Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

1999

It’s the end of summer and Hawkins is beautiful. Golden fields turn into orange leaves, dipping the town into a glowing gradient. Kiddie pools get swapped for pumpkins and the first cool breeze finally shoos away the oppressive summer heat. It’s almost enough to cover up the abandoned houses and the cracks in the roads from the earthquake two years ago that still have not been fixed. For people simply passing through the town might exude a certain charm, but for the people living there, Hawkins is what it’s always been, a shit hole. No matter how pretty autumn makes it look. Steve is too busy going just above the speed limit to notice it anyways. 

He drums his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel, one eye on the road, the other on the clock on his dashboard. Dustin is going to be so pissed if he is late.  He cuts off another car and grimaces apologetically at the angry honk from the other driver. Usually, Steve is a much more responsible driver, but it’s been two months and he’s missed Dustin. 

The first kids are already tumbling out of the camp bus when Steve pulls into the school’s parking lot. Dustin is already standing outside, arms crossed in front of his chest, giving Steve a disappointed look as Steve jogs over from his car. 

“You’re late!” He says sternly, but Steve knows he doesn’t mean it.   

“I missed you too, buddy,” Steve says and pulls Dustin into a hug. Dustin hugs him back tightly. When they let go, Dustin is smiling widely. 

“I have so many cool things to show you,” he grins, excited, and grabs his bag. “But also I’m starving.” 

“I made lasagna,” Steve says and ushers Dustin to the car. He is just slightly anxious about all the cool things Dustin has made over the summer. His last invention almost burned down the kitchen. “And there is ice cream in the freezer for dessert.” 

“Hell yes!”

Dustin’s grin grows wider and Steve mentally pats himself on the shoulder. Lasagna is one of Dustin’s all-time comfort foods and probably exactly what he’s been craving for the entire bus ride. 

“Now, tell me everything about camp,” he says as they get into the car and Dustin basically starts to vibrate with excitement next to him. He talks about his cabin mates, how cool their teachers were, complains about the catering, and goes on and on about the workshops they had. 

“Oh, and then my girlfriend had this idea of an adapter so that you can plug several pairs of headphones into a walkman,” Dustin rambles, “but we didn’t have time unfortunately to build a prototype.” 

“Girlfriend?” Steve asks with an impressed, little grin. Dustin nods, trying to play it cool, but Steve can tell he has been dying to finally tell him. 

“Yup, girlfriend,” he confirms, smugly. “Her name’s Suzie. With a z. And she is super smart! And hotter than Jennifer Connelly.” 

Steve forces himself not to raise an eyebrow. Super smart nerd at a science camp, okay. But a super smart nerd who is hotter than Jennifer Connelly? It does sound a little bit too good to be true. But he isn’t about to dunk on Dustin’s little fantasy. 

“Good for you man,” he grins as he pulls into their driveway. “Told you you could be a total lady killer if you followed my advice.” 

“Suzie and I actually got together once I started to ignore your advice, Steve,” Dustin says and climbs out of the car. And if that isn’t even more proof that Suzie is too good to be true. “Turns out girls don’t like it when you ignore them.” 

“Sure,” Steve says and grabs Dustin’s bag. “Jesus, what’s in this? Rocks?” 

“It’s Cerebro.” 

Steve gives Dustin an exasperated look as he drags the bag to the front door. He loves the kid, but he is such a god damn nerd and Steve became a guidance counselor and not a science teacher for a reason. 

“It’s a ham radio,” Dustin explains. “So I can radio Suzie in Utah. We have to assemble it first though. Ideally, up a hill or something. This weekend maybe?” 

“Sure, we can build it up this weekend,” Steve says and drops the bag in the hallway as he and Dustin get out of their shoes. “You have heard of this really new groundbreaking invention though, right? It’s called a telephone?” 

Dustin groans and picks up the bag himself. 

“Yes, Steve. I know what a telephone is,” he snaps and walks towards the stairs. “Suzie’s parents are super strict Mormons.” He gives Steve a pointed look as if Steve was supposed to know that. “And as a non-Mormon, they’ll never accept me dating Suzie. So instead of calling, we have to do it the more old-fashioned way.” 

“Very romantic,” Steve deadpans for which he gets an eye roll from Dustin. 

“We’re like star-crossed lovers, kept apart by cruel circumstance and prejudice,” Dustin waxes poetically from the bottom of the stairs. “A forbidden love that is doomed to fail, but still against all odds we make it work. A love you could never understand, Steve, never.”  

The way Dustin overdramatically performs the bit is ridiculous and Steve chuckles. But deep down inside, he can feel a memory slip loose from the mountain of denial it was buried under and tug ever so slightly on Steve’s core. He ignores it easily. After 14 years of practice, it’s almost second nature. 

“Alright, Romeo, just come talk to me before you want to fake your own death,” he says and ruffles through Dustin’s hair who tries but fails to bat Steve’s hand away. “Now go unpack and wash your hands. Dinner should be ready in 15.” 

“Yes, mom,” Dustin huffs, and then both he and Steve cringe. It used to be a stupid joke years ago when Steve first started to babysit Dustin to get himself through college. But ever since Dustin’s mom died two years ago the joke has become stale and awkward. Every time it slips out now it feels like getting pricked with a dull needle. Both Dustin and Steve have come to the mutual decision to pretend like nothing has been said, whenever Dustin falls back into the old habit of calling Steve mom.  Most days that works fine, but sometimes Dustin will go uncharacteristically quiet for the rest of the day, zone out, and sleep with the lights on. Today, fortunately, he seems to be fine. 

“Better not put any veggies into the sauce,” he says before turning around and hurrying up to his room. 

“Some spinach isn’t going to kill you,” Steve calls after him, but Dustin has already closed the door to his bedroom. Teenagers, Steve shakes his head. 

He does come back down exactly 15 minutes later, hands washed and so hungry he doesn’t even notice the small chunks of carrots Steve has snug into the lasagna. They talk about everything and nothing during dinner. Dustin goes on about the things he invented at camp and Steve tries to make a knowing face. Then Dustin asks Steve about his summer and Steve tells him about helping Robin and Chrissy out with the summer program at the youth center and going to The Hideout for drinks most nights afterwards. Dustin gives him a funny look. 

“What?” 

“Nothing,” Dustin hurries to say and pokes his food with his fork. “It’s just volunteering at the youth center all summer long, really, Steve? Most people use the summer to take a break from their job.” 

“I like my job,” Steve grumbles and takes a bite of the lasagna. There is nothing wrong with spending your summer helping kids with their arts and crafts project and making sure they don’t kill each other during dodgeball, Steve tells himself. 

“Because you have no life outside it,” Dustin says and before Steve can argue back he adds, “I think you should start to date.” 

Steve chokes on his lasagna and begins to cough violently. Dustin just looks at him unimpressed. 

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Steve manages to say once the coughing has stopped and he’s had a sip of water. Dustin puts his fork down a little bit too aggressively. 

“Steve, you haven’t gone out with anyone in over two years now, you’re becoming a spinster.”

“A spinster, really?”

“ Yup. A spinster.” 

“First of all, this isn’t one of those period drama books and I am not becoming a spinster. Second of all, maybe I went on plenty of dates and just chose not to tell you,” Steve lies and Dustin just raises an eyebrow, clocking Steve immediately. 

“All I am saying is that you should go on a date,” he says. “Now that I have Suzie I don’t want you to die alone.” 

“Oh for Christ’s sake, Henderson,” Steve groans. “I’ve been a bit preoccupied the last couple of years, I’ve not become socially inept or something.”  

“Great, then you should have no problem going on a date.” 

“Maybe I will.” 

“Great.”

“Great.” 

“Fantastic.”

“Yeah.” 

They both stare at each other from across the table, both well aware they are being ridiculous. In the same, still slightly irritated tone Steve asks, “Do you want some ice cream now?”

“I would love some,” Dustin replies in the same voice, and then their little argument is over. 

Dustin puts their plates in the dishwasher, Steve gets a tub of ice cream and two spoons and they settle down on the small couch in the living room. Dustin flips through the TV channels until he settles for ER. 

“George Clooney, yay or nay?” he asks as he digs into the ice cream.

“Hmm,” Steve considers, tapping his spoon against a lip. “I mean he is pretty with the eyes and the dark hair and all. But do I really just wanna be a quick lay for him? Like I’m all emotionally invested in him now and then I would just be another hookup? No thanks.”

“Ugh, gross dude,” Dustin shudders. 

“You asked!” Steve laughs and snatches the tub of ice cream away from Dustin. “Carol Hathaway, yay or nay?” 

“Yay, big yay! Though she is no Suzie.” 

“Sure, man,” Steve says and Dustin kicks his ankle. They continue their little game until the end of the episode and Dustin lets out a hearty yawn. 

They decide to call it a night, both dreading their alarm clocks ringing early in the morning the next day. While Dustin climbs up the stairs and gets ready, Steve turns off the lights downstairs. In the dark hallway, he trips over Dustin’s shoes and lets out a small curse. He can hear the water running from the bathroom, accompanied by Dustin’s loudly hummed rendition of No Scrubs. It’s good to have him back, Steve thinks as he walks back up, for once not feeling like the shadows in the hallway are going to swallow him whole. During the last two months, Steve has probably spent more nights on Robin and Chrissy’s couch than in his own bed. His insomnia is not as bad as when he was a teenager, his own small house never as gapingly empty as his parent’s mansion, but still, sleep comes easier if someone else is in the house with Steve.  

Dustin is just leaving the bathroom as Steve reaches the top of the stairs. He’s changed his camp shirt and shorts to star wars PJs, his hair flattened from wearing a cap all day. 

“You know where I am if you need me,” Steve says. He is not the only one plagued by frequent insomnia, although Dustin usually has to deal with nightmares rather than the complete inability to sleep. It’s been quite a while though since Steve has woken up to screams coming from Dustin’s room. Still, every night Steve tells Dustin the same thing, reassuring Dustin that he is there for him. And every night, Dustin gives him a small smile and says, “Night Steve.” 

The next morning is hectic. Neither of them is a morning person and both of them have the tendency to snooze until the last minute. Steve is standing in the kitchen half dressed, trying to chuck as much coffee as he can while preparing Dustin’s lunch. Dustin meanwhile is desperately trying to find his textbooks and pack his bag. 

“Why do you never pack the night before?” Steve asks and puts the finished lunch bag on the table. Dustin gives him a little glare. 

“Do you ever pack your bag the night before?” he shoots back and unfortunately he does have a point. “Can I have some coffee?” 

“Coffee is for adults,” Steve says and Dustin grumbles something under his breath about almost being sixteen, but relents and decides to grab some toast instead. 

He doesn’t bother to sit down, takes the lunch bag Steve has made for him, and rushes out into the hallway to put on his shoes. 

“You biking or do you need a ride?” Steve calls after him. 

“Biking,” Dustin yells and before Steve can remind him to be home in time for dinner the front door falls shut. Steve knows that there is no point to it anyways. Monday nights are reserved for playing DnD with his little nerd friends and not a single time so far has Dustin not lost track of time while playing. Steve sighs and takes his coffee upstairs to finish getting dressed and packing his own bag. One glance at the clock tells him that if he doesn’t hurry up, he is really going to be late. And so he rushes to his car. 

Steve never thought he would enjoy going back to school. During his last years in high school, he would have rather burned the whole building down than set foot back into it once he had graduated. But walking through the bustling hallways now he feels absolutely at ease. It does help that Hawkins High has changed a lot since Steve graduated and much of that actually thanks to him. He’s successfully started an anti-bullying campaign, made sure students with special needs actually get help, and has helped more kids get into college than any of his guidance counselors ever did. Hawkins High is still a far cry from perfect, but it at least has gotten a lot better. 

Steve dips into the teachers’ lounge to grab two cups of coffee before heading to his office. Max is already waiting in front of it, walkman covering her ears, annoyed look in her eyes. Her frown does lift a bit when Steve presses the second cup of coffee into her hand and unlocks the door to his office. 

“Don’t tell Dustin about the coffee,” he reminds her as they sit down. 

“I don’t snitch,” she says and sips her coffee. Steve watches her over the rim of his own mug. He’s seen her a couple of times during the summer, but not as often as usual with Dustin gone. It’s good to finally have their regular sessions back. She looks alright. There are dark circles under her eyes, but those have been worse. Her clothes are clean and her hair is neatly tied into two braids. It’s a good sign. 

“You hungry?” He asks and gets out the two breakfast burritos he got on his way to school. 

“You don’t have to keep bringing me breakfast,” she says slightly agitated. Steve knows it’s not because she thinks it's condescending of him, but because she struggles to accept help. He was the same for a long time. Still is, according to Robin. 

“Who says I brought this for you?” Steve asks and takes one of the breakfast burritos. “Maybe I just didn’t have time for breakfast and simply think it’s rude not to share.” 

Max rolls her eyes but takes the other burrito. They both know it’s a lie, but it does make it easier for Max. They both just sit there quietly for a moment, chewing on their food. 

Steve can tell that something is up with Max today. She is avoiding looking at him, instead letting her eyes wander through his office as if she isn’t deeply familiar with it by now. There is still music playing from her headphones, but at least she doesn’t have them up anymore, letting them hang around her neck instead. 

“You looking forward to your classes?” he asks, knowing that she will shut down if he asks her directly what’s on her mind. Max shrugs, noncommittal, and takes another bite. 

“Heard we are getting drama classes this semester, which could be fun I guess. Or lame as fuck.”

Steve swallows the language that sits on the top of his tongue. He curses too much around the kids himself to chastise them for it. Especially Max. She’d see it as a challenge and just curse even more. 

“If you don’t like drama, I can always switch you to more gym classes?” Steve offers and Max looks up at him in surprise. “Get some training for track? Your coach told me he has high hopes you might qualify for nationals this year.” 

Max’s face lights up at that. She didn’t expect to like track when she was forced to choose an extracurricular about two years ago. But she turned out pretty damn good at it, there is a reason she’s always been her little friend group's zoomer. She isn’t a jock by a long shot, same as Lucas, both always a nerd at heart.  But it does help her keep her head clear. 

“That’d be nice,” she smiles and finishes eating her burrito. 

“I’ll let your coach know,” Steve nods and scribbles down a quick note to talk to the coach later. When he looks back up Max is staring at him, nervously chewing on her lip. Steve tries to look as encouraging as possible without pushing her. 

“Mom called him the other day,” she says quietly, finally letting Steve know what’s on her mind. “Said she wanted to visit him afterwards. Asked me to come along.” 

Steve shifts in his chair, uneasy at the thought of Max being anywhere near Billy, even if they are separated by a glass plate and surrounded by prison guards. He was literally sent to prison to keep him away from Max amongst other things. But this isn’t about Steve’s feelings, it’s about Max’s. 

“Do you want to go?” 

“I don’t know,” Max sinks deeper into the chair, curling in on herself, making herself seem smaller. “Mom seemed happier. Cooked dinner that night and cleaned the kitchen.” 

“It’s not your job to make your mother happy though,” Steve says softly. “If you don’t want to go you don’t have to.” 

Max looks up and glares at him as if to say it’s not that easy. Steve knows that it is not that easy. It’s not just about making Max’s mom happy, it’s about keeping her stable. Enough to take care of Max, make Max’s life just a tiny bit easier. 

Mentally, Steve’s hand is always hovering above the phone, ready to call CPS at any moment. But after Billy had been sent to prison CPS had deemed Max’s home situation as safe and appropriate again. Max’s mom was just about stable enough, and on the days she wasn’t Steve was there, ready to take care of Max. He would take her in a heartbeat, but with him already being Dustin’s single guardian, CPS would say that he was already at his capacity. So counseling sessions and breakfast in his office it had to be. 

“If you think having to deal with Billy is worth seeing your mother happy,” Steve says, even though he thinks it’s a horrible idea for Max’s mental health. “But if you don’t want to go, I am happy to give her a call and explain in length to her that unfortunately you are involved in a mandatory extracurricular activity that day.” 

“Mandatory extracurricular activity?” 

“Secret guidance counselor speak for movie night,” he explains and it gets a small snort out of Max. Steve’s heart clenches for a second at the sound.

“I’ll think about it,”  she says and then the bell rings. “Thanks, Steve.” 

She looks a bit less weary as she gets up and gathers her stuff. Steve is glad he could help at least somewhat. Quietly, he hopes that Max won’t go to visit Billy. But if she does, he’ll be there for her afterwards.  

“Hey, Max?” 

She stops and turns around. Steve grabs the second paper bag that sits on top of his backpack and throws it at her. “Also made too much lunch for myself.” 

She catches it effortlessly and then rolls her eyes in typical Max fashion. 

“I’m sure you did,” she grumbles and then closes the door behind her. 

Steve shakes his head fondly, before turning around to his desk and letting out a groan at the pile of paperwork he has to go through before his next session. As much as he loves his job, he could do without the admin. He lets himself fall into his chair, but before he can do anything his phone rings. 

“Steve, you were meant to pick up the new English/drama teacher,” Marcia, the secretary greets him, snippy, when he picks up the phone. “I sent him to your office.” 

Steve lets out a quiet curse. He had completely forgotten about the new teacher. In his defense, he had only been informed three days before the start of the new semester that there would be a new teacher. And said teacher had been busy moving to Hawkins and had not left a phone number for Steve to contact him. 

“Thanks, Marcia, I’ll get him,” Steve says before hanging up and dashing out of his office. He closes the door, not bothering to lock it, turns around, and stops abruptly when he sees the figure at the other end of the hallway. 

Suddenly he is 18 again, with a bruised face, staring at the boy who kissed it better not even twelve hours ago and is now breaking Steve’s heart. The words we’re done hang in the air like dust, waiting to catch fire on the shame burning in Steve’s cheeks or the anger trembling in Eddie’s clenched fists. The explosion does not as hoped burn the whole school to the ground. It leaves Steve with a mark on his chest that aches on cold days and Eddie with enough time to vanish into thin air. 

Steve’s lungs fill with smoke as he looks at the ghost standing across from him. His hair is still long, but he wears it up now, in a ponytail. Faint stubble graces his jaw that Steve can still feel under his fingertips some nights. The boots are polished now and the dark jeans no longer ripped. The Hellfire shirt has turned into a simple black tee, but the collection of chunky rings is still the same. The black nail polish is new and so is the turmoil in Steve’s stomach. Dread hardens in his abdomen uncomfortably, making it impossible to move while guilt tightens around his throat like a noose, holding him in place. 

They both stare at each other, like deers caught in headlights, neither daring to move or speak first. Despite the scorching panic clawing itself through Steve’s chest, he can’t help but notice that Eddie’s eyes are still beautiful. Even when they slowly fill with contempt.

Eddie is the first one to recover, the surprise on his face turning sour. 

“Still not graduated, Harrington?” 

It’s something he would have said teasingly when they were teens. Steve would have smacked him on the shoulder, affectionately calling him an asshole before being pulled into an apologetic kiss. But they are not teenagers anymore and Eddie’s voice lacks any of the warmth that used to be reserved for Steve. Now, it’s just loaded with resentment, which, yeah, is a fair reaction. 

“I…eh…work here now,” Steve says lamely and points at his office door. “Guidance counselor.” 

“Well shit,” Eddie chuckles mirthlessly. “Fuck the kids, I guess.” 

It’s uncanny, the calmness Eddie delivers his anger with. He used to be loud and in your face when he was pissed off. Now his anger seems more controlled, quiet, less dramatic. Fierce teenage angst turned into restrained resentment. It’s worse somehow. Steve is used to fury, to screams and curses, to hands swinging and fangs being bared. He doesn’t know how to deal with bitter words being calmy pressed through gritted teeth, dipped in acid and slowly etching through his skin. 

“You here for your kid?” Steve asks, hoping to either wake up from this very bizarre nightmare or to gain some footing in the conversation. 

A kid is the only reason for Eddie to set foot back into this school other than a gun to his back that Steve can think of. The thought of Eddie with a kid is strange, but Steve knows he is one to talk. It’s not like he was voted most likely to be a single guardian of a teenager at the ripe age of 33 back in high school. Yet, here he is. 

“Battalion of kids actually,” Eddie says flatly. “I’m the new English and drama teacher.” 

Oh. 

In hindsight that does make a lot of sense, given that Steve was supposed to meet the new teacher. He would have just never in his life expected the new teacher to be Eddie. He failed English twice and spent most of his high school career selling drugs, it’s not necessarily qualities that scream English teacher. And it’s Hawkins. As much as Steve dislikes the place, Eddie has always loathed the town. Why of all places come back here? 

Eddie stares at him intently, as if he expects Steve to challenge him. Voice all those questions bouncing around in his head. Steve opens his mouth and closes it again, still not one hundred percent convinced that this is really happening. The last time he had felt this dazed had been when Starcourt Mall had burned down and he had been concussed for almost a month. Eddie just keeps looking, face completely expressionless and impossible to read. 

“I’m supposed to give you a tour,” is what Steve finally ends up saying. “They changed the place.” 

Steve has said his fair share of stupid things, still frequently does actually. But no conversation he’s ever had has been as awkward as this. Eddie raises his eyebrows, absolutely unimpressed. 

“A fresh coat of paint doesn’t change the foundation,” he huffs. “I think I’ll find my way around just fine.” 

English class may have never been Steve’s forte, but even he gets how pointed that little comment was meant to be. Eddie might as well have jabbed him in the chest with a finger. 

For the first time during this incredibly weird encounter irritation coils around Steve’s panic. Eddie has not seen him in 14 years, he has no idea what Steve has been through and how much he has changed. It didn’t fully register earlier, but the fact that Eddie implied that Steve is a bad guidance counselor is tinder for the spark of annoyance in Steve’s chest. 

But before Steve can say anything, Eddie has walked past him and disappeared around the corner, leaving Steve alone in the hallway. 

Steve opens the door to his office, his hands trembling with anger as much as apprehension. Once he is inside he sinks down against the door. It feels like every thought he has has been wrapped into cotton and is now unspooling bit by bit.

Eddie Munson is back. It’s sinking in very slowly. And he is a teacher now.  Which means Steve will have to work with him very closely for the foreseeable future.

Well, fuck. 

_____

1985

It starts the same way it ends: with a split lip. 

Technically, it starts in gym class when Steve catches a basketball meant for Eddie The Freak Munson’s head and throws it back at Billy Hargrove’s face with such force, he almost breaks Billy’s nose. Actually, it starts the afternoon Nancy Wheeler breaks up with him, declaring their relationship, their love, and everything about Steve bullshit. As much as it hurts, Steve can’t really blame her. He doesn’t even like himself most days, so he can’t really expect Nancy to love him. 

Steve did like the person she occasionally managed to bring out in him. The guy who’d sing for her to cheer her up, no matter how dorky it made him look. Who’d babysit her baby brother with her instead of sneaking off to yet another high school party. Who would pick up Barb from band practice when Nancy wasn’t able to, instead of calling the band kids dweebs during lunch. The guy who bought Jonathan Byers a new camera after breaking his old one. The guy who for just a few months had been so gone on Nancy that he didn’t give a single damn about the superficial rules the high school food chain dictated for survival. Tommy had called him whipped, but Steve had, just for a little while, felt like himself.  

Maybe that’s why he catches the basketball. Not that it does him any good. The second Billy has recovered enough to rejoin the game, Steve’s legs are kicked out from under him and he is shoved down so hard that his face bangs into the wooden floor of the gym. 

“You need to work on your stance, Harrington,” Billy says loudly before bending down and offering Steve a hand. His mouth is far too close to Steve’s ear, hot breath ghosting over Steve’s skin when he whispers, “We’re not gonna have a problem are we, King Steve?” 

“Nope,” Steve says and then flinches at the stinging pain coming from his lip. He wipes the back of his hand over his mouth and it comes back red and sticky. He ignores Billy’s hand and gets up. “No problem.”

“Good,” Billy grins, with too many teeth, and looks like he wants to devour Steve whole. If it’s his attempt to intimidate Steve, it fails because Steve couldn’t care less about Billy Hargrove. Steve’s already lost one fist fight, he isn’t going to engage in another. If Billy wants to claw his way to the top of Hawkins High by being a violent jerk, preferring people’s submission over their devotion, Steve isn’t going to be the one to stop him. He isn’t going to turn over and show his belly either, he just doesn’t have the energy to deal with Billy. Or the need. Billy is new and scary and rugged and in a month or two all of this excitement will have faded and people won’t care anymore. At least that’s what Steve tells himself. 

Now he watches Billy break his keg record across a party, Tommy next to Billy cheering him on. A year ago, Steve would have waltzed over there with a cocky grin, squared shoulders, and something to prove. Tommy would have cheered for him instead, yelled something stupid like this is how we do it in Hawkins babeeee and hoisted Steve up on his shoulder once Steve was done. But things are different now. 

Now Billy is Tommy’s favorite obsession. The next popular jock Tommy can live his macho bachelor dreams vicariously through. And with every party, with every basketball game, every Friday night Tommy slips further away from Steve, slowly dragging Steve’s crown with him. Or maybe it’s the other way around. But Steve doesn’t feel quite ready to admit to himself that he is the one gradually shifting further and further from Tommy’s periphery. 

Tommy never really forgave Steve for dating Nancy. For letting Hawkins’ golden girl put a leash on him, as Tommy would have put it. But still, their friendship is fixable. All Steve has to do is walk over, throw his arm around Tommy and laugh too loud at a joke that’s not very funny. Show Hargrove his teeth and secure his reign. Push a freshman in a pool and pull a cheerleader into his arms. Tommy would love it and Steve would hate himself a little, but what else is new? 

He really should go over there, but his legs refuse to move. Instead, he keeps leaning against a wall, hands shoved into the pockets of his windbreaker, completely alone. It’s odd really, even with Billy, Steve is still one of the most popular guys at school, a party his natural habitat; he shouldn't be moping right now. He should be playing beer pong with his teammates, or flirt with a pretty girl. And it’s not like there haven’t been plenty of opportunities tonight. It’s just that Steve has avoided them all, feeling like if he had to put on his bedazzling smile and the iconic Harrington charm just once he might break. And so he stares at Billy and Tommy from across the room, watching them bump their chests together accompanied by their most primal screams. Steve can feel his crown slip further. 

Suddenly, someone leans back against the wall so close to Steve that their shoulders brush. When Steve turns his head, Eddie is standing next to him, grin on his lips and a joint in the palm of his hand. 

“Penny for your thoughts, joint for your sorrows?” 

It’s not completely unexpected to see Eddie at a party, but usually, he stays clear of the ones Hargrove is at. Two drug dealers at a party is one too many. But then again Hargrove seems more occupied with becoming the new king of Hawkins High tonight than selling his drugs. 

“How much?” Steve asks and digs his hands further into his pockets trying to find some cash, but Eddie just shakes his head. 

“Considering what you did to Hargrove today,” he says and nods over to them. “And the way you have been moping about Wheeler,” he steps closer and slowly pushes the joint into the breast pocket of Steve’s jacket, “this one is on the house.” 

He is leaning so close that for a moment Steve catches a whiff of smoke, leather, and whatever kind of generic drugstore shampoo Eddie is using. The touch of his fingertips pressed against Steve’s chest burns and for a second Steve wonders if the joint was already lit. It’s the first touch not driven by some form of aggression that Steve’s had in seven, eight, maybe ten days? Has it really been that long since Nancy broke up with him? Steve’s head is spinning and he blames it on the remnant fumes of whatever Eddie smoked before the party.

“Generous of you,” he rasps with as much sarcasm as he can muster because, of course, he can never just say fucking thank you. He’s probably just proving the idea of the spoiled rich boy Eddie has of him. 

“Yeah, well,” Eddie pats Steve’s pocket before taking his hand off and leaning back against the wall, “enemy of my enemy and all that.” 

Usually, this is when Steve would go. Drug deal done, no need to hang around Eddie Munson any longer. Time to rejoin the party, see if they are still doing body shots in the kitchen. Dance until his feet hurt and disappear with the next pretty girl upstairs for some very long seven minutes in heaven. But once again Steve doesn’t move. Maybe he is slowly becoming one with the wall. 

“Don’t expect us to attack each other with lances any time soon,” he says drily without looking at Eddie.  

“Are you sure? A lot of people would pay good money to see some jock-on-jock violence. Myself included.” 

That gets a snort out of Steve and it feels like the first real emotion he is having tonight. He side-eyes Eddie. Just like Steve was moments before Eddie is scanning the party in front of them, one foot propped up against the wall and arms crossed in front of his chest. He kind of blends into the wall too and Steve briefly wonders at how many parties Eddie has been standing in the shadows, watching everyone, completely unnoticed. 

Has Eddie watched him before? Rolled his eyes when Steve shotgunned yet another beer as if it was a heroic act and chuckled to himself when Steve didn’t manage to successfully seduce a girl? It’s a bit of an arrogant thought, Steve realizes, Eddie probably has better things to do than secretly paying attention to Steve. As much as Steve and most of his preppy clique like to pretend, the world doesn’t actually revolve around them. 

As if on cue a loud wolf whistle comes from the other end of the room. Billy is making out with some random sophomore and Tommy is hollering right next to him. Eddie is watching them, unimpressed and almost bored. 

Steve suddenly has the urge to get Eddie to look at him like that. Wants to feel Eddie’s honest exasperation cut under his skin rather than having to stare into the glassy emptiness most of Steve’s friends look at him with. Instead, Tommy’s eyes find Steve’s across the room and even though he’s only had one drink, Steve feels like throwing up. Something sardonic flickers over Tommy’s face when he sees who is standing next to Steve.

It feels like a warning shot. Tommy’s sneer is like a powder keg, waiting to explode and Steve has the detonator in his hand. Usually, the threat of humiliation would push against Steve’s lower back until Steve would have crossed the lines, returned to the shelter of Tommy's side, and watch Tommy’s superiority complex blow up in Eddie’s face. Steve would probably throw in his own share of insults and slurs for good measure, driven by his need for approval. But not tonight. 

Tonight, Steve sees Tommy’s raised eyebrows and waits for the push of humiliation, but it doesn’t come. He sees Tommy’s raised eyebrows and all he feels is numb inside. He’ll probably come out of it in the next few days, curse himself, and panic about the choice he is about to make, but right now Steve just wants to feel something. Anything. He sees Tommy’s raised eyebrows and hears himself say, “Do you wanna get out of here?” When he turns his head towards Eddie, Eddie seems just as surprised about Steve’s words as Steve. “Only seems fair to share the joint.” 

Eddie stares at him a moment longer as if expecting Steve to go sike any second. But when Steve doesn’t Eddie just shrugs. 

“Sure, I’ll just have to say goodbye to my ride. Meet you outside?” 

Steve nods and Eddie pushes himself off the wall before disappearing towards the kitchen. 

Steve considers if he has to say goodbye to someone. But Nancy isn’t here and Tommy didn’t come to the party with Steve. Still, he can feel Tommy’s eyes rest on him as he walks out of the living room. He’ll regret this later, but for now Steve just wants to lick the wounds Nancy has left in peace and do something a little bit self-destructive. And leaving this party with Eddie Munson just seems like the right kind of self-destructive. 

He catches a glimpse of Eddie in the kitchen on his way out, talking to Chrissy Cunningham of all people. Maybe a last-minute drug deal, Steve thinks, but then Chrissy smiles and pulls Eddie into a hug. It’s probably one of the weirdest things Steve has ever seen happening at a house party, but both Chrissy and Eddie seem to genuinely like each other when Eddie says goodbye. Before Steve can overthink it, Eddie is standing right in front of him, hands shoved into the back pockets of his jeans, his typical, smug little grin on his face. 

“Ready to go?” 

“Sure,” Steve tears his eyes away from Chrissy and follows Eddie outside. The cold March air feels like a punch to the face. It sobers Steve up enough to realize that driving in both his physical and mental state might not be the best idea. 

“You wanna walk?” he asks Eddie and nods towards the woods that start right behind the house they are at.

He doesn’t really wait for a reply, zips up his jacket, and starts walking. It’s almost too dark to make out the path, but Steve has been here before many times. Eddie hurries after him. It takes Steve a moment to realize that he subconsciously has been leading them towards Skull Rock. He tries to ignore the implications that come with the location. 

“You’re not planning on murdering me in the woods are you, Harrington?” Eddie says as they walk further and further away from the party. 

“Yeah, pass,  I don’t want your ghost to come back and haunt my ass.” 

“Oh, I’d go full Poltergeist on you,” Eddie threatens before adding, voice high-pitched, “ I’m here!” 

Steve has to laugh. The cold air he inhales burns in his lungs, his fingers have gone numb, Nancy has broken up with him, Tommy low-key hates him and Steve laughs. It’s not even a full-on manic laugh, closer to a chuckle really, but it’s the first time during the last week that Steve has felt somewhat alive. Walking through the haunted woods of Hawkins at night, next to Eddie The Freak Munson, laughing about a reference to a movie that will have Steve sleeping with his lights on because, yeah Steve fucking hates horror movies and Poltergeist was fucking scary. Eddie shoots him a look but doesn’t say anything, which Steve is really thankful for. 

When they reach Skull Rock, Eddie shakes his head. 

“Skull Rock? Really?” he huffs. “And here I thought I was special. But no, just another notch in Steve Harrington’s bedpost.” 

“Shut up,” Steve mumbles as he begins climbing, but there is no heat behind his words. “I’ve never actually brought anyone here at night?” he offers and holds out his hand to help Eddie up once he’s reached the top. 

“And what, pray tell,” Eddie says, takes Steve’s hand and lets himself be pulled up with a groan, “is so special about Skull Rock at night?” 

Steve just smiles and sits down. The surface is freezing cold, but it’s worth it. He nods at the space on the ground next to him and Eddie raises an eyebrow skeptically, but then sits down next to Steve. 

“Now look up,” Steve whispers and leans back. Still not fully convinced, Eddie does the same and then lets out a gasp. Steve smiles to himself and lets his eyes roam over the stars-covered night sky. 

“Special enough?” 

"Plenty,” Eddie says quietly before turning his head and looking at Steve. “You really never brought someone here at night before?” 

“Nope,” Steve pops the p, eyes still focused on the sky. Skull Rock at night is his special place, where he comes when his house is too empty and he can’t sleep. Perfect place to clear his head and consider his loneliness a blessing rather than the bone-crushing weight it really is. He’s not even brought Nancy here at night. He doesn’t even really know why he decided to bring Eddie of all people, but then none of Steve’s decisions have made sense lately. For some reason, this one doesn’t feel like something he will regret come the next morning though. 

“Do you have a light?” Steve sits up, takes the joint out of his pocket, and puts it between his lips. 

Eddie nods, gets out a zippo, and lights up the joint. Steve takes a deep drag and promptly begins to cough. 

“Shit man, I thought you knew how to smoke?” 

“I do,” Steve lets out another cough. “It’s just been a while. Haven’t really smoked since….” Since Nancy he realizes. Before they had started to date he used to smoke and shoot shit with Tommy quite frequently. 

“Wheeler didn’t let you smoke then?” Eddie asks and takes the joint from Steve. 

“She isn’t as prissy as people think,” Steve snaps, still feeling like he needs to defend Nancy. Eddie lifts his hands apologetically and Steve sighs. He hugs his legs and rests his chin on his knee. “Didn’t really have the need to when we were together, you know,” he admits quietly. 

“Sorry,” Eddie says and holds the joint back out. Steve has no idea if it’s genuine, but it’s still better than the pity or the gloat most people at school throw into his face. 

“It’s fine,” Steve takes the joint and manages to inhale without coughing this time. “We would have never worked anyways. I was her cul-de-sac.” 

“Excuse me?” Now Eddie is looking at him like he has slightly lost it and Steve can’t blame him. It’s a great metaphor, just out of context it sounds stupid as fuck. 

“She didn’t wanna end up like her parents, out of love high school sweethearts, with 2.5 kids, a dog, living in a cul-de-sac,” Steve says. “And being with me would have been her express way of getting there. Might as well have started to build a white picket fence around our lockers.” 

The worst thing, once again, is that Steve can’t really blame her. He thinks about graduating, college, work for his father, marriage, house, kids, kids graduating. The laid out plan, written neatly in one of his father’s notebooks, step for step, so that even someone like Steve can follow it perfectly. 

“I guess Jonathan Byers is as fucking far away as you can get from picture-perfect family,” Steve says, unable to let some bitterness stain his words. “Surprised she didn’t choose to run off with you.” 

He says it without really thinking about it, but as soon as the words are out of his mouth he wants to push them back in. He turns his head to Eddie, who is giving him an unreadable look. Steve has no idea whether he is pissed or not.

“Shit, I didn’t–...I wasn’t, you aren’t—” 

“It’s chill dude,” Eddie stops him. “I’m a 20-year-old high school senior who deals drugs and lives in a trailer park. I’m well aware that the closest I can get to a white picket fence is barbed wire.” 

His voice is light-hearted and he really doesn’t seem to mind Steve’s comment, but Steve can’t help but feel bad. 

“Still, sorry,” he mumbles. “Guess, I’m still too hung up on her.” 

“Well, I can assure you that as rebellious for the ladies and as nightmarish for parents I might be,” Eddie lays it on thick and gets a small grin out of Steve for it, “I am not Nancy Wheeler’s type and she sure as hell isn’t mine.” 

“But Chrissy Cunningham is?” 

“Oh, no. Chrissy’s just a friend, as odd as that may seem,” Eddie laughs quietly. “ But pretty jocks in tiny shorts are my weakness.” 

Despite popular belief, Steve isn’t stupid. He knows when he is being flirted with. He has just no idea how much of it is intentional and how much is just for show. The rumor mill at Hawkins High is never quiet, of course, Steve has heard things about how Eddie is a freak in more than one way. He never paid much attention to them anyways, but now, as he looks at Eddie sitting in front of him, Steve wonders for the first time if any of those rumors are actually true.

Steve is pretty certain that it is just for show, to make pretty jocks like him uncomfortable, hold that little bit of power over them while they have to come to the freak of Hawkins High to get their special little kick. Only that Steve is not uncomfortable and Eddie has been surprisingly nice to him tonight given their usual social positions. 

The red glow of the joint illuminates Eddie’s face and draws attention to his lips. Steve can’t take his eyes off them as Eddie blows smoke out into the cold night air. They look objectively nice, Steve thinks. Plump, wide, with a very defined cupid’s bow, that Steve finds he would love to trace with the tips of his fingers. To be honest, almost everything about Eddie’s face looks nice. The brown doe eyes that have Steve a little bit weak in the knees, the messy curls he would love to let his hands run through, the dimples that show up when Eddie smiles and make Steve want to crack joke after joke. It’s not the first time Steve has thought a guy looked pretty, but it’s the first time he truly allows himself to acknowledge it. It’s a weird night that defies all logic so Steve might as well indulge in urges he would otherwise try to suffocate. 

“You know, you’re not what I expected,” he says and Eddie huffs. 

“What, disappointed I haven’t invited you to the virgin sacrifice yet?”

“Yeah, not what I meant,” Steve rolls his eyes, “I know you play board games or whatever during your hellfire meetings, not pray to Satan.” 

Eddie looks a little impressed that Steve has a vague idea of what Dungeon and Dragons is actually about, instead of buying into the satanic panic that seems to sweep the country. He doesn’t say anything else, so Steve continues. 

“You’re calmer. I thought you’d be more,” he waves his arms in the air trying to find the words. “I don’t know, up on cafeteria tables, in people’s faces, going on about laundry basket games all the time.”

“Hit a nerve with that one, did I, Stevie?” Eddie teases but Steve just shrugs. He likes basketball, but not enough to make it his entire personality and get offended by Eddie’s comment. 

“I’m just saying man, I thought you’d be more hyper or dramatic, like you are at school,” Steve explains. “But I guess…that’s all just an act?” 

“What can I say, ex-drama kid,” Eddie grins. “If they want a freak, I’ll make sure they get one.”  

If Eddie is bitter about it, he is excellent at hiding it. 

“You ever get tired of it?”

“Not really. This whole drama thing? That’s still me, just amped up. A fun character to play with, if you want, ” Eddie says, taps some ash off the joint and passes it back to Steve. “What about you? You ever get tired of being King Steve?”  

It’s obvious that Eddie means it as a joke, probably unable to imagine that Steve could even remotely dislike his title and everything that comes with it. 

“God, you have no idea,” Steve exhales. Weed has always made him too honest for his own good.  But then, it’s not like anyone would believe Eddie Munson if he ran around, loudly announcing Steve’s secrets to the whole school. And as much as he might dislike the popular crowd, Eddie also doesn’t seem to be the type to spill other people’s secrets. And so the words continue to tumble out of Steve’s mouth. 

“I mean it’s great to be popular. Amazing. Awesome, really. Everybody loves you. Only that it’s fucking conditional,” he snorts bitterly. “Do this, say that, be king, be king, be king.” 

Let Tommy pull on the strings tied to Steve’s wrists and say the lines his father feeds him word for word until Steve chokes on them. He makes a pretty marionette and a believable real boy. No one notices wooden limbs if they are coated in gold. And even if they did, no one cares about Steve. They only care about what he does and whether it fits in the perfect little version they have made of him. They’d break all his bones just to make him fit into the mold. 

Steve takes another drag instead of passing the joint back to Eddie. He wishes the weed would fill his head with the pleasant static it usually does, instead of causing word vomit. Eddie just stares at him with big eyes, his expression once again unreadable. 

“Sometimes I think it would be easier to be like you, you know,” Steve continues. “Not giving a shit what people think of you. You just do whatever the fuck you want. Free like a….like a…like a rabbit or something.” 

“I think it’s free like a bird,” Eddie says slowly, taking the joint from Steve and giving him a frown. 

“Why don’t you quit then?” he asks and lifts the joint up to his lips. “Screw being popular and come join us on the dark side.” 

And isn’t that the kicker of it all? Why doesn’t he quit indeed? Steve has considered it a few times, but it’s not like he is a saint. As much as he hates the pretense, part of him likes the popularity. The fake superiority made out of credit cards and sport trophies. Being told that he is better than everyone over and over again that on some days he does still believe it. Days on which he would do anything to keep tasting that high. After all, conditional love is still better than no love. 

That’s the easy answer. Heavy is the head that wears the crown, but in the end, it’s still a crown and Steve is simply too shallow to let go of it. Someone come and adore and kiss and cherish the cotton-filled rubber doll that is Steve Harrington. If you’re real nice you get to pick his clothes and do his hair too. 

The harder answer is that his entire life Steve has been told who to be. What to say, what to think, how to act, that now he is afraid that he might actually just be a doll. He’s been King Steve for so long, he has no idea who he is without the baseball bat scepter and Hawkins High green fur coat. Does he actually like Prussian blue or is it just the same color as his father’s company logo? Steve feels so lost for a moment, he doesn’t know if he should laugh or cry. He ends up telling Eddie as much because fuck it at this point he might as well. 

“I don’t know who I am, I don’t know what I want, like I don’t even know what my favorite color is, fucking pathetic,” Steve pants at the end of his rant. Just like the smoke, his words hang in the air. Part of him is glad they are gone, the other part wants to reel them back in, put them on paper, chew it up, and swallow them back down. What the fuck is he even doing here, playing therapist with Eddie Munson? Steve looks over to him, expecting to be judged or made fun of or anything really. But Eddie just looks back at him, completely unfazed. 

“Okay, then tell me something you do know about yourself,” Eddie says calmly as if Steve is not clearly having some sort of episode right now and exhales more smoke. “Tell me something that’s real.” 

There are very few things that Steve knows are real. He thought what he and Nancy had was real. What a real mistake that assumption had been. Steve blinks and tries to focus. He doesn’t think he has anything that is real. But he wants to.

That’s real. That want that simmers deep inside his chest. He doesn’t want to follow his father’s path. That’s real. He wants to do something that goes against all he has ever been taught to be. He wants to throw a wrench into his apparently predetermined future. He wants to do something neither Tommy nor his father would approve of. 

He looks at Eddie. The simmer begins to boil and Steve knows his lungs hurt because of the weed, but it doesn't change the fact that the pain is real. This moment, this conversation, Eddie. That’s real. 

Steve sits up properly and leans forward. He takes the joint out of Eddie’s hands and puts it out. Their knees bump into each other. Eddie watches him nonplussed, gaze attentively resting on Steve. 

“You have the prettiest brown eyes I have ever seen,” Steve says. He thinks his favorite color might be umber. 

 Then he kisses Eddie. 

Chapter Text

1999

Steve’s first instinct is to call Robin. The problem is that since both of them have jobs that they quite like and that don’t require slinging ice cream or rewinding tapes, Robin is no longer a fan of slacking off and doesn’t answer her phone during work hours. And even if today was one of the rare occasions that she did, Steve has no idea what to tell her since she doesn’t know about Eddie. At least not everything. 

He told her bits and pieces. Told her about the first guy he ever kissed and the last one he ever loved. About wandering hands under the bleachers and hickeys sucked into throats by his pool. About quietly whispered words of reassurance and arms wrapped around him tightly at night. About confessions fear had pushed down his throat, and false priorities that left both of them alone and bleeding. He’s never told her that it was Eddie though and she’s never pushed. 

Eddie’s name is wrapped in a cloud of longing that never quite managed to fade and encased in guilt so heavy it would force Steve to his knees. He can’t tell Robin. 

Telling her would rip apart the seal of Pandora’s box, filled with the turmoil of Steve’s worst emotions. Like a beast, they’d devour him, gnaw on his flesh and spit out his bones licked clean. Nothing left, not even hope, just a sad little pile of calcium and connective tissue. 

And so, he doesn’t beg for forgiveness and hopes for redemption but chooses to let himself feel the emotion that is more bearable instead. Anger. If this was one of his students, he’d tell them that lashing out isn’t going to make the guilt go away. That not even at its boiling point fury can melt the iron clasp regret forms around their chests. But Steve is, evidently, not free of flaws and lets anger run its torrid fingers over the back of his neck. Who even takes their own advice anyways? 

It would still be justifiable if Steve was angry at himself or at the world that got him in this situation in the first place, but of course, if he is going to use unhealthy coping mechanisms he is going all out and projecting his anger on Eddie. 

Fuck the kids, I guess. 

He turns the sentence over and over in his head, getting more and more enraged with every passing minute. Eddie’s words scraped exactly over Steve’s Achilles’ heel. He knows theoretically that he is a great guidance counselor. But every now and then doubts start to creep in. How dare he pretend to want to help, when he was the one making school hell on earth for most people? What does he, a shallow douchebag, even know about teenage struggle? 

He’s gotten a lot better, working on his insecurities, nevertheless, he does let his anger fester. He would do anything for his kids and Eddie doesn’t get to imply anything else. It’s rich coming from a former drug dealer. If anything Steve is the one who should be worried about the kids Eddie is teaching. 

“Fucking asshole,” Steve mutters to himself, before trying to distract himself with all the work he has to do. 

He reads over several college application essays, but the words start to swim more than usual, the block of text in front of him turning into a word search. Frustrated, Steve puts them down. He tries to sort some timetables next, but his computer keeps crashing every time he opens the program. Steve wants to scream. 

Knowing he will be of little use, Steve cancels his last session of the day and heads home early. He looks at the messy living room and the chaotic kitchen and decides to clean. He knows it’ll help him sort his thoughts. He grabs his walkman, not even checking what CD is still left in, presses play, and aggressively starts cleaning the dishes while the Spice Girls inform him about all the things he has to do if he wants to be their lover. 

By the time Dustin gets home, Steve has almost managed to calm down. Until Dustin opens his mouth. 

“Oh my god, Steve, Steve, Steve, have you met the new English teacher?” Is the first thing Dustin says and Steve almost drops the steaming hot lasagna dish he had been taking out of the oven. 

“Hello to you too Dustin,” he says and tries not to let his irritation show. It’s not Dustin’s fault that Steve is having a horrible day and that Eddie Munson is the reason for it. 

Dustin ignores him and gets some soda out of the fridge. “He is so cool! He used to run this DnD club back in the day called Hellfire! It was legendary. Apparently almost started a satanic panic.” 

“I’m familiar,” Steve grits his teeth and puts the lasagna on the table. 

“Right, you must have gone to school together back then,” Dustin realizes, much to Steve’s dismay. “Did you two hang out?” 

“Different friend groups, you know I’m not really into your nerdy little game.” 

“Anyways, Eddie said he would love to actually create a campaign for us which is great because so far Will only has one-shots planned and Eddie is like this master storyteller and he has been DMing for years. He even has his own custom set of dice,” Dustin continues to ramble as they sit down. 

Jealousy bleeds into Steve’s anger like ink into water, swirling together into one ugly emotion. His hand is trembling as he puts the lasagna on Dustin’s plate. Just because Steve doesn’t get DnD doesn’t mean he isn’t cool. Steve doesn’t need nerdy references and black nail polish and metal music for Dustin to like him. He knows he is being unreasonable, Dustin is allowed to think someone else is cool. But did that someone else have to be Eddie fucking Munson? 

“Shouldn’t you be calling him Mr. Munson?” he asks as Dustin digs into the food. 

“Eddie says addressing him by his last name or Sir creates a power hierarchy that he refuses to be a part of.”

“Of course he does,” Steve mutters quietly. Some things never change. Eddie is just as obnoxiously dramatic and eager to stick it to the man as he was when they were teens. 

“Also you literally let everyone call you Steve.”

“Yeah, that’s because I am the guidance counselor. That’s what guidance counselors do,” Steve is really trying his best not to snap. “We use first name basis to create trust.”  

“And Eddie is doing exactly the same, so what is your problem?” 

“I don’t have a problem!” 

“Quite obviously you do, Steve!” 

They both stare at each other, frustrated. Steve feels bad pretty instantly. Dustin was just trying to talk about his day and Steve is being a total dick. He hates how much Eddie is getting under his skin and he hates how he can’t even keep it together in front of Dustin. 

“Shit, I’m sorry man,” Steve says. “It’s been a day. I shouldn’t have let that out on you.” 

“Not cool,” Dustin says and Steve nods, ashamed. 

“Not cool.” 

They continue dinner quietly after that. Once they are done, Dustin mumbles something about homework and disappears into his room. Steve takes the dishes and briefly considers drowning himself in the sink. He finishes cleaning up, guilt churning uncomfortably in his stomach and crawling up his throat like heartburn. 

He grabs what’s left of the ice cream, puts it in a nice bowl, adds whipped cream and strawberries, and carries it up to Dustin’s room. He knocks on Dustin’s door and waits until he hears a come in before he opens the door. 

“Peace offering?” he asks and holds up the bowl. 

Dustin eyes him for a second before taking the ice cream. 

“More like a peace bribe,” he says before putting the first spoonful in his mouth. 

“An effective one?” 

“Jury’s still out,” he licks the spoon and continues looking very intensely at Steve. “You really don’t like Eddie, do you?” 

Steve had been worried Dustin might ask that. 

“We just didn’t get along that well in high school,” he lies. “But we are adults. The past is in the past. I was just surprised to see him today. That’s all.”

Dustin only looks semi convinced, but shrugs. 

“Can’t believe you got jealous because I have another older male figure to look up to.”

“You look up to me?” Steve grins and Dustin realizes he has made a mistake. 

“No, no I mean–”

“You really look up to me, Henderson? I’m honored,” Steve teases, but actually means it. Just like with his job, Steve can’t help but sometimes feel insecure about being a guardian. So it’s always nice to hear how much he means to Dustin. 

“Whatever,” Dustin says and finishes his ice cream. 

“Uh huh, sure whatever,” Steve is still grinning when he takes the bowl. “I’ll leave you to your homework.”

He feels a lot better when he comes back down into the kitchen. Still, he knows he has to tell Robin about Eddie. He doesn’t particularly want to or knows how to. He has the very distinct feeling that saying- hey remember Eddie Munson and how he basically got chased out of Hawkins in ‘85? So that’s kinda my fault- isn’t the right way to start the conversation. But he has to tell her. The whole Eddie situation can’t keep him distracted from work or have him snark at Dustin. And so Steve bites the bullet and dials Robin’s number. She picks up pretty instantly. 

“Can I come over?” he asks, not bothering with a hello. She knows it’s him anyway. 

“We’re almost on our way to The Hideout actually, meeting an old friend,” she says. “See you there?”

Normally, he would say yes. But he isn’t really in the mood to meet one of Robin’s and Chrissy’s friends. He just wants a quiet conversation with Robin alone. No loud bar, no strangers to socialize with, and, as much as he loves her, no Chrissy. 

“I have work tomorrow.”

“So do we,” she shoots back. “Just for like an hour, Steve. Come on, it’ll be fun. Please.”

Steve thinks about it. Maybe he can have a quiet conversation with Robin on their way home. 

“Sure, see you there.” 

He hangs up and quickly tells Dustin he’ll be gone for a couple of hours but that he’ll take his cell phone with him if Dustin needs to reach him. Dustin just rolls his eyes, says he’s almost 16, and tells Steve to have fun. 

“Could even find a date there,” he raises his eyebrows suggestively and Steve just groans. 

“Not a spinster, Henderson,” he says as he walks down the stairs. “Not a spinster.”

“Yet,” Dustin calls after him and Steve can still hear him laugh loudly after the front door has clicked into its lock. Fucking teenagers. 

When Steve arrives at The Hideout it’s surprisingly crowded for a Monday night. The bar has lost its sketchy reputation, removed the sticky floors in ‘92, and added some very comfortable booths in ‘94, quickly making it one of Hawkins' most popular bars. Even though the new interior is nice, Steve can’t help but sometimes miss the old run-down charm the place had in the 80s. At least back then he was able to easily make it to the bar to order a drink without feeling like a sardine in a can. 

Fortunately, Robin finds him before he can fight his way to the front of the bar. 

“Steve,” she calls out for him, holding up two bottles of beer. When he reaches her she pulls him into a hug and for the first time today, Steve feels remotely okay. 

“Are you alright?” she asks, as always knowing when something is up. She might not always have the best filter or sense for other people, but with Steve, she can always tell. 

“Let’s talk later, okay.” When it’s quieter and they are alone and Steve ideally has had some liquid courage. 

“Okay,” she nods and presses one of the bottles into his hand. “Come on, we’re over there in a booth.” 

She nods towards the row of booths and Steve can already spot Chrissy’s blonde ponytail. She is talking to someone, but there is a person standing right in Steve’s field of vision, making it impossible to see who their old friend is. Steve only partially registers Robin hooking her arm in his and pulling him along. 

The person standing in front of the booth moves just as Steve and Robin get there and Steve’s breath hitches. Next to Chrissy sits none other than Eddie. He considers letting go of Robin’s arm, turning on his heels and running out of the bar. But then both Chrissy and Eddie look up, catching him. Eddie looks as blindsided as Steve feels. Small mercies at least. 

“Steve, you maybe remember Eddie,” Robin says and holds her hands towards Eddie as if to say tatdaaa. 

Intimately, Steve thinks, but ends up saying, “Briefly.” 

He gives Eddie a quick acknowledging nod like he would give most people he didn’t know well in high school. For a moment Steve is worried that Eddie is going to call his bluff and reveal who they actually used to be to each other. But Eddie still seems to be too startled about Steve being here in the first place to call him out. 

“Sorry, your Steve is Steve Harrington?” he says, unable to completely keep the disdain out of his voice. Chrissy just rolls her eyes. 

“No prejudice against ex-jocks,” she gently slaps Eddie’s shoulder and then winks at Steve. It’s easy for her to say. Her popularity never made her cruel or a bully. Instead, Chrissy has always been kind, the nice girl next door who had compassion for everyone. Steve meanwhile is exactly the kind of ex-jock people should be prejudiced against. 

Given that Chrissy is being as lovely as always and not jumping across the table, trying to stab Steve with a butter knife, she probably knows just as much about Steve’s and Eddie’s mutual past as Robin. He briefly wonders if Robin would take his side if he told her now. He wouldn’t quite blame her if she held him down while Chrissy stabbed him. Especially now that he knows that she is friends with Eddie. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Just surprised you’re friends with King Steve,” Eddie says and Steve tries not to cringe. It’s been a hot minute since someone has called him that. 

“Believe us, so are we,” Robin laughs, wraps her hand around Steve’s, and pulls him into the booth. He knows she is only teasing, but tonight it slightly stings. 

“I didn’t know you were friends either,” he mumbles, trying to swallow down his ever-growing jealousy with a sip of beer. He wonders why everyone seems to be so taken by Eddie. 

“I had a panic attack before the middle school talent show and Eddie calmed me down,” Chrissy says and nudges Eddie with her shoulder. 

“Kept you from throwing up all over my shoes, is more accurate” Eddie laughs. 

“Did not!” 

“Did, too.” 

“Okay fine,” she rolls her eyes affectionately. “I almost threw up on Eddie and a beautiful friendship was launched. Is that what you want me to say?” Eddie just grins.

Steve nods, even though he’s heard the story before. He had very pointedly pushed it to the back of his mind when Chrissy and Robin had first started to hang out. Just like the memory of Chrissy and Eddie sharing lunch in the cafeteria, or laughing on their way to class. He tried his best to forget how he held Eddie the night Chrissy was rushed to the hospital and how Eddie had left before Chrissy had recovered again. They must have written to each other afterwards, shared phone calls, maybe even met up on the few occasions Chrissy left Hawkins. 

Something ugly stirs in Steve’s chest. Not really jealousy, more regret, the wish that he had reached out to Eddie too, tried to fix things. But chances are Eddie wouldn’t have replied to Steve’s letters and only answered his calls to tell him to fuck off. Now, Steve is the one wishing Eddie would fuck off. Or at least that is what he tells himself, digging his teeth into the slither of anger that the thought is wrapped in, wielding it like a whip, trying to keep his other emotions in check. 

“And Eddie and I were both in band for a while,” Robin explains, ripping Steve out of his thoughts. “Before Eddie became too cool for us.” 

That Steve hadn’t known. He always assumed Robin and Eddie never really crossed paths in school. The fact that Eddie and Robin are not just friends because of Chrissy makes Steve feel uneasy. He takes a deep breath and reminds himself that Robin isn’t going to leave him. He’s spent his fair share in therapy discussing his abandonment issues and for most of the time, he is fine. 

But on some days he still gets caught in the dark spirals of his mind. Worries that Dustin decides that he is a crap guardian after all. Expects Max to push him away, scream at him for sending Billy to prison. Waits for Robin to tell him to get lost because she has found a better best friend. 

Steve takes another deep breath, knowing very well how much stress can be a trigger. Next to him, Robin scooches closer, her thigh pressing against his comfortingly. There is no need to worry. Not when Robin can still read him like an open book and knows exactly when Steve needs her. 

“Even though everybody knows there is nothing cooler than being in band,” Chrissy says, grabs Robin’s hand, and presses a kiss to the back of it. 

Robin rolls her eyes, but still blushes slightly. They’ve been together for over a decade at this point and are still as in love as on day one. As happy as Steve is for them, every time they are cute like that he can’t help but long a little. He really doesn’t mind being single, despite what Dustin thinks. But being around Chrissy and Robin when they make heart eyes at each other would even make the most cynical person want to fall in love. 

“Yes, I left band to become head of the DnD club,” Eddie snorts, “truly the epitome of coolness.” 

He takes a sip of his beer. 

“Can’t really compete with our star basketball player and captain of the swim team over here though,” he says, voice just a little bit off enough for the comment to sting. “Not to mention highly esteemed keg king. No, I’m afraid my dears, none of us are as cool as Steve Harrington.” 

“Some people would consider starting a satanic panic as pretty cool,” Steve can’t help but bite. “Very metal.” 

Steve can feel both Chrissy’s and Robin’s eyes rest on them, not sure what to make out of this exchange. He hopes they’ll assume it’s just some leftover mutual dislike of being on very different ends on the social food chain. Eddie seems to notice it too and just shrugs Steve’s comment off. 

“Sadly we never had a virgin to sacrifice,” he says, making both Chrissy and Robin snort, breaking the tension hanging in the air. 

“So how did you two,” Eddie points between Steve and Robin, clearly trying not to grimace, “become friends? Other than both of you being oh so cool.” 

“Working a shitty summer job at Star Court Mall,” Steve says, trying to reel his emotions back in. Worse than being taunted by Eddie Munson, is showing Eddie how much he is actually getting to Steve. 

“And almost dying in the fire, pretty hard not to become friends after that. Even though I considered murdering Steve with my ice cream scoop several times during the summer and hiding his body in the freezer. But one heart to heart, trapped on the bathroom floor of the men’s toilets, and et voila , best friends for life, ” Robin says, lighthearted, but under the table, Steve takes her hand and squeezes it gently. They joke about Star Court Mall a lot, but at least once a month one of them wakes up screaming, rolls over to the phone, and calls the other. Over the last few years, nightmares of fires have turned into nightmares about earthquakes, but the comfort they manage to give each other has stayed the same. 

“And then we worked a shitty job at Family Video,” Steve adds to change the topic. 

“And then the shitty job at Toni’s when we went to college,” Robin grins. 

“They come as a package deal,” Chrissy sighs, but both Robin and Steve know she is just teasing. After all, she is Robin’s person and Robin just happens to be Steve’s person.  

“Okay, wait, Robin I get,” Eddie says and turns towards Steve. “But why were you working shitty minimum wage jobs. I thought you were a trust fund baby, Harrington?” 

The question feels like a thin layer of ice breaking apart underneath Steve’s feet, letting him plummet into the freezing cold water. He hasn’t really thought about his parents in a long while. Of course, Eddie doesn’t know, he had already left by the time the last bit of Steve’s life was falling apart. He doesn’t know about the fights, the shouting matches, about the punches being thrown, and the quiet threats being made. He doesn’t know that one night Steve grabbed a box, shoved most of his clothes, a couple of tapes, and a very battered denim vest inside, and ran out of his parents' house. Nothing else really seemed worth taking with him. Eddie doesn’t know that Steve spent weeks crashing in Mrs. Henderson’s basement before Robin and him finally found a flat. Steve has been through so much, has changed so much, and Eddie, who used to be familiar with every single atom of Steve, knows none of it. 

“It was either work for my dad or become a guidance counselor and get cut off,” Steve says and stares at his beer, unable to look into Eddie’s eyes. “Took me a while to realize I didn’t want to be my parents' lap dog anymore. But here I am.” 

He wishes he had come to that conclusion a lot earlier. If he had maybe he and Eddie would sit together just as cuddled up and in love as Chrissy and Robin. Given how much of an ass Eddie has been today though that is a big what if. 

The mood has become slightly awkward, no one really knowing what to say. Steve chugs what’s left of his beer. He can feel Robin getting ready to break out into a long, rambly monologue to deal with the awkwardness, so Steve quickly gets up. 

“I should head home,” he says. “Got an early session tomorrow and I don’t wanna leave Dustin alone for too long.” 

“You sure?” Chrissy asks and Steve nods. Robin gets up to give him another hug. Steve squeezes Chrissy's hand and Eddie gets another quick nod. 

When he reaches the door, he can see Robin shaking with laughter out of the corner of his eyes and Chrissy with her arm around Eddie as if she was dating him actually and not Robin. It’s obvious that all of them are close, Chrissy being to Eddie clearly what Robin is to Steve. It only makes him worry more, that Chrissy will never forgive him if she finds out that Eddie leaving Hawkins is Steve’s fault. Robin might not either. Between Eddie and Steve, Eddie seems to be the obvious choice. Even if they don’t find out, it’s just a matter of time until they start to replace Steve with him. He fits far better into their little group than Steve ever did. 

Steve steps outside, the cold autumn air hitting him in the face. He tries to calm his mind. The problem is, that just because he knows that a thought is irrational doesn’t mean the thought is easy to ignore. Steve is very aware that Robin would never replace him. She’ll be mad at him once he tells her about Eddie, but he knows she’ll still be there for him. But that doesn’t make Steve’s anxiety any less vicious and the voices in his head any quieter. 

He shoves his hands in his jacket pockets to keep them warm and begins walking home. He knows he used to be a shitty person but at the moment it feels like the universe really has it out for him. Of all people, he is forced to see Eddie Munson every day at work. He lives with a teenager who is obsessed with Eddie. And now his two best friends also happen to be best friends with Eddie too. Steve doesn’t really believe in karma, but she currently really is a bitch. 

_____

1985

Steve has done his fair share of stupid things before. There was the time he showed up drunk to take a biology exam. The time he decided to play footsie with the daughter of his father’s firm partner during a business dinner and accidentally ended up kicking her mother in the shin. And of course, the one time he lost a bet and went for a swim in Lover’s Lake in his best Sunday suit instead of showing up to church. It’s one of the few times he’s seen his mother truly livid. 

Still, on his list of stupid things, kissing Eddie Munson probably takes the top spot. Especially when their lips meet and Eddie freezes up. Steve is about to scramble back, mumble something about how weed makes him stupid and run into the woods when Eddie kisses him back. His hands gingerly cup Steve’s face while his lips press almost aggressively against Steve’s. Steve opens his mouth slightly to give Eddie better access, his own hands gripping Eddie’s hips tightly. Instantly, Eddie’s teeth graze over Steve’s bottom lip, pulling on it gently. 

Kissing Eddie doesn’t feel exactly like a missing puzzle piece in the chaos that has been Steve’s life. But it feels just like Steve had hoped - freeing. For the first time in months the little voice inside his head shuts up, a heavenly haze starting to cloud every cohesive thought Steve had left. All there is left is Eddie. His hot mouth pressed against Steve’s, his thumb tenderly stroking over Steve’s jaw, his body pressed so closely against Steve, his hair tickling Steve slightly. 

Steve’s hands sneak under Eddie’s shirt, press against his warm skin and Eddie flinches. For a second Steve worries he’s gone too far, but he can feel Eddie grin against his lips. 

“Your hands are fucking freezing.”

“Maybe we should go somewhere warmer,” Steve murmurs and strokes his hands up and down Eddie’s sides. He can feel the goosebumps spreading over Eddie’s skin. “Warm enough to take some of those layers off.” 

“You’ve got a place in mind?” Eddie asks, tracing Steve’s throat with his index finger, causing a shiver to go through Steve’s body. 

“My parents aren’t home.” 

