Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

HELLFIRE IN HAWKINS, THE DEVIL’S DEVIOUS PLOT

Dungeons and Dragons, a game that has begun sweeping the nation—at first glance, it may even seem to be quite innocent. But that is what the Devil is trying to convince you of. It is a game of occult worship, death, ritualistic sacrifices, and more. More studies have shown that the games links to things such as arson, theft, suicide, and even MURDER…

It’s no surprise that people fear what they don’t understand. Even more so when it’s something that pertains to the absolute unknown of their one-track minds. Eddie’s known for years that being into Dungeons and Dragons is pretty dangerous; not because of the game itself, but because of the stigma that surrounds it. His father had hated it, always threatened to burn Eddie’s books or take them to the quarry and drop them at the bottom of the lake. Eddie’s just glad Wayne doesn’t care, that he can see the game doesn’t harm anyone—if anything, it helps Eddie. It always has.

The national phenomenon of the Satanic Panic was a long time coming. Eddie’s surprised it took so long to reach Hawkins itself, especially because of everything that had happened within the past few years. Will Byers going missing, presumed dead, then being found alive—even after a body had been found. Chemical waste in the water and sewers and air. The fire that burnt down Starcourt Mall. People have considered Hawkins to be cursed for years now, with non-locals even going so far as to call the place Hell itself.

So, when the magazine and newspaper articles start to pop up within Hawkins, Eddie’s pretty nonplussed. He doesn’t even give them a second glance. He reads them, laughs with his buddies, then continues on with planning a new campaign or adding onto the current ones and practicing with his band. Because what’s the point in letting a bunch of paid-for articles ruin his fun? The people writing them have obviously never done any research in their entire lives—they don’t know a single thing about anything, so, he doesn’t worry.

It only starts to worry him when the kids at school start to get weird about it. And, well, that’s not really any different than how they’ve been before—weird about him. Everyone’s always weird about Eddie, because, well, he’s weird. And he knows it. He’s weird and off putting and he’s fine with that. Eddie doesn’t need them to like him, because he’s already got people who like him for his weird little self.

Then everything with Chrissy Cunnginham and Jason Carver happens.

See, Chrissy had come to Eddie for drugs in early February—he hadn’t asked questions. Not really. What people need his shit for, he doesn’t need to know. As long as they pay right and don’t narc on him, Eddie couldn’t care less what people are doing with the shit he gives them. Only it had been quite a shocker when Chrissy had asked for something harder than weed. Eddie had looked at her, really looked at her, and wondered: what’s she running from?

Since then, Eddie’s kept selling her the same shit. It’s not always the same day, nor is it even every week. But it’s mid April now and Chrissy’s still buying, so it’s good business. And, well—the two of them have become friends, more or less. Sometimes she just buys weed, so he’ll offer to light up with her and just talk, if she wants. She usually does.

It’s pretty ironic of him, being friends with Chrissy Cunningham. He’s known her since they were in middle school, yet they never really talked. They ran in different social circles, after all, even back then. The divide between them had only grown, especially in high school, especially because Eddie’s already failed two years in a row and is slowly crawling his way through his seventh year of this shit. Chrissy’s never mocked him, though. She had called him a freak, before, back in the forest when they first met, but it had been full of awe and affection.

If it didn’t scare him so much to admit it, he’d say that Chrissy was like his best friend. If not his real best friend. Only thinking that terrified him, so he didn’t—think about it, that is.

Then, somehow, her boyfriend finds out. Who is none other than Jason Carver, the new resident king of Hawkins High—asshole extraordinaire and complete walking bag of shit. Eddie’s taken more shit from Jason than he has anyone else in his life, and he’s fairly certain he’s going to continue getting shit from the guy until he’s actually left Hawkins behind. (And even then, Eddie worries Jason will try to find him once he’s gone. He’s got a screw loose, Jason does.)

Jason doesn’t believe that Chrissy’s been doing it of her own volition. He thinks Eddie’s forced her to do it, thinks that he’s done some… some kind of Satanic ritual to brainwash Chrissy into buying drugs. And wouldn’t that be so fucking hilarious? Chrissy stops buying, if only to appease Jason’s wrath and make the guy stay away from Eddie—but not because Jason and his goons have roughed him up a bit. It’s too late for Chrissy to stop that, so he doesn’t blame her. There’s no blame on her at all, because he gets it. He knows.

Everything takes a turn after that.

Eddie’s campaign is slowly coming to a close, because he’s absolutely planning on never having to set foot inside Hawkins High’s walls ever again after he graduates, and he’s been planning on this for months. So has the rest of Hellfire. He’s so excited and pumped about it—until Principal Higgins calls him to his office one day, on a day in which Hellfire is supposed to meet.

“Your club is being shut down.”

Eddie frowns, eyebrows completely furrowed as he sits up straight in the chair. “What? But—but why? Hellfire’s been here for the past like, three years—why’s it being shut down now?”

Principal Higgins sighs, reaching up to adjust the glasses sitting on his nose. “Well, Mister Munson, there are… some concerns that we have to allow ourselves to look into.”

Some concerns? Oh, Eddie absolutely knows where this is going.

“Look, Principal Higgins—”

“I’m afraid there’s no changing my mind on the matter, Mister Munson,” the man interrupts, making Eddie frown and bristle slightly. “We have several parents expressing their worries over what your… Hellfire club truly is, and if we cannot put their worries to ease, then surely the school will suffer as a whole.”

Good, Eddie thinks, gritting his teeth silently. Let it burn.

Principal Higgins leans back in his chair a bit, his hands folding across the top of his desk. “You will no longer be allowed to use the school property for anything relating to ‘Hellfire.’ You will also no longer be allowed to wear those shirts, nor mention the name within the walls of the school. You will not be featured in the year book, either. If word reaches that you continue to hold ‘Hellfire’ meetings at the school, or within range of it, you will be expelled, Mister Munson.” The man looks Eddie directly in the eyes. Eddie thinks he can just barely make out pity in them. “Do I make myself clear?”

Eddie grits his teeth harder, hands curling into fists against his knees. “Yeah. Fine, whatever. Got it, Principal Higgins.”

“Good,” the principal seems to slump in relief, his eyes giving away that he had actually been scared of what might happen. “Do take care now, Mister Munson. I hope to see you at graduation.”

Eddie rolls his eyes as he gets up from the chair, throwing his middle finger up over his shoulder as he exits the room. He can hear the principal sputter behind him, but he could care less. He wants to scream. He wants to find Jason and punch the guy in the face, because he’s sure Jason’s the real one who went to the principal and demanded Hellfire get shut down.

And that’s exactly what he does.

He finds Jason outside by the football field, several of his lackeys by his side. Eddie’s too pissed to think about anything else, which is exactly why he marches straight up to them, waits for Jason to turn to him with a smug look, before landing a mean right hook across the guy’s jaw.

“What the fuck, you freak?!”

Eddie glares, ignoring the throbbing pain in his hand—he probably broke his own finger, but it’s fine. “What’d you do, Carver? Huh?!”

Jason spits something onto the ground, though it lands right by Eddie’s shoes. Probably on purpose. He glares right back at Eddie and pushes at his shoulder, causing Eddie to tumble back slightly. “What should’ve been done in the first place, freak! Your weird cult’s been around too fucking long—there’s kids in there! Who knows what disgusting shit you’re makin’ ‘em do in there—”

“We play a game, dickwad!” Eddie yells, continuing to grip his hand in a fist. He doesn’t make any more physical moves, though. He stands there, arm shaking, sneering towards the jock and his pals. “It’s not a fucking cult—I don’t make them do anything!”

“Bullshit!” One of Jason’s friends—Eddie thinks his name might be Larry or something, he doesn’t care—yells. He pushes at Eddie too, causing him to actually stumble backwards a few steps. “You do some kind of fucked up Satan shit, everyone knows it!”

“That’s not—”

“Shut the hell up, freak! We’re tired of putting up with it—you’re the reason Hawkins is cursed! You’re the one making all these terrible things happen and we know it!”

It becomes a blur after that. Eddie doesn’t get a chance to respond before someone punches him in the face. He might have deserved it, he’s not sure, but there’s no way he can fight—it’s four on one, and there’s no one around to help. No one who would help to begin with. Eddie’s not a violent person, he’s too much of a coward. The only reason he even managed to punch Jason Carver in the face is because he had been so blinded by rage that he didn’t even think. He just did it.

Now he’s being beaten into the Hawkins High football field without mercy. Everything aches and there’s pain no matter what. He’s so out of it that he doesn’t even notice the sirens in the background, doesn’t hear the kids calling for teachers or the teachers calling for Jason and his goons to stop.

All Eddie remembers is coughing up some blood, wincing, feeling like his entire body’s on fire, then—total blackness.

Eddie wakes up some time later. He’s not sure how much time has passed since he punched Jason. When he opens his eyes, he’s blinded by the intense fluorescents and blinding whiteness of a hospital room, and he can only recognize it as a hospital room because of the fact that he hears a monitor next to him. Beep. Beep. Beep.

He groans loudly, throat raw and dry, bringing his hands up to run them over his face. It’s not easy—his left arm’s got an IV attached to it and two of his fingers on his right hand are bandaged together in a splint. So he hadn’t broken just one finger, he’d broken two. Great. This hospital visit’s going to cost his uncle an arm and a leg. Eddie winces at the thought as much as he winces at the pain suddenly flowing up through his entire body. He groans again, letting his hands drop against the hospital bed at his sides.

It’s only then that he notices someone sitting in the room with him. Eddie blinks blearily for a few moments, letting everything adjust, before he notices who it is.

“…Harrington?”

Steve jolts up in the seat, wincing slightly himself. He reaches a hand behind to his back, presumably rubbing at it as he looks up at Eddie on the bed.

“Hey, man,” he says gently, standing up. He comes to stand right next to the bed, eyebrows furrowed slightly. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks,” Eddie mutters, sarcastic. “What’re you doing here?”

“Someone had to sit with you. Didn’t want Henderson to get in trouble with his mom for skipping school, and everyone else had to stay, too, so. Last resort.”

Eddie sighs, closing his eyes and leaning back into the hospital bed. “Fuck.”

“Why’d you do it?” Steve asks, quiet.

“Because Jason Carver’s a dick who needed a good kick in the ass.”

“You’re the one who got his ass kicked, Munson.”

“I’m aware of that, Harrington.”

Steve reaches over and presses a button, probably to alert a nurse or something that he’s awake. He goes back to the chair and sits down, leaning against his knees with his elbows. A few minutes later, a nurse walks in, followed by Officers Powell and Callahan—Eddie sighs deeply, rolling his eyes as he tilts his head back against the stiff hospital pillows.

As the nurse asks him questions about how he’s feeling, Eddie responds in kind. She gives him a run down of his diagnosis: two broken ribs, a pretty bad concussion, his middle and ring fingers broken on his right hand, his left ankle is sprained, and his temple got cut pretty deeply on something on the ground (Or by a guy’s weapon, Eddie thinks). Eddie grimaces, taking it all in as the nurse leaves. Both officers are left in the room with him and Steve. Officer Powell glances at Steve briefly, before he turns his attention to Eddie.

“You know how you landed here, son?”

Eddie stays quiet. He glances towards Steve, who’s staring at him. He rolls his eyes, thumb gesturing towards the officers. He looks back up towards Officer Powell. “Yeah.”

“Fortunately,” the officer starts, heaving a sigh. “We know, too. Unfortunately,” Powell adjusts his belt, the jingling sound heavy in the air. “They’ve decided to press charges.”

Shit.

“Mister Carver also told us about you… ‘Hellfire Club’ activities, so we’re opening up an investigation—”

“That’s bullshit!”

Eddie startles when Steve stands up from the chair, glaring at Powell. He stares at the other teen, mouth open. Steve doesn’t notice.

“Son,” Callahan warns, tone condescending.

Steve rolls his eyes again, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s true. Whatever Carver said, it’s not true. It’s completely fabricated to try and make Eddie look like—”

“Whether it’s been fabricated or not,” Officer Powell gives Steve a stern look. Steve doesn’t really back down, though. Eddie’s still lost in the shock of these chain of events. “We still need to investigate. Until we can get to the bottom of it, we have to take Mister Munson here into custody…”

“You’re arresting him?” Steve’s nearly yelling, eyebrows raised to his hairline.

Eddie’s eyes snap right over to the two officers, an expression of fear and shock on his face. “What?”

“It’s just a precaution, we’re not going to put you in jail—”

“You can’t arrest me!”

“Technically we can, because you assaulted another young man earlier today—”

“He deserved it!”

“That might be the case, but his parents—”

The door to the room slams open before Eddie has another chance to respond, sitting up in the hospital bed. His hands are gripping the blanket over his legs, and he feels an anxiety attack pooling in the pit of his stomach. He can’t get arrested—he can’t. If the cops start searching all of his shit… he’s gonna get life in prison for fucking sure, and his uncle’s gonna be so utterly disappointed in him.

Fuck. What would Wayne say now, finding him in the hospital like this? Shit—did Wayne even know what happened today? Shit fuck. Fuck shit. Eddie’s head suddenly throbs. He feels his eyes tearing up. Goddammit.

“Hopper!” Steve breathes out in relief, just as Hopper pushes his way in front of Powell and Callahan.

“You’re not under arrest,” Hopper says this straight to Eddie. The young man sinks back into the hospital bed, feeling like he could cry from relief. Officer Powell begins to protest, but Hopper turns around and narrows his eyes at him. “He is not going to be arrested. This is no longer under our jurisdiction—got some damn government croonies comin’ around to take care of it. So you don’t touch Munson. Got it?”

Powell and Callahan exchange a look, with Callahan grumbling under his breath.

“I said, got it?”

The two officers relent. They leave the room a few moments later, Hopper shutting the door behind them, before he turns towards Eddie and starts explaining, “Truth is, the case is still ours. We will have to deal with the Carvers’ charges, but our connections—they’re gonna clear your name. The town thinks you’re some damn cult leader,” Eddie snorts quietly to himself, but Hopper doesn’t look amused. “There’s already people writing articles and prying into the kids’ lives because of it. Jason’s started an entire new wave of shit we’ve gotta deal with, including us having to pry around in innocent peoples’ lives just because they think your stupid book game summons th’ devil.”

“So—so what, exactly? What am I supposed to do?” Eddie asks, his tone only slightly desperate.

Hopper sighs, pulling out a cigarette from his pocket. He doesn’t light it, just puts it into the corner of his lips as he speaks around it. “Normally I’d just advise being careful in your day to day life, but this town…” Hopper frowns deeply. “People tend to take things too far.”

Don’t have to tell me that twice, Eddie thinks, eyes flickering down towards his hands in his lap.

“So unfortunately, can’t guarantee your safety without around the clock protection. We don’t have the forces for that, and I’m sure you don’t want any of us or those agents constantly around your place anyways, so I’ve got a plan.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “A plan?”

Hopper nods. “You’ll see.”

Hopper’s plan is fucking insane. No, really—it’s nuts. Eddie’s got no idea why he even agreed to go along with it. Since he’s now the pariah of Hawkins, Indiana, Hopper’s ingenious plan is to ship Eddie across state lines. All the way to fucking Illinois. Oh, and that’s not the last of it! No, because they didn’t want to leave Eddie alone—it’s not that they don’t trust the guy they’re sending him to (apparently he can hold his own, or whatever), but they, apparently, don’t want the kid to feel lonely.

What a lovely sentiment.

Too bad it’s lead them to send Steve Harrington along with him to this stranger’s home-bound lockdown in fucking Illinois.

“Steve’s not that bad,” Dustin had said, when they were packing up as much of Eddie’s stuff as they could. He was told to really only bring the essentials, but everything in his room felt like it was necessary to carry with him. They didn’t know how long he’d be gone from Hawkins.

