a lil’” he pauses as a yawn interrupts him, “overwhelming, but ‘s perfect.”

Eddie continues the up and down motion of his fingertips and Steve is pulled back into sleep.

Chapter Text

🤖

There is already a rapidly forming pile of clothes at Steve Harrington's feet as he tries on yet another shirt. He tugs on it, a little, appreciating the fact that it fits a little snugly across his chest, across his arms, but he rips it off again when he notices the colors are too faded to wear on a date. 

A date. 

He knows he’s overthinking. He knows Eddie won’t care what he’s wearing. But Eddie always looks good so effortlessly, and Steve’s always had to try so hard.

He rummages through his dresser and pulls out a dark, long sleeve polo. It’s soft from use but still a rich, solid navy and he tugs it on and tries not to mess up his hair in the process. He adjusts the sleeves, pulling on them so they sit straight and takes another look in the mirror. 

He reminds himself he’s overthinking. 

He goes back into the bathroom after convincing himself the static of the fabric has frizzed his hair.

He just wants the night to go well. And Steve knows he came on strong that first night, but he was so nervous and Eddie looked so beautiful and Steve wanted him. Desperately. So he threw all caution to the wind and made some pretty bold moves for a dude in the middle of nowhere Indiana. 

And it had, miraculously, paid off. Because him and Eddie are SteveandEddie now, at least to each other, and Steve doesn’t know what he did to deserve Eddie Munson the way he has him, but he’s not giving it up any time soon.

Because Eddie calls him sweetheart and baby, and one morning made pancakes for them in the shape of hearts , even though they were raw in the middle. Steve doesn’t know what it is about those big brown eyes and curly hair that makes everything that should be lame and gross just about the most romantic things he’s ever experienced, but Steve is enamored. Earlier this week he had to physically bite his tongue as Robin complained to him about Eddie trampling all over her food as he stood on their lunch table again, waffling on and on about something Robin didn’t give a shit about, but how could she not give a shit when it was Eddie who was speaking?

He’s glad that as much as they joke, Robin can’t actually read his thoughts. He’s pretty sure he’d rather face a demogorgon than have anyone know the gooey fluffy garbage that works its way into his brain when he looks at Eddie.

Thoughts like how Steve wants to crawl inside Eddie’s chest and never leave. Which Steve concedes probably isn’t normal. He can’t remember if he felt that way with Nancy, but he doesn’t know how to articulate it to Eddie without coming across like some kind of serial killer. So Steve holds Eddie’s hand and kisses his face and makes him laugh and hopes he’s the kind of guy that understands Steve’s better with his actions than his words.

He finishes touching up his hair and talks himself out of changing his pants, leaving before he wastes any more time on his appearance.

He pulls up to Eddie’s house fifteen minutes early, so Steve busies himself with organizing his backseat. He brought a blanket and some pillows, even though May is now halfway over, along with chips, Skittles, and even a couple Capri Suns that Steve snagged from Dustin because he noticed Eddie can’t stop chugging the things.

It’s not much, and it only takes Steve a minute to move everything around, and he’s still in front of Eddie’s place way earlier than he should be. He fidgets for a moment, staring at Eddie’s front door,  then decides to just get out and knock. He’s about five feet from Eddie’s door when he hears his name.

“Steve?”

He turns, and it’s Max, her skateboard under her arm, looking a little freaked out.  “What’s going on?”

Steve throws up his hands, “just here for Eddie, squirt.”

“Eddie?” She asks, and her face shifts to curiosity. “Why?”

And  shit he really doesn’t know how to answer that one. He hems a little, shifting his weight, and she narrows her eyes.

“You’re dressed pretty nicely, Steve.”

“This is how I always dress,” Steve replies, far too quickly, and the corner of her lips twitch a little.

“Sure,” she says, and she rests the end of her skateboard on the ground. She eyes him up and down. “Actually, I haven’t heard Eddie play his guitar as much recently. He’s not very quiet, you know. The whole park can hear him when he plays so his absence is pretty loud. You know anything about that?”

“He’s been studying a lot,” Steve says, and he’s floundering a bit now, trying to cover up the truth with half truths. “He’s really set on doing it, this time. He has like, two more grades to get back, before he knows for sure.”

This time Max’s smirk breaks through. She leans forward onto the lip of her skateboard. “Pretty up to date on all this, aren’t you?”

Steve tsks, “either say what you want to say or bugger off, Mayfield.” 

Her smirk turns into a smile at his tone and she throws up a hand in surrender. “ Testy testy. ” But she finally picks up her skateboard and continues on her way.

“See you around, lover boy!” She yells right before she’s out of earshot, and now Steve is really glad the drive-in is in the next town over.

“Stevie?”

He turns to see Eddie’s face in the open window of the trailer. His hair is a little wild and he’s definitely shirtless, Steve can see the tops of his shoulders.

“Thought I heard your voice, ‘m almost ready.” His head dips back down, out of Steve’s line of sight.

“No worries,” Steve says, but he isn’t sure Eddie can hear. 

He waits for a minute or two until he hears some muffled noises and an indistinct conversation before the door swings open and Eddie jogs out, beaming, his dimple making its home on his left cheek. 

Steve can feel his heart in his throat because Eddie is wearing a t-shirt and cutoff jean shorts and he wants to devour him.

“Hi,” Eddie says, coming to a stop in front of him.

“Hi,” Steve says, and he really wishes he could grab him, because Steve never imagined that tattoos could do so many things to him, but Eddie has a lot of tattoos. “Ready?” He asks, instead, mouth a little dry, and Eddie nods, hair shifting, and Steve figures it’s probably not too much to get the door for him.

“Chivalrous bastard,” Eddie murmurs, eyes bright and appreciative as he clambers inside.

Steve closes the door and flips him off as he rounds the car to the drivers side, and Eddie smiles wider. There’s a stutter in Steve’s chest at the look, a contentedness settling on his shoulders as Eddie’s eyes follow him into the car.

“Chivalry isn’t dead yet, sunshine,” he says, the nickname slipping out, again, as the late evening sun glimmers through Eddie’s curls.

Eddie’s smile twists like he’s embarrassed, and he tugs a strand of hair down and over one of his cheeks. “Yeah, well,” Eddie starts, clears his throat, “let’s get this show on the road, Harrington.”

Smiling, Steve pulls out of the trailer park. 

They merge onto the road and Steve leans so his hand is face up on the console. Eddie, for all his Harringtons and chivalrous bastards, takes his hand at once. Steve can feel him shift to face him a little better, back now slightly pressed against the door.

“Gonna tell me where we’re going, sweetheart?” 

Steve fidgets a little. “Honestly, it feels kinda anticlimactic now,” he says, because it does. He thought it’d be romantic, at first, taking Eddie on a surprise date, but now that they’re here it feels like he’s built up a lot of suspense for nothing.

Eddie snorts, shakes his head. “Pretty sure I’d still be excited if we were about to like, go explore some sewers, or something.” He pauses, then adds, “actually, that sounds totally awesome. Next date, I’m taking you to explore Hawkins sewers.”

Steve laughs, scrunching up his face in disgust. “We’ll get diseases down there, man.”

Eddie gasps, “you wouldn’t risk cholera for me?”

Steve shakes his head. “Abso-lutely not. Death by demobats? Sure. That’s badass .” He says, and catches Eddie’s eyes for just a moment. “But death by shitting? No can do, not even for you.”

Eddie laughs, bright and loud and squeezes his hand. “Fair enough, babe, fair enough,” he says, shifting a bit so their arms are more fully pressed together.

They pull onto the stretch of rural highway that will take them all the way to Agloe, and Steve relents.

“We’re going to the drive-in,” Steve says, and Steve feels Eddie shift to look at him. “ Little Shop of Horrors, you- you mentioned that you wanted to see it. I have snacks in the back,” he dips his shoulder a little awkwardly towards the grocery bag.

He feels acutely exposed as Eddie turns and drops Steve’s hand to grab the bag. Nerves tug at him as Eddie rifles through and he drums his fingers on the steering wheel, wondering if all this was a good idea.

“Did you steal these from Henderson?” Eddie asks, brandishing one of the Capri Suns.

Steve shrugs, anxiety still pulling at him.

Laughing, Eddie whacks him on the shoulder with one. “For little ol’ me?” He rips the straw off one of them and begins tearing through the plastic encasing it with his teeth. 

Some of Steve’s fretfulness abates at Eddie’s laughter and he admonishes, “those are for the movie!”

Eddie pauses, gives him an unimpressed look, “and the closest drive-in is what, in Agloe? That’s at least a twenty-five minute drive. I need my electrolytes.”

“You’re thinking of Gatorade, man,” Steve says, fondness now bubbling in his chest.

“Know it all jock,” Eddie quips back, and finishes tearing off the plastic and spears the freed straw into the pouch. Once he has a hand free he slides it back into Steve’s grip and gives him a squeeze. He settles in next to him, pressing against his side and letting his head drop onto his shoulder in a way that must have the console digging into his side. “The drive in is perfect, Stevie.”

The anxiety Steve was harboring releases. The car rumbles beneath them and for once Eddie doesn’t move to turn on the radio, seemingly content to slurp at his drink. Steve lets the feeling of Eddie’s bony side melt into his skin. He breathes and the strands of Eddie’s hair tickle his nose. He smells clean, like bar soap, and Steve wonders for a moment if that’s what he uses to wash his hair.

“I have news,” Eddie says, and his voice is soft.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I, I’m gonna graduate.”

Steve has to resist the knee jerk reaction to take his hands off the wheel and jump into his lap.

“ What?!”

“Yeah, they told me yesterday.” Eddie says, still not looking at him, pressed against his side so Steve can’t even see his face. “Thought Mrs. O’Donnell was gonna combust.”

Steve pauses a moment, then thinks Eddie isn’t going to get away with Steve not celebrating this. 

He swerves off the road, violently kicking up gravel, and Eddie yelps out his name before Steve’s able to wrench them into park. The whole car jolts as he nearly stalls them out. 

“Eddie!” He says, and it comes out more as a gasp. Eddie looks a little frazzled and Steve doesn’t think he’s ever felt this much pride. This man, whose friend was murdered in front of him, whose entire perception of the world was shattered and put back together, who nearly died protecting his friends, half of whom were barely his friends, back then, had kicked schools fucking ass. Steve grabs him by the sides of his face and kisses him. It’s brief, mainly because Steve’s smiling so broadly he kind of just cracks their teeth together, but when he pulls back he doesn’t let his hands leave Eddie’s face. 

“You’re amazing,” Steve says, and Eddie turns tomato red at once, grabbing a lock of his hair and pulling, blocked from covering his face by Steve’s hands. “Seriously, you saved the world, almost got eaten alive and now you’re graduating in the span of a couple months? Eddie,” Steve pauses, licks his lips. “I’m seriously, so goddamn proud of you.” 

Eddie makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat and buries his face in Steve’s chest, wrapping his arms around him as best he can in the front seat of Steve’s car.

“Most people do it the first time,” comes Eddie’s muffled reply. “Should’ve gotten to this saving the world business sooner. Pretty sure the only reason I passed is because everyone took pity on the pathetic cripple.”

Steve kisses the top of his head, and even though he wants to say more, to sing Eddie’s praises and scream that he’s wonderful and intelligent and creative, he settles for, “mm, kind of the hottest cripple ever, though.” Because that’s how Eddie is able to take a compliment.

Eddie snorts and doesn’t move from his position on Steve’s chest. He brings up a hand and massages Eddie’s scalp, careful not to run his fingers through and ruin his curls.

“I’ll throw you a party,” he says after a moment. “You and Buckley are celebrating your graduation at my place, okay? I’ll rope Nance into it too. Three way graduation party. No freshmen allowed. We’ll get stupid drunk, or do whatever you want to do.”

Steve feels Eddie’s laugh, and then he pulls himself away from his chest. “Stevie, I’m pretty sure we know like, four other people outside the two of us that fit the not a freshman criteria.”

“Not true,” Steve says, situating himself back in his seat. “You know at least three other people.”

Eddie’s smile wanes. “Yeah, I guess.” He says, and looks out the front windshield. Steve feels his mood dip a little. He wonders, not for the first time, if Eddie doesn’t want people to know. Wonders what it is that would make Eddie not want people to know. 

So Steve squeezes his hand in lieu of replying and Eddie shifts so his head is once again on Steve’s shoulder. He breathes and feels long hair dance around his cheeks and nose. He hears Eddie take another sip of the Capri Sun.

“I’m just really happy for you, Eddie. You worked your goddamn ass off.” He turns so his nose is at the crown of Eddie’s head. “You deserve this. More than I did, that’s for sure.”

Eddie pinches his arm. “Shut up. None of that.”

The fondness from earlier bubbles brightly in his chest again. “Okay.” He says. 

Eddie takes another sip of his drink. “Enough fawning over me on the side of the road. Gonna get us both killed,” he says, and it sounds like he’s chewing on his straw through his words. It sounds like thank you.

Steve snorts and shifts slightly so he can get the car going and they pull back onto the road.

After a moment, Eddie asks, “would it be, uh, weird, having everyone over?” His voice is quiet.

“Why would it be weird?”

He can feel Eddie shrug into him. “Dunno.”

Steve’s thumb taps anxiously on the steering wheel. “I guess I don’t think it’d be weird. I mean, they wouldn’t care, Eds, you know they all know about Robin…” he trails off, not wanting to be the one guiding this conversation.

