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Steve hasn’t smoked in a while. Well, it’s been more than a while. It’s something he associates with parties and beer and Tommy and Carol. Back when he was trying to be his dad, aka, a total douche. Basically… regret.
So, he’s not sure why he does it. Why he loiters in the school parking lot after dropping Dustin off. Why he nosily observes a couple of kids wander out from the woods, baggies in hand shoved into pockets. Why he wanders back that way, to Eddie Munson’s deal site.
It’s a nice walk at least. In the daytime with a hint of a crisp autumn chill, it’s hard to remember how terrifying the woods had seemed for a while. His shoes crunch as he comes up on the picnic bench and a head of unruly curls.
Munson raises an eyebrow. “Harrington? Don’t tell me you got held back, too?”
“Unfortunately not,” Steve smiles wryly. “I get to be a real adult now.”
“Well, y’know what they say,” Eddie declares as he opens his black metal lunchbox, “it all goes downhill from here. What’ll it be for you today?”
“Tch, don’t I know it. Just a joint.” A crumpled wad of cash comes out of his pocket and the exchange is made. “Thanks.”
He turns to leave.
“Harrington?”
“Yeah?”
Eddie narrows his eyes at him suspiciously. “You seem different.”
“Sorry?”
“Don’t be.”
Unsure what to think about that, Steve gives an awkward little wave and goes on his merry way.
~~~~~~~~~~~
He doesn’t use it. It sits there, smelling up his drawer waiting for him, but he doesn’t touch it, barely looks at it. It’s just there.
But a few days later, he winds up at that picnic table again.
“The fallen king, back so soon?” Eddie looks genuinely surprised but no less eager to make a sale.
Steve shrugs. “What was it you said? It all goes downhill from here? Another joint, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“Hmmm,” Eddie inspects him with faux seriousness. Steve doesn’t quite know what to do with those intense eyes and that fluffy hair. A smile splits Eddie’s face. “We’ll turn you into a proper pot head yet. You wanna buy a half ounce? It’ll last you a while.”
“Nah, just a joint.”
Eddie shrugs. “If ya say so, big boy.”
Big boy…?
~~~~~~~~~~~
The next time Steve comes by he’s greeted with a dimpled grin and a sly look.
“If I didn’t know any better, Harrington, I’d say you come here just to see li’l old me. Three times within two weeks? Come on now," Eddie says with a funny little quirk to his lips.
With a huff, an eyeroll, and a poorly hidden smile Steve replies, “In your dreams, Munson.”
“You buyin’ more than just one joint this time or are you havin’ your usual? Perhaps,” Eddie waves a baggie in an attempting enticingly way, “twenty bucks for a half ounce? More bang for your buck.”
Rubbing the back of his neck, Steve does at least feel a little embarrassed. “I’m too lazy to roll it myself. I’m shit at it anyway.”
“You wanna buy a few then?”
“Nah."
Eddie chuckles and shakes his head like Steve is a particularly amusing person. It makes Steve’s chest warm. “Well give me a sec to get one ready. Last person bought the last preprepared.”
“Alright.” With nothing else to do, he swings his legs over the bench and sits down across from Eddie. He props his cheek up on his hand and watches him work.
“Don’t know how you can stand staying here in Hawkins,” Eddie says conversationally, glancing up at him while his hands still work. “I’ve been sayin’ it for years now, the second I get that diploma I’m grabbing my sweetheart and running.”
“You have a sweetheart?” Steve’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. He’s not surprised, he’s just… intrigued.
“I know, surprise, surprise, the freak has a sweetheart,” Eddie says, dripping with sarcasm. If it weren’t for him still smiling Steve would worry he’s offended him. “And boy, is she beautiful.” Eddie’s gaze softens, and he practically has hearts in his eyes. It sends a pang of… something through Steve. He’s not quite sure what. “B.C. Rich Warlock with a red crackle finish.” What? “Twenty-four frets, DiMarzio pickups, Floyd Rose tremolo system,” Eddie whistles. “I could go on.” Steve is so lost. “She’s a guitar, Harrington.”