So much for graduating then.

Eddie hadn’t responded. Just kept packing up his stuff until the bags were full, nearly overflowing, and he wasn’t feeling like he needed anything else. He was angry. He was pissed. He was scared.

Hopper had taken him home to his uncle’s trailer once the hospital allowed him to go. He was worried that folks would try to show up at his room and—

Yeah. Eddie wasn’t going to think about that anymore.

His uncle had been distressed. Officer Powell had apparently called him immediately after the incident, but Wayne had been at work. No way to get to the hospital to see his nephew. Instead, he had to wait until he was off. Apparently the officer had told him Eddie was going to be arrested. When Eddie had walked in the door of the trailer, Wayne hadn’t been able to help it—he cried in relief, especially when Hopper explained the situation to him.

“You’ll be okay, son,” Wayne had told him, their heads pressed together.

Eddie hadn’t cried, but he sure as fuck had wanted to.

Now they’re in Illinois, standing in front of some… real shady looking place—it’s a bunker, in all honesty, and Eddie’s a little surprised that someone can actually live here. Not even his trailer in Forest Hills looks this much like a wreck.

Hopper bangs on the door twice, pressing an intercom button as he yells into it, “Open up already, Bauman!”

There’s a bit of cracking, then from the speaker: “Look towards the camera.”

“For Christ’s sake…” Hopper grumbles, immediately lifting his head and turning.

Eddie didn’t even notice. To their right, there’s a camera in the corner, pointed directly at them. Hopper glares into it, both Steve and Eddie staring at the camera with wide eyes. There’s several strained moments of silence, before there’s a loud ‘BZZ’, the sound of several locks being undone, and the door to the place swings open, revealing—

A guy. Just… a guy. Eddie’s not really sure how to describe him. He looks like he could be someone’s uncle, and maybe he is, or maybe he isn’t, Eddie doesn’t really care. He’s got glasses on his face, a fully bushy bearded face, and he’s absolutely balding. The guy—Bauman, as Hopper called him—is holding a shotgun in his hands, despite seemingly knowing who all of them are.

Oh, so Hopper is sticking him with a nutcase.

Good to fucking know.

Hopper nudges both boys into Bauman’s lair—house—and grunts his thanks, while Bauman slams the door shut behind them and reattaches every single lock into its rightful place. Eddie’s already thinking they’re going to lose their minds in this place. Maybe Steve will lose it before him, though; that’ll be a pretty funny sight. Great story to tell to Dustin, too.

They sit down on some musty couch. Steve doesn’t react to all of this much, but Eddie can’t stop himself from looking around the place, hands fidgeting in his lap. The place is full—everything is practically connected, like this is only a one floor type of place (Eddie did see a set of stairs, though, so that’s not true). One section of the place looks like it came straight out of some detective noir film—and not really in a good way. The place is a mess. Eddie squirms a bit in place, grimacing slightly.

“Thanks f’r doing this, Murray,” Hopper grunts as he pulls his hat off, this Murray guy walking around him like it’s no big deal.

Murray just shrugs, taking several long moments to stare at both Eddie and Steve. The two teens glance at each other, uncomfortable, but do nothing else. Murray then turns to Hopper, hand waving flippantly. “I should start charging all of you for relationship therapy at this point,” he comments, making Eddie’s eyebrows fly up, eyes bugging out.

Steve doesn’t seem to understand. He just makes a face, nose scrunching up in confusion.

Hopper clears his throat, derailing whatever just happened rather quickly. “Not sure how long it’ll take for us to get Munson’s name cleared, and to get the town safe enough for him again, so you’ll probably have to put up with ‘em for a while. They’re not kids though, so it’s not like they’ll cause any issues.” He pauses, turning to stare the two boys down. “Right, boys?”

Eddie swallows loudly. “Right,” Steve answers for the both of them, sitting a little stiffer on the couch.

Hopper nods. “Good.” He heaves a sigh and tugs his hat back onto his head, turning and heading to Murray’s securely locked door. He undoes them with ease, opens the door, then turns back, giving all three of them a bit of a curious look. “Well. Good luck, boys. I’ll call ya with news whenever I can—just sit tight. Don’t kill each other, whatever.”

And with that, Hopper leaves.

Silence stretches for several minutes as Murray redoes the locks on his door, takes his time meandering around his kitchen to pour vodka into a coffee mug, then returns to the “living area” to flop down right in front of the two boys on the couch. Murray stares them both down as he takes a long swig from his mug, gaze very calculating.

Steve shifts on the couch next to him, making Eddie glance at him. He looks down at his hands in his lap, lightly running his fingers over the splint of his right hand. His ribs are aching a bit, too. It’s been about four days since he was in the hospital, but he’s still in recovery. The breaks were clean, so the hospital didn’t see it too necessary for him to be overly cautious—nothing would get punctured or ripped or stabbed, so he just needed to look out for how much physical labor he did, how much he lifted, the way he laid and other such things.

Okay, so maybe Eddie understands why they had asked Steve to come with him… Eddie’s not particularly the best at taking care of himself, and they all tend to know it. But then again, he’s not the only one. But, maybe, he thinks, they’re just worried that something could go wrong while he’s here and if Murray isn’t home when if that something does happen… well, yeah. Okay. Eddie gets it now.

“So, boys,” Murray starts, gathering their attention. He downs the vodka, completely relaxed in his chair. “how do you feel about risotto?”

Chapter Text

Eddie’s back is killing him. So are his ribs. And god, not to mention his fucking head. Honestly, everything fucking hurts and he lets it be known with a loud moan of pain. He’s on Murray’s couch, because that’s where he had decided to crash the night before—to be honest, he doesn’t even remember falling asleep. He vaguely remembers Murray asking something about food, telling them to get comfortable and that there’s a spare room in the back of the area, behind some sliding doors, where they can put Eddie’s stuff, and then… nothing.

He must have passed out.

Eddie sighs as his face scrunches up, running his hands over his face. Carefully, he sits himself up on the couch, careful of his ribs. He probably needs to check the wraps around his torso, the splint on his fingers, and the cut on his head—ugh. He has to be responsible. Eddie turns to stand from the couch, letting his legs drop down to the ground, only—

“Ow, shit,” someone hisses from the floor beneath Eddie, making him jump in place. He quickly pulls his feet up, eyes wide as he looks down and sees Steve lying on the floor.

Steve groans, sitting up on the floor and reaching down to rub at his thigh, which apparently Eddie had stepped on.

“Harrington, the hell’re you doing on the floor?”

“You fell asleep,” Steve says, like it’s nothing.

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “I’m aware. I asked you—”

“Getting there,” Steve grumbles, shaking his head a bit. “You fell asleep and I didn’t want to leave you out here alone in case… anything happened. I tried sleeping in Murray’s chair, but it was uncomfortable as shit, so I just… laid on the floor. Wasn’t half bad.”

Eddie stares at him. Steve stares back. It goes on for who god knows how long, just the two of them staring at each other like that. Eddie doesn’t understand why Steve agreed to come along either; he hadn’t even put up a fight like Eddie thought he would. ‘Always the goddamn babysitter’, as Steve likes to say, only it didn’t feel like Steve had minded coming along to babysit him. If this was even considered babysitting. Eddie grimaces to himself, not enjoying the idea that this was considered a ‘babysitting gig’ to anyone.

They’re broken out of their stupors when someone clears their throat. They startle a little, both turning to look over at Murray standing in the kitchen. He’s leaning against the counter, sipping out of a coffee mug, and Eddie wants to shrink into himself.

“Morning, boys,” Murray says, way too cheerfully. He’s got that smile on his face and that look in his eyes, like he knows something the two of them don’t. “I’ve got some business to take care of today, so I won’t be around until much later tonight. Feel free to make yourselves at home and whatnot. Just don’t have too much fun while I’m gone.” He downs whatever’s in his mug before setting it down in the sink.

“Uh, right…” Eddie just mumbles as Steve picks himself up from the floor.

Murray leaves just as Steve is urging Eddie towards the bathroom, mumbling something about checking on his wounds.

“You don’t have to do this,” Eddie says, once they’re alone in the bathroom. Steve just looks at him, unimpressed, then reaches for a washcloth. He wets it in the sink, wrings it out some, then moves to stand in front of Eddie, looking directly where the gash is over his temple. It’s got some stitches in it, because it had been pretty deep, but it didn’t bother Eddie too much overall.

Eddie opens his mouth to say something again, but it snaps shut the moment Steve gently presses the cloth against his head. He swallows slightly, eyes slowly fluttering shut. The gestures are careful and gentle, soothing in a way. Eddie finds himself leaning into it without his permission, a quiet sigh leaving him. The warmth and pressure of it slowly retreated, causing Eddie to open his eyes once more. His eyes lock with Steve’s, who’s still standing just in front of him. Somehow, he seems closer than he had been before.

Steve clears his throat then, setting the cloth down on the sink counter. “You should probably—wash up. I can help you with rebandaging if you need it.”

Eddie can’t really help but agree. He hadn’t actually showered since he had been in the hospital, so he was feeling pretty gritty and gross. (Not that he wasn’t used to it.)

“Right,” Eddie lets out a sigh, running a hand through the ends of his hair.

Steve makes a noncommittal noise, shuffling his way out of the bathroom, leaving Eddie to do what he needs to do there. Before he goes fully, he turns back to look at Eddie and says, “I’ll bring a change of clothes by for you, but sorry if I end up not knowing what goes together with what.”

Eddie barks out a small laugh, grinning to himself as he shakes his head. “Most of my closet is black, Steve. Pretty much all of it goes together. Plus, no one’s here to see me, doesn’t really matter how I dress. Could just walk around here naked for all I care.”

Steve sputters, almost coughing into his fist as he turns back away from the bathroom. “Whatever, Munson—just clean up already.”

Eddie can’t help but roll his eyes—not rudely, just a simple action. He chuckles slightly to himself again as he shuts the bathroom door, turning to face the shower and so ready to finally feel a little bit clean.

The moment he’s out of the bathroom, Steve feels his heart pounding in his chest. He’s not really sure what had come over him while they were in there. Maybe it’s just because Eddie’s injured, and he definitely needs someone to help take care of him—for crying out loud, the guy had two of his ribs broken but had only stayed in the hospital for a few days. Not to mention all the other shit that’s wrong with him…

Steve sighs to himself, running his hands over his face, staring out at the cluttered space.

He and Eddie have been dancing around each other for months now. It’s partially due because of their “competing affections for Dustin,” as Robin so loves to put it, but also partially because Steve’s pretty damn sure that Eddie hates him. The guy never really gives him the time of day, but it’s not like Steve’s much better—he avoids Eddie as much as Eddie avoids him, and it’s… a little painful.

Because it’s not like Steve hates the guy. He remembers seeing him around in high school, walking the halls, keeping his head held high despite how much shit the other kids were giving him. Hell, even Steve had been one of those kids that had sneered and called him ‘freak’, but Steve had really only done it to keep up appearances—he never had any actual beef with Eddie Munson. (But he’s pretty sure none of the other students had any ‘actual beef’ with Eddie, either. They just hated him because he was different.)

What Eddie feels for him is pretty evident. With how he constantly calls him ‘King Steve’, gives him that grin that’s nothing but teeth, almost always speaks to him in a tone that’s full of sarcasm and mocking—like Steve’s some little kid who doesn’t actually understand anything Eddie talks about. Which is a little fair, because Steve really doesn’t understand most of what Eddie talks about. But that didn’t mean he didn’t care, nor did it mean he hated when Eddie talked too much. It’s the opposite, honestly. He likes when Eddie goes off on a tangent or a rant, even if he doesn’t understand a single thing being talked about.

It’s been hard for Steve to avoid Eddie as much as Eddie avoids him. He doesn’t actively seek the guy out, but he doesn’t go out of his way to not be where Eddie is. Not like Eddie does with him. Now here he is, holed up inside some weirdo’s bunker-house all the way in Illinois, and they’re going to have to be within constant close quarters of each other for who knows how long. Steve’s not upset about it, but it’s not exactly something he’s excited about. Being stuck inside a cruddy house with the guy who hates your guts, having to take care of him while also trying to not treat him like he can’t take care of himself at the same time? Yeah, not exactly an easy task.

But Steve’s fought a fucking demogorgon, demo-dogs, and even a goddamn walking, screeching flesh monster before.

He can handle being stuck with Eddie Munson for a couple of weeks.

(Can he?)

Maybe it’s made worse at the fact that Steve does like the guy. Look, he might have been jealous at first—not exactly proud of it, though—but the more Dustin talked about the guy, and the more Steve actually got to hang out with Eddie, he didn’t… dislike the guy. He likes him plenty enough, but it’s not like he can just come out and say it. He’s not worried about his “cool guy image” or whatever anymore, but the others might think he’s just pulling their leg, or that he’s trying to pull something on Eddie himself, and well—Steve can’t deal with that.

He’s not the same asshole he used to be in high school, and he’s been working really hard to rectify that, but people will still view him as King Steve—as evident enough with Eddie. It kind of pisses him off, if he’s being honest, but he knows he can’t just expect the guy to forgive shit. Steve had never been directly mean to Eddie in high school, not exactly. Tommy, Carol, and the rest of his so-called friends back in high school had been, but being a bystander in such activities is just as bad as participating in the bullying itself. Steve grimaces at the thoughts.

He hears the water running in the bathroom, knocking him out of his thoughts—he hasn’t moved since leaving the bathroom. Steve shakes himself out a bit and goes to the room where Eddie’s stuff was placed, rummaging around for which bag holds his clothes specifically. When he finds it, he pulls out a random T-shirt, pair of black pants, and boxers without really looking at them. He folds them up a bit neatly and heads back to the bathroom, standing in front of it for a moment.

Steve purses his lips slightly, before gripping the knob and turning it slowly. He’s quick about opening the door, shoving the clothes onto the sink counter blindly, and pulling himself back outside as he shuts the door right back. He breathes out through his nose, eyes closed, letting his forehead rest against the door for a few seconds.

Gathering himself, Steve turns back to the rest of the house and sighs. This place is really a dump. He doesn’t get how Murray can live here. He heads into the kitchen area and starts scoping the place out, looking in cabinets and drawers, under things lying around and in the fridge. He even gets down on the floor to look completely under things, but once he gets up, he feels pretty gross about it, so he just frowns and washes his hand rather furiously in the sink.

He’s sure the place isn’t that dirty, but with all the clutter around, he doesn’t really know. Plus Murray seems to always lounge around in either his underwear and a tank top, or almost nothing at all. Steve shudders at the thought, refraining from gagging. Definitely do not need to picture that anymore than he’s already seen.

The nice thing, though, is Steve discovers Murray’s got a pretty strong selection of vodka and other alcohol—and, well, at least he and Eddie can use that to keep themselves occupied whenever Murray’s gone. Maybe not right now, though, considering that Eddie’s still injured. He doesn’t want to make the guy’s wounds any worse than they already are.

“Hey, Harrington!”

Steve jumps slightly, turning towards Eddie’s voice. He’s standing in front of the open bathroom door, using one hand to dry his hair with a towel, but he’s only wearing his boxers. Steve swallows quietly (and hopefully it’s not very noticeable).

“What’s up?”

Eddie looks a bit embarrassed. He shifts slightly in place, hand stopping. “Uh… can you… re-wrap my torso? I thought I could do it on my own, but,” he throws up his right hand, showing the splint with a slight grimace. “Can’t exactly bend all my fingers, so it makes it kind of a hassle.”

“Oh,” Steve relaxes slightly and nods. This—this, he can do. “Yeah, sure. Sit on the couch, I’ll bring over the wrappings.”