Eddie shrugs again and crumples up the Capri Sun, which leaks the drops of remaining juice all over his hand, and shoves it into Steve’s cup holder. He wipes the sticky mess on his shorts before opening Steve’s glove box and rummaging through his tapes.

“Really Stevie?” Eddie asks, and Steve looks over to see Color by Numbers held between his fingers.

Steve smiles, allows Eddie the change of subject. “You have something against Karma Chameleon?”  

Eddie gags and throws the tape back into the glove box.

“Snobby metalhead,” Steve grumbles, and Eddie’s eyebrows pinch, a smile twisting the corner of his mouth, and Steve knows he’s in for it, now.

Unceremoniously, Eddie dives into a fervent tirade about the juxtaposition of the lyricism in the current top 40 versus the music of Ronnie James Dio and Rob Halford, waxing poetically about their ingenious metaphors and their approach to music as an art form.

“The fact that you could possibly compare anything by Culture Club to-“ and he sings- “between the velvet lies, there's a truth that's hard as steel ,” diving right back into his rant like he had no idea how fucking hot is voice is, and how he somehow expects Steve to just keep on following his train of thought, after that.

Steve, logically, knows Eddie is a little insufferable when it comes to music. And maybe if it was anyone else it’d really get under his skin, but he kind of likes Eddie talking his ear off about this stuff. Eddie’s voice gets all pitchy and he gesticulates so wildly he accidentally bangs his hand against the window and it doesn’t even phase him. He gets all jazzed up about whatever inconsequential topic they’ve landed on and Eddie can go on forever.

So Steve listens as Eddie badgers him about his music, saying his tapes are all Top 40 Garbage, and Steve keeps the fact that Eddie performed a George Michael song and admitted it was catchy in his back pocket. He smiles as Eddie declares the only half decent album in his collection is Pat Benatar’s Crimes of Passion, even though Steve has seen the Voulez-Vous tape crammed between the seats of Eddie’s van like contraband.

“We’ll start on the baby hill Stevie, Twisted Sister will rock your little world,” he says, jolting the hand Steve’s still holding for emphasis.

“You’re not gonna get me to stop listening to ABC ,” Steve says, and Eddie groans as they pull off the highway. 

“This is really it, huh? Your fatal flaw. Rich parents, popular, chicks love him, but unabashedly listens to Simple Minds,” Eddie muses and Steve rolls his eyes.

“One of those three is no longer accurate and literally none of them matter.” Steve says, then continues, “specifically the fact that chicks used to love me.” He gives Eddie a pointed look.

Eddie grins lopsidedly. “You’re a sap, Harrington.”

Steve grins, squeezes his hand, because Eddie calling him a sap somehow makes his chest feel like butterflies are trying to escape.

Eddie’s ranting fizzles out. They’re close to the drive-in at this point, if Steve remembers correctly, and he turns them down another small road.

Eddie chatters away in the seat beside him, pointing out cute dogs and cool buildings and places they should go with shouts of Steve, look! And Steve looks, and Eddie always looks over at him to make sure he’s looking, even though he’s driving and should definitely be paying attention to the road. He’d probably be griping at Dustin, if he was the one pulling his attention away, but being around Eddie kinda makes Steve feel like it’ll be okay if his eyes drift off the road for a moment. That maybe he can relax, just a little bit.

Eddie and him pull in ten minutes before screening. Steve buys their tickets and drives them to the very edge of the plat. 

“I know it’s not a great view, but,” he glances over and Eddie is staring at him, so leans over and kisses him, emboldened by the cover of darkness and relative solitude.

“Pretty good view,” Eddie murmurs against his lips, and Steve laughs. 

“Yeah, sure, I’m the sap,” he hums, and Eddie kisses the tip of his nose in reply. Steve isn’t sure anyone has ever kissed him there, before.

They climb into the backseat, reclining the front seats forward for a better view, and settle in.

Steve’s never been a particularly big fan of horror movies, before or after reality turned into one, but Eddie has been talking his ear off about how badly he wants to see this one for a while and he figures being a little bored for two hours is worth the current smile on Eddie’s face. 

Also, if it’s bad, Eddie would be more than okay with a prolonged make out session in the back of his car. This thought makes Steve’s stomach squirm in a decidedly excited way.

Now, though, Eddie is slumped against him, legs curled up on the seat as he leans into Steve’s side, munching on Skittles and slurping on a Capri Sun and talking all the way through the entire movie. Which, turns out the movie is less of a horror movie and more of a musical comedy with splashes of gore thrown in. Steve kind of hates it, he’s never been one for musicals, but Eddie is excitedly telling him how the director spent six weeks restructuring the script because he thought it felt stage bound, whatever the hell that meant, and other pieces of drama kid trivia that Eddie excitedly chatters into his ear.

“Sorry,” Eddie mutters eventually. “Think all these electrolytes are getting to my head, Stevie, making me goddamn gabby.” He leans forward and crams the Capri Sun shell into the cup holder.

Steve drops his arm from around Eddie’s shoulders to around his waist as he leans back. “Yeah, but Bill Murray improvising all of his lines? Who the hell else would know that? You’re culturing me here, sunshine.”

Eddie gives him a small, tentative smile. “Yeah, well,” and Eddie apparently can’t come up with anything else because he kisses Steve instead. 

Kissing Eddie is always a little feral, at first. He’s all teeth and way too much tongue and all rough around the edges, but the moment Steve meets him with gentle hands and a soft press of his lips Eddie quiets, slows down a little, and seems to feel secure enough to kiss him gently, so Steve doesn’t have to fear for the preservation of his first layer of skin.

Eddie presses into him a little more and Steve sighs, twisting slightly so he’s leaning back against the car door, and Eddie is quick to get his knees under him and between Steve’s legs. It’s a little cramped, and Steve’s neck and back are already aching from the angle, but he likes the press of Eddie against him more than he dislikes the crick in his neck. 

He hears Eddie’s hand press against the window, his rings clink against the glass, and he feels the other loop around his waist. Steve feels secure, like this, content and safe, with Eddie surrounding him. Eddie’s warm tongue is in his mouth and all Steve can feel are the parts where they’re pressed up against each other. The arm under him lifts, and Steve is hoisted up so the angle isn’t so awkward. He moans, and the hot pool of desire within him deepens at the sensation.

“No way that was comfortable,” Eddie says, a little breathless, and Steve lets out a laugh.

“That’s was,” he manages, licks his lips, “unfairly hot.”

Eddie’s eyes brighten. “Yeah?” He asks, and the arm around Steve’s waist tenses, and he’s jerked down below Eddie, a curtain of hair falling over them both. “I can manhandle you all you want, sweetheart.”

Steve laughs, again, and it’s low and husky with want. He can feel his dick strain against his, admittedly, ridiculous jeans and he’s a little frantic as he grabs Eddie’s sides and pulls him down onto him. 

Eddie hmphs but they’re lying fully pressed against each other now, legs an uncomfortable and cramped tangle, but Eddie’s lips are on his and Steve doesn’t care about anything else. He digs his thumb into the soft layer of Eddie’s stomach, digs his fingers into the muscles of his back, because no matter how close Eddie is it isn’t enough.

Steve’s thoughts get sticky, like he can’t seem to separate them from each other enough to imagine anything beyond a chant of Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, who still has one arm under his waist. The other is bent over Steve’s head, holding him up slightly. He feels fingers begin to trace the lines of his ribcage, a rhythmic drag that is more distracting than it has any right to be. Time starts to stretch and shrink unpredictably, and Steve quickly loses the thread on how much time has passed to the overwhelming press of heat above him. He thinks, distantly, that he’d be fine with just kissing, forever, if it was with Eddie.

They miss the rest of the movie. No one bothers them. It’s intoxicating and thrilling, being able to be anywhere that isn’t the privacy of Steve’s house or Eddie’s bedroom. Neither notice as the chatter of the movie dies, but as headlights of starting cars illuminate, Eddie breaks their kiss. His head falls into the corner of Steve’s neck and he lays there for a moment, breathing. The warm air carries over Steve’s throat and he can feel Eddie’s sweat damp bangs against his jaw.

“Want to come back to mine?” Steve asks, after a moment, and he’s sure Eddie can hear the staccato rhythm of his heart still thrumming excitedly against his rib cage.

“Absolutely,” Eddie says, and plants a kiss on Steve’s collar bone. 

The ride back is agonizing. Eddie keeps biting his shoulder and the tips of his fingers, which should be weird but it’s Eddie. It’s Eddie so the sharp press of teeth makes him think, deliriously, that he should pull over so they can have each other on the side of the road. 

But Eddie deserves better than the side of the road. So Steve drives, and Eddie continues to mutter filth into his ear, nips at his jaw and neck, and is generally just a goddamn tease. So the knowledge that Eddie deserves better than the side of the road is the only thing that gets Steve through the next twenty minutes. 

Finally, finally, they get back, and Steve’s never been happier to be back at this enormous dark house. 

He stumbles in like he’s drunk, arms wrapped around Eddie, whose hands are in his hair and whose chest is pressed against his and he can feel him breathe through his nose against Steve’s cheek.

They pause in the foyer, Eddie shoving him against the now closed front door and ruts a leg in between Steve’s. Eddie’s hands leave his hair to encircle his thighs, and Steve is pressed more securely against the door before strong hands hike his legs up and around Eddie’s hips.

Steve can’t help it, he moans, making Eddie laugh, and he scrambles to encircle his arms around his partner’s neck and to tighten his legs’ hold around his waist. “You’re insane, Munson,” Steve says, low and breathless.

“Please, Harrington. I’ve moved stage equipment heavier than you.” And then Eddie is pulling him away from the door and walking them up the stairs. It’s goddamn hot, is what it is. Steve’s always thought being the one doing the carrying was a turn on, but the feeling of Eddie’s arms around him as he takes him up the stairs is undoing him.

At the first landing Steve can tell Eddie is struggling, a little. Steve is 5’11” and an athlete, no matter what Eddie says about stage equipment, and he says as much, tells Eddie he can put him down. But the man is nothing if not determined, and even though Eddie is breathless he shakes his head, gives Steve a kiss and manages to get them both to the bedroom.

“You’re an idiot,” Steve laughs, as Eddie collapses them both into bed. Eddie’s breathing is actually pretty labored, now, so Steve crawls on top of him and starts planting messy kisses on his throat.

Eddie hums, brings his hands to Steve’s hips and massages his fingers under the seam of his jeans. “If I knew all I had to do was pick you up and carry you around, Harrington, I would’ve done it a lot sooner.”

“I didn’t know I was so easy,” he says into Eddie’s throat, and his fingers start lifting the bottom of Eddie’s shirt, playing with the skin underneath, until Eddie’s hands find his and still their movement.

Steve breaks their kiss, leans back a fraction to look Eddie in the eyes. “No?” He asks, and Steve runs through the last hour and a half, to where he could’ve misread Eddie’s cues.

“Um,” Eddie says, and he looks a little panicked, like he doesn’t know what to say, so Steve rotates his hand and intertwines their fingers, giving Eddie a squeeze. 

“Hey,” he says, and he removes his other hand to cup at Eddie’s face, “we never have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

Something unreadable flashes across Eddie’s eyes. He places a hand over Steve’s, where it’s still cupping his face. “Nothing I haven’t done before ,” he says, a little defiantly, but he’s not quite meeting Steve’s eyes as he continues, “it’s just, um, been a while, I guess, since I’ve, uh, gone all the way, or whatever, so, maybe just not like, everything, right now, you know?” He’s stuttering, eyes wide, and Steve feels like he’s missing something.

They haven’t really discussed sex, not in the way Steve now understands it to work between two guys (thank you, Robin), and Steve certainly hadn’t expected that tonight. But Eddie’s looking at him like Steve might kick him out at his words, like the admission that it’s been awhile could possibly influence the way Steve feels about him. 

“We never have to do anything you don’t want to.” He rubs a thumb across Eddie’s cheekbone. “Let’s take a break, yeah?” So Steve pecks him on the cheek and turns so he’s lying on his side, facing Eddie, instead of on top of him. 

He hopes this is the right thing to do.

Eddie lays there for a moment, curls his arms around himself before turning as well. His eyes are a little red, and Steve doesn’t know if Eddie wants to talk about it or not.

“Okay?” He asks, and he reaches a hand out between them.

Eddie’s eyes focus on his fingers as he brings up a hand to wrap around Steve’s. He nods, dark hair pooled around him. “Yeah, ‘m sorry, that was…” Eddie trails off, scrunches his face up.

Steve wants to pull him close, to crawl inside his chest and assure him that he never has to apologize, not for something like this, not ever.

“Eddie,” he says, instead. “Look at me.”

After a moment Eddie does, eyes still red, and Steve’s worried he’s really beating himself up over this. He’s worried what situations Eddie’s been in, in the past, if this is his reaction for withdrawing consent. His stomach drops at the thought.

“Don’t apologize, Eddie, please, okay? Sex is, sex is great, and blow jobs and all that stuff are fun, yeah, but this?” And he squeezes Eddie’s hand a little tighter, places a kiss to the back of it. “ This is- you’re just, so much better.”

Eddie’s eyebrows pinch, and he looks like he’s about to cry before he tugs a lock of hair over his face. “You’re a sap,” he says, and it comes out high and choked.