“Oh.” A guitar. Of course. He lets out a breath.
“So, what keeps you here? Your own sweetheart?” Eddie presents him his freshly rolled joint, done with the efficiency of a pro.
“No,” Steve takes it, then stares down at his hands with a slightly self-deprecating laugh, “crash and burn in that department. No, I picked up a couple strays instead.”
“Oh? Pray tell.”
“This group of kids, they started high school this year actually,” Steve pauses, weighs how much to say. “They’ve been through a lot, you know? Had to deal with things nobody that young should have to deal with. They need someone to look out for them. So, they’ve sorta… become like the little siblings I never had.”
He finally meets Eddie’s eyes to see him looking at him with a mixture of surprise, fascination, and confusion.
“Never took you for such a softie, Harrington.”
“I’m not. Don’t laugh, I’m really not!” Steve sticks out a finger. “And if you tell Dustin or Mike or any of those other little shitheads I said that, you’re dead, Munson, dead.”
Still clutching his chest in laughter, Eddie swipes an invisible tear from his eye. “Alright, alright. You have my word.” He suddenly straightens and raises three fingers. “Scout’s Honor, none of your poor little lost sheepies will ever know how soft you are for them.”
“Good,” Steve grumbles. He bets Eddie was never even a Boy Scout.
~~~~~~~~~~
Three days later, the picnic table is empty.
It makes sense. If Eddie doesn’t want to get caught, he probably changes sites constantly. It was honestly surprising he was even at that one for that long.
Steve kicks a stick and goes home. Maybe it’s time he actually uses what he bought.
Come quiet hours when the rest of the town has gone to bed, he doesn’t think twice about not pacing himself, just going for it. He’s far from a newbie and he knows what he can handle. Most of the way through the joint, things start to fuzz at the edges, and he expects relaxation to hit as it had so many times before.
But then everything starts to feel so big. Daunting.
Maybe it’s the house that gets to him. So big and empty and it’s never felt like a home even though he’s lived here his entire life. He’s alone. He is so completely and utterly alone. Anything could happen to him and nobody would ever see let alone care. Steve has no one. The revelation is sickening. He wants to move, he wants to hide in his bed. But the distance between there and here feels like thousands of miles and it’s too impossible.
The room seems to loom over him and he blinks hard, tries to focus. Focus on one thing. Focus. Focus. Focus. Focus. The shadows seem to come alive, to threaten, to loom, daring him to move, to even breathe.
There’s something wrong with this weed. Eddie Munson. Eddie Munson. Eddie Munson.
He manages to stumble up, smack into a few walls to find the phone. Somehow manages to punch in the numbers as unsteady as he is. It’s late, and he’s not even sure he’ll pick up but-
“Hello?” Asks a rough voice. Tired. “Munson residence.”
“Munson,” Steve says but it comes out all wrong, all cracky and wispy. “Eddie.”
“Harrington?”
Steve’s throat clicks. He swallows. Nothing comes out of his mouth.
“Are you okay? What’s wrong?”
Steve shudders, his eyes falling shut. Wills himself to say what he meant to say. What had he meant to say? All he can do is breathe shakily.
“Steve? What’s wrong?” Eddie asks more urgently.
“Something’s up with your weed, man,” Steve exhales, “should double check your source."
And with that he fumbles the phone until it sticks back to the wall. He slides down onto the floor and curls in on himself. The tile is cold. So fucking cold.
The phone rings. And rings. And rings. It echoes in his head and all he has to do is reach up and answer it, but he can’t because he can’t move. And even if he could, his throat is all choked up and he doesn’t think he can talk.
He doesn’t know how long he sits there with the cold seeping into his bones and feeling as small as a pathetic worm. He can barely keep his eyes open. Intermittently, he tries to force them open, to stay alert and the fact that he can’t only makes him more afraid. He needs to stay alert.