Eddie hesitates for a moment, bites his lips, and looks at Steve, contemplating. 

“Promise I won’t murder you at my house either,” Steve jokes weakly, trying not to show any signs of hurt if Eddie is about to reject him. But Eddie just snorts and says, “Alright. Lead the way.” 

Steve is really glad he only had one drink and by the time Steve reaches his car he feels sober enough and calm enough to drive. He is a tiny bit anxious that people will see Eddie getting into his car, but fortunately, he has parked far away enough from the party that nobody sees them. 

The drive to Loch Nora is less awkward than expected. Eddie sorts through Steve’s tapes, frowning more and more with each tape. 

“I knew you were preppy,” he says and holds up a tape, “but Tears for Fears? Really?” 

“Some of us like to actually hear the words in songs and not have them drowned out by guitar riffs,” Steve snatches the tape out of Eddie’s hand and pushes it into the tape player. Eddie lets out a groan as the first notes to Shout start playing. 

“I’m reconsidering this whole thing,” Eddie says but Steve can see that he is fighting a grin. 

“I can always make it worth your time,” Steve gives Eddie a little smirk and even though Steve thought he was rather smooth, Eddie just rolls his eyes. 

“I heard the rumors but no way you are actually that good, Harrington,” he huffs just as Steve pulls into his driveway. 

“Why don’t you come in and find out?” 

They stumble into Steve’s house, lips locked together and hands roaming. They don’t even make it up to Steve’s bedroom and just collapse onto the couch in the living room. Shoes get kicked off and shirts tossed, both of them too impatient and riled up to bother getting out of their jeans. Neither of them lasts very long, kissing greedily, grinding against each other like it’s their first time making out. Well, it is kinda for Steve, Eddie doesn’t really have an excuse. But he can’t complain when Eddie comes and lets out a string of quiet curses. He keeps on grinding against Steve through his aftershocks, his teeth digging into the slope of Steve’s neck and Steve too is gone. 

Both of them sink deeper into the couch, chests pressed together, panting heavily. Steve is still blissfully floating through the aftermath of his orgasm when Eddie rolls off him and starts grabbing his clothes. Steve looks up with a frown, eyes searching for the clock under the TV. Red numbers blink at him aggressively, it’s still the middle of the night. 

“You don’t have to leave, it’s four am,” he says, confused about why Eddie would get up in the first place. 

“Yeah, well, as much as I would like to stay and cuddle,” Eddie huffs as he slips into his jacket, “most guys like to pretend like this never happened and I don’t exist the next morning.” 

He says it so casually as if he couldn’t care less and it bugs Steve. Of course, sometimes with hookups, there are regrets or an awkward aftermath. But never once has Steve pretended like it hadn’t happened or acted like the girl he had hooked up with didn’t exist. 

“Just making it easier for you,” Eddie puts on his shoes, “and safer for me.” 

“Safer?” 

“Sometimes guys like to leave a little reminder, make sure I really understand that this never happened,” he draws out the e in really. This time there is actual bitterness in his voice. A brief image of Eddie showing up to school with a black eye a couple of months ago flickers through Steve’s mind. At the time he hadn’t thought twice about it, seemed about right that a freak had gotten into some sort of violent trouble. Now he feels nauseous. He can’t imagine wanting to punch the face he had covered in kisses just mere moments ago, have knuckles dig into skin instead of lips, call someone slurs after having whispered their name softly. 

“So if you end up having a panic about this tomorrow, I would appreciate it greatly if you weren’t going to hate crime me.” 

“I wouldn’t,” Steve says. Eddie just raises an eyebrow, skeptically, but doesn’t say anything. He could easily point out that Steve already has a history of violence. Even though he lost horribly, everyone at school knows what he did to Jonathan Byers, what he had called Jonathan. The memory is stuck in his throat like a fishbone, on some days thin enough to almost not notice, on others Steve chokes on it no matter how much he coughs. Guilt is funny like that. Everpresent and piercing even on the best days. Steve looks at Eddie. He doesn’t want to suffocate, feeling guilty about Eddie too. 

“I won’t,” Steve says, voice more steady this time and he means it. He doesn’t want to hurt Eddie. As genuinely as he means it though Eddie’s brow stays raised while he finishes getting dressed. It’s simply self-preservation and Steve can’t blame Eddie for it. Good intentions are nice, but there is still a chance that Eddie is right and Steve will wake up with a panic tomorrow. 

He doesn’t think he is going to panic about this though. He doesn’t quite want to examine what this means yet either. What he does want is to leave another hickey on Eddie’s throat, push his hands in Eddie’s hair, and pull. He wants to get Eddie back out of his clothes and drag him up to his bedroom. He wants to not be alone for the rest of the night. 

But he can’t exactly ask for that. It’s gonna sound pathetic like he is afraid of the dark or something and Eddie seems pretty set on leaving. And Steve shouldn’t let that get to him so much. People leave, Steve stays alone, the world keeps on turning. 

“Okay, I guess I won’t see you around then?” Steve says once Eddie has put all his clothes on. 

“No, you probably won’t, Harrington,” Eddie grins, and then he leaves. Steve stares after him for a moment, kind of wishing they had at least kissed goodbye. 

He drags himself upstairs, just about manages to shower and then collapses into his bed. His mattress is definitely more comfortable than Skull Rock, but his sheets feel just as cold. Somehow he manages to fall asleep. 

He gets awoken a few hours later by someone aggressively ringing his doorbell. Quickly, he puts on a shirt and sweats and runs down the stairs. Some stupid part of him hopes that it’s Eddie. That he changed his mind and came back. Steve should probably take that thought, douse it in gasoline, and burn it like a piece of paper, letting its ashes scatter in the wind. Especially when he opens the door to Tommy of all people.  

“Oh, good, you’re still alive,” Tommy says and walks past Steve. 

“Eh…yeah?” Steve turns around, confused and slightly startled by Tommy just showing up at his house. They used to do this all the time, but Tommy hasn’t been here in months. Steve closes the door and follows Tommy into the kitchen, where he is already pouring himself a glass of orange juice as if the heart of their friendship hasn’t basically flatlined. 

“Thought maybe you got murdered in the woods by the freak.” 

Steve can’t tell if this is an olive branch or a snare. Either way, he feels like he won’t come out of this without broken bones. Like most conversations, everyone has been given a script, just Steve has a blank page, left to fill in the words, praying he’ll say the right ones. 

“Please, I would have kicked his scrawny little ass,” Steve says in a voice that isn’t his own but sure fucking sounds like him. “Almost would have, his special K was shit.” 

Tommy gives him an impressed look over the brim of his glass. 

“Damn, I thought you just went with him to get some weed.” 

“Felt like getting something with more of a kick,” Steve shrugs, nonchalant, and turns on the coffee maker. It’s a mistake. The movement lets his shirt slip slightly, revealing the soft curve where his neck meets his shoulder. Behind him, Tommy lets out a little gasp. Before Steve can ask what’s wrong, Tommy has crossed the kitchen, one hand on the base of Steve’s neck, the other on his shirt, holding Steve in place.

“Jesus, what happened to your neck?” 

Steve remembers the sharp sting of Eddie’s teeth sinking into the tender spot. How his hot lips had sealed around the bite, his tongue licking over Steve’s skin. It had hurt as much as it had been absolutely delightful. And undoubtedly it must have left a huge, purple mark. Steve tries not to panic. 

“Never had a hickey before, Tommy?” he says, trying to sound teasing, and shrugs Tommy off. Tommy doesn’t bother moving out of Steve’s personal space and just keeps staring. Tommy’s breath smells like Cheetos and beer and even though they grew up arms slung around each other, Steve can’t stand being this close to Tommy right now. He feels like throwing up. So he moves to the fridge and gets out milk, even though he only ever takes sugar in his coffee. He doubts Tommy will notice. 

“Scored one of the kinkier cheerleaders,” he lies, putting on his signature King Steve grin even though his knees are shaking. “Britta, or Brenda or something. You just missed her.” 

That shakes Tommy out of his stupor, the apprehension on his face turning into appreciation. 

“And here I thought you had become Wheeler’s little bitch,” he laughs and Steve wants to punch him. But he doesn’t and Tommy’s laughter just echoes through the kitchen. It sounds wrong, slow and slurred like a 78 record played at 33 speed, but it’s better than no sound at all. Everybody always leaves, but Tommy just came back. That’s a first. And Steve is gonna take it. He’ll bend his limbs and flash his teeth and say what Tommy wants to hear, nausea be dammed. 

“Needed to get my priorities straight,” Steve says and the words feel thick like syrup on his tongue but taste tart like bile. He knows he picked the wrong priorities when Tommy claps him on the shoulder and whispered excitedly, “The King is back!” 

Steve lifts his coffee mug at Tommy as if to toast. The King is dead. Long live the fucking King. Maybe he should have stayed dead.

The rest of their day is spent watching films in Steve’s living room, nursing their hangovers, and shooting shit as if no time had passed. Steve wonders if he has always felt this hollow. 

He tries to forget about Eddie, he really tries. Maybe it would be easier if he didn’t have to stare at the dark, red bite mark Eddie hat left on his neck every time he is standing in front of a mirror. He presses his finger against the bruised skin, hissing slightly at the sting. 

Maybe, it would be easier if that night didn’t cling to Steve like the smell of smoke to clothes. Every time the memory creeps into his thoughts, it feels like a fresh breeze in the stuffy room that is his life; walls coming closer and closer with every day until he is crushed flat, two dimensional and easy to roll up, pressed and ironed like a suit in his father’s closet. 

He watches Tommy and Carol drinking beers in his vast living room and feels claustrophobic. When Tommy comes over to him, face once again too close, his brown eyes filled with cruel delight, Steve thinks about kinder eyes, warmer eyes, that even when accompanied by a mocking smile don’t make Steve want to scrub himself clean until his skin bleeds. 

Maybe it would be easier if Steve actually wanted to forget. If he didn’t replay every single kiss, every single touch of hands. If Eddie didn’t haunt his mind at every waking, and more frequently also every sleeping minute. They hadn’t even had proper sex, had both come in their pants from a little bit of kissing like inexperienced teenagers, but it just had felt good. Just how it had felt good to let the King Steve mask slip and just be Steve. No performing, no acting, no trying to impress and needing to please. So yeah, Steve doesn’t want to forget. 

Still, he tries. 

He lasts for four days. Four excruciating long days of Carol and Tommy talking bullshit. Of pretending to be good with Hargrove. Of his parents calling for once, saying they’ll be home in three weeks for his college acceptance letters. Of moving on autopilot, like a well-oiled machine just going through the motions, no thoughts, no feelings behind the well-polished metal. Steve’s crown glows more prominent than ever before and Eddie’s bite slowly fades. 

There isn’t one particular thing that pushes him over the edge. It’s just the ever-growing weight of his life pushing down on him until Steve is convinced his lungs are gonna pop any moment like a balloon. 

He doesn’t really know how he ends up at the trailer park. He remembers getting in his car just to drive and clear his head and somehow he is now here. His hands grab the wheel so tightly that his knuckles are turning white. He can still leave. Turn the car around, drive back to his parents’ house and drink through their liquor cabinet. Call one of the cheerleaders who slipped him her number and get Eddie out of his system. He doesn’t. 

He turns off the engine, takes his keys, and gets out of the car. He’s been here once or twice before to buy weed, still, it takes him a moment to find the trailer.

He lifts his hand to knock but hesitates. This is a stupid idea. He should just leave. He knows he can’t. And so he knocks. It takes a few seconds before the door is opened and Eddie steps out. When he sees that it’s Steve, his eyes narrow, his lips become one thin line. 

“What do you want, Harrington?” 

A lot of things. So many things, that he won’t allow himself to want. All kept behind a door Steve is pushing his back against to keep it shut. But every now and then a want manages to trickle through the lock like a drop of water, splashing so quietly onto the floor that Steve hopes no one else can hear it. Eddie is like an axe, throwing himself against the door, splintering the wood, letting all of it rush out until he has Steve drowning in wants and desire. 

“Can I come in?”

“Depends, are your intentions pure of heart?” 

Steve wants to laugh, tell Eddie that no, his intentions are twisted and dark and wanton and as far removed from pure as one can get. But he knows that behind the joke sits genuine and justified fear. 

“I’m not…I’m not here to punch you or something if that’s what you think.” 

“Well, in that case,” Eddie’s voice drips with sarcasm, but still he steps aside so that Steve can come in. 

The trailer is cluttered, but with the exception of a couple of dishes in the sink, not messy. There is an impressive collection of hats nailed to the wall, books and magazines spread through the living room. The smell of coffee and grilled cheese hangs in the air. It’s a place that’s lived in rather than just for show and empty most of the year. Steve resists the urge to sink into the slightly rundown, but comfortable-looking couch. Instead, he turns around and faces Eddie, who still eyes him suspiciously. 

“So what brings you to my humble abode?” Eddie asks and crosses his arms in front of his chest. 

Steve takes a deep breath, trying to muster all the courage he needs, and says, “I think we should do it again.” 

“It?” 

“Hooking up,” Steve mumbles, suddenly feeling shy. Which is stupid, he knows how to flirt and how to get girls to sleep with him. He does have more notches in his bedpost than most guys at school, but Eddie just has him nervous, doubting every word he says. 

“And why would you want to hook up with me,” Eddie says and steps closer, “when half of Hawkins High would beg to have you in their bed?” 

Steve automatically takes a step back, his lower back hitting the counter separating the kitchen from the living room. He should feel trapped, caught between the furniture and Eddie’s piercing gaze. As if it was a welcome to my parlor said the spider to the fly situation, but even though Eddie does look at Steve a little bit like he wants to devour him whole, Steve feels weirdly at ease. More worried about rejection than about anything Eddie could actually do to him. 

“I need to get my mind off Nancy and you are surprisingly good at that,” Steve says, forcing his voice not to waver, and it’s actually true. He hasn’t really thought about Nancy once during the last four days. He has thought about Eddie a lot though. 

“And what would I get out of that?” Eddie asks and comes even closer. 

Steve swallows nervously. He hadn’t thought about it that much. It occurs to him that maybe for Eddie their hookup had been terrible and it hits him that it is incredibly presumptuous of him to think Eddie would want to sleep with him again. He’s going to tell Steve no, kick him out of the trailer, and laugh in his face. Because, of course, why would he want to sleep with Steve again? Maybe that’s the reason he actually ran out of Steve’s house. The slowly building panic must become apparent on his face because Eddie takes one last step, his face now only inches apart from Steve’s, a small smirk on his lips. 

“Relax, Harrington,” he says, his hands landing on Steve’s hips. “You’re pretty enough to make this offer tempting for me.” 

Then they are kissing again. It’s a bit of a slow kiss at first, quickly growing more and more intense. Steve’s hands tangle in Eddie’s hair and Eddie starts to slowly steer Steve towards his bedroom, lips still pressed against Steve’s. Once they are over the threshold, Eddie kicks the door shut with his foot and breaks their kiss.

“Just to clarify, all you want out of this is semi-regular hookups,” Eddie says before kissing along Steve’s throat. “No strings attached.” 

“Yes, no strings,” Steve lies. Somehow he feels like Eddie might not appreciate it if Steve told him that Eddie is everything Steve has been told his whole life to avoid. And how he thinks that maybe the reason why is because Eddie manages to make Steve feel genuine emotions. That for him this is more than just getting off, but a way for him to get out of his head, his skin, the tight prison of expectations and rules to play by. 

Eddie gets to see more parts of Steve than anyone else, making Steve feel like tearing off his skin like wallpaper and revealing the ugly foundation under it all. But even Eddie can’t see the mess that lies deeper under it all. If he did chances are he would run just as quickly as Nancy did. And so all Steve says is, “Just friends with benefits or something.” 

“We’re not friends though,” Eddie points with a low voice as he unbuckles Steve’s belt. And because he has to be overdramatic adds, “More like enemies.” 

“Enemy of an enemy,” Steve echoes Eddie’s own words back to him before tugging on the hem of Eddie’s shirt, pulling it over Eddie’s head. He lets his hands wander over Eddie’s bare shoulders and forgets for a second what they are talking about. His arms are surprisingly well-toned given how boney the rest of him is and for a delirious second Steve wonders if Eddie could pick him up. He lets his fingers glide over Eddie’s collarbones down to the tattoo on his chest. 

“Please don’t mention that dickhead while I’m trying to get into your pants.” Pointedly, Eddie opens the zipper of Steve’s jeans, and Steve wiggles out of them ungracefully. 

“Sorry,” Steve mumbles and presses an apologetic kiss against Eddie’s lips. “Strangers with benefits?” 

“No string strangers?” 

“Sounds like a song,” Steve points out and Eddie chuckles. 

“I fucked him with his hands tied but no strings attached,” he hums and gently pushes Steve backwards until his legs hit Eddie’s bed frame. Steve lets himself fall into Eddie’s bed before propping himself up on his elbows. Eddie towers above him at the foot of the bed, too far away. 

Steve knows Eddie was just joking but the idea is still enticing. He wonders if Eddie would cuff him to the bed, cold metal digging into his wrists. Or would he use ropes, create an intricate artwork of knots on Steve’s body, rough texture rubbing over tender skin? Maybe take that black bandana, bring Steve’s hands behind his back, and have the soft cotton hold him in place. Steve is overcome with the horrible urge to know of all the things Eddie Munson would do to him. 

“Will you?” Steve bites his lip and looks up at Eddie, “Fuck me with my hands tied?” 

Eddie makes a choking noise, much to Steve’s delight. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Harrington,” Eddie is on him a second later, kissing him, hard and open-mouthed. He licks into Steve’s mouth and presses him back against the headboard. There is the faintest bit of friction between them with Eddie basically sitting in Steve’s lap and it’s making Steve feel lightheaded. He tries to buck his hips, chasing more of the sensation, but Eddie’s hands are holding him in place which has Steve turned on even more. Eddie bites gently on Steve’s bottom lip before he pulls away. Both of them are panting slightly. 

“Well?” Steve asks, cocking his eyebrow, trying to seem a lot less affected by this than he is. He knows he is fooling no one with his lips parted and his hips still trying to grind against Eddie’s. 

“Not tonight, sweetheart,” Eddie says and for some reason, the pet name has Steve straining in his boxers. “That requires a longer conversation that neither you nor I are capable of having right now.”  

Demonstratively Eddie finally grinds against Steve, turning the protests on Steve’s lips into a moan. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he says, smug, and Steve is proud that he manages to roll his eyes. 

“Shut up.” 

“Never,” Eddie grins, but then bends down and latches onto Steve’s neck, sucking a twin mark on the other side of Steve’s throat. 

Usually, Steve does the taking apart and it’s not that he minds it. He loves hearing a girl moan his name while he makes her thighs shake and quiver. But it’s nice to have someone else take control for once, for someone to give all his attention to Steve and wanting to make Steve feel good first. Eddie is still in his jeans for fucks sake. Eddie presses his teeth a little bit more into Steve’s throat and a whimper escapes him. He grabs Eddie’s hair again, wrapping as many curls as he can around his fingers, and pulls slightly. As hoped, Eddie sucks harder, reducing Steve to an absolute mess. 

Eddie’s hands skirt around the waistband of Steve’s boxers. Slowly he lets go of Steve’s throat and whispers, “These okay to come off?” 

Steve, nods, mouth gone dry. The bite on his neck throbs delightfully. Steve hopes it’ll stay longer than the first one.  

“Take yours off first,” he rasps. Surprise flickers over Eddie’s face for just a second, but then his cocky grin returns and he sits up, hands fumbling with his zipper. 

“I show you mine you show me yours?” he asks, amused, while he slips out of his jeans.

“That’s usually how sex works,” Steve shoots back before Eddie pulls down his boxers too and Steve has to swallow, hard.  

He’s seen naked men before, having spent what feels like most of his life in locker rooms. But he’s never allowed himself to look, always hurried to get showered and dressed again, eyes glued to the floor. Now he takes his time, eyes wandering over Eddie’s body, taking all of him in. He looks gorgeous and to Steve’s delight seems to be just as turned on by this as Steve is. 

Steve sits up and captures Eddie’s lips with his own in another hungry kiss, burning with want. His hands wrap around the back of Eddie’s neck to pull him closer before dragging him down onto the mattress, pressing every possible part of their bodies together and it’s still not enough. Eddie seems to feel the same. 

“Get these off now!” he demands against Steve’s lips and Steve eagerly lifts his hips so Eddie can pull down his boxers. Feeling Eddie through the thin piece of fabric had already been maddening, but the hot skin-on-skin contact punches the air out of Steve’s lungs. 

Especially when Eddie reaches between their torsos to take both him and Steve in hand and starts stroking. Steve arches his back at the touch, completely overwhelmed by the sensation of him and Eddie moving together. 

“Fuck,” he moans after Eddie twists his hand, his grip tightening slightly. 

“That’s what I’m trying to do here, sweetheart,” Eddie teases, but his own voice is shakier now. Steve has to bite down hard on his bottom lip to keep himself from coming at the pet name. 

Eddie’s movements start to grow frantic and slightly more sloppy. He peppers little kisses and bites all over Steve’s chest and even though Steve tries his best to hold on a little longer, he comes seconds later. Once again he would feel slightly embarrassed, but everything with Eddie is always so intense. Eddie tumbles over the edge only a moment later and collapses on top of Steve. 

They both just lie there, trying to regulate their breath, enjoying the hazy aftermath. 

“You’re sticky,” Eddie wrinkles his nose after a little while and Steve has to laugh. 

“And whose fault is that?” 

Eddie moves slightly, grabs his shirt, and gently cleans both him and Steve up before throwing his shirt towards his hamper. The shirt lands on the floor in front of it. 

Eddie rolls off Steve, shifts until he sits next to him, leaning against the headboard, and grabs a cigarette. He lights it up, takes a drag, and offers it to Steve who eagerly takes it. They just sit for a while, passing the cigarette back and forth. It’s nice, calm, almost like the world outside of Eddie’s small, little room doesn’t exist. 

But unfortunately, it does and Steve thinks about how Eddie basically fled his house the last time. Eddie can’t really run away, given that they are in his trailer, so Steve can’t help but wonder if Eddie wants Steve to finally fuck off. Their arrangement, which they haven’t really discussed yet, is kind of specifically about hooking up, not about hanging out afterwards. 

“Do you want me to get out of your hair?” he asks, trying to sound as casual as possible. 

Eddie exhales some smoke slowly before turning his head and looking at Steve, eyes once again narrowed like he is trying to glance directly into Steve’s mind. Then his face relaxes and he takes another drag. 

“Don’t think you’re gonna punch me if you want this to be somewhat of a regular occurrence, are you?” 

“Don’t intend to,” Steve says. He briefly wonders whether he knows the person that sent Eddie to school with a black eye and thinks about what he would do to that guy. But Steve smothers that thought, reminding himself that there are no strings attached and that he shouldn’t care. He is good at quieting his protective and more nurturing side flaring up, acting like he is made out of steel and nothing can get to him. It sometimes came out with Nancy, but she told him not to fuss too much, and while she said it affectionately she never failed to remind him that she didn’t need him. So Steve doesn’t ask for the guy's name and just promises Eddie not to hurt him. 

Eddie just shrugs.

“My uncle is back from his shift at eight, he wouldn’t mind but it’s up to you how secret you wanna keep this.”

“Okay,” Steve says because he doesn’t really know what else to say. It’s not an invitation to stay, but Eddie is also not kicking him out. Steve thinks about driving back to the stone walls and ivory towers of Loch Nora. He shimmies against the headrest. “Cool.” 

“Cool,” Eddie repeats. He drops the cigarette into the ashtray next to his bed before he puts his arm around Steve and pulls him closer. For a second, Steve freezes up, not expecting the soft touch. 

“I don’t actually mind a post-coital bliss cuddle,” Eddie says, arm still resting around Steve. “Unless this is not manly man enough for you”

“Oh, shut up,” Steve says and lets himself lean against Eddie’s chest. It’s nice being held like this. Eddie tightens his arm around Steve slightly, his fingers rubbing small circles over Steve’s skin. Steve allows himself to snuggle slightly closer, to put his own arm around Eddie’s stomach, and closes his eyes. With his head resting on Eddie’s chest, he can even make out the calming beat of Eddie’s heart. Steve could get used to this.

Chapter Text

1999

Life despite Eddie Munson goes on. Steve keeps having sessions and breakfast with Max. She has decided not to go visit Billy and Steve can’t quite hide his relief. He keeps reading over college applications and doing admin. On Wednesday afternoons he keeps helping Lucas with his throws and every Friday night his house is filled with loud teenagers, the smell of buttery popcorn, and a huge selection of movies they end up fighting over. 

As promised on the weekend Steve drives the kids up to the Weathertop to set up Cerebro. He isn’t the only one quite convinced that Suzie isn’t real. But after what feels like hours of technical setup that reminded Steve why he became a guidance counselor rather than a science teacher, there is a crackling coming from Dustin’s walkie, followed by a tentative, “Dusty bun?” 

“I told you she was real,” Dustin grins widely at them. “In your face!” 

Steve rolls his eyes, but can’t quite hide his proud little smile. So Dustin really got himself a girlfriend. The smile vanishes when Steve is awoken at 3 am that night by a not-so-hushed voice coming from Dustin’s room. With a groan, Steve drags himself across the hallway. 

“Dude, it’s not a school night, but it is the middle of the night, time to go to bed,” Steve says with his best strict voice as he opens the door, making Dustin jump a little. 

“But Steve, we haven’t spoken in days,” he whines, trying to give Steve his most persuasive puppy eyes. 

“Bedtime! Now! Or I’ll remove your TV privileges,” Steve repeats sternly, already longing for the warmth of his own bed. 

“Alright, fine, jeez,” Dustin glares at him, before speaking into his walkie. “I have to go, Suzie pooh.”

Steve tries not to gag at the nickname and has already halfway closed Dustin’s door when he hears Suzie’s sleepy reply, “Are you ready to sing it?” 

Sing? 

“Steve, you can leave now,” Dustin says, voice suddenly high-pitched. “I’ll turn off the walkie in a second, I promise. Just go!” 

Part of Steve wants to stay and watch whatever is about to unfold, knowing it will give him a lot of material to tease Dustin with. But the adult part of him wins, knowing how important privacy is during that age. He closes the door and returns to his own room, only catching a glimpse of what sounds like The Never Ending Story. 

So yeah, life goes on despite Eddie Munson. 

The problem is that as much as Steve tries to avoid Eddie, he keeps running into the guy constantly. During the darker months, Steve has made it a habit to pick up and drive all the kids home from their DnD sessions. Only those now have become specifically Hellfire sessions and so every Monday night Steve has to face Eddie while he ushers the kids towards his car. 

Neither of them ever says much beyond, “Munson.”

“Harrington.” 

At some point, Mike suggests that Eddie could also drive them home since he is already at school and Steve almost drives his beat-up Beemer off the road. Of course Mike would suggest that. Within weeks Eddie has become his personal god and as much as Mike and Steve like to piss each other off, Steve has to admit it hurts. Steve might always pretend to be exasperated about having to drive the kids everywhere, but secretly he loves it. It’s extra time he gets to joke around with Lucas or to check in with Will. He gets a chance to get another laugh out of El or is able to offer Max to stay over if it's a bad night. He dreads the day the kids are going to learn how to drive and won’t need him anymore. Eddie can drive them home over Steve’s cold, dead body. Unfortunately, Mike and Dustin aren’t the only ones obsessed with Eddie. 

The Hellfire sessions as well as apparently reading The Hobbit in class have become the reason why none of the kids can seem to ever shut up about Eddie and Steve bares it with gritted teeth. He tries to drown out their infatuated chatter, but he might as well try to ignore the buzzing of hornets when trapped in their nest. 

His only solace is that at least Max seems relatively unaffected by Eddie. El thinks his tattoos are cool and he dresses funny. But when he asks Max what she thinks about Eddie, because Steve is ever the masochist, she just shrugs. 

“He’s an English teacher and plays nerdy little games,” is all she says and it’s all Steve needs to hear. 

While Steve can mostly forgive the kids for their Eddie obsession, he cannot forgive Eddie for ruining Steve’s morning coffee. Almost like a ritual, Steve runs into Eddie at the coffee maker in the teacher's lounge, Eddie always beating Steve to the last bit of coffee by a second or two. 

Steve very vividly remembers how neither of them is a morning person, their ability to interact with other people without committing murder depending on sweet, sweet caffeine. There had been a few lazy mornings spent cuddled up in bed together, sharing one mug of coffee and slow kisses, ignoring the world outside. If Steve was not still trying to placate his own guilt with anger, his heart would ache at the memory. 

Now the only thing that aches is his tightly clenched jaw when Eddie takes forever with the coffee maker. Steve knows that Eddie can feel his angry stares, but Eddie seems unbothered. When he finally steps aside the coffee pot is empty.

“Are you not gonna make new coffee?” Steve snaps. It’s only common courtesy to brew new coffee when finishing the last bit. Even someone like Eddie knows that. Eddie turns around to him, calmly looks Steve in the eyes, and says, “Not for you, no.”

It’s the most openly hostile they have been to each other than a couple of vicious glares across the hallway. Steve fights the urge to flip Eddie off. He doesn’t need that kind of gossip at work. 

So he just mutters, “Asshole,” under his breath and brews a new pot of coffee. 

The next day, Steve decides to stop at a coffee shop on his way to work, just so he doesn’t have to deal with Eddie again before his second cup of coffee. Only that the moment he steps into the coffee shop, he spots a familiar mess of dark curls sitting on top of a well-worn leather jacket. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters. Before Steve can turn around and flee, Eddie spots him too. He looks just as elated to see Steve and without a single word pushes past Steve out of the coffee shop. Steve gets his overpriced, mediocre coffee and hurries back to school. Nowhere is safe apparently. 

Their accidental run-ins come to a crescendo on a late Thursday afternoon in a bookstore. Steve just wanted to pop in quickly to grab the newest installment of A Series of Unfortunate Events that Dustin has been badgering him about for days now. But when he turns the corner into the fiction aisle of fucking course Eddie is standing there. He’s got his eyes focused on the shelf in front of him while talking to his uncle, who is sitting in a wheelchair next to him. The long years of hard work in the power plant have not been kind to Wayne Munson and for the first time, Steve realizes that Eddie might have moved back to Hawkins for more than just an open teaching position. 

Steve has avoided Wayne as much as possible over the past decade, knowing that Wayne would probably start hunting him for sport if he just so much as saw Steve on the other side of the road. And so instinctively, Steve flings himself back around the corner, back pressed against the bookshelf. Not one second too soon apparently, because he can hear Eddie and Wayne coming closer. If he had turned one moment later they most likely would have spotted him. He knows he should leave, but he can’t bring himself to move, afraid of drawing attention to himself. 

“What about this one?” Wayne asks on the other side of the bookshelf. 

“I told you I need one that’s written in sans serif,” Eddie says. “Makes it easier to read. I think there are a couple of kids that might have dyslexia in my drama class.” 

“You think?” 

“Usually, the guidance counselor would inform me about stuff like that,” Eddie sighs and guilt joins the panic surging through Steve’s veins. “But alas, I am stuck with Harrington.” 

“You know I can always run him over with my wheelchair,” Wayne offers and Eddie lets out a hearty laugh. For a second all the anger is gone, replaced by a soft melancholy. Steve used to make Eddie laugh like that. Now Steve only makes Eddie conspire with his uncle about how to best murder him. 

“I think enough Munsons have been associated with crime, but thanks,” Eddie chuckles. “I might come back to that offer during midterms.” 

There is more rustling coming from the other side of the bookshelf, and Steve does not dare to move or even breathe. Seconds later Eddie whispers, “Gotcha.”

For a horrible second, Steve thinks he’s been caught eavesdropping, but then he realizes that Eddie has simply found the copy he was looking for. 

“C’mon on old man, let’s roll.”

“Don’t make me ram your shins, boy,” Steve can hear Wayne growl followed by more laughter. Then the other side of the shelf becomes quiet. Steve lets out a deep breath. Then he puts his book down and basically sprints out of the store and into the safety of his car. 

As much as Steve would like to continue to avoid Eddie or at least attempt to avoid Eddie, he knows he can’t. Eddie is right, Steve should be talking to him about all the kids with special needs, instead of hiding from Eddie in his office like a coward. 

So the next day Steve pushes himself to Eddie’s classroom with knots in his stomach and knocks on the door. He knows Eddie has a free period right now so if Steve is lucky Eddie might not be in. But before he can run away the door opens. 

When Eddie sees that it’s him, his smile slips from his lips. Steve almost expects him to shut the door in his face, so he hurries to say, “We need to talk about your students. Can you come by my office this afternoon?” 

Judging by the look on Eddie’s face it’s not what he expected Steve to say. 

“Sure?” he says, cautiously, as if he was waiting for some sort of trap to snap shut. As if Steve wanted to lure him down to his office to murder him. Which, now that Steve thinks about it, is rather tempting. He is sure any judge or jury would declare him innocent the moment he mentioned the coffee maker incident. But Robin, Chrissy, and Dustin would all be rather pissed. 

So Steve simply says, “Great.” 

“Anything else?” 

“Nope,” Steve says and before Eddie can actually close the door in his face, Steve turns around and walks back to his office. He spends the rest of the day on edge. As always when he is stressed, words become harder to read, letters morph together and paragraphs turn into word searches. Annoyed, Steve notices that the text he is trying to read is in fact typed in a serif font. He is not self-obsessed enough to think that Eddie knows about dyslexia-friendly fonts because of him. After all, Eddie is an English teacher, he’s probably dealt with his fair share of students with dyslexia. But one small part of Steve can’t help but wonder if Eddie does know because of him. 

Eddie is surprisingly on time, probably just as eager to get this over with as Steve is. Steve gestures for Eddie to sit down, but Eddie keeps standing and crosses his arms in front of his chest, glaring at Steve as always. Steve just sighs but doesn’t make a comment. This is not the time to get into another fight with Eddie. 

“So, what do you want, Harrington,” he snarls and Steve has to fight the very vivid sense of deja-vu he is having. 

Despite all the time he had to prepare, Steve doesn’t really know how to start this conversation. He’d rather bite his tongue off than admit that he hasn’t been doing his job when it comes to Eddie’s students. Which, if he is honest, is just as much Eddie’s fault. It’s not like he has given Steve the opportunity to talk to him. Steve decides to rip the band-aid off, takes a sheet of paper, and puts it down in front of Eddie. 

“This is a list of all your students with learning disabilities and the way we accommodate them,” Steve explains and Eddie picks it up and quickly reads over it

“And you couldn't just drop that in my pigeon hole? I had to come all the way over here?” Eddie says as if he didn’t just have to cross a hallway, but half a continent instead. Still ever so dramatic. 

“Nope, as much as I would like to cut this short, unfortunately, we have some students that we need to have an actual talk about it,” Steve still tries to somewhat keep his professional composure. “So if you could maybe sit down, I’m gonna try to make it quick.” 

With the world's longest sigh, Eddie lets himself fall into the chair across from Steve’s desk.

“This is mainly about Jane Hopper,” Steve says and digs through his cabinet for her file. “She actually prefers to go by El or Eleven if you want to be strict,” he adds and slides a manila folder across his desk. “This is her file, please read it.” 

Eddie picks it up and begins skim reading. With every word he reads, he raises his brows higher and higher. 

“Holy shit, she was in a cult?” 

“Yup, an actual one,” Steve clenches his fists underneath his desk, trying not to let his feelings get the better of him. He is protective of all the kids, but El especially. Brenner, their fucking pseudo-science leader, is lucky he is in a high-security prison because if Steve were to get his hands on Brenner it would not end pretty. “So her writing and speaking skills aren’t the best ones and god knows I need to get her a math tutor. But point is it would be psychologically unwise to hold her a year back. Outside of Hopper and Joyce Byers, her friends are her only support system and she needs them.”

Eddie gives him a funny look, but Steve chooses to ignore it and continues. 

“So yeah, just be kind to her. She’ll need extra help with assignments and don’t force her to read out loud in class. She’ll always be very enthusiastic about the books you’re reading, though. Best to have her sit next to Max Mayfield, they’ll chat quietly, but Max always helps El when she has difficulties. Don’t sit her next to Mike Wheeler, he’ll only distract her.” 

Eddie nods like he is taking the words in, but he keeps looking at Steve in a way that Steve can’t quite place. 

“And Mike only really works if you sit him next to Will Byers, otherwise he’ll be mopey and…what? What? What is that look for?” Steve finally snaps when Eddie’s stare grows only more intense and becomes less unreadable. For a second, Steve worries that Eddie might not take this seriously and he can already taste the first hints of anger crawling up his throat and coating the tip of his tongue, ready to stain the next words that will come out of Steve’s mouth. But the opposite is apparently true. 

“Nothing, I just,” Eddie says hesitantly. “I just didn’t think you’d care.”

What should calm Steve’s burgeoning anger only adds fuel to the fire. 

“Yeah, well, I do care,” Steve tries his best not to yell. “These kids mean everything to me, so if you could drop the whole ass holier than thou attitude.”

“I don’t have a holier than–,” Eddie starts but Steve interrupts him. 

“And I know I was an asshole in school, but I am trying every day to make up for that. I try my best that nobody gives these kids shit like I used to. And to give them the support they need.”

It’s like a cork has been plucked out of a bursting barrel, all the pent-up emotions and unspoken words rushing out of Steve, no way of stopping them. 

“And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I let Tommy and Billy frame you and I didn’t do anything. I really wish I had stood up to them or said something. But I was just a stupid scared kid, too far up his own privileged ass, naive enough to think they would only give you a slap on the wrist.”

It’s a bit of an understatement. Steve knows he wasn’t just naive, he was purposefully ignorant, choosing as so often to turn a blind eye to save his own skin. But part of him had genuinely thought that Eddie would be fine. Especially since Eddie had been innocent. But Steve had underestimated how much Hawkins had loved the narrative of trailer park kid turned cult leader, dishing out kool-aid to anyone who didn’t want to join his ranks. Steve doesn’t know what burns worse, regret or shame, but either way, his entire body feels like it is on fire.

“I really, really am sorry and I wish I could go back and change things. And I know I can’t and I get it you hate me, you have every right to, hate me all you want. But if you could just let the kids out of this? If you want to give me shit, give me shit, just don’t do it in front of them.” 

“Is that really what you think of me, Harrington? That I would trash talk you in front of your kids?” 

“I don’t think you would,” Steve says before adding quietly, “but I would deserve it.” 

They both sit there in silence for a moment, neither of them daring to speak or knowing what to say. Steve’s head and heart both feel empty, the emotions that were slowly undoing him vomited out like a parasite. He can’t blame Eddie for not saying anything either. What do you even say to the guy who ruined your life because he chose popularity and approval over you? Part of Steve wishes that Eddie would just take the paperwork and leave. But he doesn’t move. 

“Heard you got Hargrove into prison,” Eddie says after a while.

“Well, I did that for Max,” Steve mumbles. Once the CPS and the police looked into Billy for child abuse, it was very easy to pin him down for other criminal activity. Including the one from his high school years. 

“Still ended up clearing my name,” Eddie shrugs. “So I guess you did fix things. Partially.” 

“Yeah, about 14 years too late.” 

And that is a whole other kind of guilt that keeps Steve awake at night. If he hadn’t been such a coward all those years ago, if he had spoken up sooner, and sent Billy to prison back then Max wouldn’t sit in his office chair as often as she does. He could have protected her if hadn’t been a self-obsessed ass. He knows Max would never blame him, but as with most games, Steve is an expert at the blame game. 

“I don’t, by the way,” Eddie says, eyes glued to his hands, fingers fidgeting with his rings as so often. “Hate you. I don’t hate you.” 

Steve can’t tell if he is unable to breathe or if for the first time in years oxygen is actually entering his body, lungs expanding, pushed against his ribcage so tightly inhaling hurts. 

“Never did really. I wanted to, I very, very much wanted to. But even at your worst, you are pretty fucking hard to hate. It’s infuriating really.”

Steve wants to laugh. He has always been easy to hate. Steve should know, he hated the person he used to be for years. Eddie got it all wrong. What’s hard is to actually like Steve. The few redeemable qualities he’s had at his best were never enough to actually make people like him. They liked his reputation, his expensive clothes, and shiny sports trophies. They never really liked Steve. Or at least the old Steve. 

He is different now, he knows he is actually liked now, loved even. He doesn’t think any of his old high school pals would like this new Steve very much either, but by now at least he doesn’t care about that. He cares about Robin, and Chrissy, and Dustin, and the rest of the kids. And they care about him in return. 

But Eddie has not been acquainted yet with the new Steve, the Steve who is maybe worth something. He’s gotten glimpses of him during talks like this, but once again Steve is reminded that they don’t know each other anymore. So he finds it just a bit hard to believe that Eddie never hated him. 

“I was angry at you. Really fucking angry,” Eddie continues. “And I thought I had let go of it all. It’s been 14 years, carrying that shit around ain’t healthy. But seeing you again was a bit of a shock to the system. So I got pissed off again.

“Yeah,” Steve snorts mirthlessly. “I get what you mean.” 

He may have not carried around anger with him for 14 years, but guilt and regret have always sat, tucked away, at the bottom of his spine, ready to spike Steve’s nervous system whenever they felt the need to. Like when Eddie had suddenly stood in front of him. 

“I really am sorry,” Steve says, suddenly feeling very tired of all that weight. Eddie is right, shit ain’t healthy. He knows the guilt and regret won’t magically go away just by saying the word sorry and meaning it. But it’s a start. “If that helps anything,” he adds quietly. 

“It does, yeah,” Eddie says just as quietly. Steve forces himself to look up and meet Eddie's eyes. “I don’t think we are good good yet,” Eddie adds. “But I would like to be.” 

“Me too,” Steve says. “I’d like that very much.” 

_____

1985

They put down a set of rules, even though Steve has never been a stickler for them and Eddie’s personal Munson doctrine is that rules are made to be broken. These rules are different though and unless Eddie wants a broken nose and Steve a ruined reputation they have to stick with them. 

“Believe it or not, my reputation is on the line here too,” Eddie says and pokes Steve into the ribs. They are lying naked in his bed, nestled together, sharing covers and body heat, talking in hushed tones about what to do. “Can’t let the guys from the band know I’m fucking the preppiest jock of the school.” 

Steve laughs and bats Eddie’s hand away but Eddie pokes him again, before grabbing Steve’s hips and pinning him to the mattress. The duvet slips off his back and for a second Steve gets distracted, letting his eyes wander up and down Eddie’s body. 

“I’m dead serious, Harrington,” Eddie towers above him, his long curls falling into his face like curtains. Still, Steve can see his little smirk. “No one would take Corroded Coffin seriously if they knew their lead guitarist had secret liaisons with a guy who wears polo shirts.” 

Steve wants to point out that their core audience is five drunks, who’d be at The Hideout anyways and it’s not like they are playing in Madison Square. “Yeah, that’d be pretty embarrassing for you,” he says instead before reaching up and wrapping one of Eddie’s curls around his finger. They are so soft, Steve wishes he could have his hands in Eddie’s hair all the time. “God forbid you fuck someone who wears clothes that don’t have holes in them already.” 

“You’re such a fucking rich kid,” Eddie huffs, but when Steve pulls lightly on his curls he still bends down and kisses Steve.

“And you’re an overdramatic nerd and yet here we are,” Steve mumbles against Eddie’s lips. He lets his hands wander down Eddie’s bare back, trying to press Eddie even closer. 

“Maybe I should go back to getting myself off, this isn’t worth it,” Eddie says and Steve tries to swallow the knot in his throat. He is aware that Eddie is only teasing him, but the thought sticks to his mind like gum to a shoe. Maybe there is some actual truth to it. He is bullshit. He isn’t worth it. He is a waste of time. If people keep telling him, it must be true, right? Steve has never been the fastest thinker, preferring to take his time to sort his thoughts, but he has always been extremely fast at letting his thoughts spiral. He still doesn’t get why Eddie agreed to this in the first place. It only makes sense that Eddie would actually come to regret their little arrangement. 

There is a sudden sharp pain on Steve’s collarbone ripping Steve out of his vortex of thoughts, followed by the soothing touch of Eddie’s warm lips. He gently nips on Steve’s skin before letting go and finding Steve’s eyes. 

“I never thought I’d say this, but I can hear you thinking too hard, Harrington,” Eddie says and continues to kiss over Steve’s collarbone, his mouth slowly trailing up to Steve’s throat.

“Well, then either get off me or get me off,” Steve says, his worries slowly leaving his head alongside any cohesive thought he had. He can feel Eddie grin against his skin.   

“They really made a dork King of Hawkins High,” Eddie whispers into the nook of Steve’s throat, hot breath causing goosebumps to spread all over Steve’s body. Steve would love to shoot something back about Eddie being the bigger dork, but Eddie’s lips find Steve’s and effectively shut Steve up. 

Steve knows they both like to hide behind humor, try to quiet the anxiety growling in their stomachs with teasing and affectionate insults. They both know they are playing with fire, flames licking over their skin alongside every kiss and every touch. Steve can already see the inferno blazing on the horizon and smell the smoke in the air. In a way it feels inevitable, they are going to crash and burn. It makes it feel even more important that he and Eddie follow their little set of rules. 

No spontaneous visits. Chances are Tommy is over at Steve’s and Eddie’s band members are hanging out at the trailer. Phoning beforehand is alright, but hang up instantly if someone who isn’t them answers. The best way to arrange a hook-up is with notes in lockers. Eddie goes as far as to suggest they come up with a code, but as nervous as Steve is about getting caught, that is just a touch too nerdy for him. Plus, Steve already struggles with reading enough as it is, he doesn’t need words to become more jumbled. 

Most crucially, they will keep on ignoring each other at school just like they have done before. Steve just prays that Tommy or Hargrove don’t get any funny ideas about suddenly going after Eddie. He would have no idea what to do. 

Part of Steve likes to think he would step in and intervene. Part of him knows that he wouldn’t. He is a quiet bystander, lets the hands that lift him in the air with cheers come down with punches and names on others. He never does anything himself, doesn’t need to. The perks of being king, he just gets to float above it all. Comfortable cushions and pillows to muffle the sound of bodies slamming into lockers and blood dripping out of mouths. Ignorance is bliss, especially when Steve tells himself that he is different than his friends, better, kinder. He’s always been a shit liar, but a gullible believer. So all he’ll ever do is hope that Eddie doesn’t stumble into Tommy’s periphery. 

And fortunately for Steve, he doesn’t. It’s not like Eddie stops being himself. He still gets into rants in the cafeteria and disturbs almost every class he is in. But he stays on the other side of the hallway when Steve and Tommy walk by. He focuses more on the jocks than the preps when it comes to hauling insults at the high society of Hawkins High, so Tommy who never played a sport in his life, always just basking in Steve’s jock glory, doesn’t feel the need to pay attention to Eddie. 

Steve, however, does pay attention. There has always been something magnetic about Eddie, his intensity simply demanding your attention. Steve used to roll his eyes about it and try to ignore Eddie as much as possible, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. But now Steve will drown out whatever Tommy is saying over lunch and secretly listen to the stick it to the man anti-establishment rant Eddie is loudly giving his nerd friends. He still keeps to his side of the hallway, but every time Eddie passes him Steve can’t help but let his eyes linger for just a second. It’s like Eddie has become Steve’s personal forbidden fruit and serpent at the same time; the words Eddie whispers quietly in his ear at night wrap themselves around Steve’s thoughts during the day like the snake around the tree and Steve wants to dig his teeth into Eddie and find out if he tastes just as sweet as the temptation he leaves on Steve’s lips every time he kisses Steve goodbye. People have always whispered about how Eddie might be the devil, and Steve finds they might be right. 

But as tantalizing as it would be to give into temptation, Steve knows he can’t unless he wants the pearly white gates of high school popularity to come crashing down on him and let the collateral damage burn down the save little haven he has with Eddie. So Steve forces himself to focus on the lame story Tommy is telling during lunch and tears his eyes away from Eddie in hallways. 

It’s probably for the best, Steve should keep his distance, and avoid being drawn in by Eddie. But Steve is a weak man and Eddie is, well, Eddie. And while Steve keeps himself from noticing Eddie at school, he can’t help but give his entire attention to Eddie during their private moments, cataloging every single habit, like, dislike, and quirk. He learns to decipher the messy curves of Eddie’s handwriting and recognizes the way Eddie pushes his curls against his mouth to hide that he’s flustered. He knows the sound Eddie’s rings make when he drums his fingers on a table and becomes deeply familiar with the dark glint flickering through Eddie’s eyes when Steve is about to be in delightful danger. Steve learns that Eddie likes to be a little bit mean in bed and in return Steve learns about himself that he likes to be good. The little smirk that ornaments Eddie’s face when he tells Steve just how good Steve is being burns itself into Steve’s retinas.

He memorizes the sensation of Eddie’s skin under his fingertips and clings to the thought of Eddie’s arms wrapped around him tightly during the nights Steve sleeps alone. Which happens quite a lot. Eddie might never kick Steve out when they hook up at his trailer, but every time they meet at Steve’s house Eddie is quick to leave. And Steve cannot figure out why. 

He tries not to let his insecurities get the better of him again. Eddie would straight up tell Steve if he had overstayed his welcome at Eddie’s trailer. But he never does. Instead, most of the time he drapes himself over Steve, holding him tight, making it impossible for Steve to move or leave. So he shouldn’t be worried, but Steve still feels like he did something wrong every time Eddie hurries back into his clothes and rushes back to the other side of town. 

One night, when they share joints along with their kisses, desire and weed making Steve’s tongue loose, Steve is brave enough to ask why Eddie still goes back to his trailer every time they hook up at Steve’s. Despite the pleasant buzz of weed, Steve instantly hates himself for asking. It’s so goddamn needy of him. 

Why do you always leave? 

Steve wants to scold himself. He might as well have pressed a plushie to his chest and called out for his mommy. They are nothing to each other but bodies to get off with. Sure, for Steve this has always been about more, that little bit of rebellion that keeps him alive. Eddie uses Steve to get off and Steve uses Eddie to gasp for air before being pulled under the surface again of expectations and bullet points that make up his life. And isn’t that ironic, the record-breaking, medal-winning, third year in a row captain of the swim team drowning? Not that it matters, a lifeless body is a lifeless body, easy to direct and drag around, regardless if the material is artificial or organic. 

It took Eddie until their third time sleeping together to figure out that Steve was chasing oxygen rather than oxytocin, the released endorphins really just the cherry on top. Steve had nervously confessed, admitted to the strings he had secretly attached to their arrangement, all while keeping his hands behind his back, hiding the ones others had tied to his wrists. Eddie had just shrugged, nonchalant, and said that he was fine with being used like that. That using each other for stress relief was literally the reason they were doing this, it didn’t matter exactly what kind of relief Steve wanted. 

He shrugs in the same unfazed way in reply to Steve’s needy question. “Your room creeps me out, man,” he simply says. “But I can stay if you want.” 

And that’s the horrible thing about Eddie. He knows that Steve has wants. He can feel those wants seething inside of Steve. Like the grainy static when touching a TV screen, Eddie can feel them buzzing against Steve’s skin.  Others would take a knife and slice Steve open to rip those wants out of him like roots and weeds. Eddie carefully coaxes those wants to the surface and watches them bloom, acting like they are beautiful and to be looked at and not hideous and to be hidden like Steve has been taught. 

Eddie sees Steve’s wants and he wants in return. He wants to know exactly what Steve wants and makes Steve ask for it. With gentle hands and firm words and patience that no one was ever kind enough to show Steve, he makes Steve ask for it all. 

Can you touch me here? Can I kiss you there? I want to go all the way, is that okay? Could you show me? Will you tell me? Will you make me forget that there is a world outside of you and me? Hold me? Please? 

And Eddie indulges Steve, takes his wants from him, and feeds them back to Steve like chocolate mousse on a spoon. Rich and decadent, satisfying a craving Steve always thought he wasn’t allowed to have. No desserts for jocks, it’ll ruin the figure. Every time the thought sneaks into Steve’s head, Eddie will bend over him and quiet it by whispering, “Thank you for telling me, sweetheart,” before making Steve fall apart. 

So it should be easy. Eddie is offering to stay, Steve doesn’t even have to ask. Doesn’t even have to say, “yes please,” all politely. A nod would be enough, a little up and down motion of his face, and Eddie will stay.

But even when offered like that, Steve can’t ask Eddie to stay. Because it is one thing too much. It’s one want that will never come over his lips. It’s not even specifically Eddie who Steve wants to stay. He wants anybody to stay, just one person, just once. But he can’t bring himself to ask, because he knows the answer will always be no. He isn’t worth staying for and he knows it. No need to have another source confirm it. No need to make Eddie stay against his will. Asking Eddie to stay now will only drive him quicker away eventually. 

“Nah, I get it,” Steve shakes his head. “It is creepy.” 

His room is just another haunted ground of his parents' making, an architectural sketch on the perfect blueprint of Steve’s life. Everything from the furniture, to the sheets down to the carpet selected by his mother’s immaculate design choices, colored in Prussian blue by his father’s approval. Not made for sanctuary or comfort, but with walls meant as a constant reminder of the small, neat box Steve is supposed to fit in. The Harrington residence might not have a mad woman in the attic, but it has the ghost of a desolate boy on the second floor, kept in a cage made out of wallpaper and plaid. One day this house is going to swallow him whole. 

So most of the time they meet up in Eddie’s trailer. Steve stays almost every night and rushes off in the morning before Wayne comes home. It’s a race to get back to his house before school to shower off the smell of sex and smoke, and Eddie. To let the water wash over every place Eddie had kissed, had touched, had marked. To not wince when slipping back into tight jeans and the even tighter skin of golden boy Steve Harrington before beating his mouth aggressively into a bedazzling smile with his toothbrush. 

Dead eyes stare at him from the mirror, so Steve smiles wider, hoping his friends’ fixation on shiny things will be enough of a distraction from the void behind the polished amber of his eyes. He can feel it spreading like mold. People have always liked to joke about how Steve’s head is empty. They don’t know the hollowness already starts in his fingertips and carves itself up his arm into his chest like a river through a canyon, leaving nothing but desolation behind. His body is just as much a haunted house as the place his mouth has been trained to call home. 

Steve keeps staring into the mirror, eyes finding the myriad of little bites spread all over his torso. With shaking hands he lifts his hollow fingers and traces over them. The ones on his collarbones will be hidden by the collar of his polo shirt, but the sting of fabric rubbing over chafed skin will be enough of a tether for Steve to remember that there is more to him than the empty husk everyone else wants to see. A little reminder from Eddie, that next to all the emptiness inside of Steve, there is still something real, that he is not just the figurine on the pedestal he’s been put on. 

Steve still doesn’t really know who he actually is outside of it all, still not sure what is actually him and what has been drilled into him. He sometimes feels like he is trying to solve a pictureless jigsaw, afraid that even when the last piece has slotted into place, that there still will be no clear picture revealed. That maybe he’s been wrong all along and there really is just King Steve. Still, he bravely keeps on trying to solve it, encouraged by Eddie’s voice gently whispering on bad days, “Tell me something that’s real.” 

It’s become a little ritual after their first night together. The question that had shattered Steve’s body like glass before Eddie had carefully rearranged the shards, forming a beautiful mosaic that Steve had no idea he could be. And so on days when the voices in Steve’s head are particularly bad and no word in his mouth feels like his own Eddie will ask him. Make Steve close his eyes and listen to the echo in the cave that is his chest, waiting for a small truth to disturb the silence like a tear of water rolling down a stalactite, dropping onto the stone floor.  

“I want to cook a family dinner,” he says and instantly feels silly. But he keeps his eyes closed and lets the want surge through him. “Just something simple like meatballs and spaghetti, nothing fancy. I want to sit down at a table and talk to people about my day, and laugh about people’s jokes and have them tell me how much they like my food. A cheesy, happy sitcom, nuclear family dinner, that’s something I want.” 

Steve wants the stupid cul-de-sac, just sans the claustrophobia. He wants parts of the plan his parents have for him. Wants the house and the family and that scares the shit out of him. But the thing is, he wants it on his terms. Wants to be there for his kids, teach them how to throw, and help them with the homework. Wants to kiss his spouse good morning and good night, wants a marriage that is filled with love and a house to call home. 

He exhales slowly and then opens his eyes. For a second he worries Eddie might make fun of him, going on about forced conformity. But he doesn’t. Instead, he looks at Steve as if Steve was something marvelous and Steve can feel another jigsaw piece slotting into place. 

Steve holds on to that piece in the palm of his clenched fist when Tommy slides into his car to go grocery shopping with Steve the next day. Tommy doesn’t usually tag along on Steve’s errands, but he knows that Steve is about to buy some rather fancy foods, hoping for Steve to buy more than needed and let Tommy grab some. Steve knows he should be annoyed, but he also doesn’t want to do this particular grocery run by himself.

His parents called him earlier that day. No how are you, no congrats on beating your school's record in backstroke last week, no we can’t wait to see you. Instead, he had been given a grocery list and instructions to put the Chardonnay into the fridge, either having forgotten Steve’s age or not caring if he has to get out a fake ID to buy the wine. It had hurt to Steve’s surprise. He should know better by now, be used to neglect and distance. But one part of him still hopes that his parents will acknowledge him one day. Maybe next week when he gets his college acceptance letters they finally will. 

So in dire need of distraction, while browsing the bright aisles of the grocery store, Steve had asked Tommy to come along.  It’s been months since Steve had actually laughed about one of Tommy’s jokes, but even faked laughter is better than silence. 

Only that the moment they arrive Tommy says, “I’ll go get snacks.” Then he disappears towards the chips aisle even though chips are definitely not on the grocery list. His mother would never willingly consume processed carbs. With a sigh, Steve walks towards the dairy aisle, hoping their small grocery store has the expensive brands his parents have requested. Even though the store is pretty empty a woman is standing right in front of the milk section, trying to reach the semi-skimmed milk on the top shelf but failing to reach it. Steve probably would have just walked past her, but next to her is a cart and in the little seat sits probably one of the cutest babies Steve has ever seen. He watches the woman struggle to reach the top shelf for a second longer and then decides to walk over. 

“Here, let me,” he says, takes the milk, reaches it easily, and hands it to the woman. 

“Oh, thank you,” the woman smiles at him and puts the milk into her cart. She looks him up and down quickly, recognition flickering over her face. “You’re Richard and Susan’s kid, Steven right?” 

Steve shouldn't be surprised that she knows his parents. Hawkins is a small town, everyone knows everyone, especially big shots like his parents. He doubts that his parents know her name though, based on her gaudy dress, simple hairdo, and the store-brand groceries in her cart. What does surprise Steve though, is that she knows his name. It’s not like his parents go around boasting about him. Apparently, his confusion is showing.

“I read about your swim team in the Hawkins Post,” she explains. “Your parents must be mighty proud of you.” 

“Yeah, they….they are,” Steve croaks, forcing himself to smile wide, hoping it will distract the woman just like it distracts his friends. “Super proud.” 

“I can imagine, the article said you did amazing, Steven” she gives him a gentle pat on the arm and Steve almost flinches at the unexpected touch. But her hand on his arm remains gentle and Steve almost melts into the brief touch. 

“Just…eh….just Steve is fine,” he says. “Thanks, Mrs…?”

“Henderson,” she beams at him even though he feels rude not knowing her name since she knows his. “And this,” she adds and steps slightly to the side so that Steve can have a better look at the baby on her cart, “is Dusty. Say hello to Steve, Dusty.” 

Dusty doesn’t really seem to care about Steve, too preoccupied to play with his pacifier. Still, Steve finds himself waving at the baby like a moron. But the smile Mrs. Henderson is giving him is worth it. Then her eyes flicker over her cart and her smile drops. 

“Oh darn, I left my purse in the car,” she says. “Would you mind watching Dusty for a minute while I go get it?” 

“Sure?” 

“Thank you, I’ll be back in a second,” she says and then hurries out of the store. Steve watches her for a second before turning to the baby. He hopes for the baby’s sake that he isn’t actually named Dusty. Probably short for Dustin. 

“Aren’t you cute?” he asks and blue, big, curious eyes blink back up to him. God, he forgot how adorable babies could be. He might have always complained when he and Nancy were forced to babysit her baby brother Mike, but secretly he had kinda loved it. He’s always wanted a little brother or a sister, but every time he had brought it up to his parents they had quickly and coldly shut him down until Steve had learned his lesson and stopped asking. 

The pacifier suddenly drops out of Dustin’s mouth and Steve just about manages to catch it. It’s slightly sticky and damp and a little bit gross, and Steve wrinkles his nose. Maybe not everything about babies is cute, he thinks, but carefully hands the pacifier back to Dustin. 

“Gross buddy, but here you go,” he says and can’t help but chuckle when he sees the delight on Dustin’s face to be reunited with his pacifier. 

When Steve looks back up, he notices that he no longer is alone in the dairy aisle. Eddie stands at the other end, staring at him, eyes wide open and Steve doesn’t really know what to do. Hawkins really is a fucking small town. Steve considers doing one of his awkward little waves or giving Eddie a nod of acknowledgment. After all, Tommy is somewhere at the opposite end of the store, too busy mulling over chips flavors than witnessing this little exchange between people who are meant to mean nothing to each other. But before Steve can do anything Eddie turns around swiftly and mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like, “Of course, he has to be good with kids.” 

Steve shrugs and bends back down to baby Dustin. 

“That was the town fr-…nerd,” he tells Dustin, biting his tongue for a second. “Better watch out that you don’t grow up like him, obsessed with dice and fantasy stuff.” 

Baby Dustin looks at him confused for a second, obviously having no idea what Steve is on about. Then he suddenly reaches out and wraps his tiny fingers around Steve’s pinky. 

Oh.

Oh. 

Warmth blooms in Steve’s hand, spreads through his limbs and nestles itself in Steve’s chest. It should be ridiculous. A baby is holding his pinky and Steve feels like he is about to burst, every part of his body filled with affection. God, he really wants to have kids someday. Dustin seems to be unaware that Steve is literally about to fall apart in a grocery store, simply too preoccupied to look around curiously and coo. But even though he is focused on everything but Steve, he keeps holding on to Steve’s pinky. When Steve sees Mrs. Henderson return his heart drops. 

“Thank you for watching him, Steve,” Mrs. Henderson says, holding up her purse, before noticing that Dustin is still holding on to Steve. “Oh, I see Dusty made a new friend.”

“Yeah,” Steve smiles warmly, not making any effort to move. He’d let Dustin grab his pinky for hours. 

“I’m sorry, he likes to cling,” Mrs. Handerson says apologetically and tuts at Dustin, “Now come on Dusty, let go of Steve’s hand.” 

Steve barely manages to not look disappointed when Dustin lets go of his finger. The warmth leaves his body just as quickly as it had surged through him. Almost aggressively, he grabs the handle of his own cart, knuckles turning white. 

“Right, have a good day, Mrs. Henderson,” he says politely. 

“You too, Steve,” she once again smiles at him and Steve forces his legs to move.

He hurries through the rest of the store, almost carelessly grabbing all the things on the list. When he finds Tommy again he ignores the abundance of chips Tommy puts in his cart and just drags Tommy to the checkout. Tommy doesn’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary, just talks about a party and complains about Carol. Steve once again drowns it out, occasionally saying stuff like yeah man and that’s great,  while loading all the groceries in his trunk.

When he is done he spots Mrs. Henderson loading her own groceries into her car on the other end of the parking lot. Without even thinking about it Steve walks over to her, ignoring Tommy calling after him. 

“Can I help you with that?” he offers when he reaches Mrs. Henderson’s car, suddenly overcome with the need to be useful. 

She gives him a surprised look that quickly turns into a very bright smile. 

“Thank you, Steve, how kind of you,” she says and Steve begins strategically putting her groceries in the car. Baby Dustin watches both of them quietly. Only when Steve has put away the last bag of potatoes, Dustin suddenly reaches out again and grabs some of Steve’s hair. 

“Hey, not the hair, dude,” Steve laughs while Mrs. Henderson looks mildly horrified. 

“Oh my gosh, I am so so sorry Steve. Dustin let go!” She says, cheeks glowing with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, he is in a grabbing phase at the moment.” 

“I’ve noticed,” Steve still laughs, while he tries to detangle his hair from Dustin’s hands as gently as possible. Dustin is holding on tightly, pulling slightly, but Steve eventually manages to get his hair out of the claws of the little gremlin. Fortunately for Dustin, he is cute enough so that Steve can forgive his messed-up hair, even though it is his absolute signature. But of course, a baby wouldn’t care about that.

“It’s fine,” Steve hurries to say, seeing that Mrs. Henderson is about to apologize again. “I’ve always wanted a little brother.” 

There must be something about the way he says it, maybe well-hidden loneliness clinging to his words more than usual, because something flickers over Mrs. Henderson’s face. There suddenly is a sadness to her smile. Steve has heard before that mothers are supposed to always be able to tell if something is wrong. Of course, he always thought that was just a stupid cliche, the only thing his mother ever noticed were wrong orders at restaurants and color schemes that clashed. But right now, with the way Mrs. Henderson’s eyes are focused on him, Steve gets the uneasy feeling that she can sense that something is wrong with him. Or maybe his tagline no parents, big house has made his way from high school hallways to grocery shop aisles. There is no pity in her eyes, but a hint of concern and it becomes evident that she definitely knows.  

“You should come over for dinner sometimes,” she says. “Dusty would clearly love for you to come. And I always cook too much for Harold and me.” 

“Eh…maybe, yes?” Steve stutters, surprised by the offer. “My parents are in town, but maybe…maybe after?” 

He doesn’t know why he says it like that, why he mentions his parents at all, and kind of agrees in the first place. But the way both Dustin and Mrs. Henderson are beaming at him it is hard to say no. Dinner with the Hendersons sounds nice. 

There is a sudden, loud honk coming from behind them. Steve turns his head and sees Tommy standing by the Beemer, giving him an annoyed look. 

“I have to go,” he says and gives the Hendersons a little wave. 

