Chapter Text
December 20th, 1986
He remembers, distantly, a time when he didn’t hate his birthday. When it didn’t fill him with dread and manage to leave him so fucking hollow at the same time. He remembers his mother’s face in the soft way that means he doesn’t really remember it, smiling and singing and showing him how to blow out the candles on the cake she baked for him. It feels like a lifetime ago as he creeps through the bitterly cold days leading to his 21st.
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October 17th, 1974
Eddie never had a large social circle. It just wasn’t in the cards for someone like him– off-putting kid from the wrong side of the tracks, stuck with a surname that made folks turn their noses up at the sound of it. He understood, though. He became painfully, viscerally aware of why people spat “Munson” out of their mouths like poison the day his father seemed to stop giving a shit about being a father. He hadn’t handled his wife’s passing with grace or poise, and found that his son was an easy target if he remembered he existed at all. So Eddie kicked around the foster system for a few years before his uncle was able to scoop him up and give him a place to stay.
A place to live.
Wayne finally brought Eddie home in the fall, two weeks from Halloween. Two months and some change from Eddie’s birthday.
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December 23rd, 1974
When Wayne asked Eddie, “Whatcha feel like doin’, kiddo?” Eddie looked at him like he was speaking a foreign language. “For yer birthday. It’s tomorrow. At least, I think…” He shot a glance at the calendar, “Yup. Tomorrow. Can’t afford nothin’ fancy this year, but I reckon we oughta make the day special for ya.” Wayne offered a small smile. He didn’t want to scare Eddie, though. Wayne thought the kid looked like he’d fall apart if approached wrong and he wasn’t far off. Eddie just looked back at him, too-big doe eyes looking for all the world like they were caught in the headlights.
“Oh. Uh, not sure. Forgot, I guess,” came the mumbled response.
“You forgot?”
“Well, yeah, I guess. Dunno, sorta got used to not really doin’ anything for it. Too busy, with the holidays and all the other kids. Dunno. S’fine, Uncle Wayne. We can just watch a movie or somethin’.” Eddie looked almost hopeful when he said the last part, like watching a movie with his uncle on his birthday was actually the best way he could think to spend the day.
And so they did. The next day, after Wayne made them both hot cocoa, Eddie raided Wayne’s meager VHS collection and found something that looked exciting. It had pirates on it. He handed Wayne a copy of Treasure Island to push into the VCR.
Eddie loved it. He loved the adventure, the costumes, the action. Silver reminded him a little too much of his father, but his voice was funny and Wayne laughed full and deep when Eddie tried to mimic the over-the-top pirate accent, so he didn’t dwell much on his darker thoughts. He didn’t hate the name Munson quite as much anymore either.
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January 7th, 1978
He would always be grateful for Gareth. He thought about this the week after the week after his 12th birthday, when the boys were actually able to spend time together without fighting family plans or the back to school frenzy. He would always thank whatever higher powers that might exist that they were both outcasts, as shitty as it was, because he was so happy to finally have an actual friend.
Someone (besides Wayne) who remembered when his birthday was and made an effort to acknowledge it even if it was on the second-most inconvenient day of the year. Someone who would watch the same old movie with him year after year without complaint, smiling at him fondly as he recited every line of a film he’d clearly seen too many times. Enough times at least to memorize the script and perfect the voices, down to the most minute intonation.
And still every year for the past three, Gareth had made time for their little ritual. It was never actually on the day of Eddie’s birthday, and he couldn’t not feel a slight sting every time that was true again, but it was theirs and he wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Which is why when Gareth told him he wouldn’t have time to hang out for Eddie’s 13th, he was shattered. It wasn’t Gareth’s fault, probably. Something about a family emergency, Eddie had stopped hearing the words after “I can’t make it, man” came through the tinny phone speaker. He set his jaw and put the receiver back in its cradle on the wall.
It was fine.
He was fine.
When he saw Gareth at school the next week he shut down the apologies immediately. Hearing them just prodded at open wounds.
“It’s cool, man. Shit happens. I get it. No hard feelings.”
He didn’t ask Gareth over for his birthday after that. Nothing personal, no hard feelings, he just thought it might be better to complete his observance alone going forward.
Easier that way, he thought. Can’t get hurt.