It’s an endless cycle of trying to snap out of it, but every time he thinks he has, he realizes he’s only gotten stuck in another loop. He wants to wake up. He wants to pass out. Anything, anything but this.
The front door bangs and Steve gasps. The pounding at the door is loud, so loud, and it reverberates in Steve’s skull, bouncing back and forth. It sounds like it’s coming from every direction. He makes a distressed sound and hunches over in fear, smacking his hands to his ears. The walls are closing in and the knocking is getting unbearable and he squeezes his eyes shut willing it to just go away, to wake up from this fucking nightmare. But it doesn’t end and fear chokes him. Steve’s shaking so hard he’s surprised he hasn’t fallen over, and when the door finally opens he sobs and cowers, certain that whatever or whoever it is will only bring him more pain.
“-rington? Steve? Hey, Steve? Look at me, bud, it’s just me, it’s Eddie,” the figure comes closer.
There’s not one part of him that isn’t tense, spring-loaded, ready to bolt and yet he’s completely immobilized at the same time. The muscles in his leg spasm rhythmically and he gets caught up in the sensation, frowning in concentration and confusion as his own limb jerks around against his will.
“Stevie, look at me?” Eddie crouches down to where he’s sprawled on the floor, all soft tones and concerned gaze and something in Steve wants to break. “That’s it, that’s good, just focus on me, okay? Watch how I’m breathing. Nothing is going to hurt you, you’re safe, I promise.”
Steve believes him but his body won’t listen. He notices how fast his breathing is, and it shouldn’t be that fast, should it? And it’s only getting faster as he panics over the fact. He’s safe, so why is he being like this? Why is he being so stupid and making a complete fool of himself when there’s nothing there, there’s nothing. So why does he feel like he’s dying? He wants to cry so badly and he feels like maybe he’ll just crack open and start sobbing into Eddie’s arms except he can’t, because he’s so fucking scared, but why is he so terrified? There’s nothing.
Eddie touches his shoulder and it’s warm, grounding, it pierces through the all-encompassing terror just enough. Something to focus on that feels nice, not so scary. “That’s it, just look at me. I’m gonna keep talking okay? And it seems like touching you helps so I’m gonna keep doing that. I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”
Steve’s head nods jerkily.
“Does talking to you help?”
He nods again. His vision swims.
“Okay, okay, good, thanks for telling me, sweetheart. I’ll do my best to fill the silence then, yeah? I mean if there’s one thing I’m good at it is talking,” Eddie nudges him.
That earns a tiny smile, a weak thing, but Eddie seems to take it as a win all the same. He keeps his promise, telling some story that Steve can’t pay attention to. All he knows is that Eddie is here, and he’s safe, and he’s real, and that the hand on his shoulder makes the worst of it melt away. All he has to do is listen to the rise and fall of Eddie’s voice, the resonance deep and soothing like a balm to his nerves. Take in the way his curls bounce with every movement and his hands move animatedly and how his eyes shift around while he talks but the always land back on Steve, with those little crinkles at the corners. Eddie’s still talking to him, but he moves away and Steve doesn’t understand.
“-ome water, ‘kay?” Eddie stands up.
Huh? A high, strangled noise punches its way out of Steve and he reaches for Eddie before he can stop himself. Don’t leave.
“Hey, hey, I’m not going anywhere,” Eddie leans down again. “Just gonna get you some water and maybe a snack. Do you want that?”
With a concentrated frown Steve thinks about it. His stomach does not feel the greatest but maybe some water would be good. He blinks owlishly at Eddie.
“Do you…” Eddie seems to think for a moment. “Do you wanna come with? You think you can stand? It’s just a couple steps.”
Glancing warily at the shadows, Steve reaches a hand above his head to paw at the countertop. Slowly, he gets his legs under him and pulls himself up. It’s hard, his body feels like lead and his limbs don’t want to listen to him. But Eddie’s there the whole way.
Eventually, he’s standing, moved so he’s propped up securely in the corner with countertop at either side where he has a whole view of the kitchen. Eddie’s always in his line of sight where he shuffles through cabinets and the fridge to find something suitable.