“Bye, Steve,” Mrs. Henderson says even though Steve has already turned around. “Say bye Dusty.” 

Dustin actually does make a noise. It’s not an actual word, but the sentiment is there and it makes the glare Tommy is giving Steve when he gets into the car so worth it. 

“What the fuck was that about, dude?” he snarls as Steve starts the car. 

“Girls dig babies, ergo I figured they dig guys who are good with babies,” Steve lies. Not for the first time Steve is glad that Tommy is an even bigger airhead than Steve. He can tell that Tommy still thinks it was a little odd, but not odd enough to warrant a strike against Steve’s crown. 

“Ergo?” Tommy asks, both his eyebrows raised. “What are you, a nerd?” 

“No, just smarter than you, dickhead” Steve says. He tries not to think about how Eddie would tease him similarly, say something like, “Oh, big word, Harrington.” The difference is that while Eddie might tease, there is still affection in his words. Tommy on the other hand is legitimately making fun of Steve. He suddenly feels very tired and quietly thanks whatever force is out there in the universe that high school is almost over. He very much doesn’t want to think about the time after. 

“Yeah, whatever,” Tommy grumbles. “The closest to a chick to see you be good with babies   in that parking lot was Eddie Munson anyways.” 

To his credit, Steve does not instantly crash his car. He does grip the steering wheel so tightly that his fingers hurt though. He tries to look relaxed, even though his heart is hammering in his throat and his entire body is tense with panic. 

“What?” he croaks, side-eying Tommy. Thankfully, Tommy seems relatively unfazed, rummaging through his brown paper bag, pulling out one of his many bags of chips. 

“Yeah, dude kept staring at you from inside his van the entire time. Had this really intense look in his eyes,” Tommy says and throws a chip into his mouth. The crunching sound it makes mixed together with the wetness of his saliva is absolutely gross. “I thought for a second he was going to come over and, I don’t know, snatch you away for one of his satanic rituals. He must really hate your guts.”

“Ugh, what a freak” Steve says, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. He does relax slightly since Tommy doesn’t seem to know anything. But the foul taste stays. Calling Eddie a freak had been second nature for Steve, now it makes him want to claw at his own skin. 

“Should we show him what we do with freaks? I’m sure Hargrove would wanna join in,” Tommy grins and this time Steve does lose control over his car for just a second, almost drifting into the opposite lane. He can’t, he just can’t. This is not what was meant to happen. Tommy was supposed to ignore Eddie. The car feels very much like a cage all of a sudden, and Steve a petrified animal inside, while Tommy walks up and down, letting his baton clink against the bars. 

“You know I can’t do that shit when my parents are in town,” Steve says, voice surprisingly steady for how on edge he feels. “Maybe after spring break.” 

Steve has high hopes that by the time spring break has come and gone Tommy will have forgotten about this, or at least picked a different victim to torment. Maybe Steve can goad him into bullying some mathlete instead. 

“Fine,” Tommy grumbles. “After spring break.” 

They are quiet for the rest of the drive. Or at least Steve is, Tommy just keeps on talking shit and Steve keeps on drowning it out. He drops Tommy off first, it’s not like he would have helped Steve with the groceries anyways. The moment Tommy is out of the car, Steve feels like he can breath again. At least partially, worry still sitting heavy on his chest. He really, really hopes Tommy will have forgotten by the end of spring break.

It takes Steve several runs to get everything into the fridge and the pantry, the Chardonnay of course put in first, so it will be cold for his parents' arrival. While he carries the groceries he wonders why he asked Tommy to come along in the first place. His mind wanders back to Eddie. He imagines what this grocery run with Eddie would have been like, Eddie making fun relentlessly of Steve’s parents’ expensive taste. Replacing the fancy goats cheese quiche with Lunchables. Pressing a kiss to Steve’s cheek in the cereal aisle when Steve picks up honey puffs for him. Teasing Steve about how gone he was for baby Dustin, but also looking stupidly fond while doing it. Coming up behind Steve and giving him a hug while Steve puts the groceries away. Telling Steve to just come over and stay at Eddie’s while his parents are in town. And then Steve catches himself and lets out a groan. Because using Eddie for stress relief, even the slightly unconventional kind, is one thing. Daydreaming about doing domestic chores and running mundane errands with Eddie is a whole different one. A dangerous thing. He takes the daydream and shoves it deep down into his pit of denial, praying that Eddie might not accidentally coax it out of him. 

Steve walks over to the kitchen sink and lets cold water run over his wrists, before splashing it into his face. He can’t think stuff like that, he might as well light a match at a gas station because as long as he doesn’t throw it on the ground nothing can happen, right? It’s fine, he’ll be fine. It’s probably just a nervous fluke anyways because of his parents' impending arrival. With a sigh, Steve turns off the faucet. 

Once the groceries are put away and the Chardonnay in the fridge, Steve walks into the living room and sits on the edge of the pale, grey couch. His fingers automatically reach up and dig into the bite on his collarbone. The familiar sting grounds him as he waits. 

Chapter Text

1999

Steve doesn’t sleep the night after he and Eddie talked through their issues. He had assumed the relief of it all would make him sleep easier. Instead, nightmare after nightmare lets him sit up straight in bed, hand pressed to his mouth to muffle his screams so he doesn’t wake Dustin. 

He is used to the occasional nightmare, most of them and the trauma they are attached to fading over the years. But tonight his brain likes to remind him of all the greatest hits. Angry parents, violent jocks, burning malls, and shaking grounds opening up to swallow Hawkins whole. Steve is lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling, covered in sweat. 

Even though it was progress, maybe talking to Eddie just opened up all those halfway-closed wounds, Steve thinks as he twists and turns. He considers calling Robin, but he hasn’t spoken to her in a while, and calling her now seems wrong. Maybe he should invest in one of those weighted blankets he saw on a teleshopping channel the other day. All Steve really wants right now is someone to hold him. 

He sits up against his headboard, presses his knees against his chest, and wraps his arms around his legs, well-practiced in giving himself the physical affection he needs. Still, tonight it does nothing and sleep doesn’t come. When he stumbles down into the kitchen at eight am the next morning he feels absolutely exhausted. If Dustin notices that something is off, he doesn’t say. 

“Hey, I won’t be home tonight because of parent-teacher night,” Steve yawns, and he and Dustin rush through the kitchen once again trying to find all their stuff. “There is a casserole in the fridge for you to heat up. I’ll probably be back at 10:30 the latest, but if you need me you’ve got the school's number.”

“I’ll survive, Steve,” Dustin rolls his eyes while hopping on one foot trying to get a shoe on. “And I promise I won’t burn down the house. I can handle an evening alone.” 

“That’s what you said the last time and I came home to the entire kitchen being covered in burned popcorn because you managed to let it explode in the microwave.” 

“That was one time,” Dustin squeaks and Steve gives him a pointed look. “I promise, I won’t do it again.”

“Good, good,” Steve smiles and reaches out to ruffle Dustin’s hair. Dustin is too preoccupied with his shoe to bat Steve away. 

“Hey, watch the curls,” he snaps. “You of all people should know how important hair is.” 

“Yeah, yeah, wear a hat,” Steve grabs his bag and keys. “I’ll see you in school, Henderson.” Out of the corner he sees Dustin flipping him off, so without turning around Steve flips him off too.

The tiredness from last night has really seeped into his bones by the time Steve starts his car. He turns the radio up at full volume, trying his best to stay awake. He considers stopping at the coffee shop again for a couple of espresso shots but he is already running late. 

By the time he reaches the teachers' lounge Steve feels like he could fall asleep standing up. Slowly, he drags himself closer to the coffee maker but stops dead in his tracks. Like every morning, Eddie is standing next to the coffee maker. Steve has no idea how to behave. What is the appropriate memo for meeting your ex, whose life you have kind of ruined but now after a month of constantly being at each others’ throats have kind of made up with, at the coffee maker? 

Instead of coming up with anything useful, all Steve’s brain supplies him with is the realization that Eddie is wearing his hair down instead of a ponytail today. It looks so fluffy and in his sleep-deprived state, Steve wants nothing more but to touch it. He resists the urge to touch Eddie’s hair and to slap himself for having the thought, takes a deep breath, and walks towards the coffee maker. Eddie is busy chatting to one of the history teachers, back turned to Steve. Maybe if Steve is lucky, Eddie won’t even notice him. 

But the moment Steve reaches the coffee maker Eddie spots him, glancing over his shoulder. He promptly turns around and presses a warm cup of coffee into Steve’s hands. 

“Here,” he says and Steve stares at the cup a little dumbstruck. Eddie saved him a cup of coffee. It’s warm in his hand, steam rising invitingly over the rim. 

“You didn’t poison this, right?” Steve jokes weakly. It’s too early to unravel the complicated feelings their new dynamic brings, and so he steps on the only somewhat solid ground which is humor. Before Eddie can say anything, the bell rings, calling the teachers to their classrooms. 

“Don’t worry, there is so much sugar in it you can't taste the potassium cyanide,” Eddie says while walking backwards towards the door.

“You put sugar in this?” Steve asks but Eddie is already out of the door and on his way to class. 

The coffee tastes strong, sweet, and a little bit like forgiveness. It’s exactly how Steve likes it and Steve doesn’t really know what to do with that. Eddie still knows how he takes his coffee after 14 years. Eddie likes his exactly with one teaspoon of sugar and one splash of milk, ideally semi-skimmed, Steve suddenly remembers. It’s something so small and stupid, still, it has Steve smiling all the way to his office.  Max is already waiting for him, arms crossed in front of her chest, her usually grumpy eyes staring at Steve. 

“What got you smiling like that?” she asks while Steve unlocks his door. 

“Nothing,” Steve says and quickly tries to drop his smile. “Just having a good morning.” 

“Uh-huh,” Max says, and follows Steve into his office. “Also, where is my coffee?” 

He glances down at his mug, then at Max, and then back at his mug. In the unexpected but not unwelcome twist of events of Eddie making him coffee, Steve had completely forgotten about grabbing Max one. 

“Fuck, give me one second,” he curses and rushes back to the teachers' lounge. Behind him, Max just yells, “Language!” 

The rest of his day remains relatively uneventful, at least until lunch when Chrissy pokes her head through Steve’s door and knocks on the door frame. 

“Hey, Stevie,” she gives him a little wave and comes in. Chrissy is probably the only person who calls him Stevie affectionately and not in a teasing way. And she is the only one Steve doesn’t roll his eyes at for the nickname. 

“Oh, hey,” Steve greets her. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m meeting Eddie for lunch and I thought I would come say hi,” she says and lets herself fall down into the chair on the other side of Steve’s desk. She has barely aged over the last couple of years, her cherub face almost making her look like one of Steve’s students. The only thing that’s missing is the cheer uniform which has been replaced with a white cardigan. 

“I’m afraid I have a session during the next lunch break,” Steve gives her an apologetic smile. It probably isn’t a good idea anyways, Steve still doesn’t really know how to act around Eddie, and knowing Chrissy she would pick up on it pretty instantly. 

“Oh, I’m not here to convince you to come with us. I’m here because you have been avoiding the love of my life,” she says, still smiling, but her eyes are piercing through Steve. As kind as Chrissy is, her smile can be downright terrifying at times and Steve has to swallow nervously. “She hasn’t brought it up because whatever is gnawing on you, she doesn’t wanna push it.” 

Steve opens his mouth and closes it promptly again, having no idea what to say. He can’t tell Chrissy that he has been avoiding Robin because he’s been too worried about having to come clean about ruining Eddie’s life. He still is surprised that Eddie hasn’t told Chrissy yet, he has to ask Eddie about that later. 

“And you don’t have to tell her or me what’s going on with you or anything,” Chrissy continues. “But we are your friends and you can’t run from us. You especially can’t run from Robin!” 

“I’ll call her, I promise.”

“You better,” she says and gets up. “I’m off for a conference this weekend. You two should meet up. Have drinks at the Hideout and talk it out.”

Steve nods, drinks at the Hideout sound good. He’ll just have to make sure that he doesn’t have too much liquid courage, still not ready to tell Robin everything. He isn’t quite sure if he ever will be. But now that Eddie and he are in the middle of making up again, maybe he doesn’t even have to. 

“You sure you don’t wanna come to lunch with us?” Chrissy asks again with a grin when she reaches the door. 

“I really can’t, sorry,” Steve shakes his head. “Already had to cancel my last session with this kid because Dustin got a nosebleed in Latin class and I had to get him home.”

“You sure he didn’t just try to get his way out of Latin class?” 

“Oh, he probably did,” Steve says and Chrissy chuckles. 

“Don’t be a stranger,” she gives him a cute little wave and then leaves. 

Steve lets his head sink onto his desk with a sigh. He really should not have avoided Robin. He just had not been in the mood for more surprise run-ins with Eddie. But now that things are better between them, Steve wouldn’t mind Robin inviting Eddie along to their hangouts. With his head still lying on his desk, Steve reaches for his phone and punches in Robin’s number, hoping to reach her during her lunch break. Fortunately, she picks up.

“Hawkins’ Youth Center, Robin Buckley speaking.” 

“Hi, I’m an idiot, I don’t really want to talk about it, I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you,” Steve cuts right to the chase. 

“Took you long enough, Dingus,” she says after a second, and god, Steve’s missed her. “Listen, I’m not gonna force you to talk about something you are not ready to talk about, but you know I am here for you nevertheless. So yeah, you were being an idiot.”

“I know, I know,” Steve sighs. “Drinks this weekend?”

“Okay, but you’re buying.” 

“Yeah, Robin, that was the idea.” 

“Alright, I gotta go back to work, love you, Dingus.” 

“Love you too,” Steve says, already feeling like a massive weight has been taken off his chest, and hangs up. He still doesn’t know if he is going to tell Robin anything, but it will be good to see her again either way. 

Steve delves back into his work and like so often completely loses himself in it. By the time the evening rolls around he regrets not having had lunch with Chrissy and Eddie, his stomach rumbling. For someone who constantly frets about people and makes sure that they eat, Steve neglects his own needs far too easily. 

He looks at the clock in his office. He has about 15 minutes until parent-teacher night, not enough to go grab a bite. He does have a granola bar back in his car, he remembers and drags himself out of his office. He definitely cannot do parent-teacher night on an empty stomach, it’s already torture enough. 

When he steps onto the parking lot he spots Eddie sitting on the pavement near the gym, cigarette smoke rising in the air in front of him. Craving both a smoke and some company Steve makes his way over. 

Eddie clearly went home and changed, the band tee from this morning replaced by a burgundy dress shirt and a black suit jacket, the docs have turned into slightly more sensible boots. It’s not that he doesn’t look good, he looks fantastic actually, but it’s odd to see him like this. 

“Nice shirt,” Steve says as he reaches Eddie.  Eddie startles slightly and looks up. When he sees that it’s just Steve he relaxes slightly, the frown on his face stays though. 

“Thanks, it’s one of the two tops I have that isn’t a band shirt,” Eddie takes another drag from his cigarette. “Thought I’d try to make a good impression.” 

“What happened to forced conformity and all that?” Steve tries to tease but Eddie’s frown just deepens. 

He is basically vibrating with nervous energy, his leg bouncing, his fingers tapping against his thigh, and the small pile of cigarette butts at his feet implying that he’s been smoking for a while. Eddie has always been rather antsy, always moving, always having something in his hands to play with, but that has always been due to restless energy. Steve can’t really recall the last time he’s seen Eddie properly nervous. 

“Steve, most of the people we went to school with either wanted to beat me up or bought drugs from me,” Eddie says. “Can’t imagine most of them are thrilled that I am now teaching their kids. I’m kinda just waiting for them to chase me out of town again.” 

“Most of the people we went to school with got bullied by me,” Steve slides down the wall next to Eddie. The ground is cold and hard, gravel digging into Steve’s legs, but he stays right next to Eddie. “People change and so far every parent I had to deal with got that.” 

“Because being a bully and being accused of almost murdering Chrissy Cunningham with laced drugs are absolutely in the same ballpark of forgivable teenage sins.” 

“Yeah, but you didn’t do it!” 

“Doesn’t mean they don’t all still think that the shoe fits,” Eddie says quietly as he rests his chin on his knees. There is defeat in his eyes and he suddenly looks exhausted. Steve isn’t the only one affected by resurfacing emotions, he realizes that coming back to Hawkins probably hasn’t been easy for Eddie. 

Back in 1985, there had been no proof whatsoever that Eddie had done it. The only evidence had been Tommy’s word and Steve’s silence. But that had been enough to make Hawkins believe that Eddie was the sole scapegoat for the war on drugs. Hunt the freak, right? The words still echo in Steve’s mind and he clenches his fists.   

“Has anyone given you shit yet?” Steve breaks the silence between them, wondering if maybe he has to have a chat with Hopper about some overly concerned citizens.

“Only you, Harrington,” Eddie gives him a half-hearted smile but it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“Yeah, that seems in line for a high school bully,” Steve mumbles and stares at his shoes. Steve wonders if he will ever stop feeling guilty. Maybe he has gotten it wrong all along. Maybe Eddie has never been the ghost of his past showing up. Maybe Steve has already done a pretty good job haunting himself. 

He knows he is being a bit too unkind to his younger self, knows that if he saw someone treat their child like his parents treated him he would be speaking to CPS in seconds. Doesn’t really change that he was an asshole though. 

“I honestly don’t think you have to worry about anyone we went to school with, man. Barely any of them have kids and most have moved anyways,” Steve says and then in an attempt to cheer Eddie up adds, “Now the PTA moms, those you have to watch out for. Literally evil, your nerdy DnD monsters or whatever are like nothing against them.” 

“What, are they gonna beat me to death with their sugar-free cranberry muffins?” Eddie snorts.

Steve looks him in the eyes, dead serious, and solemnly says, “We don’t joke about the muffin massacre of ‘97.” 

“Shit, the muffin massacre of ‘97?” 

“The muffin massacre of ‘97,” Steve repeats trying to hold the laughter in that wants to escape. Eddie, fortunately, breaks first and they both just snicker for a second. It’s nice. Sitting here outside with Eddie, laughing like no time has passed. 

As their laughter slowly dies Eddie rubs the back of his neck and briefly reveals a mark on his neck almost as red as his burgundy shirt. He probably doesn’t even notice, but Steve’s eyes and mind get caught on it like a sleeve getting caught on a door handle, awkward and unexpected. If Steve hadn’t been sitting, he might have tripped. For a short moment, jealousy scrapes her sharpened nails up Steve’s chest, ready to pierce through skin, bone, and heart. 

Steve is far too familiar with the feeling, after all, jealousy has walked hand in hand with him over the past weeks and squeezed his fingers uncomfortably tight every time Eddie has been mentioned. Still, tonight the feeling is worse. Eddie used to be the cause of Steve’s jealousy, not the object of it. But now Steve’s eyes are unable to look away from the red bite and breathing feels hard. He wants to reach out and trace his fingers over it, figure out if it goes deeper than broken skin. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and gets up. 

“C’mon, let's go,” he says and tries to give Eddie an encouraging smile. “If anyone in there gives you shit, just give me a sign and I can come over and give them shit back.”

“Ever the hero,” Eddie says drily and Steve huffs softly.  He holds out his hand for Eddie. 

“Your paladin in shining armor.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows, but still takes Steve’s hand and lets himself be pulled up. Steve pulls with a little bit too much force and Eddie almost crashes into his chest. He puts his other hand on Steve’s shoulder automatically, trying to steady himself. They are so close. Eddie’s hand is warm, almost burning, pressed against Steve’s palm, only the cool metal of Eddie’s ring making the touch bearable. 

“How the fuck do you know what a paladin is?” 

Steve almost points out that he has spent several weeks with his head in Eddie’s lap and Eddie’s hands in his hair while Eddie was planning his campaigns. It has always been hard not to pay attention to Eddie, but during those few blissful weeks when they had been naive enough to think everything would be fine, Eddie had been especially radiant when talking about DnD or music or anything really. If Steve had bought into the whole satan worshiping cult leader crap, he might have believed that Eddie had bewitched him, mumbled incantations every time Steve had hung on his lips, keeping him spellbound, rendering Steve unable to tear his eyes away. In reality, Steve had simply liked to look at Eddie’s grinning face, cataloging every detail. 

When Steve closes his eyes he can still see the dimples in Eddie’s cheeks, knows exactly how the skin under his eyes crinkles with laughter, and will always remember how his lips will twist when mischief flickers over his face. 

Steve blinks, almost startled when the face from the pristine image in his mind stares right back at him, live and in 3D. Eddie’s face is older now, tired, and covered in new wrinkles from laughter that hasn’t been shared with Steve. It’s still radiant as ever and part of Steve wants to keep looking, take mallet and chisel and reform the version of Eddie’s face that’s been stuck in his mind. But tonight has already felt enough like stepping into a polaroid, Steve doesn’t need to make it worse by dwelling on sepia memories.

“I’m trying to raise a 15-year-old whose two main interests are three musketeers and DnD,” Steve shrugs, lets go of Eddie’s hand and takes a step back. He instantly misses the warmth of Eddie’s touch. Steve cocks his head towards the school and they start walking. 

“Right, Henderson,” Eddie nods. “Took me a while to wrap my head around you being his guardian.” 

“Yeah, you and most people,” Steve says and tries not to let the comment sting. Most people in Hawkins were surprised when Steve took Dustin in and it had hurt. Not only had Steve always wanted kids, he had also only recently become a guidance counselor and it was just lovely to see how unfit most people thought he was for the position and for raising Dustin. If it hadn’t been for Dustin insisting that he wanted to stay with Steve and Robin and Chrissy giving Steve constant pep talks he might have broken apart under the pressure and perception. 

“Still jealous as hell by the way,” Eddie adds and Steve almost stops dead in his tracks. What the hell would Eddie have to be jealous about, Steve wonders, painfully aware of how obsessed Dustin is with Eddie.  

“Kid worships you,” Eddie explains as they continue walking. “All of them actually do. Not just Henderson’s little party and party adjacent members. Pretty much every kid at this school that I have met thinks you’re the coolest guidance counselor to ever grace this earth and walk the halls of Hawkins High.” 

This time, Steve does stop. He knows the kids like him, but hearing it from Eddie like this is something else. It feels like Eddie has gently taken the thorn poisoning Steve with self-doubt and imposter syndrome out of the crook of Steve’s arm and for the first time in what feels like years the voices in Steve’s head telling him that he will never be enough grow quiet. 

“And I mean I get it, you clearly care a lot about your kids. But fuck man, there went my plan to become the coolest teacher at Hawkins High myself, reading The Hobbit with them in class and letting them analyze song lyrics as homework,” Eddie turns to face Steve, soft smile on his lips. “No chance in hell for me, not when Steve Harrington is actually a good dude.” 

Steve forces himself to swallow the tears that have threatened to spill from his eyes. He’s never been much of a crier, not allowing himself to, and now is not the time, no matter how much Eddie’s words mean to him. Steve has always squirmed under praise, never knowing really how to handle it while craving it like water in a desert. 

“Thanks, man,” Steve says plainly, unable to add anything else without being pulled under by the vortex of emotions he is going through. 

Before Eddie can reply the doors of the school fly open and a very angry-looking Marcia storms out. 

“Steve, Eddie,” she snaps when she spots them. “The parents are getting impatient. Come on hurry up.” 

“Ready to face the music?” Steve asks and Eddie shakes his head. 

“Nope, but I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

“Afraid not.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” 

The hallways are already bustling with parents and teachers and Steve takes a deep breath. No one likes parent-teacher nights. Most parents are either incredibly overbearing and convinced their absolutely average kid is the next Einstein, or they are a carbon copy of Steve’s own parents, only there because a teacher asked them to, not actually caring about their kid. And then there is the third kind of parents, the ones that are actually nice and appreciate and care about their kids. Parents like Joyce Byers, who instantly pulls Steve into a hug when she spots him.

Steve can see Eddie’s eyes go wide. It really shouldn’t make sense, after all, Jonathan and Steve used to hate each other in school and after their fight, Joyce should be the last person to hug Steve like that. But she took one look at him after he had gotten the courage to leave his parents behind, curled up and a little bit broken on Mrs. Henderson’s couch for Joyce’s mother-bear instincts to kick in and to basically adopt Steve alongside Mrs. Herdson. And soon Steve had not only been Mrs. Henderson’s favorite babysitter but Joyce’s too, with Will being absolutely enchanted by Steve. 

“How are you doing, sweetie?” she asks once she lets go of him.

“I’m alright,” he says and Joyce beams at him. 

“You and Dustin need to come over for dinner again soon,” she says, hands gently resting on Steve’s arms. Joyce has always been rather touchy and even after all these years Steve still revels in her gentle affection. “El is still going on about your chocolate cake and you know she usually doesn’t eat any dessert that isn’t Eggos.” 

Steve nods with a snort. If he could, he would just spend the rest of the night chatting with Joyce. But alas, someone is already tapping him on the shoulder and clearing their throat. It’s one of the PTA moms clearly wanting to suck the last bit of life out of Steve. 

“We’ll talk later, I’ll call you about dinner,” he says with an apologetic smile to Joye. “Tell Hopper I say hi.” 

She gives him a sympathetic look, knowing all too well what it means having to deal with the PTA moms, and leaves Steve to do his job. The rest of the night is a bit of a blur. At some point, a father yells at Steve for not letting his son take more extracurriculars even though said son is already almost failing three of his main classes. According to the father, those aren’t important, it’s only the sports scholarships that count, his son is going to become a pro athlete. Knowing his son quite well, Steve knows that he is more of an arts kid, thinking of doing a music program after school. For a brief second Steve wishes, he could punch some parents. Instead, he takes a deep breath, calms himself, and says he’ll see what he can do. 

“Steve,” someone calls out for Steve after what feels like hours, and with dread in his stomach, Steve turns around to face whatever parent wants to yell at him next. But to his luck, the person behind him is just Marc Bolton. 

Marc is next to Joyce one of the other parents Steve actually likes instead of just tolerates. While Marc is supportive of his daughter Amy, a nerdy junior, who often finds herself in Steve’s office because of her anxiety, he isn’t overbearing. And just like Steve, he knows the struggle of raising a teenager alone, having lost his partner in the same earthquake that took Mrs. Henderson.  So Steve and he quickly bonded during several school events. Sure, most of their conversations center around school or their kids, but it’s nice to talk to someone who gets it. Of course, it helps that the brownies Marc brings to bake sales are to die for. 

“Long night?” Marc asks, well aware of the terror the fellow parents can unleash on Steve and the other teachers. 

“God, you have no idea,” Steve sighs, truly feeling the exhaustion in his bones. “I’m surprised Becky Johnson and her club of angry moms haven’t gotten the pitchforks out yet. I really thought she would when I told her that the sophomore ski trip was going to be Mulligans Hollow and not that fancy alpine ski resort half her family owns or whatever.” 

“Oh, I would definitely check twice before walking to my car tonight if I was you,” Marc jokes and claps his hand gently on Steve’s shoulder. Steve chuckles, even though the joke wasn’t very funny. Still, it’s the thought that counts and he is very thankful to Marc for trying to cheer him up. 

“You gonna be my bodyguard and walk me to my car?” 

“Sure,” Marc simply says, not engaging in the friendly quipping Steve had hoped for. He shouldn’t be that surprised, as friendly as Marc is, he’s never been the best at the back-and-forth Steve had offered him. Still, he suddenly offers Steve a conspiratory grin and adds, “Also, if you ever wanna talk school and kids away from the angry parent brigade, I am free this weekend.” 

It’s not the first time he’s made a comment like that. Both of them have been kind of dancing around each other for a while now, their conversations more and more dipping into flirting territory. Steve has never truly considered it though. Sure Marc is nice to look at and he is easy to get along with, but Steve never truly had the desire to actually go for it. 

For the briefest of seconds, Steve’s eyes flicker behind Marc and land on Eddie. He’s standing next to Joyce, both having a wide smile on their lips, probably talking about Will, but all Steve can think about is the crimson hickey on Eddie’s pale neck. The sickly sweet taste of saccharine desire turned jealousy fills Steve’s mouth, sticking to his teeth like burned caramel. There is something indulgent about his jealousy, just like it is tooth rotting and vomit-inducing like too much candy. But overall, it is just unhealthy and so Steve’s eyes snap back to Marc. Time to not die a spinster, Steve decides. 

“Yeah, it’s a date,” he smiles at Marc, who gives a flustered, but happy smile back. “Have you ever been to Enzo’s?” 

_____

1985

The key in the front door turns agonizingly slow and for a second Steve thinks that maybe someone is trying to break in. Given how often his parents are home they are closer to burglars than homeowners anyways, in and out quickly, taking more and more valuable things with them each time, only leaving Steve behind. But then the door opens and the clicking of his mother’s heels on cold tiles echoes down into the living room. Steve drags himself up from the couch to go greet his parents. 

Last time they had come home, Steve’s mom had placed her hands on his shoulders and pressed a kiss to the air next to his right and then his left cheek, as if he was one of her friends from the country club, trying to be all sophisticated and European. She doesn’t bother with it this time, charges straight past him to her bedroom, saying something about freshening up. He looks after her for a second, wondering why he even expected anything else really. Then he turns to look at his father. 

“Steven,” is all his father says as he closes the door. 

“Dad.” 

People are always surprised when they hear Steve call his father simply dad , assuming that a man like Richard Harrington would demand to be addressed with Sir or Father at least. But Steve has always just called him dad, and his father has never told him to do otherwise. 

Steve can’t quite decide if it is rebellious on his part, or insidious on his father’s. The name holds this connotation of warmth and comfort, or at least some sort of familiar relationship or connection. On days when it doesn’t feel rebellious, it feels taunting. Holding something over his head Steve knows his father will never give him. The closest thing Steve gets to the approval he craves is the occasional attention and as the years have passed, Steve almost has started to crave the opposite. The indifference his mother holds for him now feels like a balm most days compared to the harsh words his father likes to slap in his face. 

Steve tries his best not to slouch, even though the sharp glare his father gives him makes Steve curl in on himself, like a hedgehog, trying to hide his softest part on the inside. But if there is one thing his father tolerates less than failure, it’s weakness, so Steve stands up straight, lifts his chin, and digs his nails into the palm of his clenched fists. 

His father walks straight into the living room, expecting Steve to follow him before he pours himself a whiskey. Steve is grateful he remembered to fill up the ice. His father swirls the amber liquid in the glass before taking a sip, humming with more approval than Steve has ever gotten from him, and sits down on the pale, grey couch. Steve sits down on the couch opposite the coffee table, fists still clenched, knowing there is no point in trying to sit on the same couch, both of them preferring distance by now.  

“How long are you staying?” There used to be hope attached to the question, a silent plea for more time, for them to stay. There still is a silent plea, begging them to leave. Steve has noticed that they left their suitcases in the car and once again he allows himself to feel that little bit of brittle hope. 

“Until Monday,” his father says and Steve hides his relief as best as he can. A weekend. He can survive a weekend. His hands hurt, Steve has the uneasy feeling he might be bleeding. 

The clicking of heels returns, followed by his mother entering the living room, wearing a new dress, a glass of white wine in her hand. Steve too wishes he could have a drink right now. She gracefully sits down on the same couch as his father but as far away from him as she physically can. They both look like a picture cut out of Forbes Magazine, perfectly poised and posed, in luxurious clothes, with fancy alcohol, and on elegant furniture that is meant to be looked at and not sat on. Even in their own house, they are always performing. But then so is Steve, having learned from the best, he gives them his best shiny smile. They are less impressed by it than his friends. 

“The Vanderkamps will be over on Sunday for dinner,” his father informs him and takes another sip from his whiskey. “And on Saturday you will take out their daughter Denise for lunch.” 

“Sorry?”

“Denise is a fine, respectable young girl,” his mother chimes in. “She is going start as a secretary at her father’s firm this summer, Vanderkamp & Striker.” 

“Where you will be doing your summer internship before college,” his father continues. “Michael’s firm is highly sought after, so I had to pull several strings to get you a position. It is only polite that you will take Denise out for lunch.” 

Steve can exactly now feel those strings tugging on his limbs, dragging him along to follow the plan. He always thought he had more time, until summer maybe? Three months with his face in the wind and air in his lungs, three months with expectations being nothing but a distant concept in his mind, three months of feeling alive and young and stupid before surrendering to reality. Three months in which he might have become brave enough to run away. At least that is what Steve naively tells himself before falling asleep some nights. Deep down though he knows that he will never run, the same way he knows that there is no point in arguing with his parents. But for some reason, Steve finds a slither of courage that has no right to cling to his heartstrings in the first place but it does and so Steve tries. 

“I’m seeing someone,” he lies, hoping that maybe it will be enough for him to get out of this.  

“Then you will stop seeing her,” his father says with a finality that makes the hairs on the back of Steve’s neck stand up. “This is not just important for your future, Steven, but the firm's future as well. That Wheeler girl was no good anyways.”  

There was a time when Steve would have thought of Nancy as the most perfect girl in the world. He has since then let her gently slip off that pedestal, but she is still pretty close to perfect as one can get. As much as the thought of her still hurts, his parents' arrogance hurts worse. This time he can feel the hot wetness of blood coating his fingertips as he clenches his fists again. For the first time, he is glad that Nancy broke up with him. This way she doesn’t have to deal with his asshole parents anyways. 

“Fine,” Steve grits his teeth knowing there is no way for him out of this. “Can I go now?” 

His mother just waves her hand in the air, not even bothering with a verbal response and it takes all of Steve’s strength not to run out of there. He drags himself up to his room, locks himself in the en-suite, and with shaky hands, he uncurls his fists. There are crescent marks on his palm and blood under his nails. He still trembles as he lets cold water run over the irritated skin. 

It’s moments like these that Steve truly regrets only having shallow friendships. He can’t call Tommy and complain about his parents. Best case Tommy wouldn’t get it, worst case he would tell Steve not to be a pussy. It’s not like he could call anyone from his sports teams either. Being emotional is very unbecoming of a high school king. Nancy would have understood, Steve thinks. But she truly is the last person he can call. 

He watches a thin trickle of red mix with the water and run in circles in the pristine white porcelain of the sink before going down the drain. The closest he has to an actual friend is Eddie, but Steve can’t call him either. He wants to, really wants to. Wants Eddie’s smooth voice to call him sweetheart and tell him that it’s going to be alright. Wants Eddie’s hands in his hair and his arms around Steve’s chest. 

Steve turns the tap off abruptly. It’s a stupid thought. Eddie isn’t his friend and just because they spend the occasional night in each other's arms doesn’t mean Eddie would comfort him. But meeting up with Eddie could still be the welcome distraction that Steve so badly needs right now. Let Eddie’s skilled hands and mouth take Steve out of his head and make him float for an hour or two. 

The idea feels rebellious, like sticking it to the man as Eddie would say. It’s exactly the reason why Steve had kissed Eddie on Skull Rock in the first place. To do something his parents would never approve of. Throw a wrench in it all. They can never know of course, but Steve will know. And that will have to be enough. It’s all the comfort Steve gets that night. 

He rushes out of the house the next morning, unable to stomach breakfast or his parents. At his locker, he scribbles a quick note and gets it to Eddie’s locker before the school fills up. If someone does catch him, Steve could always easily play either the bully or the drug card. Say he just threw a paper with the word freak all over it into Eddie’s locker or simply asked to meet up to buy some drugs. Everybody would believe him. Still, Steve would rather not let it come to that so he doesn’t wait around until Eddie shows up to read the note and hurries to class instead. 

He doesn’t spot Eddie at all at school that day but tries not to worry. They often don’t cross paths, especially when Steve is surrounded by his court of jocks and preps and Eddie has his flocks of outsiders to entertain. Still, Steve grows slightly nervous when fourth period comes closer and he has no idea whether Eddie has gotten his message to meet up by the bleachers or not. 

Steve ignores the churning in his stomach, makes sure that Tommy and Carol are both in their trig class, and then sneaks off to the sports field. His worry about Eddie turns out to be unnecessary when Steve gets closer to the bleachers and he can hear two people argue. 

“No, I’m not going to get it for you,” he hears Eddie snap. “End of discussion!” 

“You’re such an asshole,” a female voice shouts back. Then, a second later, Chrissy Cunningham comes around the corner and blazes past Steve, face twisted in anger. She is either too upset to notice him or she simply doesn’t care. She is gone before Steve can even say hi. He rounds the corner and slips under the bleachers where Eddie is already pacing up and down angrily, cigarette hanging between his lips. 

“What was that about?” Steve asks and resists the temptation to snatch the cigarette from Eddie’s mouth. Eddie looks far too upset for that.

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head, Harrington,” he snarls and leans against a bleacher pole. “I thought we agreed that meeting up in school was a stupid idea.” 

“Well, my parents are home so calling would have been an even stupider idea,” Steve explains. He doubts his mother cares enough to listen in to his conversations, but the chances of her picking up the phone to call one of her friends while Steve is talking to Eddie is too high to risk. 

“I know your writing and reading comprehension isn’t the best, but a simple note in my locker saying my parents are home don’t call would have sufficed just fine.” 

It’s a low blow, but Steve has taken worse punches with a smile. Whatever has Eddie in a foul mood isn’t his fault. But before Steve can say anything, Eddie lets out a sigh.  

“Shit, sorry man,” he says and kicks a stone lying on the ground. “I’m just having a bit of a day.” 

“Yeah, I know the feeling,” Steve huffs and Eddie shoots him a curious glance. There is no point in dancing around the topic, so Steve swallows and just spits it out. 

“My parents want me to take this girl Denise out on a date,” he says and waits for Eddie to react. Eddie’s curious glance turns into a frown, but he doesn’t say anything. So Steve adds nervously,  “And…I thought I’d tell you.” 

“It’s not like you need my permission,” Eddie shrugs and kicks another stone. This one flies against one of the bleachers with a loud clank. Steve doesn’t allow himself to read into it. 

“Yeah, I know that’s not…that’s not why I’m telling you,” he says and bites his lip. He suddenly feels very stupid, like every time he has to ask for something. Steve closes his eyes for just a second trying to ground himself. This is Eddie, he reminds himself. Eddie, who always wants to know what Steve wants. As if on cue, when Steve opens his eyes, Eddie looks at him with one eyebrow raised as if to say spit it out. 

“I thought you might wanna come over…afterwards,” Steve says. Eddie stares at him for a moment longer, then he lets out a semi-amused huff. 

“Oh, I see how it is,” he says. “I’m good enough for fucking, but not for getting bought dinner first.” 

“I’m buying her lunch,” Steve mumbles quietly, looking at his shoes, and Eddie just lets out an unimpressed, “Uh-huh.”   

Steve knows that Eddie is just teasing. It’s not like Steve could actually take Eddie out for dinner, nor is it something either of them actually wants. The whole point of their arrangement is literally that there are no strings attached. They are, as Eddie put it so eloquently just fucking and not dating.

So Steve has no idea why the fuck the words, “I can cook you dinner once my parents are gone again,” tumble out of his mouth. 

“Jesus H. Christ, I’m fucking with you, Harrington,” Eddie rolls his eyes. “I don’t need you to cook me dinner, I can heat up Spaghettios all by myself. Just gotta put on my big boy pants.” 

“Fuck you, I can actually cook and not just heat up Spaghettios.” 

“Oh, I’m sure you’re a regular chef, Stevie,” Eddie grins and steps into Steve’s space, before hooking his fingers into Steve’s belt loops. “What else is on the menu? Canned beans? Campbells? Cold spam?” 

“Asshole,” Steve bites, but there is no heat behind his words, only fondness. He tries to smack Eddie on the shoulder, but Eddie suddenly pulls him closer and presses a kiss against his lips. It’s reckless and stupid and they shouldn’t be doing this at school, but Steve melts into the touch. Sometimes he wonders if Eddie’s lips have soaked up all the nicotine and weed from years of smoking, making them so addictive to Steve. The kiss is short, but neither of them moves, staying in their compromising position.  

“Apologies,” Eddie says against Steve’s lips. “If it makes you happy, I’ll come over and eat your sardines out of a can. Or do you rich people only have caviar?” 

“Are you just trying to scam a seafood platter out of me, Munson?”

“Is it working?” 

“Shut up,” Steve says and kisses Eddie again. He pushes Eddie backwards until Eddie’s back hits one of the bleachers and Steve presses as much of his body against Eddie as he can. Eddie’s arms tighten around Steve, his teeth pulling gently on Steve’s bottom lip and for the first time in days, the world feels a little bit alright. 

“Can I ask,” Eddie pants a little when they let go, “if you need a post-date fuck, why not just bring your date home?”

“I feel like you missed the point where I said I didn’t wanna go on the date, never mind fuck her,” Steve says. “My parents might be able to force me to go on a date, but they can’t control who I let into my bedroom afterwards and have sex with. We just gotta lock the door and be quiet.”

“Sweetheart, you’ve never been quiet a day in your life.”

“Well, then you just have to make sure that I stay quiet,” Steve raises his eyebrows suggestively, trying to ignore how much his cheeks are burning. 

“And how, pray, tell, would I get into your room to fuck you when your parents are home?”

“The window?”

“The window,” Eddie takes one hand off Steve’s hips and rubs it over his face with a groan. “So let me get this straight. You want to go out with this girl-”

“My parents want me to go out with her,” Steve corrects him. 

“Your parents want you to go out with this girl. You are going to buy her lunch and then drop her off at home. Then you want me to sneak into your room, through your window, muffle your screams with a pillow and fuck you three days into next week while your parents watch jeopardy downstairs?”

“You could also use a gag,” Steve suggests with a smirk, trying to play into the sexy sides of things. He could also very easily just say that he needs Eddie to come over so that Steve can feel like he has some agency over his own life, to remind Steve that he is more than just a bobblehead, nodding along to everything his parents say, to just for an hour make Steve feel alive. But he has already made the stupid comment about cooking Eddie dinner, so he bites his tongue. 

“You can’t just say stuff like that in public,” Eddie lets out a very heavy sigh. But instead of pushing Steve away, his grip on Steve’s hips tightens and he begins kissing along Steve’s throat, all caution in the wind. Steve should say something, but he has never been the voice of reason and there is no reason to be had anyways when Eddie’s lips press against his skin. 

“So is that a yes?” he asks, letting his hands run over the denim of Eddie’s vest, his fingers bumping over patches and pins. 

Eddie sinks his teeth into the slope of Steve’s neck and it is answer enough. 

The hickey on his neck throbs pleasantly under Steve’s shirt when Steve goes to pick up Denise the next day. He is not surprised that his parents think that Denise is the perfect woman when he sees her. With her sleek, blonde hair, light blue eyes, and pointy nose she almost looks like a younger version of his mother. Even if they had just met at school, Steve would have never asked her out. A thin, golden cross dangles from her neck, and for a second Steve wonders if it’s a chain too, well aware that his parents aren’t the only ones pretending their child is a doll to play dress up with. But then Denise opens her mouth and starts talking about her father’s last golf game at the Country Club and Steve abandons all hope. He feels like there are fishhooks pulling at the corners of his mouth when he smiles at her. 

She picks a salad for lunch and asks their waitress if they sell Evian water. When the waitress tells her that she can have tap water Denise looks so shocked someone might as well have told her Elvis was still alive. 

“My daddy was right when he said Hawkins was nothing but a glorified cow pasture,” she sighs, honestly upset about the water and Steve tries not to cringe visibly. Who over the age of three calls their father daddy? 

After that Denise sticks to three topics: the weather, her future as a secretary, and the ski resort in Aspen she had spent Christmas at. 

“You’ve ever been?” she asks Steve, boring, but at least politely. He’s been on several dates where none of the girls even bothered to ask him anything. 

“Once,” he says, “when I was ten.” Back when his parents still took him on holidays, before nannies became more lucrative and eventually Steve’s independence acceptable in the eyes of their neighbors. He was 13 the first time they left him completely alone. The first few times it had been a thrill, now he just keeps thinking back to their winter in Aspen. He remembers getting a cold on that holiday, spending most of the trip tucked away in bed. Sometimes he wonders if that is the reason his parents had started to leave him at home. Maybe he had been just too much of a bother. 

“Well, we go skiing there every winter, and every summer we go sailing in the Hamptons, and Thanksgiving we will usually go up to Vermont,” Denise continues and Steve starts to drown her out. He’s perfected the art of humming with interest and gasping in shock when the conversation demands it. 

Denise thankfully doesn’t order dessert and Steve goes slightly over the speed limit on his way to drop her back off. He does walk her to the door when she asks but instead of kissing her goodbye he only offers her an awkward handshake. Steve can already hear a younger version of himself screaming at him, but all Steve wants to do is get away from this date. He is far more intrigued by the thought of kissing Eddie in his bedroom than Denise at her front door. 

She waves at him as he drives away. At least one of them had a splendid time. 

When he gets back the house is weirdly quiet as if his parents hadn’t actually arrived two days ago, only the light from the kitchen giving their presence away. Steve considers if he can get away without saying hello and go straight to his room. But his parents will definitely insist that he report how his first date with their future Mrs. Harrington went.  

He takes one deep breath before he walks towards the kitchen. It occurs to him as he walks through the door that it’s odd that both his parents are in the kitchen rather than the living room. Even if his mother would be cooking dinner, his father wouldn’t keep her company. Steve wishes he would have realized that something was off sooner.  

He sees the opened college letters first, then the quiet rage in his father’s eyes. Behind Steve, the kitchen door falls shut. People who say that disappointment is so much worse than anger have never met his father, Steve thinks, before a hand closes around his wrist and flings him into a kitchen chair. 

Chapter Text

1999

Steve is no stranger to people gossiping about his dating habits. There were very few Mondays Steve walked through the hallways of Hawkins High without people whispering about the newest girl he had taken out on the Friday before. People wondered if he would enter school holding her hand and placed bets whether his arm would still be slung around her come Friday or the next girl. 

Steve was notorious for dating around, the word commitment not to be found in his already limited vocabulary and yet girls kept lining up, hoping to be the queen of his heart and Hawkins High. Steve had never really disliked the dating, the hookups, the flings. Had basked in the howling from his teammates, Tommy’s envious grin, and the endorphin rush of being desired, wanted, without having to put his own little heart on the line. Chasing a meaningless orgasm between the legs of a random girl weekly sure had been fun. 

But deep down inside, hidden between all the prisoned emotions he was not supposed to have, Steve yearned a little. 

He wanted the flowers and candlelight dinners, wanted the never-ending phone calls, and tender goodbye kisses. The valentines cards and promposals, the anniversaries and holidays. Deep, deep down inside he wanted that kind of rom-com love. But John Hughes didn’t make movies for keg kings and none of the giggling girls Steve took out ever made him want to even try. 

That was until Nancy Wheeler. He didn’t ask her out first. They just orbited each other, Nancy being too smart for a prep but too pretty for a nerd, fit into their greater ‘friend’ group by grazing at the edges of the upper-middle class. Her own car, and brand clothes bought by her mother, but Nancy always seemed like she couldn’t care less. The same way she couldn’t care less about Steve being king. “Is that meant to impress me,” she asked when he had shotgunned a beer and maybe it had been because Steve had learned to mistake indifference for love, but he had fallen instantly. 

Steve was above it all because he was put on the throne, Nancy was above it all because she knew she was going to get out of Hawkins. He loved her for it and hated her for it. Not because she was going to leave him, but because she knew what she wanted and she was going to get it. Steve should have known that they were doomed from the start. 

But one Monday he had walked into school holding Nancy’s hand. And the Monday after that, and the Monday after that. Rumors changed from fling of the week to queen of Hawkins High, though Nancy never wore the title, refusing to become Steve’s little accessory. And then after a month or two the rumors died. 

They picked up again, spreading the news like wildfire when they broke up. Steve had been replaced by Jonathan Byers. Oh, how the mighty had fallen. Steve never figured out if that was about Nancy or about him. He didn’t pay attention to the rumors bouncing between lockers, hallway to hallway anyways. He had been too busy chasing the taste of nicotine and feeling alive off Eddie’s lips.

So yeah, people being overly invested in his love life when it is none of their business is nothing new to Steve. He just didn’t think that a bunch of smart-ass teenagers would still dissect his love life like it was an international political affair by the time he is in his 30s. 

The kids are chattering like a bunch of baby ducklings before feeding time when Steve drops off Dustin at the Hopper-Byers household for the sleepover the kids have planned. Well, Dustin had planned to give Steve the house to himself. It’s as disturbing as it’s endearing. 

“So where are you gonna take them?” 

“Boy or girl?” 

“Are they your true love?” 

A myriad of questions rains down on Steve as he and Dustin climb up the stairs to the porch. 

Mike is the only one apparently not excited about Steve’s date, a grumpy frown on his face. 

“Steve has a date?” he asks, out of the loop. “Why would anyone wanna date Steve? Ow! Max!” 

Max has punched Mike on the shoulder, now glaring at him, Steve is surprised Mike doesn’t crumble to a pathetic little pile of dust.

“Dude!” Dustin snaps at Mike, “Not cool!” 

“Because Steve is a fucking catch, asshole” Max snarls at the same time and Steve is too amused and a little bit touched to chastise her for cursing. Ironically, Mike’s comment is actually something she would have easily said if he hadn’t beaten her to it. Bullying Steve is one of her favorite past times, but only she is allowed to do it. Well, and occasionally Dustin. 

“Alright, alright, one after the other,” Steve sighs, choosing to ignore Mike. Maybe it’s because Steve used to date Nancy, but of all the kids, Mike has never truly warmed up to him. 

Steve turns to Lucas first. “We are going to Enzo’s.” Lucas nods, deeming it an appropriate first-date choice. “I’m going out with a man,” Steve tells Will, who has a shy smile on his lips. Will had only come out the year prior. It’s the one time Jonathan has truly held a little bit of a grudge over Steve because Will had come to Steve first and not Jonathan. Will, of course, had known that he could talk to Jonathan about everything, but he had also known that Steve was queer, so Steve had been the easier choice to talk to. 

Lastly, Steve faces El, who looks at him curiously with her big brown eyes. “And it’s too early to say if Marc is my one true love. Things like that take some time.” 

Before any of the kids can ask anything else, Hopper comes out on the porch. 

“C’mon, enough pestering Steve, the man got places to be,” he mutters. “And Joyce is making pizza inside, go help her out if ya wanna eat.” 

There is a quick chorus of bye Steve and good luck and then the kids have disappeared inside, pizza easily winning over Steve’s dating life. Hopper watches the little gremlins go, fond smile hidden well by his mustache before he turns to Steve. 

“So, this date? Do I have to prep my shovel talk, kid?” 

“What? No. He…we…I don’t,” Steve splutters, taken by surprise. He knows Hopper can be overprotective when it comes to his kids dating, Steve had just never assumed that would apply to him too. It’s an odd feeling, his parents always just worried whether the person Steve was dating was right for them. Never if the person was right for Steve. “It’s just a first date.” 

“Sometimes that’s all it takes for you to know,” Hopper says. “I knew Joyce was it the first time we shared a cigarette under the bleachers trying not to get caught by any of the teachers. Took both of us a couple of years and side steps to actually get there, but one smoke was all it took.” 

It’s more emotions than Hopper usually lets through, other than grouchiness really. Just like Steve’s father, Hopper never really shares what he feels unless he is pissed off. But while Hopper might not let it show often, Steve can always hear the crackling of the bonfire of affection that burns in his chest. Being so used to distance and anger being passed off as love by his father, it took Steve a while to understand how Hopper loves. 

Joyce has always loved loudly, and openly, feeding her affection to Steve like soup to a starving child. Mrs. Henderson had been the same, always worried about not having enough, but handing all her love out to Steve so freely, it had always been worth more than anything his parents could have given him. 

And Hopper, well, he shows his love by muttering and offering to threaten your future date with murder if they break your heart. It still makes Steve’s heart clench, like every time he realizes how truly lucky he is, having stumbled in this weird, mismatched family of slightly broken people. He wonders if Marc could fit in. 

“Yeah, who knows, maybe Marc is it,” Steve shrugs, carefully. He doesn’t want to get too attached to the idea, he has a horrible track record with thinking people are it. Let himself be fooled once by brown curls and big eyes, let himself be fooled twice, had an endless string of meaningless dates for years, and at this point, he isn’t even sure he believes in the one anymore. Even the most romantic at heart becomes cynical after falling on his face date after date after date. 

“Well, bring him over for dinner if he’s good for ya,” Hopper says and Steve nods. Then he gets one last encouraging clap on the shoulder on his back before Hopper heads back inside and Steve makes his way back home to get ready. 

He’s just come out of the shower and dried his hair when his phone rings. God, he hopes it’s not Marc canceling or Dustin being sick. But when he picks it up, it’s Robin instead.

“Listen, I know we said drinks tomorrow,” she says instead of a greeting, “but Eddie and I are gonna go out tonight too if you wanna join.” 

“Can’t, I’m having dinner with Marc, remember?” Steve replies, phone pressed between his shoulder and ear while he tries to finish putting on his jeans. 

“Oh, you’re actually going out, I thought you were joking.”

“Why would I make a joke about that, Robin?” Steve frowns, dragging the phone chord behind him as he walks to his closet, trying to decide on a shirt. 

“I don’t know, maybe because you haven’t been on an actual date since 1994? Because this literally came out of nowhere? Because Marc Bolton is absolutely not your type?” 

Steve decides on a simple, dark blue button-down and rolls his eyes at Robin’s comment. 

“Marc’s cute,” he says while fighting with the buttons of his shirt. On the other end of the line, Robin sighs. 

“Yeah, but he is so polished. No edges. No flaws. No sense of humor. You’ve always said he never engages in that back and forth you offer him.” 

On a subconscious level, Steve knows she is right. There is a reason why he and Marc haven’t gone out until now. But he doesn’t want to think about that too deeply right now. He also has been out for dinner plenty of times with his date not getting his sense of humor and some of those dates have still been nice. And Marc is nice. 

“So?” he asks, not sure whether he is trying to convince Robin or himself that he honestly doesn’t care if Marc has a sense of humor or not. There are more important things than humor. 

“So, you need someone to bicker with, someone who teases you. Someone who doesn’t get offended when you tell them to fuck off affectionately.”

“Robin?”

“Yeah?"

“Fuck off.” 

“Love you too, Dingus,” she says. “But this is what I mean! He isn’t gonna get that part of you.”

“Look, Robin,” Steve rubs his hand over his face, careful not to mess up his perfectly styled hair. “Thanks for worrying, but I’m gonna go out with Marc. And I’m gonna have a good time. It’s not like we are getting married.”

“Well, Eddie and I will be in our usual booth at The Hideout if you wanna come afterwards in case you bomb.” Steve can already mentally see Robin draw a you suck scoreboard onto a napkin. 

“I think I’ll be good,” Steve says. “I’ll see you tomorrow and tell you everything about how awesome my date was.” 

He means it, he truly means it. Goes to Enzo’s with the best intentions and hopes. But a few hours later Steve still ends up at The Hideout, grabbing a beer from the bar before searching the booths for Eddie and Robin. They are like a lighthouse in the sea of people, and even though Steve knows—after a long lecture from Dustin—that ships are meant to avoid lighthouses, reaching the booth with both his friends in it feels like the comfort of coming home. 

“Hey, what are you doing here?” Robin greets him as Steve lets himself fall into the booth. He puts his arms on the table and buries his head in them with a groan. 

“That bad a date?” Robin asks and gently pets his arm. He looks up at her and Eddie, both of them looking more amused than pitying and Steve doesn’t know if that’s worse or better. At least Robin isn’t giving him her I told you so stare. 

“The only time we had a halfway interesting conversation is when we went on about our kids and then it was mainly more a continuation of the parents-teacher night than a date.”

“Oh, please, that’s nothing,” Eddie chuckles. “I once had a parent try to sweet talk me into changing his son’s English grade by buying me dessert.”

“Shit, really?”  

“Yup,” Eddie pops the p . “It’s the reason you never go on a date with a parent, Stevie. That’s teachers relationships 101.” 

Steve just groans again in response. He knows Eddie has a point. But Marc had been nice and polite and pretty and Dustin’s words about Steve dying alone had echoed in his head. And there had been the red, bright hickey on Eddie’s neck. But Steve would rather be trapped on the most mediocre date for the rest of his life than open that can of worms. 

“Surprised you didn’t still hook up, it’s not like a bad date has stopped you from doing that before,” Robin says, having witnessed Steve serial dating up close during the first few years of college. 

And Steve had considered it. It truly has been a while since he last slept with somebody, and he could really use getting off together with someone else instead of his own hand, but he just hadn’t felt it tonight. Maybe it’s his age or the fact that he is a legal guardian now, but he’s really not all that interested in hookups and casual sex anymore. He just wants a person he clicks with. Someone who makes him laugh, someone who makes running errands feel like a little adventure rather than a chore, someone who teases Steve for being scared during horror movies before pressing reassuring kisses on his forehead, someone who is good with Dustin. Marc probably would have been good with Dustin, but Steve just knows he would have come up short on the rest. Including hooking up. 

“When he kissed me good night it was the most mediocre kiss I might have ever had,” Steve says. If he was kind he would use the word nice to describe Marc, if he is honest he would say boring. Their night, their date, their kiss had been boring. And as much as Steve wants a quiet and stable life with mundanity to cherish, he would like to have that with a person who also kisses him breathless and takes him apart so well that Steve forgets his own name. He knows he should lower his standards, but it’s hard to let go of the fantasy. Especially since he got so close to it once. With someone who had actually felt like the one. 

Steve forces himself to keep his eyes on Robin. 

“Well, not all of us had the best kiss of our life in high school and are still hung up about it,” she rolls her eyes and Steve gets an uneasy feeling. 

“Shit, are you seriously still hung up on Wheeler?” Eddie lifts his eyebrows in disbelief and takes a sip of his beer. 

“Oh, this isn’t about Nancy,” Robin laughs and Steve suddenly feels like he is in a slow-motion scene from an action movie. Robin’s mouth moves, the bullet has been fired and Steve has to run and jump through the air, trying to catch it. Of course, like with any action movie, he is too slow and Robin adds, “I’m talking about Steve’s gay thing.” 

Next to her, said gay thing chokes on his drink. Steve isn’t sure if he is going to kill himself or kill Robin. 

“The one who got a–”

“It’s not a gay thing when I’m literally bisexual,” Steve interrupts her before she can say anything worse, trying to regain control over the conversation somehow. “I just went on a date with a man for fuck’s sake.” 

“I know, but calling it your gay thing is ultimately just funnier,” she grins and slaps Eddie, who is still violently coughing, on the back. “You alright, Eddie?” 

“Yeah,” he wheezes, slowly recovering. “Just didn’t know Steve was bi.” 

It’s not a lie per se. Steve didn’t really think about his sexuality until after Eddie and he ended things so they never really talked about it. He didn’t even know there was a word for him until Robin told him on the bathroom floor of Star Court Mall that she liked girls and he told her he liked boys sometimes. Then half of the burning ceiling had come down on them. 

It makes a certain sense that Eddie apparently assumed that Steve was just a curious straight guy. Still kind of hurts though. Steve chooses to ignore the sting, in the grand scheme of things it’s a silly thing to be annoyed about. Plus Eddie had every right to think of Steve whatever he wanted over the past 14 years. 

“Oh, then you never had to sit through Steve’s Harrison Ford rant, lucky you,” Robin chuckles. “You have no idea how often he forced me through all the Indiana Jones movies. And Star Wars. And Blade Runner.” 

“You love Blade Runner!” 

“Yeah, but not if I have to watch it three times in two days, Steve.” 

Eddie watches them bickering with a bemused smile. Maybe, if Steve is lucky and they keep up this conversation about movies, Eddie will forget what Robin said earlier. But before Steve can point out that watching Blade Runner three times in two days is still better than any of the French black and white movies Robin likes to pick, Robin gets up. 

“Anyways, I need another beer,” she says and sorts through the pockets of her denim jacket for some change. “Do you need new drinks?” 

Both Steve and Eddie shake their heads and Robin walks to the counter, leaving them completely alone. He can feel Eddie’s eyes burning on his skin and when Steve turns his head, Eddie is in fact staring at him. 

“So,” Eddie says, looking a bit like Metallica themselves had just walked into the bar and declared Eddie to be the most talented guitarist America had ever seen, “the best you ever had, huh?” 

Steve groans and hopes that the ground will open and swallow him whole. Of course, it doesn’t. “I’m never gonna live that down will I?” 

“Nope,” Eddie grins and takes a sip of his beer, this time without choking on it. “If it makes you feel better, you did rock my gay little world back then.” 

Steve raises his eyebrows in surprise. This is not at all what he would have expected Eddie to say. Teasing, ridicule, maybe even some Schadenfreude Steve would have been mentally prepared to take. He doesn’t really know what to do with Eddie’s little, genuine confession. 

“Not because you were the best, the kissing really could have used some work,” Eddie teases and Steve knows that Eddie likes to deflect with humor when things get a little too real and Steve is an easy target. “But because every single girl in Hawkins High would have killed to be with Steve Harrington. And yet, I, Eddie The Freak Munson, rumored cultist, and social outcast, I was the one to have King Steve. Can’t not let that go to your ego.” 

Steve wants to point out that Eddie never actually had King Steve. All those pretty cheerleaders, party girls, and prom queens queuing in front of his locker had King Steve. Eddie just had Steve. Stripped naked of his jewels, titles, and medals, the pretense and posturing washed away with every press of lips against his skin, becoming more and more real with every hitched breath and touch of Eddie’s hands. 

So Eddie is wrong, he didn’t have what every other girl in Hawkins would have wanted. Arguably—and it took Steve a lot of work on himself and his self-esteem to ever think that—Eddie had something far more valuable. He had more of Steve than anyone else ever had. And while most if not all of Hawkins High’s eligible bachelorettes would have turned around screaming after getting a glance at the mess that was the real Steve Harrington back then, Eddie had never run from Steve. He had just gotten away for a little while. 

Of course, Steve doesn’t say all that, not quite sure if he is allowed to. This friendship between them is still new, still delicate and every day they are testing the waters. And Eddie doesn’t need to know, it’s not like Steve still has some feelings for him, other than some mild, misplaced jealousy that flares up occasionally like once broken bones in cold weather. He does regret never saying it, but what would be the point in telling Eddie I really loved you back then, you know? It wouldn’t lead to the closure they have now, but only rip open old wounds that have finally stopped bleeding and started to scar. 

“Maybe I should have tried to impress my date with my high school royalty status. Maybe it would have gone better,” Steve jokes, even though he was the one not feeling a connection. 

“Nothing charms people’s pants off as easily as having peaked in high school,” Eddie teases and clonks his bottle against Steve’s. 

“Cheers to that,” Steve laughs. Then his eyes land on Robin across the bar and he knows he is about to disrupt the comfortable silence they were going to fall in. 

“Can I ask, why haven’t you told Chrissy or Robin?” 

Eddie doesn’t get mad or annoyed. He just leans further back in the booth and looks at Steve so attentively, Steve feels caught like a butterfly, wings pinned to a board by Eddie’s stare. 

“Why haven’t you?” Eddie asks instead of giving an answer. 

“Shame?” Steve says with a shrug. “I was going to. The day you came back. I was gonna meet up with Robin and I was gonna tell her. But then you just had to turn out to be BFFs with both her and Chrissy and, well, telling Robin, hey so remember my gay thing from high school whose life I completely ruined? Yeah, that was Eddie, didn’t really feel like a great conversation starter.” 

“You didn’t ruin my life, Steve,” Eddie frowns. Steve wants to open his mouth, wants to say that getting Eddie charged for a crime he didn’t commit sounds pretty life-ruining, but Eddie quickly continues talking. “I mean staying quiet and complacent while Tommy and Billy blamed me for Chrissy and everything was fucking shitty, don’t get me wrong. Especially with our…little liaison we had going on. But it’s not like you came up with the whole idea and Hawkins would have started to declare open season on me any day regardless of Tommy’s little coup. I was gonna flip this shit stain of a town off after graduation and run anyways. This way I just happened to run a couple of months earlier and with attempted murder charges in my hands instead of a diploma. Made the next steps of my career just a tad difficult, but I somehow made it, didn’t I? Eddie Munson, high school teacher and dungeon master extraordinaire. Wouldn’t really consider that ruined.” 

Of all the things to take from that, the words I was gonna run are the ones that stick with Steve. Eddie would have left. Even without all the shit that went down, he would have just left. Maybe he did run from Steve after all. 

Steve knows he is being hypocritical. If he had gotten into college on the first try, he would have been the one to leave. Study business, marry Denise, start a life that would never be his own, and don’t ever think back to the guy he spent a spring long loving, back rotting in Hawkins. 

No, that’s a lie. 

No matter who would have left, Steve would always have thought about Eddie. 

Did think about Eddie. 

Is still thinking about Eddie. 

About how Eddie would have left anyways, nothing tying him to Hawkins, no one worth staying for. Steve would have been alone, Eddie would have left anyways. 

Steve takes the thought and carefully pulls it apart like a rope, not allowing himself to be caught and choked by it. Until it is nothing more than a bunch of small strings lined up right next to each other. Steve looks at the components: the abandonment issues, lack of parental love, horrible self-worth, negative spirals, and catastrophizing thoughts, all frizzy and rough, but a lot easier to deal with broken down like that. Eddie would have left, Steve wouldn’t have been able to change that, and even though it hurts it’s okay. It doesn’t make Steve unlovable, or less worthy as a person just because Eddie wouldn’t have stayed for him, Steve reminds himself. As always, he doesn’t fully believe it, self-love is hard and the strings still chafe his skin. But the panic attack that would have had his teenage self shaking, stays out. 

“Why did you come back?” 

It’s the more important question. It doesn’t matter who left, would have left, could have left together. It’s questions for the heartbreak of the past. In the present, Eddie is back. That’s what matters now. 

Eddie is back in Steve’s life, back in Hawkins, back in the place that tried to burn him at the stake. But the only thing that did burn were the bridges behind Eddie when he fled and a month later Hawkins itself. And then again. And then the grounds had opened and anything that hadn’t been turned to ash had been shaken until it had crumbled apart. 