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December 24th, 1984
From the corner of his eye Eddie spotted a note on the nook table, next to the well loved tape of Treasure Island. The color on the cover had faded nearly to nothing after so many years of repeated handling and use, and Eddie wondered briefly if they’d need to get a new copy soon. He picked up the note even though he already knew what it said.
“Working a double. Be home late. Happy birthday kid.”
He turned the note over in his hands to see the black circle that he knew would be there. He chuckled softly and shook his head, overcome with fondness for a moment. Eddie loved Wayne so fucking much.
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December 24th, 1986
Freezing air finally rouses Eddie from sleep around 11:30 on the morning of his 21st birthday. He stretches, hears his spine give some satisfying pops, and huffs a sigh. 21 trips around the sun and not dead yet. Not bad, Munson. Especially considering the manhunt and supernatural alternate dimension one-two combo he, in his opinion miraculously, had managed to escape from with his life intact just earlier that year. He was feeling especially ready to begin his birthday ritual on this go round, having earned some comfort and peace at this point in the year. His year.
Cocoa in hand as custom dictates, Eddie makes his way to the living room to set his mug on the coffee table. He crosses the short distance from the couch to the nook table to retrieve his note from Wayne and his copy of Treasure Island, settling easily into the groove of actions repeated annually (and then some) for over a decade now. He pushes the tape into the VCR, starts it playing, and backs towards the sofa to settle in. And then he stops dead, eyes frozen on the television screen. The television screen that is…blank. Crackling and empty. Hollow. Eddie drops the remote. His heart drops into his gut. Panic flares up in him and shame right alongside it. He ejects the tape and grabs ahold of it gingerly, hands shaking. He registers somewhere that he’s hyperventilating, willing himself with all that he has not to freak out over this. He inspects it closely and finds no outward signs of damage and he racks his brain, trying desperately to understand how this could have happened. Why. Why him? Why today? Why was he not allowed to have this one small comfort after all that he’d been through?
Shaky breath, shaky hands, shaky resolve, he pushes the tape back in the VCR. Maybe I just have to try again. Still nothing. It’s got magnetic damage bad, that’s obvious to him from how much nothing there is. He looks frantically around the trailer, trying to understand how he could have been so careless. He knows how to take care of tapes, but maybe in the go, go, go of the last several months he got sloppy, dedicating all of his focus to getting out of that school and landing himself a respectable spot on the socioeconomic food chain instead of properly storing his movies that he didn’t have time to watch. But there are no speakers near the box of tapes and they’re not stored near enough to the VCR for damage like this to have occurred. Eddie can’t find an obvious culprit despite looking desperately, pleadingly around his home. Trying to understand. After talking himself down from scratching off the surface layer of the trailer’s walls he returns to the living room to stare at the TV, feeling panic recede as numbness creeps in.
And then he looks up. The gash isn’t in the ceiling anymore, they’re in a replacement trailer from Mr. Government now, but the realization crashes over him and pulls him under all at once. Magnets. Gates to hell in his living room ceiling. Fear. Rage. The worst week of his fucking life.
He ejects the tape a second time and cradles it in his still-shaking hands for one, two, three seconds before hucking it at the wall as hard as he can manage. The heavy plastic thuds twice in quick succession, once against the wall and again on the floor, as Eddie clumsily snatches his keys up and barrels out the front door still in his lazy clothes. He all but tumbles down the stairs and into his van, head clouded with fury fueled adrenaline fending off panic threatening to crawl back under his skin. He starts the van, turning the key with more aggression than usual, and speeds out of the park towards Family Video.
Car radio off, Eddie whips through the streets of Hawkins, white knuckling his steering wheel the whole way. Had anyone been in the van with him on this drive, they would have said it was eerily quiet, especially for the man who can’t seem to stop making noise to save his life. But he’s angrier than he’s been since spring break, he’s maybe angrier than he’s ever been, and he feels like he might shatter at any second. He screeches to a stop in the parking lot of Family Video and nearly trips over himself trying to get out of the van.