“Jeez, Harrington, you got anything edible in here? Think you’re due for some grocery shopping,” Eddie raises an eyebrow at him, holding a lone can of green beans. “Yummy, huh? For your midnight cravings?”
Steve can’t quite laugh but he exhales in amusement.
“Well, we’ll find something later I’ll just get you some water for now, yeah?”
A glass of water is placed gently in his hands. They shake so much that some spills. Lift it. Lift the glass. Why aren’t his hands moving? Why can he only glare at them as they tremble uselessly? Just move. Before he can freak out about it too much, Eddie’s hands close over his, his many rings cool to the touch, to help guide the glass to his lips. He hushes Steve and encourage him to drink until he can get at least a few sips down.
“There we go, not so bad, right?” Eddie smiles, all dimples.
Throat working, Steve tries to make a verbal response but all that comes out is a strange hum, high-pitched and scared. His eyes flick to the cabinet where he knows his food is. The stuff he hoards when nobody is home to judge him for it.
“You trying to talk?”
Steve meets his eyes and it’s embarrassing what he must look like right now, because Eddie’s gaze flashes with pity. Something within Steve shrinks back.
“It’s okay if you can’t. Don’t go thinking you’re special, Harrington, it’s not that abnormal. You’ll be able to again soon enough.”
Though it’s technically a jab, it helps Steve feel better anyway.
“Mm,” he hum-squeaks again. He looks at Eddie, then flicks his gaze meaningfully to what he wants him to see. He would kill for some Lance pb crackers right now.
Thankfully, blessedly, Eddie understands. Steve surfs the counter a few steps to get there anyway, because he can get his own damn crackers himself, okay? His hands and arms are clumsy, like he’s a newborn trying to learn how to use them again, but he manages to get the cabinet open and claim his prize. The cracker is halfway chewed in his mouth and oh. It must have been sitting in his mouth for too long now because… it’s mushy. He needs to swallow. He needs to not gag, and just swallow.
Eddie grimaces in sympathy, “Nauseous?”
Gulping and miraculously not throwing up, Steve sets the rest of the pack on the counter. He’ll stick to water for now.
Eddie gently guides him up to move to his bedroom. Steve clings to his arm and shuffles, unable to make too big of a step, unable to look at the shadows, too scared of what they may hold.
Promise kept, Eddie talks. About what he ate for lunch yesterday, the various thoughts floating through his head, D&D, god so much D&D. Dustin would like him, he thinks.
Steve ends up sitting on the side of his bed. As though he isn’t quite sure what to do with himself, Eddie stands in the middle of the room, hands in his pockets, looking around at Steve’s lack of decor. A small stab of guilt pierces through the fog in his brain. If only he could snap out of it then Eddie wouldn’t have to deal with this.
“Do you want to go to sleep?” Eddie asks.
Paling, Steve quickly shakes his head no. Sleep? He’s fucking exhausted. But how could he sleep when things still lurk and prowl in the dark corners of his mind?
“Hey, that’s okay, no big deal. Um,” Eddie shuffles his feet. “I’ll stay with you? If that’s alright? I don’t think you should be alone right now. Is there something in particular that’s bothering you?”
Scared. Scared. Scared.
Steve’s throat works. His mouth opens, but he frowns when nothing comes out. The lump in his throat is impenetrable and his muscles hurt where they’re wound so tight. His eyes burn, he just wants this nightmare to be over.
“Do you think you could write it?”
Hesitantly, Steve nods. Eddie turns to his desk and shuffles aside books and cassette tapes to find a paper and pen. Scrawled out in jagged, ugly letters, Steve writes, Scared.
“You’re scared?” Eddie murmurs. He sits beside him but he doesn’t touch him. More than anything, Steve wants badly to close that distance. “What are you scared of?”
Eddie’s voice is so incredibly soft and Steve can’t take it. He ducks his head, tears threatening to fall. He’d die from embarrassment if he wasn’t already in such a state.