At this point Hawkins is held together by gaffer tape, spit, and the heart of people whose roots are too entangled with the town’s to leave like Steve, Chrissy, Joyce. Steve may not have had a house to call home for the first 19 years of his life, but Hawkins, in all its glowing shittiness, has always been home. Hawkins and the people in it who could never leave. Hawkins and the people in it who are like Steve. Hawkins and the people in it who are like family. Who are family, chosen by Steve, and who chose to love Steve in return. 

But Eddie isn’t like Steve. Eddie got his roots cut off before he and the town could be wielded together in a toxic embrace. Doesn’t suffer from Stockholm syndrome when it comes to Hawkins like the rest of them. Would happily peel the tape off and watch the town fall for good, and Steve can’t blame him. But it does beg the question, why did he come back?

“Wayne,” Eddie says with a little bit of a sigh, confirming Steve’s theory. Eddie isn’t like Steve. But he loves someone who is. Wayne Munson is as much a part of Hawkins as the dandelions growing through the cracks in its roads. “He needs someone to take care of him, as much as he hates to admit it. I tried to get him to move to Indy first. But he insisted on staying. Said he was born in Hawkins, so he is gonna die in Hawkins. Stubborn old man,” he chuckles somehow both mirthlessly and fondly at the same time. “And, well, Billy Hargrove being sent to prison and this job opening up was a plus in my books.”

Steve takes another sip of his beer, not really knowing what to say. He has no idea what it feels like to have a parental figure needing to rely on you. The closest he has to Wayne are Hopper and Joyce and both of them would bat his hands away and tell him not to make such a fuss if he tried to take care of them. Before Steve can stumble through expressing any kind of sympathy, Eddie continues talking. 

“And as for your initial question. I didn’t tell them because, even though until five seconds ago I thought you were most likely just a curious straight guy—” Steve wrinkles his nose in dismay at the thought of being straight and Eddie laughs. “God, I can’t believe Steve Harrington is making a face at the mere suggestion that he might be straight. Anyways, point is, even though I didn’t know I wasn’t gonna…I guess out you? Like, even if you had been just a curious straight guy, I wasn’t gonna just blurt out that we hooked up repeatedly in high school. That wasn’t really my secret to tell.” 

It doesn’t surprise Steve. Under all the snark, sarcasm, metal shirts, and heavy rings, Eddie has always been kind. Only ever shielding his softness, but never hiding it like Steve had hidden his. 

“And now?” 

“Now I don’t really have the need to bring it up to Chrissy or Robin. We talked about it, you acknowledged that you were an ass and an idiot, it’s kinda water under the bridge for me,” Eddie says. “But if you feel like you need to tell them you obviously can. They are not gonna hate you. Chrissy is gonna be pissed, but you have no idea how much she and Robin have gone on and on about their friend Steve over the past couple of years. You’re family to them and I don’t think this would change that. Ever. But it’s up to you.” 

“I’ll think about it,” Steve says and finishes his beer. Telling Robin will make him feel better in the long haul, but he doesn’t feel ready to tell her just yet. Mostly because he is afraid of what she might be able to read between the lines of things Steve hasn’t even worked himself through. 

“What are you gonna think about?” Robin asks as if on cue, suddenly reappearing and sliding back into the booth.

“Helping me out with the drama class’ production,” Eddie says, without missing a beat, giving Steve a shit-eating grin. 

“Oh, no way in hell man!” Steve hates drama class. He has always struggled enough with reading the regular books they got assigned in school. Plays were even worse. Something about the small print, the lack of context, the weird language, it all just swam together. 

“Aw Steve, come on help Eddie out,” Robin nudges him under the table. “You’re such a drama queen after all.” 

“How am I a drama queen?” Steve asks, indignant. “Eddie is literally right there?” 

“You really should join the production, Stevie,” Eddie continues to grin. “After all, all your favorite kids are involved.” 

“Dustin does have the acting talent of a marble statue.” 

“That’s why he is my assistant director.” 

“He is?” Dustin has not mentioned that yet to Steve. He narrows his eyes, trying to figure out if Eddie is simply leading him on, but he seems genuine. He tries his best not to be hurt that Dustin hasn’t told him yet. Knowing Dustin, he probably just forgot in the excitement of Steve having finally scored a date. God, Dustin is going to never let him hear the end of the failed date when he gets home. 

“What are you even putting on?” Robin asks. 

“A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

Great. Shakespeare. Couldn’t Eddie have chosen a modern play? Then Steve would at least not have to go grab a dictionary every three sentences. 

“If you don’t find an actor for the donkey, Steve would be the perfect fit,” Robin snickers and Steve flips her off.  

“You’re a donkey,” he retorts lamely, only making Robin and Eddie giggle more. 

“C’mon, Harrington,” Eddie grins impossibly wide at this point, “let us hear your best hee-haw.”

“Oh, fuck off, Munson.”

“Language!” Both Eddie and Robin snap at the same time before laughing so hard they almost slide off the booth. 

They are both awful, and Steve has never been so glad they are in his life. 

_____

1985

It’s eerily quiet in Steve’s room. The only noise is the sound of the Tv playing in the living room, carrying up the stairs. Steve keeps on holding his breath, listening out for footsteps approaching to get started on round two. But now that everything that could have been said, has been said, Steve’s parents have gone back to ignoring him, like a problem they hope will go away by itself if not acknowledged. Steve wants to take off his head and throw it against a wall like a tennis ball and watch it bounce off the plaid. 

He sits on his bedroom floor, back leaning against his bed, hugging his knees and pressing them into his chest to keep the emotions trying to escape his lungs with a sob inside. Nancy once told him that the pressure of another body can help with panic attacks or stress, release endorphins or something. And so Steve holds onto himself, pushing down on his stomach with such force as if he was trying not to bleed out. It kind of feels like he is. 

Steve’s father had cut open the college rejection letters with surgical precision before he had sliced the letter opener through Steve and watched the sawdust trickle out as he stuffed self-hate like barbed wire into the hollow space of Steve’s body. And now Steve can feel the spikes rise to the surface of his flesh and pierce through his skin. A warning to anyone who tries to touch him even in the gentlest way. Don’t fall for the twisted pain Steve carries inside himself, if you reach out you’ll only get hurt. Just let him bleed and writhe on the floor, it’s the only thing he is good for. 

He couldn’t even get into Tech. Fucking Tech. All he had to do was follow the plan, do exactly what his father wanted him to do, and get into college. That’s fucking all and Steve had failed spectacularly. Not a single college had wanted him. Story of his life. He’d laugh about it bitterly, but instead, a single, silent tear rolls down his cheek. And then a second, and then a third. 

Steve lifts his hand and smacks the tender skin of his face forcefully. He needs to get it together. He doesn’t cry. He doesn’t fucking cry. He doesn’t—

Another tear spills from his eyes and rips down the dam detaining all of the tears Steve has held in over the years. He wills himself to stop, but he just cries and cries and cries. He claps a hand on his mouth to stifle his violent sobs that shake his body. God knows what his father would do if he heard Steve cry. 

Steve is too busy trying to stop his body from trembling to hear the rattling of his window until it’s fully opened and with a curse, Eddie tumbles over the windowsill onto Steve’s carpet.

“I swear to god, Harrington,” he grumbles as he gets up, “the next time I’m gonna make you climb through my bedroom window.” Steve doesn’t turn around, doesn’t say anything. He crouches more, for a second praying that Eddie won’t see him curled up behind his bed. But of course, Eddie has already spotted him and walks across the room towards him.    

“It’s not nearly as hard as climbing through yours, but—,” Eddie fully sees him and stops dead in his tracks. For a second he just stares at Steve, sitting on the floor, and Steve’s cheeks burn with shame. He has to look pathetic, eyes red-rimmed, streaks of tears covering his face, curled in on himself. He really wishes Eddie would look away. 

“Fuck, Steve,” Eddie gasps and drops to his knees on the floor next to Steve. “What happened?” He asks and gingerly cradles Steve’s face. His thumbs brush gently over Steve’s cheeks, wiping away the last remnants of Steve’s tears. Steve feels like he is about to shatter like a porcelain doll dropped onto the floor. He doesn’t know if Eddie’s tender touch is holding him together or slowly making him crack and break apart. 

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” Steve’s voice shakes and his body trembles even worse. “Don’t think I’m in the mood for sex either, sorry.” 

Eddie’s hands drop from Steve’s face and it hurts worse than anything his father has done to him tonight. 

God, Steve can’t look at Eddie right now. Maybe there is pity in Eddie’s face. Maybe annoyance, for having come over to Steve’s for nothing. Maybe his face is contorted with violent repulsion at how pathetic Steve is. Whatever emotion is trapped in Eddie’s doe eyes, Steve can't handle seeing it right now. He presses his own eyes shut. 

It’s stupid. Everything is so stupid. Steve is stupid. For thinking that he was good enough. For believing that he would make it to college. For assuming Eddie would be here for anything other than sex. 

“You can just go,” Steve says quietly, eyes still closed. He doesn’t want to have to watch Eddie leave. 

He expects to hear footsteps followed by the noise of his window being shut. Instead, all he hears is the rustling of fabric, and then suddenly an arm is wrapped around him and his head is pulled onto Eddie’s chest. The smell of weed, denim, and Eddie’s cheap but not unpleasant aftershave hit Steve. It shouldn’t be so comforting, but it means Eddie is here, holding Steve, letting Steve’s tears soak through the soft fabric of his shirt. 

“I’ll leave if you really want me to,” Eddie whispers. “But I don’t think I should.” 

Right, because Steve can’t be left alone. Because Steve is a screw-up, always at the edge of doing something stupid, self-destructive. Steve in constant need of a babysitter because he just can’t do anything fucking right. Just a burden to everyone. A burden to Nancy, a burden to his parents, and now a burden to Eddie. Fantastic! 

“Hey, whatever you’re thinking right now sweetheart, it’s not true,” Eddie cuts through Steve’s spiral of self-depreciation. He can read Steve far too easily. The reassurance is nice, but it’s as effective as trying to stitch a flesh wound with a band-aid. Eddie rubs his thumb soothingly over Steve’s shoulder, but Steve still feels like he is being too much, needing too much. He doesn’t want Eddie to feel obliged to take care of him, just because he was the one to find Steve in this state. 

“You don’t have to stay.”

“Do you want me to leave?” 

No. Never. 

It’s easier to say that he doesn’t want Eddie to leave, than asking Eddie to stay. Still, saying it out loud feels impossible, so Steve just shakes his head ever so slightly, hoping it will be answer enough for Eddie. 

It seems to be because Eddie only hugs him tighter, pressing Steve as much against his own body as he possibly can. Almost as if he is trying to keep Steve from leaving. Steve isn’t even sure he could stand up without help right now. But it’s nice. To be held like this. 

“Then let me stay,” Eddie says softly against the crown of Steve’s hair. “Okay, sweetheart?” 

Steve nods again and just allows himself to sink further into Eddie’s embrace. Eddie is here. Eddie doesn’t mind being here. Doesn't mind that Steve is dissolving like a sweater being pulled apart by a loose thread; Steve is only held together by Eddie’s arms around him. 

They sit like that for a while, Eddie leaning his back against Steve’s bed, Steve curled up on Eddie’s chest. Steve has stopped trembling, but he still feels shaky and out of it. Like nothing is quite real. Maybe it isn’t. Maybe it’s just a very lucid dream. If it is, Steve doesn’t want to wake up. He knows his bed would be empty. 

And then, as if on cue, Eddie asks softly, “Should we get you into bed? You look like you could use some sleep.” 

Steve suddenly realizes how exhausted he is. His entire body aches, his throat is sore and his eyes burn. Lying in bed and sleeping tonight off like a bad hangover sounds heavenly. He nods, even though his legs feel like jelly. Getting up from the floor feels like a herculean task, Steve pushes himself up, legs quivering only to instantly sink back down against Eddie’s chest. 

“Woah, let’s take it slow, alright, sweetheart?” he says and gently lifts Steve up. 

“‘m fine,” Steve mumbles, but holds on to Eddie for a second longer, just in case his legs give in again. When he manages to stay standing, Steve slowly lets go of Eddie. Pressing his hand against the wall for support Steve manages to get through his dresser. He digs through it pulling out some pjs, before he hesitates. He can feel Eddie’s eyes linger on him from across the room. For a second Steve wonders if Eddie is assessing him, trying to figure out if Steve can be left on his own by now. Because Steve is about to go to bed and Eddie never sleeps over. Has said it himself, Steve’s room creeps him out. So maybe, he is just waiting to leave now. 

“You can borrow some clothes too if you—”

—want to still stay. Please stay. 

“If you want,” Steve finishes his sentence. 

“Sure,” Eddie says and Steve turns back to his dresser to hide the relief on his face. “If you put me in a Tears for Fears or Wham! shirt though,  I swear.” 

Steve snorts and for a moment it feels like he can breathe again. The noise seems to take both him and Eddie by surprise and then Eddie looks at him with a sad smile and Steve doesn’t really know what to do with that. Of course, Eddie isn’t a heartless asshole, of course, he shows some compassion. But this feels like more than compassion, whatever Eddie seems to see in Steve right now, runs deeper than that. And Steve can’t handle to be looked at like that right now. Maybe ever. He grabs some random sleeping clothes and throws them at Eddie and hits him right in the face. 

“I’ll go…uh…,” Steve points awkwardly towards his en-suite, “change.” 

Eddie nods and Steve drags himself into his bathroom and locks the door. The second the lock clicks, Steve’s body moves on autopilot. Changes clothes, brushes his teeth, combs through his hair. He only stops when he catches a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror. His eyes are puffy and swollen, even though he barely cried. His cheeks manage to look simultaneously ashen and glow pink as if exposed to freezing air on the first cold winter day. His wrist is a similar color. He lets cold water run over it as if it would make a difference, he already feels numb. His eyes snap back up from his wrist. 

The Steve in the mirror looks like a mess. Not the hot, debauchery kind of mess Eddie loves to reduce him to. But the kind of mess you better avoid. The kind of mess you can’t fix, like an old house that you tear down because it’s cheaper and easier than rebuilding it. 

Steve closes his eyes and splashes cold water into his face. Just like with his wrist it does nothing. He feels dazed like his head is filled with static and his vision glitching. The last time he had felt that way had been after his fight with Jonathan. Steve should have already known back then, that he was the actual loser. 

When Steve leaves the bathroom, he fears for a second that Eddie will have left. Changed his mind, or saw that Steve was alright enough to get changed so why stick around? But Eddie is still there, lying on Steve’s bed, hands crossed behind his head very quietly humming a melody Steve doesn’t recognize. He looks good in Steve’s clothes and Steve would love to appreciate Eddie wrapped in the blinding yellow of his sweater more, but his brain is too frizzy to fully enjoy the view. 

Eddie stops humming when he sees Steve and gently pats the space on the mattress next to him. Exhausted, Steve turns off the lights and crawls into bed. He isn’t even halfway under the covers when Eddie carefully pulls Steve on top of him and wraps both his arms tightly around Steve’s shoulders. It takes all of Steve’s last bit of strength not to start crying again. 

They have fallen asleep tangled together in their post-coital bliss before, arms loosely flung over torsos, knees bumping into each other, noses pressed against shoulders, hair brushing over foreheads. But just like their hookups, their sleepy embrace has always been rather casual. 

Not meaningless like the nights Steve had spent curled up next to a random girl, unable to sleep, counting down the minutes until he could leave. Not significant like the mornings Steve had woken up holding Nancy in his arms, thinking that, yes, this maybe could be it. With Eddie, Steve had never hurried to get away, but he had also kind of kept his distance. Or as much as you could keep a distance to someone who had been inside of you minutes prior and was now complaining about you stealing all the blankets.  

But this is different. 

They are both still clothed, just lying there together, no desire to go further, and it’s somehow the most intimate they have ever been. Steve’s head lifts and sinks with every rise and fall of Eddie’s chest. Without effort, Steve mirrors his own breathing to Eddie’s and calmness slowly begins to wash over him. 

Everything grows so quiet that Steve can hear the low, rhythmical thump, thump of Eddie’s heart. For a moment that is all there is. Eddie’s heartbeat in Steve’s ear, Steve’s face in Eddie’s chest, Eddie’s fingers entwined with his own, his thumb rubbing over the back of Steve’s hand. For a moment the entire world shrinks down to a king-sized mattress in Hawkins, Indiana, carrying two teenage boys nestled together, clinging to each other like castaways on a raft through the night. For a moment Steve allows himself to want, allows all the dangerous things that will eat his heart alive one day to bubble to the surface, allows himself to ask. 

“Will you be here in the morning?” he whispers into the dark. It’s easier to ask when he can’t see Eddie’s face, doesn’t know if Eddie is even still awake to hear him. It feels more like he is making a quiet plea to the universe for Eddie to stay than asking Eddie directly. But then Eddie shifts, snuggling closer to Steve and pressing a soft kiss to Steve’s forehead. 

“As long as you want me, baby,” Eddie whispers back. And with that promise on his mind, Steve falls asleep. 

Chapter Text

1999

Despite popularity and popular belief, friendship has always been hard for Steve. For most of his childhood, Steve’s parents had chosen his friends. Scheduled his playdates, send out his birthday invites, kept him away from any kid that didn’t live in Loch Nora. The few times Steve had tentatively tried to make friends with someone who didn’t meet their approval, he’d gotten wrinkled noses and harsh hands gripping his shoulder, steering him to the other side of the playground. They held the names of those kids between their teeth like they would hold vermin between pinched fingernails, quiet disgust in their eyes. It took Steve a while and many grimaced smiles until he was able to tell what kind of friends his parents would let him keep. 

Just the way he was soon able to tell if the steps coming up the stairs were his mom or his dad and if they were heading to the master bedroom or about to push Steve’s door open. Learned whether a business meeting had gone bad or well depending on the way the front door fell into the lock. Knew instantly when his father had another affair based on the force his mother put her wine glass down on the mahogany table during dinner. 

Steve might have struggled to read words, the letters blurring into each other, all looking the same, but he was able to read people well enough to know he couldn’t bring it up with his parents. He was able to read people well enough to know how to smirk when Tommy H. pushed the first kid into a locker in primary school. He was able to read people well enough to know how to shape and mold himself to become the person people would crown King Steve. 

He still reads people like that. Less loud-mouthed and impulsive to distract from his wandering eyes, but still just as observant. Mathematical equations go over his head and some context clues he’ll never pick up like Henderson-the little genius-does. But he can easily spot the signs he needs to spot. It’s what makes him such a great guidance counselor.

It had helped Steve to figure out how to become popular, it hadn’t helped him figure out how to make friends though. Popularity had come to him as easy as breathing until he had choked on it. But it took him a long while to learn that friends don’t want to be read so you can shape-shift yourself into their perfect version of a person. Friends want the real you, the raw you with all your flaws, and errors, and annoying habits that make them want to smother you all while still deeply loving you. 

Steve didn’t manage to pick up on that until Robin. On their first day at Scoops, she had taken one look at him, rolled her eyes, and muttered, “Of fucking course.” No matter what Steve had tried, no matter how much he bend and pushed himself into a mold, the annoyance had stayed on her face. Until it had been replaced by fear when the flames had started to lick over the bathroom walls and the floor had started to give in.

Sometimes Steve worries that if it wasn’t for the shared trauma they wouldn’t have become friends. That if it wasn’t for the scorching heat melting their shakily held hands together, Robin would have never liked him. That all there really is to their relationship, is a mutual understanding of what they went through and twin scars like the most fucked up friendship bracelets. And then as if on cue, Robin will nudge his shoulder and with a soft smile say, “Whatcha thinking about, Steve?” Because she knows him, truly knows him, wakes up every morning and chooses to know him, chooses to see him, chooses to rip him out of his self-destructive thoughts. Chooses to love him because that is what true friendship is like. 

Despite now as an adult having the knowledge of what friends are meant to be, Steve still struggles to make friends his age beyond Chrissy and Robin. Maybe it’s because he hangs out with pre-teens most days. Maybe it’s because most people his age in Hawkins are still the assholes they were in High School. Or maybe it’s because no one could ever measure up to Chrissy and Robin. 

Well, until Eddie walked back into his life, easily able to reach the impossibly high bar Chrissy and Robin had set. Even though, despite what they have meant to each other, they have never really been friends, speed-running strangers to hookups to lovers to people who didn’t talk to each other for 14 years. So being friends with Eddie is something new, something that still takes Steve by surprise.

It’s astonishingly easy though. It’s early morning grumbles at the coffee maker in the teachers' lounge. It’s getting tipsy on Saturday nights in The Hideout with Chrissy and Robin. It’s picking up the kids from DnD and grinningly greeting each other with, “Munson.” 

And, “Harrington.” 

It’s Eddie joining in on movie nights and looking equally as lost as Steve when the kids get into their science projects. It’s nods of acknowledgment in hallways and little waves across basketball courts and running tracks. It’s laughing about set decorations glued to hands and weird props found in glove boxes when looking for tapes. It’s bickering over music and taking the kids to the arcade. 

It’s overall not that different from when they were together. It’s the same kind of trust, the same kind of knowing someone, the same kind of affection swelling in chests, just without the romantic feelings or sexual desires. 

It’s nice to have a friend. 

Even when said friend is sitting in his office during lunch break, feet popped up on Steve’s desk, trying to steal a sandwich. Steve slaps Eddie’s hand away before his fingers touch the bread.

 “That one’s for Max!” 

Eddie downright pouts and Steve has no idea how to say no to that, no matter how annoying it is. He hands half his sandwich to Eddie, who takes it with an excited little grin. 

“Christ, do I have to start making you sandwiches too?” 

Not that Steve would actually mind that much. He loves making food for the people close to him. He wonders if Eddie’s favorite is still chicken and cheddar with extra pickles. 

“Am I not one of your lost little sheepies?” Eddie says and takes a huge bite. 

More like the prodigal lover, Steve thinks and then changes the thought to prodigal friend. Friends. They are friends now. 

“Pretty sure you have the resources to make your own food, Munson.” 

“Resources maybe,” Eddie says while chewing. Which, gross. Or at least it should be. But somehow Eddie manages to make it look endearing instead of just bad manners. “But not the talent. Not all of us were meant to be a skilled little housewife like you, Stevie.” 

“Hey, I’m a working mom at best,” Steve shoots back automatically and then suppresses a groan because the kids have truly gotten into his head. Eddie, to his credit, manages not to snicker, even though his lips twitch with amusement. 

“Can you cut off the crust too the next time,” he jokes and his doe eyes become puppy eyes, “pretty please?” 

“God, you’re annoying.”

“Yeah, but it’s why you liiiiiike me.” 

Steve rolls his eyes, but it’s true. He likes Eddie. He likes Eddie so much it’s almost stupid. Not for the first time, Steve wishes he had been friends with Eddie when they were kids. He could have used a friend like that. The same way he could have used Robin and Chrissy. 

For a moment he sees it. Swapping lunches on the playground, sleepovers on the weekends, sticky hands, scraped knees, and laughter. Loneliness a foreign concept and popularity not something to strive for. Cheering for Eddie and Chrissy during the middle school talent show and splitting milkshakes after. Bumping shoulders in hallways and holding hands when realizing they are queer. Getting tipsy at prom and high after graduation. Moving a beat-up green couch into a shitty two-bedroom apartment instead of staying in claustrophobic college dorms. Not missing out on 14 years of their lives. More than 14 years, if Steve thinks properly about all the time his life was missing the three of them. 

“Steve?” Eddie’s voice rips him out of his thoughts. No point in mourning the past when the present sits right in front of him, giving him a curious stare. 

“Hm, what, sorry?” 

“I asked what you were doing Halloween,” Eddie repeats. “Because I got roped into running a spooky one-shot at the youth center by Chrissy and Robin.” 

“I’m on apple bopping duty,” Steve says. “Not gonna lie, I miss the days when I had to just wrangle six sugar fulled kids going trick or treating and not entertain half of Hawkins.” 

Eddie shoots him a look knowing that Steve absolutely loves taking care of all the kids in Hawkins. And it’s true, he really does enjoy his job and volunteering at the youth center. But if he would prefer to spend Halloween just with his band of little gremlins, sue him. It’s hard not to have favorites when you literally watched them all grow up. 

Instead of calling Steve out, Eddie asks, “Wait, you went trick or treating with them?” 

“Yup, babysat all of them during college,” Steve says. “Nancy and Jonathan were off to Emmerson, Lucas and Dustin didn’t have any older siblings and it’s not like Hargrove was gonna take them.” Even if he would have tried, Steve would have rather lost another fistfight against Billy, than let him in the vicinity of his kids. “Which reminds me you don’t by any chance have an aviator hat and goggles among your drama costumes?” 

“What kind of weird kink did you get into in the last decade?” Eddie laughs and once again Steve rolls his eyes so hard, he can basically see the back of his own head. 

“It’s for Max’s costume, asshole.” 

Steve had phoned Joyce a few weeks ago to discuss who would handle Max’s costume, both knowing Max’s mother would come short. Last year, El and Max had gone as mustard and ketchup so Joyce had taken care of the costumes. The year prior, back when the kids had not already been too cool to go trick or treating, Steve had seen Max eyeing a Mike Myers costume in one of the storefronts of Mulberry Street and despite her loud protest had bought it for her, not accepting no for an answer. By now Max had slowly come to accept Steve’s and Joyce’s help and after only a little bit of prodding had informed them that she would like to go as Amelia Earhart this year. 

“I thought the party was gonna do famous scientist,” Eddie frowns and wipes his mayo-covered fingers on his jeans. Apparently, no matter how much he’s grown up, some things never change. 

“They are, but Max said it was too nerdy, so she is doing Amelia Earhart instead.” 

“Right, because that’s not nerdy as fuck.”

“I wouldn’t say that around her if you like your shins,” Steve warns even though he silently agrees.  

“Wouldn’t say what around me,” Max’s voice suddenly comes from the door, making both Eddie and Steve jump. She looks alright, Steve notices, but she’s definitely had better days this semester. Her clothes are clean, but her braids are messy. Her face definitely is groggy, but not more than most students’ faces are around this time of year. Still, Steve makes a mental note to ask Max over for dinner tonight. 

“Red,” Eddie greets her with a little nod as she walks into the office. The walkman headphones around her neck are still quietly blasting what sounds like Fiona Apple. It’s not Kate Bush, so Max’s week could definitely be going worse. 

“English teacher,” she greets back and lets herself fall into the chair next to Eddie, before looking directly at Steve. “Guidance counselor.”

“Hello to you too Max,” Steve sighs and gently pushes her sandwich across the desk towards her. “Lunch?”  

She takes the sandwich and begins chewing before turning to Eddie with a glare. “You got some family trauma to discuss with Steve too, or are you gonna leave?”

“Oh, we do not have the time to go through all my family trauma,” Eddie grins, unfazed by Max, and gets up. “But I betcha Steve’s daddy issues have both of us beat.” 

He has the audacity to wink, but it makes Max snort. So Steve only feels slightly annoyed and awfully fond when he flips Eddie off. The responsible guidance counselor part of him wants him to point out that all three of them are deflecting with humor instead of facing and examining their actual trauma. But the immature, occasionally irresponsible part of him wins out and he adds, “Don’t forget the mommy issues too.” 

Max just groans, but Eddie, seemingly taken by surprise, lets out a small, private little laugh. Just like hot chocolate the sound pools warmly in the pit of Steve’s stomach. It’s as odd as it is comforting, Steve hasn’t felt like this in a while. 

“Now get out of my office,” he says, trying to ignore how much he kind of wants Eddie to stay all of a sudden. 

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Harrington, I’m already gone,” Eddie smirks and walks backwards towards the door. He gives Max one more little nod, which she ignores, and then disappears into the hallway. Once the door has fallen shut, Max’s eyes fixate on Steve and he gets an uneasy feeling. 

“So you two got chummy quickly,” she says with a raised eyebrow between chews. Unfortunately, she is just as observant as Steve. 

“Figured I needed a couple more friends that aren’t 15,” Steve shrugs trying to play it cool. First of all, he has no idea how to explain that he and Eddie go way back. Secondly, Steve finds that it’s really none of Max’s or anyone’s business. 

“You do,” Max agrees and thankfully doesn’t bug Steve further about it, instead choosing to bug Steve about her costume instead. 

She seems rather content with it when Steve hands it to her the morning of Halloween and struts through the room at the youth center later that night as if she owns it. 

“I still can’t believe she wouldn’t join the group costume,” Dustin mutters next to Steve trying to fix his toga. Steve reaches out to straighten it and for once Dustin, usually quick to bat Steve’s hands away, lets him. 

“You got your pyramid?” He asks while fixing the costume and Dustin nods and pulls it out of his backpack. 

Steve spent hours trying to construct it out of old cardboard boxes and somehow make it look cool and as if it was actually from ancient Greek. It had been a pain and Steve had cursed Dustin a little for having to choose Pythagoras of all nerdy scientists out there. But of course, there is nothing he wouldn’t do for Dustin. And so after hours of sketching, cutting, glueing, and painting, Steve had crafted a little miniature pyramid for Dustin and the smile on Dustin’s face had been worth it. 

As a result, much like every year, Steve had completely neglected his own costume until the very last minute. He had dug through his closet, pointedly ignored a piece of well-worn denim and behind several winter coats, he had finally found his old basketball uniform. It was a bit tight now, the shorts covering even less of his thighs than they did in High School but that, a pair of cheap werewolf claws and some cute little dog ears would have to do. 

He really wishes he had gotten a mask too or even put on some makeup when he spots Robin’s exasperated face from the other end of the room. She loves Halloween, has gone above and beyond with her Jack Skellington costume, god knows how long she did her makeup for. 

“Seriously Steve?” She sighs as she walks over to him, followed by their gaggle of favorite gremlins, Chrissy, and Eddie.  “Your old basketball shorts and jersey are not a costume.” 

“That’s why I have claws and ears,” Steve lifts up his hands, trying to make them look more claw-shaped. “Also c’mon Teenwolf is a classic.” 

“That still doesn’t count.”

“Chrissy is literally wearing her old cheer uniform and zombie makeup, how’s that different from me?” 

“Girlfriend perks,” Chrissy grins and flicks Steve’s ears with a giggle. “Cut him some slack Robs, I think he looks cute.” 

Robin mutters something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like damn jocks, but Chrissy and Steve just share a grin. When Chrissy and Robin had first gotten together, Steve had been afraid he would quickly become a third wheel or worse, get replaced by Chrissy. But he had soon discovered that Chrissy loved to team up with him to tease Robin just as much as she loved to team up with Robin to tease him. They might not have that weird platonic soulmate thing going on that he and Robin have, but Chrissy still means the world to him and Steve knows he means the same to her. 

Eddie has been uncharacteristically quiet the entire time. When Steve catches his eyes, Eddie is giving him a funny look that Steve can’t quite read. Just like Chrissy and Steve, Eddie hasn’t dressed up much. In fact, he is just wearing his old Hellfire shirt, ripped jeans, and more eyeliner than usual. It looks good on him, but it’s not really a costume at all. 

“And what are you supposed to be?” Steve teases. “A menace to society?” 

Eddie cocks an eyebrow, then leans in closer and flashes his teeth, revealing two very long, sharp fangs. 

“Blood hungry,” he says with a low voice and there is something about the way he stares at Steve with actual appetite that makes Steve shiver. He remembers all the bites Eddie had scattered over his skin like freckles. He wonders what kind of marks these vampire teeth could leave. 

The thought feels like slipping on the street on the first cold day of winter, his stomach whooping for a second before being painfully hit by the harsh impact of the fall. He shouldn’t have a thought like that. Wonders why his brain has decided to supply him with the mental image of Eddie’s teeth in his neck just when they have become friends. Steve wants to look away, but somehow he can’t. There is something mesmerizing about Eddie and the way he looks at Steve. Almost like he is thinking about biting Steve too. For just the briefest of seconds, Steve’s eyes dart to Eddie’s mouth. Eddie licks his lips and maybe Steve is dying. Because he can see his life flicker in front of his eyes for a moment. Or at least the parts of his life that have involved Eddie. Every kiss, every hookup, every soft word whispered against warm skin. Steve’s head starts to spin. 

“Shouldn’t you be hairier if you’re a werewolf?” Mike pipes up next to them, breaking the weird little tension between them. Steve never thought he would say it, but god bless Mike Wheeler. Steve and Eddie turn their heads to face him. 

Eddie opens his mouth with a wicked grin but then snaps it shut and claps a hand over it. The whoopsie expression in his eyes gives Steve a pretty good idea of what kind of comment Eddie was going to make about Steve’s hairiness. 

“Learn to grow a beard Wheeler, and then we’ll talk again,” Steve mutters, but there is no heat behind his words. After all, Mike did manage to pull him out of what the fuck that thing with Eddie just was. 

Steve keeps his eyes focused on Mike. He’s wearing an ill-fitting suit, the only thing remotely costumey is the glowing green neon paint covering his hands. El has the same kind of paint on her hands and her curly hair tied into a messy bun. Scientists aren’t really Steve’s forte, but he has a pretty good idea of who they are meant to be. 

“You the nuclear element scientist?” he asks. Mike just rolls his eyes and mutters, “Plutonium, it’s called Plutonium.”

But El smiles at Steve, sweet as always and nods. “I’m Marie Curie, Mike is my husband Pierre.”

“Your dad must be having a time,” Steve chuckles, knowing all too well what Hopper thinks about Mike going out with El. El blushes slightly and admits, “Joyce convinced him.” 

Steve turns to Will next, who thankfully does not make Steve guess who he is based on the math and code breaker books he is holding, but outright tells him, “I’m Alan Turning.” 

Steve knows just enough about queer history for the name to ring a bell. “Pretty cool costume,” he says and Will’s nervous face turns into a smile. 

“Bitchin’,” El agrees next to him. It’s sweet how close the two have grown since Hopper adopted El. Steve is glad Will and El have each other, feeling like their connection might not be unlike his and Robin’s. 

Lucas’ costume Steve gets without any help, the fake mustache and solar system sweater being a dead giveaway for Neil deGrasse Tyson. 

“Alright, the plan is,” Steve says once he has admired everyone’s costume. “We do the activities, you kids have fun. Then you help the volunteers to clean up before we have a sleepover at Dustin’s and my place. Be back here at ten pm.” 

The kids barely let him finish before they storm away. The boys drag Eddie along to the table where he has already set up his DnD stuff. The girls follow Robin to the haunted house section and Chrissy leaves to manage the face paint station, leaving Steve with no choice but to supervise the apple bobbing. He knows he is gonna end up wet and shivering by the end of the night. 

Time passes alright. Steve makes sure the kids coming to the station don’t drown and hands them a towel afterwards. Pretty soon his arms are soaked with water and his old jersey sticks to his chest. The shorts were definitely a mistake, but Steve keeps on going, making sure all the kids are having fun. 

It’s near the end of the night when Eddie trails over to him. The small queue that had formed earlier in front of the apple-bobbing station has cleared, so Steve is happy for the company. 

“You smell like wet dog,” Eddie grins when he reaches the barrel, once again showing off his fangs. 

“Eat me, Munson,” Steve shoots back but finds himself mirroring Eddie’s grin. It’s hard not to, with the dimples popping up on his cheeks, his eyes growing soft, his happiness is contagious. And Steve has always loved their back and forth. 

“Really wouldn’t say that to a vampire,” Eddie says with a low voice, stepping closer. It’s obviously meant as a joke, but a shiver still runs down Steve’s spine. The sensation mixed with his wet clothes and the long night suddenly has Steve trembling. He really should have brought a sweater or something. 

The smile on Eddie’s face faints and before Steve can reassure Eddie that he is alright, Eddie has taken off his leather jacket and slung it over Steve’s shoulders. It’s warm and Steve is instantly encased in the smell of Eddie and it’s a little bit dizzying if he is honest. 

“For your modesty, dude,” Eddie says, still eyeing Steve, worried. “As much as I am enjoying the short shorts, pick a warmer costume next time.” 

His body might be cold, but Steve can feel his face heat up at the comment. Eddie’s hand is resting on his upper arm, and it feels like his palm is burning through the leather onto Steve’s skin. Not for the first time tonight, Steve is wondering what the hell is happening right now. 

“Bet you can’t get one of the apples with your vampire teeth,” he blurts, needing something to happen so Eddie will stop touching him. 

Eddie frowns for a second before going back to smirking. Without breaking eye contact with Steve he fishes a hair tie out of the pockets of his jeans and begins to put up his hair. The distraction Steve had suggested has very clearly backfired because he is enraptured by the way Eddie is pulling strands of hair into a ponytail. Steve very pointedly forces himself not to glance at Eddie’s neck, so all he can do is try his best to hold Eddie’s stare. 

“What’s my prize, if I do get an apple?” Eddie says and finally looks away, stepping to the other side of the barrel. 

“I don’t know man,” Steve tries to sound disinterested. “I’ll make you lunch for a week?” 

That seems to be a fair price for Eddie because he winks at Steve and says, “Deal. Now watch and learn, Harrington, this is how the pros do it.” 

He takes one deep breath and then dunks his head underwater. Steve watches him curiously. Bubbles rise to the surface and Eddie’s hands grip the rim of the barrel tightly. He seems to catch an apple quite quickly but struggles to pull it up, his fangs threatening to fall out of his mouth, unable to support the weight of the fruit. 

He keeps his head underwater though long enough that Steve is starting to worry. Just as he reaches out to pull Eddie back up, Eddie manages to sink his teeth deep enough into an apple and comes back up with a triumphant huff. 

With the apple still between his teeth, he says, “Told you I could do it.” 

He spits the apple into his hand and holds it out to Steve. 

“Ew, pass,” Steve wrinkles his nose, but Eddie just shrugs and takes a bite out of the apple himself. There is water dripping down from his forehead, running over his nose and his cheeks, all the way down to his neck. Without even properly thinking about it, Steve takes the towel, steps closer, and gently dabs the water off Eddie’s face. 

He doesn’t realize just how close they are standing until he lowers his towel and Eddie whispers a soft, “Thanks.” 

Before Steve can say or do anything, Dustin’s voice calls out for him from across the room. “Hey, Steve, you said ten pm,” he shouts, breaking whatever kind of moment was going to form between Steve and Eddie. Steve isn’t sure if he is thankful for the interruption or pissed off. 

“Duty calls,” Eddie shrugs and takes a step back, leaving Steve’s personal space. 

“Afraid so,” Steve sighs. “Guess we better start cleaning up.” 

Despite the huge number of stalls and activities as well as Robin’s insane decorations, they manage to pack everything up relatively quickly. The kids are worn out as they pile into Steve’s car and Steve too feels very much ready for bed. 

“Thanks again for helping out,” Robin says and pulls him into a hug, her makeup smudging on Eddie’s jacket. Thank god, leather is relatively easy to wipe clean.

“Anytime,” Steve holds her for a while, knowing they both can use the hug right now. “But no more costume shaming.” 

She lets go of him with a tired laugh. “Promise, no more costume shaming.” 

They both know it’s a lie, it’s a well-honored tradition that Steve will wear a shitty costume and Robin will complain about it and they will act pissed off as if it wasn’t their Halloween highlight each year. 

Exhausted, Robin lets herself sink into her car while Chrissy comes and hugs Steve goodbye too. Just like Robin she lingers. Quietly, she whispers into Steve’s ear, “You look good in his jacket.” 

“Uh…thanks?” Steve mumbles, feeling flustered all of a sudden. He doesn’t like the way Chrissy is looking at him at all. Like she is plotting something. “Get home safe.”

“You too,” she waves before getting into the driver's seat and starting her and Robin’s car, leaving only Eddie and Steve standing in the parking lot.

For a moment they are just staring at each other, Eddie leaning against his old van, Steve against his Beemer. Clouds of breath are forming between them in the cold October air. Steve shivers again and pulls Eddie’s jacket a bit tighter. 

“I’ll better get that back on Monday,” Eddie says, arms crossed in front of his chest, no doubt feeling cold himself.

“Don’t think it’s really my style,” Steve shrugs. “So you’ve got nothing to worry about.” 

Eddie gives him that funny look again, that’s been irritating Steve all night. He opens his mouth as if to disagree, but then only says, “Right, I’ll see you then?” 

Briefly, Steve considers inviting Eddie along to the sleepover. The gremlins will definitely be wide awake again by the time they reach Steve’s house and it’d be nice to have another adult around. At least that’s what Steve tells himself. That is definitely the only reason he wants to ask Eddie to come with. But he scratches the thought. Eddie is probably itching to go back to his own place. 

“See you Monday,” Steve says instead, and then after exchanging a little nod, both of them get into their cars. Steve has never been so thankful for the kids being asleep in the backseat. He doesn’t need any witnesses to whatever just happened. 

Though Steve would very much like to know what the hell happened tonight. One moment everything is fine and then looking at Eddie almost feels like having a panic attack. Maybe he is just tired, Steve considers as he drives home. Hawkins at night looks just as awful as Hawkins during the day. There is something haunting about the barely lit streets filled with abandoned or fallen apart houses. Another shiver runs down Steve’s spine and he snuggles more into Eddie’s leather jacket. It’s weirdly comforting. 

Maybe he’ll be able to come up with a good excuse to keep it by Monday morning.

_____

1985

It’s quiet when Steve wakes up. But it’s not the eerie, haunting silence of the desolate house that often swallows Steve before he even leaves his bed. Today, the silence is nice, pleasant, only interrupted by the soft pitter-patter of rain against Steve’s bedroom window and Eddie’s calm inhale and exhale. Steve smiles with his eyes still closed, notices the warm breath ghosting over his face, feels Eddie’s legs tangled with his own, allows himself to enjoy Eddie’s hand between his shoulder blades, pressing Steve into his chest. Eddie stayed. 

Slowly Steve blinks his eyes open, worried that if he wakes too quickly Eddie might vanish, last night nothing but a dream. But Eddie is still there when Steve opens his eyes fully, his face only inches away, his nose almost brushing against Steve’s. 

Steve takes his time to watch Eddie. Normally he has to rush out to avoid Wayne and make it to school, or Eddie is sitting up awake already, nose buried in a book. So right now, Steve indulges. Lets his eyes roam over Eddie’s face like he would let his lips. Takes in Eddie’s pale skin, notices the crumpled-up sleep hanging from his long lashes, lingers on the curve of Eddie’s cupid’s bow. His lips are ever so slightly parted and Steve wants to lean forward, gently kissing Eddie awake. 

But he doesn’t, keeps his distance, and continues to let his gaze wander. Catalogs the dimple on Eddie’s chin, traces the laugh lines on his cheeks, wishes he could get lost in the dark rich amber of Eddie’s eyes. As if he had sensed Steve’s want, Eddie slowly blinks awake and Steve forgets how to breathe because all he can think is brown.  

They don’t say anything. They just lie there, chest pressed against chest, silently looking at each other. Dawn is dimmed by the hazy clouds outside, dipping Steve’s room in a subdued grey. But rather than depressing, it makes this moment feel soft as if it was wrapped in cotton, protecting something delicate, something precious. 

There is a faint smile, tugging on the corners of Eddie’s mouth and Steve wants to taste it so badly. But he still doesn’t move. He continues to look and to be looked at in return. He hopes that Eddie likes what he sees. 

Steve can taste the worry at the back of his throat, waiting to trickle down into his lungs. But before his chest tightens and his heart jumps into panic mode, Eddie’s hand strokes soothingly over Steve’s spine. Steve’s heart still beats faster than it should and his breath grows shallow, but there is no panic surging through him. Instead, adrenaline pools into his stomach, and anticipation prickles on his skin like goosebumps. Steve has no idea what’s happening anymore. All he knows is that he needs Eddie to close his eyes, the same way he needs Eddie to keep looking at him. Being caught in Eddie’s gaze is unbearable. Not being seen is worse. 

Steve doesn’t know who moves first, maybe they both inch closer. It’s not a deep kiss, not even a slow kiss, it’s almost just lips resting on lips. It’s more about being close than it is about kissing. Eddie’s skin is warm pressed against Steve’s nose, his mouth dry, a little bit chapped, his faint stubble chafing against Steve’s chin. Steve memorizes every single thing, not knowing when the next slow morning like this will come; well knowing that any moment like this could be their last. 

He lets the thought go as he lets go of Eddie’s lips. They are here now. Here in the serenity of the morning, eternity spend like this, bodies wrapped around each other, doesn’t seem so far-fetched. Steve imagines a life spent waking up next to Eddie. Imagines a life spent with Eddie. Sees the cul-de-sac with a black picket fence and rampant lawn. Hears the scraping of miss matched chairs around the dinner table and excited chatter. Tastes the casserole he’s put on and their kids' favorite pie he made for dessert. Feels his hands wrap around Eddie’s waist from behind while Eddie does the dishes. Smells dish soap and detergent as he presses a kiss on Eddie’s shoulder. Tells Eddie he’ll be upstairs. Falls asleep in their bed. Wakes up just like this. 

Fuck. 

He wants this. Wants Eddie. Wants more than just stress relief or a distraction. Wants to say I like you. Because he does. He likes Eddie. He likes Eddie so much it’s stupid. They are not meant to like each other. They are meant to be stringless strangers. But Steve can feel it, right there between his and Eddie’s left pinkie is a thin, red chord, tying both of them together. It’s only a question of when Eddie will notice it, take out a knife, and cut through it as if it were cobwebs. But everything is a question of when with them. 

“I don’t want to get up,” Steve whispers, trying to cling to the now as long as possible. As long as they stay here, the world outside doesn’t exist. There is no kitchen, in which his parents are cluttering about. There is no future to figure out. There is no end to all of this. Steve never thought he would find comfort in his room. But right now he never wants to leave it.

“We don’t have to,” Eddie whispers back. They are still so close, the words almost feel as if they are coming out of Steve’s mouth. It sounds nice. We. Like Eddie doesn’t mind staying with Steve. Almost like he wants to and not because he feels obliged to stay.

“I’m sorry we didn’t…last night,” Steve mumbles, presses his nose against his wrist, and hides half his face. He feels bad that Eddie had to find him like that. A mess that had to be taken care of and not someone to hook up with. Instead of relieving stress, Steve had only added more. Failed his purpose fucking spectacularly. 

“Steve,” there is a sadness clinging to the way Eddie says his name. “It’s fine, we don’t always have to...I fuck…I wouldn’t have…you’re…point is it’s fine. All good.”

For someone usually so eloquent Eddie is weirdly stammering. Almost as if he is fighting with himself on what exactly to say. Like there is something he wants to say but doesn’t allow himself. Steve is all too familiar with the feeling. 

Steve believes him though. Eddie doesn’t seem to have minded that much, otherwise, he would have already left. But he is here, his hands lazily playing with Steve’s hair. 

And then after a moment of silence, he adds, “Are you all good? Like I know you didn’t want to go on that date but as far as I know even bad dates don’t leave you shaken like that.” 

Date? What date? 

It takes Steve a second to remember, right, the future Mrs. Steve Harrington. Well, probably not anymore. CEO’s daughters don’t marry college dropouts. God, he wouldn’t even be a college dropout, would he? There are high school dropouts and college dropouts and he is neither. Weirdly stuck between both things, failure is probably the closest term he can find for his situation. 

There is a finger under his chin suddenly, lifting it slightly and a soft, “Steve?” reminds Steve of Eddie’s initial question. How bad was the date? Pretty bad, boring, massively dull conversation. Still, Steve would sit through the date with Denise over and over again if it meant never having to sit through the very one-sided conversation his dad had had with him afterwards. 

Steve opens his mouth to respond and then closes it again, his brain getting caught on one particular thing Eddie said.  

“What do you mean, as far as you know?” 

“I’ve never been on a date,” Eddie shrugs, casually and unbothered while all the gears in Steve’s head grind to a halt. No way Eddie’s never been on a date. Surely, one of the many people he’s slept with must have asked him out beforehand. Some metal fan in The Hideout, pining for Eddie up on the stage. Or some other nerdy DnD player making eye contact with Eddie at the comic book store. Someone, 100% must have taken Eddie Munson on a date.  

“You’ve never been on a date?”

“Steve, we live in bum fuck Indiana, unless you drive to Indy there aren’t many gay people around,” Eddie sighs. “And it’s not like the few gay people that are around here would wanna date me. Most of them just want a quick fuck in a bathroom stall or the back of a car. And even if they did, I can’t really walk into Benny’s holding hands with another guy and split a milkshake and some fries.” 

Steve is going through a complicated range of emotions and thoughts at that. Starting with, fuck isn’t what Eddie just described exactly what Steve is doing to him? But then their thing is different, it’s not like Steve wouldn’t wanna date Eddie. It’s more the other way around. Which is fair, Steve thinks. When people just keep hurting you over and over you stop wanting the thing they keep hurting you with. He briefly thinks back to the black eye Eddie had gotten from a hookup and this time his anger isn’t easily put out like a candle but burns  scorchingly in the pit of Steve’s stomach. 

Eddie deserves someone who takes him on a date. Someone who doesn’t leave reminders with bloodied knuckles that their relationship has to stay secret, but someone who presses his lips against Eddie’s collarbones, promising that even though their relationship has to stay a secret, he’ll always love Eddie. Someone who would find a way to properly woo Eddie. Go on picnics by Lover’s Lake, find sparsely visited drive-in cinemas, light up a living room with candles, and put Eddie’s favorite record on. Though Steve personally doesn’t think that Ride The Lightning by Metallica would put him in the most romantic mood, he would listen to it for Eddie. 

Steve can just about keep himself from blurting out I’d take you on a date. But it’s not what Eddie wants. At least not with him. They have a no strings attached thing for a reason. He probably isn’t even Eddie’s type. A pretty face, decent enough in bed so that Eddie doesn’t have to drive all the way up to Indy to get off. But that’s about it. Steve is still surprised that Eddie stayed. That he is even now still asking about last night, that he cares? 

So Steve doesn’t ask Eddie out, even though he can already see where he would put the candles in his living room. Maybe combine it with the home-cooked meal he still owes Eddie. Though Eddie had already told him there was no need for that dinner. Suddenly the pain of not getting into college is a lot more bearable than Eddie’s hypothetical rejection if Steve asked him out. 

“I didn’t get into college,” Steve says, trading Eddie’s confession for his. “Threw a wrench in the plan. Fucked up my future, all that.” 

It makes him laugh suddenly, saying it out loud. Isn’t that what he wanted all along? Say fuck the plan? Do something his father would never approve of? Isn’t that the reason he is lying in Eddie’s arms right now in the first place? Some late-blooming teenage rebellion? He just didn’t think it would blow up in his face this much. There is a dirty joke somewhere in there and Steve can’t help but giggle again. 

Eddie’s hand suddenly cups his cheek, tenderly, but firm enough that Steve stops laughing and holds still. 

“Are you having a panic attack?” 

“I’m not having a panic attack,” Steve says truthfully, but Eddie just looks at him skeptically.

“Kinda sounds like you do.” 

Eddie’s voice is soft, his eyes filled with concern and Steve hates it. It would be so much easier to deal with his one-sided feelings if there weren’t moments like this. Moments in which Eddie is sweet, and he cares, and it seems like maybe, just maybe Steve too means something more to him than a simple hookup. If Steve is having a panic attack, it is definitely not because he didn’t get into college. It’s because there is a beautiful guy lying in his bed, his arms around Steve, genuinely worried about Steve, not because of any underlying romantic feelings, but simply because he is such a fucking decent person. 

“I don’t know, I just,” Steve finally manages to say between giggles and dread in his stomach. “I never wanted to study business and work for my dad. Never wanted any of that, but I never had the guts to say it. And well, now all the colleges have said no for me. It’s like all these fucking expectations? They’re just gone.”

So is the last chance for his parents' love or approval. But even if he had been the perfect son, Steve is actually not quite sure anymore if his parents are even capable of love. He could have done everything right, let them mount him onto their wall like their diplomas and hunting mementos to show off to guests and all he would have been, is a slightly crooked trophy that would always still need polishing. 

But now? Now he can be imperfect. Make his one choice, figure out what he wants. He’s a real boy now. It’s terrifying. It’s wonderful. Steve blew up the future and one of the bars of his golden cage on accident with it. 

“I’m not okay okay, but I’m alright overall? Don’t get me wrong, my parents, downstairs? Really don’t wanna deal with them,” he adds, and the bruise on his wrist twinges. “But they leave tomorrow for another three months.” 

Three months of freedom to decide where he wants to run to. He finds Eddie’s eyes that now look at him with a little bit of awe instead of worry. Three months of freedom to decide who he wants to run with, a tiny, treacherous voice in the back of his mind suggests. 

“You’re taking this a lot better than I did when I was told I wouldn’t graduate ‘84,” Eddie says and goes back to playing with Steve’s hair. Like a cat, Steve pushes his head against Eddie’s palm and lets out a little sigh. 

“Yeah, man, I mean chances are that I might freak out now and then and I kinda still feel like a fucking failure. But, and maybe I’m just delusional, but maybe once I figure out what I want,” Steve whispers quietly and looks away from Eddie. “What I really, really want, then maybe I could be good enough to get it.” 

There is the rustling of fabric and then Steve finds himself pulled even closer to Eddie, his face gently pressed into Eddie’s collarbone, while Eddie presses a small kiss to the crown of Steve’s hair. 

“You’re definitely good enough,” he says and rests his chin on Steve’s head, still holding him tightly. If he wasn’t Steve might crumble apart like a wonky sandcastle, drowning in the wave of emotions Eddie is causing Steve to have. How was he ever meant to not fall for Eddie Munson? 

Unfortunately, they can’t stay like this forever. Eddie does have band practice and Steve has to eventually face his parents, the grumbling in his stomach informing him that he should face some food too. 

“Call me when they’re gone,” Eddie says, sitting on Steve’s windowsill, one leg outside, the other one in Steve’s room. “Or if you need m-...some distraction.” 

Distraction, right. The thing they agreed to be. Steve tries not to let it hurt. Kisses Eddie goodbye instead and allows himself to think that Eddie lingers just a little longer than usual. 

Once Eddie has descended down the roof, Steve descends down the stairs not really knowing what to expect. He is greeted with familiar silence, the one that feels like a knife scraping over his skin. For a brief second, he hopes his parents have already left, but their suitcases are still standing in the hallway, ready for take-off tomorrow. Cautiously, Steve steps into the kitchen. No one is there either. 

He opens the fridge, encouraged by another growl coming from his stomach, and is faced with completely empty shelves. The only thing left is a bottle of ketchup that might have already expired three years ago and some fig jam that Steve had bought for his parents. 

They usually don’t bother with grocery shopping when they are here only for a short time. The first time they had left Steve alone he had almost starved if it wasn’t for the school cafeteria meals and sleepovers at Tommy’s. But it’s weird that they cleaned out the entire fridge. 

In a sudden panic, Steve dashes to the front door, but thankfully finds it unlocked. He knows his mother stress cleans, passed that down to him. So maybe that’s what happened to the food in the fridge. 

Still, Steve feels weirdly antsy about the idea of going back inside. Instead, he grabs his shoes and keys, no idea where he is headed as long as it is far away. With Hawkins being a small town some distances are definitely more walkable than in other towns, but it still takes Steve forever to get out of Loch Nora and to the town center. 

He’s found a little bit of change in the pockets of his jeans, enough maybe for a scoop of ice cream so he heads to Guiseppe’s. It’s a small, family-owned business, not having any of the more luxurious flavors like the big chains like Scoops Ahoy, but the vanilla is still to die for. 

Just as Steve is about to push the door to the parlor open someone calls out for him. Not instantly recognizing the voice, Steve turns around and sees Mrs. Henderson waving at him. 

“Steve,” she calls again, and with a polite smile, Steve walks over to her. His smile does grow wider when he spots Dustin in the stroller Mrs. Henderson is pushing. 

“Hello Steve,” Mrs. Henderson greets him exuberantly as if he had saved her life and not just once helped her load her car. But it’s nice to be greeted so warmly. 

“Hi Mrs. Henderson,” Steve says, before tipping an imaginary hat to Dustin. “Little Henderson.” 

“How are you, dear?” Mrs. Henderson asks and reaches out to pat his arm. Just like the last time he flinches for a second, before melting into it. 

“Good, yeah,” he lies before adding with a shrug, “First day of spring break.” 

“Right, how exciting.”

As if he was agreeing with his mother, Dustin coos suddenly, banging his fist against his stroller. Steve bends down and grins at the baby. 

“You’re a bit too young for spring break yet, sorry to break it to you buddy.” 

It has probably something to do with babies mirroring the people around them, but Dustin grins back and squeals, delighted. Steve sees his hand move and this time is prepared to move his hair out of Dustin’s reach. But he keeps his hand close and to Steve’s delight, Dustin decides to grab Steve’s finger instead. 

For a brief second, Steve considers if Dustin is magic because right now everything feels alright. Kids, Steve realizes. He doesn’t just want to have his own kids. Whatever he ends up doing with his future he thinks he wants to work with kids. 

Dustin yanks slightly on Steve’s finger and the sleeve of Steve’s jacket rides up slightly, revealing the bruise around his wrist. Steve doesn’t even notice at first, just laughs and gets up. But then he catches the concerned look in Mrs. Henderson’s usually smiley face. He doesn’t have to follow her glance to see what she is staring at. Calmly, he pulls his sleeve back down. 

“Wrestling gone a little wrong,” he lies, well-versed in finding reasonable explanations for marks on his body over the years. Teachers loved to buy into the whole boys will be boys thing. Not that many of them even cared. But Mrs. Henderson doesn’t seem too convinced. The worry in her eyes might lessen, but her smile does not return as brightly.

“Do you have any plans for dinner, dear?” she asks. “I still need to say thank you for your help the other day.” 

The offer takes Steve by surprise and he feels torn. On one hand, he really doesn’t want to return to his parents’ house. And he could really do with some dinner. On the other hand, it feels a bit weird to accept the offer. He doesn’t really know Mrs. Henderson and he frankly doesn’t know how to deal with her kindness. He just helped her with her groceries. He doesn’t deserve…he doesn’t deserve this. 

You’re good enough, Eddie’s words from this morning ring in Steve’s ears. Dustin lets out another string of babbles and Mrs. Henderson looks at him like she just wants to pull him into a hug and feed him chicken soup. 

“Dusty would love to have a play buddy while I cook,” she adds and Steve clings to her words like a life jacket. If he can keep an eye on Dustin he can be useful. Useful enough to warrant Mrs. Henderson’s kindness. 

“Alright,” he says. “Thank you.” 

“Oh, you’re always welcome, Steve,” Mrs. Henderson says and Steve has no idea how she does it, but she manages to sound so genuine about it, even though she’s spoken to Steve what two times? “Did you drive here?”

“Eh..no…I walked,” Steve mumbles. He could probably walk to the Henderson house too. It would take a while and he would be sweaty and exhausted but he could. 

“Perfect, I’m horrible at giving directions, it’s easier if you just ride with us,” Mrs. Henderson says once again to Steve’s surprise. She either is the most eclectic woman Steve knows or the kindest. Still a little baffled, he follows her and Dustin to the car. 

The ride is short, Mrs. Henderson apparently doesn’t really listen to music. She just keeps chatting, asking Steve questions about school and his hobbies. Thankfully, doesn’t ask if he has a girlfriend or what his plans for college are. In return, she talks about Dustin. How he is already very bright for his age, how she is worried about finding the right kindergarten, how he doesn’t really like to eat his veggies. 

By the time they reach the house, Steve could consider himself a Dustin Henderson expert. Not that he minds. It’s touching to see how much Mrs. Henderson loves her son. 

The Henderson residence is relatively quaint, but then again compared to Loch Nora most houses are relatively quaint. But as small as it may be, Steve instantly feels welcomed when he steps through the door. This house is lived in. There is clutter lying around, blankets spread messily over recliners, the smell of fresh flowers and caramel hang in the air. 

“I made apple pie this morning,” Mrs. Henderson explains as she puts Dustin down in a baby chair, having noticed the deep inhale Steve has taken. 

“Smells delightful,” he smiles and follows her into the kitchen. “Is your husband home too?” 

“Howard is working late at the office,” she says as she starts to pull out pans and chopping boards.  

Steve has grown up with two workaholics so someone working late in an office on a Sunday could be totally normal. He’s also grown up with a notorious cheater to know that no one is actually that much of a workaholic. The way Mrs. Henderson grips her knife tightly makes Steve think that he might be right on the money. Mrs. Henderson’s knuckles are white and there is no ring on her finger. 

“He is going on a work trip soon too,” she says, for the first time her voice isn’t cheerful. It’s neutral, like she is just stating facts. “Might be gone for a while.” 

As if on cue, Dustin begins to cry in his chair. 

Steve realizes that maybe it’s not just motherly intuition that makes Mrs. Henderson sometimes look at him the way she does. Maybe, it’s a deeper understanding. If he can see the loneliness radiating off her, she no doubt is able to do the same with him. 

“My parents are often on work trips,” he offers quietly and takes Dustin out of his chair before Mrs. Henderson can move, gently bouncing him up and down. Dustin stops crying pretty instantly, just clinging to Steve. He is warm, pressed against Steve’s chest. 

“Well, dinner invitation is always open, if they are gone for too long,” Mrs. Henderson says as she watches Steve carrying Dustin. “I hope you like lasagna?”

“It’s my favorite, Mrs. H.” 

Steve has more fun than anticipated. Mrs. Henderson and baby Dustin are delightful company and the food is delicious. Steve can’t remember the last time someone cooked for him. Maybe Mrs. Wheeler the last time he was over at Nancy’s before the break up. Weirdly enough, the bitter taste that usually coats his tongue when he thinks about Nancy stays out. He realizes it’s also been quite a while since he last really thought about her. He has a pretty good assumption as to why that might be. He doesn’t want to dwell on that more tonight though. 

Mrs. Henderson is kind enough to drive him home and makes him promise to come to dinner at least once a week as long as his parents are out of town. Steve can say yes a little easier, knowing they both need this. 

His parents are still out, probably still at their business dinner that they must have spontaneously moved to a restaurant or something. Probably told the future Mrs. Steve Harrington and her parents that Steve had gotten sick or some other half-baked excuse. Steve doesn’t mind and rushes up the stairs. 

His bed feels too empty when he falls into it. But at least his sheets still smell of Eddie. 

Steve’s parents leave early the next morning when the first-day spring break arrives. Tommy and Carol get taken on vacation, the swim and basketball teams on college tours. Steve stays behind. He doesn’t stay home though. 

With held breath, he listens out for his parents' car to leave the driveway, then counts to ten in his head before he dashes down the stairs. It’s a well-practiced routine. A year ago he would have rushed to the phone and punched in Tommy’s number, impatiently waiting for someone to pick up the phone so he could yell, “They are gone. Party at mine!” down the receiver. Anything to fill the house with life.

Now, he just grabs his car keys and heads to the Beemer. It’s a short drive to the trailer park, even though it’s on the outskirts of the other side of town. He parks his car just outside more out of habit than because of plausible deniability. No one who could identify Steve’s car hangs around this part of town anyways. Well, according to Eddie, Chrissy Cunningham has been here a few times. But if their fight from a few days is anything to go by, she probably won’t be here today. 

This early in the morning, the trailer park is deserted. Fog is rising over the dew-covered grass and Steve can’t decide if it looks beautiful or like straight up out of a horror movie. Either way, he hurries to Eddie’s trailer but hesitates when he lifts his hand up to knock. He’s breaking yet another one of the rules, should have called beforehand to make sure that none of Eddie’s friends are around. Eddie literally said call me and not come over. Anxiety coils in his stomach and Steve has a sudden sense of deja-vu to a month ago when he knocked on Eddie’s door for the first time. Even though it had been a potentially stupid idea back then as well, Steve lifts his hand and knocks, just needing to see Eddie. 

Eddie is only in boxers and a shirt when he opens the door, very disgruntled and clearly not fully awake yet. He does open his eyes wider though when he sees that it’s Steve, looking him up and down, worried for a second. Steve’s heart clenches. Then, Eddie decides that Steve must look mentally stable enough to return to his grumpy, still half-asleep self. 

“Harrington, it’s eight am, surely you could have just jerked off if you’re that horny.” 

“I’m not horny.” 

Eddie stares at him for a moment, eyes narrowed from tiredness and contemplation. Before Steve can think twice about this and retreat, mumbling an apology about being too needy, Eddie fists Steve’s shirt and pulls him inside. 

“Get out of the jeans and get into bed,” he says as he drags Steve to his bedroom. 

“I said I’m not—”

“I heard you,” Eddie snaps and closes the door to his room. “But I’m going back to sleep. So you can either sit on the floor and watch me like a creep. Or you can get into bed and let me use your chest like the second pillow I can’t afford.” 

Steve doesn’t waste a second and does what he is told, strips out of his clothes down to his briefs, and climbs into bed with Eddie. Eddie doesn’t waste a second either and drapes himself over Steve like a blanket. His body is warm and soft and if Steve wasn’t painfully aware of his growing feelings for Eddie, he would be worried about having a heart condition. 

Steve is glad Eddie pulled him into bed like this because if Steve thinks it through he really didn’t have a reason to come over. He wasn’t lying when he said he wasn’t horny. He didn’t come here for sex, he came here for seeing Eddie. Which Eddie is going to probably find really fucking strange once he is more awake. Steve really should come up with another excuse for why he is here. But he too is getting tired again, maybe he can close his eyes just for a second. 

They spend the better part of the morning like that. Drifting in and out of consciousness, legs tangled together, hands brushing over skin, not in order to lead to anything more, but simply because of the simple intimacy. Eddie runs slightly too hot, his hair tickles Steve’s chest, his sharp elbow digs into Steve’s stomach and Steve never wants to move. 

When they are both more awake they still don’t have sex. Eddie brings both of them some cereal and they just hang out. 

“Wanna watch a movie?” Eddie suggests once they are done with eating and Steve nods. 