The tension bleeds out of Eddie’s shoulders, though, and he relaxes into the bed. Steve watches the slow rise and fall of Eddie’s chest. After a few moments, Eddie lets the lock of hair fall. His eyes are clear, now, and a small smile is lifting the corner of his mouth.

“Where the hell did you come from, Steve Harrington?” Eddie asks, voice just above a whisper.

And it strikes him again, in this moment, how beautiful Eddie is. How amazing it is that they found each other, in the worst moments of both their lives, and how they were somehow able to pull something so good out of it.

Steve smiles, gives Eddie’s hand another squeeze. “Probably waiting for you, or some gross nonsense like that.”

Eddie laughs, bark-like and loud and Steve’s smile grows.

“You’re ridiculous,” Eddie says, smiling, and his dimple is back.

“Only for you,” Steve coos, and Eddie groans, rolls onto his back.

“Oh my god,” he mumbles, then turns his head so he’s facing Steve again. “You’re gonna make my teeth fall out of my head.”

Then Eddie gasps, clutches his chest, and climbs onto all fours and scrambles over until he’s hunched over Steve. “That’s your end game, isn’t it, Harrington? Make all my teeth fall out so I can give you better blow jobs.”

“Damn, and my plan was going so well, too,” Steve muses, and he brings up a hand to cup the back of Eddie’s head. “Almost had ya.”

Eddie is looking at him, face tunneled by his curtain of long hair, and staring like there’s some big question building behind his lips. 

But then Eddie kisses him instead, sweet and tender and brings up his hands to cup Steve’s face. It’s so gentle, so contrary to the kisses Eddie usually initiates, it kind of makes Steve want to cry.

He doesn’t, of course. But he brings his hands to Eddie’s forearms, strokes his thumbs up and down.

Then, because Steve needs him to understand, needs Eddie to know so he never has to give Steve that look full of fear ever again, he pushes Eddie away, just slightly.

And even though Steve’s never been great with words, he doesn’t think his actions can really convey what he means, this time.

“You believe me, right?” And he looks imploringly up, searching Eddie’s eyes. “That I think you’re better than like, pretty much anything?”

Eddie freezes, hovering above him without moving, hands still gently cupped around his face. After too long he blinks, shakes his head a bit. “You’re too good for me.” He mumbles, and if they weren’t still so close Steve wouldn’t have heard.

It makes Steve a little insane, for a moment, a hot anger courses through him at whatever or whoever made Eddie think he doesn’t deserve the entire world on a silver platter.

“You’ll have to trust me, then, sunshine.” He wants to say more, but he doesn’t know how. He doesn’t have the words to prove to Eddie how wrong he is. 

Instead he brings up his hands so they’re cupped around Eddie’s cheeks, “you have me, teeth or no, okay?”

Eddie laughs, lightly, shakes his head. “I still have no idea where you came from, Harrington.” Steve can feel the vibrations of his laugh through the mattress, and Steve wonders, for the second time in his life, if this is what falling in love feels like.

Chapter Text

Eddie is not a religious person. This is one of the few assumptions the general population of Hawkins gets right about him. There are many reasons for this, most of which he stands behind passionately enough to get into the face of any old lady who calls him a devil worshiper or a satanist. Like, he’s pretty sure the Pope would advocate for his stoning if he had one look at the skin mags under his bed, so, he’s pretty okay with telling others to shove their religious dogma up their ass.

He’s not religious, so all that do to others what you would have them do to you karmic bullshit isn’t something he’s really pondered before, but lately Eddie’s been seriously contemplating what the hell he did to deserve Steve Harrington in his life. 

At first, he thought he must’ve done something pretty fucking amazing in a past life. Like maybe he was the Dalai Lama or Harriet Tubman or Buddha or something. He’s not the Dalai Lama now, though, so he’s not sure how all that reincarnation shit is supposed to work, but isn’t karma supposed to translate through lives? 

But then that got him daydreaming that maybe in those past lives he and Steve were also together. That maybe there’s something to say for destiny and fate and all that. Which. That made Eddie step back from those thoughts entirely because it was getting a little too Howard Deutch even for his lovesick ass.

So then his brain conjured up an idea that Eddie hasn’t really been able to let go. That if he hadn’t done anything to deserve Steve, then the other shoe is going to drop, sooner or later. 

Because if he’s honest with himself, which, Eddie tries fairly hard not to be, most of the time (he’s not a fan of self reflection), it comes down to the fact that good things like Steve Harrington liking him back don’t happen to guys like him. Guys whose parents were addicts, guys who live in a one bedroom trailer with their uncle (well, two bedroom now, thank you, government hush money) and had to attend senior year thrice, guys who were accused of murder and had to run from the police, guys who witnessed their friend dying in front of them. 

He knows this is unfair. Because he believes Steve, when Steve says he likes him. That he wants him. He believes him, and he trusts Steve almost as much as he trusts Wayne or Gareth or Dan or Jeff. But Eddie also knows that he’s a lot. And maybe Steve didn’t realize how much he signed up for when he kissed him at that pool party. That maybe all of Eddie’s too-muchness will eventually overflow Steve’s metaphorical cup and he’d realize that Eddie is not who he wants. 

Which, that would be fair. Steve wants six kids and a Winnebago and six of those things Eddie can’t give him, and Eddie’s pretty sure his sparkling personality isn’t enough to balance all of that out.

And it’s not like he has any amazing bedroom skills to help tip the scales in his favor. Which is a whole other can of worms that nearly exploded a bunch of worm meat all over Steve’s bedroom just the other day. Eddie’s still not quite sure what happened. He was into it. He was so very into it until he felt Steve’s fingers on the hem of his shirt and he remembered how ugly his stomach is, and in that moment it didn’t matter that Steve had already seen it, Eddie didn’t want to take his shirt off. And then he’s pretty sure that just domino-ed every other goddamn insecurity Eddie has in the bedroom, until he could feel his eyes burning and his hands on Steve’s and there was a panic that swelled and crashed in his chest so ferociously he stuttered something out about not all the way, that Steve correctly interpreted as I can’t do anything right now. 

Eddie’s still embarrassed about it, even though Steve’s reaction went beyond the most caring and accepting thing he could’ve possibly imagined.

Which made Eddie feel all the worse that he lied. The whole it’s been a while thing rolled off his tongue so quickly Eddie’s sure it was some sort of fight or flight self preservation instinct kicking in, trying to protect this relationship in the only way it knows how: fucking faking it until he makes it. 

He knows he needs to tell Steve. He needs to tell Steve because it’s unfair that he lied and unfair that after all the honesty Steve’s provided Eddie hasn’t provided the same.

But he’d also rather fight those fucking bats all over again than pop the honeymoon bubble they’ve been cocooned in for the past month, and nothing really pops that bubble like admitting to a lie.

He’d fight them a third time if it meant Steve and him could stay in their bubble, and didn’t have to tell anyone they’re together.

Because once they tell people it becomes real, and real things in Eddie’s life have a tendency to crumble underneath him. Like his parents. Like his entire perception of reality, just a few weeks ago, and Eddie’s not ready for Steve to get ripped away from him. He’s not ready for Steve to stop looking at him like he’s worth something. He’s not ready for Steve to stop squeezing his hand and rubbing his thumb across his. He only just got it, and Eddie’s only a little embarrassed to admit how good it feels.

So Eddie tries to shove all that to the way back of his mind where he can lock it away. Because right now Steve’s head is in his lap, eyes closed, as Eddie runs fingers through his unstyled hair. 

It’s Saturday. Eddie woke a couple of hours ago to the sight of Steve curled up next to him. And, because they had time, Eddie sucked Steve’s soul out of his dick, as Steve so adoringly phrases it. 

But now they’re in Steve's backyard, by the pool, plates that used to hold pancakes discarded behind them. They’re both in their boxers and sleep shirts, content to dip their feet in the pool. 

Steve, still on his side, skims the top of the pool with his toe as he drags his leg back and forth across the surface. Eddie has both his feet in the water and he’s watching how it changes the color of his pale skin, making it look translucent.

Steve hums as Eddie gently drags his nails across his scalp and he smiles at the sound.

“I can make more pancakes, if you’re still hungry,” Steve mumbles, mouth half pressed into Eddie's thigh. Eddie can feel a bit of drool leak out of his mouth.

“I’m good, sweetheart,” Eddie says, and his heart skips at the smile that quirks Steve’s lips at the nickname.

Steve’s eyes blink through the bright sun to look up at him. “Want to do something today? We could invite Rob and them over, spend the day in the pool. It’s hot as shit today.”

Eddie continues carding his fingers through Steve’s hair and shrugs. “Maybe,” he says, noncommittally.

Steve’s gaze turns back to the water. His skin is still light from the winter. The days haven’t warmed enough for extended periods of time spent in short sleeves, but his hair has already lightened a shade or two since spring break. It’s a dark honey color now, warm and soft and Eddie can’t stop himself from touching it. 

Honestly, he has a hard time stopping himself from touching Steve at all. There’s no part of him Eddie doesn’t want to run his hands and tongue all over. He loves the tops of his ears and the inner parts of his knees, the base of his neck and the flesh of his cheeks, the curve of his nail beds and the hills and valleys of his ribcage. Eddie likes to dip his fingers in Steve’s armpits, which makes Steve squirm and call him a menace, but it’s really just because Eddie wants to know how every part of him feels. 

He also kind of wants to eat him. Eat him like a toddler that shoves a piece of paper in their mouth because it has a drawing on it they like.

Unfortunately, eating Steve would also mean never seeing him again, though, so Eddie placates himself by twisting locks of hair between his fingers. He left his rings upstairs, on Steve’s bedside table, so he doesn’t need to worry about snagged strands. Eddie kind of wishes he could have pillows and blankets made of Steve’s hair.

“It’s okay if you have something else you need to do today.”

It takes Eddie a moment to bring himself out of the feeling of Steve’s hair and hear his words. 

“I should definitely be doing a lot of things today, but your head is on my lap, Harrington. I think it’s illegal, actually, for me to get up right now. It’s like moving a dog or a cat off your lap. Class four felony, I’m pretty sure.”

Steve smiles against his leg. “I have some buddies down at the station, Munson. I’d have you out in no time.” Steve rotates so he’s on his back, looking up at him. His face goes all scrunchy, trying to look up through the bright sun. 

“You’ll go blind, doing that, sweet thing,” Eddie says, and he shifts so he can block the sun from Steve’s face. He gets a soft, gooey smile in return. “Besides, don’t know how easy Hopper’d go on me, even with your unmatched charm.”

Steve’s smile widens. “Yeah. Good thing I’ve always kinda liked bad boys.” He admires, and pinches Eddie’s thigh. “Thought I knew what I was getting myself into, with all your dark clothes and chains.” He plucks at Eddie’s Judas Priest shirt. “Turns out you’re a goddamn teddy bear.”

“Mm, a teddy bear who deals drugs out of a trailer park. Like one of those gross smelly ones with the missing eye you see at the goodwill and you wonder who the hell would ever take the thing home.” Eddie’s tone is light. He’s joking, but something he thinks might be concern flashes across Steve’s face.

But then Steve waves him off, the mood light, again, and he says, “the nasty beat up one’s are the best, anyways.”

Eddie doesn’t really know how to reply to that. So he kisses Steve, slow and sweet, until the uncomfortable angle makes him pull away. “You’re a sap, Harrington.” He finally settles on.

Steve smiles warmly at him before he lifts himself out of Eddie’s lap and into a sitting position. “Alright, sunshine, executive decision time, we’re having a pool party.” He gives Eddie’s thigh a smack and stands, grabbing their plates. “Gonna go call Robbie.” With that, he heads inside. 

Eddie’s skin starts to crawl. He glances back, watches Steve struggle to get the door with his arms full of syrupy plates. He finally gets it with his elbow, and Eddie watches as he plucks miserably at his shirt, undoubtedly now sticky with the sugary mess. His chest swells with so much fondness he has to look away. 

He thinks of what Gareth would say to him right now, if he was next to him.

Probably slap him upside the head and tell him to get it the hell together. To tell Steve he lied, and to stop being all up in his head about everything else.

His fingers twitch and he a little bit feels like he needs to vomit, but he stands and follows Steve into the house.

“So, this is us, like, telling people, right?” he asks, in Steve’s kitchen, watching him do the dishes. He wonders what the hell label he’s supposed to use. “That I’m your, um, gentleman suitor?” 

He cringes, can feel his face growing red at the nonsense that just fell from his mouth, but he hears Steve’s snort of a laugh over the dishes he’s currently washing.

Eddie's fingers begin their anxious drum against the counter and he watches as Steve turns and dries his hands.

“Mm, never had a gentlemen suitor before,” Steve hums, and wraps his arms around Eddie’s waist. “But if it means I get you in my lap all night, I’ll take it.”

His knees almost buckle as Steve kisses him. It’s a little filthy, Steve’s tongue enters his mouth almost immediately, and Eddie wraps his arms around Steve’s neck, matching his pace at once.

He’s not really sure what the fuck he meant by that either, but Eddie’s starting to grasp that Steve is able to interpret his nonsense pretty damn well.

That, and he also doesn’t find his nonsense completely and totally embarrassing. He starting to think Steve maybe even likes it. 

It makes his head spin.

Steve breaks their kiss but doesn’t move away. His eyes are soft and he presses his fingers into Eddie’s sides.