There’s a loose string on his pant leg and he picks at it. Steve’s peripheral catches his window, where he can see just a little bit of the pool. Someone had died in that pool. It had been well over a year after it happened that Nancy was finally able to tell him. She couldn’t stop her silent tears and she could hardly look at him as she told him in a shaking voice. Barb had been sitting out there in the dark, all alone. This, he knew. A demogorgon had taken her. But none of them saw it. But Nancy knew in her heart, a vision that still haunts her to this day. A demogorgon, one of those faceless revolting creatures, dug its claws into Barb’s soul and dragged her screaming into the land of darkness with that pool as its portal.
Normally, Steve is brave. Or at least he likes to think he is. It’s not hard to protect others, to protect the kids. It’s just what needs to be done. It’s easy to put himself between them and danger, because if he doesn’t, who will? But here? Alone? There’s nobody to protect but himself, something that doesn’t come nearly as easy. But maybe… maybe he can protect Eddie.
He wants to tell him. Warn him. About the shadows, the demons, the horrors that seep through the cracks of the earth. The curse on Hawkins that latches onto its inhabitants and infects each and every one of them like an incurable disease. But given Steve’s emotional state these past years and especially how he’s breaking down now like this, maybe ignorance is bliss.
Steve doesn’t realize he’s shaking violently again until Eddie puts his hands over his own.
“Breathe with me,” Eddie says, voice firm but not unkind. His dark eyes bore into him, and Steve finds he can’t look anywhere else. “That’s it, Stevie, just like that. Keep breathing with me. Focus on me, can you do that?”
Every muscle in his face aches with tension, but he tries. He tries to match the rise and fall of Eddie’s chest, tries to ignore the overwhelming illogical anxiety, tries to not feel like he’s dying. It’s hard when he’s pummeled with guilt, and fear, and embarrassment, and fuck he hates this.
Warm, dry, slightly rough hands cup Steve’s cheeks and it tethers him back to earth. Cold bites through, right at the centers of his cheeks, rings, he realizes.
Almost as if reading his mind, Eddie says, “Stay here on earth with me, yeah? I’m sure there’s a lot of dark swirly things going on in that pretty little head of yours but pay them no mind. Just breathe.” He exaggerates his breaths to make it easier.
Steve blinks hard. Stares at the expanse of Eddie’s torso, his soft looking shirt and warm leather jacket. His muscles twitch. Just reach out. He wouldn’t mind. Just reach out. He tries desperately to not think about thinking about it and just do it.
Almost against his will, his body finally lunges forward into Eddie’s arms. A sharp inhale is all that gives away Eddie’s surprise, and the comforting weight of his arms are around Steve immediately. His breath is hot and moist against his face where he breathes harshly against Eddie’s shoulder. Muscles locked up, the weight of pathetic burden stupid squeezes behind his ribs at his lungs and his stomach goes sour.
“Shhhh,” Eddie rocks him, and distantly Steve realizes he’s making fragmented stilted sobs even though his eyes feel dry. “It’s okay, it’s all gonna be okay, Stevie. I know it’s hard but try to relax, sweetheart, you’re so tense.”
Eddie cradles the back of his head and scritches at his scalp idly. Steve can feel where his rings give slight resistance running through his hair. Little by little, his muscles unwind. It takes forever, but eventually his breathing evens out into some semblance of normal. Steve lets the heaviness of his body sag into Eddie’s warmth. He lets himself be held for once.
“Hey…” Eddie says after a while. He pulls back just enough to look at him. “You’re not scared of me, are you?” He asks, with a wounded expression of mock offense.
With a noise of confusion, Steve shakes his head. Of course not.
“Well… maybe you should be. Everyone thinks I’m soooo mean and scary… and for good reason!” Eddie says. “You ever wonder why P. Higgins flinches coming around every corridor?” With a flourish of his hand, he gestures to himself. “Courtesy of moi. Don’t know how it started but every time I ran into him I started screaming like a banshee like he jump scared me. He always tried to nail me for it but I was just too good at acting innocent and genuinely fearful. You should have seen the look on his face the first time I did it, it was fucking hilarious and it took everything in me not to break.”