Eddie does as he says, sitting on the couch obediently, while Steve goes over to the bag that holds all the medical supplies they were given. He grabs the compression wraps and walks back to the couch, sitting down directly next to Eddie. The towel is around his shoulders now, his hair now damp and tumbling down over his shoulders. Steve takes a good look at him for a moment, since Eddie seems to be distracted in fumbling with his splint, before he mentally shakes himself out of it and reaches out, lightly tapping Eddie’s side.

“Arms up for me, Munson.”

Eddie’s arms carefully rise up, but not all the way. Steve is careful in wrapping Eddie’s torso, trying not to make it too tight. “Give me a deep breath and tell me if it hurts.” Eddie does so, breathing in deeply and wincing slightly, but the compression wrap doesn’t hinder him, so Steve considers it a success. Steve’s hands run over the wraps carefully, thumb rubbing lightly, to make sure that nothing is sticking out, nor will it come loose too soon.

Eddie’s breath hitches quietly, causing Steve to glance up at him. He regrets it instantly. Eddie is staring at him with wide eyes, cheeks pink, likely because of still being warm from the shower. Steve feels heat traveling up the back of his neck as he immediately pulls his hands back, trying to not do it too quick or anything—he doesn’t want Eddie to think that it’s him that’s the problem here. (It’s definitely not.)

“Feel okay?” Steve manages to ask, throat suddenly dry.

Nodding, Eddie, reaches back up for his towel and starts using it to squeeze his hair dry again as best he can.

“Your splint okay?” he asks, gaze falling to Eddie’s hand.

The guy just shrugs a little and hums. “I guess. They don’t hurt as much as the ribs do, so.”

“You remember the exercises they told you to do, right? Breathing repeatedly and deeply, make sure to not stay too still but not push yourself…”

“Yes, Nurse Harrington,” Eddie says, though his tone is only teasing, not sarcastic. “I remember what they told me.” He sighs and lets the towel drop onto his lap, lying over his pale thighs. Steve promptly shoves his eyes right back up to Eddie’s face. “Man, this fuckin’ sucks, though… I can’t even practice like this—fingers broken and because of my ribs. I’m gonna have to pay my baby a shit ton of attention once I’m back home,” he mutters to himself, standing up from the couch and going to the bathroom. “She’s probably mad I left her behind, too.”

Steve’s throat feels tight, eyebrows furrowing as his brain tries to wrap itself around Eddie’s words. His baby? Practice… for what? Mad he left her behind? What the fuck?

“Who the hell is ‘she’,” Steve blurts, before he has any time to even think about what he’s saying.

There’s a lingering silence that follows and Steve kind of wants to die on the spot. Eddie steps into the doorway of the bathroom, now dressed in the clothes Steve had picked out for him, blinking those big eyes at him. Steve can only stare back, as much as he wants to look away, but he’s too mortified to actually do that.

Then Eddie starts laughing. He throws his head back, damp hair being tossed over his shoulders, one hand coming up to gently pressed against where his ribs are, as he tries to not cause himself too much discomfort from laughing. He keeps laughing though, until he turns to press his forehead against the wall next to the bathroom door, taking in deep breaths to calm himself.

“Fuck, shit,” Eddie curses between his laughter, slowly making his way over to the bag with the medical supplies. He rummages through it until he finds the medicine the doctor prescribed him, opening it to tap a few out, then throw them into his mouth and swallow without any water. What the fuck.

He turns back to Steve and starts snickering again, making Steve frown and furrow his eyebrows even more.

“Sorry, sorry—I’m not… I’m not laughing at you, though I kind of am. Just—the way you worded it, the way it sounded… almost like you were jealous, Harrington.” Steve forgets how to breathe. “Anyways, she is my guitar—you’ve seen it before, right?”

The gears in Steve’s brain turn and turn until everything clicks into place and he has to remind himself to breathe, you fucking idiot. He looks up towards Eddie then and nods a bit, rolling his shoulders back a little, trying to seem casual. “Yeah, yeah—I remember. It’s a pretty sick guitar, too.”

Eddie grins, nodding enthusiastically as he practically bounces back over to the couch, flopping down onto it beside Steve again. “Right?! Man, I would’ve brought it with, but it would’ve just sat here and… collected dust, honestly. Not that she’s not gonna get dusty back home, because she absolutely is, but I didn’t really want to push my luck. I’m sure Wayne’ll keep her safe for me.”

“Have you… always referred to it as ‘her’?”

“Steve, it’s an inanimate object. It’s pretty much law for guys to refer to it as ‘she’.”

Steve furrows his eyebrows, thinking, before slowly nodding. “Uh. Yeah, I guess so.”

There’s silence again, but it’s more awkward than before. Steve glances down at himself and suddenly realizes, he hasn’t changed himself. He grimaces slightly. “Shit, I haven’t changed yet. I’m gonna go do that—uh, do whatever you want, just don’t try to do more than you actually can do, okay? I’m not breaking us out of here to drag your ass to another hospital if you re-break your ribs, Munson.”

Eddie’s grinning at him as he gets up from the couch and moves to the room where their stuff is located. “Aw, but Stevie, you would carry me to a hospital if you had to…”

Yeah, Steve thinks as he slides the door shut behind him, Yeah, I really would.

He tries not to think about it as he strips out of his old clothes and pulls on new ones, shaking his head to himself. Get it together, Harrington. It’s only the first fucking day.

When Steve exits the spare room, he sees Eddie rummaging through the kitchen like he had done earlier—it makes him snort quietly, eyebrow raised in amusement. He just leans himself against the sliding door’s frame, arms crossed, and watches Eddie skitter about the kitchen, being careful not to bump into anything or bend himself too far, so as to not agitate his ribs.

Steve speaks up, after about five minutes, “Having fun there?”

Eddie yelps as he turns around, hands going to grip onto the counter. He glares at Steve. “Not cool, man.”

Steve just grins. Then he jolts his thumb back towards the room behind him, head nodding in the same direction. “We should start emptying some of these out for easier access. I’ll bring my stuff out here, though, since I’ll take the couch.” Eddie opens his mouth, but he cuts him off. “It’s a pull out, Murray said. I’m not gonna be sleeping on the floor or the actual couch.”

“Oh.” Eddie blinks owlishly, shrugs, then heads over towards the spare room.

They manage to unpack everything within about three hours, because the first hour had been wasted by the two of them arguing over who’s music to play. Eddie had brought his boombox along, because he didn’t know if the place they were staying was going to have a stereo system of any kind or not. And he was sort of right; there is a radio, but they’re both pretty sure it’s not the kind that’s meant to play stations or cassette tapes. But Eddie hadn’t been the only one to bring along music—Steve had, too.

Eventually, they won out by compromising. Eddie plays one tape, then Steve plays the next, then Eddie, then Steve—and so on and so forth. Eddie’s first tape had been a classic, Dio’s ‘Holy Diver.’ Steve had complained the whole time, but Eddie made sure to notice whenever his head would bob up and down to a song, or if his foot would tap to the beat, or anything else. When that tape was done, Eddie had been dreading what Steve was going to put in next…

Only to be pleasantly surprised when the tape Steve had put in was Queen.

Seriously, he had been so shocked that for the entirety of the first song, Eddie had done nothing but stare at Steve with his mouth hanging open. Steve had eventually gotten fed up with it, turning to glare at Eddie.

“What?” He had snapped, the tips of his ears turning a bit red.

Oh. “Uh,” Eddie had said, ever so eloquent. “Nothing—nothing, just… didn’t really expect you to like Queen, if I’m being honest.”

Steve had shrugged, the glare dying down as he turned back to what he had been doing. “Their songs are catchy. I hear them on the radio all the time and when I bought the tapes to listen to the songs I did like, I ended up liking a lot more of them.” There was a pause, then he had added, “Plus Freddie Mercury’s voice is pretty nice.”

That had made Eddie’s head spin. Queen isn’t metal, but that didn’t mean Eddie didn’t like them. He loved Queen, but considering the facts about Freddie Mercury—well, either Steve just didn’t pay attention to the world of musicians and he had no clue, or Steve knew, didn’t care, and still enjoyed the artists. Eddie hadn’t had the courage to dig any deeper.

They had continued to alternate tapes, and every single one of Steve’s choices had surprised Eddie. The second tape had been Bowie (that made sense), the third had been ABBA (again, made total sense, but the last tape he put it—Mötley Crüe. Eddie had quite literally stopped what he was doing, turned to look at Steve, and stared with his mouth hanging wide open again.

Steve had just stared right back at him, blinking slow. “…what?”

“You… know this band is a heavy metal band, right?”

“They are?” Steve’s voice had given away that he was actually a bit surprised. “I guess they do sound similar to the stuff you’ve been playing. Didn’t realize it was the same genre.”

Eddie had continued to stare, though his mouth was closed. He’d tilted his head a bit, an eyebrow raised slightly. “You’re full of surprises, Harrington,” he had mumbled.

Steve had just snorted quietly, rolling his eyes, shrugging. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you say, Munson.”

By the time Murray returns home, at about five in the evening, Eddie and Steve are completely boneless on the couch and armchair. Eddie’s got an arm resting over his eyes, the other hanging off the couch and hand against the floor. Steve, for all his glory, is bent over the arm of Murray’s chair, his legs hanging over the other arm, eyes completely closed as his head hangs there.

Murray looks between the two of them, but says nothing as he gathers himself a drink from the kitchen. Only when he’s finished does he actually acknowledge his own presence.

“Evening, boys.”

Steve startles so badly that he nearly falls out of the chair, right into the coffee table, but he manages to catch himself on the chair and stop himself from getting a face full of glass. He turns to glare at Murray as Eddie lets out a dramatic groan, not moving an inch.

“Can you go away? It was nicer when you weren’t around.”

“Oh, I’m sure it was,” Murray comments, staring at the two of them from over the edge of his mug.

Eddie frowns, finally pulling his arm away to gaze over at Murray. He doesn’t know what the hell that’s supposed to mean.

“You get settled in?” Murray asks.

“Yeah,” Steve runs a hand through his hair, nodding his head towards the room. “Got all our stuff unpacked and shit. Uh…” He pauses for a good few seconds, glancing from Eddie then to Murray. “Thanks for letting us stay and stuff, I guess.”

“Oh, I didn’t have much of a choice,” Murray says, shrugging as he walks over towards the stairs. “Hopper was going to make you two stay here whether I wanted you to or not, so I could really care less. That being said, I do expect my hospitality to be respected and not thrown under the bus. So, if you don’t mind, be sure to keep it down at night, and please, please, use the pull out to your advantage.”

Eddie nearly chokes on his own tongue, coughing and sputtering a bit as he sits up from the couch, using one hand to cover up his face. What the hell is Murray suggesting?!

Steve doesn’t seem to understand Murray’s innuendo, just giving both of them a confused look before Murray ascends the stairs and disappears for the rest of the night. He just shakes his head a little, turns to Eddie and asks, “So, what should we do for the rest of the night?”

Eddie wants to strangle Murray himself right now.

They make themselves dinner and chat quietly the entire time, with Steve sometimes asking Eddie if he’s feeling alright—if the wrappings need to be adjusted, or undone, or if there’s anything else wrong. It’s… nice, having Steve worry over him like this. Eddie desperately wants to believe that it’s because Steve does care about him, but then his brain will remind him that Steve isn’t here because he cares—he’s only here because Hopper had wanted him to be here. He’s only here because he has to be, not because he wants to be.

Still. It’s nice to pretend, every now and then, that the two of them are friends.

Eddie doesn’t hate the guy—not anymore. He used to, if he’s being honest. Back in high school, when Steve was nothing other than ‘King Steve’, all ego and silver tongued and a huge asshole. But that’s not Steve anymore. Eddie knows it’s not; he’s seen it. How Steve cares so much for those kids, even if he doesn’t understand their fascination with things. Even though they constantly bark on his less-than-stellar intelligence and his inability to keep a girl interested beyond one date.

But Steve doesn’t let it get to him. He does whatever he can to keep those kids happy, and Eddie—well, shit, Eddie’s always been a sucker for the dumb jocks with a heart of gold. It’s not his fault that he’s unable to keep himself away from someone as sickly sweet as Steve.

Look, he didn’t plan on having a crush on Steve Harrington, it just sort of… happened.

It’s not like he stands a chance, anyways. Steve’s as straight as a board and there’s not a single possibility for them to be anything more than friends. So Eddie will take what he can get, and if being vaguely friends is the best he’s got going for him right now, then—it’s what he’ll keep.

Eddie stares up at the ceiling of the room he’s in, desperately missing his guitar and the ability to play. Usually when he gets too into his own mind, he’ll play until he no longer can. Until both his mind and hands go numb from having played too much. But Eddie can’t do anything right now, let alone play. His body is in pain, his ribs in a constant dull ache, but it’s also completely on edge. He’s got too much energy to be lying around so much, even if he does feel as tired as he always does.

He just needs to do something and he’s got no idea what he’s supposed to do at all. He glances down at the sliding doors, which are shut. The house is dark except for several lamps littering the place, in very odd and precarious positions, but Eddie can’t see past the wood framing or the muddled glass. Steve’s out there, presumably on the pull out that Murray had said the couch turns into.

Eddie drags his eyes back up to the ceiling, chewing on the inside of his lower lip, forcing them closed and staying as still as he can for several minutes. It does nothing—it doesn’t even make him feel tired or sleepy, it just… allows him to gather himself a bit, before he gives up. He can’t do this. He needs to do something, even if that something is just talking himself into a dreamless sleep.

He gets up carefully, being sure not to bend his ribs too much or in any way that might make it worse, before sliding the door open—only when it opens, Steve is standing right there, one hand raised, knuckles facing him, like he was just about to knock.

They stare at each other for several moments, before Steve clears his throat a little, the hand that was held up now coming to rub at the side of his neck a bit.

“Hey,” he says awkwardly.

Eddie keeps staring. “Uh. Hey.”

“Didn’t think you’d be awake.”

“But you were going to knock anyway?”

“No—maybe. I… I don’t know.”

Eddie bites the inside of his cheek, letting the pain of it let him know this is real before he looks up into Steve’s unsure eyes. “I couldn’t sleep. I was just about to come ask—uh, would you care if I talked your ear off? About, like, anything?”

Steve’s face looks confused for a moment, before he shrugs a bit. “I guess not. I can’t really sleep out there, anyway. It’s… off putting. Weird. And the pull out isn’t exactly comfortable.”

Eddie laughs a little, before jabbing his thumb over his shoulder towards the room. “Trust me, that thing isn’t the most comfortable either. Guess we’ll have to get used to it.”

“Guess so,” Steve murmurs, giving a small smile.

They shuffle back into the room, with Eddie lying back on the mattress that was given to him, and Steve lying on the opposite side of the room on a much smaller mattress—it’s a twin, really, so Steve kind of hangs off of it when he tries to lie back. Eddie tries not to laugh at him as he squirms around, trying to get comfortable.

Eddie starts talking then. About anything and everything, letting the words just slip out. He talks about missing his guitar, about how he’s definitely going to have to practice hard once this stupid splint is gone. He talks about Corroded Coffin and how he feels bad that they’re not going to be able to play for a few months, even if the crowd of a few drunks won’t really care about them not playing at The Hideout.

“I’ll come watch you play,” Steve says, interrupting Eddie’s speech.

His mouth is stuck open, before he forcibly makes it shut. “What.”

“Your band,” Steve explains, looking over at him. Eddie can feel the eyes on him, even though he’s not looking towards Steve at all. “I’ll come watch. And Robin will be happy to come, too.”

“You… what? Really?”

Steve shrugs, now pulling his gaze away from Eddie. His hand picks at a loose thread of the mattress. “You come annoy me at Family Video all the time, least I can do to repay you for it is come annoy you during a show.” His tone is playful, teasing. Like he’s trying to make it seem like they’re friends.