“Robin and Vickie are out to them all, just so you know,” Steve says, and he’s rubbing circles into Eddie’s skin with his thumbs. “So’s Argyle. Said he’s-“ Steve’s face screws up, continues, “said he’s like bisexual but like, it’s everyone. Said he doesn’t see gender, or um, something like that.” Steve shrugs, smiles. “Dunno. Whatever tickles his pickle, right?”

“Tickles his pickle?” Eddie laughs, shoves lightly at Steve’s shoulder. “Good God, Harrington.”

Steve smiles, “I’m hilarious.” He kisses Eddie’s forehead, and Eddie doesn’t think Steve’s kisses will ever stop making him squirm. 

“I just don’t want you to think they’re going to like, freak out or anything. About us.” Steve says, and his voice is quiet.

 Us. 

The pads of Steve’s fingers massage him through his shirt. 

Eddie’s trying to stay calm. He still feels that biting panic, that fear that this is all going to come crumbling down. The fear that this, this moment with Steve clutching at his waist and telling him he wants Eddie when it’s not just the two of them, is too good to be true.

Eddie’s chest feels tight. “Can’t go back on this one, Harrington. Can’t unspill the milk or shove the queer back in the closet, or whatever the hell the saying is.” He curls his fingers into the fabric of Steve’s shirt. 

Steve’s eyebrows pinch, but his tone is still light. “Mm, you expect me to hide the fact I caught the hottest piece of ass in Indiana?” One of Steve’s hands darts down and Eddie feels a rough pinch on his ass.

It forces an incredulous laugh out of him, and the anxiety abates, a little. “And you call me the menace.”

Steve gives his cheek a wet, smacking kiss. “C’mon, sunshine. Get excited, pool party!” Steve breaks away, walks briskly out of the kitchen, and Eddie can hear him humming Margaritaville as he goes.

His fingers continue their anxious drum, now tapping rhythmically on his thigh. 

He breathes in through his nose, counts to three, then lets it out through his mouth, just like Robin taught him. 

He hears Steve fiddle in the linen closet in the hallway, can hear the muffled Jimmy Buffet lyrics, and he follows him into the hallway.

Steve’s face is hidden by the closet door and he can see the edge of the pile of pool towels Steve’s collecting on the floor.

“Stevie?”

“Mm?”

Steve continues sorting, only stopping when he doesn’t hear Eddie continue. His head pokes out.

“What’s up?”

Eddie chews on his bottom lip.

“Eddie?” Steve steps over his pile of towels and comes to stand in front of him. He wraps a hand around his forearm.

“I need to tell you something,” he says, and he continues the chew on his bottom lip.

“Yikes,” Steve says, mouth quirking in an anxious smile. “That’s something every guy likes to hear.”

Eddie gives him a weak smile in return and Steve’s face sombers. “Sorry,” he says, quietly, and his hand drops so it’s intertwined with Eddie’s.

He needs to spit it out. Rip it off like a bandaid.

“I lied.” There. He can’t go back on this now.

Steve’s eyebrows reach his hairline. “Okay.”

“About. About having- been with people, before.” He hesitates, wanting to gauge Steve’s reaction, but before his expression changes Eddie decides against it and barrels forward.

“Outside of half a dozen quick blowies in cramped back rooms I’m not exactly experienced.” He gives a nervous laugh, “So I lied. I lied because- I’m always worried about- being too much. Because being a virgin on top of-” he lets go of Steve’s hand to flap them in the air around him- “the whole, drug dealer serial killer freak schtick is kinda fucking overwhelming?” He doesn’t mean for it to come off like a question but it does, high and reedy and he almost chokes on it.

“I’m so sorry, Stevie, I should’ve told you the truth from the beginning.” He can feel his heart jack hammering in his chest. “But I needed to tell you now, before we tell people, because,” he gulps, closes his eyes at his own words, “I didn’t want you to get into it without knowing.”

He opens his eyes, and Steve’s eyes are wide, his hand still slightly outstretched from where Eddie dropped it.

The silence between them stretches, and Eddie knows it’s only a few moments before Steve speaks again but it feels like eons. Steve’s wide eyes are on his and half baked worst case scenarios are flying through Eddie’s periphery before he can properly understand outside of an overall theme of:

This is the other shoe, dropping.

Steve’s eyebrows pinch. “You lied?” He repeats, and fuck, Eddie’s heart clenches at that tone.

“Yes,” he affirms, and Steve nods, breaking their eye contact to stare off into the corner of the room. 

“Because, what? You didn’t want to scare me off?”

Eddie shrugs pathetically, not able to provide a better summary for his actions.

Steve bites his bottom lip and places his hands on his hips. “So, what? You think I’m lying when I tell you how I feel? I mean, Eddie, I don’t really know how much clearer I can be about this.” He laughs, humorlessly, and Eddie’s gut twists. “I’m not sure where we can go if that’s not enough for you.”

Panic sweeps through him and Eddie shakes his head emphatically. 

“No, Steve, this is- this is not on you, okay? I do, Steve, I promise I trust you, when you say- all those nice things to me.” He pauses, swallows the swell of tears in his throat, “but no one’s ever said anything like that, to me? Before? Um-” he shakes his head and he can feel the tears glistening in his eyes. “It was closer to like, freak and faggot for twenty years, and more recently now serial killer and devil worshipper.” He smiles self-deprecatingly and tries to find the words that will get Steve to understand. “It’s just hard to like, connect the logic of knowing you’re telling the truth and, like, believing your truths.”

The hard line of Steve’s shoulders relaxes some. He looks so sad, all of a sudden. “Jesus,” he mutters, and he scrubs a hand over his face. It’s only when he lets it drop does Eddie see the tears in Steve’s eyes as well. “Fuck this town,” he sighs, and he looks Eddie in the eyes again.

He looks so much older than twenty. He looks old in the way no one should ever look old.

“C’mere,” he soothes, and hesitantly at first, Eddie lets himself be folded into Steve’s embrace.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, and Steve’s arms wrap around his middle.

“I know, hey, Eddie I know, okay?” Steve’s arms give him a squeeze. “But no more lies.”

Eddie nods into Steve’s chest. “I promise.”

“Friends don’t lie,” Steve says, and Eddie’s heart clenches. He screws his eyes shut, willing himself not to cry.

They hold each other like that for a moment. Steve smells like syrup and lavender and coffee.

Steve’s voice is low when he speaks again. “In case you forgot, Munson, I sort of like you.” He can hear the smile in Steve’s voice. “A lot, actually. It’s pretty disgusting.”

He laughs, and the levity allows his shoulders to drop. He tries to bring them further back toward normal. “You’re a sap.”

Steve laughs lightly, briefly, and Eddie continues, “but you’re also kind of my favorite person.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks, and it sounds gloating. Eddie loves it.

He squeezes Steve tightly. “Definitely. Fuckin’ selfless, kind hearted, bad ass, horror movie hating, tough as nails, ABC-loving, Ozzy-ass mother fucker Steve Harrington is absolutely and unequivocally my favorite person.” He smiles as he feels Steve’s hand runs up into his hair. “Gareth might be a little put out but he’ll come around.”

Steve snorts a laugh, then swings them side to side, heads nearly knocking into the walls until Eddie is laughing too.

Steve slows and pulls back so he’s looking Eddie in the eyes. “Thank you for telling me.” He says, seriously, and Eddie’s gaze softens. He cups Steve’s cheek.

“Of course,” he says, and he leans forward for a kiss. It’s chaste, but Eddie revels in the fact that Steve is still here, kissing him, and not running for the hills.

Maybe they weren’t in a bubble to begin with.

Maybe there was no other shoe.

When Steve pulls back he peppers kisses on Eddie's eyes and cheeks and nose and says, “we don’t have to invite anyone over today.” His gaze is searching. “It can just be us, today, if you want.”

Eddie pauses for a beat. Because this is what he wanted, to cleave a chunk of his life for just Steve. For just Steve so everything else couldn’t infect it.

But he thinks of Steve’s expressions falling when he declines on plans, on Steve’s anxious invitations and how excited he looked about having them all over. So Eddie shakes his head. He smiles.

“You kidding me, Harrington? It’s hot as shit outside.” Steve’s eyes crinkle at his words. “You wanted a pool party, so you’re getting a fucking pool party.” Steve rolls his eyes, but he’s beaming, eyes bright, and yeah, Eddie would do anything to get Steve to smile like that. “And I’m going to be the sexiest fucking gentlemen suitor on this side of the Mississippi.”

—

Eddie fiddles with the label of his now lukewarm beer as he nods along to INXS over Steve’s boombox.

Sue him, he can like music other than metal.

Nancy is seated on the chair next to him, reading something Eddie can’t see the cover of. Jonathan, Argyle and Gareth are trying to make O’s with their smoke rings and failing terribly, laughing at each other’s attempts. Robin and Vickie are in the pool, Vickie on a floatie and giggling as Robin paddles them around. 

“Eddie?” Gareth asks, twisting to reach him, and he offers the joint.

Eddie takes it, because he always does, and takes a long drag.

“Where’s Harrington?” Gareth asks, spinning in his seat so he’s facing Eddie properly now. 

“Mmm, ordering food? I think.” He scrunches up his face, tries to remember what Steve had told him.

Gareth nods. “He’s got a sweet place. I get why all the high school parties were here.”

Eddie smiles. “He’s got a sick sound system in the main room,” he says. “Rainbow never sounded so good, man.” He takes another drag and Gareth matches his smile.

“We’re totally using that before the night's up, Munson.” 

Eddie’s about to agree, about to tell Gareth that he has stacks and stacks of tapes in his van for their use, but Steve’s voice interrupts him.

“Pizza should be en route any minute!” He appears next to him, and Eddie beams as he takes a seat at the end of Eddie’s chair. He taps at Eddie’s knee. “I told them, and I quote, enough ranch to satiate all of Hidden Valley, so if that’s not good enough I’m gonna have to start going to the distributor directly for ya, sunshine.”

He hears Gareth snort next to him.

Eddie flips him off without a glance. “I’m Indiana born and raised, Harrington. The Midwest gene of ranch lovin’ is in my DNA.” He smiles and can feel Gareth’s eyes on them.

Steve grins and his eyes go all crinkley. He inches forward on the chair. “Ranch, you’re lucky you’re pretty, Munson.” 

It feels dangerous, for a moment, having Steve so close, but then Steve says, “budge over,” and he begins worming his way in between Eddie’s legs. 

Despite Eddie’s protests that this chair is far too small for the both of them, that Steve’s hairy ass is going to snap the thing in two, Eddie still ends up with said ass planted between his thighs and a back pressed to his stomach.

Then Steve leans back fully and closes his eyes.

Gingerly, Eddie brings up his arm and wraps it around Steve’s chest.

Steve sighs and melts into him a little more. And that’s all that happens. 

Nancy keeps reading her book.

Jonathan and Argyle continue to blow smoke in each other’s faces. 

Robin playfully splashes Vickie as they both laugh.

Gareth gives him an I told you so type of look, and Eddie flips him off, again. 

Something settles, a bit, within him, and he exhales. He presses a kiss to the top of Steve’s head.

That’s how the afternoon passes. Pizza comes after a while. Steve leaves his lap, but it’s worth it because he gets three whole cups of ranch, all to himself. 

He gets some in his hair, and Steve has to find a napkin and wipe it out. He kisses his cheek, and Eddie thinks, only after, that he should’ve been embarrassed. 

It’s like nothing he’s ever had before. Because this is all real, now, and he keeps waiting for Steve to shy away from his touch, to give him a weird look when his voice gets too loud after his fourth beer, to roll his eyes in exasperation instead of fondness, but it doesn’t come. Steve leans into Eddie, smiles at his words, laughs when he does something ridiculous, and it gets easier to believe that karma is bullshit, too, actually, and the fact that Steve likes him and he likes Steve is enough. That that’s all they need. 

Because now, now Steve has his head in his lap as they laze on a pool chair, a position Eddie is quickly becoming to love, and their friends are with them, and Eddie can still feel Steve’s mouth half pressed to his thigh.

He cards his fingers through Steve’s hair. 

“Mm, can I say I told you so, now?” Steve’s voice comes out muffled.

Eddie smiles. “Yeah, big boy? What did you tell me?”

He feels Steve’s vibration of a laugh. “Told you we should have a pool party. Told you, it’d be fun.”

Eddie tsks. “Sorry, sweetheart. Haven’t a lick of fun, all day. Pretty horrible day, actually. Awful. Gonna go home and cry into my diary about it.”

Steve turns so he’s gazing up at him, a lazy smile on his face. “Yikes.” Steve presses a palm to Eddie's calf, drags his fingers up and down. “Thankfully, I’ve heard there’s a very exclusive after party on the second floor. So exclusive, only two people have invites.”

This man is a dork. “You’re a goddamn dork, Harrington.”

They’re a little drunk, a little high, and the sun is just beginning its descent below the tree line. He can see Gareth and Argyle though the window of the kitchen, can hear Jonathan, Nancy, Robin and Vickie kicking their feet through the water, all seated at the other edge of the pool. 

Eddie continues to pet through Steve’s hair, and the younger man closes his eyes and curls into the touch. He feels Steve’s breaths against his thigh and the expansion of his chest and the minute flex of his muscles and Eddie wants to squeeze him into a little ball and carry Steve around in his pocket for the rest of his life.

He pinches Steve’s cheek instead.

Steve squirms, furrows his brows and looks up at Eddie with such incredulity it makes Eddie smirk. 