He brushes past whoever is manning the counter, he thinks from the voice that greets him that it might be Steve but he’s not sure, doesn’t really care in this moment. His eyes dart across the shelves as he looks through the action, fantasy, and kids’ sections of the store and he realizes that wow, do either of them actually do their job because he has never seen such a disorganized mess before. He makes a mental note to lecture Steve and/or Robin about their ability to identify genre later, especially since the lack of organization is making the task at hand even more difficult than the blood roaring in his ears is. As he makes his way around the store, muttering under his breath, “Where the fuck is it, they have to have a copy of this fucking movie, where is it?” he feels the panic start to set in again. They don’t have it. He looks through the last section completely unaware of the eyes trained on his back and begins to pull at his hair, once again desperately trying to figure out what to do.
“Hey, dude, are you o-“
“Christ, Harrington! Don’t sneak up on a guy.” Eddie whips around towards Steve and looks like he’s ready to jump out of his skin, having forgotten for a moment where exactly it was that he was having his meltdown.
Steve looks a little stunned but undeterred and says, “Yeah, sure. Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare y-“
“I’m not scared.” His answer is restless and wild. Eddie is being defensive, preparing himself for…something. He doesn’t quite know what.
“Okay. That’s fine. What I was trying to ask is, are you okay? You kinda look like you’re freaking out over here.” Steve doesn’t mention that Eddie is also in a ratty sweatshirt and pajama pants as he tries to make eye contact, probably tries to communicate how earnest he’s being because Steve Harrington is nothing if not earnest, for some reason. But Eddie is looking at the wall, out the window, at the overhead lights, at his shoes, his rings, Steve’s nametag, Steve’s stupid little hair swoop, anywhere but into Steve’s eyes.
“Eddie. Eddie. Hey. Look at me, bud. Please?”
Please.
Eddie locks eyes with Steve. He doesn’t say anything though, just wills himself not to fully lose his shit in the middle of Family Video.
Steve’s eyes don’t waver, he doesn’t flinch, he just looks at Eddie like he knows, somehow, that this is something sacred. He reaches a gentle hand in Eddie’s direction and then seems to think better of it. He’s lost but determined when he asks for a third time, “Are you okay? Is this something I can help with? You’re scaring me a little bit, dude. Let me help. Let me like…do my job. Tell me what you need.”
“I need-“ He needs space to fall apart. He needs this to not be something that makes him fall apart in the first place. He needs to punch Steve’s stupid kind open face for looking at him like he’s something to be protected.
“I need a copy of Treasure Island.”
Steve blinks slowly, looking like he’s processing that Eddie Munson is freaking out because he needs a copy of… Treasure Island. “Uh. Okay, yeah. I’m like, pretty sure we have a copy? It might be rented out right now though, I’ll have to check. Give me just a sec, yeah?” Steve smiles gently at Eddie and Eddie knows that look. It’s the look Wayne gave him over a decade ago, the one that says please don’t break you look like you might break, the one that makes Eddie feel equal parts angry and grateful.
Steve heads to the counter to check the store’s computer with Eddie trailing behind him. Eddie holds his breath as Steve types something into the computer, not wanting to let himself be hopeful but having a hell of a time fighting the heat in his chest at the thought that things might be okay for him today.
Steve frowns.
“What’s wrong, Harrington? What’s that face, man?” Eddie can’t help the way his voice is thin and strained and he kicks himself internally for being so stressed about this whole thing. It’s just a movie.
Steve shakes his head and sighs, “I- I’m sorry, Eddie. We do have it but it’s rented out right now. Both copies.” Eddie feels his face fall and he tries not to let tears form. It’s not worth crying over.
Steve clears his throat and says, “Y’know what, uh. I think I have a copy of it. At my house.” His cheeks dust pink as he lets out a shaky exhale. He locks eyes with Eddie again, gaze always too much, too unguarded, and offers, “You can borrow it. Shit, you can have it. I don’t think it’s been watched since I was a kid.” He chuckles softly at the end of his thought.
Eddie regards him like cornered prey might regard its attacker. Wary, always so fucking wary. “Dude. Don’t fuck with me right now.”
“I’m not-“
“I’m serious, Steve, if you’re pulling my leg right now please, don’t. Not today. If you don’t have it here that’s fine, I’ll figure it out.” Eddie tears his eyes away, painfully aware of how red he’s turning under Steve’s regard while his seams unravel over a goddamned children’s movie.