Eddie almost wants to relax—almost—because if Steve is trying to act like they’re friends, then… But, it doesn’t really work. He just blinks slowly, once, twice, three times. He clears his throat a little and just continues on talking.

He’s not too sure how long he spends talking. Probably too long. He talks for as long as he’s able, until he feels his eyes becoming heavy and his mouth yawning too many times a minute for him to keep it up. He can’t sleep on his side like usual, so he forces himself to stay on his back. Steve hasn’t said anything in quite a while, so Eddie assumes the guy fell asleep right after the band conversation. Eddie yawns one last time, wincing minutely at the ache of his ribs, before sleep slowly overtakes him.

As he’s falling asleep, he swears he hears Steve whisper, “Night, Eddie.”

Chapter Text

The boys have spent the last week and a half getting themselves settled and comfortable living at Murray’s place. It was hard, at first, especially with Eddie being high either off of the medication or his weed. (And he had brought weed, though Steve hadn’t seen any when he helped unpack. He wasn’t totally surprised, though. He had been more amused than anything else.)

They got high together, watched whatever movies they could find in Murray’s place, listened to music (or rather, Eddie educated Steve on music; not that Steve minded). He was introduced to some pretty good music, even if half the time he had a hard time figuring out just what the words were in the songs. He didn’t complain, though, not when he saw how into the music Eddie would get. And not even the music itself, but the bands and artists and the people themselves.

It was nice, listening to Eddie in his element. It reminded Steve of the Hellfire meetings he would occasionally attend. He had gone mostly to appease Dustin, but also because he had been, admittedly, rather curious as to what the hell Dungeons and Dragons even was.

And he even said so to Eddie, who just stared at him, slack jawed in awe.

That had caused him and Eddie to spend four entire days on creating a character together. Steve was clueless ninety percent of the time, especially because he just couldn’t wrap his head around the terminology. He did try his best though, really; he would stare at the pages of the books Eddie had until the words were swimming together, and he’d have to point at something and ask Eddie what it meant exactly, or what the specifics were about something.

Eddie never sounded or looked annoyed with him, though. Steve felt like he was an idiot—completely and utterly out of his depth, trying to slowly climb his way into Eddie’s world like that. They sat side by side on Murray’s couch, the D&D books spread out and open for them to have easy access to. But Eddie never wavered. Never got mad if Steve needed something explained a second or third time. He was nothing but patient with him and Steve wasn’t sure if he could handle it too much longer. Then Eddie would smile—not those big, toothy grins he usually gives, and not those smiles that felt more like smirks, but a smile. One that was gently curved and precious and it would make Steve’s chest tighten.

Most of the time they would be so wrapped up in what they were doing, they would barely notice when Murray got home. Wouldn’t hear him until he had to almost yell to announce his presence back in his own home. Eddie would usually just wave, not taking his eyes or attention away from Steve or the books. Steve would look up and wave, though, only to see Murray watching them with this… look on his face.

It was the same look he had given them upon their first meeting, and every day since, Murray continued to give it to them. Steve had no damn idea what it meant. He kept avoiding Murray himself specifically, as much as possible. Every time Murray so much as looked at him, Steve would feel uneasy. It was like the guy could just… see right through him, and it unsettled him greatly.

The guy was just so weird.

And people have been calling Eddie a freak. This guy, he was a real freak.

Eddie’s taking a nap when Murray comes home one day, sleeping off the last dose of prescription medicine from the hospital. After they’re gone, it’ll be Ibuprofen and anything else to help the inflammation and anything else that might cause him issues. The stitches in his head have also been removed now, as the cut itself has healed over nicely and Eddie hasn’t done anything to reopen the wound. Now Eddie’s got a killer scar, an inch or two above his left eye.

His fingers are free from the splint now, too. He has to be careful how he uses them, and he still can’t put up a lot of weight, but he’s been doing the exercises he’s supposed to—both for his ribs and for his hands. Steve’s been making sure that he’s staying on top of it, since if something were to happen while they’re here… it’s not like they can call an ambulance, or just take him right to the hospital. Not with everything still being so fresh. Sure, it’s been over a week, but Hawkins likes to let things linger for way too long.

Steve’s lost in his own thoughts about it when the door opens and slams shut, the locks all being redone. He glances up from his place on the couch as Murray does his evening routine, shedding his clothes and making himself a cup of whatever alcohol he’s choosing as his poison for the evening. The guy sure drinks a lot for someone who does so much, but he never seems to get drunk.

It’s a bit of a relief, honestly. Steve doesn’t handle drunk people that well. Not after Nancy. Not after his parents, either. Drunk people are… too much, and every encounter he’s had with them has always been like a punch to the gut. (Or a stab to the heart, like Nancy’s had been.)

“How’s the nursing job been?” Murray asks around his cup, vaguely gesturing towards the back room.

Steven glances over at the doors and looks back towards Murray, shrugging a bit. “It’s fine,” he says, letting his gaze fall onto the pieces of paper in his lap. They’re his character sheets, the ones he and Eddie have been working on for the past several days. He can’t help but smile down at them, even if he’s still struggling to remember everything about it.

“I’m sure you’ve both been having the time of your lives with this,” he says, a smile in his voice.

Steve furrows his eyebrows, looking over at Murray. What? “What?” he blurts his own inner thoughts out, staring at Murray incredulously.

Murray raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean ‘what’?”

“I mean… what?” Steve repeats.

“I know teenage boys are supposed to be stupid, but I didn’t realize that they could be this stupid.”

Steve’s confusion just grows, face scrunching up. “Look, man, I’ve got no clue what you’re talking about—”

Murray downs his drink, turns, and makes himself a new one. Like he’s too sober to deal with this. Steve frowns deeply, carefully pushing the papers off of his lap and onto the table, on top of one of the D&D books that’s there. Then Murray comes over and sits across from him, right in the same chair that he always sits in.

He stares at Steve from across the top of his cup, eyes as calculating as ever. His glasses twinkle slightly in the low light of the room, and Steve shifts uncomfortably in his spot. His fingers clench and unclench around his jeans, rubbing his palms against the denim some.

Murray doesn’t speak again. At least, not yet. He takes slow sips from his cup, keeping his eyes trained on Steve. After several very long, very awkward minutes of silence, does the guy finally speak up again. “You know, Nancy and Jonathan stayed here once, before.”

Those words turn Steve’s blood to ice. He remembers that. It was right after Nancy had gotten drunk, and…

Steve glares at Murray. “So?”

“So,” Murray says, leaning back, like he’s as relaxed as he fucking could be in this very moment. Like Steve’s unease and anger is amusing to him. “I remember what it was like between them. All that… tension, the fact that they had so much between them and yet—they weren’t together.”

“Yeah,” Steve’s not in control of his mouth, “Because Nance had just been dating me before she…” His voice trails off. He swallows. Murray raises an eyebrow. “…you helped push them together,” is all he says, though the words come out softer than he meant them to.

He feels like he should be angry at Murray. Feels like he should feel disgusted at being in the same place where Nancy and Jonathan first got started (he’s not so sure this was where they first got started, anyways; part of him thinks it was that night, three years ago, when they all fought the Demogorgon together). Feels like he should feel something more than just… nothing.

Because that’s what he feels, hearing and realizing all this information. He doesn’t feel a thing. Nothing negative, at least. In fact, part of him feels… relief. And maybe that’s such a fucked up thing to feel, when you think about it in hindsight, but he can’t help it. He feels relieved that he feels nothing because that just proves what he’s been trying to get across to everyone:

He doesn’t love Nancy. Not like that, not anymore. He’ll always love her, she was his first love after all, but he’s not in love with her.

But then again, maybe he never was. Steve’s still trying to understand his feelings from back then. Sometimes he has to sit and really think. Because he remembers feeling love for Nancy, but he’s not entirely sure if it was love for her, or if it was love for the idea of her. Of living a life that he had dreamt up in his own mind, to run away from the house life he had back at his own home. Of trying to create something he wished he could have had himself.

A marriage full of love. A big family. A wife who loved him. Always on the move, because staying in one house for all those years ruined his ability to imagine staying anywhere for that long again.

Only… maybe that’s not what he really wanted. Or maybe it was, and it still is.

Steve doesn’t know what he wants anymore. His internal struggle to understand himself and what he wants from the future is something he just doesn’t get. It didn’t help when he had his whole sexuality crisis out of nowhere. Well. It would have been out of nowhere, but Steve can’t deny that he saw it coming from hundreds of miles away—the way he used to be with Tommy H., all of the times he’d let himself linger on a male actor in a movie, the way he now lets himself look at Eddie Munson of all people…

He hadn’t known how to bring it up to anyone. So he didn’t. Not even to Robin. It was a struggle, keeping it away from the one person he loves the most in this world. She’d never judge him, he knew that, but it was hard. He understood, then, what Robin must have felt in the bathroom at Starcourt last year. The utter terror in her gut and the anxiety that probably ate her up inside, and she didn’t even have to come out to Steve. Or maybe she did. He had come onto her rather strong. If she hadn’t… well, Steve doesn’t know if he would have stopped.

He’s glad he did stop, though. He’s glad she came out to him, because now he’s got someone he knows he can rely on. More than anything, more than anyone else. Maybe he’s a little in love with Robin, but that’s because they’ve been through the ringer and back together. She’s someone that Steve can trust, that he knows will always have his back no matter what—even if he is being a dingus.

Which was exactly why when Steve did come out to her, she was completely and utterly accepting. Steve hadn’t doubted that she would be for a second. He had crumbled in her arms and cried and she let him. Robin’s going to be his rock for years to come, and he’s forever grateful for her. For their relationship, for what they can be for each other.

Steve realizes that neither of them have said anything in several minutes, that he ended up getting lost within his own thoughts and internal turmoil without even realizing. He glances over at the doors to Eddie’s room, noting that they’re still closed, and his shoulders relax a little in relief. He wouldn’t really want him to come out and see the two of them just… sitting here. It’d probably raise some questions. Questions that Steve doesn’t really want to deal with right now. (Or does he? Shit. He doesn’t know anything anymore.)

“How long have you two been like this?” Murray suddenly asks.

Steve blinks, face twisting up with confusion as he looks up at the guy. “Like… what?”

Murray nearly rolls his eyes. He sighs and sits up in his chair finally, leaning forward on his knees with his elbows, cup held between his hands. “Together, Steve.”

That makes his brain shut down. His mouth flubbers like a fish’s, opening and closing with no sound coming out, until he has to stand up from the couch and pace back and forth for several seconds. Then Steve whips around, eyes wide, a look of terror and shock and surprise plastered on his face. “What?”

Murray opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, Steve is shaking his head and waving his hands in front of him, one hand coming up to run over his hair. “No—no, no, no. We are not—together. What the hell gave you that impression? We’re just—we’re friends, that’s all.”

The man in the chair laughs, loud. Steve glares at him, unable to help but glance at the double doors leading back to Eddie, before his attention is back on Murray. “It’s the truth, you jackass!”

Steve’s glance had, unfortunately, been too late. He’s not able to see Eddie getting up behind the doors, and he misses the sound of the door sliding open until Eddie’s voice sounds, “What’s the truth?”

Steve whips his head around to stare at Eddie, eyes still wide and face still a show of mixed emotions. Eddie looks between the two of them, very obviously still half-asleep, but he’s rubbing his eyes as he exits the back room, padding right over to Steve’s side. When he gets close, Steve’s body reacts on its own—he immediately shifts away, trying not to be within any close proximity to Eddie right now. Eddie gives him a bit of a look, but doesn’t say anything. He just seems to shrug his shoulder a little, looking over at Murray.

“What truth are we talkin’ about?” he asks again, only to have Murray smirking at them.

“I was just asking Steve here about how long you two have been dating.”

That makes Eddie sputter. His eyes go as wide as saucers, just like Steve’s had, and he seems to choke on air before he’s able to get any actual words out.

“We don’t—we are not—”

Murray sighs as he leans back into his chair once more, taking a long swig from his cup. “You know, I’ve done this song and dance before, kids. Twice, in fact, and each time, I’ve turned out to be right. So why don’t we cut the shit and get down to business already?”

“What business are you even talking about?” Eddie snaps, anger rising in his voice.

Steve slowly lowers himself onto one end of the couch, his knees feeling rather wobbly underneath him. He’s not looking at either of them—he can’t. He’s been trying to keep these bubbling feelings at bay, trying to not let anything become of them. It’s not like he’s ashamed of these feelings—he’s already had the crisis, he knows he likes guys and that it’s fine to like them, but this is Eddie Munson we’re talking about.

Eddie Munson, the so-called Freak of Hawkins. The guy who spends his days and nights practically breathing, eating, and walking music and Dungeons and Dragons. The other guy that Dustin so greatly looks up to and admires and thinks is so cool. The guy who got wrongfully accused of something horrendous, and is having to hide away in a goddamn safe house in Illinois, hundreds of miles away from their town because if they went back now, they would try to put him up on a stake. The guy who’s been putting up with Steve for over a week now, and hasn’t so much as made Steve feel like the burden he feels like he is for trying to help take care of Eddie. Hasn’t made Steve feel like he needs to be anything other than Steve since they got here.

Fuck.

He really likes Eddie.

(He doesn’t love him, but. But. Steve’s thinking maybe, just maybe, he’d be able to.

Fall in love with Eddie, that is.)

Eddie is in stunned disbelief at Murray’s words. Is that what the two of them seem like? Do other people look at the two of them and think that they’re… dating? Those thoughts send utter panic right through Eddie’s spine. He can’t help the slight shudder that goes through him as he drops himself onto the couch, careful to not get too close to Steve.

Murray seems pleased with himself, empty cup and hand now resting against the arm of his chair as he watches the two of them. It’s like they’re some kind of fucking zoo exhibit for this guy, but Eddie can’t spare the time or emotions to let himself feel angry at this guy. He’s not wrong in his assumption of Eddie’s sexuality, or his attraction to Steve, but he’s wrong in the fact that the two of them—they’re not dating.

“We’re not even friends,” Eddie mumbles miserably, shoulders falling slack.

He feels eyes on him and when he glances up, he sees Steve looking at him with—hurt on his face.

“We’re not?”

“Well,” Eddie wants to backtrack, but the damage has already been done. “I mean… we weren’t friends before this. Not really. Right? But, I guess, we’re… kind of friends now?”

Steve seems to think on it for a moment, before turning his head to look down at his hands between his legs. “We don’t have to be friends. I know you don’t exactly like me or anything.”

Eddie’s eyebrows furrow some. “What do you mean? You’re the one who doesn’t like me.”

“Why would I be here if I didn’t like you, man?”

“I don’t know!” Eddie throws up his hands, frowning. “That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out this entire time! Why you haven’t left yet, especially now, since I can start taking care of myself. I don’t need your help anymore.”

“I know you don’t need me, I haven’t been helping just because of that—”

“Then why, Harrington? Why exactly have you been staying here?”

“Because I like you, okay!” Steve nearly shouts, head snapping over to glare at Eddie. Eddie goes stiff, staring into Steve’s eyes. “I mean—like, fuck, Eddie. Like, as a friend, y’know. You’re Henderson’s other best friend—which, look at us, our best friend is fifteen year old with one of the biggest sass machines for a mouth—and, yeah, I used to be jealous of you… but there’s no real point in being petty like that anymore, is there? If anything were to happen to you, it’d kill Dustin. And—man, I care about that kid more than I care to admit. But I do. Him and all the other little shits, I’d do anything for them. Anything,” He’s still glaring at Eddie, but the heat behind them is gone. It’s like he’s just doing it to try and keep up appearances, but he’s failing miserably. “Which is why I’m here, dumbass. To take care of you for them, and because, yeah, I want to be your friend.”

Eddie’s head is spinning.

Steve doesn’t hate him.

Steve actually wants to be his friend.

What the fuck is his life right now.