“Why.” It’s not a question but a statement, like Steve knows he’s not going to get a satisfactory answer and Eddie brings up both hands to squish at Steve’s cheeks.

“You’re cute, Harrington.” He whispers, far more fondly that he really means to, his palms forcing Steve’s round cheeks together so his mouth pouts and his furrowed brows are all the more comical.

Steve’s face relaxes and he smiles, lips still contorted. “A menace.” He says, so softly, and Eddie’s chest burns.

“Dingus!” Robin's shout breaks them out of their reprieve and they both jerk to look over at her. “Let’s move this party inside, I’m getting-“ and she slaps herself, hard, on the arm- “eaten alive!”

He feels Steve laugh, and they take their time getting up, their movements slow and uncoordinated, and Eddie giggles when Steve twirls him away from the side of the pool, one arm wrapped around his waist. “Can’t have ya falling in, sunshine,” he says, and places a kiss on his cheek.

Steve helps the rest of them up too, beckons them away from the edge as they stand, watching as each of them dries off their feet and calves before ambling their way inside. 

It’s something he’d do with the kids, too. But these guys don’t grumble about it. Robin pats his cheek and calls him a dingus, Jonathan grasps his offered hand without question, and Nancy ruffles his hair and gives him this long look that Steve smiles softly at.

Eddie grabs Steve’s towel as the rest file inside and brings it over, hands it to him with a kiss on the cheek.

They get inside and fall into the couches, Argyle and Gareth having moved from the kitchen to the living room by the beckoning of the sound system, the both of them poking through Steve’s selection of tapes and sorting them into piles. 

Eddie toddles into the kitchen, still a little uneasy on his feet, and pours himself a glass of water. He chugs it in one go, then another, and fills it up for a third time with the intention of bringing it to Steve. He makes his way back out to the living room which is now alive with chatter and the ringing tones of Richie Valens, which, of course, because Gareth’s always had a soft spot for the guy. Steve’s seated on the love seat, foot tapping off beat to the music, clearly interested in whatever Vickie is talking about so intently.

Eloquently, Eddie shoves the glass of water in Steve’s face.

Steve looks momentarily startled, then gives Eddie a dopey smile as he accepts the glass. “Thanks, sunshine,” he says, a little too loudly in that way Eddie knows means he’s way left of tipsy. So Eddie grabs a blanket from its basket beside the couch and plants himself snugly next to Steve, wrapping the soft fabric tightly around the both of them.

Steve leans into him, head falling onto Eddie’s shoulder and fingers working their way under the blanket to grasp Eddie’s thigh.

It’s a little hard for him to have any thoughts beyond the sensation of Steve’s strong fingers wrapped around his upper leg, but he hopes he does a good job in performing attentiveness as conversation swells around him. 

A light tap on his shoulder brings him back with it. 

Steve is looking at him with wide, doe eyes, the glass from earlier clutched in his hands. 

He holds it out gingerly. “Will you fill this up for me?”

Eddie’s not sure what about this makes warmth bloom so beautifully in his chest, but it makes him light headed. “Of course, sweetheart,” he reassures, grabbing the glass and extricating himself from Steve’s hold.

He feels more sober than earlier, footsteps more assured as he crosses Steve’s living room and enters the kitchen.

As he’s filling up the glass he thinks maybe cracking out some snacks would be a good idea, and begins rifling through Steve’s cupboards.

“The good ones are to your right.”

Startled, Eddie wrenches up and smacks his head on the open cabinet door above him.

“Shit!” His eyes start watering at once, and he opens one bleary eye to a wincing Robin.

“The hell was that for, Buckley?” His head throbs unpleasantly, and he closes the cabinets to open the ones Robin had suggested.

“Sorry,” she says, and she takes a couple quick strides to help pull out bags of pretzels and chips. “He just- he keeps all his heart healthy cereal where you were looking.”

He looks sideways at her, and her cheek is pinched in the way he knows she’s chewing on it.

Head still pounding, he asks, “you know where he keeps his bowls?”

They fill up three in relative quiet, and nerves prick at his lungs as he braces for what he knows is coming.

“You know we’re friends, right?”

This is not how he expected this to go.

He finishes dumping out the pretzels.

“Yeah, Robs, of course.”

She nods curtly and tucks her hair anxiously behind her ears. “Okay, good.” She pauses. “Steve’s just like, he’s my person, Eddie, and-“ her jaw flexes. “This is the part where I tell you if you hurt him, I’ll kill you.” She’s smirking as she says it, but her tone is dead serious. “I don’t care how hard we worked to save your life, hm? You hurt him, you’re dead.”

Eddie swallows. “I’d never hurt him, Robin.”

She nods, and her hardened smirk drops a fraction. “Good. Cause I like you, Eddie. I want you to stick around.” She punches him, hard, on the shoulder. “But I had to get that out. It’s like, my duty.”

Eddie smiles, and he thinks, briefly, that he’d do spring break all over again if it meant he got this in the end. “I’d never hurt him. Not on purpose.” He holds out his pinky finger.

She rolls her eyes but links pinkies with him, kissing her fist.

“Now I’ll get to break your fingers before killing you, Munson,” she snickers as their fists drop.

“Mm, well, I’ll know I deserved it, at least.” That seemed to be the right thing to say because Robin’s smile turns soft.

“You make him happy,” she says, and then she takes two bowls and walks out of the kitchen. 

Eddie needs a moment to compose himself, after that one.

When he returns to the living room the music has changed from Richie Valens to John Mellencamp and Gareth throws his hands up in mock innocence at Eddie’s look.

Steve opens the blanket for him immediately, swinging his legs over his lap and crowding in on him as soon as Eddie is seated.

“Thank you,” Steve says, far too earnestly as he accepts the glass.

Eddie just nods, like it’s nothing, because it is, and his hand winds into Steve’s hair.

They finish off the night with truth or dare. Eddie has to do a complete rendition of Does Your Mother Know, because apparently he needs a better hiding spot for his ABBA tapes, Argyle explains what a DMT high is like, which, terrifying, in Eddie’s opinion, Vickie admits Robin’s shoulders are her favorite thing, and Eddie knows in that moment he will never understand lesbians. 

They go around and around until Steve’s head drops onto his shoulder and his eyes start to flutter. So Eddie takes it upon himself to get their friends situated for the night, which Steve gives him a sleepy smile for, and Eddie thinks he might really be fucked because he’s not aware of anything he wouldn’t do to get Steve to smile like that.

With Robin and Vickie in the guest bedroom and Gareth, Jonathan, Argyle, and Nancy on various couch combinations, Eddie takes Steve’s hand and they make their way upstairs.

Eddie makes both of them drink from Steve’s faucet because he didn’t have the forethought to bring a glass, and Steve laughs as water runs up Eddie’s nose and into his hair, laughs as the water comes back out Eddie’s nose and laughs still at the bitch face Eddie gives him when it’s all over.

“Your sink fuckin’ water boards me and all you do is laugh,” Eddie mumbles, grabbing a towel and drying himself off.

The laugh dies off and Steve takes away the towel, wraps his arms around him and kisses him.

The kiss is warm and comforting and Eddie cups Steve’s face with one hand and wraps an arm around his neck with the other. He pulls Steve in close, close like he can surround him completely. Like Eddie’s skin would be enough to protect him from the upside down and the population of Hawkins and whatever fucked up shit his parents have so obviously subjected him to. 

And he’d do it, he thinks, as Steve’s tongue enters his mouth, he’d flay himself alive if he knew it’d protect him. 

Jeff would blame his Scorpio sun for that one, he thinks, deliriously, as Steve starts to rubs at his sides.

Steve breaks the kiss, breathing slightly labored. “I need to be horizontal with you, immediately,” he murmurs, turning his head to place burning kisses up Eddie’s jawline.

“You’re drunk, sweet thing,” Eddie utters, trying to hold onto his sanity as Steve’s mouth makes its way across his jaw and down his throat.

“Mm, not too drunk to kiss you,” he purrs, hands now gripping Eddie’s sides more securely. “C’mon, sunshine.” Then Steve is stumbling backwards to his bed, pulling Eddie with him, and god, Ozzy himself could walk through the door and Eddie wouldn’t care, because Steve is kind and funny and beautiful, and he’s kissing him.

He moans as Steve topples them onto the bed, and Eddie rests himself on his forearms as he hovers, gazing hungrily into Steve’s eyes.

“So gorgeous,” Steve breathes, right into his lips before kissing him again, and the words go straight down, making his dick twitch, making his head spin and his thoughts go loopy because he’s never had anyone call him gorgeous before. 

He holds onto that, as Steve takes off his shirt and presses their chests together, as Steve’s kisses get sloppier and he drags his hands up and down Eddie’s sides. 

Because Steve knows everything, now, and he still thinks he’s beautiful.

Steve mouths at his jaw. 

“Are we dating?” Steve’s question is garbled by Eddie’s jawbone in his mouth, but he still hears him. Hears the uncertainty in his voice and the hesitancy in his inflection and Eddie realizes he’s not the only one who’s been hanging onto nerves.

He pulls away as an idea comes to him. A grin starts to lift the corners of his mouth. “Stay right here.”

He clambers out of Steve’s bed and runs into the hallway and down the stairs, into Steve’s kitchen and into his fridge, sorts through the crisper drawer and grabs whatever random vegetables he can find.

He knows this is ridiculous. Probably dumb, too, but he also thinks Steve will like it.

He arranges everything as artfully as three widely different sized vegetables and a sprig of herbs can be, making his way back up to the second floor. He’s careful to keep his steps quiet, the sounds muffled by Steve’s plush carpet. 

Steve’s seated upright when he gets back, chewing at his nails. He stops when he sees Eddie, brows doing a comical lift when he sees what used to be the contents of his fridge.

He makes his way to the edge of the bed and flicks on Steve’s bedside lamp. He gets down on one knee and holds the bouquet of vegetables out in front of him.

“I wish I had actual flowers.” He starts, and Steve starts to smile. “So I had to loot your vegetable drawer, but,” and he pauses for dramatic effect, lets Steve take in the carrot and the broccoli and the soggy parsley before gazing back up. “Steve Harrington, will you be my boyfriend?”

Chapter Text

🤖

June 13th, 1986, is hot. Steve tugs at the front of his shirt, trying to fan himself with the fabric as droplets of sweat make their way down his back.

Dustin shifts uncomfortably to his left, pulling his hair up with one hand and fanning himself with the other.

“How long until we can bounce?” Lucas complains from his other side, looking at Steve with flushed cheeks. 

“What time is it?” Dustin grabs Steve’s wrist, twisting so he can read the face of his watch.

He groans and slumps back into his chair. “It was supposed to start fifteen minutes ago.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Christ, pull yourselves together.”

Dustin moans again. “I’m not used to this type of clothing, Steve! It’s suffocating. ” He unbuttons the top of his shirt. “Can’t believe there’s a dress code. ”

“How does Suzie put up with you,” Max mutters from Lucas’s other side.

Steve hands Dustin the last dregs of his water bottle. “Drink this and shut up.” 

Dustin snatches the water bottle and downs the final lukewarm dregs in one large gulp, then hands the empty bottle back to Steve.

“Thanks,” Steve grumbles, and tosses the plastic under his seat.

“ Finally,” Dustin sighs, and Steve looks up to see students starting to file in and faculty beginning to climb the stairs to the stage at the end of the field.

He spots Robin at once, her gangly frame recognizable even through the bulk of the graduation gown, and her face splits into a smile when he stands, waving his arms wildly at the sight of her. She blows him an over dramatic kiss that he mimes catching and crushing under his shoe, and she laughs so hard her tassel switches sides.

Eddie follows not long after, and all four stand for him, waving their arms emphatically. He can see Eddie scanning the bleachers, eyes wide before he spots them. He smiles, then his face twists and he throws up those maniacal double horns that almost dislodge his cap.

Their group finds their seats again as the final graduates trickle in, and the dulcet tones of Mr. Coleman begin to fill the repurposed football field.

Coleman speaks at length on overcoming tragedy and the resilience of the Hawkins community and how proud he is of all his students that went through so much .

There are pictures of Chrissy, Patrick, and Fred placed on three plastic chairs on the side of the stage, which Coleman continuously makes sweeping gestures towards, and Dustin takes Steve’s hand. 

They don’t let go, despite the heat.

Finally, Coleman introduces Nancy to give her valedictorian speech, and Steve swells with pride at the sight of the golden sash draped upon her shoulders. It’d been hard, for a long time, to see her and not feel resentment. And then it was harder to repair their strained relationship to something resembling friendship. And it was all worth it, he thinks, as Nancy begins her speech. Because there was a reason he’d fallen in love with her, and it was for the same reasons he loves her, still, albeit a much different type of love.

She keeps her speech short. It’s not fluffy or sentimental or idealistic. Her voice is clear and assured as she speaks over her peers and she sounds much older than eighteen. 

He supposes all of them probably do.

Applause erupts at her final words, and it takes Steve a moment to get his hands working again, palms connecting enthusiastically as Nancy steps down from the podium. 

“Shit,” Dustin says, and Steve has half a mind to chastise him for his language before he decides against it. 

He nods, instead. “Shit.”

The parade of graduates begins not long after. They come up, one by one, shaking hands and stumbling over gowns and grinning cheesily at the camera flashes as they grab their diplomas.

He stands for Robin as she walks, he can see Mr. and Mrs. Buckley stand, too, just down and to his left, and Robin's face goes bright red under the cheers.