“I’m not fucking with you, Munson.” Eddie flinches a bit at the way Steve says it, like he’s hurt at the implication. “I wouldn’t do that to you. You can have my copy of the movie.”
Eddie pauses and looks at Steve, hard. “You’re serious.” Not a question. Steve nods his answer anyway. “Okay. Uh, cool. Thanks, man.” A thick silence hangs between them before Eddie finds his voice again and says, “So, like, what time are you off? I kind of…need it today?”
Steve looks at him like he told a joke, chuckling again as he asks, “Why do you need it today?”
“I mean, it’s not really your business,” Ouch, too mean, “But I watch it every year on Christmas Eve. It’s a tradition of mine.” He really is trying not to be defensive, but Steve is poking around too close to his feelings.
He seems to get the hint, though, to not pry any further. “Do you want to just…come over to mine after my shift and watch it with me?” Eddie swears Steve is blushing, that it’s not just the lights or the store’s heater being on. Steve raises a hand to the back of his neck and Eddie would think he was nervous if he weren’t, well, Steve. “Store closes at 5:00 tonight, I’ll be out by 5:30. We could, uh,” Steve clears his throat softly, “We could meet at mine around 6:00? If that’s okay for you?”
The two of them just stare at each other for a long moment, both of them fighting not to feel too much hope and trying not to show it, before Eddie gives in. His face splits open in a grin bright enough to rival the winter sun outside and he says, “Yeah, 6:00 is okay for me. You got hot cocoa at your place?” Eddie chuckles at Steve’s signature confused face and says, “Come on, Stevie, can’t expect me to watch Treasure Island without hot cocoa. That’s, like, sacrilege or something.”
And Steve laughs, a real one this time, as he shakes his head fondly at Eddie. “Yeah, dude. I have hot cocoa. Fuckin’ weirdo.” He smiles at Eddie just a little too long for it to be nothing. “I’ll see you at 6:00, Eddie.”
“See ya, Harrington.”
Eddie turns and walks out the doors of Family Video, grin stuck on his face and feeling impossibly lighter. He makes it all the way back to his trailer before realizing that that entire interaction happened while he was wearing pajamas, which he only notices because he’s fucking cold. He lets out a quiet “Christ alive…” as he drags a hand down his face and heads inside.
He glances at the clock once he’s inside and is a little surprised to see that it’s already 3:41 in the afternoon. Still too much time to fill until he has to head out. He resigns himself to a shower and snack before he heads over, hoping that if he drags his feet a little (a lot) that evening will come faster and he can get his ass over to Steve’s without seeming too eager to be there.
A shower and a snack don’t take two hours. A shower and a snack have never taken two hours, especially when he feels a little bit like his veins are on fire from excitement. He putters around the trailer, resorting to cleaning up the aftermath from his meltdown as a means to pass some time and even taking a few extra minutes to straighten out things that had been left out of place for a week or so. Not like he’s doing anything else. Besides looking entirely too frequently at the clock and getting ready to bolt as soon as the display reads 5:45.
If anyone ever asked him he’d say he just likes to be punctual. And they’d call him a fucking liar.
But the sun is setting and Eddie is getting into his van to go see Steve Harrington for the second time that day and isn’t that something?
It’s not like they hadn’t seen each other since spring break, no. They see each other often, actually. Sometimes multiple times a week. They even spend time alone together, usually to smoke and watch some new release Family Video had gotten in. But Eddie can’t shake that this feels…different from the times before. That there’s something almost holy about Steve seeing him strung out and frazzled over something so small and being gracious and gentle with him anyway. Offering his home without hesitation and fucking blushing while he did it. Eddie is almost certain he’s not reading into this. Almost.
He parks his van at the curb in front of Steve’s house and feels, quite suddenly, much more nervous than he expected he would. A chill snakes down his spine as he stands in front of the house for a moment before shaking himself out and approaching the door. He’s done this before.
It’s fine.
He’s fine.