They both flop on the small, but endlessly more comfortable than Steve’s, couch, and Eddie presses play on some trashy horror movie, Steve otherwise probably would have never seen. The opening credits haven’t even started to roll when Eddie gently slings his arms around Steve’s waist and pulls Steve’s back against his chest. Steve holds his breath for a second, expecting Eddie’s hands to wander lower or his teeth to graze over Steve’s neck. But Eddie’s hands stay just where they are, resting on Steve’s stomach. He does press a quick kiss on Steve’s cheek, but that is all. After he still doesn’t try anything more after five minutes, Steve fully sinks into the embrace. They are really just hanging out. Arguably cuddling and hanging out, but they are not hooking up. 

They keep doing that for the rest of spring break. It’s like one night spent together not having sex made both of them realize that just hanging out was an option too. It should feel wrong. It’s not the point of the arrangement, but until Eddie has any complaints Steve will happily, greedily take what he can get. 

They do still hook up, the sex as always fantastic. But Steve no longer rushes out in the mornings. Breakfasts, turn into mornings spent in the woods, turned into lunch at Steve’s, turn into afternoons with their feet dangling in the still empty pool, turn into take out, turn into movies, turn into either falling asleep just like that or sex. But it’s never just sex anymore.  

With all the time Steve hangs out at Eddie’s trailer it’s only really a matter of time until Steve runs into Wayne. It still takes him by surprise when he walks into the living room of the trailer—after a night of cheap take out, cheaper beer, and a b-movie with the cheapest kind of production budget Steve had ever seen—and is faced with Eddie’s uncle. 

Steve freezes and while Wayne seems less shocked, he doesn’t move either. He just stares and Steve stares back, not really knowing what to say. It doesn’t help that he is only wearing sweatpants, the spring nights slowly becoming too warm for shirts. Steve can feel the anxiety creep up his spine, sliding sharply between every single vertebra. Eddie might have said that Wayne was alright with everything, but there is a difference between theoretically knowing that your nephew is gay and catching a half-naked boy coming out of your nephew's bedroom. 

“You the nameless boy he won’t shut up about?” Is all Wayne says when he breaks the silence, not even bothering with a hello. 

“Uh…maybe?” Steve stutters, slightly overwhelmed by the absurdity of the situation. He’s standing in Wayne Munson’s trailer, half-naked, skin covered in hickeys, needlessly worried that he might get beaten up, and finding out that Eddie has apparently been going on and on about a nameless guy. Steve suddenly feels sick. 

He can’t really imagine that he is said nameless guy, there is no way Eddie has been talking to Wayne about him. Not like that. But that would imply that Eddie is seeing someone else on top of Steve, but it’s not like Eddie really has the time to see someone else. 

They are kind of spending all their free time together at the moment, only apart when Eddie has band practice or when Steve has dinner with the Hendersons. Maybe Eddie is also hooking up with one of his band members, Steve considers. Fooling around after practice, driven by the rush of endorphins they get from performing. Though according to Wayne, if Eddie was actually also seeing someone from his band, it was more than just fooling around. Enough to constantly gush to Wayne about the guy. 

It’s fine, they aren’t exclusive, Steve tells himself. Even though the idea of Eddie being infatuated with someone tastes like bitter copper on his tongue and Steve realizes he has bitten his cheek so hard he has drawn blood. He shouldn’t jump to conclusions, but he also feels delusional thinking he could be Eddie’s nameless boy. Because that would mean that Eddie likes him too? If Wayne wasn’t right there, Steve would pinch himself. He can’t afford to get his hopes up like this. 

Wayne looks him up and down, eyes narrowed as if Steve was a stray cat and Wanye was gauging how much trouble Steve would be if he let him stay. It’s not downright hostile, it’s cautious. It makes Steve think about what other kind of people Eddie has brought home. How many of them got the same scrutinizing stare and how many had Wanye instantly deemed him fitting enough for his and Eddie’s world. How many of the people had Eddie wanted to secretly stay? How many nameless boys have been there? 

“What was your name again?” 

“Steve…Steve Harrington,” Steve can just about keep himself from holding out his hand for Wayne to shake and adding nice to meet you, sir.  

“Harrington, Harrington, aren’t you—” Wayne starts, and Steve braces himself to defend himself. Yes, he is Susan and Richard Harrington’s kid. No , he is not as much of an asshole as his dad is. That he is not his father’s son, at least not anymore, not since getting rejected from college. That that’s the reason he is here because Eddie makes him feel like less of an asshole, less of a miniature carbon copy of Richard Harrington. 

“—the swimming kid?” Wayne asks, to Steve's surprise. Either, he’s been living under a trailer park rock, having no idea who Steve’s parents are. Or he knows just how much your family doesn’t define who you are. Based on the way Eddie goes quiet whenever his parents somehow get mentioned, Steve thinks it’s probably the latter. 

“Eh…yeah, that’s…that’s me,” Steve says. It’s odd how half of Hawkins seems to have read or heard about him breaking a high school swimming record and yet his own parents couldn’t even be bothered to congratulate him. For a brief second, Steve wonders if they even know that he is on the swim team. Not that it would really matter now, what is one lousy medal compared to a fucked future. 

“Well, congrats on winning that record,” Wayne says and then moves on to his kitchen, pouring himself a cup of water before heading towards his own bedroom as if this wasn’t one of the most awkward conversations he’s ever had. In the small hallway, he stops and turns back to Steve, who still stands somewhat dumbstruck in front of Eddie’s room. “Oh and if you are that nameless boy, you better be good to him.” 

"I promise," Steve says, but before he can add but I don't think I am him, Wanye just nods and disappears into his room, leaving a slightly shaken Steve behind.

Maybe Eddie’s feelings for the nameless boy are unrequited. That’s why he is now hanging out so much with Steve. Because Steve isn’t the nameless boy, he is what he has always been: a distraction. It’s a cruel thought. And Eddie isn’t cruel. Steve feels delusional again, but there is no way Eddie would kiss him the way he would, hold him, look at him if he was secretly head over heels for someone else. And if he is, Eddie should quit music and start an acting career. 

Nervously, Steve returns to Eddie’s room. He could drop it, just not mention the nameless boy. But he needs to know, part of him hoping the other part of him bracing for the worst. If Eddie actually has feelings for someone else, Steve needs to know. Maybe needs to end this. Because while he doesn’t mind a little bit of pain now and then, he isn’t enough of a masochist to keep whatever this thing they are having, if Eddie imagines it’s someone else when they are kissing. 

“I met Wayne,” Steve says as he enters the room. Eddie seems unbothered, continuing to pull a shirt over his head. “He asked me if I’m the guy you keep going on about.”

The shirt slips over Eddie’s head, revealing Eddie’s glowing pink cheeks. It’s a rare sight. Usually, Eddie is the one making Steve flush so much the red on his face creeps down to his collarbones. Eddie is harder to get flustered. Not for a lack of trying on Steve’s part. But despite his infamous Harrington charm, learning Eddie is kind of like learning a foreign language. There might be the occasional loanword, that will earn Steve a faint blush, but the rest of Eddie is still as foreign and novel as conjugating verbs and figuring out the difference between adjectives and adverbs. Still, Steve would love to be fluent one day, so seeing the rose hue spread over the bridge of Eddie’s nose feels like a huge win. 

It also feels like hope. 

“I complain about you a lot,” Eddie shrugs, trying to sound casual, but his pale skin continues to be crimson-colored. 

“Oh, do you?” Steve manages to sound as annoyed as Eddie does nonchalantly. He swallows the so there is no one else?  

“Yup, I complain about how you snore,” Eddie says and grabs Steve’s hips, pulling him closer until he is standing between Eddie’s legs. Steve knows for a fact that he doesn’t snore, but before he can protest Eddie already continues. “How you always steal the blankets,” Eddie slowly unties the knot of Steve’s sweatpants, taking his sweet time. “How you take abysmal amounts of sugar in your coffee,” he lets his finger run along the hem of Steve’s pants before tugging them down. 

Instead of dragging down Steve’s briefs too, Eddie grabs Steve’s jeans from the floor without getting up from the bed and motions Steve to step in them. A little confused, Steve steps into his jeans before Eddie takes the hem and pulls them up. 

“Don’t even get me started on your awful taste in music,” he pulls up the fly of Steve’s jeans and lets the belt click close. Next, he takes one of his own shirts, a band Steve has never heard of as if to prove his point. Steve lifts his arms without being told. “Not to mention how I never get anything done because you are always knocking on my door, constantly horny,” the shirt gets pulled over his head. 

“You tell your uncle I’m constantly horny?”

Eddie is now standing right in front of him, face only inches away from Steve’s, his finger resting on Steve’s hips. 

“Please don’t bring up my uncle while I’m about to kiss you,” Eddie says and Steve can’t help but grin when their lips meet. It’s not a confession down right, neither of them is ready for that. But Steve now knows one thing for certain. 

He is the nameless boy. 

Chapter Text

 1999

November casts an icy chill over Hawkins and gray clouds all over the sky. It’s not the season to be jolly yet, it’s the season for suffering, Steve thinks as his number in counseling sessions increases dramatically. Indiana winter is ruthless and it shows. The usually bustling hallways of the school just feel quiet, students dragging themselves along sluggishly, teachers clinging to their coffee cups with all their might, Steve can’t remember the last time he has seen daylight. 

The kids take his offer to catch a lift more and more often, having no desire to bike through the biting November weather. Steve doesn’t say it, but he is secretly relieved that the cold drives them into his car, not enjoying that they would bike around in the dark otherwise. On the other hand, it means now having to deal with cranky teenagers far too early in the morning, arguing in the backseat of the Beemer. 

Even Eddie, who always goes on about how much he hates summer, grumbles about the freezing cold that has swept through Hawkins. His leather jacket, which Steve had reluctantly returned, gets swapped for a black parka. He still looks good in it, very good actually in Steve’s opinion, but Eddie acts like having to gear up against the cold is the most un-metal thing ever.  

While that’s kind of cute, Steve can feel the dark cold weather tear on him too. It’s always around November that his nightmares get worse, almost three times a week he talks hushed on the phone to Robin so as not to wake Dustin at three am. He can’t really remember the last time he’s had even a halfway decent night of sleep, dreading the winter months to come, knowing he won’t feel rested until late March. Especially not with the snowflake dance, the sophomore ski trip and the holidays coming up. The dates glare in red ink at him from his calendar and Steve glares back, tired. 

Worst of all is Dustin though. While he has no issue sleeping, he is suddenly irritable, short-tempered and either snaps at everyone or is quietly sulking for hours. Steve would write it off to the awful weather, but Dustin is one of those few people that loves winter. He’s never been like this the previous years either. 

“If I wouldn’t know better, I’d think it’s a second puberty,” Steve complains, following Eddie through a craft store of all places. Eddie had needed material for his stage set, planning on creating a whole magical paper mache forest.  

“Gonna build a full-on Lothlórien on that stage,” he had grinned on the stage, opening his arms wide to the auditorium as if to show it off to an imaginary audience.  

“I thought the woods in the ring books were called Mirkwood,“ Steve had asked and had promptly earned one of the funny, unreadable looks Eddie has been giving him lately. 

“Fucking hell, when did you turn into such a nerd, Harrington?"

“I live with Dustin. And the kids call the woods near Cornwallis and Keerley Mirkwood,” Steve had shrugged. “You know, not far off from Skull Rock.” 

“You still go? To Skull Rock?”  

“Not much.” 

Not since you. 

Steve had tried to go there a couple of times after high school. But instead of allowing him to clear his head, the place had made Steve’s chest contract and let a metallic taste form on his tongue. 

“No hot dates to take there?” Eddie had grinned, and jumped off the stage. 

Bitter laughter had bubbled in Steve’s throat, but he had swallowed it down. Eddie’s name had been carved into the rough surface of Skull Rock for Steve. After everything, the place had always been Eddie’s in Steve’s mind and Eddie’s alone. He would have never been able to bring someone else there, nor would he have wanted to. 

“I’m not in high school anymore, I go for dinner on dates,” he had quipped back, rolling his shoulders, hoping the sudden tension would ease out of his back. 

Eddie had not inquired further and instead launched into a very long rant about the difference between Lothlórien and Mirkwood until Steve had interrupted him asking, “Will you shut up if I agree to go to the craft store with you?” 

Eddie had not shut up, knowing that Steve didn’t actually mind and loved listening to him,  and Steve had still ended up here, pushing an already quite full shopping cart in front of them. 

“He got in an argument with Mike in class the other day, saying something like ‘how many times do I have to be right on the money until you fucking trust me’,” Eddie sighs, sympathizing with Steve, and puts unholy amounts of glue into their shopping cart. “They were talking about a poem interpretation and I will give it to the little shrimp, he is smart, but he acted like he was Wordsworth reincarnated.” 

“Jesus Christ, the kid’s gotta get his ego in check.” 

“It’s his tone, right?”

“I know,” Steve says. He spots some silver star stickers and puts them in the cart as well. They might come in handy at the snowflake dance. Then he adds quietly, “I just wish he would talk to me, you know. Like something is clearly up and I want to help him, but I obviously can’t if he won’t tell me what’s wrong.” 

It’s an awful, useless feeling. The last time Dustin had pulled away like this was when his mother had died. The sudden death of Mrs. Herdson had pulled Steve under like a tsunami, overwhelmed by his fear of being an inadequate guardian for Dustin and feeling guilty for his own grief, even though he too had lost a mother that day. They both had been drowning quietly and if Joyce, Hopper, Chrissy, and Robin hadn’t stepped in, Steve isn’t sure he and Dustin would have made it. 

It’s times like these when he feels like drowning again, his old fears and insecurities rising like tides, his issues easily projected onto the ascending surface of the water. Steve knows he is a better man than his father ever was, but that doesn’t mean he is a good man or a good guardian. All the extra sessions, the long hours, the overtime spent on other students build up to a wall in front of Steve’s eye, keeping him and Dustin apart. He shouldn’t be surprised that Dustin doesn’t want to talk to him with how little time Steve lately has been able to spend with him. Steve has never been aggressive or cruel, always relieved that he never was his father’s son, but he does excel in absence just as much, neglecting Dustin for work. 

“Hey, Steve?” Eddie says and a warm hand lands on Steve’s shoulder. It takes a lot for Steve not to flinch at the sudden touch like he does so often when stuck on the memory of his parents. But Eddie’s hand is warm and resting on Steve’s arm so gently it only takes a second before Steve leans into the touch and looks at Eddie. 

“Yeah?”

“Don’t do the thing you always like to do where you tell yourself you're a horrible person just because not everything is going swimmingly right now, okay?”

Eddie’s thumb is soothingly rubbing circles into Steve’s shoulder. Steve wonders briefly if he is just that easy to read or if Eddie simply just knows him. After all, he did have front-row tickets to the worst self-loathing period of Steve’s life. He is better now, so much better, but Eddie can probably spot the telltale signs of Steve spiraling from a mile away. 

“You’re a good guardian. And it doesn’t look like Dustin is crying himself into his sleep every night, okay? It’s probably just your typical teenage sorrows. He knows he can talk to you when he needs to.” 

“Thanks,” Steve mumbles quietly and turns towards the stack of differently colored papers, after all those years, still not knowing how to handle being comforted properly. He knows it's because as a kid he was withheld comfort like it was candy, starving him of both sugar and affection. 

When Nancy had hugged the first time he had gotten in a fight with his dad as a teenager, Steve had thought he would die for a second, as if his body was having an allergic reaction to the unknown substance that was Nancy’s compassion. The feeling of dying a little inside had never gone quite away. Not when Eddie had held him through the night, not when Mrs. Henderson had offered Steve her couch to stay on, not when Chrissy and Robin both had held his hand during the funeral. 

It’s a work in progress, like many of Steve’s issues and maybe one day he’ll allow himself to simply sink into the feeling of being comforted without falling fully apart. 

“Hey, Steve?” Eddie repeats suddenly and with a frown, Steve looks up from a mountain of washi tape. Before he can ask what else Eddie wants, Eddie reaches out and swiftly sticks a googly eye on Steve’s forehead. 

“What the?” 

Eddie just laughs at him while Steve pulls the eye off his face. It sticks to his thumb, cheap glue spreading all over his skin. Steve stares at it and a black, jiggly pupil stares back at him. 

“Wow, yeah, real mature. You’re such a child, Munson.” 

Eddie just continues grinning, an open plastic bag filled with googly eyes in his hands. It’s hard to be annoyed at him when he is so giddy. As always his joy is infectious, but Steve manages to continue frowning, not wanting to give Eddie the satisfaction about something so incredibly stupid. 

“And you’re an old, grumpy man who's forgotten to have fun.” 

“Oh, I know how to have fun!” Steve says, distracted while looking at his thumb trying to shake the googly eye off.  

“Hmmm, I’m sure you do, Stevie.” 

Steve doesn’t like the tone of Eddie’s voice one bit. It screams mischief and bad ideas. A moment later another googly eye is chucked at him and then another. Irritated, Steve looks up. Eddie is smirking as if he is having the time of his life, his right hand already loaded with more ammunition. 

“Seriously?” 

One more eye gets flung directly against Steve’s forehead and Steve sees red. 

“Oh, you’re dead, Munson!” 

“Yeah? You promise, big boy?” Eddie taunts and throws even more googly eyes in Steve’s direction. Steve doesn’t waste time, lunches forward, and tries to rip the bag out of Eddie’s hands. Eddie turns elegantly and holds the bag out of Steve’s reach, cackling. 

“Oh my god, give me that!” Steve half yells exasperated, half laughs. It’s so dumb and silly and childish, wrestling Eddie for a bag of googly eyes in the aisle of a craft store. But just for this brief moment, everything is alright. Just for right now all his worries are gone, there is no trauma pushing down on his lungs, and no guilt eating through the marrow of his bones. Eddie is all there is. Eddie and his stupid fucking bag of googly eyes. Eddie has always been great at distracting Steve, at quieting the thoughts spinning in Steve’s head like clothes in a tumble dryer, at bringing out the inner child Steve was never allowed to be. So yeah, this might be horrendously stupid, but Steve is so thankful for it. 

Eddie reaches back into the bag, for one second too focused on grabbing the googly eyes than on Steve and Steve uses his opportunity. With one less than gracefully tackle Steve grabs Eddie and pins him against a shelf filled with wool and yarn. Both of them yelp when the shelf begins to sway dangerously, but they manage to keep standing, lips grinning so much they’ll get wrinkles from it. 

“Do you surrender?” Steve asks, fingers gripping the soft fabric of Eddie’s black parka tightly. This close he can smell the cigarette Eddie smoked before they entered the store and the coffee they shared together this morning. Steve wonders if Eddie can still taste it too. 

“I’ll surrender,” Eddie huffs a laugh and drops the bag, googly eyes spilling all over the floor. This is when Steve should take his arm off Eddie’s chest, take a step back, straighten his clothes and return to their cart. But he doesn’t. He sticks to Eddie like a magnet to a fridge. 

“Hmm, and now that you got me, what are you gonna do?” Eddie looks up at him through his long lashes, brown doe eyes almost pleading. Obviously, he is just playing it up. Like an electric shock the instinct to lean down and kiss Eddie even more breathless rushes through Steve’s body. 

“This is a place of business,” snaps an enraged voice behind them suddenly, making them jump apart. A crunchy noise comes from the ground where their feet have crushed the discarded googly eyes. The store owner glares at them almost as furious as the blush spreading over Steve’s face. 

He just thought about kissing Eddie. No, worse actually, Steve realizes, eyes flickering to Eddie who is just mischievously smiling at the store owner, completely unbothered. He didn’t just think about kissing Eddie. He was literally about to kiss Eddie. What the fuck? 

“You’ll better leave or I will not hesitate to call the police!” The store owner continues, being absolutely inconsiderate of the mental crisis Steve is going through. 

“And tell them what? That you’re having a googly eye emergency?” Eddie grins sardonically and usually Steve would roll his eyes but still quietly chuckle about it. 

Eddie is a menace to society—or at least to people who look him up and down, see the hair, the tattoos, remember the rumors and like the judgemental assholes they are, decide to put Eddie into a box— and it’s one of the things Steve likes so much about him. It’s admirable the way Eddie carries himself, lets the rude stares and abrasive words slide off him like water off a duck’s back. Or at least acts like it, leans into the role of the freak to spook the ones that assigned him the part in the first place. As a teenager, Steve thought that Eddie simply enjoyed acting up. Now as an adult he knows it’s a defense mechanism. If they want to see a freak, give them one, silently begging they won’t spot any of the soft parts underneath the thick skin and attack those  ones too. Of course, the disapproving glares and wrinkled noses have become less now, Hawkins a more docile place. But it still happens frequently enough to make Steve angry on Eddie’s behalf. So usually he would stand his ground next to Eddie, glare back at the store owner who had followed them around with suspicious eyes the moment they had entered the store. And yes, usually, Eddie’s remark would make him chuckle. But Steve does not feel like laughing right now and if he did it would only come out hysterical. 

Eddie is right, of course. As long as they pay for the googly eyes, they haven’t really done anything wrong. Steve has definitely seen people do weirder stuff in the store, starting with the old lady who loves to spend hours in the glue section, choosing which one not by stickiness, but rather by smell; and ending with the two kids who are currently drawing crude little cartoons with sharpie all over the sketching books. He does feel mildly bad for the underpaid store clerk that will have to clean up the crushed googly eyes, but as far as threats go, the store owner's ones to call the police are empty. 

Personally, Steve would love to see Hopper show up only to be told that he got called over googly eyes. Sure, he would grumpily as ever tell Eddie and Steve that they are not fucking teenagers anymore and that he expected better of them. But the half-hearted lecture would be worth watching Hopper rip the store owner a new one for calling him down here over fucking googly eyes. 

The problem is that Hopper knows Steve too well. Just like with Joyce it took Hopper one look at the curled-up Steve on Mrs. Henderson’s couch, bruises on his face not yet fully healed, for Hopper to decide that Steve, alongside the recently found El and the two Byers boys, was now one of his. 

Hopper had also pulled him aside a few days later, handed Steve a cold beer, and after a while of drinking together in silence had said, “If ya wanna press charges kid, just say the word and I’ll have a report filed, and ready.” 

The idea of pressing charges had felt very much like David going up against Goliath. And Steve hadn’t felt strong enough for that fight. He hadn’t wanted to see his father again or hear his mother call him an ungrateful son, who just did all of this for attention, even though Steve had been dreading his parents' attentions for years already at that point. 

“I don’t know,” he had said more to his beer than to Hopper, but Hopper had just nodded understandingly. 

“Ya don’t have to if ya don’t want to,” he had gotten up to grab another can for himself and Steve. “Also you’re 18 now kid, they can’t come and drag you back.” 

He had spoken out the quiet fear that had sat in the back of Steve’s neck. The same fear that had made Steve flinch whenever a loud car drove past the Henderson’s house or that had made him press into a shelf in the grocery store when he spotted someone vaguely looking like his father. Richard and Susan Harrington might have disowned their son, but Steve had known them well enough to lie awake at night, afraid they’d show up at the Henderson’s waving his birth certificate like a receipt, demanding their property back; deciding one day that they there was still use for their little marionette, sure enough, to find ways to force Steve down the path they had planned for him. 

“And if they do, I’d like to see them try,” Hopper had promised, and that had been that. 

Over the next 14 years, Hopper had only gotten better at reading Steve. If he showed up now, he would instantly be able to tell that something was off with Steve. He would ask and Steve doesn’t even know what he would say. 

Oh, I’m fine Hop, I just almost kissed Eddie, who I used to kinda date, then massively screwed up so you can see how that would be a big no-no, especially since we are best friends now and losing Eddie again would feel like losing a limb at this point. 

So getting Hopper involved is not an option. Steve really just wants to have his little crisis in peace right now. He needs quiet to deal with whatever this is. 

“C’mon, let’s go,” he says, hand twitching to grab Eddie’s wrist and pull him along, but he stops himself. “Apologies, Sir,” he tells the owner, even though he does not mean it in the slightest, before rushing past Eddie and out of the store. 

“Steve!” Eddie calls after him but Steve doesn’t stop. Sprints past the checkout, ignores the curious stares of the other customers and almost runs into the sliding glass door separating him from the parking lot. 

It is still fucking freezing outside and the icy air feels like a slap to Steve’s face. It shakes him out of the panic attack he was on the verge of having. Steve takes a deep breath, his lungs burning, and runs a hand through his hair, pulling on it slightly trying to ground himself. It doesn’t do much because seconds later Eddie is coming out of the store, worry spread all over his face. 

“Hey man, you okay?” He asks and this time Steve can see him lift his hand to place it on Steve’s shoulder—because of course, Eddie has to constantly touch him—but Steve is just as unprepared for the touch as he was in the store. He still doesn’t flinch, but instead of leaning into the touch, he leans away. It’s too much right now and Steve doesn’t trust himself not to do something stupid. 

He is pretty far from okay and he knows that he looks the part. He knows he is shaken enough that Eddie, wonderful, attentive, frustratingly caring Eddie wouldn’t let it slide if Steve lied and simply said that he is fine. 

“Anxiety,” Steve says and waves his hands in the air as if that would explain anything. Eddie nods understandingly though. Steve does tend to get anxious occasionally and Eddie has always been accommodating, even though right now Steve is not anxious for the reason Eddie might think. 

“Sorry if I…with goofing around in the store,” Eddie winces, shooting Steve an apologetic look. While he is partially the cause of Steve’s panic it definitely isn’t Eddie’s fault so Steve quickly shakes his head. 

“No, no, you’re good,” he says and Eddie’s face relaxes. Steve too would like to relax but he is still as tightly wound as one of the strings on Eddie’s guitar. “Sorry about freaking out. And about your crafting supplies.” 

“Eh, who cares, the store was shit anyways,” Eddie waves it off, offering Steve a soft smile that undoubtedly is meant to comfort Steve, but right now it just makes Steve shake. “I know a much better one. Up for a little road trip to Indy, Harrington?”

If Eddie had asked Steve five minutes earlier, Steve would have said yes in a heartbeat. Wasting an afternoon in Indy with his best friend sounds exactly like the break both of them would have deserved at the moment. Only now, Steve can’t stop thinking about how he was going to kiss his best friend. Said best friend who is still looking at him expectantly waiting for Steve to say yes.  

“I think I should actually go talk to Dustin,” Steve says quietly, knowing that being trapped with Eddie in a car for several hours right now would be a disastrous idea. Steve needs to clear his head, work through whatever just happened and for once Eddie is going to make the mess in his head only worse rather than quieting Steve’s nerves. If Eddie is disappointed he doesn’t show. 

“Wow, prioritizing your child’s needs over my crafting project? I’m hurt Harrington, deeply hurt,” Eddie clutches his chest dramatically, with that soft grin of his that makes Steve want to kiss it right off– 

Nope. He is not going to go there again. Definitely not. That’s not happening. 

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll live,” Steve forces himself to smile back, hoping he comes off teasing. 

Usually, when they say goodbye they both linger, quipping back and forth, prolonging their time together. Their last moments together are always sweet and stretch like warm toffee. Today saying goodbye and leaving Eddie in the parking lot feels like wading through slowly hardening cement. 

Steve doesn’t even really wait for a reply, just gives Eddie a little salute goodbye and drags himself to the safety of his car. Once he is in his seat and sure that Eddie has left too, Steve bangs his forehead against the steering wheel with a groan. He still can’t believe he was about to kiss Eddie. 

It’s muscle memory, Steve tells himself, that’s all it is. The urge to kiss Eddie is just as familiar as riding a bike  or playing a song on the piano without looking at the chords. The motion of leaning in, gently cradling Eddie’s face in his hands and with a quiet, content sigh closing the gap between their lips is etched as much into Steve’s fiber as brown eyes are into his DNA. All it takes is for Eddie to say something cute, or annoy the hell out of Steve, be kind to one of the kids or look grumpy and tired in the morning and the pavlovian response in Steve’s brain tells him to go kiss Eddie because it’s what he used to do. 

Kissing Eddie is an old habit from their teenage days when it was easy and natural and uncomplicated and something Steve spend most of his past time doing. And old habits die hard. Especially during rough nights when Steve replays those memories over and over again until they become so vivid they might as well be happening right now. Eddie Munson is a deja-vu Steve doesn’t want to stop having.

It’s almost surprising it took this long for Steve’s wires to get crossed. He sees Eddie almost every day, loves how Eddie fits into this life that Steve has build as if there has always been a vacant place just waiting for Eddie to come back and claim it; the same way he constantly claims Steve’s personal space. Not that Steve wouldn’t give it freely, always feeling an inexplicable pull towards Eddie when they are more than five feet apart. Almost as if he is trying to make up for lost time. Or to ensure that Eddie is not going to vanish again. Most days Steve has to just resist the urge to grab Eddie’s hand and to ask him to please stay. The urge to kiss Eddie was just a knee-jerk reaction on top of it. 

Because at this point Eddie is pretty much Steve’s best friend and Steve has always latched onto genuine friendship a bit too much, read too much into the affection swelling in his chest so deeply he thought his ribcage might burst apart any second. There is a reason he had a crush on Robin when they first became friends. Love had been so scarce in Steve’s life that despite all the money and expensive objects Steve had never really had the luxury to differentiate between romantic and platonic love; he just took any scraps he could get. Now years later, he still sometimes struggles, but only because he loves his friends so much and he’s never loved someone as much as them. Or as Eddie. 

The fact that Steve used to be in love with Eddie does sometimes echo in the way Steve loves Eddie now. He still loves Eddie for the same reasons he used to be in love with him. Same reasons, different kind of love. And of course, Eddie is still just as attractive with the dark curls, the adorable dimples, and the brown eyes Steve would love to waste an afternoon staring into. It makes sense that for one short moment, breath caught in their lungs, hearts already beating overtime, things got muddled for Steve. It’s muscle memory, Steve concludes, that’s all it is. 

Steve starts his car, the roar of the engine quieting the last bit of raging thoughts inside his mind. By the time he gets home, he feels a lot more at ease, the almost kiss not forgotten, but gently pushed to the back of his mind. The relief is short-lived when Steve enters the living room and spots Dustin on the couch, nose buried in a book, eyes red-rimmed. The sight makes all of the alarm bells ring so loudly in Steve’s head he might as well go deaf. Letting Dustin mope or snap like a typical teenager is all good and fine, but Steve draws the line at tears like that. 

“Hey,” he says softly, trying to test the waters. Dustin just gives him a little jerk of acknowledgment, not even bothering to look up from his book. Slowly Steve approaches the couch as if Dustin was a wild animal Steve doesn’t want to spook. 

“Listen, buddy,” Steve starts and cringes at how much he sounds like the fucking guidance counselor he is. “I know I’ve been working a lot lately and like if I gave you the feeling like I don’t have time for you or something I’m sorry, okay? I’ll always have time for you. If you wanna talk.” 

“Thanks,” Dustin says dryly and raises his eyebrows once to punctuate how little he cares, eyes still glued to his page. Steve sighs quietly, okay this won’t do. 

“Then can we, Dustin? Talk?” Steve asks and sits down on the other end of the couch. “Because I think you might need it.” 

Dustin glowers at him over the edge of the book. Steve expects Dustin to snap like so often lately, to flip him off or to even storm off to his room. He doesn’t expect Dustin’s hostile stare to slowly become defeated. 

“You wouldn’t get it!” 

Even though Steve is anxious over what has Dustin in such a choke hold, Steve has to bite his cheek not to at least smile a little bit over the line. Maybe Eddie was right, maybe it’s just typical teenage woes. If Steve had a nickel for every time one of his students had told him you wouldn’t get it, Steve could probably afford the mansion his parents used to live in. Not that he would want to. But even though every single teenager sitting in his office is convinced they are the first one to ever go through the pains of puberty, Steve takes them seriously. 

Because they might not be the first one, might not be as alone as they think, but it doesn’t change the fact that they do feel lonely and misunderstood and most often absolutely helpless. It’s a feeling Steve is far too familiar with and even though for most of his students it’s just a moody grunge phase, some of them are actually, truly alone. So Steve tries to be there for them as best as he can. Just like he is trying with Dustin right now. 

“Try me,” he offers, trying to look at Dustin as understanding as possible. 

“No, Steve, you really wouldn’t get it,” Dustin insists and snaps his book shut. “You were fucking prom king.” 

Steve blinks perplexed before the puzzle pieces start fitting together. 

“This is about the snowflake dance?” he asks, surprised enough not to lecture Dustin for cursing. He had expected anything from resurfacing grief to a broken heart, not the dance though. 

Dustin just gives him a look that says duh, obviously, even though it was very far from obvious. Steve feels kind of relieved though. If the snowflake dance is what got Dustin in a mood like that, it seems fixable. A lot more at ease, Steve pulls his legs up on the couch, his knees bumping into Dustin’s waiting for him to elaborate. Dustin just glares at him for a second, before he gives in. 

“Everyone had a girlfriend before me and I was the odd one out,” he sighs. “Now I finally have a girlfriend but she lives in a different state and I can’t take her to the dance while everyone else gets to go paired up, even Will got asked by Gareth from his Spanish class and now I’m the odd one out yet again.” 

“Oh,” Steve says intelligently. Heartbreak wasn’t that far off after all. 

“Yeah, oh,” Dustin rolls his eyes. “As I said you wouldn’t get it. Don’t think you ever went alone to a dance.” 

“I went to prom alone,” Steve says before he can properly think it through. He regrets it as soon as the words are out of his mouth. He doesn’t feel ready to tell Dustin yet, to show that part of himself. But it’s too late now because just as predicted, Dustin’s ever-so-curious eyes widen with surprise. For the first time today, Steve has Dustin’s full attention.

“What? Why?” he asks but before Steve can open his mouth he adds, “Wait, was it because Nancy was already dating Jonathan?” 

He looks smug for a second like he figured it all out. The need to always be a know it all would be so incredibly annoying to Steve if he didn’t love Dustin so much. And he’ll take the smug smile over the sulking look on Dustin’s face any day. Even though he is so wrong. 

“I swear to God, why does everyone think I was hung up on her so much?” Steve mutters more to himself than to Dustin. 

There had been so many rumors going around back in high school about how Nancy had broken Steve. His suffering had been greatly exaggerated because it had been the only explanation people could have come up with as to why King Steve had suddenly started to act differently. So if anyone Steve had gone to high school with had made the comment, Steve wouldn’t have been that surprised. But how the kids had gotten this kind of tragic love story idea about Nancy and Steve, will forever be a mystery to Steve. All of them were still newborns when Nancy and Steve had broken up. They aren’t completely wrong though. Steve used to be one half of a pair of star crossed lovers, if he were to put it as dramatically as the kids do. Just not with the person they’d expect. He doesn’t have to tell Dustin all of it, Steve decides. But he deserves to hear at least some of it. He takes a deep breath, his voice shakes when he begins speaking. 

“I liked a boy in high school. Obviously, we couldn’t go together back then. And I was too much up my own ass and worried about not becoming prom king to ask if he wanted to just go as ‘friends’,“ Steve does little air quotes around the word friend. “I don’t think he would have gone anyways. Prom wasn’t really his thing,” he huffs softly, thinking about how Eddie will be forced to chaperone the snowflake dance with him. “Sure, we weren’t like Suzie and you, but I do get it, Dustin. I know what it’s like to go to a dance alone because you can’t take the person you really want to take.” 

“Huh,” Dustin says and Steve can literally see the gears turning in his head. Not because Steve liked a boy in high school. Steve never had to keep his bisexuality a secret when it comes to Dustin. 

Steve had been crashing on Mrs. Henderson’s couch for three months and was four days away from moving into his first shitty apartment with Robin when he had come out. He had never explicitly told his parents, didn’t even have a word for it the first time it had become relevant. By the time he had had a word he still hadn’t planned on telling them. But after Star Court had burned down and his parents had been foaming at the mouth about the investment they had lost amongst the flames tension had run high. And Steve had been the perfect target, had just lost his job, had taken all his courage and confessed about wanting to become a guidance counselor. The anger had jogged his parents memory enough to remember Steve’s faint association with the town freak and even though Steve had denied it, they had come to their own conclusion. Steve’s new found softness had been enough proof for them leading to the small scar under Steve’s left eye and him leaving his parents’ house in the middle of the night with nothing more than a bag and one small cardboard box. 

He had slept in his car the first few nights, knowing the Buckleys didn’t like him enough to let him stay, and having no one else who he could turn to. Mrs. Henderson had found him on the third day, bend in his neck and bruise still fresh on his face and had taken him home with her, refusing any no for an answer. At home, she had placed baby Dustin in his lap, handed Steve a bag of frozen peas, told him that the couch pulled out and that he was going to stay. 

Steve had tried to argue, not wanting to impose, unable to accept Mrs. Henderson’s kindness. But he had been so tired and in pain and baby Dustin had cooed at him with his big, blue eyes and so Steve had stayed. Quietly at first, just waiting for Mrs. Henderson to grow tired of him too. But she never did and after weeks of walking on eggshells, Steve had slowly started to relax more and more. He still tried his best to make up for his presence, at first offering to pay rent or for groceries. It had been the only time Steve had seen Mrs. Henderson with a stern look on her face when she told him calmly but also very strictly that there was no need for that and that he should keep his money. 

Steve had still wanted to be useful, unable to sometimes stop feeling like a parasite abusing Mrs. Henderson’s kindness. Because Steve had been taught that that’s what home was, a place he should be grateful for, a place he didn’t deserve, a place he had to earn but never really would. And so Steve started to do the grocery shopping, cleaned the house, took care of Dustin, and cooked when he was home from work before Mrs. Henderson. Once again she kept telling him that he didn’t have to do it, but at some point, it changed from Steve’s need to be useful to simply being a nice distraction. Steve liked to keep busy, liked to not think about the way guilt kept splitting his broken heart further apart or the way the uncertain future kept looming over him like an all consuming dark void. 

Seeing that Steve needed this, Mrs. Henderson let him continue after a couple of adjustments. They split the grocery shopping and cleaning the house based on their work schedules. Cooking still mainly remained mainly Mrs. Henderson’s task but more and more often she would call Steve into the kitchen, showing him how certain recipes were made. 

Steve had always been a decent cook, having had no choice but to teach himself once his parents decided to leave him home alone. He hadn’t bothered at first, but now at the age of 33, Steve could still not stomach pizza because he lived on it the first time they had left him alone. And so through trial and error, Steve had eventually learned the basics, cooked pasta sauce and filled the massive kitchen with the smell of burned tomatoes. But cooking with Mrs. Henderson had been different. She had shown him the little tips and tricks you couldn’t learn yourself, the hacks you had to be taught by someone who had the patience and the time. And even though they were both exhausted from work, Mrs. Henderson always took the time for Steve. 

By the time Steve was going to move in with Robin, Mrs. Henderson’s house had become the first place Steve would ever call home and it was a horrible, scary feeling. Because Steve just expected to lose it eventually and he couldn’t stomach the thought. Couldn’t stand the idea that one day Mrs. Henderson would look at him with indifference or with disgust. So when they had been busy packing up the last box and Steve knew he would have a place to stay if it didn’t go well he told Mrs. Henderson about the first boy he had ever loved. With trembling hands, a shaky voice and closed eyes he had come out as bi, knowing he couldn’t allow himself to get even more attached when Mrs. Henderson might end up hating him, might end up keeping him away from Dustin. He had tried to find solace in the fact that her rejection would physically hurt less than his father’s had. 

But of course, Mrs. Henderson hadn’t raised her hand or her voice. Very, very softly she had said, “Oh, Steve honey, thank you for telling me.” 

Steve had opened his eyes only to have his vision become blurry with tears. Gingerly, she had reached out and wiped them away. 

“You don’t mind,” Steve had croaked, still too scared to fully believe that Mrs. Henderson was okay with him. 

“Of course, I don’t mind, honey,” she had said and gently pulled him into her arms. “I know some spiteful people do. The same spiteful people who tell you that there is something wrong with you, but you don’t listen to them okay, sweetie? Because they don’t know a single thing and there is nothing wrong with you, no matter what they say.” 

Steve had started to sob violently, no longer able to keep it all in and Mrs. Henderson had held him through it. Once he had calmed down she had made both of them a cup of hot cocoa and then told Steve about her cousin Agathe, who Mrs. Henderson didn’t see often but loved dearly. Her cousin Agathe, who was just like Steve. Of course, Steve had known that he wasn’t the only one. He had Robin and there had been Eddie. But Agathe had been bisexual just like him and it had been a nice feeling to know that he wasn’t the only one. 

He had still moved out four days later, but only with the promise to come over for dinner at least twice a week. And Steve did week after week, month after month, year after year. Mrs. Henderson always politely asked if he had yet found a nice girl- or boyfriend and Dustin grew up well aware of Steve’s bisexuality.  

So no, it’s not that Steve liked a boy that has rendered Dustin speechless for the first time in a long time. But Dustin has gone through Steve’s old year books over and over again, had let his eyes wander about the snapshot of practiced smiles and held up sport trophies, read over the meaningless comments and let his finger wander over the little crown people had doodled on top of the King Steve in those pictures. Dustin had always been too distracted by Steve’s former glory to notice how used the pages of the Hellfire Club were, how the pigment on Eddie’s shirt had worn off over the years, sticking to the skin on Steve’s index finger. Even though Stever never acts like King Steve anymore, Dustin has formed this pretty solid picture of Steve’s teenage years in his mind. 

“So you didn’t have a good time at prom,” Dustin states, trying to fathom that despite the popularity Steve’s time in high school was not the all American teenage dream. 

“God no, it was pretty shit. I was all alone and I couldn’t stop thinking about the guy. Even left early,” Steve huffs, remembering the five seconds of glory he had felt before icy emptiness had washed over him. “Got my crown, didn’t even wait for the prom queen to be announced and went straight to him.” 

Dustin nods, face suddenly very determined and Steve realizes his mistake too late. 

“Right, then I am definitely not going.” 

“That’s not what I meant,” Steve hurries to say, mentally cursing himself. But Dustin has made up his mind. 

“Still not going to the dance,” he says and opens his book back up again. “Now if you could leave, I have homework to do.”

Steve stares at Dustin aghast for a moment, opens his mouth to continue to argue, but then closes it again. He knows how stubborn Dustin can be and there is no point in fighting whether Dustin should go to the dance or not. Feeling like he took one step forward and two steps back Steve leaves to give Dustin his space and decides to ask other people for help. 

He calls Robin first and then Joyce. Both suggest letting Dustin sulk for a while and under no circumstances forcing him to go, as if Steve would ever do that. He thinks it would be better for Dustin to go, but if Dustin is truly set on staying at home maybe Steve can swap chaperoning shifts with someone, come home early, order take out and quietly offer Dustin company to mope in. 

He knows there is nothing else he could do, it’s not like has the money to fly Suzie over and he is also pretty sure her parents would never allow it in the first place. Still, Steve feels stupidly defeated. He just wants to make Dustin feel better. The fact that he can’t really do much, feeds right into his imposter syndrome. 

He ends up telling all of this to Eddie too the next day at the coffee maker. Things are back to normal again. Steve looks at Eddie and feels completely normal. Fortunately, because, their shared mornings in the teachers' lounge that are usually spent judging their fellow colleagues over the cups of coffee have become the favorite part of Steve’s day. He doesn’t know how he would have coped this morning if there had been any underlying weirdness left. He looks at Eddie inhaling the hot steam of his coffee and just feels the usual fondness and warmth he always has for Eddie. 

“I could talk to him,” Eddie offers once Steve has finished recounting his conversation with Dustin. “Might be more convincing from someone who didn’t win prom king.” 

It’s nice how much Eddie cares about the kids. Steve knows that while most of their other colleagues do care about their students, none of them care enough whether one of them attends a dance or not. But Eddie is different. Eddie sits down patiently and listens, Eddie watches just as attentively as Steve does, catches the signs, won’t gloss over them. Eddie cares and it makes Steve’s chest swell even more with affection.

“It will, however, cost you three paper mache stage trees, five red origami flowers and one fake ivy twine.”

“Not my firstborn?” 

“I’m pretty sure I have Dustin already wrapped around my little finger,” Eddie grins and bumps his shoulder into Steve’s. 

“You drive a hard bargain, Munson,” Steve sighs as if he wasn’t going to help with building the stage set that afternoon anyways. “But fine.” 

Steve is busy painting a bark pattern onto his second paper tree when Eddie makes good on his promise. Out of the corner of his eyes Steve sees Eddie approaching Dustin. He is close enough to hear their conversation without seeming like he is obviously eavesdropping. 

“Heard you’re skipping the dance.” 

Dustin lets out a little groan and Steve expects him to get cranky, tell Eddie that he doesn’t want to talk about it, that Steve already counseled him enough. After all, Dustin had started daggers in Steve’s direction and left the room every time Steve had tried to breach the topic again.  

But with Eddie Dustin simply shrugs and says, “I guess.” 

It used to sting, now Steve is just glad that Dustin has someone else he can talk to as well. Especially when he won’t talk to Steve.

“You’re gonna give me the spiel about how great high school dances are and how it’s gonna be the best night of my life, trying to convince me to got?” 

“Oh god, no,” Eddie laughs. “I didn’t go to a single dance in school, I ain’t talking you into shit.” 

Dustin’s shoulders relax visibly, and he takes one of the giant paper mache leaves Eddie is holding and pins it to the wall. 

“I do kinda wish I had gone to prom though.” 

“Really?” Dustin looks skeptical. “Why?” 

Steve doesn’t know if he imagines it, but just for a second, it looks like Eddie’s eyes are flickering to him. Steve wonders if Eddie knows that Steve is listening to them. 

“Because there was a boy I liked, who made it seem kinda worth it, the dressing up and the corsages, the fucking Tears for Fears, ” Eddie says and Dustin snorts at him bashing Steve’s favorite band. “Not that we could have gone together anyways. But I do regret skipping it completely. Maybe should have crashed it. Wreak havoc and anarchism, stick it to the man, steal the crown from the prom king’s head, you know the usual stuff.” 

“Sure, the usual stuff,” Dustin says dryly, ignoring the wink Eddie is throwing at him. “Then why didn’t you go?” 

Eddie lets out a small groan. 

“Ugh, this is gonna embarrassing, and if you tell anyone Henderson,  your DnD character is gonna pay for it, got it?” he threatens and Dustin nods, eagerly waiting for Eddie to continue. Eddie looks at him sternly and then continues with a sigh, pulling one of his strands of hair in front of his face. “I didn't wanna have to watch him dance with the prom queen? We kinda acted like this thing was all casual, but I don’t think my tortured little rockstar heart could have handled that.” 

“Shit,” Dustin says and Steve’s heart clenches even though he already knew why Eddie didn’t go to prom. They really used to mean so much to each other until it had all come down like a house of cards. They still mean a lot to each other now, slowly rebuilding a more sturdy foundation for their relationship. But a small part of Steve can’t help but miss the card house days. 

“Yeah, shit,” Eddie snorts. “Though I didn’t have to worry about that. The guy bolted halfway through prom and came to find me. So I guess I could have still gone or something.” 

“Funny, Steve did the same thing at his prom,” Dustin huffs and goes back to putting up decorations. 

Steve on the other hand freezes and makes panicked eye contact with Eddie. Dustin is a smart kid. One second passes. Eddie frowns back at him. Another second passes. Steve holds his breath. Maybe they are lucky. But then, before a third second can pass Dustin’s head snaps up. His mouth is hanging open in shock and he looks back and forth between Eddie and Steve, pointing his finger. 

“Oh my god.” 

Eddie catches on, his face mirroring the same blush and panicked look Steve has. 

“Hey, Dustin, can I talk to you real quick,” Steve says and grabs Dustin’s shoulders, trying to get him to the more secluded backstage part. 

“Oh my god,” Dustin repeats, mouth still hanging open. Half of the students are looking at them. “You two—”

“Henderson,” Eddie says and helps Steve to usher Dustin off stage and away from the other students. 

“You two were—”

Steve clamps his hand over Dustin’s mouth, effectively shutting him up. 

“Not here,” he hisses and drags Dustin away from the other students. Only once they are all three out of earshot, crammed into a tiny dressing room Steve lets go of Dustin. Steve takes one last deep breath to brace himself, Dustin still stares at him with his mouth open like a carp. 

“It’s true,” Steve answers quietly before Dustin can even ask. 

“Oh my god,” Dustin says one last time, eyes as wide as his mouth. “I can’t believe you two dated! Like you said you two never hung out in school.”

It sounds almost accusatory. Eddie raises his eyebrows at Steve and Steve winces slightly.

“I said we were in different friend groups,”  he mumbles. Which is the truth, they were in different friend groups. And they never technically hung out at school. 

“You could have told us!” 

“Didn’t really think that it was important,” Steve says. “It’s not like we’re secretly dating now.” 

For some reason a faint pink spread across Eddie’s cheeks at that suggestion. For a second Steve worries he has made Eddie uncomfortable, but before he can even overthink it more, Dustin interrupts his thoughts again. 

“Why did you break up?” 

The dressing room suddenly feels even more claustrophobic and Steve doesn’t know where to look. At Dustin’s curious face demanding answers? At Eddie, leaning against a makeup table, arms crossed in front of his chest, unknowingly letting guilt ache in Steve’s throat like heartburn? At one of the many mirrors, having to face his own face, worried it might sardonically smirk back at him in his old King Steve glory?

“Does it matter?” Eddie shrugs and the walls instantly stop coming closer. “It was years ago, Henderson.” 

It’s kind of him to not throw Steve under the bus. But if Dustin knows, Steve might as well own up, no matter how scary it is. Steve needs to start facing the truth. 

“I fucked up,” he confesses. “Like really fucked up. Kinda got Eddie chased out of town.”

“You what?” Dustin yells, face shocked. Eddie just rolls his eyes. 

“And I told you it’s fine,” he says directly to Steve before he turns back to Dustin. “We wouldn’t have lasted anyways.” 

Eddie is right, they wouldn’t have lasted. Steve still had so much growing and learning to do back then. It still hurts though. Maybe because if they had stayed together for just a few months more, Steve could have started to change just enough for them to have a chance. Or because if they met now as adults, went on dates, fell in love they could last. 

Steve crushes the thought like a bug under his heel. They aren’t even dating now. Not that they would want to anyways. Things are good the way they are and as Eddie always says, no use in dwelling on the past. They didn’t last. That’s it, they just didn’t last. 

Dustin still eyes them, dissatisfied with their answers, but he knows that this is all they will give him. 

“Fine,” he mutters, arms crossed in front of his chest. “Guess you don’t want me to tell the others?” 

Smart kid, Steve thinks and nods. 

“Fine,” Dustin repeats, “but you owe me!” 

“Sure kid,” Eddie huffs amused. “How about  +3 on your charisma and one more spell slot?” 

“Deal,” Dustin says and they shake on it. Steve has never been so glad that Eddie gets the nerdy DnD side of Dustin so much. 

When they leave the dressing room, the party has flocked together near the door, currently in the middle of a heated discussion. 

“I still think that it’s unfair–” Mike says when Lucas spots them and interrupts him. 

“Shut up, they’re here.” 

Steve raises an eyebrow when all of the kids turn to face him, Eddie, and Dustin. Max is standing the closest to them. 

“We decided to go to the dance as a group,” she announces and the rest of the party nods in agreement. Mike does look slightly pissed off, but when Will elbows him he nods too. “So that Dustin doesn’t have to go alone.” 

“You guys would do that?” Dustin asks, voice shaking slightly. 

“Friends support friends,” El says, takes Dustin’s hand and squeezes it. “We want you at the dance.” 

Once again the party nods and Steve’s chest clenches with how sweet this gesture is. They do all truly love and support each other and Steve is so glad that they all have each other. He glances over at Eddie who grins, looking equally as proud. Once again Steve wishes he would have had this kind of friends in high school. 

He watches the party bounce through the auditorium, returning to their little crafting tasks. 

“He is gonna tell them, isn’t he?” Eddie asks, standing next to Steve, watching the party too. 

“Oh, 100%.”

“Do you mind?” 

The words we wouldn’t have lasted anyways stick to Steve like cobwebs to finger tips. He always thought guilt was the worst emotion to feel, but he has learned right now that regret sits deeper. Guilt bubbles under his skin or festers in his lungs until he chokes. Regret seeps into his blood, infiltrates his cells and sits at the core of his being. He regrets that they are the people who wouldn’t have lasted anyways, because Steve can’t shake the feeling that they could have lasted. If he hadn’t screwed up. And he is so tired of the pain that is attached to that could, the what ifs and maybes. He needs to work through it and he can’t if he keeps it a secret. Telling Dustin was scary enough, but he knows that he needs to tell Robin and Chrissy too. Otherwise he won’t be able to let go, won’t be able to get over it, to heal from it. And Steve wants to heal so badly. He still doesn’t know when he will tell Chrissy and Robin, but the kids knowing is a first step into the right direction. 

“Nah, he would have found out sooner or later anyways,” Steve shrugs and returns to painting bark on to paper mache. “As long as he doesn’t decide to parent trap us.” 

“Oh god, the little shrimp totally would,” Eddie groans and turns to his own crafting project. “This is what happens when you let your kid watch Disney Channel.” 

“Eat me, Munson!”

“Not in front of the children, Steven!” 

And just like that things are better. Dustin’s bad mood has vanished, there is less weight sitting on Steve’s chest, and November seems a little bit less awful than usually. 

It’s nice to see Dustin all happy again. Steve helps him go pick an outfit and spends an equal amount of time trying to tame Dustin’s curls as he does styling his own hair. They just about make it in time to the Byers-Hopper household where the party had decided to meet up before prom. 

“Aw, don’t you two look handsome,” Joyce greets them at the door. 

Dustin beams at her, actually looking handsome in his suit, before dashing past her. Steve pulls Joye into a soft hug. He doesn’t look more handsome than usual having thrown on just jeans and one of his nicer navy blue sweaters, but he still appreciates Joyce’s compliment. It’s the kind of outfit Max would call him a dork for wearing. 

“Thanks Joyce, you look great too as always,” Steve says as he follows her inside too.

“Oh shush,” Joyce smiles and waves Steve’s off. 

The kids have already piled into the living room, comparing outfits and chattering excitedly. Chrissy and Robin, having promised to help chaperoning as a thank you for Halloween, watch them fondly. 

Steve feels a bit under dressed seeing Chrissy in a sleek green sweater dress and Robin in a button down and a vest. Maybe he should have dressed up at least a little bit too, but he had been too preoccupied helping Dustin pick the perfect blazer and matching bow tie for tonight. Plus there is no one really to dress up for. 

Joyce joins the girls at the other end of the room, chatting about their work at the youth center and their plans for the holidays, already inviting them over for Thanksgiving. Steve isn’t surprised that Joyce is inviting them for the holiday because just like Steve they are family too. When Hopper and Joyce decided that Steve was basically one of theirs, they also accepted that Steve came with Robin and Robin came with Chrissy. And now Eddie comes with all of them too. 

Eddie, who is here too, currently talking to Hopper, looking mildly uncomfortable. Eddie isn’t a fan of authority figures, especially not the police and Hopper usually isn’t a fan of anarchists or ex-drug dealers, but they are both making it work. After all, it was Hopper who got Eddie’s charges dropped in ‘85, almost firing half the police department over the lack of evidence they used to charge Eddie in the first place and sloppy work they had done. Still, whatever their conversation might be about it looks like they could use a buffer.

“Hey Hop,” Steve says as he joins them and nudges Eddie’s shoulder with his. Eddie hasn’t dressed up either, just wearing his usual ripped jeans, band-tee and red flannel. He still looks amazing though. And flustered. 

“You good, Eddie?” Steve asks, noticing Eddie nervously fiddling with his rings. He doesn’t miss the way Hopper’s eyes narrow as he waits for Eddie to reply either. 

“Yup, all good,” Eddie nods, his voice coming out slightly pitchy. 

“We just had a little chat about intentions, that’s all,” Hopper says but before Steve can ask what kind of intentions, Will comes over asking Hopper to take a picture of the party.

They all pose for various group photos that Steve and the rest of the adults get dragged in too. Dustin and Max goof around, recreating a typical cheesy prom couple photo and at some point Lucas lifts El up in a bridal carry. Mike continues to be cranky but gets roped into a silly faces picture with Will. Chrissy and Robin get one sweet one taken with Chrissy kissing Robin on the cheek. Then Eddie poses with all the Hellfire kids, pulling their typical demon grimace. 

After that El hands out flower bracelets she has crafted with Joyce. Max, Dustin, and Will accept their corsages gracefully. Lucas and Mike need one glare from Max before they hold our their wrists so that El can clip their corsages on. To Steve’s surprise, El turns to the adults too, four more corsages left in her little box. 

“For you,” she says shyly and holds the box out for them. 

“Hell yeah,” Eddie grins and reaches for an all-black corsage. “This is metal as hell. Thanks, El.” 

The confused look Mike is shooting him, apparently assuming that Eddie would be too cool for corsages, and El’s soft smile are so worth it. 

“These are beautiful,” Chrissy agrees and takes one for herself and then helps Robin put on hers. 

“Thank you, El,” Steve says softly and takes the last one. It’s made out of a blue orchid surrounded by bluebells and forget-me-nots. It’s actually really pretty and matches his sweater. 

Never having ever put a corsage on, Steve struggles for a while before Eddie takes pity on him. 

“Oh my god, you’re hopeless, here,” he says and grabs Steve’s wrist. With one swift motion, the corsage clicks shut and Steve can feel himself blush. 

“Thanks,” he mumbles, suddenly feeling very hot. Eddie is standing so close. 

“No problem,” he says, his fingers still wrapped around Steve’s wrist. His touch is tender and careful, like he is afraid of hurting Steve accidentally. His thumb brushes over Steve’s pulse point gingerly and Steve just about manages not to gasp. 

They both just stand there and stare at each other for a moment, because apparently, that is now just what Eddie and Steve do. Share personal space and see who is going to blink first. Today, it’s Steve who cracks.

“Can I have my hand back?” 

“Sorry?”

Steve lifts his and by proxy Eddie’s hand. It’s Eddie’s turn to blush furiously. 

“Shit, sorry, of course,” he says and drops Steve’s hand instantly. Even though he has asked for this, Steve misses the touch instantly. He watches as Eddie lifts his own hand up, pulling a strand of hair in front of his face, hiding behind it like always when he gets nervous. It’s so endearing, Steve has to force himself to look away. 

When he turns around he catches Chrissy, Robin and Hopper staring at them. Ah, that would explain the nervous look on Eddie’s face. Steve too is instantly flustered by the amused glint in Robin’s and Chrissy’s eyes. Hopper does not look amused. In fact he is almost glaring and next to him Steve can feel Eddie shrink. Steve wonders what the hell is up with Hopper today. He used to have the same glare when Mike and El started dating, overprotective like he is. But he knows that Eddie is good with the kids, so why would he stare at Eddie like that? 

“Right, we should get going,” Steve declares loudly, just so that Hopper, Chrissy and Robin stop staring at him and Eddie like they are evening entertainment. The kids whine that they want more photos but let themselves be ushered outside. 

Eddie looks relieved to get out of the Byers-Hopper house and happily opens the doors to his van for everyone to climb inside. It’s rusty and beaten up and falling apart just as much as Steve’s Beemer and Steve loves that Eddie also still drives the exact same car as 14 years ago. 

He doesn’t even have to call shotgun and simply slides into the passenger seat, none of the kids trying to fight him, because yeah that’s Steve’s seat. The same way Eddie always sits in Steve’s passenger seat when Steve is driving. 

The van is less messy than when they were teens, but the glove box is still overflowing with tapes. Without hesitation Steve goes through them, his eyes get caught on the tape that has Steve’s horrible taste in music written on it and grins. He loves Eddie so much and it’s nice to know that Eddie feels the same about their friendship. Still, Steve skips past it and goes for the Nirvana tape, Smells like Teen Spirit filling the car as Eddie starts driving. 

The gym is already surprisingly full when they get there. The kids don’t even say thanks to Eddie for driving them, but immediately run onto the dance floor. Not that they ever say thanks to any of the adults for driving them. 

“We need to teach them better manners,” Steve says as he gets out of Eddie’s van. He nods towards a couple of other teachers and some of the parents dropping off their kids as well. Fortunately, Mark isn’t to be seen anywhere. It’s been a couple of weeks since their date and things have been mildly awkward. 

“You’ve been saying that for years,” Robin mutters, climbing out right behind him. Her face is still a little green from Eddie’s driving. Chrissy looks a little pale too, but definitely less nauseous than Robin. “It’s never gonna happen. You spoiled them too much.” 

“Whatever, are we gonna chaperone or what?” 

“If we must,” Eddie sighs dramatically next to them, drawing a giggle from Chrissy. 

“C’mon, Munson,” she smiles, putting her hand on Eddie’s back, pushing him further into the gym. “You’re gonna survive, I promise.” 

They all split up into their assigned sections of the gym, watching the kids. Knowing his students, Steve doesn’t think anything is actually gonna happen. Even the more rebellious ones are tame compared to the people he went to school with. He just watches them dance, chat, get some soft drinks or snacks. The party definitely seems to be having fun too. At some point, he sees Max and Dustin teaching El the chicken dance all three of them clearly having the time of their life. Out of the corner of his eyes, Steve spots Will talking to Gareth, both flustered but they too seem to be having fun. 

After doing a couple of rounds he sticks to one corner and leans against the wall of the gym, eyes wandering over the dance floor. After a minute or two Eddie trails over to him. 

“Still can’t believe I am forced to chaperone,” Eddie grumbles and leans next to Steve against the wall. “My first school dance and I have to make sure the little gremlins don’t spike the punch.” 

“Very un-metal of you,” Steve grins, even though he has been carefully watching the punch bowl too. “Just wait until the ski trip when you have to keep them from smuggling booze into their rooms and break up illegal parties.” 

“God, don’t remind me,” Eddie groans. “Can’t believe I’ve missed the fine print that said you will become super uncool when you become a teacher. Should have tried the whole rockstar thing for longer.” 

Steve snorts. Then he adds more seriously, “Why didn’t you?” 

“I tried for a while. Made some tapes, played some spit-and-sawdust bars, tried to save up to rent a proper studio,” Eddie says, eyes wandering across the gym. “Might have made it if I tried longer, might have just been a pipe dream. Thing is, after running and struggling to make ends meet month after month I kinda just craved stability? Thought about Wheeler’s cul-de-sac actually and it started to sound kinda nice? Not the being stuck bit, god no and like fuck suburban conformity. But someone to come home to? Someone to build a life with? Have kids with? Pretend to be young and metal with but fall asleep watching tv at 9 pm? I realized I kinda wanted that. You know the feeling.” 

Steve nods. It’s never been about the picture perfect house and mowed lawn, about the neighborhood populated by clones with empty smiles and automated waves, about father, mother, one and a half kids and a dog. While Nancy had seen the cul-de-sac as tomb to be trapped in, Steve has always seen the cul-de-sac as a place to call home. 

Home currently is a small house in a middle of the road that hasn’t been renovated since ‘81. It’s a smart aleck teenager and his band of nerds, it’s an ex cheerleader and former band geek. It’s vegetables snuck into lasagna and movie nights on the weekends. Trips to Lovers Lake in the summer and afternoons wasted in the arcade in the winter. Loud DnD discussions in the back of Steve’s car and cheap drinks at the Hideout. It’s calls with Joyce and fishing trips with Hopper. It’s shared coffee in the teachers’ lounge and getting pestered during lunch. Bumped shoulders and huffed laughter. It’s time spent making up. 

Home is not what Steve thought at 18 it would be. But it’s better. Especially now that it got Eddie back in it. The familiar pull is back in Steve’s chest even though he and Eddie are not five feet apart. But even the five inches between them suddenly feel like too big a distance. 

“Yeah, I know the feeling,” Steve rasps, shifting so slightly that his arm brushes Eddie’s. He vividly remembers the last time he and Eddie stood next to each other, leaned against a wall, watching a party unfold. 

“Right, well trying to make it as a rockstar doesn’t really bring that kind of stability,” Eddie continues. “I was giving guitar lessons to get some extra cash at the time, and I was good at it. Claire, this one kid I was teaching told me that she never really understood chord progressions with her old teacher because he never took the time to explain them. And it made me think right, how so many teachers just down right suck and how sometimes, students just need an extra bit of help. The kind of help I never got. So I decided to fuck the system and become a teacher.” 

Steve let’s out a quiet huff. Once again he knows the feeling too well. Same reason he became a guidance counselor. To give kids the help he was never able to get. And yeah, maybe a little bit to say fuck the system.  

“And you went with English and Drama? I totally thought you would go full Jack Black in School of Rock?” Steve asks and Eddie laughs. 

“Man, I would love to be Jack Black,” he says with a chuckle. “And don’t get me wrong I enjoyed teaching kids how to play guitar. And I love the creative part of it but like music theory and shit? Takes all the fun out. And I didn’t want to be the cliche of the failed artist who now has to teach.” 

“You still write songs?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, then you’re not a failed artist.” 

Once again Eddie pulls a strand of hair in front of his face, but Steve still sees the blush creeping over his cheeks. 

“Thanks,” he mumbles quietly and goes back to looking at the people dancing in the gym.

Steve does the same. At the other end of the room, Robin and Chrissy have given up chaperoning and are slow dancing to Celine Dione. It’s cute. Only that Steve, unlike Robin, isn’t a fan of doomed love and honestly can’t stand My Heart Will Go On. 

“Wanna go for a smoke?” Eddie asks suddenly, unsurprisingly just as opposed to Celine Dione as Steve. 

“God, please.” 

Steve has a quick look if the other teachers are still on chaperoning duty and then follows Eddie outside. The cold night air burns in his lungs and on his skin. It is even colder than the previous days and Steve regrets not having grabbed his coat. Eddie seems to feel the same, arms crossed in front of his chest and shivering, he huddles closer to Steve like a penguin. 

Penguins mate for life, Steve brain unhelpfully supplies him with the random fact. Penguins are also one of the over 1000 species to exhibit same sex behavior, Steve’s brain keeps going and okay, he needs to stop letting Dustin watch so many David Attenborough documentaries. 

He suddenly has the urge to press his cold hands against Eddie’s warm skin, making him jump. Instead, Steve digs his hands into the pockets of his jeans and pulls out his Lucky Strikes. 