There’s a lot of people between the B s and the M s, most of whom Steve doesn’t know, none of whom Dustin does, and after a while Steve can feel his hair begin to stick to the back of his neck.

He paws at it fruitlessly, only managing to get his fingers sticky with product residue.

“ Steve, ” Dustin shrieks, and the kid lurches as Steve wipes his hand off on the thigh of his pants. “That’s disgusting. ”

Steve rolls his eyes as a smile twitches at the corner of his lips, Dustin now wiping at the offensive patch. 

“I’m telling Eddie.” Dustin whines, petulant, and Steve snorts.

“Henderson, he’ll think you deserved it.”

“Will not!”

“Will too.”

“ Edward Munson .”

Steve’s head whips away from Dustin’s face so fast he hears his vertebrae crack.

He leaps to his feet, hands clapping before he’s out of his chair and Dustin and Lucas and Max are up and next to him in a heartbeat. Dustin pounds his feet and begins shrieking at a decibel that he shouldn’t have the lung capacity to reach. 

It helps Eddie see them, though, probably in combination with Max’s fiery hair, his big brown eyes wide under the graduation cap. Steve can see his gaze flick over the crowd as he takes in the party, scattered, but there, all of them, across the bleachers, and Eddie’s smile softens as he reaches Principal Coleman.

Steve’s felt pride on behalf of other people before. He was proud of Robbie for finally making a move on Vickie. He was proud of Lucas during every one of that kid’s basketball games. But this pride feels consuming. He’s having a hard time letting his chest completely expand as he takes in Eddie’s dark robes and dorky cap. And for once Dustin doesn’t open his fat mouth when he spots Steve  wiping at his cheeks as Eddie walks up those steps.

Eddie smiles as he grabs the diploma, as he shakes Coleman’s hand, poses for the dumb photo, and walks off stage. 

It’s not until Eddie’s walking towards his seat once more that it hits Dustin.

“ What !?” He splutters, right as the next name is called, and Steve sits back down. “What the hell was that?”

“Sit down , Henderson.” Steve orders, grabbing the kid’s arm and yanking him back down and onto the uncomfortable metal.

“He didn’t do it!” Dustin complains, still in shock. He gestures to the stage and then looks at Steve. “That would’ve been so- so-“ the kid looks like he’s struggling for words for the first time in life. “ Metal. ” He finally exhales.

Steve glances back up to the stage, where the N s are now dutifully crossing the stage.

“You knew didn’t you?” Dustin’s tone is accusatory and Steve faces him with a furrowed brow.

“Oh, eat my shorts, man-”

“God, you guys get-“ Dustin’s eyes dart and catches himself- “ sort everything out -” he manages, then hotly continues, “and suddenly I’m left out of everything-”

A sudden loud shush! cuts Dustin short, because apparently the couple behind them has had enough of their bickering.

Dustin sighs aggressively and folds his arms across his chest. He grumbles something Steve can’t hear so he tousles the kid’s hair which earns him a hard elbow to the side.

This fucking twerp.

Nancy is nearly the last one to walk, only a couple of graduates further down the alphabet than her, but Steve gives it his all as she accepts her diploma.

After Alexander Zimmerman walks off stage, there are some last minute words by another member of the faculty Steve is pleased to have already forgotten the name of, and then it’s over. The crowd around them begins to stand and Steve picks up their used water bottle before descending down the bleachers.

By the time they’ve broken free from the crowd and are attempting to find their friends through the swarm of people, Steve’s temples are damp and he’s starting to notice the sting of his palms from clapping.

He spots Robin first, clutching a bouquet of flowers as she jabbers excitedly to her parents. And maybe Eddie’s getting to him a little more than he would strictly admit, because he caves to his first instinct, which is to tackle her.

She screeches as they fall- Steve has the decency to make sure he’s the one that lands on the grass- and he cackles at her continued squeals.

“You’re such an asshole Steve Harrington, Jesus-” she smacks him on the chest but she’s laughing, and Steve squeezes her tighter, until her laughs sound more like wheezes.

And Steve realizes that this is probably not helping in the department of convincing Robin's parents they aren’t dating , so Steve lets up and helps Robin to her feet.

“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Buckley,” he says, stammering a bit as he brushes the grass of his pants, “it’s really good to see you both again, you’re probably both, so proud of Robin, I am, too-”

Robin elbows him at the same time her dad gives him a look like he’s trying to castrate him with his eyes, so Steve shoves his hands in his pockets and shuts up.

He talks awkwardly to Robins’ parents while the other three hover behind them, until Dustin starts tugging on his sleeve, like he’s his mother taking too long chatting at the supermarket, and Steve ignores him until Dustin shoves a knuckle into his ribs.

“You’re turning into an adult, Steve.” Dustin accuses as they walk away, Robin promising to meet back up with them in a few.

“Dude, I’m literally twenty.”

Dustin throws a hand up like this information is irrelevant. “Eddie’s still cool,” he says, like that’s reason enough for Steve to be ashamed of his behavior.

“Yeah, and he also eats his cereal with orange juice because he can never remember to get milk from the grocery store.”

Dustin’s face screws up. “Wouldn’t it taste better to just eat it plain?”

“Dude, I’ve word for word had this conversation with him.”

As they search for Eddie Dustin comes to the conclusion that Steve should really be taking better care of his boyfriend, who definitely needs the calcium milk would provide, and then comes to the next logical conclusion that it’s probably a good thing Steve is becoming an adult so the grocery shopping can fall to him.

“There!” Dustin shouts, not even bothering to point as he darts off to their left, and Lucas and Max are quick to chase after him.

Steve follows at a much more acceptable pace, aware of the eyes around them, as he approaches the gaggle of people. 

“I thought you were going to stick it to the fucking man, Eddie!” Dustin moans, the disappointment clear in his tone as Steve catches up.

Eddie shrugs. “There are much more metal ways of sticking it to the man, Henderson.” His gaze flicks to Steve, who sends him a small smile. He ruffles Dutin’s hair, a habit he’s undoubtedly picked up from Steve, before waltzing over.

Eddie’s thick, curly hair makes the cap fit awkwardly on his head, resting a solid inch over where it’s intended to be. His hair has frizzed in the muggy heat and Steve resists the urge to twirl his fingers around the strands.

“Hi,” Steve says, and Eddie smiles.

“Hi, Harrington.” Eddie glances down at his grass stained pants and raises his eyebrows.

“I found Robs before I found you,” Steve says, and Eddie’s hand twitches like he’s about to reach out and grab his.

He doesn’t, of course, and their hands stay by their sides as they talk.

It’s not enough, but it’s what they have.

Wayne bought a disposable camera for the occasion, and between Eddie’s complaints of sentimental old man and it’s not that big of a deal, Wayne corralls him into photos with his diploma, photos in front of the school, photos with Steve and Dustin, and eventually with all of their friends as the groups converge. Through it all Steve hears the underlying gratitude in each one of Eddie’s grumblings. 

“My fucking face hurts from smiling so much,” Eddie complains. “All these photos will be the death of me, Stevie. Can’t believe Wayne’s decided today’s the day to go all mushy on me.” But a smile is still lifting the corners of Eddie’s mouth as he watches Wayne peer through the small window of the camera, adjusting his position in search of the perfect angle.

After another moment he finds it, and the man’s hoarse voice calls his nephew over in front of the Hawkins High sign.

It’s well after 1 o’clock by the time Wayne’s second camera is out of film, and Steve’s stomach makes a particularly loud grumble as the large group makes their way back towards the parking lot.

“Ooh, Steve, I could totally go for some burgers, too!” Dustin coos, and he smiles as Steve shoots him a withering look.

“Henderson-”

“Steve’s taking us for burgers?” Will asks, all hopeful, and goddamn it, Dustin for saying that within earshot of the one kid he can’t be an ass to.

“Will the burger shop also have waffles?” Comes El’s soft voice, and Dustin smiles like this was his plan all along.

Eddie’s eyes meet Steve’s, and he shrugs and mouths what can you do?

This is what he gets, he thinks, for befriending a bunch of children.

“I will take you nasty gremlins provided that- “

“Shotgun!” Max shouts, energy spiked, now, at the mention of food, and she darts off to Steve’s car, Dustin and Lucas hot on her heels.

Steve continues, yelling now- “ provided that all of your parents agree!”

“Good thing you’re their ride,” Eddie mumbles at the teenagers' rapidly shrinking silhouettes. 

Steve can hear the remaining teens bargaining with their parents as he replies, “good thing you still owe them all a milkshake, Munson,” and Eddie’s smile turns into a pout.

“I’d only offered because I was trying to woo my way into your pants, Harrington.” Eddie whispers, dipping his head towards him and Steve snorts.

“Yeah? That was your game plan? Seduce me through promises of milkshakes?”

Eddie’s smile returns. “Well I got us here, didn’t I?”

Steve rolls his eyes and pushes Eddie away. “Sure, Eds, it was all you.”

They leave Nancy and Jonathan and the rest of the kids at her car, (thank god they drove separately from her parents, or he thinks Mike might actually have an aneurysm) and Robin’s parents have decreed today a family day, so she gives them all a sad wave as they part ways.

As they approach Wayne’s old truck, Steve suddenly becomes very entertained by the broken up pieces of asphalt and shuffles away at the sound of Wayne clearing his choked up throat.

He tries very hard not to listen as they talk, instead scrubbing at a small tuft of grass that has broken through the blacktop with his heel.

The truck rumbles to life not two minutes later, Steve toeing at a particularly fascinating pot hole, and Eddie’s arm wraps around his shoulders to get him to start walking again.

Eddie sniffles. “Soft old man. Had to tell me he was proud of me, and all that corny shit.”

“Mm,” Steve agrees, nodding as they cross the final stretch of the parking lot. “If he wants you home tonight, or this weekend-“

“Stevie,” Eddie says, smiling, now, “I told you, it’s fine. Wayne made us chicken fried steak and I watched Magnum PI with him for three. Hours . Last night. It’s all good, man.” Eddie gives his shoulders a little squeeze. “You afraid of him, or something?”

Steve scoffs. “Of Wayne? Not a chance, man. I’ve seen his mug collection. No one scary has a mug shaped like Yoba’s head.”

Which is a big fat lie. Steve’s not, like, terrified, of him, but for a guy who’s faced the end of the world, he’s still plenty scared of Wayne Munson.

“Yo da, ” Eddie corrects, automatically.

Steve snickers, “Yo ba sounds better anyways.”

And Steve knows, logically, that Wayne’s not gonna like, pull his shotgun on him, or something. But he is worried that Wayne’s not going to like him. In an I enjoy his company , type of way, because Steve knows how much Eddie values his Uncle’s opinion, and Steve has a weedling anxiety that it might get to Eddie, eventually, if they don’t click.

“You’re delusional, Harrington. Yoba sounds like some sort of free range, grass fed yogurt.”

They continue to go back and forth on Star Wars and yogurt until they reach his car, which Lucas, Max and Dustin are all lounging on the hood of, and Steve has half a mind to push them off if he didn’t think it’d increase the chances of scratching the paint. 

So instead he mumbles no respect and unlocks the car so Eddie can have shotgun before Max has the chance to scramble off the hood.

Thankfully, the diner has all-day breakfast, so El’s able to order waffles and Lucas smothers his fries in so much ketchup Mike asks if he should just order him tomato soup.

Under the table, with their backs pressed to the wall, Eddie loops his ankle around Steve’s and knocks their toes together in sync with the tinny music played over the cheap speakers. 

Eddie orders everyone milkshakes, and Max immediately gets a brain freeze and Dustin sends Steve obnoxious eyebrow waggles whenever he asks Eddie to take a sip of his shake.

Steve doesn’t comment as Will and Mike awkwardly share each other's drinks, and only watches out of the corner of his eye as they stay close after they stop sipping.

“You pig,” Eddie chides, snatching his milkshake away as Steve goes for his straw. “And a liar. A lying pig, you are.” He pushes his glass protectively to his other side before he continues, “thought you said it just tastes like chocolate .”

Steve frowns. “Yeah, but I got strawberry and I forgot I hate their strawberry shakes.” He nudges his own neglected, soupy shake in front of them.

Glaring, Eddie grabs the glass and shoves his own in front of Steve. “You’re on thin ice, Harrington,” he grumbles, and knocks their knees together.

Steve smiles. Thin ice his ass.

Then, unsubtly, Dustin kicks him under the table. The plates wobble as the kid mouths something indiscernible, and Dustin huffs as Steve raises his eyebrows.

“He wants your keys, Steve.” Lucas translates as he shoves a soggy fry into his mouth.

“My keys.” Steve repeats, nonplussed, and Dustin groans dramatically.

“Well it was supposed to be a surprise, ” he sends Lucas a glare, “but we have… gifts.”

“Aww,” Steve coos, and he rejoices in the flush that spreads over Dustin’s face. He tosses his keys at the kid and he and Max stand, a mumbled shut up trailing them as they exit the diner.

“Gifts?” Nancy questions across the table, and he and Eddie shrug.

“From all of us,” El says, now finished with her waffles. “To celebrate the graduation.”

Nancy’s face softens and she glances over at Mike, who glares at her. “Whatever,” he grumbles, and she smiles.

“Softie,” she says, and Steve hears her kick him under the table.

“You’re so annoying. ” Mike spits, arms crossed over his chest, and Will and Nancy are smiling like he just said I love you.