With an animated voice and equally energetic hands, Eddie continues to regale him with tales of his two prior senior years and lists out the various pranks he’s dealt. One thing Steve will give him is that he is crafty. Like hot gluing (fake…?) turds to toilet paper and timing things just right to get them stuck to people shoes. Light enough that the victim wouldn’t notice its weight but extremely visible. Eddie calls that a Level 1 prank, minor, harmless, minimal amount of embarrassment but funny all the same. No, the one that has Steve gaping in bewilderment is the Benadryl cupcakes he somehow snuck into the teachers’ break room.
“Higgins was trying so hard to question me but- he kept falling asleep,” Eddie could barely breathe through his laughter. “He even drooled a little bit at one point.”
How Eddie possibly could have baked pristine enough cupcakes for none of the teachers to question their sudden presence was lost on him. Eddie is a lot of things, but he doesn’t think baker is one of them. Steve remembers distinctly now, a day in the spring of ’84 where every class after 12pm had teachers with droopy eyes and noticeably less homework than usual. Steve had chalked it up to almost-summer burnout at the time, but the real reason is so much funnier.
In seemingly no time at all, Eddie has Steve smiling dopily and huffing out small breaths almost enough to be a laugh. The shadows still linger, but they’re further away now, pushed out by the presence of the light that is Eddie.
“I think Higgins’ true, visceral hatred for me started after I taped a ‘Catcall Me’ sign to his back,” Eddie smiles wickedly. “He never caught me for that one either. I think it’s awfully close-minded of him to suspect me first when he had no proof…” he says indignantly, “I mean, it was me but he doesn’t know that!”
Smirking, Steve huffs and rolls his eyes. Tries not to think too hard about the press of Eddie’s leg against his.
“Hopefully, he’s so sick of me he’ll just graduate me.” At Steve’s questioning hum, Eddie clarifies, “Yeah, my grades are… psh- awful.”
Now that doesn’t make sense. Because isn’t Eddie a “…nerd?”
Eddie’s mouth drops open. He jerks back, a hand clutched to his chest like he’s been stabbed. “You… you wound me! You’ve had a whole hour of nothing to say and the first word you say to me is ‘nerd?’”
Steve frowns. An hour? That’s how long he’s been a nonverbal petrified vegetable? That’s not normal right? That can’t be normal. there’s something wrong. There is something very wrong. Steve is wrong-
Eddie notices his mistake and puts a grounding hand to Steve’s cheek. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I’m like, totally a nerd, aren’t I? I mean, I may not be a whiz at algebra- whatever the fuck that even is- buuut I could tell you all about music theory and the circle of fifths and how-“
Steve doesn’t mean to interrupt Eddie but he can’t help but giggle. It sounds foreign and juvenile, unattached as though the air made the sound rather than him. “Why’re grades s’bad then?” Steve laughs breathily, a stranger to his own ears.
The grin Eddie cracks makes it worthwhile, one of disbelief, relief, and amusement. “Okay, rude. I’ll have you know, they aren’t ‘so bad’ they are… maybe less-” he fumbles for a weak argument, “less than average- but maybe I just don’t want to be confined to learning pointless stuff I’ll never use, you ever think about that? What rockstars need to have perfect grammar, huh?”
Steve can’t do much other than giggle in response, his laughter still so odd and weird and so not him, but he can’t bring himself to care. Not when his focus is on mischievous eyes and a sly grin. Eddie continues to defend his honor, pretending to be offended, but the way he glances at Steve with something akin to relief and happiness every time he laughs makes him think he’s purposefully doing it to help Steve feel better. And being cared for like that? He can’t explain how much it means to him.
Since Eddie was ‘so rudely interrupted,’ he yammers on about music theory and notes and rhythms and Steve is left with his brows scrunched and his lips parted as he tries to process whatever the fuck he just said.