“Ugh, I need to buy new ones,” he groans when he opens the pack and spots only one, last, lonely cigarette in it. He’s been smoking more than usual lately. Maybe it’s the end-of-the-semester stress. Or maybe it’s having a smoking buddy again. Either way, Steve should probably quit. Knowing that won’t happen any time soon, he puts the cigarette between his lips. Eddie is still looking for his own. 

“Shit, I think I left mine at home,” Eddie curses when he still hasn’t found his pack after a moment. 

“We can share,” Steve shrugs and pets his pockets for his lighter, unable to find it. He would prefer to have the cigarette to himself, but he doesn’t want Eddie to go back inside, leaving Steve alone in the cold. 

“Here,” Eddie says and takes out his own lighter. But instead of handing it to Steve, he steps closer, cups the cigarette in Steve’s mouth, and snaps his lighter open. He is so close, his hand brushes against Steve’s cheek. “Let me.” 

The pad of his thumb flicks over the ignitor a couple of times until he manages to spark a flame. The end of Steve’s cigarette flares in a hot, angry red and Steve realizes that he has forgotten how to breathe. He knows he should inhale, let the burned tobacco enter his lungs and the nicotine his bloodstream, getting them to clear his head. But Steve doesn’t breathe. He feels like his heart should be jackhammering against his rib cage, blood rushing in his ears, his mind going fuzzy. Instead, everything is silent static and for a second Steve’s heart skips a beat. Eddie stares at him expectantly. 

“Man, don’t waste it,” he says when Steve still doesn’t inhale and plucks the cigarette from Steve’s mouth, putting it between his own, grinning lips. Eddie does inhale, closes his eyes, lets out a little groan, before exhaling. Hot smoke and cold clouds of breath mingle in the air between them. 

“You’ve developed a staring problem, Stevie?” Eddie smirks and holds out the cigarette for Steve to take. Their hands brush and static energy discharges between the membrane of their fingertips. The zing of an electric shock travels up through every single one of Steve’s neurons. 

One smoke was all it took, Hopper’s words from a few weeks ago echo in Steve’s mind. One shared cigarette and Hopper knew that Joyce was the one. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

The realization has been bubbling like chemicals at the end of his synapses, eagerly waiting for them to fire, bridge the gap to the next cell and pass the information through his nervous system until it has sunken in. 

He is in love with Eddie. 

Has always been in love with Eddie. 

Has never stopped being in love with Eddie. 

The worst thing is, Steve has always kind of known. Subconsciously compared every partner, every date, every hook-up to the guy he fell in love with in high school. It was easy to ignore while Eddie was gone. Bury his feelings under bricks made out of guilt and shame and let them fester until they had turned into resentment. But then Eddie just had to come back into Steve’s life, nudge those bricks ever so slightly and they had crumpled like the walls of Jericho allowing his dormice feelings to roam free. Steve can’t blame this on muscle memory, not when his heart has never stopped loving Eddie in the first place. 

He could try to deny it, scuttle away like a pill bug whose rock it has been hiding under has been lifted up, exposing it. But he knows there is no use. Because here he is, head over heels in love with Eddie Munson because of something so mundane like sharing a cigarette. 

“You sure you’re good, dude?” 

Steve is pretty far from good. 

“Yeah, just a long night.”

And it truly has been a long night. Steve’s bone ache, groaning under the weight of his realization. His love is not a burden, Steve reminds himself. But being in love with someone who will never love you back because of your own cowardice is crushing. 

“Told you, you’ve become an old man,” Eddie says fondly, throws the cigarette bud on the ground and steps on it. “C’mon let’s get you into bed, big boy.” 

He has the audacity to wink at Steve and Steve feels like screaming until his voice has gone hoarse and his lungs hurt. 

“I hate you,” he says weakly and Eddie just laughs and places his hand on Steve’s lower back, gently guiding him inside. Eddie’s palm burns through he thick fabric of Steve’s jumper and Steve wouldn’t be surprised if he finds a new burn scar amongst the old ones already speckling his torso. Even though the touch hurts, Steve presses his back against Eddie’s hand. 

Because this is going to be it. Fake flirting and casual touches that don’t mean anything. That’s all Steve is going to get. And it’s probably more than he deserves. He never thought he would get to see Eddie again, be Eddie’s friend again. But now they are here and even if he will never love Steve back, Steve is happily going to take whatever Eddie is willing to give, as long as Eddie is going to stay. Steve’s life has been filled with too much loss already, it’s time to fill it with love. Even if that love is unrequited. Because the pain of unrequited love is endlessly more bearable than not having Eddie in his life anymore. 

And so Steve bears Eddie’s touch, quietly yearning for more. 

The inside of the gym is noisy and stifling. Laughter and screams echo from the walls and Steve instantly feels overwhelmed. He just wants to leave, crawl into his bed, and ignore the upcoming migraine he is going to have. He looks around for Dustin, but then stops himself. He doesn’t want to interrupt Dustin’s fun just because of his stupid feelings. Especially not with how much it took to get Dustin here. 

He is about to turn to Eddie and ask him if he can get Dustin home, when Dustin suddenly finds them. He looks from Eddie to Steve, eyes lingering on the arm Eddie has basically slung around Steve’s waist. Maybe they should scramble apart, don’t give Dustin any wrong ideas. But Steve can’t bring himself to move and Eddie doesn’t lower his hand either. 

“You okay?” Steve asks, his voice almost getting drowned out by the music. 

“Yeah, fine just…can we go?” Dustin asks, but before Steve can hear the alarm bells ring, Dustin hurries to add, “I’m just really tired.” 

He does actually look tired, but there is a sleepy smile on his face. The kind of smile you have after a night of dancing with your friends and feeling alive. Steve relaxes slightly and just for a brief second it feels like Eddie is soothingly rubbing his thumb over Steve’s back. The sensation is gone as quickly as it came, the ghost of a touch born out of wishful thinking. 

“Do you want me to drive you,” Eddie asks quietly, leaning in closer so Steve can hear him properly over the atrocity that is Who Let The Dogs Out. Eddie’s breath is hot against the shell of Steve’s ear and a shiver runs down Steve’s spine. 

“We’ll take a cab,” Steve says. “The others might need a ride in a bit.”

“Ever so selfless,” Eddie teases, but from intensity he looks at Steve with, Steve can tell that he actually means it. That he actually thinks Steve is selfless. 

Smoothly, Eddie lets his hand glide to Steve’s hip and gives it a little squeeze. Steve wants to die. Time becomes warm toffee again.

“See you tomorrow?” Eddie says gently, even though tomorrow is a Saturday. Still, Eddie just assumes that he will see Steve. Because Eddie is always seeing Steve, grades essays on Steve’s kitchen table, loads groceries into Steve’s car,  feels more at home on Steve’s couch than Steve and Dustin do. It’s enough, Steve tells himself. To share his life with Eddie like this. And it truly is. Steve just dreads the day Eddie decides to share his life with someone else. 

“See you tomorrow,” Steve whispers back. 

It earns him the softest smile Eddie has to offer, the one that makes him look sheepish at times, like the fondness he feels is even too much for him. It almost eases the pain when his hand leaves Steve’s back.  

Then Eddie vanishes in the crowd of students and Steve’s heart ache as he and Dustin make it to the payphone to call a cab. Steve’s finger traces the give me head until I’m dead that had already been carved into the payphone when Steve was still a student. The writing seems familiar and Steve has a pretty good idea of who the culprit might be. Why does every part of this town have to hold a memory that could bring Steve to his knees. Maybe he should, he thinks nonsensically, maybe he should get on his knees and beg whoever in the universe might listen to turn back time. To let Steve do it all over again. Make better choices. Stand his ground. Say I love you and yes, he was with me.  

But before the universe might grand Steve a do over, their cab arrives and Dustin pulls him inside. Even though it’s a short ride, Dustin falls asleep on Steve’s shoulder. Steve almost doesn’t want to wake him when they arrive home, but Dustin is too heavy and Steve is not in the prime of his jock days anymore, so with a heavy heart he shakes Dustin awake. 

“Did you have fun?” he asks as they stumble into their home.

“I did,” Dustin yawns and slips out of his jacket. “Thanks for trying to convince me to go. Sorry I was such a butthead about it before.” 

“It’s alright,” Steve says, ruffling Dustin’s hair gently and Dustin lets him. “I’m just glad you had a good night.” 

“Did you have a good night too?” 

Steve hums in confirmation, even though he wouldn’t necessarily describe his night as good. Eye opening, confusing, heart breaking, maybe. But the hum is enough for Dustin who yawns again a tired, “Night, Steve.” Before he drags himself into his room. 

Steve locks the house and gets ready for bed on autopilot. Only when he slips under the cold covers, the right side of his bed gapingly empty he is truly hit with the gravity of his situation. 

He is in love with Eddie. A love that Eddie is never going to return. Because Steve truly screwed that one up. He allows himself to wallow for a second. His hand itches for the phone, wanting to call Robin. He knows he isn’t going to sleep well tonight. But he knows this conversation is best to have in person. 

He’ll wait until the morning. 

_____

1985

The last day of spring break gets announced by oppressive heat for late April. It’s warm enough for Steve to fill the pool with water, watching the white tiles slowly turning turquoise with apprehension. Ever since Barbara Holland almost drowned at one of his pool parties, Steve has felt rather uneasy about the pool. She had survived of course, Steve diving after her and pulling her out, but it had led to a huge fight between him and Nancy. The beginning of the end really. 

Eddie doesn’t have the same apprehension, runs past Steve with childlike joy on his face and cannonballs into the pool. Steve doesn't join him, keeps sitting on the edge of the pool, only brave enough to have his legs dipping into the water. In his mind he is counting the seconds since Eddie has disappeared under the surface. He gets to 30 by the time Eddie emerges again. He looks slightly like Cousin It from the The Addams Family , wet curls veiling his face and dripping onto his torso. Steve stares shamelessly. Eddie pushes his hair out of his face, revealing a shark-like grin. 

“Like what you see, pretty boy?”

“You’re the pretty boy,” Steve retorts like it is an insult, even though he means it truly sincerely. Eddie is so pretty, it drives Steve mad sometimes, leads to days where Steve cannot stop looking at Eddie, feels like a moth drawn to the flame. It’s downright a chore not to seek Eddie’s eyes across the hallway in school, or stare dreamily at him when he does another one of his lunch monologues. If it was up to Steve he would sit there like a 13 year old girl, head resting in his hands, looking up dazed, thinking about how he is going to write Mr. Steve Munson in his diary later over and over again. 

But it’s not up to Steve, not really, and so moments like this with Eddie standing in front of him, half naked and wet feel special. Not even because Eddie is only wearing a tiny, black pair of swimming trunks — though Eddie half naked with droplets of water running down his abdomen, tracing the tattoos on his hips like Steve would do with his fingers or his mouth, does make a pretty image — but simply because Steve gets to just look at Eddie. Doesn’t have to avert his gaze, hide the longing in his eyes, gets to unapologetically watch, simply is allowed to look. And Eddie looks back. 

Eddie looks back and sees Steve and on some days it’s terrifying, unbearable, like holding a scalpel against his sternum and taking Eddie’s hand, closing it around the handle and asking him to cut. On some days Steve is afraid of what Eddie might find, peel back his pectoral muscle like an orange rind revealing something ugly, something all consuming, something that enjoys being King Steve, likes the bullying, loves the superiority. The rotten core his parents had planted, still hoping that it will grow and spread through Steve like mold. 

Or what if under all the skin, muscle and flesh is just nothing? Nothing but gaping emptiness between his rib cage where his heart should be. 

When Steve was nine years old his mother had made him read a poem at one of her dinner parties with her friends from the country club. He had practiced and practiced but when he stood in front of the grown women, sitting at the dinner table, swirling wine in their glasses that matched their lipsticks, little Steve had crumbled. His eyes got stuck on certain words, his tongue struggling to curl around certain vowels, he needed to sound out almost every word before he could properly read it out loud. One of his mother’s friends had gotten up, patted Steve’s by then still blonde hair and had slurred, “Isn’t your son just like the scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz, Susan?” 

Steve hadn’t gotten the reference back then, but his mother had looked livid, not on Steve’s behalf but her own. Her friend had bent down to Steve, red stains on her teeth and had added, “Nothing but straw in that pretty head of yours, huh?”

She wasn’t the last one to make that comparison, but Steve can’t help but think that she was wrong. What if he isn’t the scarecrow but the tinman instead? What if they did forget to give him a heart? Steve knows people can actually die from a broken heart, but can a heart die from broken people? From starvation? From neglect? Maybe the rot at his core spreads from the foul remains of his dead heart. On some days Steve is so afraid that blight is all Eddie sees. 

On other days the worry doesn’t even cross Steve’s mind. Like today. Rays of sunshine reflect on the waves between them and Eddie gives him such a soft smile all Steve can do is smile back, wondering if it tastes as saccharine on Eddie’s lips as it looks. Eddie sees him and Steve’s heart dances in his chest. I’m here, it says. I’m alive, it says. And if you’ll let me I could be his , it says. 

And Steve would let it, hold it in his hand, let it contract and give it to Eddie before it could even relax again. If he was sure that Eddie would want it. On days like these, both of them standing in the cool serenity of Steve’s pool Steve dares to almost imagine. Almost collects the courage swirling in his solar plexus, lets it suffocate the fear trying to crawl up his spine, look Eddie in the eyes and say, it’s yours. Almost.

The problem is Steve has already given his heart once, twice. But amongst all his money, the glitz and glam, this frail, little quivering muscle has always seemed rather cheap, mediocre, worthless. Like a valentine’s card crafted by a three year old instead of the ruby earrings you had expected. Even though his heart is Steve’s most precious possession. Because in moments of absolute plastic perfection the pain it carries inside itself is Steve’s only reminder that he is real. That he is flesh, skin, tissue, muscle, bone. That when he is broken he can’t simply be molten back together or glued whole. That he is more than just limbs moved by greedy hands. 

Maybe that’s the reason his heart is of little value to the people he had given it to. They hadn’t wanted flesh, they had just wanted manufactured bones, designed smiles, programmed moves. 

Maybe that’s the reason they had taken his heart and formed a fist. Clenched their hand until Steve had sunken to his knees, wheezing with pain, promising to be the pretty, quiet little plaything they had wanted to have. But just like his heart, Steve had been broken. And no one wants a broken thing. 

Maybe that’s the reason they had tossed Steve and his heart aside like trash, had discarded him between the garbage cans, waiting for him to get picked up. Surely parts of him could be recycled, could be of use again. Especially once that nasty little bundle of flesh had gone. 

Protectively, Steve had curled around his heart, felt the weak cadence rumble in his chest and sworn to keep it hidden away. Hidden for so long, hidden so well that sometimes he forgets it’s there. And once he remembers it’s been quiet for so long he fears that it might have gone.  

But Eddie sees Steve and his broken heart beats bravely. I’m here , it says. I’m alive, it says. Let me be his, it says. 

Eddie sees him and Steve looks back. He looks and looks and looks, but no matter how much he tries, he doesn’t see Eddie. He gets hints and glimpses. In early morning kisses and doodles on notes left in his locker Steve finds gaps allowing him to peek inside the walls Eddie has build around himself. Steve can’t blame Eddie, would have preferred to keep his own walls up, protect the softness inside. But Eddie just has this way about him that makes Steve want to spill his guts and hand over his heart. 

But to hand Eddie his heart, Steve would have to squeeze it through one of narrow gaps in Eddie’s walls, let it rub against red brick until it’s chafed, cracks and fissures running through the already damaged muscle. And once it’s on the other side of the wall, out of Steve’s reach, his grasp, his sight? Then what? He trusts Eddie, wouldn’t tear his ribcage open for him otherwise. And he doesn’t believe in all that satanic crap, thinks he knows Eddie better than this. But then again sweet Nancy Wheeler hadn’t looked like she would eat his heart raw either. 

Steve would. Steve wants to. Steve will eventually. But not today. 

Tomorrow, Steve whispers to his heart, tomorrow. They both know it’s a lie. Eddie sees Steve. Steve looks back. Steve’s heart keeps on beating. One day Steve will let his heart be Eddie’s. But not today. 

Today, Eddie just smirks,  “Comeback of the century, Stevie.”  

Steve flips him off and Eddie lets himself fall back into the water. He floats on his back for a while, his curls writhing underwater like snakes. Maybe that would explain why Steve feels petrified everytime he looks into Eddie’s eyes. 

“Oh, this,” Eddie hums after a while, satisfied, “this is what I’ve been waiting for.” 

“You’ve been waiting for this? What, are you only fucking me for my pool?” 

“I might be.” 

“Gee, tell me how you really feel.” 

For a brief second, something unreadable flickers over Eddie’s face. He opens his mouth and then closes it again. Instead of saying anything he turns onto his stomach, swims with two quick strokes to the edge of the pool, grabs Steve’s shirt and pulls him gently down for a kiss. 

“Seems like a fair trade to me,” he whispers against Steve’s lips when they part and Steve rolls his eyes. His shirt is now wet from Eddie’s hand in it, but Steve doesn’t mind. Eddie gives him another quick peck and then Steve can feel Eddie grin against his lips, that dangerous grin that Steve knows will get him into trouble. Before he can say or do anything, Eddie tightens his grip and pulls Steve down in the pool with him. 

Steve yelps before his body hits the water. Underwater Steve wrangles himself out of Eddie’s grip and breaks the surface with a scowl. His wet shirt and shorts are clinging to his body uncomfortably and water is dripping from his hair into his eyes. The coolness of the water is a much needed relief, but Steve isn’t going to give Eddie that satisfaction. He is already grinning far too delighted. 

“You’re such an asshole,” Steve says, wiping the water off his face, but there is no heat behind his words. Only the warmth of affection and this sunny April afternoon. “I hate you.”  

“Oh no, how ever will I live,” Eddie says dryly while overdramatically clutching his chest. 

Steve pulls his wet shirt over his head. With satisfaction, he can feel Eddie’s eyes rest on his upper body. Steve knows he looks good, knows people like to let their eyes wander over his trained abs, tanned skin, galaxy of freckles and moles. Knows the hunger and want they stare at him with. It kind of did lose its appeal after a while. But there is something exhilarating about the way Eddie is staring at him now. Less like Steve is just an object to be gawked at and more a real person to be marveled at. Of course, he still looks at Steve like he wants to devour him whole, but not in the way girls at school do. Not because he wants to brag that he bagged King Steve. 

Steve lets himself revel a bit in Eddie’s stare, takes his time pulling off his shirt, flexes his abs a bit. It seems to be doing the job because once he has finished pulling the wet shirt off, Eddie is biting his lip, the faintest blush spreading over his cheeks. 

“Hey, my eyes are up here,” Steve jokes but before Eddie can even react Steve crumples up his shirt and with the ease of a star basketball player throws it right into Eddie’s face.

Eddie lets out a quiet grunt when the wet fabric hits his face. Slowly, he peels it off, revealing an unamused frown on his face while Steve just chuckles. Without taking his eyes off Steve, Eddie throws the shirt back onto the patio. 

“Oh, it’s so on, Harrington,” he says with a low voice and quickly splashes a huge amount of water onto Steve. 

Steve doesn’t hesitate and instantly splashes back. The chlorine burns in his eyes, and the cool water is making him slightly shiver despite the heat. At some point he swallows some of it and has to cough, the taste is disgusting. But he and Eddie don’t stop and continue their little pool battle until Eddie has enough and with one loud cry he tackles Steve fully into the pool. 

Their legs tangle together just like their laughter does. Steve sinks slightly and pulls Eddie down with him, arms holding onto Eddie’s torso. They wrestle underwater until they have to come up for air. 

“I win,” Eddie grins and gently presses Steve against a pool wall. 

“You cheated,” Steve gasps, but still wraps his legs around Eddie’s waist, the water supporting his weight easily. 

They make out like that for a while, Eddie’s mouth latching onto Steve’s throat, sucking hickey after hickey onto the tender skin, their hips grinding together, Steve’s hands tangling in Eddie’s hair and pulling slightly. Steve has never been so glad that he doesn’t really have any next door neighbors. They do slow down eventually, before Steve has to up the chlorine percentage in the pool and opt for just floating on their backs instead. 

It’s nice, sunshine and water licking over their skin. No noise but the waves hitting the edge of the pool and the birds chirping in the woods behind Steve’s house. It’s just the two of them on a slow Sunday afternoon in April and Steve wishes that this moment could last forever. 

“I don’t want to go back,” he says quietly. Back to ignoring each other in school, back to carefully arranged hookups instead of just popping by, back to different social circles so far apart they might as well go to different schools. Back to worrying that if it came down to it, would Steve really choose Eddie over popularity. 

“Steve Harrington doesn’t feel like math class and homework. Color me shocked,” Eddie jokes, but there is an edge to his voice revealing that he knows exactly what Steve means. 

His hand finds Steve’s in the still water of the pool and without hesitation, Steve intertwines their fingers. Eddie squeezes his hand once. It’s the closest to a promise they can’t give each other. 

They continue to float like that until their limbs are shaking and their lips have started to turn blue. The sun has begun to set and they towel themselves dry and get dressed in the dark. Eddie heads to the front door afterwards, but Steve grabs his hand and stops him. 

They haven’t turned on the lights in the house yet either and Steve can’t make out Eddie’s face. It makes it easier, makes the possible rejection feel softer. Not that Steve should have anything to worry about, there has been barely any night he and Eddie had not fallen asleep in each other’s arms during spring break. Still, his voice shakes slightly when he asks. 

“Stay?” 

Eddie squeezes his hand again gently. 

“Okay.” 

They order in Chinese, put on a random movie, and choose the living room floor over the uncomfortable, white designer couches. Eddie has his arm slung around Steve the entire time, their hips, legs and feet pressed against each other as if their bodies were glued together. Despite most of the furniture being covered in white sheets and uncanny shadows being cast against the walls in the dimly lit rooms, Steve’s house feels less haunted tonight. 

Afterwards Steve takes Eddie up to his room, fingers still intertwined, and Eddie takes Steve apart between the squares of plaid wallpaper. They are taking their time tonight.

They have had plenty of intense, kinky sex once Steve had asked about Eddie’s bandana. Eddie had told him what it stood for and it had awoken a completely new side in Steve. Steve likes the way Eddie takes control and how he can just let his tightly wound brain come undone. He likes the mixture of pleasure with the sting of pain, likes clear orders and the praise he gets for doing them well. He likes the way he becomes putty in Eddie’s hands, likes the quick snap of hips and the fingers pulling on his hair roughly, likes it when it becomes too much or when Eddie holds him off until Steve thinks he might die if he doesn’t get to come within the next three seconds. Likes the way their sex sometimes feels like an out of body experience, and Steve is only drawn back by Eddie kissing his tears away, calling Steve sweetheart and telling him he did so well. Cleaning him up and holding him for a while until Steve’s heartbeat has calmed down and the fuzzy edges of his mind have become sharp again. 

But he likes what they are doing right now too. The slowness they are undressing each other with, the tenderness Eddie guides him to bed with  instead of just pushing him onto the mattress. Eddie doesn’t tell him what to do tonight, simply just asks him in a whispered tone, “Is this okay?” 

Steve barely manages to rasp, “Yeah.” 

Eddie kisses him softly for a long time, his fingers tracing up and down Steve’s sides, before his lips trail down Steve’s torso. There are no teeth sinking into Steve’s skin, no fingernails pinching him, just Eddie’s mouth peppering kisses across Steve’s entire body. 

He opens Steve up with the same kind of patience, pressing kisses to his knee, wandering up his inner thigh. He probably takes longer than needed, enjoying the whines he is drawing out of Steve, the way Steve’s legs quiver beneath his hand, Steve’s back arching up and Steve quietly begging, “Eddie.” 

Eddie obliges, leans up and captures Steve’s lips with his own. They lazily grind against each other while they continue kissing until Steve whines again, needing more, needing Eddie. Eddie gives him one more quick peck. 

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he says and reaches for condoms and more lube. It’s a bit of a stretch and would probably be easier if Eddie just got up, but he stays half on top of Steve, naked skin brushing against naked skin. Steve is thankful for it, not knowing how he would handle the loss of Eddie’s touch right now, even though it takes longer for Eddie to put a condom on and add more lube. 

He does manage eventually and enters Steve, gingerly, giving Steve all the time to adjust. Once their bodies are pressed flushed together, Eddie doesn’t instantly move. He drapes himself over Steve, takes both his hands and locks his fingers with Steve’s. He is probably able to feel Steve’s pulse, beating against Eddie’s wrist, Steve’s heart skipping enough beats to tap out morse code. 

For a second Steve can taste three little words buzzing on his lips, can feel them rushing through his veins, pulsing against his skin somehow trying to reach Eddie. 

But then Eddie kisses the temptation off his lips. The urge is still there, but the urge is always there. Every minute that Steve is in love with Eddie he has to reel his heart back in from telling him. Eddie probably knows already anyways. Can feel it in the way Steve presses his body up against Eddie’s, needing as much contact as possible, can taste it in Steve’s kiss, hears it when Steve quietly begs, “Please move.” 

Eddie does and it’s enough to knock the air out of Steve’s lungs. Sometimes, Steve is a bit embarrassed about how vocal he is in bed, even though Eddie tells him how much he likes it. But tonight Steve lets himself moan loudly, keeping his voice from whispering well kept secrets into the night he isn’t ready to share yet. The surprised smile Eddie gives him in response is enough to make Steve moan again. 

“I love hearing you,” Eddie breathes against Steve’s mouth, hot air ghosting over Steve’s lips, but not closing the gap so as not to swallow all the beautiful sounds Steve is making. He stays right there, hovering above Steve’s face, the anticipation of the next kiss that is eventually going to come, making Steve lose his mind. 

He lifts his head, trying to chase after Eddie, but with a little smirk Eddie just stays out of reach. That and the snap of Eddie’s hips is maddening. 

“Please,” Steve whimpers and Eddie gives in, presses their mouths together and carefully pushes Steve’s upper body back into the pillows. To Steve’s delight, Eddie keeps kissing him, slowly licks into his mouth, lets his teeth graze over Steve’s bottom lip. It’s deep and filthy and when Eddie eventually lets go Steve has to gasp for air. The noise makes Eddie instantly go back to kissing him again. 

Just like everything tonight, their movements are slow, savoring every second together, as if they had all the time in the world. The ticking clock on Steve’s nightstand tells them something else, but just for a few hours they make believe. They have time. 

Eddie’s thrusts do eventually grow quicker, the friction between their bodies causing Steve’s toes to curl and a buzz to spread at the bottom of his spine. Eddie strokes his thumb over the back of Steve’s hand and Steve can feel heat and tension coil at his core. 

“‘m close,” he mumbles, breath becoming hitched. 

Eddie nods, eyes shut tightly, like he is overwhelmed by the feeling of Steve around him. His face looks beautiful, all lost in ecstasy, but Steve needs to see his eyes, needs to feel himself melt into the dark brown, needs to be seen.

“Look at me,” Steve asks, letting go of one of Eddie’s hands to cup his cheek gently. “Please.” 

Eddie leans into this touch and unable to deny Steve anything opens his eyes.  They are so close their foreheads are almost touching, Steve can see the different shades of amber forming mesmerizing patterns in Eddie’s iris. The affection in his gaze is enough to make Steve tumble across the edge and when he pulls Eddie down into a kiss, Eddie follows soon after. 

He collapses on top of Steve, their bodies sticking together with sweat and come and it should be unbearable in this heat, but when Eddie tries to move Steve makes a loud noise of protest. 

“Gotta clean you up, baby,” Eddie whispers into the crook of Steve’s neck, followed by an apologetic kiss pressed against Steve’s pulse point. “I’ll be right back, I promise.” 

Reluctantly, Steve lets Eddie get up. As promised he doesn’t take long, comes back quickly with a wet washcloth and a glass filled with cold water. Steve drinks it eagerly while Eddie cleans him up. He kisses every part after wiping over it with the cloth and goosebumps spread over Steve’s entire body. 

When Eddie reaches his pubic bone and presses kisses there too, Steve can’t help but blush. 

“Careful, or you’ll get me hard again.”

“Seems like a reason not to be careful to me,” Eddie grins, his hand with the washcloth trailing down lower. “And I do already have my mouth on you.” He presses another kiss to Steve’s pubic bone. “Unless you’re beat?” 

Usually, Steve would love to have Eddie’s mouth back on him. But tonight he just wants Eddie to crawl back up to him, ignore the heat and hold Steve. 

“I’m good,” he says, for a second worried that Eddie might be disappointed. 

But Eddie just smiles sweetly and says, “Okay.”

He throws the cloth at Steve’s hamper and misses but neither of them could care right now. Steve doesn’t even have to tell Eddie to come back up here. Eddie has already moved back next to Steve, pulling Steve’s back into his chest and tangling their legs together. They are going to be sweaty within seconds again, but neither of them is bothered, bodies pressed so tightly together not even a flat palm could fit between them. 

Steve places his hands on top of Eddie’s before taking one of them and pressing a kiss to the back of it. Eddie repays him by letting his lips wander over Steve's shoulders before trailing down his spine. There is no heat behind it, just non-sexual affection and intimacy. 

It’s the kind of touch Steve didn’t even know he was missing until he met Eddie. Didn’t know there could be touch without intentions, that hands could be placed on his body without trying to get him worked up or to crouch down. People only ever tended to touch Steve if they wanted to mold him for their needs like clay. Eddie doesn’t do that. Eddie touches him and it’s the opposite of Midas’ touch, the palm of Eddie’s hands turning the solid gold Steve is made out of into skin. 

“Thank you,” Steve whispers, suddenly feeling the weight of how alive and real and comfortable Eddie has made him feel over the past two months. “For this.” 

Steve presses another kiss to Eddie’s knuckles and puts Eddie’s hand over his heart. It’s not enough, but hopefully Eddie will understand until Steve is able to say it better. 

“‘ove you,” Eddie mumbles quietly against the space between Steve’s shoulder blades. 

Steve’s heart doesn’t skip a beat this time, it flatlines. Eddie didn’t just…there is no way that…no. He wouldn’t, he simply wouldn’t. 

“Hmm?” Steve asks, trying to sound as casual as possible. 

“Nothing,” Eddie yawns. “Sleep well.”

Right, it was probably just a sleepy nonsense mumble. That’s all. Steve decides not to push it. 

“You too,” he says and turns his head to steal one last kiss from Eddie. Once again it’s slow and sweet. Neither of them wants tomorrow to come. 

It almost feels like a goodbye. 

They are quiet the next morning, drinking their coffee without a word, neither of them able to stomach breakfast or conversation. Eddie brushes his teeth and slips into the clothes from the day before while Steve goes through his hair routine. 

“I’m off,” Eddie says and Steve is glad he has bothered at least to say goodbye and not just disappear like he used to do so often at the start of their arrangement. 

He doesn’t add see you later or see you at school, knowing that their time together is dictated again by their own social circles. And Steve hates it.

He wants to walk across the room and kiss Eddie tenderly. Make plans for later that day or just pop by the trailer after school. But Steve has basketball practice that afternoon, which means hanging out with the team afterwards. And Steve is pretty sure Monday nights are reserved for Hellfire Club too. So as much as he wants to just hang out with Eddie, there is nothing much Steve can do. 

“Okay,” is all he says. 

“Okay,” Eddie echos and then leaves. They don’t kiss goodbye and Steve feels hollow for the rest of the morning. 

The feeling only grows worse when he arrives at school, seeing the hordes of students pool from the parking lot into the building, green letterman jackets and cheer uniforms peaking through the crowd. Steve sits still in his car for a while and just stares. Out of the corner of his eye he notices a beat up van pulling onto the school grounds. 

For a second Steve considers sprinting across the parking lot, jumping into the van and telling Eddie to drive. Doesn’t matter where. Just away. Out of Hawkins. Maybe some East Coast beach. Eddie has never seen the ocean before. 

But before Steve can spin the thought even further, the van’s door opens and Eddie slides out of his car. He has changed his clothes by now and his curls look bouncier too. He swings a worn out backpack over his shoulder and follows the current of students inside. 

Reluctantly Steve gets out of his car, mentally already counting the days until graduation. He still has no clue what to do with his life, but anything is better than high school. He nods towards a couple of people he passes by, glad no one is stopping him for conversation. 

He is almost at his locker when he sees the posters. In bright, funky colors the nominations for prom king and queen are announced. Steve stares at his own face, smiling back down at him from the poster. 

He blinks, perplexed for a second before it sinks in. He is nominated for prom king. It’s not much of a surprise, the word king is literally in his name. Still, seeing the poster fills him with giddiness and his bad mood evaporates.  

An arm is suddenly slung around him and the douchey smell of Drakkar Noir cologne announces Tommy before he bawls into Steve’s ear, “All hail the king!” 

Normally, Steve would cringe and slip out from under Tommy’s arm. But the possibility of winning prom king has him craving the familiar safety bubble of popularity. So he leans more into Tommy and bellows back with a grin, “All hail the king.” 

They smash their chests together with force instead of hugging and for a moment Steve feels 16 again, young, dumb, and best friends in the world with the asshole that is Tommy Hagan. 

“Don’t know why they bothered even nominating anyone else, these two guys are totally pussies,” Tommy laughs, arm still around Steve’s shoulders as they continue to walk to Steve’s locker. Steve steals another glance at the poster to see who he is up against. Jake Monroe, captain of the lacrosse team and Peter Johnson, head of the student newspaper. Tommy is right, they are hardly any competition at all.  

Steve’s hands tremble slightly when he opens his locker. He tries to angle his body in a way that Tommy can’t glance inside. But Tommy seems fully uninterested in Steve’s locker anyways, leaning next to him with his arms crossed, watching a group of cheerleaders pass by. Even if he had looked into Steve’s locker, it wouldn’t have mattered much. All that is inside are books, one half eaten protein bar and some tennis socks. No piece of paper with neat handwriting and little demon doodles to be found. Next to him Tommy wolf whistles quietly. 

“Who you gonna take?” 

“Don’t think I’m taking anybody,” Steve says absentmindedly, trying to mask his disappointment at the lack of notes in his locker. It’s stupid, they literally saw each other two hours ago. 

“Keeping your options open, smart! I guess I’m stuck taking fucking Carol.” 

Steve has to keep in a snort. His options are very much closed. He doesn’t think he could even take a girl for the act of pretense. Despite his reputation to strike out and the vast series of hookups Steve has had before Nancy, he’s secretly always been a commitment guy, wanting nothing more than a long term relationship. But it would have clashed with the image of King Steve and none of the girls he had slept with had seemed interested in staying anyways. Still, Steve had quietly longed for someone to commit to.  

And even though Eddie and he aren’t in a relationship, taking a date to prom would simply feel wrong. Steve glances to the other end of the hallway, where he knows Eddie’s locker is. Not for the first time, Steve wishes that things were differently. That he could actually ask Eddie to prom. Thinks about how he would surprise Eddie at his locker, wrap his arms around him and lift him up, nuzzling kisses into the back of his neck while Eddie’s yelps turn into laughter. Imagines what Eddie would look like in his letterman, the name Harrington spelled out on the back, announcing to the entire school that he is Steve’s. Wants lunch dates spend sitting with his legs thrown across Eddie’s lap, stealing his fries while Eddie goes on one of his tangents. 

But unfortunately, things aren’t like that and even if they were, Steve isn’t quite sure that Eddie would want the same things. Eddie probably isn’t even a relationship guy, might hate PDA and he definitely wouldn’t be caught dead at prom. 

He had told Steve that much, when Steve had asked if he was planning to show up in ripped jeans and a washed out DIO shirt. It had surprised Steve, prom seeming to be the perfect dealing round with dark corners and plenty of teenagers looking for a good time. But Eddie had just shrugged, mumbled something about Hargrove getting on his nerves and wanting to clean up his act, maybe getting a proper side job if anyone would be willing to hire him. 

“Don’t worry, Harrington,” Eddie had laughed at Steve’s puzzled look. “I’ll still get you your free weed, wouldn’t wanna subject you to the dodgy cheap crap Hargrove deals.” 

Steve had shaken his head, “That’s not…I mean it’s great. The side job thing, not the free weed thing. Well, that too. Obviously.” 

He honestly hadn’t cared for the weed, the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. He would have also never bought drugs from Billy, a loyal customer to Eddie even before they had become close. It was probably one the reasons Billy loved to antagonize Steve. 

“But yeah, good..uh…good idea with the side job. Congrats?” 

“Gotta get hired first, Stevie.” 

So yeah, even if Steve could prompose, Eddie wouldn’t wanna go. With a loud bang Steve closes his locker, making Tommy jump. At the same time the ringing of the bell announces the first period. Steve has double chemistry first. He honestly can’t wait to be done with high school. 

The day manages to drag on and yet to be nothing but a blur. Steve struggles to pay attention in class, doesn’t even know who he talks to, accepts congratulations and endorsement for his nomination with a smile, but all he wants to do is go back home. With shock he realizes after a second that he is thinking about Eddie’s trailer rather than his own house. 

At lunch Steve doesn’t dare to look over at Eddie, worried Tommy might still want to jump him. But Tommy is too preoccupied listening to Billy talk about all the girls he fucked during spring break. Steve hates how he has to pretend to be all chummy with Billy, when Billy doesn’t extend the same courtesy. But getting into a fight with Billy or falling out with Tommy and the popular crowd might cost Steve prom king and so he quietly eats his lunch. 

Basketball practice is a bust too. A good third of the team are out, apparently not having coped well with some not so legal substances at a few spring break parties. Steve catches the coach say something about Reagan being right and Steve feels nauseous. 

He takes extra long in the shower afterwards. Tells Tommy and Billy not to wait up for him, says he is too beat today to do anything. Tommy looks mildly disappointed but shrugs and finishes getting dressed. Billy on the other hand stares. The kind of stares that make the hairs stand up at the back of Steve’s neck. 

“Don’t exhaust yourself, Harrington,” he says and it sounds like a threat. 

Steve turns back to the shower head, trying to look bored even though his knees are shaking. He can’t show Billy that he is getting to him, Steve might as well walk into a shark tank with his hand cut open. Fortunately, Billy seems to have other plans than trying to stare Steve into submission tonight and leaves too. 

Steve waits until he hears the door of the locker room fall shut, counts in his head until enough time has passed from Tommy and Billy to get to their cars and then rushes out of the shower. He almost trips getting dressed, hurrying out of the gym himself. He is slightly out of breath when he reaches the parking lot, his shirt sticking to his still damp skin uncomfortably. The discomfort is worth it though when he sees that Eddie’s van is still parked in front of the school as well. Next to Steve’s Beemer, the van is the last car left. There are no bikes by the bike shed either which means the other hellfire members must have left already. 

Without hesitation Steve sneaks into the theater building, knowing that Eddie DMs his games in one of the larger prop rooms. As expected, Eddie is alone, cleaning up and humming quietly something that Steve can recognise as Metallica by now. 

Steve watches him quietly for a moment before announcing his presence by loudly pulling the door shut behind him. Eddie jumps and dashes around, holding one of his little figurines like it’s a knife to defend himself with. He relaxes once he sees it’s Steve. 

“Jesus H. Christ, you scared me.” 

“Sorry,” Steve says, not sorry at all and locks the door behind his back before walking over to Eddie. He takes the figurine out of Eddie’s hand, puts it into Eddie’s little prop box and pulls him in for a kiss. 

Eddie’s hands instantly find Steve’s hips, pushing him gently towards the desk in the middle of the room until it digs into Steve’s lower back. He is too preoccupied with the way Eddie’s tongue is licking inside his mouth to notice really. Only when Eddie’s hands wander lower, suddenly grabbing his thighs and lifting Steve onto the table, Steve lets out a noise that is half shock, half moan. He spreads his legs so that Eddie can stand easily between them and digs his nails into Eddie’s back pulling him closer. 

“Missed you,” Steve sighs, far too honestly, when they break apart. His arms still loosely slung around Eddie’s neck and Eddie’s fingers hooked into Steve’s belt loops, holding Steve in place. 

“You just saw me this morning,” Eddie teases with a bit of a mocking smile. Steve is about to feel silly, but then Eddie’s features soften and he presses another short kiss to Steve’s lips. 

“I’ve missed you too, baby,” he says and it might be the most vulnerable Steve has ever seen him. The fact that Eddie missed him, that Eddie allows himself to be vulnerable enough to tell Steve has Steve’s heart dancing. 

“Yeah?” he smiles, “Whatcha gonna do about it?” 

Eddie happily takes the bait and kisses Steve breathless. They make out for quite a while until Steve’s jeans start to become uncomfortably tight. Slowly, he places a hand on Eddie’s chest and pulls away. Eddie basically pouts and Steve has to take all his restraint not to just continue to make out with him. 

“We are not having sex in the theater building, that’s like the least sexy place in school.”

“First of all, you were the one coming in here, deciding to kiss me like your life depends on it,” Eddie smirks. “And secondly, theater kids fuck, Steve. All the time. Hedonist orgies? Basically invented by them.” 

“You’re kidding!”

“Don’t even get me started on the debauchery and perversion going on with the band kids, almost makes me feel like the normal one.” 

Steve laughs, even though he is not quite sure if Eddie is being serious or not. He really can’t imagine the pimply nerd playing the french horn having any kind of sex or the boney flute player with braces. Tommy likes to call her lead face and Steve used to laugh about that joke a lot. Only that it isn’t really funny, he realizes. It’s mean and awful and he feels bad all of a sudden. Christ, one day back at school and he is already turning back into the douchebag he was a year ago. 

“Hey,” Eddie interrupts Steve’s thoughts and cups his face gently. “Come home with me?” 

Steve nods, glad Eddie has asked. Going back to his empty house is awful most days, today it seems unbearable. He follows Eddie’s van, too tired from the day to worry about someone seeing the Beemer parked in the trailer park. 

Wayne is in when they reach the trailer and Steve tries not to get intimidated, but it’s hard with Wayne’s unreadable stare. Steve has met parents before, had to promise to get girls home by 10, was once even shown a shotgun. None of that had been as scary as Wayne’s silence. Steve hopes he’ll never have to get an actual shovel talk from Wayne, not sure he would survive it. 

It’s nice that he is so protective of Eddie though, Steve thinks. He can’t imagine his parents ever giving anyone a shovel talk. They’ll just passive aggressively find a way to make the person Steve is dating feel small if they disapprove. Or act like Steve’s relationship doesn’t exist in the first place. Nancy had only ever been the Wheeler girl, never Steve’s girlfriend for them. 

“Hello, Mr. Munson,” Steve says as politely as possible and gives an awkward little wave. Great, now Wayne probably thinks that Steve is an idiot. 

Behind him he can hear Eddie snort quietly, “ Shit, Mr. Munson.” 

Eddie definitely thinks that Steve is an idiot. But he also thinks that Steve is a dork and occasionally moron, even claims that underneath it all Steve is secretly a little bit of a nerd, calls Steve all these things with so much fondness in his voice that Steve doesn’t mind. Eddie is allowed to think that he is an idiot. But Steve wants to make a good impression in front of Wayne and he is pretty sure he is failing. 

“Swimming kid,” Wayne says gruffly with a little nod. Steve will happily take swimming kid over idiot. Or worse, Richard and Susan’s kid. 

“We’re gonna order food, do you want some?” Eddie asks and digs out some take out menus. He discards the pizza place’s one instantly and hands Steve the one from a burger joint, the Chinese one they had last night, and one menu from a Greek place Steve didn’t even know Hawkins had. 

“Nah, Imma head to bed for a nap before work,” Wayne says and gets up. “May I remind ya that these walls are thin, so maybe hold yer horses until I’m gone, will ya?”  

Both Steve and Eddie look absolutely mortified. Wayne doesn’t even let them stammer and just disappears into his room. 

“Burger?” Steve squeaks and Eddie nods. 

They’ll cuddle up on the couch, waiting for their food exchanging the occasional lazy kiss. Steve is already half asleep by the time their food gets there. When Wayne leaves for work later that night, both Eddie and Steve are lying tangled together on the couch, fast asleep. 

Wayne tells Steve to drop the Mr. Munson crap the next morning and in exchange drops the swimming before the kid. 

Steve keeps on dropping by the trailer even more regularly after that, finding excuse after excuse why he can’t hang out with Tommy or the guys from the basketball and swimming team after practice. He makes the effort to meet up at least when Eddie has band practice or Hellfire, but the moment Steve knows Eddie is done with those he is on his way. It feels so natural, Steve doesn’t know why he thought school starting again would get in the way of them just meeting up. They do avoid hanging out at Steve’s house though. After all Tommy is far less likely to show up at Eddie’s trailer and Steve’s room still gives Eddie the heebie jeebies as he so eloquently puts it. 

It isn’t until the afternoon before prom that they both lounge in Steve’s bed, naked and panting for breath after what might have been the best sex Steve’s ever had. Maybe it’s the anticipation that has Steve all riled up fuelled by the possessive way Eddie had draped himself over Steve, digging his teeth and nails into Steve’s skin getting Steve to almost scream himself hoarse. He still holds Steve with the same kind of possessiveness now and Steve revels in it like a cat in the sun. 

“Come shower with me?” he asks eventually, when his bedside table clock tells him it’s time to get ready. 

“Horndog,” Eddie jokes but lets himself be pulled up from the bed and into the shower. 

Steve catches a glance of himself in the mirror while Eddie already slips into the shower, sighing, content, standing under the hot stream of water. With a smile, Steve traces over the marks scattered over his body. 

There are scratches running down his back, hickeys sprinkled all over his throat, chest, inner thighs, and bruises on his hips. Eddie has marked him almost possessively. Not that Steve is complaining, but even for Eddie, this is kind of a lot. If anyone was to catch Steve without a shirt on he sure would get some questions. Not that anyone else is going to catch Steve without a shirt on any time soon. Tommy might expect him to go home with the prom queen tonight, but Steve definitely has other plans for after prom.

He briefly wonders if Eddie too expects him to go home with the prom queen and that’s why he covered Steve in bites. Steve pushes the thought aside. He has made it pretty clear that he isn’t interested in anyone else when his parents forced him to go on a date with Denise. 

He joins Eddie under the shower, who instantly draws him closer. He grabs Steve’s shampoo, squirts some into his hands and begins to massage it into Steve’s hair. It’s the most intimate thing they have ever done. Steve leans into Eddie’s touch, lets himself enjoy the way Eddie’s fingers scratch over his scalp. He even makes sure to shield Steve’s eyes when he washes it out, before he moves on to conditioner. 

Steve repays the favor while his conditioner soaks in. He loves drawing his hands through the curly stands of Eddie’s hair, making sure every inch is coated evenly. He presses a kiss to Eddie’s left shoulder blade and lingers there for a moment while he washes the shampoo out. 

“Don’t think I’ve ever used conditioner before,” Eddie tells him when Steve grabs the bottle. 

“You’ve never…and your curls look like that? Fuck you, Munson!” 

“Want an encore or do you need to save your stamina for Hawkins High’s finest maiden tonight?” Eddie grins, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

Oh, Eddie does think that he is going to sleep with whoever wins prom queen tonight, Steve realizes a little shocked. Maybe Steve isn’t the only idiot in this arrangement. 

“Depends, you’ve got many things planned that I’ll need my stamina for tonight?” Steve says as he begins applying the conditioner

The cocky smirk vanishes from Eddie’s face and his eyes widen in surprise. Droplets of water run down his face and cling to his lashes. He looks beautiful like this and Steve has to keep himself from pressing kisses all over his face. 

“Didn’t think you’d want to come over,” Eddie says quietly, like he is not quite sure if he understood Steve correctly. One of his walls comes crumbling down, and Steve truly understands why Eddie has them in the first place. He isn’t the only one tearing his rib cage open. 

Carefully, as not to get conditioner into Eddie’s eyes, Steve pushes a strand of hair out of his face. He tries to put all the affection he feels but can’t say out loud into his words when he whispers, “There is no other place I would want to go.” 

They are both quiet for a moment, the only sound the water dripping in the shower. Steve watches Eddie’s chest rise and fall slowly. He wonders if Eddie’s rib cage hurts too from his heart jackhammering against the bone. 

“Shit, yeah okay…uh I can plan something,” Eddie says after what might have been seconds or hours. Steve has never been so grateful for the unlimited amount of hot water in his house. 

“You don’t have to,” he hurries to say. He’d be happy to just sit on the couch with Eddie and hold his hand. 

“Nuh huh, I’m gonna plan something now,” Eddie says with another grin. It does reach his eyes this time and Steve knows he is going to be in for a long night. The prospect is almost more exciting that winning prom king. 

The waste another eternity under the shower, before they slip out of the bathroom and Steve gets dressed for prom. Despite knowing that he is going to win prom king, his nerves are suddenly getting the better of him. He chews on his lip and nervously picks the skin around his nails. There is no reason to be anxious, but he can feel unease rise in his chest. 

“Christ, I can’t watch this,” Eddie mutters and promptly pulls one of his rings off his finger. He quickly grabs Steve’s hand and unceremoniously puts his ring on Steve’s ring finger. “Here, fiddle with his.” 

It is one of Eddie’s plain rings, just a simple silver band, not a chunky pig’s head or skull. It’s not standing out, but Steve can’t tear his eyes away from it as if it was a beacon. The metal is warm against his skin. When he does manage to tear his eyes away, he finds Eddie staring at him. He looks as overwhelmed as Steve feels. Which is stupid, it’s just a ring. Just a round piece of metal. A round piece of metal that the guy he likes just casually put on his finger. It’s not a big deal, even though it feels like the world right now.  

“Are you prom-posing to me?” Steve jokes weakly, trying to break the heavy tension in the air. 

“Wouldn’t wanna ruin your chances at becoming prom king,” Eddie shrugs and grabs his jacket. He says it as casually as possible, but there is the smallest hint of bitterness in his voice. “Speaking off, I’ll better head. Not that Hagan or Hargrove get any idea to show up here and catch me.” 

Part of Steve wants to reach out and pull Eddie back in. Say screw them, screw prom, not go and stay in with Eddie. But he also knows that part of him really wants to be prom king. This is what he has worked for for years. All the parties, all the games, all the charming smiles, he has earned being voted prom king. He might not have the grades to go to college, but at least he is graduating with the highest popularity award available.

And so he lets Eddie leave. It’s fine, Steve tells himself. He’ll see Eddie later that night. It still feels wrong. 

Steve tries to shake the feeling and hypes himself up for prom instead. He sings loudly along to Springsteen in his car on the way to school, checks out his perfect hair in the rear mirror, and tells himself that he has prom king basically in the bag. 

He still feels wrong when he steps out of his car and walks into the decorated gym. The theme is winter wonderland, which makes absolutely zero sense in April, but Steve still tells himself that he likes the atrocious decor of fake styrofoam snow, paper snowflakes, and miniature plastic snowmen spread all over the gym. Somewhere in the background, George Michael laments over his broken heart while Steve tells himself that this is going to be the best night of his life. 

Out of the corner of his eyes he spots Nancy and Jonathan chatting to some people from the student newspaper. His tie is matching her pale blue dress and they look truly happy together. The expected sting of pain or bite of jealousy stays out. Steve looks at them and feels happy for them too.

His heart does clench for a moment though when Time after time starts playing and Nancy pulls Jonathan onto the dance floor. Wrapped around each other they sway softly. There is a smidge of jealousy stirring in his stomach, not because it is Jonathan dancing with Nancy. But because they both are able to dance with each other. 

For a moment he imagines Eddie next to him, dressed up in a black suit with a burgundy button down, taking his hand and pulling him onto the dance floor right next to Nancy and Jonathan. As lovely as the image is, it feels somehow wrong. Eddie isn’t the kind of person to dance at prom with. 

Steve can see them though, standing in the small, shitty trailer kitchen, making pancakes for breakfast even though it’s well past noon already. 60ies rock coming from the old, little radio, and Steve humming along. Eddie hooking his chin over Steve’s shoulder and wrapping his arms around his waist. Both of them swaying along to The Beatles. Eddie singing, “And when I touch you I feel happy inside,” right into Steve’s ear. Steve giggling, and gently swatting him while Eddie just continues, “It’s such a feelin’ that my love I can’t hide.” Steve calling him a dork, before Eddie takes his hand, suddenly spinning him around, dancing with Steve in the sun flooded kitchen. Steve can see it all so vividly he aches.  

He asks a random sophomore if she wants to dance, already knowing it won’t help with the empty feeling inside. The faces of the girls he spends the night with blur together. Neither names nor conversations stick. 

Only Tammy Thompson he notices dancing with, her shrill voice making it impossible to zone out. 

“So yeah, daddy is getting me a flat in Nashville after graduation and my uncle Aaron knows someone with a recording studio,” she quacks and Steve tries to nod without grimacing. Fucking muppet voice. If she makes it as a singer, Steve might as well become a brain surgeon. 

Out of the corner of his eyes he sees Billy and Tommy chatting in a corner, can feel their gaze on him and Tammy. Tommy probably expects him to take Tammy home, she’s probably gonna win prom queen too so it would be fitting. And the way Tammy is pressing against him tells Steve that she definitely isn’t opposed to the idea. Steve will have to find a way to ditch her before prom ends, already having a set destination for his after party. Once again he regrets not just staying home with Eddie. 

“What are you gonna do after grad—” Tammy starts and then half yelps half giggles when Steve suddenly spins her around and dips her, not wanting to answer her question. It seems to be working. 

“Steve!” She laughs and god even her laughter is grating on his nerves. Steve ignores her, doesn’t even look at her. Instead he accidentally makes eye contact with a random girl, one of the band kids he thinks maybe. He tries to give her a small smile, but the girl just glares at him as if Steve just murdered her grandmother in front of her. He is so surprised by the intensity of it he almost drops Tammy. 

Startled he pulls Tammy back up and when he looks back to where the girl was standing she is gone. 

“I’m all dizzy now,” Tammy sighs and leans heavily against Steve. 

“Maybe you should sit down then,” Steve says, tired of her shamelessly flirting with him. Even if he wasn’t head over heels for Eddie, Tammy Thompson is one of the last girls Steve would want to take out. 

“Oh, okay,” she pouts but Steve just ignores her and walks to the edge of the gym. 

He leans back against the wall and wishes he was somewhere else. Or at least that he was here with someone else. He lets his eyes glide across the room, trying to find someone who could be bearable to talk to. Tommy, thank god, is nowhere to be seen doing god knows what. At this point Steve would honestly rather talk to Nancy and Jonathan than having to deal with Tommy. His eyes wander further. He spots Billy still at the other end of the room, talking to Chrissy Cunningham. Steve frowns. 

He doesn’t know much about Chrissy. Head cheerleader, decent student, dating one of his basketball team mates Jason and weirdly enough friends with Eddie. She is braver than Steve, joining Eddie’s table at lunch regularly. She gets the odd glance now and then but weirdly enough her popularity doesn’t seem to suffer from it. Steve knows Jason hates it, looks at Eddie like wants to burn him at the stake, being the religious fanatic that he is. But the rest of Chrissy’s friends don’t seem to mind. Maybe they are getting enough free weed out of it to turn a blind eye. 

But it’s that exact friendship Chrissy has with Eddie that makes Steve frown. Everybody knows that Billy and Eddie hate each other, it makes no sense for Chrissy to talk to Billy. Still, Billy nods to whatever Chrissy is saying and then ushers her to one of the many exits and just like that they are gone. 

Having an uneasy feeling, Steve goes to follow them. But before he can reach the door, the music comes to a stop and the amps screech with the feedback from a mic. 

“Ladies and gentleman, class of ‘85 and associates, it is finally time,” one of the prom committee members announces dramatically on stage. “The people of Hawkins High have spoken. Steve Harrington is prom king.”  

There is a spotlight on him suddenly and hands pushing him to the stage while the gym fills with roaring applause. Everything suddenly appears to be in slow motion. Dazed, Steve climbs onto the stage. The stage lights are so blinding he can’t make out a single face in the crowd. It doesn’t matter though, they all had decided that he should be prom king. They all liked him enough to make a cross right next to his name. Maybe he is worth something after all. 

He fucking won prom king. 

One of the committee members puts a plastic crown on his head and an emerald green coat around his shoulders. He lifts his hand on autopilot waving into the crowd, a big smile on his face. 

“Fuck yeah, Harrington,” one of his team mates probably hollers. Steve feels on top of the world. For one brief second everything is fucking brilliant. 

Then the committee guy next to Steve announces, “And now to King Steve’s lovely queen with whom he gets to share the next dance.” 

The crowd quiets down in anticipation, but Steve just has a ringing in his ears. He doesn’t hear who wins prom queen, doesn’t care, doesn’t want to dance with her.  He seems some pink, frilly dress join him on the stage, probably Tammy. He manages not to bolt while the crown is put on her head and she curtsies. The tears streaming down her face, messing with her mascara are a pretty good performance. Maybe she should try acting instead of the singing career instead. 

Once the music for their dance starts, Steve hurries off stage though. 

“Sorry, I’ll need fresh air,” he says, not even waiting for Tammy’s disappointed response before he turns to leave. 

He’s almost made it out of the gym when he colides with another body. He just about manages to steady them both, keeping them form falling to the ground. Chrissy Cunningham is slouching against his chest. Not in an flirty attempt like Tammy earlier, but simply because she struggles to keep herself up. 

“Shit, you good?” 

“Super good,” she says, her eyes empty, pupils blown wide. 

“You sure?” 

Before Chrissy can reply, Jason calls over to them, “Babe, come here! I wanna dance.” 

The dazed look on Chrissy’s face only grows worse. 

“Gonna dance, bye King Steve,” she says and eases herself out of his grip. Steve watches her perplexed as she crosses the dance floor and falls into the arms of her boyfriend. Maybe she’s had too much of the punch, Steve reckons. But it’s not his problem, he is not her friend. 

Before another cheerleader can cling to him, Steve slips out of the gym into the cool night air. For the first time tonight he feels like he can breathe again. The ringing in his ears finally stops. He quickly walks over to his car when a voice behind him makes Steve jump. 

“Leaving already, King Steve?”  

Heart beating in his throat, Steve turns around. Billy is standing between two other cars, lit cigarette dangling from his lips, the red glowing light a warning signal to stay away. 

“What’s it to you?” 

“I just find it strange that the mighty King Steve, would leave his coronation without his queen. Or lady. Or the court's whore, it’s not like any single girl in there wouldn’t spread her legs for you,” Billy says with a sardonic smirk, nodding towards the gym. Steve has never wanted to punch him so badly. “Especially after boasting so much about keeping your options open. So let me ask again, Harrington. Where you off too?”

He throws his cigarette to the ground and steps on it. Steve wonders if Billy imagines his face beneath his foot instead. 

“Brenda, college student,” Steve rehashes the lie he told Tommy weeks ago. “Fucks better than high school girls. Is into some pretty dirty stuff. Not that it’s any of your fucking business, Hargrove.” 

Billy smirks again and Steve knows one day he is going to sink those sharp teeth into Steve and tear him apart. 

“Just genuine curiosity, Steve.” 

His name sounds wrong in Billy’s mouth. Steve really wants to leave. 

“Go on then,” Billy nods towards Steve’s car. “Go fuck that college girl. Maybe I’ll find myself a little bird of my own for tonight.” 

Steve swallows the sarcastic good luck that’s on the tip of his tongue and gets into his car. He has no desire to antagonize Billy even further. He knows Billy stares after him as he drives away. But as long as he doesn’t follow him, Steve doesn’t care. 

By the time he reaches Eddie’s trailer and sees the small, private little grin Eddie greets him with, Steve has already forgotten about his weird chat with Hargrove. After all, he is always being a creep. 

“You’re here early,” Eddie says as Steve pushes past him into the trailer. The living room is dark, only illuminated by the dim light of the TV. Steve leans against the kitchen counter, softly smiling back at Eddie. 

“I won prom king.”

“Hmmm, I can see that,” Eddie says, eyes flickering up to Steve’s crown before he reaches up and gently takes it off Steve’s head. 

“You don’t like it?” 

“It’s cute,” Eddie shrugs, putting it on the coffee table, “but I like you better without it.”

“You like me?” fueled by spiked punch Steve can’t help but tease, knowing he is playing with fire. He expects Eddie to quip back, roll his eyes and humble him. But he doesn’t.

“That a problem?” He asks instead, matter of factly like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Eddie likes Steve. The real Steve, made out of skin and bones, covered in moles and imperfections, never quite sure if the sadness inside is holding him together or slowly breaking him apart. The Steve, no one ever prefers to the polished marble statue that is King Steve. But here Eddie is, taking the golden crown that is blinding so many from Steve’s head, the first to truly look at Steve and like what he sees. Steve’s heart beats and beats and beats. 

It shouldn’t be that big of a revelation. Steve knows he is the nameless boy, a title he would take over King Steve any day. And he knows that Eddie cares for him, held him through enough nights, and pressed his lips so gently against Steve’s skin that for the first time Steve had felt precious and like vulnerability wasn’t a flaw, but something to be cherished. So while it does feel a little bit like a miracle it’s not the fact that Eddie likes him, that shocks Steve. It’s the ease he says it with. Something Steve wishes he could do, but has always struggled with. Tonight, his heart says, but Steve is not sure if he can say it. Doesn’t know how to. 

For Eddie, it’s just a straightforward I like you, that a problem? 

“No,” Steve rasps. “Not a problem.” He wants to say it back, wants to tell Eddie that he feels the same. More even. But the weight of the doctrines, expectations, and rejections accumulate and bulk in Steve’s mouth effectively gagging him. The words he desperately wants to say are there, but he can’t push them through his fear-sealed lips. His struggle must show on his face, giving Eddie the wrong idea. 

“Don’t hurt yourself, Harrington,” he says, not mean, but once again just matter of factly. Eddie likes Steve, Steve doesn’t like him back, the world keeps on turning for Eddie Munson. For him, a silent rejection is better than a rejection loudly communicated with fists. The thought has an ice-cold shiver running down Steve’s spine. 

“No, I…I too…I mean you…you too,” Steve stammers and shakes his head, hoping Eddie is getting what he is trying to say. He hates that he can’t say it, hates all the people who have told him to shut up when he’s tried to say it in the past.

Because Steve’s love is like an old, moth-corroded wing chair - ugly and cumbersome, taking up space that is needed elsewhere, a hassle to handle, and overall best to be discarded and cast aside. People don’t want Steve to love them. They want him to set himself aflame so they can shine in his golden orange glow. Only Nancy didn’t want to bask in the light of his burning body. But she didn’t want his love either. Didn’t believe that it was love, that Steve was capable of love, thought that it was all bullshit. 

So even though Eddie just said that he likes Steve, Steve can’t help but think that Eddie is going to take it back as soon as Steve says that he feels the same. Because liking Steve Harrington and wanting Steve Harrington are two very distinctive things that don’t usually go hand in hand. It’s something his parents taught Steve growing up. There was no way to ignore the fact that they didn’t want him. But it was always easier to make himself believe that they loved him, because that’s what parents do, right? They love their children. Even when they leave all the time.

Eddie doesn’t seem like he is about to leave. Doesn’t seem to think that liking Steve Harrington and wanting Steve Harrington are two things that could ever exist separately. Doesn’t seem to mind that Steve stammeringly tried to signal that he likes Eddie back. 

“Yeah?” he smiles, showing off all his dimples, skin wrinkling around his eyes. Like Steve liking him back is a good thing. A thing to smittenly smile about. A thing that makes Eddie’s face light up, not because Steve is burning himself hollow in front of Eddie, but simply because Steve likes him. Eddie looks genuinely happy. 

Suddenly it is as easy as breathing.  Eddie would have taken Steve’s sputtering, collected the scraps of Steve’s vague words, and would have been content. There is no pressure to say it back, no expectations, for Eddie it simply would have been enough. But now that he knows that Eddie won’t take it back, it’s not enough for Steve. He is so tired of the half-truths, the full lies, and the desperately kept secrets. With Eddie he doesn’t have to pretend, he doesn’t have to hide. 

“Yeah,” Steve whispers. He can feel himself tremble under Eddie’s hand when the words, almost inaudible, slip over his lips. “I like you too.” 

For a moment Steve holds his breath while Eddie, one palm pressed against Steve’s chest, is quite literally holding Steve’s heart in his hands. It’s finally his. Eddie’s smile doesn’t, like expected, drop, it only widens and he leans in closer. 

“Good,” he murmurs against Steve’s lips, his words tasting like smoke and promises. Steve’s hands land on Eddie’s hips, searching for purchase as his legs feel like giving out. Too distracted by Eddie’s lips on his and the overwhelming vortex of butterflies swarming in Steve’s stomach, it takes Steve a moment to realize he is not the only one trembling. 

Eddie’s body is shaking ever so slightly, his hands gripping Steve’s shoulders maybe a touch too tightly not to keep Steve up, but to hide their subtle tremor. 

“You okay?” 

Eddie bites his lip and nods. 

“‘m fine,” he mumbles, his eyes nervously flickering to the side. He might be a skilled actor, but he is a shit liar. Gently, Steve puts his finger under Eddie’s chin and lifts it up slowly so that Eddie is looking back at him. 

“Eddie.”

“Steve,” Eddie parrots quietly, lacking his usual sass. He looks fragile suddenly, unease in his eyes that is shaking Steve. He is used to Eddie being confident, loud, unbothered. Steve is usually the mess in their equation. Steve is suddenly standing in an alley, red brick digging into his back and bullshit digging into his heart. He’s seen this kind of unease before. The unease caused by forced confessions as empty as bullet casings falling onto the ground. If Steve presses his hand against his chest he knows his palm will come back crimson. 

“Listen, if you regret saying it or if you want to take it back—” 

“What, no, no, I don’t wanna take it back, I mean it,” Eddie interrupts him quickly, unease turned into bewilderment, like taking it back wasn’t even an option that could possibly exist as far as Eddie is concerned. The evil, little voice in Steve’s head is quieted instantly. “I like you, Steve! It’s just…people don’t usually…not…not with me. I’m the dirty little secret, the back alley hookup or dodgy bathroom blow job. I’m not…I’m not the person anyone likes, okay. Not like that.” 