Dustin and Max come back into the restaurant with a flourish, placing a tidy gift bag in front of each of them.

“You first,” Eddie says, nodding his head towards Nancy.

She obliges, carefully extracting the tissue paper before allowing the box inside to slip out.

Steve can’t quite tell what it is, but from the expression on her face, he can tell the kids did good.

“My mom said this is a good brand,” Dustin says, and points to something on the box. “She says it picks up really clear audio.”

“For when you’re interviewing people,” Will supplies. “When you’re a journalist.”

Nancy glances up and spins the box around to show him and Eddie. “They got me a tape recorder.”

“It is a good gift?” El questions.

“It’s perfect,” Nancy says, and she’s still staring at the box. “Thank you kids, really.” She leans over and ruffles Mike’s hair, who swats half heartedly at her.

Beaming, El turns to Eddie. “It is your turn.”

Eddie gives her a two finger salute and opens the gift.

Whatever it is, it’s small and heavy. At first Steve thinks it might be more rings, as Eddie takes the small velvet bag out of the tissue paper. The contents clink and Eddie pulls the drawstrings and dumps the bag out and onto the table.

They’re dice, Steve realizes, as one rolls in front of him. But they’re not like the other dice Steve’s seen. These are large and heavy, definitely not made of plastic, and brightly colored.

He sees Eddie pick one up so he does, too. It only has four sides, and there are crudely drawn, bats? Maybe? Flying around the numbers.

He glances over at Eddie, who has three dice resting in his palm, blinking hard at the little pieces.

“We painted them,” Dustin says. “Each one of us painted one.”

Oh Jesus. He feels himself get a little misty eyed as he takes in the other two dice on the table, can see little musical notes in lieu of numbers on one of them. He sets the bat die back down next to them.

“Do you like it?” Lucas asks, tentatively. “We thought just the plain metal ones were boring.”

Gruffly, Eddie rubs his hand over his face and gently allows the dice in his palm to fall back into the bag.

“Y’all are gonna be the death of me,” he grumbles, and scoops up the rest of the dice before clutching them tightly to his chest. “I’m never letting them out of my sight.”

Dustin breaks out his large, gummy smile and turns towards Steve. “Ha! Beat that, Harrington.” 

And then he and Mike high five across the table.

Steve pays, in the end, because Eddie forgot his wallet at home, because I didn’t need my keys, Stevie, so I didn't think about bringing my wallet, either, and Steve doesn’t understand but he swipes his emergency credit card and knows his parents won’t pay enough attention to the statement to question it.

Just as they’re about to leave, Jonathan starts to prop up his camera on the table adjacent.

“Just a quick one,” he mumbles, seating himself next to Nancy again.

“When we cheese, I will press the button,” El clarifies and Jonathan smiles at her.

She counts them down, and with a chorused cheese the camera flashes, and Steve can feel Eddie’s fingers pressed to the small of his back, can hear Madonna playing over the speakers, and it’s the easiest smile he’s worn since ‘83.

When they enter the parking lot, the kids form ranks around Nancy and Eddie, forcing them into an awkward group hug that Mike looks only mildly disgusted by.

Eddie thumbs the velvet bag reverently as Steve makes the rounds to drop off his portion of the kids, lets Eddie pick from the selection of metal tapes that have now found their home in Steve’s glove box, and by the time Lucas, their final passenger, climbs out, the sky is dark with storm clouds. 

“Keep your radio on!” Steve shouts at his retreating figure, and Lucas throws him a thumbs up without looking back.

He thinks he hears a thanks mom, but there’s a crack of thunder that drowns most of it out. 

Steve sighs, and waits until he sees the front door close behind Lucas before pulling out of the driveway.

Eddie’s fingers thread through his when they’re back on the road. He kicks his feet up on the dash, and Steve attempts to stamp down the spike of panic that enters him at the sight. 

“How long’s the drive, again?” Eddie asks, sinking deeper into the passenger seat as he watches the first drops of rain hit the windshield. “Tomorrow?” He clarifies.

“Five hours,” Steve says, then adds, “six, with Buckley's bladder in the car.”

Eddie snorts and starts tapping his feet on the dash. “Never been to Michigan.” He muses, feet still tapping. 

“Me either,” Steve snorts, and Eddie squeezes his hand. 

“Well, we’ll just have to christen your parent’s second home like we did with their first one,” Eddie says, and he grins at Steve’s splutters.

“Please never speak of our sex life and my parents in the same sentence ever again ,” Steve begs, and Eddie cackles.

Music fills his car at their pause in conversation, and Steve thinks, as Ronnie James Dio’s voice rings out of his stereo, he might be able to get used to this metal stuff. I mean, he doesn’t really know what a year of the fox is really supposed to symbolize, and he concedes that most of the lyrics probably go over his head-

“I broke into his car and poured glitter into his AC.”

It takes Steve a moment for his brain to fully switch tracks, until a what? Finally bubbles out of him, and Eddie repeats himself, slower this time.

“I broke into Principal Coleman’s car. I poured glitter into his air vents.” Eddie’s feet are still tapping along his dash, but Steve can tell it’s because he’s nervous, now. “Because I wanted to give him the big middle fingers, but I knew I’d chicken out.”

“I still have glitter on my hands,” Eddie continues, “can’t believe you didn’t notice.”

It’s not until Steve looks down that he sees the little reflective flecks, obvious, now, but had blended in perfectly amongst his many rings.

Steve takes a moment to process this, thinks of Eddie, probably getting to graduation earlier than anyone else, probably having to make up some excuse to Wayne like needing to go to the bathroom to escape to the parking lot, needing to secretly carry around big bags of glitter all morning, and breaking into their principal’s car without being caught, just to pour it down his air vents.

His laugh starts small, but it builds until he’s wheezing, and he thinks, for a moment, he might need to pull over because tears have started to form in the corners of his eyes and he can barely see the road.

With a great effort he finally takes in a full lungful of air. “ Eddie, ” he gasps, and he wipes away the tears that are threatening to fall. “That’s-” he shakes his head, laughs again. “I would pay to see his reaction.”

He shakes his head again, looks over at Eddie, who has a tentative smile on his face.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve helped.”

Eddie shrugs, and his smile widens. “Dunno. I guess I knew you would’ve, but.” He shrugs again, and Steve doesn’t really know what the but is supposed to mean, but Eddie continues. “Just as good as giving him the middle fingers?” Eddie mimes them, now, thrusting his hands up in Steve’s direction.

Steve snorts. “You kidding me?” He reaches over to grab Eddie’s thigh. “Giving someone the middle finger, that last for a couple seconds, tops. But glitter? Glitter is forever, man.”

Eddie barks out a short laugh and his feet start dancing across the dashboard again. He notices Steve staring and his smile softens.

“Nothing bad is gonna happen, sweet thing,” he says, but brings his feet down. He lays his hand on top of Steve’s. “Nothing bad’s gonna happen cause it’s my year, remember? I graduated! ” He whisper-shouts it, like it’s some sort of secret between the two of them.

“Mmm, we should turn that up, then, as celebration.” Steve agrees, nodding towards the stereo.

Eddie smiles infectiously next to him, and as the song builds so does Eddie’s voice, until his boyfriend is belting the lyrics over the deafening sound, his voice low and rough and way too hot for anyone’s own good.

It almost spills out of Steve, then, as Eddie begins to mime an air guitar, fingers bouncing around open space in what Steve knows are actual chords. Because he knows, in that moment, that he loves Eddie.

And call it trauma bonding, or forced proximity, or the fact that Steve’s a hopeless romantic who falls too hard and too fast, but he knows, like he knows he and Robin are soulmates, that he loves Eddie Munson. He holds the feeling in his chest, feels it buoy him as they pull onto his street and up his driveway, as they sprint to his door, rain now coming down in sheets, and tumble into the foyer.

“Je sus ,” Eddie splutters, bangs plastered to his forehead as he shakes himself like a dog. “Guess we’re staying in tonight, huh?”

“Mmm, a travesty for sure,” Steve mumbles, finally allowing himself to press against Eddie, to lean in and kiss him, for the first time that day. 

The buoyed sensation in his chest expands, and it coats his thoughts until they’re gooey and sluggish as Eddie kisses him back, as Eddie’s fingers worm through the damp fabric of his carefully pressed shirt, as Eddie mumbles bedroom? All breathy against his lips. And Steve just nods, thinks he whispers back a yes before they’re smiling and stumbling up the stairs.

And Eddie’s so beautiful, like always. His curls are damp and frizzy and the strands stick to Steve’s fingers as he winds them through his hair. 

Eddie giggles when Steve trips, when he has to catch him and haul him back up, muttering something about deteriorating jock reflexes before taking Steve’s hand and pulling them both into bed.

And it hits Steve, in moments like this, how lucky he is that Eddie entrusts Steve,  of all people, with all these soft parts of himself. Steve tends to pride himself on being able to read people. He prides himself, now, on being able to read Eddie in particular, who tries so very hard to be unreadable to everyone. But Steve knows, now, how to make Eddie comfortable. How to make it all feel nice and safe and loving for him.

Because they’d discussed sex, of course they had, as Eddie tried not to die of embarrassment and Steve tried not to come in his pants the moment Eddie asked if he could top. But his boyfriend had also, anxiously, asked if they could wait, just a bit, before taking that step.

The whole conversation made Steve a little afraid that Eddie’s times in Indy weren’t as friendly as he lets on. 

So he lets Eddie pull them into bed. Falls right into place as Eddie pushes his fingers into Steve’s sides as if to say here is where I want you . And Steve knows Eddie still isn’t all that confident in what to do in bed with someone who wants him there, and not just someone there. So Steve kisses him deeply, runs his thumbs across Eddie’s jaw and twists his fingers through his hair and grinds down low and slow, so Eddie can feel how much he wants him.

And when Eddie has to break away to breathe, has to take in a deep gasping breath as Steve ruts them together, Steve trails kisses down the column of Eddie’s throat. He whispers beautiful and lovely and perfect until Eddie’s hips start to twitch. Until Eddie mutters sap all soft and adoringly.

Steve leans back a little, then, and stares at his boyfriend whose pupils are blown wide, whose breath is starting to become labored, and wonders how in the world he ever thought he was straight. And then Eddie smiles at him, chest still heaving a bit, and his hands grab Steve’s forearms. “See something you like, sweetheart?”

“Always,” Steve promises, and kisses Eddie right on the ear, punctuated with an exaggerated mwah! and it makes Eddie let out a strangled sort of laugh. “Such a dork,” he mutters, and Eddie’s smiling as he lifts his arms so Steve can wiggle him out of his shirt. 

“Your turn,” Eddie requests, quietly, and tugs on Steve’s shirt.

Eddie hasn’t quite found his footing when it comes to requesting what he wants, thinks it all so embarrassing (like Steve could possibly think any sex requests from Eddie could be anything other than the best thing that’s ever happened to him), so Steve is quick to comply. Maybe a bit too quick, he thinks, as Eddie’s laugh fills the quiet room at the fervor with which Steve rips off his shirt. 

But now there’s skin on skin, and Steve has free reign to place his hands all over Eddie’s chest and sides and stomach, and Steve’s pretty sure there’s absolutely nothing better on this planet than a shirtless Eddie underneath him.

He wedges a thigh between Eddie’s legs and swallows the gasp that escapes his lips at the sensation. He can feel his boyfriend’s growing hardness through the fabric of their pants, and grinds down harder, so Eddie can feel him, too. He continues the motion as he winds his fingers in between Eddie’s and squeezes his hand tightly. 

“Fuck,” Eddie pants, and his free hand goes to Steve’s waist, his fingers beginning to worm their way under his belt. “Off,” Eddie mutters against his lips, pulling insistently, and Steve laughs.

“ Yessir ,” Steve teases, and he pulls away just enough for Eddie to fret over his belt buckle, complaining that Steve’s always able to do this so easily . It goes on until Steve has to take pity on him and shimmy off his own pants. And then Eddie goes for his own, too, and it’s a little awkward, pausing like this so they can each undress, but Eddie’s laugh when his pants get stuck around his ankles eases the tension.

“Smooth, Munson,” Steve smiles, and yanks the tight jeans the rest of the way off Eddie’s skinny legs.

“As sandpaper, ” Eddie giggles, and he pulls Steve back on top of him.

There’s less talking, after that.

There’s a lot more kissing, and when the strain of his boxers starts to become uncomfortable, Steve sheds that layer too, Eddie quickly following.

So scratch what he thought earlier. Eddie naked under him, is the best thing that’s ever happened to him. And it’s no secret that Steve was never great in school. He didn’t care much about his grades, or going to college, or academia in general. But sex? Steve Harrington is good at sex. He’s a quick learner when it comes to people’s bodies, and he knows he can make others feel good .

And Steve, for his part, is pretty enthusiastic about any time he gets with a naked Eddie. So he’s become pretty adept at blowjobs, knowing, now, how to curl his lips over his teeth and where to lick and when to suck so Eddie can feel as good as he makes Steve feel. 

That’s to say, it doesn’t take long of Steve’s mouth on him before his boyfriend begins to come apart. For all the showman Eddie is, he’s always been quiet in bed. But the little gasps and moans he lets out are becoming more and more frequent as Steve bobs his head and swirls his tongue.

“Steve,” Eddie pants, “I’m gonna-“ his hips jerk again, and Steve almost chokes.