Apparently, he takes too long to do anything, because suddenly Steve is shifting on the couch and trying to leave. His face is a look of hurt, making Eddie visibly wince slightly. He can chalk it up to his ribs if asked, but he really doesn’t want Steve to think that he hates him, when it’s absolutely the opposite.

“Just, forge—”

Eddie interrupts, “I don’t hate you either, you know.”

Steve stops, bent in a halfway position of trying to get up from the couch. He slowly turns his head, looking at Eddie. His eyes are searching, looking for anything on Eddie’s face that might give away that he’s lying, or playing with him, or—anything else. But there’s nothing. Eddie is looking at him with deep determination, sincerity in his eyes. He slowly sits back down on the couch, keeping his torso turned slightly in Eddie’s direction.

“You… don’t?”

“I did, way back when,” Eddie confesses, sighing slightly as he leans his shoulder against the back of the couch. “High school, I mean. I remember you being such—”

“A douche?”

“God, yeah, the worst. I’m sure you’ve gotten that a lot though, huh?”

Steve grimaces. “Yeah.”

“But I don’t hate you anymore. I mean…” Eddie turns to look at the coffee table, gesturing towards the character sheets and D&D books, laughing quietly. “For fuck’s sake, we just spent nearly a week working on a Dungeons and Dragons character for you, and not once did you actually insult it to my face. Or really at all. Might’ve called it stupid for having to do so much math, but that’s it. I wouldn’t have done that with you if I really hated you, dude.”

He’s not sure if Steve actually believes him or not. Steve just fidgets with his hands, looking down at them again, picking at his nails. A nervous habit. Eddie sighs again and turns himself to face forward again, doing his own little nervous habit—tugging his hair up to chew at it slightly, thumb pressed lightly at the corner of his lips.

It’s only then that Eddie realizes—Murray’s still there.

The guy is still sitting there and he’s been there to witness that entire exchange.

Eddie might hurl. He feels entirely too exposed right now, especially with the way Murray is studying them. He absolutely feels like he’s some kind of goddamn science experiment for this fucking guy, but—he can’t find his words anymore. Not right now, not after that. The two of them are silent as they sit there, the all encompassing silence stifling and nearly suffocating. Eddie wants to get out of this fucking place. He’s been locked up here for way too long already, and just circling around the place isn’t enough anymore and if he has to sit inside for another goddamn day he is going to lose it.

He takes in a deep breath, closing his eyes to try and stifle the panic bubbling up inside of him.

He’s not too sure how much longer the three of them sit in silence, but at some point, Murray gets up and goes to the kitchen. He doesn’t bother to fill a cup with anything, just grabs a half-full bottle of vodka and makes his way up the stairs to his own area. Eddie sighs heavily as soon as Murray is gone, letting himself lean back against the couch, bringing his hands up to cover his face.

“Fuck,” he whispers to himself.

A few moments later, and, “Sorry.”

Eddie blinks, lowering his hands as he turns his head, looking over at Steve. Steve is already looking right back at him. “Sorry, for… sort of blowing up like that.”

“It’s fine,” Eddie says quickly, maybe a little too quick. Steve doesn’t seem to catch it, though. He just turns his head, hand running through his hair. It messes it up a bit, that one stupid little curl bouncing against his forehead. Eddie really wants to reach out and push it back, out of the way. It must be annoying.

Before he can stop himself, Eddie’s body does just that—he sits up and twists, carefully, leaning forward with a hand out, letting his fingers push back the strands of hair that have been dangling just over Steve’s temple. They both freeze, as Eddie’s fingers find themselves precariously buried in the edge of Steve’s hair. It’s soft, because of course it is, even if it feels just the slightest bit greasy. It’s not like his—constantly dry and frizzy and definitely greasy—but it’s so utterly Steve.

Their gazes meet, after some hesitating glances around the room. Eddie’s fingers are still slightly digging into Steve’s hair, and he’s not sure if he should move or if he even wants to move. Doesn’t know if Steve wants him to move or not. The two of them stare at each other for what feels like ages, before Eddie’s ribs start to give him an aching feeling, and his arm starts to feel too heavy for him to want to keep there. Slowly, Eddie withdraws his hand, but not before he allows his fingers the faintest brush over Steve’s cheek.

He turns away immediately, his heart in his throat, keeping him from being able to talk. Eddie squeezes his eyes shut for a brief moment, breathing in deeply—mindful of his ribs—and trying to gather himself up enough to do something , so that they aren’t just sitting here in tense, awkward silence.

But he’s realized he might be too late to save it, because Steve’s still quiet. He’s not looking at Eddie anymore, but he might just be waiting for Eddie to make a move, instead of making one himself, and… well, shit, they’ll never get anywhere like that.

“Do you—” Eddie tries to speak up, but his voice is croaky and cracked and he has to clear his throat before it comes out any semblance of normal. “Do you want to listen to some music, before you head to bed?”

Steve shakes his head after a few seconds, waving a hand slightly. “No. I’ll… be fine.”

For the past few nights, Steve’s been sleeping in the spare room with Eddie. Just to be sure to keep an eye on Eddie’s injuries. Eddie just nods and stands up, heading over to the double doors and gently pushing the other one open, but Steve doesn’t follow him. He doesn’t really move at first, until he stands up from the couch and runs a hand over the back of his neck.

“Uh… I’m gonna—sleep out here tonight.”

Eddie feels his stomach drop. He feels… disappointed, almost, that Steve won’t be sleeping with him tonight. Or maybe any other night after tonight. And, fuck, if that also doesn’t hurt just a bit. Steve’s probably disgusted with him, pulling something like that on him—after all, Steve is as straight as can be. All of these gestures and the time they’ve been spending together, it’s only been as friends.

Nothing more.

They’ll never be anything more than friends.

It’s not his fault that Steve is just hard to not fall for.

“Yeah, sure,” Fuck, he hopes his voice doesn’t sound as upset as he feels. “Um. Tell me if the music gets too loud or anything then. Have… have a good night, Steve.”

Steve’s quiet for a beat then, “Yeah.” It’s quiet, soft—like he was trying to whisper it. Eddie just steps through the double doors and slides them shut, but not before his ears barely pick up, “Goodnight, Eddie.”

Eddie stares up at the ceiling, Dio blasting through the speakers of his stereo, the beat pounding through his head and his body. As soon as he’d gotten into the room, he’d placed it at the end of his mattress and laid right right in front of it, pressing play and not even bothering to change whatever tape was in it.

He’s glad that it’s Dio, though. He tries to focus on the songs, on the words and the music and the beat. Tries to not let the anxiety and sadness fester more than it’s already done, but it just… doesn’t work. It’s not working, and it’s really starting to piss him off. He frowns to himself and covers his face with his hands, rubbing it up and down, the rough edges of his rings helping ease some of the overwhelming feelings.

Carefully, Eddie turns himself onto his side, facing the twin mattress on the other side of the room. The only things on it are a pillow and a blanket, thrown up like someone had just gotten out of bed. And Steve had, earlier that day, but he’s not here now. He didn’t even ask for them. Didn’t even bother seeing if there was anything out there for the pull out, if he’d have use those.

Eddie’s stomach twists up, heart clenching in his chest. He rolls himself over onto his other side, completely ignoring the way his body screams in pain at the jerky movement. When he settles back down, he feels the pain, but he soundly does nothing about it. It doesn’t hurt worse than the aching in his chest, the gentle stabbing of his heart.

And it’s so frustrating, because Eddie’s used to rejection. He’s used to being disappointed, to being kept on the edge and never let in—he knows what it’s like to be the freak and knows that he’s not meant to have a happy ending like everyone else. What’s happening to him now, being accused of being a cult leader, sacrificing little kids to Satan? Yeah, that’s what he deserves. It’s fitting, really—Eddie would never do such a thing, but who’d believe him? He’s just The Freak of Hawkins, after all.

Fuck, he misses Wayne. At times like this, when he’d feel so entirely done with himself, his uncle would be there—remind him that he’s not the product of his parents. A shitty father who taught him how to hotwire cars instead of toss a basketball. A shitty mother who taught him how to roll a joint when he was four instead of how to roll out dough. Parents who abandoned him on the doorstep of his uncle’s trailer because they either never loved him at all, or they always knew that their son was destined to become just as washed-up and bent and broken as them. An utter failure in life.

He’s about halfway there, honestly.

He still can’t sleep, so he decides—fuck it. He doesn’t care if Murray will get angry or upset. He needs to get out of his own head.

Eddie sits up and reaches over, grabbing the tin where his weed is stored. He pulls out a pretty good amount, enough for him to roll up three joints in total—and he’s absolutely going to smoke them all. As soon as the first one is rolled, he puts it between his lips and lights it immediately. The first drag he takes is long and deep. He holds the smoke in his mouth as much as he can before he breathes it out in one go, head tipping back.

The first joint is gone within twenty minutes. The smoke in the room billows around him, the haziness in both his mind and the air around him. He can’t help but sigh. The music from his stereo is still playing, but he’s no longer sure of who’s playing specifically. It’s probably still Dio. After rolling the second joint and lighting it, Eddie takes his time in rummaging through his tapes. He pulls one out of the pile, running his fingers over it.

It’s Prince.

This one isn’t his.

It’s Steve’s.

Eddie stares at it, the joint burning between his lips. He takes a drag of it, breathing the smoke out through his nose and the corner of his lips this time. He should put it back. He should take his time and sort the tapes out, making sure that none of Steve’s are mixed in with his.

He doesn’t. He turns back to the stereo and pushes the eject button, not even bothering to get the tape back to the beginning of it, before he’s putting the Prince tape in and closing it. He presses play and sits back, just as the chords of Let’s Get Crazy start filtering through the speakers. Eddie can’t help but laugh, shaking his head as he falls back onto the mattress.

He finishes off the second joint in about thirty minutes, almost the entire length of the tape. Eddie’s already put the joint out, making sure it won’t catch anything on fire. The room smells entirely of weed and Eddie couldn’t care less. He stares up at the ceiling for a long time, letting the album continue to play, until it resets itself and starts from the beginning again.

Eddie’s completely relaxed, boneless against the mattress. His ribs no longer hurt, and neither does his heart. His mind is nothing but mush now, and he’s extremely grateful for it. His eyes start fluttering shut as the music continues to flow, a quiet and breathy sigh leaving him.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he does, the third joint left untouched on the floor beside him.

And though he had tried his best, he still dreams of Steve.

Steve can’t sleep. He’s too hot, but he’s too cold at the same time. The pull out is uncomfortable under him, not like the twin mattress that’s in Eddie’s room. That also wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world, but somehow, he thinks, it’s still more comfortable than this thing out here, because—

Because it’s right across from Eddie.

He can’t stop thinking about him. Can’t stop thinking about it. The way Eddie’s fingers had felt in his hair, the gentle brush of them against his skin when they pulled back. Eddie’s eyes, the way they shone in the lamp light, sparkling as he looked at him—looked at Steve. Eddie’s eyes are so pretty, Steve thinks. They’re big and brown and so open. Steve always feels like he could drown in them, if he let himself. If Eddie were to let him. Drown in their beautiful color and just stay there, because Eddie’s eyes feel safe.

His heart nearly gives out on himself, jump starting again at a much quicker pace than before. It hasn’t stopped racing since that moment. Steve feels entirely too light headed, even though he’s lying back on the pull out and doing absolutely nothing. But that’s what Eddie does to him. Makes him light headed and short of breath and makes his heart feel like it’s going to burst right out of his chest.

He wants to stomp it out, wants to crush it up in his hands and force it deep, deep, deep down because there’s no way that Eddie would ever feel the same way about him.

What’s there to like about him, anyways? He’s just some stupid jock—even after all these years, it’s just who he is. It seems to be what everyone wants and expects him to be, at least. All those girls he kept going on dates with, wanting him to be ‘King Steve’ rather than Just Steve. Wanting him for being some kind of Sex God, when he’s only slept with about four or five girls in total—and he hadn’t even slept with a single girl since his break up with Nancy. Hasn’t slept with anyone since their break up.

There’s nothing to really like about him. He’s plain and normal and doesn’t have anything special about him. Sure, he’s good with a nailbat, and okay, maybe he’s a pretty good babysitter, but there’s nothing… to that. Those aren’t exactly things he can just tell anyone. They’d never believe him. He wouldn’t really want to drag someone into the whole Upside Down business to begin with. Not when he had such a huge indirect part in everything that had happened.

Thinking about it makes his stomach churn. Steve finally forces himself up out of the bed and he drags himself into the kitchen. He takes a few minutes, searching around the place, before he finds exactly what he’s looking for: vodka. He grabs it and immediately uncaps it, throwing his head back as he chugs two solid gulps. It burns going down and it doesn’t taste like much, but it’s going to do what it’s meant to do.

Steve doesn’t want to think. Doesn’t want to have to remember what happened with Barb, in his own fucking backyard. Doesn’t want to remember the dull aching of when he was tortured by the Russians. Can’t think about staring those fucking monsters down and just thinking, This is it. This is it—I’m gonna die. This is gonna be my last day and I’ll never have done anything to fucking show for it. I’m nothing. I’m nothing I’m nothing I’ll never be anything good.

The vodka does what it’s supposed to do. He downs the remaining contents in less than twenty minutes, sitting on the edge of the pull out. It should seem pathetic, sitting in some whackjob’s bunker house, on the guy’s pull out couch, getting shitfaced because he can’t even handle the thoughts of the guy in the room barely twenty feet away—but Steve can’t bring himself to care.

All he feels is the buzz from the alcohol, no longer thinking about anything—not Barb, not his parents, not the Upside Down or the Russians or the Mind Flayer. Not Eddie.

He’s already pretty drunk, but he stumbles around the kitchen in search of more. The next bottle he finds is half-full, but he’s fine with that. He downs it easily, probably too easily. That’s something for Sober Steve to give a shit about.

Drunk Steve doesn’t give a fuck.

He ends up passed out on the edge of the pull out, arm dangling off of it with the empty vodka bottle still in hand.

He dreams of Eddie, despite everything.

Chapter Text

The next few days are spent toeing around egg shells. You’d think that was almost literal, especially because of the fact that Eddie and Steve have been literally trying to avoid each other in such a small space. They can barely look at each other, let alone step into a fifteen foot radius of the other guy. It’s an absolute struggle, because there are times when they need to be closer than they’d like to be. Though it’s not like they have a choice or anything; they’re forced to stay in this space because they just can’t go anywhere. They’ve got no choice.

So, they try to do the best with what they’re given, and it’s… not exactly easy. Nor is it that good.

They don’t talk to each other. They’ll mutter and mumble, but they try to avoid saying more than ten words to each other—it’s frustrating and infuriating for Murray. The tension is palpable and thick and Murray’s really starting to think that if it stays this way any longer, his house is going to become a pit of nothing but idiot self-loathing and too much teenager angst bullshit than he’s willing to put up with.

Because, look, he was barely able to handle it when it was Jonathan and Nancy, and they had only been here for about two days. Not to mention the way he had to deal with Joyce and Hopper, and they were probably the worst—but now, Murray’s thinking these two might have to take the cake. Seriously, he’s pretty much had it up to HERE with their absolute bullshit.

Really, he just doesn’t understand. These people should be able to practically see their own mutual attraction and love for each other, and yet. They almost never do.

Murray’s starting to wonder if he’s actually some sort of Cupid in disguise. If he is, he really fucking hates this job. Being some kind of matchmaker between hopeless causes is just too much at this point. He’d really rather have the Russians trying to break down his door than continue dealing with all of this.

He makes his risotto one day, because it takes a while to cook, and he’s fully capable of doing it while keeping an eye out on the two idiots in the house.