“Wh… wha..t?” Even if he wasn’t so out of it, he’s not sure he would get it.
Eddie covers his mouth with a hand to poorly hide his snickers, eyes twinkling with mirth. “Aw, you need me to explain it again? I knew your head was only hair.”
Mouth dropping open, Steve smacks him in indignation, only resulting in Eddie cackling harder. “I know music.”
“Oh, do you now?” Eddie asks.
Nodding emphatically, Steve flaps a hand lazily in the general direction of his collection of cassette tapes. Hopefully, it’ll distract Eddie from talking about the five of circles again or whatever it was. He watches Eddie get up to shuffle through his music.
“You—Steve Harrington—listen to Madonna?” Eddie stares at him in disbelief, jaw practically on the floor.
The sight sends Steve into another fit of laughter.
“Material girl?” Eddie waves the cassette tape around. “You sure you’re straight, Harrington?”
It’s so warm and Steve can’t do much other than giggle and shake his head. It’s fun to get this type of reaction out of Eddie. He seems almost as surprised as Steve was when he finally figured it out. Thankfully, he had Robin. She talks a lot, and she is definitely a wealth of information when it comes to that stuff.
Shit. Robin. Nobody is supposed to know about Robin, it’s dangerous.
Steve fixes a severe look at Eddie. “You got a problem with that?”
“No! God, no.” Eyes wide, Eddie puts his hands in the air. “I’m just- forgive me, I’m in shock.”
“Robin says ima bicycle.” Wait. Steve frowns. That’s not the right word. Whatever.
But Eddie seems to know exactly what he means. “What?!” He splutters, “s-since when?”
It’s a secret, so he leans in and lets his voice go real low and quiet. Intrigued, Eddie leans in too and a warm giddy feeling spreads in Steve’s belly as he confesses, “Since Tommy Hagan used his teeth to split my lip and it made my dick throb.”
“Tommy Hagan???” Eddie’s eyes look they’re about to pop out of his head. His face is pink. “You mean the Tommy Hagan that would beat up any guy that showed even an ounce of not-toxic-masculinity? The same one that said ‘fag’ every other sentence? You’re shitting me, right?”
“Never said I had good taste,” Steve shrugs.
“You’re blowing my mind here, Stevie. That’s actually insane. I guess if you really think about it, it makes sense,” Eddie sighs and tsks disappointedly. “Another victim of forced conformity and the world worse off for it.”
“Never thought I’d see the day where you defend Tommy Hagan,” Steve says.
“Not defending,” Eddie clarifies. “Merely commenting on the brokenness of society and how it results in turning people evil.”
The bundle of fondness that at some indeterminate time started growing in Steve’s chest grew that much more. He rubs it absentmindedly. How have he and Eddie never really talked before this?
Steve opens his mouth to respond. but involuntarily, his eyes squeeze close and his jaw cracks open into a yawn instead. Eddie laughs softly. Something about it is so inexplicably warm. It draws him in like a moth to a flame.
“Ready for bed, Harrington?”
“Yeah.” Steve pauses. His nerves start to come back. His leg bounces and he hates how uncertain he sounds when he asks, “Will you… stay with me? Please?”
“‘Course,” Eddie replies. The corner of his lip quirks up, enough to show a hint of a dimple.
When Steve was little, very little, he remembers getting scared at night. Long after bedtime he’d lay awake, making monsters out of the shadows and seeing eyes in the ceiling. Stuffie in tow, he would silently toe his way to his parent’s bedroom. But he never woke them up. Little Steve would stare nervously at their sleeping forms, wanting to reach out, yearning for comfort. Eventually, he didn’t even bother getting out of bed. There was no point.
And now? Something about him just feels so young. Like he’s five years old again and terrified of everything. Except this time, he isn't alone. A raw, untouchable sort of feeling wobbles in his chest. He doesn’t dare name it, not when Eddie holds him close, running his ringed fingers through his hair. Steve sighs, his muscles go lax, his mind slows, his heart calms, and he drifts off.