Oh. Right, it occurs to Steve, because Eddie has never been on a date, has never had a boyfriend, has never heard the words I like you before. It feels a bit like looking into a distorted mirror, same issues, different cause. Most people only want the twisted idea they have of Steve, but at least they somehow want him. And for a while that had been enough for Steve. Eddie on the other hand doesn’t know what it is like to be wanted at all. They really are both a bunch of broken people. Though being with Eddie is some of the few times Steve actually feels whole. Still cracked and held together by nothing but tape and determination, but there is no need to cover it up. Eddie just makes him feel safe. He hopes he can give Eddie the same feeling and so he tightens his grip on Eddie’s shirt, a quiet promise that he isn’t going anywhere, that he wants Eddie, that he so much more than just likes Eddie.  

“I thought the same would apply to the pretty jock showing up randomly on my doorstep, suggesting that we fuck. And I couldn’t get my hopes up, it’s not like I’ve had an infuriating crush on you for years or something. Shit, I thought it’d be easy, King Steve is a dick, no way I was actually gonna catch feelings. But then you just had to turn out not to be King Steve actually, and just Steve instead. And I really like just Steve.” 

Eddie looks to the side again, eyes fixed on the couch, and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Part of Steve wants to reach out and make Eddie look at him again, wants to drown in the dark brown of Eddie’s eyes as if it was tree resin, encasing him whole, holding him in place until he’s become amber. The other part lets Eddie have the space he is silently asking for, and so Steve holds onto the hem of his blazer instead of touching Eddie. 

“And I was prepared to suffer through the heartbreak, you know take what I can get, fuck you until you fuck off because you got bored or because some pretty girl made pretty eyes at you. Hell, maybe Wheeler figures she wants that cul-de-sac after all.”

It takes all of Steve’s self-control not to interrupt Eddie there. He sincerely doubts that Nancy will ever want that cul-de-sac. Steve still does, but not with her. He does open his mouth, ready to tell Eddie, but then Eddie turns his head and finally, finally looks back at Steve. The words die in Steve’s mouth. 

“But then you kept showing up and kept staying and then, of course, my uncle had to blab to you about my not-so-secret infatuation with you and you still stayed. People don’t fucking stay. In fact, people have run away so quickly that now I just run away first. Hell, you even asked me to stay. Couldn't not let that get to my head, or heart or whatever. I wasn’t even gonna tell you, had the words hanging over me like a fucking Damocles sword, knowing at some point I would slip up. And well you standing here, in my trashy trailer, dressed up in your suit, with your plastic prom king crown, beaming at me how could I not tell you? Just didn’t think you would say it back. Thought you would run too.” 

Eddie laughs bitterly and Steve wants to lean forward and kiss him so sweetly that all the bitterness, all the hurt, and every sour aftertaste from every rejection leaves Eddie’s body. But it feels slightly like the wrong reaction to someone telling you that so far guys only have wanted him for his body. Slowly, Steve reaches out and takes Eddie’s hands. He brushes his thumb gently over the back of Eddie’s hands. The skin is warm and callous and Steve loves it, loves holding Eddie’s hands, loves Eddie. 

“I don’t wanna run,” he says, looking at Eddie’s hands in his. 

“No?” 

Steve shakes his head and looks up with a shy smile. “Well, not from you at least. I did kinda run. Here. Well, I drove, but the point still stands. I left prom for you. Because I want this, I want you, and…,” Steve trails off, knowing his cheeks are burning bright red. 

“And?” Eddie asks. 

“And I want to take you on a date,” Steve blurts so quickly he startles both of them for a second. Eddie’s eyes open wide, first in shock, then in surprise. For a second Steve thinks that that was the wrong thing to say, but then he finds himself pushed harshly against a wall with Eddie kissing him so eagerly it almost borders on aggressive. There are hands pulling on his hair and teeth sinking into his bottom lip and air leaving his lungs and nothing but Eddie filling his mind. 

“You’re something else, Steve Harrington,” Eddie whispers slightly out of breath when they part and leans his forehead against Steve’s. 

“Right back at you,” Steve pants. They just stand there for a moment, regulating their breath, enjoying the feeling of a warm body pressed against them. Steve’s stomach still feels like he swallowed a middle school science experiment, baking soda and lemon juice mixing together to a bubbling, fizzy concoction, threatening to burst out of him with a giggle. He is giddy, he is exhausted, he is overwhelmed by all the affection he has for Eddie, and so filled with joy about Eddie liking him back that it is really hard not to laugh. His heart is working overtime.

“So, you’ve had a crush on me, huh?” he teases, relieving his need to laugh with a dashing grin. 

“Oh my god, shut up,” Eddie says, a furious blush spreading over his cheeks. 

He tries to hide how flustered he is for once, by grabbing Steve and manhandling him onto a couch. With a mixture of a laugh and a yelp, Steve lets himself fall against the backrest. Eddie is on top of him in seconds, having regained his composure, he pushes Steve further into the couch. 

“Don’t let it go to your head, Harrington,” he says, before grabbing Steve’s chin and pulling him into a short but deep, almost filthy kiss. “You just have a pretty face and delectable thighs, especially in those short shorts of yours.” 

Demonstratively, Eddie settles between Steve’s legs and lets his hand brush over Steve’s inner thigh, spreading them further apart. Steve has to bite his bottom lip to stifle a moan. They are both wearing too many clothes. 

That is an easy fix though, Eddie’s jeans and shirt and Steve’s suit are quickly discarded on the floor. The only thing that stays on is Eddie’s ring on Steve’s finger. Steve doesn’t plan on taking it off or giving it back anytime soon. He has a feeling Eddie won’t mind. 

Chapter Text

1999

“Have you ever been in love?” 

Robin’s voice is metallic, reverbs slightly, bounces and echoes between the tiles of the men’s toilet. Steve’s vision is blurry at the edges, like this isn’t quite real, foggy like it’s a dream. He tries to focus on Robin. Her little sailor hat sits askew on her head, sweat beating down her forehead. 

Steve still tastes the bitter bile from throwing up the soup they had for lunch on his tongue.

They both sit on the grimy floor, backs resting against cubicles, knees pressed against chests, trying to keep the nausea in; the words hanging in the air between them like the smoke that’s filling the mall behind the door they can’t open anymore. The question is the exact opposite, opening a door Steve would have liked to keep shut forever. 

“Senior year,” he says and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Spit and vomit cling to it. 

“Nancy Wheeler,” Robin nods, thinking she understands. 

And she isn’t wrong, he did love Nancy. But it had been puppy love that slowly twisted more and more until it was frothing at the mouth during its dying last breath.

He doesn’t correct her, can’t say the words just yet. She takes his silence as a yes.

“Are you still in love with Nancy?” 

He wonders what it is to her. She spent an entire month making her disdain obvious, staring at him as venomously as she had done at prom when he had danced with Tammy Thompson. Steve had not minded, had felt like he deserved to be glared at. But then as time went on, her glances became less vicious. 

It’s fond exasperation now in her cornflower eyes, the same fond exasperation someone else used to look at Steve with. And Steve thinks that maybe blue isn’t that bad a color. But as friendly as it now is, it will never carry the same warmth as umber does. 

Still, he hopes that it might be enough. 

“I think I found someone who is a little better for me,” he says and he knows he doesn’t mean her. But he looks at her, wishing, hoping, pleading that it could be her. That she’ll ease the pain. 

Deep down inside he knows that he doesn’t love her the same way. But he lets himself pretend anyways. Nudges her dirty Converse with his beat up Nikes, quietly begs her to please love him. 

And she does. It’s why the next part hurts so much.  

He can see the dread in her face, dread that she will have to break his heart. He wants to reach out and take her hand, tell her that it’s alright, that she can’t break something that has already completely disintegrated. That he had just hoped she could help him put it back together. 

She will eventually. Be the golden glue filling the cracks, soften the aches on cold days, push against his cardiac walls once, twice, three times when the muscle stays slack. 

Her voice breaks a little when she says that she likes him, but not like that. It breaks even more when she mentions Tammy Thompson and Mrs. Click. The fond exasperation turns into fear, misinterpreting Steve’s dumbstruck silence that follows his whispered, “Tammy Thompson is a girl.” 

Steve looks at her over the bruised crest of his knees. Looks at her and truly sees her. Looks at her and truly sees himself. They are one and the same. 

He is still learning the different forms of love, after years of being taught that love can only be absent. He learns that it’s love when Mrs. Henderson makes his favorite food for dinner. He learns that it’s love when Dustin tears at his hair, not wanting to let go. He learns that it’s love when Robin trusts him with this, with her true self. And he can feel it, the same love she has for him surging through his own veins, making the shredded petals of his heart stir for the first time in weeks. 

Robin slings her arms around her legs, pulling them further into her chest. Like she wants to protect her own heart after bravely showing it to Steve. She’s been so vulnerable with him, so worried that she might hurt him that she has exposed herself instead. It’s only fair that Steve returns the gesture. The words sit in the back of his throat, like a cold, pressing against his vocal chords, trying to take his voice, trying to not let him speak. 

Steve takes one deep breath, keeps his eyes on Robin and allows her to see the scorched earth he carries within himself. 

“I stopped being in love with Nancy in March,” he says and Robin’s fear turns into a confused frown. “Because I fell in love with someone else,” he confesses to her what he had meant to confess to someone else. 

Steve wonders if the pain would be worse if he had said it. If the words had been returned to him with a press of lips and a too added to them. If. It doesn’t matter though. The what if will haunt him just as much as betraying the person he had said I love you to. But right now the what if feels like it is going to burn him alive. Outside of the toilets the flames devouring Star Court Mall are sizzling. 

“And he’ll never know what he meant to me.” 

Cornflower blossoms turn into oceans, before recognition passes through them. 

We are one and the same. 

“Oh,” Robin says. 

“Yeah, oh,” Steve echoes. 

The walls around them ache under the weight of secrets shared between them and molten plastic eating through their foundation. 

Then Robin takes Steve’s hand. Then the burning ceiling comes down on them. Then Steve wakes up. 

Eyes wide open, cold sweat, not a single muscle moving other than his heart beating hummingbird wing fast and his chest heaving so violently it hurts. He lies there for a while, trying to calm his breath. At least the dream ended before the worst part. The part where he fails her.

Steve has no idea for how long he just stays stiff, eyes glued to the ceiling trying to not fall back into the nightmare. Eventually he rolls out of bed, sees the red blinking digits on his alarm clock that tell him it’s too early to be up. 

He drags himself into the kitchen and pours a glass of water. Perched, he empties it in one go. He checks the gas, the electricity, makes sure three times that the oven is really off. It’s quiet inside and outside of the house. Steve closes his eyes and takes a deep breath of carbon dioxide free air. The fridge hums quietly and the tap drips steadily along. 

It’s alright, Steve tells himself, they’ve made it out of the fire alive. They’re alright. Instinctively, he reaches under the hem of his shirt and lets his fingers wander over the raised, bumpy skin on his torso. 

The most fucked up friendship bracelets, Robin had said when the paramedic had told them their burns would scar. Robin, fortunately, only got a smaller scar, crawling up her leg. Steve hadn’t been so lucky. He starts at the junction of pelvis and thigh, follows the pink and white skin over his bone until his fingers glide up his waist. The scars spread like disfigured vines almost completely over his torso and Steve traces them up to his chest. He lets his fingers rest there, taps them softly in sync with his beating heart. 

He tries to focus on that, the rhythmic badum, badum, badum, can almost hear it in the silence of the kitchen. It’s no longer hummingbird wing fast, but it hasn’t reached its regular, calm beat either. It probably won’t for a while after last night, Steve thinks. And as if on cue the memory of last night makes Steve’s heart stutter, chokes out a pathetic ba that’s never followed by a dum. 

Steve pulls his fingers away from his chest so he can bury his face in his hands with a groan. Love is a good thing, Steve knows that. But being in love has never done him any good. The logical part of him wants to point out that it’s not his fault. That the two times Steve has truly been in love had been during the worst time of his life. That he had been in an environment that was meant to tear him down and that being in love had been the same as trying to let a flower grow through concrete. 

It took years to break up the hardened cement that had covered Steve’s world, making it impossible for anything alive to sprout. But bit after bit the solid concrete had crumbled, revealing a foundation that with a bit of attention and care could flourish. 

Still, the ground he and Eddie stand on is charred. Robin would say something smart now about how burned soil is the most fertile for growth. But Steve doesn’t think so, knows that the earth beneath their feet is too degraded to bear any fruit. Eddie might have forgiven Steve, but there is no way in hell he is ever going to feel something for Steve again. Eddie might as well press a blistered palm against a hot induction plate before falling for Steve again, it’s the same level of stupid. 

And Eddie might be many things, impulsive, passionate, always up for silly stuff, but he isn’t stupid. He is cautious and calculated when it matters. And with their history, every tiny step Eddie lets Steve take closer to him matters. Forgiveness might have come easier than it should have, but trust is something Steve will never fully regain just like the sensation on top of his scars. There only is the phantom pain of what he has lost. 

Steve squeezes the bridge of his nose before looking up at the kitchen clock. It’s still stupidly early, but he knows he can always call Robin. It’s time. With shaking hands he reaches for the phone on the wall and punches in her number. 

It only rings once before Chrissy answers the phone, her tired voice hushed. 

“Hey, sorry for calling so early,” Steve says softly and he can basically hear Chrissy roll her eyes at the other end of the line at his apology. “Can I talk to Robin?” 

“I’d love to put you through, Stevie,” Chrissy sounds mildly stressed and Steve tries to quiet the alarm bells ringing in his head. “But there must have been something fishy about dinner last night. Robin has been throwing up for hours, she just got back to sleep.” 

“Oh shit.” 

“Yup.” 

“You’re all good though?”

“So far I seem to be fine.” 

“Good, good,” Steve says and then they both stay quiet for a moment. 

“Do you want me to tell her anything when she wakes up?” Chrissy offers eventually. 

Steve bites his lip as he considers. He does really need to talk to Robin. But he doesn’t want to bother her when she is sick. He knows she would still happily listen to him and his problems, but it’s not fair to her and Steve would feel horrible. He has managed to carry this horrible parasite of secret inside of him for so long, he can wait a little longer.

“No,” he says, “just that I hope she’ll feel better soon. I might drop off some soup later?” 

“That would be lovely,” Chrissy says softly before adding, “you know you can always talk to me too, Stevie.” 

Steve’s heart clenches again. He and Chrissy don’t share the same bond he and Robin do, but it’s pretty damn close. If Steve and Robin are one and the same, Chrissy and Steve are simply different versions of each other. And usually, Steve would be happy to talk to her too. But he can’t, because he knows that Chrissy and Eddie are one and the same. And while Steve knows that Chrissy too will forgive him quicker than she should, he can’t bear her anger right now. 

“I know,” he whispers into the receiver. “It was just nightmare stuff. The usual.” 

Which isn’t a lie, so Chrissy buys it easily. They say goodbye and Steve feels even heavier when he hangs the phone back onto the wall. 

Steve pours himself another glass of water and chucks it when Dustin pads into the kitchen, sleepy smile on his face. At least one of them is having a good morning. Steve can’t resist and reaches out to ruffle his hair. Dustin is still riding last night’s high enough to not bat Steve’s hands away. 

Dustin is the best thing in Steve’s life and the happiness on his face is almost enough to make the weight of the morning vanish like hot steam in cold air. Steve loves Dustin, no matter if cranky teenager or dorky book nerd. But it’s moments like this, when Dustin allows Steve to hold him like Steve used to do when Dustin was still a small child that make Steve feel like everything is going to be alright. There has always been something magical about Dustin. 

“Pancakes for breakfast?” Steve suggests after letting go, desperate to keep his hands and mind busy. Dustin nods, delighted, and sits down at the kitchen table while Steve begins making the batter. 

“Are you feeling better?” Dustin asks after a while and Steve’s hand slips, almost pouring too much milk into the dough. “You seemed kinda off last night. 

“Yeah, just felt a migraine coming,” Steve shrugs and adds far more chocolate chips than normal. “But I’m better now.” 

“And here I thought it was Eddie’s hand around your waist,” Dustin teases and stands up to get plates and cutlery out. 

It’s a joke, but Steve still can’t help but wince about how much Dustin has hit the bullseye with it. 

“You know, people who used to date can just be friends, Henderson,” he says and ladles four perfect circles into the hot skillet. So much for keeping his mind busy. 

“Yes, because you and Eddie always act like the definition of the platonic ideal.”

“Whatever you are implying-”

“Stating, I’m not implying,” Dustin interrupts Steve. 

“Well, then you are stating wrong,” Steve says and maybe flips his pancakes a tad too aggressively. 

Despite being the smartest person Steve knows, Dustin can be painfully oblivious sometimes. But once his mind has been caught on an idea, he is unable to let it go, clings to it like coffee ground to wet finger tips. 

Steve wipes his hands on his sweat pants and pours more batter into the skillet. Now that Dustin knows about Steve and Eddie’s mutual past it makes sense that he can see Steve’s feelings from a mile away. And of course Dustin takes that and runs with it, because Steve and Eddie are two of his favorite people and Steve knows Dustin just wants them to be happy. But he wishes Dustin wasn’t so caught up in the thought of getting Steve and Eddie back together, to notice that Eddie has no interest in it. But he is too busy mentally writing his best man's speech for their wedding to realize that Steve’s feelings are completely one sided and unrequited. 

“So the fact that you both always become flustered, bright red messes around each other is just what? An allergic reaction?” 

As if to prove Dustin’s point Steve’s face grows hot. Alright, so he has been blushing a bit often around Eddie lately. But Dustin is still wrong, because Eddie definitely isn’t getting flustered around Steve. 

Steve will admit that ever since making up, his personal space has partially belonged to Eddie. But that doesn’t mean anything. Eddie is just very affectionate and Steve’s body is trying to make up for all the years he went without casual, affectionate touch. That’s what all of their friendship is really. Making up for lost time. Steve just had to be the one to get his wires crossed.

“Exactly,” he says and gets the pancake out of the pan and onto the kitchen table. He leaves an extra plate on the counter. “Now eat your breakfast or I’ll remove all your video game privileges.” 

“Alright, if you say so,” Dustin says with a shit eating grin, knowing Steve’s threat is empty. 

“I do,” Steve insists before stuffing his own face with pancakes. He doesn’t want to talk about this any longer. His heart aches alongside his joints after a shitty night of almost no sleep. 

Dustin does actually drop the topic for the rest of breakfast. Instead he talks about DnD and Suzie, complains about all the homework he will have to do today and asks if Steve could pick some snacks when he goes grocery shopping later. 

He even helps Steve with the dishes and with dismay Steve notices that the tap still keeps dripping, he’ll have to fix it. Dustin goes up for homework and while Steve wonders if he has the number for a plumber, someone knocks on their door. 

To Steve’s surprise it’s Chrissy dressed up in sports gear, hair in a high pony tail and ears covered by earmuffs. 

“Put on your Nikes, Stevie,” she tells him and her breath draws a cloud in the air. “We’re going running.”

One of the first bonding points in Steve’s and Chrissy’s friendship had been that they were both ex-jocks. Robin never got their mutual need to just work out now and then, work up a sweat, get everything out of the system. It’s something Steve had always loved about swimming. The diving under water where everything was quiet, the monotonous movements, only focusing on breathing in and out, it was heaven to quiet the voices in his brain. Chrissy had felt the same about her cheer routines. Since neither of them was participating in their high school sports anymore though, they had started to go running together. Every now and then one of them would show up at the other one’s door, tell them to put their shoes on and to let go. 

And so, five minutes after Chrissy has shown up at his door, Steve is wrapped in several layers of clothing, put on fingerless gloves and is cursing the fact that his running shoes aren’t waterproof. 

They are quiet on the run. Too busy to breathe than to talk. The cold air burns in Steve’s lungs and makes his nose sniff and it’s heavenly. All there is in Steve’s ears are the vibrations caused by the impact of Steve’s feet on solid ground, wandering up all the way through his body. It’s just step after step, gravel crunching under their weight as they run past the quarry. He occasionally glances over at Chrissy, but she just looks ahead. He knows she didn’t show up because she was the one to need a run. He knows she is here for him. 

And that is as sweet as it is terrifying. Sweet, because Chrissy knows him well enough to tell that something is up. And terrifying because Steve thought he would always tell Robin first. But he can’t back out now.

They come to a halt at the little drinking fountain at the halfway point of their run. Dread pools into Steve’s stomach as water pools into Chrissy’s mouth. It’s technically too cold to stay still for so long, but still she starts stretching when she is done drinking and looks at Steve expectantly. 

“We gotta talk about Eddie,” she cuts straight to the chase. “That’s what you called Robin about this morning, isn’t it?” 

Steve just nods, unable to deny it any longer but also unable to say it out loud just yet. She is going to hate him, he realizes. One of the closest people in his life is going to hate him and she will have every right to. 

“You’re finally gonna put an end to the ridiculous pining and ask him out?” she grins while lifting her arm behind her back and fantastic, apparently everyone is painfully aware of Steve’s feelings for Eddie. If only it was just a matter of having a crush jitters, Steve thinks bitterly. 

“I can’t ask him out,” he says and mirrors Chrissy’s position. The stretch aches in his thighs. He is almost glad for it, the pain is grounding. 

“Stevie, come on. Eddie might not look it but he is super shy when it comes to romance, had a bad experience once so he never really makes the first move. You gotta be the one to ask him out!” 

It hurts. It hurts so fucking much. Maybe Steve could have let go of all the guilt, like Eddie has told him to if it wasn’t for that little detail Chrissy just let slip. Now letting go seems impossible. I’m that bad experience, Steve thinks and considers just throwing himself into the quarry. He doesn’t have any right to Eddie’s friendship, and even though Steve already knew that there was no hope of ever getting back together, this truly cements it. He broke Eddie so much and Steve just hates himself for it.

Sometimes it feels like there should be a fist inside his chest, swinging violently rather than a tender heart beating softly.  It’s been a long time since he has almost choked on his self-loathing, but part of him hopes that it reaches down his throat into his rib cage and squeezes his heart until it becomes pulp. That doesn’t happen though. Steve just keeps standing next to Chrissy, panting, hurting and having no choice but to tell her. 

“I can’t Chrissy, and he sure wouldn’t want me to.”

Steve knows she is going to argue back like the good friend she is. Thinking they are just too stubborn or too oblivious to see the good thing right in front of them. She doesn’t know about the charcoaled desolation that lies behind them, staining any good thing that could come their way. 

“I’m telling you he would!” She says as expected and something just breaks inside Steve. 

“No, he wouldn’t,” he snaps. “Because I’m the reason he had to leave Hawkins 14 years ago.” 

Chrissy startles and then silence that feels deadly falls over them. Her previously bright smile fades off her face and Steve sinks down onto the little bench right next to the drinking fountain. 

Here lies the friendship between Steve Harrington and Chrissy Cunningham. Ended by selfish reasons and cowardice. Never deserved in the first place, Steve writes their eulogy. Maybe he is being overdramatic, Eddie rubbing off on him, but Steve can feel a part of himself dying. Adds it to the collection of pieces no longer alive that he carries inside himself like a fucked up, rotten mosaic. Some people breathe life into dead things, Steve slowly lets himself decay. He is his own monster in the making. 

Usually, he tries to fight these kinds of thoughts, knows that they aren’t healthy or helpful. But some days it feels like being stuck in quicksand and the more he fights, the quicker he sinks. So he resigns now, lets himself drown, lets the monster win as the earth vaults over him, suffocating him gently, as if guilt was a pillow and Steve was asleep. 

“Were you in with Hagan and Hargrove?” Chrissy asks, her voice cold and harsh like the air, sounding like a completely different person.  Steve can’t look at her, he just can’t. Eyes glued onto his dirty running shoes, he shakes his head. 

“No, I didn’t…I didn’t frame him. I just,” Steve takes a deep breath, once again the icy air sets his lungs aflame and he yearns for soil to fill his mouth. “I could have proven his innocence and I didn’t.” 

“What do you mean you could have proven his innocence?” 

Maybe she’ll slap him, Steve thinks. Hopes almost. Eddie might have told Steve that Chrissy would never hate him, that he is like family to her. But Steve has always been better at coping with violence and hate than forgiveness and love. Knows he is wrong, but sometimes can’t help but feel like love is more brutal. Pushes and shoves, makes demands and in the end when it leaves, not if but when in Steve’s experience, it leaves you a broken pile of glass with sharp edges to cut your fingers on and grieving a loss you can’t blame on no one but yourself. 

And Steve tastes copper and burned, bitter sweet molasses when he admits, “I was with him that night.”

He finally looks up, shame and guilt setting his whole body on fire, like a piece of phosphor etched into his sternum. “I was with him a lot that spring.” 

He still waits for a slap that will never come. 

Chrissy looks down at him, arms crossed in front of her chest, but the frown on her face slowly turns into understanding. Her lips form a silent oh. 

“You were the guy he was so hung up about but wouldn’t tell me who it was,” she whispers, all the information clicking into place. Her voice is soft again, like a cotton ball gingerly dabbed on an open wound. 

“Yeah,” Steve says quietly. The boy Eddie wouldn’t shut up about. The boy without a name. The boy who would break Eddie’s heart and almost ruin his life. He has many names. He still expects Chrissy to shout, to get mad at him, to call him one of the more unkinder names he deserves to get thrown at him. Still, self-destructively, hopes for that slap. But she just stands there quietly, looking at him with her face a blank slate. 

“Do you hate me now?” he asks meekly and feels like a three year old who accidentally tore one of his mother’s dresses while playing. But opposed to his mother, Chrissy has every right to hate him. 

To Steve’s surprise her face instantly softens at the question. 

“Steve, I ended up in a drug induced coma because I couldn’t stand the pressure of high school,” she says and sits down next to him. “What you did was an asshole move, but if anyone understands why you did it, it’s me.” 

Before Steve can argue, she pulls him into a side hug and just holds him for a while and Steve lets himself be held. It’s cold skin on cold skin, but Steve can still feel her press life into the dead parts of himself. 

Reanimation is never gentle, comes with the price of pain and broken ribs, forces you to actively choose life and fight, fists swinging for yourself if you want to survive. If. The pain of a smashed ribcage and bruised knuckles is almost unbearable, but pain also means Steve is still alive. 1000 volts of forgiveness surge through his heart. It hurts because he knows he doesn’t deserve this. Doesn’t deserve her kindness or her forgiveness just like he doesn’t deserve Eddie’s. But he has been working on accepting the good things that are given to him even though he hasn’t earned them. It’s hard, but he fights to stay alive. 

“I think you should hate me though,” he mumbles quietly, eventually still giving into the self-loathing. Some days he comes up on top, today he loses. “I think Eddie should hate me too.” 

“Based on how attached at the hip you two are, I assume he has forgiven you?” 

“Yeah, I apologized, we talked it out, we’re all good,” Steve says and the words are stale in his mouth, “Or as good as you can be after what I did.”

“Well, then I forgive you too, easy peasy just like that,” Chrissy squeezes his arm, continues to hold him tightly. There still is electricity in her touch. “And if Eddie has said that you are all good, then you are all good. I know it’s your favorite coping mechanism but stop beating yourself up about something that has long reached statute of limitations anyways.”  

“I know, I know, and I’m working on accepting that,  I really am. But you get why I can’t ask him out.” 

Chrissy opens her mouth as if to disagree but then she closes it again and Steve is so thankful for it. He can’t hear her arguments right now, doesn’t want her to get his hopes up. If love is brutal, hope is fatal. He and Eddie are never gonna happen like that. Scorched earth and burned bridges and haunted hallways. 

“Can you…can you not tell Robin? I know it’s a lot asking you to keep something secret from your partner, but—”

“But you need to tell her yourself,” Chrissy nods understandingly. “I love her and I don’t keep any secrets from her. But I won’t tell her something told to me in confidence and she would do the same.” 

“Thank you,” Steve says quietly. “For everything.” 

Chrissy just squeezes him tighter in response. They sit on their little bench quietly like that, their fingers slowly going numb in the cold, late November air and their muscles aching. 

“C’mon, let’s get you home before we freeze on this bench,” Chrissy says after a while and gets up. She holds out her hand for Steve to take like it’s the final settlement of her forgiveness. Steve takes it and lets himself be pulled onto his feet. 

They notice their age on their run home. And that November is awful running time, but Steve is glad Chrissy came and forced him to. Breathing feels a bit easier when they reach his house, despite the exhausting exercise. 

“You want some more water or maybe tea before you head home?” Steve asks as he unlocks the front door and Chrissy nods enthusiastically. 

“God, please, I am a solid block of ice.” 

Steve chuckles as they kick off their shoes and head to the kitchen. He startles slightly when he sees Eddie sitting at his kitchen table. Mainly because the run had truly cleared every single thought from Steve’s mind, not because Eddie is just there. It’s Saturday morning, where else would Eddie be? Chrissy wasn’t wrong when she said that they were attached at the hip. 

Eddie has a red pen in one hand, grading essay papers, a fork full of leftover pancake that Steve did leave on the kitchen counter for him in the other. He looks up as Steve and Chrissy come in and wrinkles his nose in disgust. 

“Who the fuck goes running in November? Where you chased? Is it zombies?” 

“Hello, Steve and Chrissy,” Steve says as he walks to his cupboard and takes out a mug for Chrissy. “I hope you had a good morning. Steve, thank you so much for allowing me to basically break into your home and eat your food.” 

Chrissy snorts and Eddie just rolls his eyes. 

“Hello, Eddie,” Eddie banters back. “Thank you so much for staying in my kitchen while I was gone even though we had plans. I’m glad Dustin let you in and you helped yourself to the leftover pancakes to keep yourself from starvation.” 

It’s Steve’s turn to roll his eyes while he pours some water into Chrissy’s mug, but stops before putting the tea bag in. He frowns at his sink. 

“Did you fix my tap?” he asks, momentarily forgetting about the bit he and Eddie were doing. 

Eddie just shrugs, “Had to occupy myself somehow since you were gone.”

It’s such a small gesture, but it makes Steve feel dizzy with how much he finds it means to him. Eddie just came into his kitchen, saw something broken and decided to fix it for Steve. He glances at Chrissy for a second. Eddie has always gravitated to broken things, but not with the intention of fixing them. It’s not like he looks at them and sees a project to complete. He just approaches them and the fixing kind of happens. Because under all the snark, all the loudness, all the drama and pizzazz, Eddie is kind and patient and quiet and listens and somehow manages to be just what everyone needs right now. Even if it’s the guy who fixes your sink and accidentally sends you into a spiral because of a random act of kindness.   

“Well, it’s news to me that we had plans,” Steve says instead of thank you, like he meant to. Saying thank you would make Steve get lost in the overwhelming gratitude and fondness he has for Eddie, so being snarky as a defense mechanism it has to be. Chrissy looks back and forth at them, bemused. Steve hurries to get her mug into the microwave.  

“Right, it’s not like I have come over every single Saturday for weeks now to go grocery shopping with you,” Eddie points accusingly at Steve with his last bite of pancake. It looks so stupidly adorable Steve wants to grab a wooden spoon, put it between his teeth and bite down on it. How did it take him until last night to realize that he is still in love with Eddie?

“You’ve been doing grocery runs together?” Chrissy asks and even though his skin is still icy cold from their run, Steve can feel a blush creeping up his neck. 

“Yeah, well, side quests are more fun if you do them together,” Eddie says and Steve just quietly groans. 

“Side quests, it’s fucking errands man.” 

“Po-tay-to, po-tah-toh, just let me have fun, Harrington.” 

Their back and forth gets interrupted by the beeping of the microwave, announcing that Chrissy’s tea is ready. She still grins very knowingly when Steve hands her the mug and Steve knows he has to get out of this quickly. 

“I…uh…should probably hit the shower,” he says and rubs the sweaty back of his neck. “Otherwise, Eddie might attack me with his fork if I keep us from grocery shopping any longer.” 

Eddie wields his fork like a sword through the air and winks at Steve. It’s annoying how much it makes Steve want to kiss him. 

“I’ll finish my tea and then probably head out to make sure Robin hasn’t died in my absence,” Chrissy nods and takes a sip of her tea. “Thanks for the run, Steve.”

“Anytime,” he smiles as if she hadn’t been the one to do him a massive favor. 

Then Steve heads up the stairs. He quickly checks in with Dustin and finds him sitting in a pile of flash cards, nose in a math book and ink on his fingers. Steve promises to return next time with snacks before finally getting into the bathroom. 

The hot water is a relief for his aching muscles and joints. There is mud on his ankles and his hair is greasy from sweat. Slowly, Steve defrosts and lets grime, dirt, and all the stress from the last 24 hours wash down the drain. For a moment he just stays under the warm spray, eyes closed and soap soaked hands roaming over his body. 

It’s completely innocent at first. Back, shoulders, arms, legs. But then he rubs soap over his chest. His nipples are still sensitive from the run and a quiet groan escapes Steve when he brushes over them. It’s that nice sting of pain and pleasure and Steve can’t help but brush over them again. 

He keeps his eyes closed as he circles his nipples with the tips of his fingers. The sensation is so strong, he has to bite his lip. Steve’s hands are still a tiny bit numb from the cold and just for a second he imagines that they belong to someone else. Feels droplets of water trailing down his neck and pretends that it’s lips. Thinks about the grazing of teeth over skin. Almost hears the husky, Thinking about me, big boy? in his ears. 

Steve knows he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t let his hands glide down lower, shouldn’t think about Eddie doing it. But like a little devil sitting on his shoulder Eddie’s voice continues whispering, Touch yourself for me, baby.

It’s the endearment that has Steve’s cock twitching already. Steve has always been good at following orders so he lets his hands wander. Drags his nails over his hip bones, follows his happy trail down to his pubes and lets his fingers slide through them before he finally takes himself in hand. He is already wet with water, soap and precome, making it easy to let his hand move. 

Good boy, Eddie’s voice basically purrs in Steve’s mind and a whine escapes Steve’s lips. He strokes himself harder, twists his hand a little and rubs his thumb over the sensitive head of his cock, his fingers growing more and more slick. 

You’re doing so well, baby . Pull your hair for me. 

Without hesitation Steve pushes his hand into his dripping hair, grabbing it and pulling. Another whine escapes him, his hand movement becomes sloppier and sloppier. He can feel heat and pleasure coiling at his core. He thinks about Eddie’s hand in his hair and automatically tugs harder. Imagines Eddie’s other hand gently splayed against his throat, squeezing ever so slightly while biting along Steve’s jaw. 

Steve gasps, tears mix with the water on his face, because it almost feels real. But it isn’t. Steve is in the shower all alone. He wants to lean back against Eddie’s naked chest, feel Eddie’s hard cock pressing against his lower back, wants teeth sinking into his shoulder and hands tightly grabbing his waist. Needs Eddie to move his hips, to rut against the curve of Steve’s ass, needs Eddie to use him. Paint his back and ass with come before gently letting the shower spray wash it away. Pepper soft little kisses over every single bite and whispering little encouragements for Steve to come. 

“Eddie,” Steve can’t help but moan quietly.

Shhh, don’t want anybody to hear you, sweetheart, the Eddie in his mind whispers and Steve squeezes his eyes shut even tighter. He is right. The real, actual Eddie is sitting downstairs. Steve shouldn't only be quiet, he shouldn’t be doing this in the first place. 

But it feels so good and Steve is close, speeding up his hand even more, thinking about Eddie squeezing his throat again to keep him quiet. 

Love you moaning my name though. Love all the noises you make. Love you. 

It’s what sends Steve tumbling over the edge. He comes with a muffled scream, biting his lip so hard he draws blood. Thinks about how Eddie would kiss it off his mouth, before the post-orgasm haze turns into post-orgasm shame. Getting off in the shower never feels good afterwards, but today it’s especially bad. 

“Fuck,” Steve curses quietly and turns the water from hot to cold. “Fuck!” 

Being in love with Eddie is already bad enough, but masturbating to him in the shower when he is literally sitting down in Steve’s kitchen, waiting for Steve to come back so that they can go grocery shopping is unacceptable. 

Steve doesn’t even finish washing his hair. Just climbs out of the shower, grabs a towel and tries not to feel gross. It’s not like it’s the first time he has thought about Eddie while getting off during the last 14 years. But back then Eddie was nothing but a far away concept, not a person back in Steve’s life. 

It’s normal, Steve tries to tell himself while he gets dressed. Sometimes people get off to fantasies about other people they know. He has probably featured in a couple of fantasies as well. Maybe even some of Eddie’s back when they were still in high school. 

Still the guilt weaves itself in the fibers of Steve’s muscles making the sore ache even worse. He has to fight to keep his face as neutral as possible when he steps back into the kitchen. Chrissy is gone already, her empty cup drying on the dish rag. Eddie on the other hand has his legs popped up on another chair, paper in his hand, red pen between his lips. The sight does nothing to ease Steve’s guilt, especially because he’s never wanted to be a pen so badly. 

He clears his throat and Eddie looks up and for a second Steve is scared that Eddie can tell what exactly Steve got up to in the shower because the bridge of Eddie’s nose is turning pink. 

“You’re dripping,” he says, his dark eyes fixed on Steve. 

“Sorry?” 

“Your hair, man,” Eddie says, eyes still not moving away. “It’s dripping all over your kitchen floor.” 

Steve looks down and sees beads of water shattering on the laminate kitchen floor between his feet. He can feel the droplets dripping from his hair and running down his neck. When he looks back up from the kitchen floor he realizes that Eddie’s eyes are ever so slightly following the droplets trailing down Steve’s throat to the slope of his shoulder. 

“Oh…uh, it’s fine, ‘s just water,” Steve mumbles and looks away. He can still feel Eddie’s gaze rest on him. Eddie might not have feelings for him anymore, but maybe, maybe some smart pall of him is still attracted to Steve. It’s the tiniest victory, but Steve takes it. 

“Anyways, groceries?” he suggests and Eddie finally looks away. 

“Yes, let’s do it,” Eddie says, almost a touch too eager. “Your teenager has requested several Mars bars and at least one tube of pringles.” 

Despite the initial awkwardness, they quickly fall back in their usual, easy back and forth. Eddie puts one foot on the bar of the cart and pushes himself off with the other, acting as if the cart was a skateboard. Steve shakes his head, but can’t help but feel fond as Eddie rolls down the cereal aisle. They argue about cheese brands and what creamer to buy for coffee. Eddie pulls a face when Steve puts clementines in the cart and Steve laughs, “They aren’t for you, asshole.” 

Eddie goes and grabs the shampoo and conditioner Steve uses while Steve goes on the hunt for more red pens and paper clips, because he knows Eddie ran out of them a few days ago. It’s nice. The hellish landscape that is Target usually on a Saturday morning feels more bearable with Eddie by Steve’s side. 

Steve allows himself to ignore all the hurt that bulges against the inside of his skin. He just savors this moment, lets himself pretend that that’s gonna be it. Just him and Eddie, running mundane errands, completing quests until they are old and gray. Pretends like there isn’t going to be an end to this eventually. Why do they always have to be on borrowed time? 

They buy some burritos from a food truck and eat them on the hood of Steve’s car. Despite the cold Steve is adamant that there is no eating in his car, and if Eddie’s leg presses against Steve’s in the search for warmth then that’s nobody’s business but Steve’s. 

“You wanna stay for a while,” Steve asks as they drive back to his house. “Or do you have plans with Wayne?” 

“I can stay for a while,” Eddie smiles and the gremlin in Steve’s mind urges him to ask Eddie to stay forever. 

But of course, Steve doesn’t. He swallows his words, takes a sip from the water bottle Eddie offers him, to drown them for good. 

When they get back to Steve’s house, Dustin has finished math and moved on to biology. He greedily takes the candy Steve has brought after promising that he did have a sandwich for lunch. Steve still cuts up a bunch of fruit and also brings it up to Dustin. Dustin rolls his eyes, but takes the plate nevertheless. Brain food is brain food. 

“So what are we doing, Stevie?” Eddie asks, having resumed his place in the kitchen, when Steve comes back down. 

“Soup for Robin?” Steve offers and Eddie just nods. 

“I’ll have some more papers to grade, but I can help once I’m done if you want.” 

Steve smiles and nods before he goes rummaging for his soup pot. He loves this part almost more than the grocery shopping. He loves that he and Eddie are the kind of people who can sit in comfortable silence together. Who can each do their own thing and still hang out. 

Eddie hums quietly while grading his paper, and Steve tries to decipher the tune while he crushes garlic with the flat side of his knife. He is sure he has heard the song before but comes up blank. 

“Hey, what are you humming, sounds cool?” he asks eventually once he is done with the garlic, onions and ginger. 

“Hmm?” 

Steve turns around and catches Eddie again with that goddamn pen in his mouth. 

“The song you’re humming? What’s it called? I feel like I know it but I can’t figure it out for the life of me.” 

Eddie pulls the pen out of his mouth, his face all sheepishly all of a sudden, insecure almost. 

“Uh…it’s a Munson original,” he says and doesn’t meet Steve’s eyes. “You might have heard me play some chords back in the day.” 

“Oh, yeah maybe,” Steve says and turns back to his cutting board.

Eddie hadn’t played in front of Steve often, almost keeping that side hidden from Steve. At first Steve had been a bit hurt, but then when Eddie had finally relented and played a song for him for the first time Steve had understood. 

There was something soul bearing about the way Eddie played his guitar, the way he closed his eyes and moved his fingers, taking a deep breath as if he was breathing the music in. He had sat in his messy bedroom in the shitty trailer that was falling apart and had looked ethereal. Eddie had been most himself when he had played his guitar, allowing Steve to see him. He hadn’t just been ethereal, he had been truly vulnerable, trusting Steve with this side of himself.  

Steve thinks about the last time he had heard Eddie play. The difference between the vulnerability he had performed on stage for his audience, and the hidden vulnerability Steve had the privilege to see every time he and Eddie had caught each other’s eyes that night. Steve stops himself before he thinks about how he had kicked that privilege with his feet the morning after.

“Does it have a title?” 

“Feel better,” Eddie mumbles, still uncharacteristically shy. “it's about clinging to the pain of something. No matter how much it hurts. Because then you still have some part of it” 

Pain that means you are still alive. 

Steve blinks, wonders for a second if Eddie has just glanced directly into his soul. He is so familiar with that feeling that the song might as well have been carved out of his bone marrow. He wonders what Eddie clings to that he should let go of, but he can tell that Eddie is uncomfortable so Steve doesn’t push it further. 

“We’ll if you ever put an album out, I’ll be buying a CD, as I said, tune is catchy.” 

“Sure, let’s see if I’ll make my rockstar dreams come true by the time I turn forty,” Eddie laughs. 

Steve selfishly thinks that he’d rather Eddie make those rockstar dreams come true than the ones about a quiet, lovely, ordinary life with someone. It’s not like he would have more of a shot if Eddie was a rockstar, but at least Eddie wouldn’t be living happily ever after with someone else. 

Steve tries to focus on chopping his carrots. He is jealous of a hypothetical person. That’s a new low. Eddie has stopped humming by now and Steve almost wishes he hadn’t said anything. 

He lets his onions char and the ginger soften before adding garlic, spices and eventually the rest of his veggies before pouring water into the pot. Usually, Steve would put in some chicken as well, but Robin has been a vegetarian since the summer of ‘85 so he just opts for mixing in some miso for added flavor depth later. Steve stares at his concoction slowly coming to a simmer. 

It was soup that brought them together as friends. A horrible minestrone, topped with crispy bacon that had unbeknownst to Steve and Robin gone off weeks ago. Robin had sent Steve out to get some lunch while they had worked a busy shift at Scoops. The Star Court had been packed, everyone gasping for the cold air condition of the mall. The only place that didn’t have a long ass queue in front of it was the newly opened soup place from Missouri. 

Not having much time during his break, Steve had gone and gotten soup for them both. Robin had just frowned and asked who the hell would eat soup on one of the hottest days of the year. Steve had been smug when he had replied that minestrone was eaten cold. His smugness had vanished when he and Robin had stormed to the men’s restroom during close up, throwing up their lunch. They hadn’t heard the metallic shrieking of the lock on the door breaking nor the fire alarm telling everyone to evacuate the building. 

The scars on Steve’s torso twinge. He hates what happened to them, will always think a little bit that it’s his fault. But he is so glad that it brought them together. He loves her so much he sometimes can’t breathe because of it. 

He stares at the simmering broth for a moment as if all the answers for his problems are stuck at the bottom, obscured by celery sticks and carrot chunks. For a long time cooking soup for Robin had always felt like a gentle apology. Now it’s more of a whispered I love you. 

He fills up the sink and dumps the dirty dishes in. The water has stopped running and foamy bubbles have formed at the surface when Steve hears the scraping of a chair, followed by foot steps. 

He doesn’t turn to look, knows exactly where Eddie is going, can feel Eddie’s presence behind him so clearly as if they were actually touching. He waits for Eddie to hook his chin over Steve’s shoulder, for his arms to sneak around Steve’s waist, to be held, to be kissed, to be loved. Wants to turn around and run his wet hands through Eddie’s hair, soapy dish water dripping down his neck, to breathe in the magical mundanity of an ordinary life that is shared between them. To stretch like a cat in the sun in the home they have built in this kitchen. Steve waits and wants. 

Eddie puts his finger tips on the edge of the kitchen counter right next to Steve’s hands. He doesn’t touch Steve, keeps away from his shoulder, only peeks over it. He is still standing too close though, a flat palm barely fitting between Steve’s back and Eddie’s chest. It’s torture, like every time Eddie gets close to Steve in any kind of way. Greedily he laps it up like a famished person, bread crumbs mixed with dirt, desperate for anything to fill the void. 

“Looks like you don’t need any help cooking,” Eddie murmurs and then his hands are gone and he has taken a step back. 

“Grab the dish towels?” Steve suggests and he doesn’t need to look to know that Eddie is smiling. 

They wash and dry the dishes, fingers brushing, hips knocking into each other, shared laughter on their lips. Once again Steve thinks that he could truly be forever happy like this. Doesn’t need love confessions, doesn’t need requited feelings, doesn’t need sex so good it tears several universes apart, just needs Eddie to stay. That would be enough. He glances at Eddie.

I love you. 

“Do you want to taste test the soup before I drop it off at Robin’s?”

I love you. 

“I’d be honored.” 

I love you. 

Steve takes out a spoon, dips it into the soup, holds it up for Eddie to take and his hand under it in case something spills. Instead of taking the spoon out of Steve’s hand, Eddie leans forward and takes it into his mouth. He has the audacity to moan a little, Steve doesn’t have any energy left to blush anymore. 

“Shit, maybe I should catch the plague if I get soup like that out of it,” Eddie says and licks his lips. Steve affectionately shakes his head and cleans the spoon. 

“You could also just ask me if I could make soup for you.” 

He turns back to Eddie and just about sees something flicker through Eddie’s dark eyes. The look on his face is never a good sign. Before Steve can brace himself, Eddie suddenly grips his hand and goes down on one knee. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Shhh,” Eddie shushes him and squeezes his hand. “Steve, light of my students’ lives, befriender of lesbians, and master in the kitchen, would you take pity on your best friend and make me some soup?” 

Jesus, he is in love with such a melodramatic, nerdy, never fully grown up drama kid. He is so, so, so in love. So in love. 

“Robin is my best friend,” Steve laughs, even though it’s not true. Robin is part of his soul, Eddie is in fact his best friend. “But yes, sure, fine.” 

The grin on Eddie’s lips should have been warning enough, but Steve still yelps when Eddie tugs on his hand, bringing Steve down onto his knees too. Steve’s hand lands on Eddie’s shoulder in an attempt to brace himself and once he regains balance they are so close their noses are almost touching. 

“You promise, big boy?” 

It’s dangerously close to flirting and Steve can just about keep him from saying seal it with a kiss?  

“Promise,” he says softly, “I’ll make you soup.”

I love you. 

And then, to prevent himself from doing something both self-indulgent and self-destructive, Steve shoves Eddie’s chest lightly, so that Eddie loses his balance and falls back flat onto the kitchen floor. 

“Now get off my floor, I have soup to deliver.” 

Eddie laughs and gets up. He doesn’t offer to come along to Robin’s, he does have to get back to Wayne eventually. Steve watches him leave and holds on to the pang in his chest, presses into it like fingers into a bruise, to remind himself that this is only temporary. Love leaves and hollowness takes its place. Steve had hoped his bones would have become less brittle by now. 

His car is too quiet on the drive to Robin. He turns the radio on and twists the button until static fills his car. He wishes he could take the noise with him when he leaves his car. 

Robin is still asleep when he drops off the soup. Chrissy takes it gladly and to Steve’s relief doesn’t make another comment about Eddie. 

“Let me know when she feels better, yeah?” Steve says and hands Chrissy a card. “This is the number of the ski lodge we’re gonna be at the next few days.” 

“I’ll make sure that she’ll give you a call,” Chrissy smiles and pins the card to the fridge. “And then we’ll see you Thanksgiving at Joyce’s right?” 

“Yes,” Steve smiles. He once again doesn’t know how they are all gonna fit into that tiny house, but he is sure Joyce is gonna make it work somehow.

They hug goodbye at the door and Chrissy lingers longer than usual. Steve soaks her touch up like sunshine. I’ve got you, the squeeze of her arms says. Thank you, the sigh leaving Steve’s chest means. He still doesn’t believe that he deserves this. But he’ll keep working on it for her. For all of them. Steve fights for life. 

He comes back to a house filled with light. Dustin is standing in the kitchen, the radio blasting, and loudly singing along while stirring tomatoes, onions, garlic, thyme, rosemary and basil in a pot. Pasta is loudly cooking along in bubbling boiling water. Steve comes home. 

“Thought you could use someone else cooking for once,” Dustin grins when Steve is drawn to the warmth of the kitchen like a moth to a flame. Steve could definitely have cooked something, but Dustin is right, he feels used, shattered. The gesture feels like ointment for his aching body and soul. 

Dustin is by no means a great cook, but he has become pretty decent at making the pasta sauce Steve has taught him how to make. After the day Steve has had it tastes heavenly. 

They spend the rest of the night lounging on the couch and watching TV. Dustin nods off at some point and Steve considers if he can still carry Dustin upstairs. Part of him wishes they could go back to the time when Dustin was just a carefree child, not burdened with the grief he carries inside now. When Steve could lift Dustin up and swing him around the house and Dustin would giggle and squeal with delight. When Steve would be the one to fall asleep on the couch after dinner and Mrs Henderson would be the one to gently shake Steve awake. Steve misses her so much right now, wishes more than anything she could watch Dustin grow up, silently swallows the tears he can’t hold back. It’s been a long day and Steve aches for the comfort he would have found in the arms of the only woman he had ever thought of as his mother. 

As much as Steve would love to carry Dustin upstairs just like in the old days, he knows he can’t. They both aren’t kids anymore. Gently, Steve shakes Dustin awake and they both go to bed. 

“Have you ever been in love?” 

Steve dreams again. He wakes up again. Goes to the kitchen, checks the oven, drinks his water. Monotone routine. 

Eddie doesn’t come over that day, which is fine with Steve. They are both too busy organizing the last things for the ski trip and packing stuff. Steve doesn’t dare to imagine what arguing what clothes to pack for a trip would look like. He does get a little taste of it when it comes to Dustin’s stuff. But in the end, Steve can convince Dustin that he won’t be needing swimming shorts. 

“Have you ever been-”

The blaring of the alarm clock cuts Steve’s nightmare short. The morning is hectic, like always when they have to be there. They arrive at school with plenty of students already filing into the bus, Eddie standing next to them, crossing names off a list. Steve reassures several parents that the trip is going to be alright, that yes he will call them if something happens and that they will be back in three days already. 

Joyce eventually starts shooing the other parents off, gives both Will and Steve another hug and then the last parent has said goodbye and all the kids have made it into the bus.

Despite the early hours of the morning the kids are already hyper, but Steve can’t blame them. He remembers the excitement of going on school trips all too well. Still, he sinks into his seat next to Eddie with a sigh as the bus begins to drive. 

“You alright, you look tired?” Eddie asks and Steve lets out a hollow little laugh. 

“No one ever told you that sleep is for the weak, Munson?"

Eddie doesn’t as usual banter back, he just stares at Steve concerned for a moment. 

“Go take a nap, I’ve got the gremlins under control.” 

“I don’t need to–”

“Steve!” There is something in Eddie’s voice that makes it very clear that he won’t tolerate Steve arguing back. “Go sleep.” 

“Fine,” Steve relents and crosses his arms grumpily in front of his chest, shimming deeper into his seat. He closes his eyes, but despite his short night, sleep won’t come. 

Before he can open his eyes and snap at Eddie that he simply just can’t sleep, his head is gently cradled and pressed on top of a shoulder. He can smell smoke and clover and store brand shampoo, feel the soft fabric of Eddie’s coat pressing into his cheek. His heart kicks with such force Steve is worried it might jump out of his chest. Sleep seems even more impossible now, Eddie’s proximity intoxicating and nerve wrecking. 

But then Eddie softly begins playing with Steve’s hair and hums quietly and before Steve can fight sleep any longer he is gone. 

He doesn’t dream. 

When they arrive at the ski lodge Eddie shakes him gently awake and Steve does feel more rested. Which is good because after piling out of the bus the kids are even more excited, jumping up and down, talking all over each other, barely listening to the poor concierge trying to explain the house rules to them. With a defeated sigh he hands the keys to Eddie and Steve, reminding them that there is no one at the reception between 11 pm and 5 am, so they better not plan any nightly outside activities with the students.  

Steve and Eddie solemnly swear not to do any outside night activities with the kids, they are going to be happy enough to get them into bed. The concierge looks content and then helpfully tells them how best to get to the ski slope and how to use the ski lift. 

“I’ll get the tokens for the ski lift, can you already give the kids their rooms?” Steve asks and Eddie just nods. “Thank you.” 

Steve turns around and for the second time in three months he is greeted by a ghost. 

“Steven?” 

After all those years his name still sounds wrong in her mouth, like she doesn’t quite know how to make her lips shape the vowels correctly. He is glad she never bothered to learn what he likes to be called, doesn’t know if he could cope with her calling him Steve. That name is not for her. If she is annoyed about running into him, he can’t tell.

“Mom?”

Her face looks like a mask, rubber pulled thigh with safety pins at the back of her head. Her makeup is heavier now, trying to hide the cracks in her porcelain skin. If Steve had been the wooden boy in his father’s grasp, his mother had been the fragile ballerina, spinning along in her little box to every word his father had said as if it had been music. Once upon a time Steve might have felt sorry for her. But where she was pliable and soft for Steve’s dad she had been harsh and cruel to Steve, porcelain turned cold marble. Steve wonders if she had been human before she had met his father or if she was born out of stone. Still, even her petrified face seems more natural than her stilted, “It’s so good to see you.” 

She steps closer and lifts her arms, her movements robotic and artificial, going through the motions like she is supposed to but doesn’t know how. She tilts her head slightly, going in for kissing the air next to his left then his right cheek. Steve instantly flinches away. 

“Don’t,” he says quietly, but insistent. They are not going to do this, they are not going to pretend like everything is fine, like they are long lost acquaintances, like they are glad to see each other. She doesn’t get to touch him. 

Her lips press into a thin line and Steve is sure that if the botox in her temple would allow her muscles to move, her eyes would narrow too. But his mother had never needed facial expressions to make her disapproval known. It basically radiates off her and echoes in the crunch of her leather gloves when she clenches her fists. 

It’s funny, the sight used to have cold sweat running down Steve’s spine. Now all he wants to do is laugh about how much his mother looks like a toddler about to throw a tantrum. Not that she ever would, as much as she is a perfect actress she hates making a scene. God forbid someone could spy something real, something ugly, like anger. That was always reserved for rooms behind closed doors and his father. Memories of long faded bruises twinge on Steve’s skin.

She lowers her arms and keeps the distance Steve has set alongside his boundaries for her. She looks a bit lost suddenly, dismay still on her face, but no clue what to do with it, what to do with Steve. And Steve doesn’t know either, all he knows is that telling her no is the most elated he has felt in years. 

He has chased after his parents’ approval for so long like a desert dweller after a mirage on the horizon. But right now, standing in front of his mother for the first time in years, all Steve feels is satisfaction and spite. 

For a second Steve wishes he would have dyed his hair pink or gotten piercings and tattoos. Anything to make her frown more. What might have started out as a late blooming teenage rebellion has now become comforting proof that he hasn’t turned out like his parents. She is still marble, he is human. His mother’s pointed glare is balm for the scars he received trying to earn her love. She can glare all she wants, he isn’t going to turn over and show his belly. 

A hand is suddenly gently pressed against Steve’s lower back and Eddie’s concerned voice is whispering into his ear, “You okay here, sweetheart?”  

Eddie and Steve’s mother only met once briefly, but the first and last impression left enough of an impact for them to both instantly recognize each other. His mother lets out a little oh, while Eddie lets his hand slide around Steve’s waist, giving his hip a reassuring little squeeze. 

Instinctively, Steve leans into the touch. He was fine, but now he is better. He could have handled his mother alone, but he knows he doesn’t have to face things alone anymore. Because he isn’t alone anymore. 

“I’m good,” he shoots Eddie a quick, thankful smile, before turning back to his mother. 

Her eyes have widened at Eddie’s arm around Steve. Steve can basically see the gears turning in her head before they grind to a halt at the completely wrong conclusion. 

“Your father was right to kick you out,” she says and 14 years ago that might have stung. But now Steve just wants to laugh again at how over the top it sounds. Like dialogue cut straight from a cheesy afternoon telenovela he and Mrs. Henderson used to watch together. 

Next to him Eddie subtly sways closer, presses his side into Steve, rubs a circle with his thumb onto Steve’s hipbone. Steve appreciates the comfort.

“I left,” Steve corrects her. His father would have kicked him out probably nevertheless, but the point is Steve left first. He made the decision, he took the first step, he got agency over his own life back. “But I guess honorable family disowns screw up, queer son is a lot easier to sell at the country club than your child leaving an abusive household.”

He can say it now. The words he didn’t even want to think about as a teenager. Call it what it was. Not tough love, but abuse. Denial had been easier for so long than accepting the truth. It took years of therapy for Steve to come to terms with it, to allow himself to feel the pain and then heal from it. There is no reason to cling to a romanticized past any longer, making himself believe that it wasn’t all that bad. Because it had been bad. 

“All we ever did was love you,” his mother adds another line to her telenovela monologue and Steve wonders if she actually believes it. Maybe she does, not actually any the wiser of what love is meant to be like. But Steve does know better at this point. 

He knows what it means to have a family, what it means to be loved. Knows that all those people would tear his mother apart on the spot if they were here. He can feel Eddie tremble with righteous anger on his behalf, even though he doesn’t even know half the things Steve’s parents have done. But he knows enough. 

Enough to take a step forward and glare at Steve’s mother like he wants to skin her alive. Steve doesn’t think he’s ever seen Eddie that angry. Annoyed, defeated, and pissed off sure. But even during those first few weeks of getting reacquainted with each other when they had both hid behind a shield of bitterness Eddie had never looked as mad. 

“Pick a side,” he snaps. “Which one is it, you’re glad he almost got kicked out or all you ever did was love him?”

Steve’s mother startles and part of Steve wants to reel Eddie back in, he can fight his own battles. But Eddie knows that, it’s not like he is condescendingly trying to speak for Steve. He is just letting out his own anger. And part of Steve also really wants to see where he is going with this. 

“No, I’m genuinely curious if you think that you love him. Because I have seen so many people love Steve. It’s impossible not to, believe me, I know, cause I’ve tried not to love him. And none of them show their love like you do. None of them treat him like dirt, none of them let him get hurt, none of them would ever kick him out. And none of them would have the audacity to claim that they loved him if they were you,” Eddie lets out a scoff and Steve feels dizzy. “No, from what I’ve seen I think you’re fucking incapable of love.” 

The words I have tried not to love him rattle in Steve’s mind like a coin in a dryer, while the rest of Eddie’s touching albeit slightly dramatic monologue lingers in the air like speech bubbles in a comic strip. Steve wants to inhale them like oxygen. His mother looks like she wants to set them aflame like gas. The shock on her face changes, quickly like the wind, to cold hatred. 

Steve remembers the last time his mother had held his hand. It had been the last day of kindergarten, Steve had run out excited to walk home with her. He had reached out for her like always but she had just stepped back. 

“You’re too old now,” she had told him and pulled her hand away. 

Safe to say, she had never been the one to lay a hand on him. But when Steve sees her fingers twitching now, he knows exactly what’s going to happen next. He catches her wrist before her palm can get even close to Eddie’s face. For the first time throughout this whole encounter Steve can feel anger beating through his veins like a second pulse. His fingers dig into the skin of his mother’s wrist. 

She looks surprised at her hand, then at Steve. Next to him Steve can feel Eddie stiffen. He definitely had not seen the slap coming. Steve on the other hand knows he is trembling with fury. He stares at her with all the resentment he has built up over the years and for the first time she cowers. Steve doesn’t know why he had thought her a pristine statue larger than life for so long, when she is just a small, spiteful person. 

“You don’t get to touch him,” he says with a low voice, a quiet threat, before he lets go of her wrist, basically slamming it against her chest. “Have a nice life, Susan.”

He almost expects her to snap back, to yell something like how dare you talk to me like that. But she just keeps quietly staring at him, like a deer caught in headlights. God, he doesn’t want to look at her anymore. 

“Come on,” Steve takes Eddie’s hand gently and tugs him along. “We’re done here.” 

For a second Steve worries that his mother is gonna yell after them, or follow them. But she doesn’t. Steve hopes he has to never see her again. He doesn’t really know where he is leading them, just away. Only once the cold of the air hits him, he realizes he has brought them to one of the outdoor terraces. Steve takes a deep breath, the fresh air is sobering. 

When he turns to look at Eddie there is a mixture of awe and concern on Eddie’s face. Steve hates that Eddie had to witness this, hates that his mother almost hurt Eddie. Again. The anger still smolders in his stomach like hot coal. 

“Are you okay?” Steve asks, not knowing how to say sorry for this, knowing that he doesn’t have to, but feeling nevertheless like he should. Maybe it’s just his need to apologize again for allowing his mother to hurt Eddie so many years ago. 

The snow crunches under Eddie’s feet as he steps closer. Very slowly he lifts his arm and when Steve doesn’t stop him he cups Steve’s face so gingerly as if Steve was a sculpture made out of the thinnest ice. Eddie’s hands are warm compared to the cool, snowy air and if Steve was ice he would melt right now. And what a way to go it would be, to dissolve under the faintest, loveliest touch of Eddie Munson’s fingertips. 

“Am I okay? Steve, are you okay?” 

Eddie’s thumb brushes softly over Steve’s cheekbone and Steve leans into Eddie’s palm. Closes his eyes and inhales the crisp smell of clear winter air and warm skin. Eddie repeats the motion and Steve finds that if they would freeze like this, this moment of tenderness caught in eternity and ice, he wouldn’t mind. 

“She doesn’t get to do that to the people that I…,” Steve swallows, wishing he could kiss Eddie’s wrist right now, “care about. Not anymore.” 

And then maybe because the adrenaline is wearing off or because of all his impulses right now it’s the least life ruining one Steve blurts, “Should I dye my hair pink?” 

“What?” 

“I…when I saw her I kinda wanted to spite her more. Give her the symbolic middle finger or something. I know I'm a bit late to being a rebellious teenager, but… uh, so yeah, thought about dying my hair pink. Could be cool, right? Or piercings?” 

Eddie blinks slowly, like he is actually imagining Steve with pink hair and piercings. His cheeks are turning slowly the same shade Steve would pick for his hair. He still has not let go of Steve’s face, thumb rhythmically running over Steve’s cheek.  

“Like maybe the eyebrow or a nose ring. Or tattoos, you have tattoos! Do they hurt?” 

“De-depends where you get them?” Eddie is still looking at Steve like Steve has lost it a little. 

“Like what parlor?” 

“Where on your body.” 

“Oh.” 

If this was anyone else Steve would feel a little stupid. But despite all the dumb shit he says regularly, Eddie has never made him feel stupid. Always takes his time to explain stuff to Steve without judgment, unprompted.

Eddie moves his hand slightly up and gently presses against Steve’s eyebrow. 

“If well done a vertical piercing doesn’t hurt much,” he says quietly and then caresses his thumb to the inner corner of Steve’s eyebrow down his nose. “Same with nostril.” 

He flicks his thumb down Steve’s nose and gently presses against Steve’s septum. 

“Septum can hurt a lot, but it heals very quickly.” 

Something dark flickers through Eddie’s eyes before he continues. 

“Now lips,” slowly he lets his thumb glide down over Steve’s cupid’s bow and traces over Steve’s mouth, pulling Steve’s bottom lip down and parting his mouth slightly. “Those hurt a lot, sensitive tissue, dense with nerve endings.” 

Every single one of those nerve endings is on fire and it takes all of Steve’s restraint not to suck Eddie’s thumb into his mouth. Eddie’s eyes are focused on his thumb on Steve’s lip, pulling Steve’s lip ever so slightly more down. For a second it feels like Eddie is leaning in and Steve is about to close his eyes and let it happen. But then Eddie’s touch is suddenly gone. 

Its absence is as startling as getting a cold bucket of water dumped all over your head. Steve is surprised he doesn’t flinch. 

“I…uh,” Eddie clears his throat and takes a step back. “Yeah…I think you would look good. Maybe start with the pink hair.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says and shoves his hands into his jacket pockets. Steve already misses his touch so much he wants to cry. “You’d have to bleach it first though.” 

“Oh man, no, fuck that,” Steve’s entire personality is no longer defined by his hair, but he definitely is not going to bleach it. 

“No one said being a punk and sticking it to the man was easy, Steve,” Eddie grins and cocks his head back towards the lodge. Steve nods and follows him back. 

“Last time I checked you were pretty easily sticking it to the man,” Steve half jokes, half makes the world’s worst attempt at flirting. 

“Years of practice, baby,” Eddie grins and winks at Steve. “Years of practice.” 