Eddie hasn’t left the spare room very much. Just to go to the bathroom, or only when Steve’s asleep on the couch. He’ll pause whenever he comes out and Steve’s asleep, watching the other kid for a moment or two, before frowning and pulling himself away. Makes Murray want to scream. And don’t even get him started on Steve . The guy sits there on the couch and never stops glancing towards the spare room, doesn’t even seem to care that he glances over almost every two seconds. Murray’s surprised the guy hasn’t caused himself to go into a seizure with whatever the hell he’s doing.

And, god, when the two of them are even anywhere remotely close to each other—it’s like they’re waiting for the other one to just, pull out a knife and stab them in the heart already. Their eyes are completely pathetic when they look at each other, their emotions out and open in them. It makes Murray sick to his stomach. He should definitely charge Hopper for this round.

It’s somewhere between seven and eight when the risotto is actually finished, so Murray takes his time in serving it up to himself and between the two boys. He’s got the food set out on plates, holding them neatly in his hands, as he turns from the kitchen counter and towards the rest of the space.

“Alright, boys,” He says, loud enough for both of them to hear him. Steve looks up from the couch, eyebrows furrowed, and Eddie’s head pops out from around one of the sliding doors. “Dinner is served! But under one condition—you’re both eating out here with me, or you’re not eating at all.”

“Pretty sure that’s illegal,” Steve mumbles, narrowing his eyes towards Murray.

Murray shrugs. “Do you see Hopper here? No, because it doesn’t matter.”

“Why do we need to do that to eat?” Eddie asks, glaring towards the man.

Murray just shrugs again. “Fine. Have it your way—I’ll be taking all the food up with me when I’m finished then. Or it’ll all just go out in the dumpster outside.”

“You wouldn’t,” Steve glowers, glaring now as well.

“Oh, I would, and I have. Don’t test me, children.”

They’re both silent for several minutes. Then Eddie slowly pulls himself out of the spare room with a frown, shuffling his way over to the chair on the other side of the coffee table—where Murray usually sits. Well. Murray just sighs, closing his eyes and holding his head back as he desperately forces himself to not scream. He moves over into the living area and hands both of them their plates, before sitting on the couch opposite of Steve, who’s pretty much leaning and pressing all the way in against the couch arm.

The three of them eat in utter silence, as Murray watches the two of them from over his plate. Eddie keeps glancing at Steve, and Steve keeps glancing back—occasionally their gazes will meet, forcing them to physically turn their heads away, like they were burned or shocked or scared.

Okay. This is getting ridiculous.

“This is ridiculous,” Murray says out loud, heaving a loud and frustrated sigh as he sets his half-eaten plate down on the coffee table.

Both Eddie and Steve look at him, puzzled looks on their faces (and Eddie’s got his spoon halfway in his mouth). “You two!” Murray says flippantly, throwing his hands up. Before either of them can actually speak, he continues, “You’re both being complete and utter idiots about this. So I asked you if you two were together, you’re not—good for you, or not good for you, I don’t really know at this point!

“Because if you were to ask me, I would be utterly shocked to know that you’re not dating. You are, almost literally, walking heart-eyes being made at the other person. You two obviously care very much for each other, that’s not really the issue, now is it? Oh, no, I know what the issue is—the two of you are two stupidly stubborn to get your heads out of your own asses and really look at the guy across from you. Because you’re scared that if you do, you’ll see what you’re really looking for, and you’re absolutely convinced that it just can’t possibly be true, even if it’s right in front of your goddamn faces.”

When Murray’s finished, both boys are simply staring at him. Eddie’s eyes are wide and unblinking, but Steve’s got a look of mixed emotions on his face.

“Am I right?” Murray says more than he asks. He points at them with his fingers, almost glaring. “Your cat-and-mouse routine is really getting on my last nerves. I’d like to be able to live in my own damn house without having to witness the worst teenage angst filled romantic comedy playing out right before my eyes. It is stifling in this house with all the tension between you two. And I’m not even talking sexual tension here! I’m talking about just tension, because there is too much, and if I have to spend another fucking day in here with the two of you like this,” Murray waves his hands at them, one at each boy individually, “Then I’ll just take you right back to Hawkins myself. I don’t even care if your name is cleared or not.”

With his rants finally over, Murray breathes out through his nose, staring the two of them down, one at a time. Neither boy is touching their plates anymore, both of them set down somewhere else in the room.

Eddie’s staring down at his lap, hands laid open over his thighs. Murray can see Steve’s hands curled up into fists, and they seem to be shaking slightly.

“Look, man—” Eddie starts to say something, but is completely scared when Steve shoots up from the couch, causing him to jolt in place.

“I have to go,” Steve grits out, obviously struggling to keep some anger at bay.

Murray raises an eyebrow, looking up at the teenager. “Go where exactly?”

“Out,” he says, already starting to march himself over to the door.

“Wait, Steve—” Eddie tries again, but he’s cut off once more.

“Shut up!” Eddie winces back slightly at Steve’s tone and volume. Steve is furiously undoing all of the locks on the door, back turned to them. “I just—I have to go. I have to get out of this fucking house right now or—or I’m gonna do something I’m gonna really fucking regret and I—I can’t. I can’t. So just—leave me alone. Please. I’m not leaving. I just need to go.”

Murray makes no objections, and Eddie is quiet as Steve throws the door open, steps outside, and disappears as the door falls shut behind him.

The house is silent, but no longer filled with the awful tension from before. Murray just feels Eddie glaring at him, so he simply looks over at the kid with a bored expression.

“Yes?” He says expectantly, sarcastic.

“You’re a real dick.” Eddie almost snarls.

“Oh, I’m aware,” Murray laughs, waving his hand. He reaches and picks up his plate, going back to eating. “I’m not here to be a nice little babysitter. I’m a grown man and this is my house. My nicety of dealing with this whole situation has grown exponentially low over the past four days. I’m trying to fix this mess for you two.”

“Fix this mess?” Eddie stands up from the chair, voice raised. “There was no mess before you started this shit! And now Steve’s—he’s—” Eddie’s face twists up, cutting himself off. He huffs angrily after, shaking his head, before he stomps off into the spare room. The sliding doors slam shut loudly, rattling for several seconds after the fact.

Murray just leans back into the corner of the couch, gleefully enjoying the rest of his food.

What the hell is wrong with Murray? No, seriously—what is that prick’s problem?

The man has absolutely no right to pry himself into his and Eddie’s relationship—absolutely none. They met only weeks ago. That doesn’t constitute the guy sidelining everything going on and jumping straight into the assumption and he and Eddie are dating. Or that he knows anything about either of them.

Murray’s just some whackjob who practically lives in a basement, filled to the brim with vast conspiracy theory papers and “proof” that the Russians are trying to take them over still—all the shit that came from the Upside Down and Starcourt and literally… everything else that Steve had to live through for three fucking years.

It’s infuriating. It makes Steve furious.

It’s bad enough that he gets so many people back in Hawkins acting like they know him—that they think they can see just who he is by giving him one solid look. He’s not some product of what peoples’ expectations are of him, or for him. He’s learned his lesson about it by trying to be King Steve for so long. Until he no longer could—and he can’t be him anymore.

Steve doesn’t really know where he’s going. He had immediately marched away from Murray’s front door, heading in some random ass direction because he was just too angry to think—and now he’s pretty much in the middle of nowhere, not really knowing which way he came from.

Shit. Maybe he should have grabbed a map before he left.

He’s pretty sure that Murray’s place is the only actual house within miles, though, so even if he does get lost, he should be able to find his way back pretty easily—maybe. Hopefully. He stops thinking about getting lost and finally lets his mind focus on what he needs to work out—his feelings.

About what Murray said. About the tension. About Eddie.

God, Eddie.

Steve hadn’t even been thinking when he shouted as he was trying to undo the locks, trying to get himself out of that space as fast as possible. He really hadn’t meant to yell so loud, but he did, and—fuck, he feels terrible about it. Yelling at Eddie would never make him feel better. Yelling at Murray, however, would absolutely do the trick. Maybe he’ll do that on their final day, when they can finally get back to Hawkins.

He pushes his hands into his pockets, watching his feet as he walks around the dirty forest. He pays attention to the trees that are around and the limbs, wandering aimlessly, as thoughts plague his mind. He just gets angry again, but not at Murray—but because his words, his theories. They’re all right. They’re right and Steve hates that they’re right.

He really can’t look at Eddie head-on anymore. It’s too hard. When he does, he becomes so easily lost in the affection that’s just been growing and growing, building more and more inside of him—because, shit, at this point, Steve’s absolutely got a crush on him. And he can’t get it out of his head.

But Eddie doesn’t deserve that. He doesn’t need Steve Harrington having a crush on him. He could do so much better, and Steve knows it. He knows it, and encourages it. Eddie—he deserves someone who’s not some idiot jock, who can barely make friends his own fucking age because he’s too trauma-bonded to a bunch of fifteen year olds that genuinely mean the world to him. Eddie doesn’t deserve to be stuck with someone as fucked up as Steve. He deserves someone good. And Steve… he’s not good.

He’s got a list of issues ten miles long and wide, had too many damn concussions and let himself believe that he doesn’t have to be King Steve anymore, when all the time, he wonders if he would have been better off continuing to pretend to be him.

No, Steve thinks to himself, frowning. If I were still King Steve—I’d never have met him.

It’s a good enough reason to stop thinking that.

Steve sighs as he rummages around in his jacket and jeans pockets, eventually pulling out what he was looking for—half a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He doesn’t smoke often, but it’s a habit that he, unfortunately, developed and picked up from his father. He doesn’t do it a lot—honestly, Steve can’t even remember the last time he did smoke a cigarette. It might have been right after Starcourt, but he’s not entirely sure. It’s a very scarce habit he has now (King Steve smoked quite a bit), mostly because Robin had asked him to cut down on it. And he’d do anything for her.

He lights one of the cigarettes up and takes a long drag, breathing the smoke out through his mouth in a steady stream. God, Robin. He really fucking misses her—he wishes she would have been able to come with him, but she’s got school, and there’s no way her parents would have allowed her to just… skip down for nearly two months with him. Her parents aren’t like his, never home and never around. They might not understand about her completely, but they’re still there. Not like his. He wonders how she’s doing, how she’s coping with him being gone so long. Ever since Starcourt… they’ve been practically inseparable, and Steve—

Steve might be going a little insane without her here. There’s a part of him that feels so empty because she’s not around, because he can’t just… call her up and talk to her about anything and everything like he usually can. Because he can’t have her hold him after a particularly bad nightmare, or talk him down from a panic attack because he’s having a flashback, or just—hold her hand because he wants to. Because he feels the need to be near her or touching her because he’s still so scared that something is going to happen to her.

He wishes she was here so badly. He wishes he could call her. If only Dustin’s stupid long-ranged radio could have come with them, and if only Robin had the other half of it, instead of Dustin’s girlfriend in Utah.

What would Robin do is the real question.

Robin… well, she’d freak out, honestly. Which is exactly what Steve’s already doing, so—that thought provides a bit of comfort, if he’s going to be honest.

And if he’s going to be honest, he’s got a lot more to really be honest about.

Murray’s right. That much is true. Steve is too scared of what’s already between them, of what he’s felt and seen from Eddie—too scared of letting himself be so open to such a thing again. His own relationship experience is with Nancy, save for the few girls he “dated” before her, but Nancy had been his first serious relationship. And look how that turned out. Steve doesn’t know if he’s cut out for serious relationships or not, at this point. If he’s meant to end up exactly like his parents.

He’s scared. That’s all there is to it. He’s terrified of what he feels for Eddie, not because of Eddie, but because of what it is—the strength of it in his chest. The butt of the cigarette lands on the ground by his foot, before he steps on it to grind it out, so it won’t start a forest fire or some shit. Steve runs his hands across his hands, frowning to himself. He likes Eddie so much that it makes him braver. That it makes him feel like he can be good, makes him feel like—like making people really do like him for who he really is, and not just because of being Steve Harrington.

Eddie makes him feel good. Eddie is a goddamn wonder in this fucked up world—somehow untained in all the shit that comes down on them. He’s a freak and Steve couldn’t adore him more. He’s so unapologetically himself and Steve can’t stop loving it. These feelings he has for Eddie are so frighteningly intense that Steve just has no idea what he’s supposed to do with them. He’s teetering on the edge of falling in love already, before he’s even got a chance to just kiss the guy.

Not that Eddie’s going to want to kiss him after this. Steve sighs, lighting up a second cigarette as he starts to finally look around the area—he’s not sure what time it is, but judging by just how dark it’s gotten outside, it’s probably well into the night. Fuck. He hadn’t realized just how long he’d been out here, wandering the forest aimlessly like some kind of weird. He runs a hand through his hair and starts to make his way back through the trees, keeping an eye out for whatever signs there may be for Murray’s place.

He’s got to think about Robin and the kids the entire way back, because if he lets himself focus on the fact that he’s in a forest at night, alone, he knows he’ll focus on the fact that he’s still afraid of the Demogorgon. (And he may always be.)

From the moment the sliding doors slam shut, Eddie feels tired. He’s exhausted after these past few days, and he knows that Murray’s not really wrong about what’s going on between them.

They’re just two teenage idiots who are trying to bullshit their way out of feelings, like they usually do. It’s one of the only things Eddie’s ever been good at: bullshitting his way through things. That’s how he’s only just managed to be on the very edge of passing high school, after nearly six entire years, but he can kiss that dream goodbye. School’s going to be nearly over by the time he returns, and he really doubts that they’re going to let a guy accused of running a Satanic cult under their roof actually graduate. (But then again, what the hell does he know? Apparently the chief of police has connections to the government, somehow.)

Still—it doesn’t mean that Murray is allowed to talk to them like that, or make them feel like this. And Eddie’s not even sure what Steve’s feeling—not sure if he’s mad at the situation, or mad at just Murray or…

He frowns to himself, the last idea circling his mind.

Just because Murray says they both feel something for each other doesn’t make it true. Right? Sure, Steve’s been helping him this whole time, and Eddie’s begun to see that the guy does care for him, but that doesn’t mean Steve’s got feelings for him—doesn’t mean he’d want to be anywhere near him once they’re out of this shithole. If anything, Eddie’s sure they’ll never spend time with each other as soon as they step out of the car in Hawkins again.

He doesn’t want that, not even a little bit, but he can’t know what Steve’s feeling or thinking. Especially since the guy just stormed out like that. He’s been back in the spare room for a bit now, probably half an hour, and all of his thoughts just turn to Steve—is he okay, is he still close by, is he trying to hitch a ride straight back to Hawkins just to get away from him …

Eddie shakes his head a bit, fingers coming up to twist into the ends of his hair, tugging on the dirty curls some. No—Steve said he wasn’t leaving, and Eddie trusts that. Steve’s too much of a nice guy to just abandon Eddie here like that. Besides, what would the guy even be able to tell everyone back in Hawkins if he showed up without Eddie there? “Oh yeah, Murray suggested we wanted to kiss each other so I freaked out and completely bailed on the guy. He’s still there. Cool, see ya.”

No, Steve’s not like that. Maybe he had been, those several years ago, but he’s not anymore. Eddie knows. He can see it.

It doesn’t make this any easier, though. Because Murray’s right, and Eddie’s sure that Steve’s realized it, too—they’re the worst angst filled romantic comedy in the world, but the comedy is the fact that they’re just too stupid and scared to do anything but glance at each other when they think the other isn’t looking. Watching each other when they sleep. It doesn’t make this any less frustrating, not really being able to do just—fucking communicate shit. Maybe that’s Eddie’s fault, though. He’s never really been good at actually saying shit to people before.

He’s good at performance. Great at putting on the mask of ‘The Freak of Hawkins’, climbing onto lunchroom tables and giving speeches about forced conformity—turning off that mask, only to turn on another as the Dungeon Master of Hellfire. Eddie’s never been so good at just being him, knowing that people will only ever see him how they want to see him—which is exactly how he ended up in this whole fucking situation to begin with. Jason Carver and his inability to not be a fucking idiot, forcing Eddie to go run and hide in a completely different state.