Eddie knocks, Steve answers, Eddie steps inside. Eddie slips off his shoes and follows Steve into the kitchen, where he sees two mugs of hot cocoa waiting on the counter. Steve picks them up and they head towards the living room. Eddie hangs back a bit, watching Steve move through the space like he’s a guest here too, the way he always does. After placing the mugs on the coffee table, Steve offers the tape of Treasure Island to Eddie, like he has to be the one to put it in. Eddie just nods when he takes it, unwilling to break the gentle silence stretching between the two of them. It feels too delicate, too sacred. He thinks that maybe Steve feels the same.
Eddie, once again, pushes a copy of Treasure Island into a VCR. And this time it works. It’s not miraculous, it just works. “Third time’s the charm, I guess.” Steve doesn’t say anything as Eddie moves toward the couch, the words uttered so softly he might not have heard them. But Steve has this look on his face somewhere between fond and questioning and Eddie knows he’s keeping whatever he has to say to himself for now. Still preserving their gentle quiet.
Eddie settles on the couch next to Steve, probably (definitely) closer than he should. Steve keeps not saying anything, instead leaning back and throwing his arm over the back of the couch. Eddie leans forward to grab the mugs of cocoa, handing one to Steve and cupping his own with both hands, trying to leech the warmth of it as he settles back into the couch. And maybe it’s the quiet, or maybe it’s the relief of finally finally getting to do his birthday ritual on his birthday with somebody, but his limbs feel suddenly leaden and Eddie feels suddenly brave, and he settles into Steve more than he does the couch. Head laid on shoulder, arm pressed to chest, he lets himself be heavy.
Steve stays quiet. Sacred. Holy. He moves his arm just enough that it’s draped over Eddie’s shoulders and not the couch. Eddie feels fingers find purchase in the folds of his sweatshirt, feels a jaw knock gently against the crown of his head. He sips his cocoa and watches his movie and recites the lines under his breath. About an hour in, he feels Steve’s chest rise sharply underneath him.
“So, why Treasure Island?” There isn’t even a trace of judgment in Steve’s voice, only genuine curiosity. So Eddie answers him. Truthfully.
“Well. My first birthday I spent with Wayne, he couldn’t afford to really, like, get me anything. I’d only been with him a couple months, y’know, and he didn’t have much anyway.” Deep breath, “He asked what I wanted to do to ‘make the day special,’” he said, mimicking Wayne’s soft twang. “I asked if we could watch a movie. He let me pick from what he had. I picked this. Been doin’ it every year since.” Eddie feels his heart in his throat, waiting for Steve to pick up on what he’s just admitted to him.
“Huh,” is all Steve says for about five minutes. Then, “Eds?”
“Yeah.”
“…Is today your birthday?”
“Will you be mad if I say yes?” Guilt flashes through Eddie and he’s not sure why. He feels Steve shift underneath him, realizes he’s trying to set his mug back on the table and moves out of his way, mirroring his actions. He thinks he should have his hands free for this.
Steve doesn’t speak as he finally settles back against the couch, facing Eddie more fully than before. The look on his face is a little guilty and a lot heartbroken and Eddie can’t stop the tears that prick at his eyes. He feels exposed, like the walls he spent his life building up are actually made of glass and Steve is staring straight through them and seeing him for what he is. It scares him. No one has ever looked at him like this before, not even Wayne.
“Look, Steve, it’s really not a big deal. It’s not like I go around announcing it. You didn’t know.” Eddie feels like he’s trying to cover his ass, like he’s fucked up by not telling Steve about his birthday, because the look on his face is making Eddie’s gut clench. Steve looks like a kicked puppy and Eddie can’t fucking stand it, it makes him feel sick that that look is his fault. “I’m serious, Stevie. It’s fine. Besides, this…this is nice. Being here. With you.” He breaks eye contact, can’t stomach the thought of looking at his face when he says, “Best birthday I’ve ever had, actually.”
Steve keeps not saying anything, but this silence is the blessed kind again. Eddie chances a look back at him and relief floods his chest when he sees that Steve is smiling. At him. Eddie smiles back. If a tear falls, neither of them mentions it. Steve places one hand into Eddie’s upturned palms and the other on the back of his neck and pulls Eddie into his orbit. Eddie rests their foreheads together for just a moment before he feels brave again and leans in. The kiss is chaste, gentle and reverent and quiet. They spend a few heady seconds breathing each other’s air before pulling away.
“Happy birthday, Eddie.”