“ Sorry ,” Eddie gasps, and Steve tightens his fingers around Eddie’s in what he hopes is a reassuring squeeze.

It must be, because Eddie’s breath hitches again, and his exhales become mantas of Steve’s name, until Eddie’s hips twitch violently again and he spills down Steve’s throat.

Which is the one thing Steve hasn’t really gotten used to yet. 

He tries to swallow, ease Eddie through his orgasm, but the cum dribbles down his chin and he can feel his eyes start to water and he valiantly attempts not to cough.

After a few moments Eddie collapses back into the bed, breathing hard. “Fuck,” he gasps.

It takes him another moment of breathing before he looks down, and Steve’s chest goes all fluttery when the softness of Eddie’s gaze falls on him.

“C’mere,” Eddie rasps, voice debauched, as he makes grabby hands towards him.

“I taste like your spunk,” he warns, climbing back up, and Eddie laughs.

“Yummy,” Eddie mumbles, and Steve splutters in disgust before he’s pulled into an open mouthed kiss.

It shouldn’t be hot. It should be nasty, as Eddie licks over his lips and into his mouth, but Steve can’t deny the pleasure that burns through him at the sensation.

“I could eat you ,” Eddie mumbles as he pulls away, emphasizing the statement when he bites at Steve’s neck. It surprises him, but the slight pressure of pain goes straight to his now leaking cock.

“Fuck, Eddie,” he gasps, and Eddie’s fingers are combing down his sides as his boyfriend sinks lower, until his hot breath is on Steve’s cock.

“You’re perfect, Stevie,” he whispers, then kisses the inside of his thigh.

Steve can’t help but jerk, and Eddie’s praises continue, each punctuated with a searing, open mouthed kiss on the thin skin of his inner legs.

“Please,” Steve pants, and he twitches as Eddie kisses him again.

His boyfriend looks up at him, his doe eyes blown wide, before taking him down his throat.

It’s involuntary, the moan that rips out of him. Steve knows, with a certain amount of embarrassment, that he more than makes up for how quiet Eddie is.

It’s borderline humiliating, how fast Eddie can get Steve to writhe over the sheets and pant his name. Eddie’s fingers are pressed into the flesh of his ass, and Steve hopes it leaves bruises.

“ Eddie ,” and Steve knows he sounds wrecked. 

Eddie hums, and Steve can feel it in his toes.

He jerks like Eddie did, but Eddie doesn’t choke. His head bobs, his long hair tickling the inner parts of Steve’s thighs, and he writhes again.

“I’m gonna-“ he manages, voice high and breathy, fingers twisting into his sheets, and he presses his head back into his pillow.

Eddie’s tongue swirls over the head of his cock, and the fingers of one hand twist over the base of his cock, and it’s all Steve can do not to shout as he comes.

The fingers on his ass press tighter against him, and Steve feels Eddie swallow and swallow around his cock.

Steve’s still trembling as  Eddie slips off of him, hands not leaving his sides as he clambers back up to the head of the bed.

Eddie falls next to him, and Steve is quick to curl into his side.

“What the fuck, Munson.” He sighs, still slightly out of breath, and Eddie’s chest vibrates under his ear.

“Right back at you, Harrington,” and then Eddie’s fingers are carding through Steve’s hair, and his eyelids flutter at the sensation.

They’re quiet for a long time. Steve eyes the rise and fall of Eddie’s chest, on the expansion of his scarred skin. He thinks, briefly, of their time in the Upside Down when it was just Steve’s hands and a piece of fabric holding that whole side of him together. Steve winds an arm around him now, and he presses his elbow tightly over the worst of Eddie’s raised skin. 

Eddie’s heart beats comfortingly, a tha-thump, tha-thump, tha-thump that luls Steve into a doze.

“I don’t think I say it enough,” Eddie whispers, and his tongue sounds heavy. Steve feels him swallow. “But I’m pretty gone on you, Harrington.”

The buoyed feeling is back, rising into his throat, and Steve squeezes him tighter. “I know, Eddie.” He noses into his boyfriend’s chest. “Too bad I’m far worse. You’re in the dust, man.”

Eddie snorts, and his nails scratch at Steve’s scalp. “It’s a competition now?”

It is, Steve thinks, and it’s one he could never lose. “You’re dating a jock, remember? Of course it is.”

“Damn,” Eddie murmurs, and Steve feels a kiss on the top of his head. “I’ll have to get some pompoms, Stevie. Be your cheerleader. Cus there’s no way I could catch up with a varsity basketball player.”

Steve hums again. “Yeah, you got no chance.”

Steve closes his eyes, and Eddie’s fingers continue to twist through his hair.

“‘M excited for tomorrow,” Eddie mumbles eventually.

“No chance of storms up north.” Steve says through the continuing patter of rain against his windows.

“I finally get to cash in on my rich boyfriend privileges.” Eddie teases. “Having a graduation party at a beach house. Fuckin’ second homes in other states,” he grumbles. He starts drumming his fingers on Steve’s arm. “All us adults, ” Eddie spits the word like it’s personally affronted him, like he isn’t already nearly 21. 

Steve laughs through his nose, and Eddie pinches him in retaliation.

“Thank you, though,” Eddie mumbles, fingers still drumming their little beat. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

“I wanted to,” Steve replies, easily. Because he did. And Robin and Jeff and Gareth and everyone else was just as excited as Steve was. Because they wanted to, too.

“Still,” Eddie says. “Thank you.” After a beat Eddie snorts. “Think your old man would have an aneurysm if he knew the town devil worshiper and his demonic cult were spending the weekend at their beach home?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Steve says, grinning at the image of his father’s face. “He’d go all purple. Probably pass out before he could find the breath to yell at me.”

Eddie snickers, and after a beat, he says, “Wayne likes you, you know.” 

Steve’s brows furrow. “He does?” He questions, then adds, “he knows me enough to like me?”

Eddie shrugs, and the motion catches on strands of Eddie’s hair caught between them. “Said you’re always polite. Said not too many boys driving shiny cars call people like him sir. ” Eddie’s fingers are still dragging across his scalp, and Steve stays quiet until, very softly, Eddie adds, “said he likes that ‘m always smiling after I see you.”

Oh. 

“Oh.” Steve doesn’t really know what to say, but his heart feels far too big for his chest, all of a sudden, so he leans his down and places a kiss to Eddie’s sternum. 

“You’ll probably still get some sort of shovel talk, though,” Eddie continues, and there's a smile in his voice. “Old man’s bark is worse than his bite. His shotgun hasn’t worked since I moved in.” Eddie shifts then, so he’s face to face with Steve. “Jeff, on the other hand- he’s a mean sonofabitch. Probably has, like, a bazooka, or something, hidden under his bed, probably knows how to use it, too, the psychopath.” 

Steve raises his eyebrows. “Damn, a true Roman Horse. And here I thought we were friends .”

And Eddie smiles, all gooey and crinkly, and kisses him on the nose. “You’re so fucking perfect, Stevie.” 

And that makes Steve smile, too, because, god, he doesn’t think anything could ever compete with Eddie Munson saying shit like that to him.

Eddie starts to wiggle a little, starts to slide out of their embrace. “To be honest, though, I spotted that box of mac ‘n’ cheese when I was here the other day and I literally have not stopped thinking about it for the past fifteen minutes.” He slides, fairly ungracefully, out of bed, stumbling a bit before straightening and holding out a hand. “C’mon, I’ll boil you some noodles.”

Steve, unsurprisingly, takes over the preparation of the noodles. Eddie gets distracted while they wait for the water to boil, opting to cruise through Steve’s parents’ selection of records.

“ So much Bruce Springsteen,” he hears Eddie mumble, then, louder, “your parents know Born in the USA is a critique of the USA, right?”

“Honestly, probably not,” Steve calls back, using the long sleeves of his sweatshirt as oven mitts to carry the pot of water to the sink to drain the noodles. “My dad thinks he’s a real man’s man and all.”

He hears Eddie snort.

There’s no further commentary as Steve adds the butter and milk and bright orange powder before portioning it out between the two of them, but as he enters the living room he’s surprised to find Eddie setting up a record.

“Your parents listen to Loretta Lynn ?” Eddie asks, not looking back as he sets the turns on the record player. The sleeves of Steve’s yellow sweater are too long for him, and he has to push up the cuffs to place the needle.

“Who?”

“ Loretta Lynn ,” Eddie repeats, and points at the album sleeve on the ground next to him. Steve doesn’t recognize it.

“I’m actually not sure they’ve ever played it,” Steve concedes, setting the bowl on the coffee table to join Eddie on the floor. “You like this?” He asks, picking up the sleeve and flipping it to look at the track list. It’s nothing like any of the other music Eddie listens to, if the cover is anything to go by. It’s pink, and the lady pictured has some truly voluminous hair, all sleek and pinned back.

The opening notes of the first song begin, and the record pops a bit, but Steve thinks he likes the sound. Kinda folky.

“My mom used to play her songs all the time,” Eddie says, still looking at the record as Loretta begins to sing.

Ah.

Steve scoots a little closer, nudges Eddie with his knee. “I like it.” He offers, and Eddie smiles at him.

They sit like that, watching the record spin, and Steve hands Eddie his bowl of bright orange goo and Steve has his, and they sit side by side as Loretta sings about falling out of love and loneliness and heartbreak, and it’s actually a pretty sad album.

“Want your present?” Steve asks, when he sees that Eddie’s bowl is empty.

Eddie looks at him, eyes all wide and vulnerable. “You got me something?”

Steve rolls his eyes, knocks their shoulders together. “Of course I got you something.”

He feels Eddie’s eyes on him as he leaves the room, and Eddie’s eyes follow him still when he comes back.

The gift is large and heavy, and a little cumbersome as Steve places it gently next to him.

“Jeez, and I thought these rich boyfriend perks were only jokes,” Eddie grins as he eyes the shiny paper.

“Oh yeah, sugar baby to the guy employed at Family Video, you’re living in the lap of luxury, man.” Steve sits back down at his words, and Eddie hesitates a moment before ripping the gift open.

He stops tearing the paper before he’s even opened the gift fully, hands pausing with fistfuls of green.

“It’s the prequel and the trilogy,” Steve supplies, nerves biting at him as Eddie’s silence continues.

He pulls The Hobbit out from the open sided box and lets the thick book fall open. He flips through the pages for a moment before he comes to a drawing of a dense forest.

“It has all of the author's drawings in ‘em,” he continues, and leafs through the book some more, until he finds another. “I mean, it’s not like, signed by him, or anything. I checked and apparently the dude like, never signed any of these things, but, I thought you’d like the pictures.” Steve feels like Robin, prattling on like this, but Eddie’s uncharacteristic silence is making him chatty. “I just thought, ya know, because you don’t have your old set anymore, you might like a new one?”

Finally, Eddie looks at him. “Sweetheart, I love them.” He takes the book out of Steve’s hands.

He runs his fingers down the spine and across the pages, and he smiles when he lands on a picture of a dragon.

“It’s Smaug,” Eddie says, smiling wider now. “I always imagined him as more gold.” 

He continues flipping through, gasping excitedly at a lonely mountain and places Steve can’t pronounce, until he’s flipped through the whole book.

“God, you’re just going to be like, really good at this, aren’t you?” Eddie asks, sliding the book back into the box. “Like, you’re really going to make me up my gift giving game.”

“I-“

“And don’t give me that crap that you’ll love whatever I get you ” Eddie interrupts, pretending to gag, and Steve laughs.

“But I would ,” he insists, and Eddie rolls his eyes before scooting closer.

“Thank you.” He whispers, and rests his head on Steve’s shoulder. “It’s perfect.”

Steve wraps an arm around Eddie’s waist and squeezes. 

One song ends, another begins, and Eddie croons, “this one’s my favorite. ” He starts tapping his fingers along Steve’s knee as the song continues on. His feet start to twitch, and Steve’s not sure if Eddie even notices he’s doing it.

And that little buoyed feeling erupts in his chest again, and he watches Eddie’s fingers dance across his knee.

“Dance with me,” he says, voice just above a whisper.

Eddie’s head leaves his shoulder.

“What?”

Steve gets up into a squat and smiles encouragingly. “Dance with me,” he repeats, and holds out his hand.

Eddie’s lips quirk and his brow furrows like he’s trying to figure him out, but he takes Steve’s hand and they stand.

How I’d love to be 

around you

When the lonely night

Surrounds you

How I’d love to be alone

With you

Loretta sings, and Steve takes Eddie’s hands in his and spins him around.

Eddie laughs, deep and loud and sharp, and it cuts through the stillness of the house.

“Since when can you dance?” Eddie asks, smiling, and Steve drops one of his hands to wrap around Eddie’s waist. 

“I can’t,” Steve replies, easily, and he spins them around again.

Eddie laughs, again, and his frizzy hair is dry now, fanning out behind him as Steve spins them across the carpet.

Kiss your lips and hold

You tight 

Have you for my own

This would be a joy

Unending

“You’re such a sap,” Eddie says, and he brings his hand up to Steve’s cheek, brings him into a kiss.

Steve rocks them back and forth as Loretta sings, as Eddie’s head falls to his shoulder, again, and Eddie brings his free arm around Steve’s waist.

How I’d love to be alone 

With you

How I’d love to be alone 

With you

How I’d love to be alone 

With you

How I’d love to be alone 

With you

The song ends, and there’s rain still pattering against the windows, and he can feel the expansion of Eddie’s chest as he breathes, solidly, against him.