Eddie’s starting to wonder if maybe prison would have been a better option for him. It’s definitely starting to feel like it.

He looks down at the tin can next to the mattress, where the rest of his weed is stored. This would normally be around the time when he’d light up and get high off his ass, completely avoiding whatever shit’s plaguing his mind, but—Eddie can’t bring himself to do it. He wants to— god , does he want to—but this is something he’s got to face. Something he needs to allow himself to feel.

Because if he lets it fester for too much longer, there may be no repairing the damage that comes from it.

He just really fucking wishes Steve was back already.

Eddie might not be as angry as he should be. He’s already come to terms with the truth of the matter since Murray said it, right to their faces. He’s known about what’s going on between him and Steve, but he’s too much of a coward to say anything—too damn scared to let himself take any sort of chances. Hell, he’s jumping to all sorts of fucking conclusions either way. He doesn’t even know if Steve’s, y’know, not straight to begin with.

Murray’s words suggest that he isn’t straight, but Eddie had seen just how in love with Nancy Steve had been—it was hard to not notice, especially with all the drama that had come with it. Eddie remembers “Nancy ‘The Slut’ Wheeler” all too well. (Sometimes he wishes he could have helped her through that; he’s no stranger to graffiti of his name.) All of this is total introspection, though. Without directly asking Steve if he’s, y’know, not straight then… there’s nothing that Eddie can do, or really believe. Unless Steve were to just come in and kiss him right on the fucking mouth—that’d be a pretty big wake-up call. It’s a very big dream, though.

Eddie sighs heavily, running his hands over his face as he falls back against the mattress. He winces slightly at the dull ache of his ribs, but it otherwise remains time. He stares up at the ceiling, letting his arms fall flat across the mattress now, looking like he’s trying to make a very bad snow angel if he were out in the snow. He can’t help but frown at nothing. Everything in his head is overwhelming, too much for him to fully process. Give him another five years and he’ll gladly look back on all of this shit and come back to deal with it in a healthier way.

He doesn’t really know how long he lays there, just staring blankly up at the ceiling, until he realizes—he’s not sure if the door got locked by Murray again or not. Eddie’s eyes widen as he shoots up from the mattress, careful of his still healing injuries, and quickly pads his way across the house to the multi-locked door. His shoulders sag in relief and he sighs out softly with relief. He hadn’t really expected Murray to actually lock Steve out of the house, but—well, Eddie knows better than to trust his own thoughts like that. Getting locked out was something Eddie was also, unfortunately, familiar with. Not that it had happened often, but it had happened enough.

He makes double sure that the locks are all undone, before he makes sure in the easiest way possible. Eddie grabs the doorknob and swings the door open, only to come face-to-face with Steve—who’s got a half-gone cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.

They have a staredown for several moments—maybe even five minutes, Eddie’s not sure how long it lasts, but he just knows that Steve eventually reaches up to pull the burning cigarette out, tossing it to the ground and stamping it out. Only the butt had been left.

“Can I come in?” Steve asks, almost mumbles the words. He doesn’t quite look at Eddie, but he’s not necessarily avoiding it.

Eddie blinks slightly. “…did you think that I was gonna make you stay out here?”

Steve glances up towards his face and shrugs slightly. “Kind of,” he admits quietly, looking back down. “I did yell at you.”

“So you did.”

“I’m sorry for that,” Steve says softly, looking back up.

Eddie shakes his head a little. “Come in, Harrington. I’m surprised you’re not a popsicle already.”

“It’s not too bad out there,” he chuckles slightly, gently shouldering himself past him as Eddie takes a few steps to the side, giving him more room.

Once Steve is inside, Eddie shuts the door and relocks all of the mechanics on the door, letting out a sigh after. “If I ever get this bad, promise you’ll put me out of my misery and shoot me before I do it myself.”

That gets a laugh out of Steve—one that Eddie hasn’t heard in several days. It’s like music to his ears. He turns to look over his shoulder at him then, watching as Steve tries to hide a smile against the back of his hand, head turned away a bit. “Whatever you want, Munson.”

Eddie really hates the way his chest flutters at Steve’s words. He turns away from the lock completely and makes his way back to the spare room, stopping just within the doorway. He stands there, swaying on his feet for a minute or so, before he’s turning himself around to face the room—and once again, he’s face-to-face with Steve.

Only this time, Steve is closer. Much closer.

Eddie swears he can practically feel the guy’s breath on him, the smell of cigarette smoke overwhelming, but not bad or upsetting. Eddie really can’t stop his eyes from glancing at Steve’s mouth, before his gaze moves up to meet Steve’s, and he feels the wind get knocked out of him from just that little shift.

Steve’s watching him with this look. Eddie’s not quite sure what to make of it, what he’s supposed to think about it. All he knows is that he can’t look away, and he’s not entirely sure he wants to. They stand there, barely a foot away from one another, gazes connected. Eddie feels his fingers twitch at his sides, wanting to do something, anything—the stillness of it all is driving him crazy, but his mind is a completely blank slate. He wonders if Steve’s is, too.

So, of course, Eddie does what he does best—he panics, lets his mouth speak without thinking for a beat.

“You’re starting to look like you might kiss me there, Harrington.” His voice is shaky and unsteady, and it’s definitely quieter than he had meant it to be. Fuck.

Something flickers in Steve’s eyes—recognition? Want? Need? He can’t tell—and his mouth opens. Closes. Parts as his tongue briefly licks over his lips. Eddie can feel his heart beating faster and faster in his chest.

“I might,” Steve confesses, barely above a whisper. If Eddie hadn’t been so close, he’s sure he would have missed it.

Eddie feels slightly faint. “You might,” he breathes back, voice just the same—barely a whisper, almost like he hadn’t said the words at all.

“I want to,” he whispers, his own hand twitching against his side. “But I can’t.”

Eddie feels a pit in his stomach, feels his heart in his throat. The faintest prickling of tears pierce his eyes, making Eddie want to curse out loud. Because he knew it—he’s known, it was too good to be true. There’s no way Steve Harrington would like him—no fucking way. Why would he? Steve can have anyone he wants; why would he settle for the freak?

Eddie feels his mouth opening, ready to spit words of fury right into Steve’s face, before he feels something curling around the fingers of his hand. His mouth falls shut again as he blinks, head slowly turning to find Steve’s fingers hooked with his own. He stares, wide eyed and shocked, then slowly turns his head to really look at Steve.

“Not yet,” Steve takes a careful step forward, and now Eddie can feel the warmth from him. Can feel the way their chests are barely an inch apart. He looks up into Steve’s eyes and stays quiet, waiting. “We… we gotta talk, man. About—this.” A pause. “About us.”

Eddie doesn’t want to talk. He doesn’t want to acknowledge the us because there shouldn’t be an ‘us’—but there is, and he knows it, Steve knows it, and they’ve got to talk. So Eddie swallows slightly, lifts his head a little higher, and manages a curt nod.

“Okay,” Eddie breathes out carefully, letting some of the tension slowly leave him. His fingers curl against Steve’s, squeezing slightly, before pulling them away, taking a few steps backwards into the spare room.

“Let’s talk.”

Chapter Text

Murray’s spare room is now stuffy with the two of them inside of it. It used to feel comfortable, a space for the two of them to be able to chill together—but since Steve’s breakdown, and Eddie being pissed at him, there’s a coldness inside the room that has both of them practically avoiding each other even within the confines of it.

Eddie sits on the clumpy mattress, his leg bouncing from his nerves, and Steve is leaning against the wall across from him, arms wrapped somewhat protectively around himself. He glances around the room, looking anywhere but directly at Eddie, but he can’t help but steal a few glances at him. Eddie seems to be doing the same thing, his thumb pressed against his mouth, and Steve can see him chewing on the pad of it.

He really wants to reach out to make him stop before Eddie makes himself bleed, but Steve refrains. He breathes in deeply, reaching his hand up and running it through his already messy hair. How the hell does someone start a conversation like this?

“Eddie, I—”

“Look, man, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” Eddie interrupts Steve before he can say a single word more, and it makes Steve furrow his eyebrows. Now what the hell is Eddie going on about?

“What do you mean ‘uncomfortable’?” Steve asks, finally looking at Eddie to give him a look.

“I mean, fuck, Steve, you kind of just—” Eddie gestures with his hands around himself, his face scrunching up. “Blew the fuck up, y’know? So I just figured—”

“Eddie, it wasn’t you that made me uncomfortable. It was that fucking prick who thinks he knows two people just because we’ve been forced to crash here for a few months. He doesn’t know anything, and I hate—I hate it when people try to assume that they know things about me. That’s what made me uncomfortable. Not you.”

Eddie bites his lower lip, gaze slowly moving away from Steve, as he shrinks in on himself slightly. Steve breathes in, slowly and deeply, trying not to get frustrated. It’s not Eddie’s fault.

“If I was really uncomfortable with you, would I have said I wanted to kiss you not even five minutes ago?” Steve mumbles, trying to force himself to not blush.

Eddie is quiet for a few brief seconds, and Steve watches in real time as the tips of Eddie’s ears turn pink. He clears his throat after a moment and shrugs his shoulders, one of his legs starting to bounce in place against the mattress.

“Guess not,” he mutters, and Steve has to resist the urge to roll his eyes.

“Exactly, so—just, believe when I say it’s not you, okay? Because I promise, none of it is you. I’m just…” Steve breathes in, then sighs out heavily as he runs a hand through his hair, leaning back against the wall of the tiny room. “I’ve never really been good at this kinda shit, okay? Feelings and… everything.”

Eddie snorts quietly. “Yeah, join the club, buddy.”

This is certainly one of the many reasons why Steve’s relationship with Nancy ended the way it did, and he’s not man enough to understand that about himself and recognize that he’s just shit at letting himself be vulnerable with anyone that’s not Robin. It doesn’t help that, for a while there, Steve had been undergoing a silent crisis of sexuality. One that took a lot of late night hangouts and talks with Robin for him to come to terms with the fact that he is, indeed, bisexual.

He just never really expected his first actual crush on a guy to be Eddie Munson. Robin’s definitely going to have a hey-day with that when they get back.

And that brings him to the crux of their current problem. What’s going to happen to them when they get back to Hawkins. If they start fucking around while they’re here at Murray’s, what the hell are they supposed to tell everyone when they get back? ‘Yeah, we worked out our differences and then decided hey I like this guy romantically and now we’re dating’? Steve thinks they might freak everyone out if they decide to do something like that.

Steve watches Eddie continue to chew on his thumb, and it’s starting to drive him crazy. He makes a frustrated noise, pushing off the wall as he reaches out to grab Eddie’s wrist. Eddie stops immediately, eyes going wide as he stares up at Steve—even his bouncing knee suddenly freezes.

“It was annoying me,” Steve grumbles, lightly pushing Eddie’s hand away. “You’re gonna bite your way through your bones at this rate.”

Eddie continues to stare at him, before he simply nods and carefully tugs his hand back from him. Steve clears his throat a bit, pulling his hand back as well and shoving it into his pocket. The air is awkward and tense after that, silence stretching between them for much too long, until Eddie manages to bring them back to the conversation at hand.

“So why can’t you kiss me?” He asks, blunt, like ripping off a band-aid.

Steve’s mouth purses, wishing that the question had been put any other way than that. But he understands what Eddie’s getting at. He breathes in deeply, before slightly rubbing at the side of his neck. “I… don’t want us to get ahead of ourselves.”

Eddie furrows his eyebrows, but stays quiet. So Steve tries to sound out his reasoning verbally, for once.

“We’ve been cooped up here for weeks, man. For all we know, we’re really only… feeling all this stuff ‘cause we’ve forced into each other’s proximities for too long. You know? Like… not like Stockholm syndrome or something like that, but do you get what I mean?” Steve explains, attempting to use his hands to show it at the same time.

For his part, Eddie listens, and he gets a small nod from him after his small speech.

“So you’re saying this isn’t…” Eddie starts, and Steve shakes his head quickly.

“Whatever you’re thinking, no. That’s not it. I’m just saying that I think…” Steve furrows his brows, running his hands through his hair. “I think we should wait until we’re out of here. Spend some time together outside of Murray’s basement, and see if… if we still feel the same way we’ve been feeling while going back to our normal lives.”

Steve pauses, glancing up at Eddie to try and read him. “You get what I’m saying, man?”

Slowly, Eddie nods. He breathes in deeply, then lets it out slowly. He reaches up and rubs the back of his head, ruffling his hair at the same time—Steve watches the curls bounce, biting the inside of his lip a bit.

“Yeah, man, I get it.” Eddie seems to sigh, crossing his arms loosely, pressing his thumb against his lips again. He doesn’t bite at it this time, though, so Steve doesn’t stop him. “I, uh… I get what you’re saying. Makes sense. We’ve been here for, what, three months or some shit? Fuck, man, I can’t believe I’m saying this but I can’t wait to get back to fucking Hawkins.”

Steve huffs out laughter. “You and me both, man.”

Silence falls between them for a minute or so, until Eddie scoots himself over on the bed and pats the space next to him. Steve hesitates, before stepping over and carefully sitting down beside him.

“Maybe we’ll get to go home soon,” Eddie says, almost wistfully, pressing his hands into the mattress below, leaning back slightly.

Steve is hesitant again, glancing down at Eddie’s hand between their legs. Carefully, slowly, Steve drops his hand down over top of Eddie’s. He feels Eddie tense next to him, but he doesn’t pull away. They’re both stiff and awkward, but Eddie keeps his hand under Steve’s, and Steve thinks—this is a small victory to have for right now.

They stay like that, awkwardly holding hands, until Eddie starts to quietly pick up the old conversations they’d left off on: D&D, how the kids must be doing back in Hawkins, their tastes in music.

Eventually, they become less awkward, and as they get lost in their conversations, Eddie turns his hand over so they’re palm-to-palm. Steve is careful as he slowly laces their fingers together, his heart beating fast in his chest, and he hopes—desperately hopes—that Eddie will still feel the same way about him when they’ve returned to Hawkins.

Hopper comes a week later.

He tells them the great news: Eddie’s name has been cleared, and the two of them can return to Hawkins.

Eddie is so fucking relieved. He’s going insane with cabin fever—he can’t stand being stuck inside of Murray’s basement anymore. Steve had been right about one thing: they needed to get out of there as soon as fucking possible. And it’s a good thing they’re leaving.

With the help of Hopper, it only takes about two or three hours for all of them to pack away all their things. Eddie’s already itching to get his hands on his guitar back home, he’s missed playing so goddamn much. And not to mention, he misses his uncle like fucking crazy. He can’t wait to sleep in his own bed, can’t wait to watch movies and TV that aren’t the shit that’s in Murray’s limited library, can’t wait to see his friends. Fuck, it’s been so long.

As Hopper loads up his card with their bags, Eddie turns around towards Murray’s house and throws up both middle fingers. “Good fucking riddance!”

Steve laughs from around the other side of the car, lifting up one hand to flip off the house, too. “We won’t be back!”

Eddie cackles as he climbs into the back of Hopper’s car while Steve climbs into the passenger seat. Hopper begins the drive back to Hawkins, and about forty minutes into the trip, Eddie is out like a light.

He doesn’t wake up until the car is stopped and Hopper is slamming the driver’s side door shut. Groggy, Eddie groans as he sits up, rubbing at his eyes with the palms of his hands. From the seat in front of him, Steve laughs, twisting around to give Eddie a half-grin.

“You slept like a log, Munson. Was Murray’s mattress really that shitty?”

Eddie’s still practically half asleep, squinting at the sunlight coming in through the car windows. “Surprise you didn’t pass out, Harrington.”

“Oh, I did. I just woke up about an hour or so ago. You didn’t wake up once—I had to reassure Hopper you weren’t dead or anything.”

“Well, thank you for saving me from an early grave then, kind sir.”

Steve snorts quietly and rolls his eyes, turning around to unbuckle himself. They climb out of the car at nearly the same time, and as Eddie’s eyes adjust to the sunlight—fuck, he’s going to have a migraine for days, he didn’t go outside as often as Steve did while they were at Murray’s—he realizes that they’re in the trailer park. Turning around, Eddie sees his and Wayne’s trailer, and relief washes over him in a way he’s never known before.

He tampers down the urge to run right in, especially since Wayne’s car isn’t here and Eddie knows Wayne isn’t home, and instead helps Hopper in unloading everything from his car. Hopper hesitates in taking out Steve’s stuff, first, and turns to him and asks, “You want me to give you a ride home?”

Steve shakes his head, pulling out his back from the trunk. “Nah. I’ll call Robin and have her drive my car over, won’t be that big of a deal. Even though it’s going to haunt me to have her driving it.”

“Oh, she’s going to beg to keep driving it after she gets a taste,” Eddie says with a grin, already starting to lug his bags up to the trailer’s door. “Oh, right, and—yeah, I don’t care if Harrington here wants to stay for a while. What’s a couple more hours being forced into each other’s proximities, huh?” There’s some sarcasm in his voice as he glances over his shoulder in Steve’s direction, trying to make out the other’s reaction.

Steve rolls his eyes, slamming Hopper’s trunk shut as he shrugs his duffel bag over his shoulder. “Sorry if my presence inconveniences you so much, Munson,” he says, with equal amounts of sarcasm in his voice, “I only nursed you back to health and didn’t leave you alone with the worst fucking conspiracy nut in the world for four months.”

Eddie gawks at him, surprised to see that Steve actually has it in him to banter with him already—like they’ve normally been doing. But it’s refreshing, truly, to see that being back in Hawkins hasn’t changed them. For now.

“Shut the fuck up and get inside, Harrington, before I leave you out here to rot in the sun!”

They bid Hopper farewell, who looks more than happy to get the hell out of dodge while he can.

Ten minutes later finds Eddie and Steve on the living room couch, exhausted, the two of them breathing heavily as they try to relax. Eddie’s eyes are closed, but the rest of his body is thrumming with energy. His knees start bouncing, he can’t help it, and Eddie suddenly needs to do something.

“Fuck!” Eddie sits up quickly and runs his hands over his face, mouth twisted into a frown.

Steve cracks his own eye open, giving Eddie a confused expression.

“I gotta do something, man. Anything! I can’t go back to just sitting around and doing nothing! I’ve got so much pent up energy, man, fuck.” Eddie rambles, standing up from the couch and starting to pace back and forth.

Steve grunts quietly as he sits up on the couch, rubbing his hands across his jeans. “Honestly, I get it. Like, fuck, man—I need to get some fresh air, even if it’s Hawkins air.” Pausing, he looks up at Eddie. “Can I use your phone, by the way? To call Robin. She’s also got the keys to my place, too.”

“Yeah, sure, man. Go ahead. I’m gonna…” Eddie thinks for a second, pausing his pacing, before turning to face Steve and clapping his hands together. “I’ll be in my room, case ya need me. Probably playing guitar.”

“You got it.” Steve is grabbing the phone already, his fingers practiced as they dial Robin’s number.

Eddie scurries away into his bedroom, and the moment he does, he grabs his guitar from where it’s been hanging for the past several months, and immediately presses a kiss to the strings.

“Oh, baby, I have missed you!” Eddie sighs happily as he sinks onto his bed, grinning brightly. He blows on the guitar, dusting her off both quickly and carefully, too eager to get started. “I’ll clean you properly later, but I have got to get my hands on you already.”

Eddie immediately scoots himself over to the edge of his bed, setting his guitar in his lap. He pulls out a guitar pick from his boot—he keeps a couple in there, always, just in case—and begins strumming. She’s so out of tune, it makes Eddie cringe, but it’s nothing he can’t fix. He spends the next five or ten minutes tuning her up, until she’s back to normal.

“Perfect.” Eddie mumbles to himself, grinning. He puts the pick into his mouth, strums the strings, and grins. “Fuck yeah, there we go! Exactly how you should sound, baby.”

He pulls the pick from his mouth and immediately starts playing, humming along to the start of the song as he does. As Eddie continues strumming, fingers running along the fretboard as he picks at the strings. He moves a bit with the rhythm, body rocking back and forth as he headbangs along. Letting himself get caught up in the moment, Eddie starts to sing—he completely forgets that Steve is still in his trailer, overcome with the absolute euphoria that is being able to rock out with his guitar again.

After all the shit Hawkins might’ve said about him, he’s not sure Corroded Coffin will ever get to play in this town again, so he might as well try and enjoy it while he can. He might end up having to go back to playing alone in his room, or outside in the trailer park, so long as no one complains about the noise.

When the song is finished, Eddie is sweaty and panting, the brightest grin on his face. He’s careful as he sets his guitar back up against the wall, making sure that she won’t fall. He turns around and yelps, falling back onto his bed on his ass, eyes wide as he’s met with Steve staring at him, mouth wide open and brown eyes shining.

Eddie’s still breathing a bit heavily, chest heaving up and down, laid out on his elbows on the bed, staring up at Steve.

They’re at a stand still, just staring at one another, until Eddie breaks it with his ramblings.

“Hey—hey, uh, I… I, uh, actually forgot you were still here. You finished your phone call already?” His voice is shaking, as is the rest of his body. Steve gives him a nod, still watching him with this look of—of awe that’s making Eddie feel a lot of things. “So you, uh… heard that? That’s a stupid question—I just mean, shit, fuck, I, uh—”

Steve’s mouth finally closes as he swallows, Eddie watches the line of his throat as he does, before he’s speaking in a bit of a rush. “Fuck, man, you have no idea how badly I want to kiss you right now.”

Eddie blinks owlishly, and now it’s his turn for his mouth to drop open in awe.

“Didn’t you say we should, uh… wait a little while?” He manages to sort out from the jumbled thoughts in his brain.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes out, taking several long strides into Eddie’s room, standing at the edge of the bed where Eddie’s legs are hanging off and open. “Fuck that, though.”

Eddie makes some kind of noise in the back of his throat before Steve is kneeling on the bed between his thighs, leaning down and grabbing Eddie’s face in his hands. Their first kiss is a bit hard, the angle of it somewhat awkward because Eddie isn’t given any time to angle himself. Thankfully no one’s lip gets busted this way.

Steve pulls away slightly, tilts his head, and goes back in for a second kiss. This one is much better than the first—Steve’s lips are warm against Eddie’s, and fuck, he can’t believe he’s actually kissing Steve Harrington in his fucking bedroom. Eddie can’t stop the noise that comes from him again, and that seems to only spur Steve on, who lowers his body down until most of his body is lying against Eddie’s.

Eddie falls back against the bed as he lets his arms relax, elbows sliding off the mattress. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands at all—he settles them on Steve’s waist first, fingers gripping lightly, but it doesn’t seem right, so he drags them up along Steve’s sides, under his jacket but over his shirt, and it makes Steve shiver.

He groans as Steve’s tongue licks across the seam of his lips, and he opens up, perhaps, a little too easily for him. Eddie shivers himself as he lifts his legs, feet pressing into the mattress, one hand sliding up into Steve’s hair while the other slides down to his ass, fingers digging into both.

Steve shudders in Eddie’s grasp, and he lets out a low moan as he presses his body further into Eddie’s.

“Steve—” Eddie gasps quietly, mumbling into Steve’s mouth. “Mmph—wait, Stevie—”

The nickname seems to work wonders, because Steve freezes almost immediately, pulling away from Eddie to peer down at him. He’s quiet for a moment, then sputters, seemingly flustered. “Sorry—shit, sorry, that—”

“Whoa, hey hey hey, no, it’s not—” Eddie shakes his head quickly, shifting his hands around to grab Steve’s face in his hands. He pulls him in for a quick kiss, soft and chaste, before he leans back enough to look Steve in the eyes. “It’s not that. Like—fuck, not that at all. I was just—what about Robin?” He asks, feeling a bit awkward about bringing her up at a time like this.

Steve huffs out softly, shaking his head a bit. He leans in and kisses Eddie’s cheek, then slowly trails his lips down along his jaw. “She’s still got work,” Steve mumbles into his skin, and Eddie shivers. “Three hours.”

Eddie breathes out shakily, his hands sliding up into Steve’s hair, fingers curling into the soft strands as Steve nips at the side of his neck. “Okay,” he says, a little squeaky and high-pitched. “So—three, uh, three hours of making out?”

Steve pulls away from Eddie’s neck, blinking down at Eddie, before letting out a small bark of laughter. He raises an eyebrow, hips shifting as he presses them down into Eddie’s. “Just making out?”

Bastard, Eddie thinks, his mind going blank as arousal shoots right up his spine. His dick’s been interested since the first kiss, but now it’s only growing harder, and he makes a small whimpering noise. “Or more—yeah, yeah, more’s good. Jesus fuck, Harrington—”

“You’re gonna call me by my last name in bed?” Steve chuckles, leaning down to kiss him. It’s slow and deep, and Eddie makes another whimpering noise as Steve slowly rolls his hips down. “Alright then, Munson.” Another whimper. “Two can play that game.”

Eddie’s going to die, here in his bedroom, under the weight of Steve Harrington.

It’s not really a bad way to go.

They stay cooped up in Eddie’s room for two and half of those hours. Steve’s mouth is red and his lips are raw, kissed to death by Eddie. He’s covered in hickeys and bruises from Eddie’s fingers, and his back is absolutely killing him—he’s never slept with another guy before, but Eddie has. Despite this, Steve had insisted on being the bottom for their first time. Admittedly, he wouldn’t have changed his decision even now. Getting fucked by Eddie was amazing, absolutely fucking life-changing. They’d gone three rounds before Steve couldn’t really take anymore, and Eddie had been amazing with the aftercare.

They’re barely dressed, curled up under Eddie’s blanket on his bed. Steve is wearing one of Eddie’s older tees and his boxers, while Eddie is just in his underwear, completely shirtless. He stares at Eddie’s chest, at the hickeys and bite marks he left on his skin, and Steve feels himself flush, even after everything they’ve already done.

“Robin’ll be here soon,” Steve mutters, rolling over onto his side to better face Eddie.

Eddie groans, bringing his hands up to run them over his face before he rolls over onto his stomach, burying his face against the pillow. “Fuck.” He pauses after the word, before turning his head to peer at Steve. “What are we supposed to tell her?”

Steve shrugs his shoulder, biting at the inside of his lip a little. “Dunno. That we slept together? She’s definitely going to find out as soon as I leave with her. You left, like, fifty hickeys on me.”

“Sorry, baby,” Eddie mumbles, “Not my fault you are the one who liked me markin’ you up in the first place.”

Steve rolls his eyes, shoving at Eddie’s shoulder. “Shut up, I wasn’t that bad!”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

With a huff, Steve pushes himself up on his elbow and leans over Eddie’s head, leaning down to kiss the stupid grin off his face. It lasts for a good minute, before Steve pulls away and sits up fully, scooting back on the bed to lean himself against the wall.

Eddie shifts on the bed, but only enough so that he can rest his head against Steve’s blanket covered thigh, his cheek pressing into it. Steve huffs out quiet laughter, dropping his hand to Eddie’s head and running his fingers through the messy curls.

Was it a stupid idea to sleep with Eddie as soon as they’d gotten back? Yeah, probably—but Steve can’t really find it in himself to regret it. His own logic and reasoning still makes sense in his head. They should really try to make sure that their feelings are real and not just the result of being cooped away at Murray’s for months on end, but it had been hard to want to do anything but kiss Eddie after he’d witnessed that impromptu guitar performance from Eddie.

Plus, sleeping with Eddie is probably, like, on the very low end of the list of ‘Stupid Shit Steve Harrington Has Done’.

“So…” Eddie starts quietly, his hand coming up to squeeze Steve’s knee through the blanket. “We’re boyfriends, right?” He sounds… nervous, unsure.

Steve pauses, briefly, in his movements, before he resumes. He slides his hand under Eddie’s hair and rests it on the back of his neck, fingers brushing gently across the edge of his jaw. “Do you want to be?”

Eddie’s quiet for several moments, before he’s flipping around on the bed onto his back, head turning at the same time to look up at Steve. It’s an awkward position on his part, but Eddie doesn’t seem to be complaining, so Steve doesn’t say a thing. His hand is still resting on Eddie’s neck—the front of his throat—until Eddie lifts his own hand up and grabs Steve’s, pulling it up to press a kiss to his palm.

“Not really a big fan of the whole friends with benefits shit,” Eddie murmurs, dragging Steve’s hand around until his palm is pressed against his cheek. “Dunno about you.”

It shouldn’t take Steve so long to answer, but it does give him pause. He thinks about all his failed relationships—his first serious one with Nancy, and all the flings with the various girls around town while he tried to figure out who he is with Robin, and the fact that he’s never actually been with a guy before. This is going to be Steve’s first relationship with a guy, and he really, really doesn’t want to fuck it up.

When Steve shakes out of his thoughts, Eddie’s watching him, patient and quiet. He’s not pushing Steve to answer, even though Steve knows it must be killing him not to—he can see the nervousness in his eyes, and it breaks Steve’s heart a little. He’s making Eddie wait for nothing.

“My last serious relationship didn’t end very well,” Steve says softly, stroking his thumb along Eddie’s cheek. “And I’m… still sort of coming to terms with who I am—my sexuality. No one else but Robin knows that I like guys, too. I won’t be ashamed of us,” he’s quick to add, shaking his head, “I’d never feel ashamed of you, but it’s going to be hard, for me, at first.

“I’m seriously a mess, Eddie. Like, with all the… fucked up shit I’ve seen and done in my life, it’s no wonder no one actually takes me fucking seriously anymore. I wouldn’t even take myself seriously. So I just… fuck, I don’t know. I’m not saying no—I want to say yes, actually—but I’m just trying to warn you that it’s probably going to be a lot. Maybe too much at times.”

Steve’s not crying, but it’s a near thing. He breathes in deeply as he closes his eyes for a few moments, relishing in the soft yet serious moment they’re having. Steve only opens his eyes again when he feels Eddie press a kiss to his wrist, his mouth twitching up into a small smile.

“Hey, man,” Eddie says, returning that small smile, “I’m no walk in the fucking park myself. You’ve already seen what happens to me on nearly a day-to-day basis—and you’ve literally nursed me back to health. I was basically the town’s pariah for months, and God knows that probably won’t be the last damn time that happens.”

Steve snorts, unable to stop himself, and it earns him a small nip on the palm from Eddie.

“I’m serious, Stevie! You think people are just gonna forget and let live here? No way in hell. Just—I’m tryin’ to say that I’m a fucking mess, too. I’m the biggest fucking mess you’ll ever meet. Have you seen me? Seriously. I’m not easy to handle, either.”

This time, Steve laughs, a grin slowly breaking across his face. Eddie starts to laugh under him, and they’re stuck in a giggling fit for a few minutes until Steve pulls Eddie up into a kiss, practically forcing him to sit up on his knees on the bed as he does.

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs against Eddie’s lips, keeping his hands curled around his face. “You’re a fucking mess, alright.”

Eddie grins against his mouth, nipping at his lower lip. “And yet, you still love me.”

It might be too early to be using the word love, but Steve lets out another breathless “Yeah” before kissing Eddie again, sinking back against the pillows.

Robin might end up interrupting them if they start something now, but Steve’s pretty sure he can figure out the fastest way to make Eddie cum in their short amount of time.