The kids have not as expected burned the lodge down or turned their trip in Steve and Eddie’s absence into a Lord of the Flies situation, but are simply hanging out in their rooms, unpacking, giggling, getting sugar rushes from too much candy and can’t wait to go skiing. 

“Did you know there is a hot spring, Steve? I knew I should have packed those swimming shorts,” Dustin greets him when Steve comes by to tell the kids to get ready and be at the ski lift in 10. 

“You don’t even like hot springs.”

“It’s about the principle, Steve.” 

“Sure.”

Fortunately, none of the other kids seem to have any strong opinions or complaints about the hot spring, all of them far too excited to get skiing or snowboarding when they meet up at the lift. 

At the top of the slope a very, very tall man who introduces himself as Björn, their ski coach, greets them. He looks like a surfer with his tan skin and wavy, long blonde hair and more like he would belong on a beach than snowy mountains. 

“The more advanced people in your group can already enjoy the slope,” he tells the group with a bright smile and a hint of an accent, “Meanwhile, I’ll teach the beginners some basics and see if we can get you down the slope in one piece by the end of the day.” 

It’s only a small group of students staying behind, including Max, El, and Dustin. Snowboard under his arm, Eddie joins the more advanced group. 

“Shouldn’t you know how to ski, being a trust fund kid and all?” Max asks when Steve joins the beginner group. Steve ignores the pang in his chest at the memory of the ski trip he had ruined for his parents by getting the worst fever of his life. Even if he hadn’t gotten sick, he would have made a fatal mistake in their eyes eventually anyways. 

“Shouldn’t you know how to snowboard being a skater and all?” Steve bickers back. Max just rolls her eyes and flips him off. Before Steve can say anything Björn starts his lesson. 

He has rattled through the basics by the time the first people of the advanced group are coming back up again. Mike, Will, and Lucas all wave briefly at the group before rushing down the slope again. Eddie on the other hand lingers. His cheeks are rosy either from the cold or from the exertion of snowboarding and he is slightly out of breath. Still, he smiles so brightly at Steve it’s almost blinding. 

“Having fun?” Steve asks, wishing he too could cruise down through the snow. Björn is explaining something on how to stop, but Steve isn’t really paying attention. 

“Time of my life,” Eddie laughs, but then smile suddenly drops and Steve feels a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

Steve turns his head to find Björn standing close next to him. Apparently his lesson is done, the beginner kids eagerly following the more advanced ones to the start of the slope. 

“Excuse me, Steve, but your braking stance is still wrong, may I?” Björn says and before Steve can say anything Björn bends down, puts his hands on the back of Steve’s knees and forces him to slightly bend his knees, before twisting Steve’s feet so that Steve’s skis are forming an X. 

Steve shoots a glance that is meant to say oh well at Eddie and shrugs with a little grin. To his surprise, there is a sour look on Eddie’s face, eyes narrowed, lips a thin line. He is basically glaring. Before Steve can ask if he has done anything wrong, Björn removes his hands from Steve’s legs and comes back up.

He moves so fast that Steve loses his balance for a second and has to grasp Björn’s arms so as to not keel over. 

“Much better,” Björn says and gives Steve a pat on the shoulder. He lingers slightly with his touch, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk. “A little bit more training and you’ve got it. I’d be happy to give you a few more private lessons after this.” 

“Uh…thanks?” Steve says, a little awkward. “But I don’t think I’ll have the money for that.” 

“It’ll only cost you dinner,” Björn insists and oh, oh, oh no. The pieces in Steve’s head click into place and he can feel himself blush horribly. He used to be good at this, smooth even, but he truly lost his game years ago. 

“I’m flattered, Björn, I really am,” Steve says and sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. “But...uh…I’m kinda on the clock and we are leaving again in two days and yeah, I just don’t think this is a good idea.” 

Steve doesn’t say how he is head over heels for someone else. Doesn’t mention that he just couldn’t do this, even if it was a meaningless hookup, ever if he and Eddie don’t stand a single chance. Sleeping with someone else would still feel like a breach of trust. 

“Alright, maybe next time you are here,” Björn takes his rejection with stride. “You’re all ready to ski now by the way.” 

“Thanks man,” Steve says, glad that he has a good excuse to leave now. He turns around to Eddie to suggest something stupid like racing him to the bottom, but Eddie is already nowhere to be seen. 

Steve feels a little bit like a deer in ice skates as he skis down the slope for the first time. Through some miracle he doesn’t crash and burn and all the other beginners seem to be doing a good job as well. At some point he spots Will and Gareth sharing one of the ski lifts, fingers tentatively entwined and it makes his heart ache a little with joy for them. 

The sun is starting to set by the time they get back from the slope. Every single one of Steve’s muscles is aching and he knows it’s only going to be worse tomorrow. But it was definitely worth the fun. 

The kids all seem to be exhausted too and are a lot more quiet than usual when they reach the lodge. Steve tries to catch Eddie’s eyes, celebrating the success of tiring the kids out with a little shared smile. But Eddie doesn’t look at him. He’s been kind of avoidant since Steve got to ski, but maybe he is just tired too, Steve fathoms. He can feel an insecure thought slowly worming its way up his spine into his brain, about Eddie finally catching up with what actually happened during the encounter with Steve’s mom and getting angry at Steve for it. But Steve grips the thought tightly and grinds it to fine dust between his fingertips. Today he wins. 

Dinner is a quiet affair too, the kids are too busy eating their food and yawning to chatter a lot. When Steve asks if anyone wants to play board games in the lobby everyone declines with the wish to go to bed early. This might be the easiest trip Steve has ever been on. 

Despite his exhaustion from skiing all day, Steve putters through his room with too much excess energy. No matter how good the kids are, class trips always have him antsy, alert, ready to be needed any second. 

Even though he needs it he dreads sleep already, knows what is going to happen when he closes his eyes. Slowly starting to feel trapped in his room, Steve shrugs on one of the hotel robes and goes on a little walk. 

He plans to get to one of the terraces, catch some fresh air, freeze half of his limbs off and go back inside. But he somehow managed to take the wrong turn and ended up in the little heated yard with the hot spring. To his surprise, Eddie is sitting in it. 

“If you’re looking for hot Scandinavians I’m sorry to disappoint,” Eddie says when he spots Steve, “it’s just me.”  

His hair up in a bun to prevent it from dipping into the water, his arms resting on the edge of the spring. Even in the dimly lit yard, Steve can make out the sour expression on Eddie’s face. 

“Hot Scandinavians?" he asks, confused as he steps closer to the hot spring, trying not to stare at Eddie’s wet naked chest too much. There are so many new tattoos since Steve has seen him shirtless the last time, and Steve wants to trace all of them with his fingers, ask about their meaning, learn everything about the 14 years they spent apart. It’s distracting.

“Björn?” 

“Björn is Scandinavian?" 

“The name, the hair, and the accent not a dead give away?” 

“Didn’t pay attention that deeply,” Steve just shrugs and for some reason those are the magical open sesame words that bring the faintest smile back to Eddie’s lips. 

“You’re something else, you know that?” 

It’s invitation enough for Steve to sit down, legs crossed on the wooden planks surrounding the spring. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve been pouty all day because our ski coach flirted with me instead of you,” Steve tries to sound teasing but the words taste like ash in his mouth. “If you wanted Björn’s hands all over you, you shouldn’t have joined the advanced group.” 

“I didn’t want-” Eddie starts but then stops himself, slight frown back on his face. It’s less bitter now though. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he sighs. “Björn probably tries to seduce every teacher coming through here. Don’t feel like I’m in my notch in a bed post era of life anymore.” 

“Me neither,” Steve agrees, the chalky, bitter after taste of ash slowly fading. They are quiet for a second, only the bubbling of hot water filling the silence between them. 

“So, what,” Steve says after a beat and nods towards the hot water, “you were just in the mood for a little night swim?” 

“Actually helps with the sore muscles, you should try it,” Eddie wiggles his eyebrows and pats the surface on the water next to him as if it was a seat. The suggestion is an inviting as it is torture. 

“Didn’t bring any swimming shorts,” Steve says, thankful for his excuse. 

“Neither did I,” Eddie grins and Steve can feel himself blush at the idea that Eddis is completely naked right now. He doesn’t even have to ask, Eddie can exactly tell what Steve is thinking. 

“Yes, Harrington, I’m sitting buck naked in a hot spring in a ski resort in Indiana on a class trip, where my students could come running any moment and need me,” Eddie dead pans and Steve rolls his eyes. “This isn’t Europe.” 

“Would you sit buck naked in a hot spring on a class trip in Europe?” 

“Not on a class trip,” Eddie winks. 

“Christ.” 

“Just get in!” 

“Fine,” Steve relents and stands up. He lets his robe glide off his shoulders and grips the hem of his shirt. He is about to pull it off but then he hesitates. He thinks about his pink and white speckled skin, thinks about the ugly veins spreading over his torso, thinks about how taking his shirt off usually makes people run. 

He is sure Eddie won’t run. But Steve isn’t ready to face the shock that will turn into repulsion before eventually becoming pity in Eddie’s eyes. He wants to keep the impish smile on Eddie’s lips and the mood lighthearted. Doesn’t want to dig into the pain he carries within and outside himself. 

So Steve keeps the shirt on as he steps into the hot spring. Eddie is right, the hot bubbling water is heaven for his sore muscles. His shirt and his boxers soak full with water and stick uncomfortably to his skin, but it’s still worth it. Eddie shoots him a curious look, eyes fixed on Steve’s clothed chest. 

“For my modesty,” Steve says dryly, not wanting to talk about his scars right now and Eddie snorts. 

“Should have kept your socks on then too, seeing your ankles almost made me faint.” 

Steve splashes water at him. Given the temperature it’s probably a bad idea but Eddie just laughs and Steve gets a little drunk on the sound. 

It’s kinda romantic, sitting in a hot spring during the night, bathed in moonlight. Steve would love to cross the distance between, climb into Eddie’s lap and spend the rest of the night making out like their life depends on it. Steve knows he needs to stop thinking about Eddie like that, it’s not going to help with his unrequited feelings. 

But looking at Eddie, all relaxed, eyes closed, droplets of water all over his chest and arms, it is impossible not wanting to kiss him. Steve wants to kiss him all the time, cover every inch of his body with his mouth and mumble long overdue love confessions between every kiss of lips onto warm skin. 

Steve rolls his shoulders, trying to focus on the leftover tension in them instead of thinking about kissing Eddie. It’s only semi successful. 

Especially when Eddie looks at him and suggests, “You should come over here, this side has more jets. Might help more with your muscles.” 

The hot spring seems to have raised Steve’s body temperature and lowered his inhibitions, because, even though it’s the worst idea of the century, Steve slowly moves over to Eddie’s side. 

Their knees brush under water and Steve almost slips, feeling like his skin is burning where it touches Eddie’s. There is barely and space on Eddie’s side so Steve ends up squashed right beside Eddie, his wet shirt pressing into Eddie’s side now as well. 

“Sorry, this okay?” Steve asks nervously, but Eddie just hums. His arm is still resting on the edge of the spring so Steve has no choice but to lean against it. 

It is one of those moments that would give Dustin ideas about parent trapping them. And for most people this would definitely cross a platonic line, being half naked snuggled up against your ex in a hot spring. Especially when Eddie starts to gently rub circles into Steve’s neck, massaging it lightly. 

“Damn, you really are tense,” he says quietly and they are sitting so close that his hot breath ghosts along the shell of Steve’s ear. Steve shivers.

If they were any other people this would definitely not be platonic. But they are Eddie and Steve, co-inhabitants of the same personal space, touch starved and eager touching. Eddie is like this with everyone, it doesn’t mean anything. At least not to Eddie. 

To Steve every single touch means the world. But he is 14 years too late to say something. So he just leans into Eddie’s side, closes his eyes and focuses on the fingers dancing over the skin of his neck. He notices how Eddie very tactically avoids the scar that runs around Steve’s throat like a chain. Steve hopes that it’s consideration and not repulsion. 

They sit like this, pressed together in the hot spring until their limbs have gotten heavy and their skin has become pruney like dried cranberries. The way back to their rooms is less pleasant than their time in the spring. 

They are both dripping and shivering, leaving a trail of puddles behind them. When they reach their doors they both hesitate. Even though he is trembling and his wet clothes have grown uncomfortably sticky and clam under his robe, Steve doesn’t want this moment to end. 

Eddie’s hand is on his door handle but he too doesn’t make any effort to open it, simply just looking back at Steve. Eddie opens his mouth and then closes it again. 

Steve knows the feeling. He looks at Eddie and he wants to say anything, something, everything. But he can’t. He can’t ruin this friendship build on top of scorched earth with brittle beams and splintered stones.  

So Steve simply opts for, “Goodnight Eddie.” 

Whatever Eddie wanted to say Steve will never find out. All he gets back is too a simple, “Goodnight Steve.” 

For a second Steve wants to turn back, grab Eddie’s arm, spin him around and kiss him. When they part mumble, “I meant to say something like this.” But he isn’t going to and before he can think about it even more he hears Eddie’s door fall shut and Steve disappears behind his own.

“Have you ever been in love?” 

Steve doesn’t sleep well yet another night. 

The next day is very much the same. Tired kids over breakfast, going up the slope all morning, taking a break for lunch, letting the kids play in the snow or go back up the slope if they want, drag everyone back to the lodge for dinner, making sure everyone is in their room for the bed time check and then Steve collapses in his own bed. 

He technically doesn’t want to move again, but his eyes ache from the cold, dry mountain air and he is itching to get his contacts out. With a groan Steve forces himself up, takes his contacts out, puts his thick rimmed glasses on and slips into his pjs. 

He is about to sink into his bed, hoping the skiing exhausted him enough to keep the nightmares at bay when someone knocks frantically at his door. Mentally already going through the worst case scenarios and what to do, Steve rushes to the door. 

He barely has opened it when Dustin grabs his wrist and hectically says, “El had a nightmare and now she is having a really heavy nosebleed.” 

While it’s obviously awful that El had a nightmare scary enough to give her a nosebleed, Steve can’t help but feel glad that no one has broken a bone or gotten a worse injury. El gets nosebleeds fairly often and is equipped to deal with them fairly well, still Steve is obviously going to check on her. 

The smidge of relief is short lived when Dustin pulls Steve out of the room with such urgence that Steve almost loses his balance before he slams the door shut behind Steve. At the same time Lucas is dragging Eddie out of his room on the other side of the hallway with the same kind of force. Both Steve and Eddie almost stop when they see each other, both their mouths dropping open. 

“What the fuck are you wearing?” is the first thing Steve says, unable to tear his eyes away from the bright yellow sweater Eddie is wearing. 

“What the fuck is on your face?” Eddie counters and Steve frowns confused before he remembers that he is wearing glasses. 

“Glasses are a perfectly normal thing to wear,” Steve snaps without any bite and almost trips over a carpet as they hurry to El’s room. “But you in anything but black is unnerving.” 

“It’s pajamas!” 

“Is now really the time for this?” Lucas snaps and for some reason Dustin elbows him in the side. Before Steve can wonder what the hell that was about they reach El’s room. 

She is sitting on one of the bottom bunks, Max holding her one hand Will holding her other. 

“Hey supergirl,” Steve greets her and squats down in front of her. “Tried to catch some criminals again in your sleep?” 

El giggles quietly. There is a very faint hint of dried blood under her nose and she looks tired, but overall seems to be fine. Steve knows she has had far worse nosebleeds, has had a fair share of polo shirts soaked by them, sitting next to El in the nurse’s office. 

“Does it hurt?” Steve asks and examines her nose carefully. 

She shakes her head. 

“Want me to help you clean it up? Or do you want Max and Will to help you with it?” 

For a second, El looks past Steve before focusing on his face again and saying, “Will and Max.” 

Steve looks at Max and Will who both instantly nod, both squeezing El’s hands gently. Steve is honestly so glad that after everything El went through she has them. Will already jumps up and grabs a wet cloth from the little sink in the corner of the room. He hands it to Max who very gently cleans the dried blood away. 

“Do you want me and Eddie to stay for a while in case you get another nightmare?” Steve offers but El shakes her head again. 

“I’m good now. Can Max and I share a bunk?” 

“Of course you can,” Steve says softly before his eyes flicker to Dustin, Lucas, Mike and Will. “But the boys have to go back to their own room I’m afraid.”

He can already see Dustin and Mike get ready to get upset, so Steve stands up and says a bit harsher, “No arguing. You shouldn’t have been in the girl’s room in the first place. I’m making an exception because El needed help, but that’s it. Got it?” 

He pushes his arms onto his hips and gives the boys a stern look. None of them seem to plan to go back to their own rooms yet. 

“Got it?” Steve repeats and a mumbled choir of got it echoes back. 

“Good, now if anything else happens you know where Eddie’s and my room are.” 

When he looks at Eddie, who has been leaning against the door frame the entire time, the expression on Eddie’s face is incredibly soft and fond and Steve doesn’t quite know what to do with that look. 

He shoos the boys out of the girls room and towards the own doors before he turns to Eddie and simply asks, “What’s that look for.” 

“Nothing,” Eddie chuckles as they walk down the hallway back to their own rooms. “I just get why the kids call you mom sometimes.”

“God, not you too,” Steve groans and Eddie’s chuckle turns into a laugh. 

“But joke aside, it’s great how good you are with the kids. I’ve seen far too many guidance counselors who have done more damage than good. So it’s great that the kids have you.”

“Sure,” Steve says, always a bit awkward when it comes to handling compliments. “I’m glad I have them too, you know?”

“Oh, I know,” Eddie smiles softly as they reach their doors. “Guess that’s good night then.” 

“Yeah, night Eddie,” Steve says and turns to open his door. 

It feels like a deja vu, like Steve is stuck in a time loop, forced to part ways with Eddie every night right between those two doors. 

Only tonight, there is one problem. Steve doesn’t have his room key. Dustin pulled his door shut before Steve had the possibility to grab it. 

“Oh, the little fucker,” Steve curses under his breath. He checks his watch, of course it’s past 11 pm already. The reception is empty, there is no way for him to get into his room. 

“You good,” Eddie asks behind him and Steve groans with embarrassment. 

“Nope, don’t have my key, reception is closed, so I guess sleeping in the lobby it is,” he says and pinches the bridge of his nose. Perfect, just what he needed on a class trip. 

He already turns to go down stairs, when Eddie reaches out and grabs his arm. 

“Just crash in my room,” he says and nods towards his door. “And no arguing, Harrington. I’m tired, it’s late, you’re not sleeping in the lobby.” 

Usually, Steve would argue a whole lot. But Eddie is right, Steve can feel the exhaustion in his bones, and sleeping in the cold lobby isn’t going to do him any good. 

“Okay,” he says quietly and follows Eddie into his room. 

Watching Eddie walking in front of him Steve is still a little bit transfixed on Eddie’s sweater. It’s not something he would have ever expected Eddie to wear, but the color looks surprisingly good on him. 

“You know I had a sweater like that in the 80s,” Steve says and closes the door behind himself. He used to love that yellow sweater, shame he can’t remember what happened to it. Probably forgot it at his parents house when he left. 

Eddie looks down at his sweater, as if to confirm it’s color and then shrugs. 

“I guess it’s a very 80s color,” he says, his voice sounding slightly strained. “Do you want the left side or the right side of the bed?” 

“Uh…,”Steve looks at the king size bed in front of them. It hadn’t occurred to his tired brain that crashing in Eddie’s room probably meant sharing a bed as well. And Steve just can’t do that. 

“I can sleep on the fl—”

“Just pick a side, Steve, please,” Eddie cuts him off and rubs his palm over his face, clearly just as exhausted as Steve. “If you want to sleep on the floor I’ll sleep on the floor, which I know you don’t want me to do so stop thinking that you are an inconvenience, pick a side and get into the goddamn bed!”

Steve snaps his open mouth shut and looks from the bed to Eddie and back to the bed. He knows Eddie is actually going to sleep on the floor if Steve doesn’t get into the bed and Steve already does feel bad enough for having to bother Eddie. 

Eddie knows far too well how Steve’s brain works and so knowing he isn’t going to win this argument Steve takes off his glasses and slips under the covers of the right side of the bed. 

“Thank you,” Eddie sighs and then the mattress next to Steve dips and the light is flicked off. “Night Steve.”

“Night Eddie,” Steve mumbles and tries his best to fall asleep. 

It has been a while since Steve has shared a bed with someone. The closest he got to recently was during the summer when Dustin was at Camp Know Where and Steve had crashed on Robin and Chrissy’s couch most nights, unable to stand the emptiness of his own home. He’s lived in a deafeningly quiet house enough for a whole lifetime. One night he had woken up to Robin gently shaking his shoulder, informing him that he had screamed. Steve doesn’t remember the specific nightmare anymore, but he does remember the sympathetic look on Robin’s tired face. 

“Come back upstairs with me?” she had offered, knowing that Chrissy wouldn’t mind if Steve shared a bed with them. But Steve had already felt like he was imposing on them and had just shaken his head. 

“Fine, suit yourself,” Robin had said, but instead of going back upstairs she had plunked herself on the couch right next to Steve. “You’re not sleeping alone tonight.” 

It had been stupid, the couch barely big enough for one of them. Robin should have just left or Steve should have just gone to bed with her. But both of them had been painfully stubborn and so Chrissy had found them the next morning, curled around each other with aching backs and stiff necks, sleeping on the couch. 

The actual last time Steve had shared a bed with someone had been when Mrs. Henderson had died. Steve had not yet refunctioned his study to Dustin’s bedroom and Dustin hadn’t wanted for both of them to stay at his old house. Even though neither of them believed in ghosts it had been haunted by memories of Mrs. Henderson already. They both had curled in on their respective side of the bed, too grief stricken to speak. It was the quietest Steve had ever seen Dustin. Falling asleep, knowing someone is next to you had been the only comfort they had been able to give each other the first few days. 

Steve can’t really remember anyone he shared a bed with before that. He isn’t particularly good at sharing a bed anyways. Or sleeping in general for that matter. He tosses and turns, got once compared to a rotisserie chicken by a girl he dated for about a month in college and ever since the summer  of ‘85 waking up screaming from nightmares has become a consistent part of Steve’s sleep routine. He is always hyper aware of his own breathing, worries the person next to him could wake up from the tiniest movement, he becomes too anxious to fall asleep which makes the need to toss and turn even worse. Steve feels suffocated by the weight on the mattress next to him and the blanket over him. He tends to run hot too so most of the time sharing a bed feels a bit like being boiled alive. 

It had led to him never staying the night after hookups, no matter how late. Even next to people who he had been mildly interested in dating, Steve couldn’t fall asleep comfortably. He had slept okay when he had dated Nancy, but she too had eventually complained that he moved too much. Next to Robin and Dustin the only other person Steve had ever been able to soundly fall asleep next to had been Eddie. 

But apparently that muscle memory unfortunately seems to be gone. If anything Steve is even more agitated, his brain screaming at him not to move. He is hyper aware of all the points their bodies are almost touching, thinks how easily their legs could tangle if he turned onto his side, or how Eddie would only have to shimmy a bit for his head to rest on Steve’s shoulder. He listens out of Eddie’s steady inhale and exhale, can almost feel the rising and falling of Eddie’s chest. It’s calming and Steve holds his own breath as long as he can to not disturb the sound. It’s just breathing but in Steve’s sleep-that won’t come-muddled mind it’s like a siren call and he can feel his hand itch closer and closer to Eddie until their pinkies are almost touching. 

Under the cover of sleep and the actual covers of the bed Steve knows he might have plausible deniability if he touches Eddie. But he doesn’t want orchestrated accidental brushes of limbs and hands. He wants to touch Eddie with unrehearsed intent and candid purpose. He wants Eddie to want to be touched, needs Eddie to know what the gentle clasp of fingers on his upper arm means and the warm press of Steve’s palm against his cold skin. No, touching Eddie right now, even as an honest sleepy mistake would be crossing a line. And despite all of Eddie’s reassurance Steve is not quite sure if he ever managed to get back behind the one he crossed 14 years ago. 

Steve stays still on his back, his heart the only muscle moving, beating as if he was running a marathon and isn’t running right now a tempting idea. He wonders if thirty-two is too young for a heart attack. 

Next to him Eddie suddenly sighs and the theoretical heart attack threatens to become a real one. Steve holds his breath again, painfully aware of the loud slamming of tender heart against solid ribcage inside his chest. 

“You’re still thinking too loud,” Eddie says into the quiet darkness of the room. 

It would be so easy to mumble a sheepish, “sorry.” To dip into pity and self-deprecation until he drowns. To tell himself he is being too much even when quietly lying in bed. That after all the lessons on how to be silent and unnoticed until spoken to in his parents’ house Steve is still too much of a disturbance. He definitely has the urge to offer to sleep on the floor or crash in the lobby, beating himself up about keeping Eddie from sleeping with his mere presence instead of counting sheep. Steve could give in so quickly. 

Seeing his mom definitely warrants some self destructive behavior. Like Steve has earned the right to slip off the oiled up tightrope that is recovery and enjoy the free fall of his slack body. But Steve knows what comes afterwards, knows the pain of hitting the floor and the harsh impact of reality cracking his spine in half and knocking the air out of his lungs. 

So he tightens his core, tries his best to keep his balance and just stands still for a moment. He knows it’s okay to take a step back, maybe even two, getting better is never linear. But he won’t allow himself to fall off completely. He swallows the self-deprecation and tries to ignore the bitter aftertaste that lingers in his mouth as best as possible.  

“Old habits die hard,” he says instead of sorry, half attempting to joke, he is after all busy trying to kill one right now. He hopes it’s enough levity for Eddie to let it go, but then fabric rustles and out of the corner of his eyes he sees Eddie turning onto his side, facing Steve. 

“What’s up?” 

Steve has to keep himself from snorting bitterly and then from snorting a little bit hysterically. What is he meant to say? Hey Eddie, got any advice for when you are hopelessly in love with your ex? Or: Have you found a way to deal with kindness you don’t deserve? Or: So I’m in this pickle where every time I’m near you I die a little, but when I’m not near you it’s so much worse?   Or: I’m sorry I never said I love you back then when I could. Because now I would, I really would say it, but I don’t have any right to. Right? 

He settles for, “I toss and turn a lot when I sleep. Didn’t want to disturb you.” 

“Steve, I’ve slept with you before. I know what you’re like.” 

Steve is glad the dim light in the room hides the red glow of his cheeks at that wording. Eddie probably did that on purpose, a little teasing to ease the tension out of Steve. But despite Eddie’s reassurance Steve shakes his head. 

“It’s worse now. I get these crazy nightmares, like all the time,” he says and turns onto his side, mirroring Eddie. 

There is barely any space between them. It would be so easy to reach out or to lean in. Half an arm apart and still Steve feels a bit like there are oceans between them. Because he can’t just close the gap, can’t just touch. All he can do is bear the sympathy in Eddie’s eyes. 

“Star Court?” 

"Sometimes. Sometimes the earthquake.” 

Sometimes you. 

“Wanna talk about it?” 

“Not much to talk about,” Steve shrugs, nonchalant, as if he was talking about the weather and not trauma from two near death experiences. “It’s either flames and crashing buildings. Or the earth opening and crashing buildings.” 

It’s watching Robin die, unable to do anything, held back by his parents’ grip on his shoulder. It’s funny his parents had been there that night, but they hadn’t even bothered to look at Steve. He had been lying in an ambulance, his lungs filled with smoke and pain, his burned skin so thinly stretched over his ribs that Steve didn’t know if he should still fight or if just close his eyes and hope the pain alongside everything else would slowly fade. 

He still watches Robin die all the time. He knows why, knows why the pain in his shoulder is so familiar that he wakes up clutching it some nights. Knows why his parents are holding him back, knows what moment his brain likes to mash together. He knows why he watches himself fail Robin again and again. Not because he ever failed Robin. She likes to tell the story sometimes like Steve saved her life actually, even though Steve is sure they both saved each other. No, Steve knows he keeps failing to save her in his dreams because the person he actually failed is lying across from him, looking unimpressed. 

Eddie knows him so well, sometimes Steve is surprised Eddie hasn’t figured out yet that Steve is still in love with him. But then again, the one thing Steve has always been good at guarding has been his heart, every other emotion foolishly carried on his sleeve. 

“Robin dies,” Steve admits, omitting the failing her part. Isn’t that how the best lies work? If they’re constructed on the truth? “I dream about Star Court less though. The earthquake is more frequent now.” 

Once again a lie based on the truth. The earthquake did used to haunt him most nights in recent years. But ever since September Star Court has burned down so much the ashes and debris in Steve’s mind are almost as tall as the building itself. He doesn’t have to schedule an appointment with his therapist to figure out why. 

“Does she die in the earthquake ones too?” 

“No,” Steve shakes his head. “No one dies in those. Well, I do. I choke” 

It’s a small mercy that he doesn’t dream about Dustin dying or Mrs. Henderson. In the earthquake dreams Steve is always alone. Because he had been alone when it had happened. He had been on a morning run when the ground had opened. It’s fuzzy after that. Steve remembers screaming but no voice, remembers scorching pain, but not air leaving his lungs when he gasped. He remembers crackling static in his ears or maybe it had been electricity. It doesn’t matter, really, the damage had been done anyways. The constant reminder that he almost died again sitting in a raging red around his throat like a collar. Steve swallows heavily, it’s a reflex, just to make sure his throat still works. 

He can feel Eddie’s eyes rest on the scar right now. Most people like to gawk at it with disgust even though almost everybody in Hawkins carries a mark. But Eddie doesn’t gawk. He just looks, a certain sadness in his eyes. It’s not pity, it’s not sympathy, it’s its own little pain. 

Slowly, Eddie reaches out. He gives Steve more than enough time to stop him, to shake his head, to tell Eddie no. But he doesn’t. He only lets out a hitched breath when Eddie’s fingers touch the scarred tissue. 

The tips of Eddie’s finger gingerly trace the scar, as if his touch might magically heal it. Steve knows it’s silly, but it does feel a bit like it. 

“I tried covering it up, you know turtlenecks, scarfs, ties, high collars and all that,” Steve rasps. “But I couldn’t. Hated the sensation of anything around my neck, had a panic attack once I tried on a scarf.” 

Eddie’s eyes widen with alarm and he moves to pull his hand away, but Steve catches his wrist, holding him in place. It’s been so long since Steve has been touched like this. Like his scar is just another part of him that deserves tenderness and care. Not something to flinch away with disgust from. Not something that makes him even harder to love. 

Eddie’s words from the encounter with Steve’s mother ring in Steve’s ears again. Steve knows he is loved, but sometimes he can’t help but worry that it’s effort to love him. That it’s reluctant rather than enthusiastic love. False core beliefs that are hard to get rid of. But Eddie had made it sound as if loving Steve was like breathing. Instinctual, easy, necessary for survival. 

Steve knows that Eddie doesn’t love him like that. But when Eddie slowly extends his fingers again, gingerly following the scar around Steve’s throat,  Steve feels a little less broken than most people want to make him think he is. Whatever kind of love this is, it is freely given.

“Is there… is there something that helps? With the nightmares?” Eddie asks quietly, fingers still resting on Steve’s scar. 

Steve thinks about Robin’s arms tightly wound around his torso, keeping him from falling apart, thinks about Dustin’s weight next to him ever present throughout the night. Remembers the few good nights he had with Nancy when she had fallen asleep draped across his entire body. 

“Touch…being touched helps,” Steve wets his lips. Eddie is touching him right now. He could just leave it at that. Have them maybe brush hands as they fall asleep. But Steve still thinks too loudly and Eddie still manages to draw out every single of Steve’s secrets with the crook of his finger. 

“Or being held,” Steve adds, almost inaudible, his voice as small as his confidence. Part of him hopes that Eddie hasn’t heard the words. 

It’s masochistic, it’s selfish, it’s too much to ask for. Steve should have just shut his mouth, there is no way Eddie is going to—

Eddie slings one arm around Steve’s waist and pulls him closer before gently flipping him onto the other side so that Steve’s back is pressed into Eddie’s chest. 

That bit is like muscle memory. Their bodies slot together like lock and key, opening a door both of them had forgotten existed. Their legs tangle together and Eddie hooks his chin over Steve’s shoulder before he takes Steve’s hands, gently presses Steve’s palm against his chest and covers them with his own. Eddie has always held him like this. Steve wonders if he is able to feel the sob threatening to escape Steve’s chest. 

“Better?” Eddie whispers sleepily into the slope of Steve’s neck, his lips so close to Steve’s skin it feels almost like a kiss. Steve closes his eyes and lets himself indulge in the fantasy that it might have been one. He hums in confirmation, unable to speak. 

“Good. Sleep well swe— Steve,” Eddie mumbles sleepily and before Steve’s brain can even get hung up on anything he is gone. 

“Have you ever been in love?” 

“Senior year,” Steve answers according to dream spiel. 

“Nancy Wheeler,” Robin nods, thinking she understands. 

Steve looks up and at her. The script doesn’t give him a line, says there is a beat, silence, a wrong assumption to be made. He is meant to stay still. 

But he is so tired. Tired of this nightmare, tired of expectations, tired of the repetitive narrative dictated by his parents that he is trapped in. He looks at Robin and before she can ask if he is still in love with Nancy, Steve goes off script. 

“Eddie Munson,” Steve corrects her. “I’ve been…I am in love with Eddie Muson. Always have been, always will be.” 

He closes his eyes, doesn’t want to see what ways his subconscious is going to come up with to torture him now that he has created a crack in the bathroom wall. He takes a deep breath, expecting smoke to fill his lungs. But the burning stays out. There is no sound of splintering wood and shattering glass, no crackle of fire and roaring of flames. 

There is only quiet. And then Steve can hear them, birds chirping. There is soft wind rustling through leaves. A body of water is close, waves gently lapping along the shore. A calm inhale and exhale, the faintest humming of a tune. 

Instead of incandescent, smooth tiles the surface beneath Steve’s fingers is cool and rough. He is no longer sitting up, leaning against a cubicle, but lying down, head resting on denim and warm legs. 

He opens his eyes and is blinded by the bright blue open sky. The claustrophobia of the Star Court bathroom has turned into vast wonder. Steve takes another deep breath, inhaling pinewood and grass and leather. His eyes slowly accustom to the light and warm earth gently engulfs him when he realizes whose lap he is resting his head on. 

The sun above them gives Eddie a transcendent glow, forming a halo around his curls. There is something sacred about this moment and holy about Eddie’s smile. It’s a safe haven in the annihilated hellscape that is Steve’s nightmare. 

“You love me, big boy?” Eddie says and gently brushes a strand of hair out of Steve’s face. 

“Always,” Steve croaks followed by a quiet, “sorry.” 

Sorry I didn’t say it before. 

Sorry I let you get hurt. 

Sorry that I’m in love with you. 

Sorry that it’s me. 

Eddie lets his fingers caress through Steve’s hair, there is something sad about his smile. It’s his own unspoken apology. 

Sorry, that you see yourself like that. 

Sorry, that I didn’t say it back. 

Sorry, that I don’t love you like that. 

“Go back to sleep, baby,” Is what Eddie eventually says and presses a kiss to Steve’s forehead. “I’ll be there when you wake up.” 

Steve wants to protest, because Eddie won’t be there when he wakes up. At least not this Eddie. Not the Eddie he could say I love you to. Not the Eddie who knows. 

Or maybe he does. The dream fades, but the feeling of being held stays. Steve sleeps.

Waking up is gentle. Steve’s joints still ache and his back feels stiff, but the exhaustion that usually steeps into the marrow of his bones stays out. There is something warm and heavy draped over him, making it impossible to move but Steve doesn’t want to move. He keeps his eyes closed to stay in the cozy state between drifting in and out of sleep a little longer. He should ask the hotel where they got their weighted blankets, he thinks, sleepily, before the memory of last night slowly trickles into his consciousness. 

With a little jolt that draws a groan from the blanket Steve realizes that the warm, heavy thing is not a blanket at all, but Eddie instead. Eddie, who is sprawled on top of him, face still buried in Steve’s neck, his leg in a precarious position right between Steve’s thighs. 

Steve knows he should open his eyes and slip out of the bed and save both of them some embarrassment before Eddie wakes up. But just for this short moment, he allows himself to indulge. To enjoy Eddie’s weight on top of him, the warmth of their bodies pressed together, this feeling of belonging simmering in the pit of his stomach that Steve hasn’t had in years. Eddie’s fingertips are gently brushing over Steve’s wrist, a sign that he’ll probably wake up soon. 

Steve tries not to sigh as he opens his eyes to get out of the bed. He expects Eddie to still be asleep, but when Steve slowly blinks the sleep out of his eyes, Eddie is already awake. His head is resting on Steve’s chest, brown eyes open and focus on the way his fingers are gently playing with Steve’s hand. 

Eddie shifts slightly, tilts his head so that only his chin is resting on Steve’s chest and gives Steve the happiest little smile. 

“Morning,” Eddie rasps, his other hand slowly making it into Steve’s hair. He runs his fingers gently through it and for a second Steve wonders if he is still asleep, if this is still a dream. But they are unmistakably in the tiny hotel room and not on Skull Rock anymore. This isn’t just wishful thinking. This is real. 

“Morning,” Steve whispers back, worried the tiniest movement or slightest noise might disturb the peace they find themselves in. 

Eddie just keeps smiling at him, eyes still crinkled from sleep and his own hair a mess. But he keeps smiling. Eddie is always fast to smile or grin, laugh lines sprinkled over his face in abundance like freckles over Steve’s skin. But there is something special in that tired, morning smile, something Steve hasn’t seen in years. Something that makes him feel a little unhinged. 

Steve wants to flip them over, straddle Eddie’s lap and kiss that unfairly pretty smile off his lips until they are both out of breath. Grind his hips a little and take off his shirt before guiding Eddie’s hands onto his hips. Eddie can keep the yellow sweater on, it looks too good on him. As long as Steve can graze his teeth over Eddie’s collarbones while Eddie’s fingers dig into his waist, wordlessly telling Steve how to move and— nope, Steve needs to stop this train of thought immediately, especially with Eddie’s thigh still pressed between Steve’s legs. 

But it’s hard not to when Eddie looks at Steve like that, like he wants to carve Steve’s sleepy expression into his memory, eyes roaming slowly over Steve’s face and coming to a hold at Steve’s lips. 

For a second everything is static and cotton balls, it’s the pause of held breaths, it’s the skipping of beats, the vacuum seal stretching around this moment of lips inches away from lips. It’s the quiet before the storm. 

“I should go get back to my room,” Steve says and the rain never comes. 

The smile drops off Eddie’s face. 

“Oh, yeah, ‘course man,” he says and rolls off Steve. “Better get dressed before the gremlins come alive.” 

Eddie swings his legs over the edge of the bed and just sits with his back to Steve, not looking at him. His fingers dig into the sheets and it feels like he wants to say something, but he just stays quiet, refuses to turn around. He doesn’t even look when Steve gets up. Just keeps sitting, staring into the blinding white hills outside his window. 

“I’ll see you at breakfast?” Steve asks as he reaches the door. 

“Sure,” comes the flat answer. Eddie still won’t look at him. 

Steve isn’t exactly sure what he did to get Eddie moody like that, but he knows when to give Eddie his space. It’s probably just Eddie not being a morning person, Steve tries to tell himself. So he leaves Eddie’s room and makes his way to the reception. It feels weird leaving Eddie like this, almost like a one night stand sneaking away early in the morning.   

Steve pushes the thought aside as he reaches the reception. He asks for a second key, gets back to his room, showers and gets dressed. He hurries to pack his last things and just about makes it down to breakfast. Eddie only gives him a polite nod when Steve sits down next to the kids. 

After breakfast they send the kids back to their rooms for packing, reminding them that the bus is going to pick them up in two hours. There is lots of moaning and muttering, plans quietly hatched about how to stay longer, but eventually the kids scram to their rooms. 

Steve hopes to maybe grab Eddie again to see if his mood has gotten better, but Eddie too has disappeared to his own room. He keeps out of Steve’s sight until the bus arrives. He is uncharacteristically quiet as gets the kids to pool into the bus and sit down. 

“Hey, you okay?” Steve asks when he sinks into his seat next to Eddie again. 

“Peachy, Stevie, just peachy,” Eddie says and Steve tries not to flinch at the sarcasm in his voice. He is glad the kids are all loudly talking over each other to hear his and Eddie’s conversation. 

“Listen, if I have done anything, crossed a line or something,” Steve says quietly, “I’m s—

“What, no, Steve,” Eddie cuts him off, his face and voice suddenly softened. “This…this isn’t your fault. I’m not mad at you, okay. More mad at myself.” 

“Can…can I help with that?” 

Eddie lets out a hollow, little laugh. 

“Afraid not, big boy,” he says. “That’s all on me.” 

Whatever is gnawing on him, he isn’t going to let Steve in on it and as much as it bugs Steve, he knows when not to push. 

They don’t talk much for the rest of the ride home. Steve wonders how you can miss a person sitting right next to you. 

_____

1985

The morning after prom is lazy and slow. It’s several only five more minutes. It’s arms around torsos and legs entangled with legs. It’s soft kisses interrupted by quiet yawns. It’s sappy smiles, noses brushing, whispered words and hushed giggles and happiness. Steve is happy. 

Happy and in love and for once those two things don’t have to be mutually exclusive. For once Steve’s love is wanted. For once it is returned. For once he gets called sweetheart and baby instead of bullshit . 

Eddie seems happy too, looking at Steve with the kind of gigantic grin that lights up his entire face, competing with the sunlight falling through the gaps in the blinds covering the windows to Eddie’s small room. 

Gingerly, Steve takes Eddie’s face into his hands and lets a finger run over the soft curve of his jaw. There is the faintest hint of stubble and Steve loves the feeling of it. He lets both his finger and his eye wander, brushes over the dimple of Eddie’s infatuated smile, follows the faint freckles sprinkled over the bridge of Eddie’s nose, traces the shadow under Eddie’s eye and gets caught on the grains of sleep clinging to Eddie’s long lashes. 

“What’s that look for?” 

“Nothing,” Steve whispers and lets his finger glide over Eddie’s lips. “I’m just…happy.” 

It feels almost silly to say it. But Eddie just presses a kiss to Steve’s fingertip and his face turns all wrinkles and laugh lines with a sweet smile that makes Steve feel like sinking into saccharine syrup. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

“Me too,” Eddie says and takes Steve’s hand to bring the rest up to his lips. He kisses every single finger, rubs his thumb over the silver ring Steve still has on before kissing that too. He turns Steve’s hand, presses his lips both against palm and the back before he wanders down to Steve’s wrist and just rests his lips above Steve’s pulse point. 

Steve’s heart beats calmly, not because it has grown bored of Eddie’s affection or because being liked by Eddie has become any less thrilling; but simply because it knows that it is safe here, Steve knows he is safe here. In the arms of the boy that he loves, in a twin bed that is too small for them, an island in a messy room in a shitty trailer illuminated by the golden rays of dawn. 

“As much as I’d love to keep this going forever,” Eddie says against Steve’s warm skin, eventually, “we should get up.” 

He does actually attempt to sit up, but Steve quickly rolls himself on top of Eddie, keeping him pinned to the mattress. He isn’t ready to leave the safety within the trailer walls just yet. Eddie cocks an eyebrow expectantly at Steve. 

“Nope, no leaving the bed,” Steve says and peppers kisses along Eddie’s shoulder. 

Eddie lets Steve indulge for a second before he wraps his arms around Steve’s torso and flips them around with ease. He towers above Steve and for a second Steve thinks he has won, that Eddie will bend down and kiss him, let his hands wander, grind his hips and continue a slow, sleepy version of last night's activities. And Eddie does bend down to kiss him, but instead of taking things further he stops and sits up, legs bracketing Steve’s waist.

“Sorry, sweetheart, got band practice.”

“Skip it?” Steve pouts and splays his hands over Eddie’s thighs, as an attempt of persuasion. Even bites his lips and bats his lashes, but Eddie seems unimpressed by his act. 

“You know, I actually would for you. Don’t let that go to your head, Harrington,” Eddie says, his fingers tracing over the bites he left on Steve’s chest the night before. 

“I’d much rather give you head,” Steve mutters under his breath, his hands slowly, subtly moving further up Eddie’s thighs. 

Eddie suddenly grips his chin and tilts it up, so that Steve is forced to directly look at him. Eddie’s fingers dig into Steve’s jaw and Steve barely manages to contain a whimper when Eddie leans in close and says, “Brat.” 

He gives Steve a quick kiss, making sure to nip on Steve’s bottom lip before he continues. 

“But we have a gig next Thursday at The Hideout, so no can do I’m afraid,” Eddie continues, actually swings his leg over Steve’s torso and gets up. 

Steve stays propped up on his elbows in bed and watches Eddie putter through his room, picking up his jeans from the floor and hopping on one leg trying to get into them. Steve can’t help but snicker looking at Eddie struggling to get into his skinny jeans. Eddie looks back at Steve on the bed, fairly unamused. 

“Enjoying the view?”

“Very,” Steve gives Eddie a sly smile and stretches with a yawn, showing off his body. “I enjoyed it more before you put those jeans on though.” 

Eddie just rolls his eyes, resisting Steve’s last attempt to lure Eddie back into bed.

“You’re gonna get up?” 

With a sigh, Steve rolls out of bed too. He grabs his own discarded polo shirt that he left a few days ago from a chair, but instead of putting it on himself he steps towards Eddie. Without hesitation Eddie lifts his arms for Steve to pull the shirt over Eddie’s head. 

They have made a habit out of dressing each other in the mornings recently. If Steve is honest he almost likes it better than when they undress each other. When they share each other’s space early in the morning, unnecessary excuses to touch each other, to let hands wander in an act of non-sexual intimacy, just to cling to each other a little longer. 

Eddie looks down at the blue and white polo covering his chest and shakes his head with fond exasperation. Steve knows he is gonna change out of it before he leaves the trailer, but until then Eddie is going to indulge Steve a little. Once again Steve thinks about Eddie in his letterman jacket and mentally curses the summer heat. He would love to see his name sprawled all over Eddie’s back. Let all of Hawkins know that Eddie belongs to him. Which of course, isn’t an option and maybe it’s a little possessive, but Steve is so sick of having to pretend like they don’t know each other. 

He gets into his slacks by himself, regretting not having brought a change of clothes for after prom. He lets Eddie zip up his fly and tie his belt, before Eddie grabs one of his own shirts and puts it on Steve, his hands slowly gliding down Steve’s waist. He keeps them there when Steve’s head comes back out from the fabric and steals a quick kiss. 

When Eddie lets go to move to the kitchen, it’s Steve’s turn to see what shirt Eddie put him in, expecting it to feature one of the metal bands Steve has slowly started to become more and more familiar with. 

But when Steve looks down all he sees is the words Corroded Coffin stitched messily into the fabric of the shirt. He lets out a little gasp. This is basically Eddie’s version of a letterman. It’s Eddie’s way of letting everyone know that Steve is his. Or at least to everyone who knows that Corroded Coffin is Eddie’s band, which according to Eddie are four drunks and the barkeeper of The Hideout. 

Still, those people would know that Steve belongs to Eddie and it sends a little shiver down Steve’s spine. It’s not like they can walk down the street holding hands, but this is a subtle way to show that they are not just ships passing in the night. That they are more to each other. 

“Hey, can I come?” Steve asks, thinking about Eddie’s upcoming gig. 

“Why, are you close, sweetheart?” 

“To the gig, asshole,” Steve laughs and gently swats Eddie on the arm. He is about to add half jokingly that he wouldn’t mind coming the other way too, but the way Eddie stops, hand resting on the door handle of his room, biting his lip hesitantly, makes Steve stay quiet. 

“Do you actually want to?” Eddie asks sheepishly, eyes focused on his messy bedroom floor. 

It’s like a switch has been flicked. Eddie is usually the confident between the two of them, cocksure grin on his face, smug tone in his voice, always seeming to know what he does, never unsure. But that’s because usually the thing between them is about sex. And it’s not like Steve is a blushing, stuttering virgin, he has had his fair share of sex and knows what he is doing too. Sex with Eddie had been something new though, something unexplored and Steve had been happy about Eddie taking the reins, guiding Steve’s hands, his legs, his body, his mind, telling Steve exactly what to do. 

But this isn’t about sex. Steve didn’t ask about coming to the gig because he thinks it will lead to a quick fuck in the grimey bathrooms of The Hideout. He asked because he likes Eddie. And that is the part that is new to Eddie. The feelings involved. It makes sense that Eddie doesn’t quite believe Steve, that he is worried or even scared. And it’s not like Steve is the expert here, used to being left bled dry at the end of relationships. But at least he knows what it is like to have feelings involved. 

He is still scared shitless, mentally counting down the days until one of them gets hurt. But the way Eddie is looking at him, unsure and nervous, is already tearing Steve apart a little. Because Eddie deserves to be loved, deserves someone who is excited to take him out, deserves someone who wants to see him play. Steve decides can be brave for both of them. 

“Yeah, of course, Eddie,” Steve says softly and puts his hand on Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie still doesn’t look fully convinced.  

“We would have to dress you up, no polos or Levis allowed,” he says and moves into the kitchen. Steve follows him and watches him put on some toast and get a pan and some eggs out. 

“I’ll cope,” Steve says dryly, pointing his hands at the Corroded Coffin shirt he is wearing. The prospect of wearing more of Eddie’s clothes has him dizzy. Sure, if he put on even more clothes and the right accessories he might look a bit silly, easily sniffed out as a fake by any real metal fan. But once again, he’ll look like Eddie’s. 

Eddie is still chewing on his lip while turning on the stove and cracking the eggs into the pan, Steve is surprised he hasn’t drawn blood yet. While Eddie fries their eggs Steve gets working on the coffee maker. 

“I mean it,” Steve says and puts one mug down on the counter next to Eddie. He leans back against the fridge and watches Eddie cook. “I really want to see you play.” 

Eddie doesn’t look back at Steve, just takes a sip of his coffee and flips the eggs, eyes focused on the stove the entire time. Steve would be a little bit hurt, if he didn’t know how difficult this is for Eddie. 

“We would have to get you a fake ID.”

“Already got one.” 

“You can’t wear earplugs, that’s not very metal.” 

“That’s fine.” 

“If the band sees you they might make fun of you.” 

“Nothing I can’t handle.” 

“You really sure you want to come?”

“Oh my god, yes, Eddie! Yes!” Steve almost yells. “Believe it or not I want to see my very hot and talented boyfriend play.”

Silence falls over them. The only noise is the sizzling of oil and eggs in the frying pan. Eddie stares at him, spatula in his hand and Steve suddenly can’t breathe.

Maybe he can’t be brave enough for both of them. Not when his own insecurities loom over him like a Janus face, whispering into one ear how he is too much and into the other how he is not enough. Doesn’t matter if both lie or both tell the truth, fact is Steve screwed up. Put his foot in his mouth when he let the word boyfriend escape his lips. Too soon, too fast, too intense. Because Steve knows how to work only in two ways: depressingly casual or head over heels, mentally writing wedding vows and picking out wallpaper swatches for nurseries. And this thing with Eddie kind of stopped being casual the moment his lips connected with Steve’s. 

Steve halfway expects Eddie to bolt, god knows Steve can feel the urge in his own legs. But Eddie just stands still and stares, before the shocked expression his face slowly turns into the happiness Steve had felt earlier.

“Boyfriend, huh?” Eddie finally says a little in awe and oxygen returns to the kitchen. 

Steve feels like a thirteen year old, passing a note in class with sweaty hands to his crush that says Do you like me? Yes [], No [], Maybe []. Only that he does already know what box Eddie would tick. Eddie likes him. 

“Boyfriend,” Steve says, trying to be brave again. “Unless you mind?” 

Eddie puts the spatula down and steps closer, shaking his head. He takes Steve’s hand and brushes his lips over Steve’s knuckles. Eddie kisses Steve’s hand all the time, it’s always sweet and intimate in a way that makes Steve dissolve like sugar on a tea spoon dipped into hot tea. 

“Boyfriend,” he repeats softly, more to himself than to Steve, like he can’t quite believe it. Steve knows exactly how Eddie feels. 

With his other hand, Steve gingerly cradles Eddie’s jaw and makes him look up. There is so much blinding affection in Eddie’s eyes Steve feels like he is directly looking into the sun. 

“Boyfriend,” Steve whispers and leans in to kiss Eddie. 

It’s slow and tender, tastes like coffee and morning breath, and carries a promise they both intend to keep. No matter how much it scares them. Before the kiss can grow more heated there is a loud splashing noise, followed by a hiss and a burned smell. 

“Fuck, the eggs!” Eddie curses as they part and turns around, attempting to save their scorched food. 

In the end breakfast ends up being buttered toast and lukewarm coffee, but neither of them minds. They eat it leaning against the kitchen counter, arms and hips brushing against each other, exchanging secret smiles and stolen kisses between bites and sips. 

“I really need to get going,” Eddie says eventually between kisses when they have finished their food. “Jeff is going to kill me if I’m late again.” 

Steve pouts again, but this time makes no attempt to stop Eddie from slipping away. He does give Eddie a puzzled look though when Eddie shrugs his battle vest on top of Steve’s polo that he is still wearing. 

“You’re not gonna change?” 

“Nope,” Eddie pops the p and grabs his keys and wallet. “Gonna tell the band I had to wrestle a prep for it and won. I’ll be the unsung hero of the geeks and freaks.” 

“We’re calling it wrestling now?” 

“Are you complaining that I’m wearing your clothes?” Eddie asks, grinning like a cat that got the canary and cream. 

Steve too actually feels like he got the canary. He didn’t think Eddie would stay in his shirt. He does look a bit dorky in it, the polo clashing with the rest of his aesthetic. But Steve is kind of obsessed with it. It’s no letterman jacket, but it’s close. And even though he constantly teases Steve about his clothes, Eddie is willing to wear it out in public. Because it’s Steve’s. 

“I’d only ever complain about you wearing clothes in general , never about you wearing my clothes.” 

Eddie looks beautiful when his face goes all pink and the grumpy expression that comes with it is endearing.  

“God, the Harrington charm is really what they fucking said it would be,” Eddie mutters and Steve has to chuckle. He loves it when Eddie pretends to be annoyed about being no better than all the girls fawning over Steve at school. At least according to Eddie.

Sure, Steve is popular and yes, he has dated around. But he’s never actually shared clothes with any girl he had taken out. And even if he had, he doubts it would make the ground crumble apart beneath his feet like it does seeing Eddie in his shirt. The closest he had come was when he had offered his jacket to Nancy once, worried she might get cold. But Nancy had declined and got her own jacket out of her bag, as always independent and prepared. Which reminds Steve. 

“Hey, once you’re done with band practice, come meet me at Skull Rock,” he says while Eddie slips into his shoes. 

“Why?” 

“I remember promising you a date last night.” 

“Steve, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” Steve interrupts him. “I want to come to your gig. I want to take you on a date. I want you and anything you are willing to give.” 

Instead of a direct response, Eddie gets up and kisses Steve. It’s just a short peck, but it’s enough to make Steve’s brain go a little fuzzy. 

“Probably more than is wise,” Eddie whispers against Steve’s lips before he pulls away. “I’ll see you tonight.” 

“It’s a date,” Steve grins and Eddie rolls his eyes. 

“Sure, it’s a date, you dork.” 

Steve watches Eddie walk to his van and drive away before he gathers the last bits of his stuff and leaves the trailer. He locks the door and hides the key under one of the dried out potted plants outside the trailer before he makes his own way to his car. He could have probably stayed in the trailer longer, just lounged around in Eddie’s room until Eddie had come back. It’s how he spent most of the band practices Eddie had during spring break, not bothering with going back to his empty house. 

Part of him wishes he had actually stayed at the trailer when he pulls into his driveway. Especially when he sees Tommy’s car and Tommy leaning against his hood, arms crossed. Steve doesn’t have the energy for this, doesn’t want to spoil the wonderful morning he had with the bitterness that is Tommy. He considers turning around, but Tommy has already spotted him. With a sigh, Steve turns off the ignition. 

“What do you want, Tommy,” Steve says, not bothering to hide his animosity, as he gets out of his car and walks towards his door. 

“The fuck is up with you,” Tommy snaps back. “You disappeared without a word last night, you didn’t even finish your dance.” 

Steve is surprised Tommy was sober enough to notice. 

“Yeah, I wonder why I left in the middle of prom, Tommy,” he deadpans and unlocks his front door. For a brief second he consideres slamming the door into Tommy’s face, but then Tommy has already slipped through it. 

“You left alone, Steve. Billy saw you!” 

Of course, Billy came and ran to Tommy. Apparently, he did not tell Tommy about the college girl cover story, Steve had tried to make Billy believe. Steve could easily lie again, he knows Tommy would be satisfied with the story. 

But Steve doesn’t want to. There used to be so many things he thought he wanted. To be popular, to be worshiped and adored, to be mean, to be prom king. It all seems so trivial and shallow now. He knows exactly what he wants right now, who he wants. 

Deep down, Steve has always despised Tommy a little. Deep down, Steve knew Tommy was an awful person, knew that he didn’t like being friends with Tommy. It’s not a new realization. Steve had come to it the first time when he had dated Nancy. But when they had broken up, Steve had come crawling back, like an addict craving another high. He hated the spinning head and dry mouth he woke up with after every trip, but it was still better than the wallowing pain Nancy had left him in. 

Only that now, Steve is no longer in pain. No longer needs to look away when Tommy gets blood on his shirt and tears on his knuckles. All the times, Steve had kept quiet, deep down inside hating himself for just standing there are accumulating to hot bubbling anger, just waiting to erupt. 

“Oh my god, what do you fucking care what I did last night? I’m not dead in a ditch so what does it matter?” 

“Because I am your friend,” Tommy says and Steve can’t help but snort. Tommy doesn’t even look hurt, just continues with his own questions.  

“So where did you go? And what the hell are you wearing?” 

For a second, Steve forgot that he was wearing Eddie’s shirt. Normally, that would send him in a slight panic about getting found out. But right now, Steve just can’t bring himself to care. He knows exactly what Tommy wants. A step by step recount of whatever hot, easy girl Tommy thinks Steve fucked last night. To live vicariously through King Steve. Steve is surprised Tommy has never asked if he can watch or something equally invasive of Steve’s privacy. But as far as Tommy is concerned, Steve doesn’t have privacy. As far as Tommy is concerned, he owns Steve, helped him become what he is now. Tommy’s own little plaything. 

Steve honestly considers to just shout the truth at Tommy. Tell him that he went to Eddie Munson’s last night, that Eddie fucked him so good Steve almost passed out, that he has the marks to prove it too, that he is fucking in love with Eddie. God, Steve truly wants to rub that in Tommy’s stunned face. But he can’t do that to Eddie. This town already wraps his name in too much bile when it speaks of him, Steve doesn’t need to add fuel to that fire. 

“Just fuck off, Tommy,” Steve says, and rubs a hand over his face, tired all of a sudden. “I mean it. Fuck off! Leave! Fucking leave me alone and don’t talk to me.” 

“What?” 

“I said, fuck off!” Steve snaps. “We’re done.” 

Steve’s viciousness makes Tommy stumble a couple of steps back. He looks at Steve startled until it sinks in that Steve honestly means it and Tommy’s face becomes vile. 

“You’ll regret this,” he spits, but he does at least leave. The door falls shut and Steve is alone. 

For the first time in his life, Steve enjoys the emptiness of his house. Exhausted, he lies down on the cool tiles and closes his eyes for a second. That took a lot. 

He expects panic to set in eventually, waits for the urge to call Tommy and apologize, beg even if he has to. But it never comes. If anything, Steve feels relief. 

Tommy is like a too tightly wound metal tape wrapped around Steve’s chest that Steve has been told he would fall apart without. But now that it is cut off, he is still standing, able to breathe for the first time in his life. 

Tommy left, and for the first time that is a good thing. Steve laughs a little manically and it echoes through the big empty house. Maybe he is losing his mind. Doesn't matter much, not when it feels this good. 

He eventually gets up and jumps under the shower, wanting to rinse the tarnished feeling of his encounter with Tommy off. He still slips back into the Corroded Coffin shirt when he leaves the shower. 

He checks his watch, it’s afternoon already. He doesn’t have that much time left to plan his date with Eddie. He grabs his backpack and hurries through the house, collecting everything he needs. 

When he realizes that he doesn’t have nearly enough candles for what he has planned, Steve drives down to Melvald’s. The store is surprisingly empty for Saturday afternoon. Steve wanders through the aisles. Next to the three dozen candles and lanterns he picks up, he also finds a perfect picnic blanket and some tupperware he adds to his cart. 

“You’re still gonna come shop here right? When the mall opens?” The store owner asks when Steve comes up to the register to pay. He looks so hopeful, Steve can just nod and say yes. 

The new mall is all the town talks about at the moment, with posters plastered over half Hawkins announcing the grand opening in two weeks time. The day right after Steve’s graduation. He used to be excited about the mall, like almost every teenager in Hawkins. Finally, a cool new place to hang out. 

But ever since his parents heavily invested in the Star Court project, Steve has loathed any mentions of the mall. The few times they have bothered to talk to him the past months, it has always been about the mall. The small store on Mainstreet might not always have the best products, but Steve knows he is going to do everything to avoid setting foot into the mall. It can burn down into the ground for all he cares.

“See, I told you, personal customer service should never be underestimated. Not that cold, quick, modern crap the mall is going to do,” the store owner turns to one of the cashiers. 

Awkwardly, Steve realizes that it’s Jonathan Byers’ mom. At least she doesn’t seem to recognize him. Just hands him his receipt and change with the typical retail worker smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. Quickly, Steve leaves the store and goes back to his car. 

The sun is just beginning to set when Steve reaches Skull Rock. He quickly gets to work, not wanting to set everything up in the dark. He puts the cozy blanket he found in the pool house on the top of Skull Rock together with the snacks he brought and his not very romantic albeit practical flask filled with wine. He lights up the handful of candles in little lanterns and places them around the blanket. It’s no dinner in a Michelin star restaurant, but it does look really nice, and Steve can’t wait to show Eddie. 

He slides down the rock and grabs his other bag. It’s filled with the rest of the candles that Steve places meticulously on the ground and on small ledges in the rock. Despite the vanishing sun, the area around Skull Rock slowly starts to light up with every candle Steve puts down. He is so busy making sure that all of them are secure enough to not fall over, that he almost doesn’t hear Eddie approach.  

“Woah, didn’t know we were going to commit arson,” Eddie announces himself, stepping into the small clearing Skull Rock is on. Steve turns around with a smile. Eddie is still wearing Steve’s stupid polo and it makes Steve’s heart somersault. 

“Virgin sacrifice actually.”

“Right,” Eddie nods seriously, “because taking it up the ass doesn’t count, correct?”

“You’ve paid attention to the good Christian girls, huh?”

“Sure did,” Eddie grins before leaning in close and asking with a low voice, “And are you a good Christian girl, Steve?”

“Jesus Christ,” Steve’s breath hitches and he isn’t quite sure if embarrassment or faint arousal is heating his cheeks. “You know I’m actually trying to be romantic here.”

“Don’t take the lord’s name in vain, Stevie, ” Eddie chides before his smirk turns into a sheepish smile and he nervously rubs the back of his neck. “But…eh it…it is. Romantic.”

Eddie is fidgeting with his hair again, anxiously rocking back and forth on his heels and Steve is once again reminded that this is new for Eddie. The idea that someone might care, that someone might want more, that someone would do this. But Steve wants, god does he want. 

He can see the anxiety in Eddie’s eyes, the worry that this might just be a very, very, very long con. And that the second he steps closer, crosses the last threshold between stranger who just fuck and people who matter to each other, a gallon of pigs blood will descent on him alongside the taunting laughter of Hawkins High’s popular elite. 

Tommy had hinted a couple of times how funny it would be for Steve to take someone out as a joke. But as desperate as Steve had been for love and approval and his title, it had been a line he had never crossed. The cruel delight in Tommy’s eyes when had suggested it should have been enough warning for Steve to run. But he had stayed, laughed about jokes that weren’t funny, watched people get shoved into lockers, and heard awful names and clenched fists being thrown around. All because he thought that the fake adoration of his fellow students and Tommy’s obsession was the closest he could get to love.

Steve knows better now. Knows that he can have better, real, actual love. He just isn’t quite sure if he deserves it. It’s the reason he is scared now too. He might have been on dates, tried the whole romantic shtick. But it never truly mattered until now. Steve feels almost as out of his depth as Eddie looks. 

His dark, brown eyes are skittering all over the scene in front of him, trying to figure out if a punchline or an actual punch is going to come. Steve hates how on alert Eddie is, hates all the people who lead to this, all the people who denied Eddie the love he deserves. And he hates himself a little too, for having been the kind of person who Eddie still thinks might do this as a joke. Steve knows he needs to do something to ease Eddie’s anxiety.  

“What, a couple of candles is all it takes and a cat got your tongue, Munson,” he smirks, giving Eddie an opening to quip back, to slip into the comfortable levity of their back and forth. Eddie blinks, before he catches up and takes the bait. 

“Why, you’re gonna meow for me, Harrington?” He grins back and Steve can see the tension ease out of Eddie’s shoulders. 

This might be romantic and feel like high stakes because they are both allowing themselves to be vulnerable even though that hasn’t worked out well for them in the past. But underneath all the dancing flames and melting wax they are still Eddie and Steve. Two slightly broken, barely adult people, who make stupid jokes about sex, are nerdy or secretly dorky, and who don’t look like they should make sense from the outside. Preppy rich jock and rebellious metal loving nerd who lives in a trailer park. 

But if anyone bothered to look closer, beyond the expectations and stereotypes and prejudices, they would see that Eddie and Steve make perfect sense. Steve used to despise that word, perfect. Associated it with cold, hard, flawless titanium skin and hollow bones. But now perfect is what they are. It’s a messy chaos of frightening feelings and balsamiferous belonging, with their guards still half up, half their souls exposed to each other. 

They fit perfectly together, like his hand in Eddie’s, palms pressed against each other, love lines aligned and fingers intertwined. Steve reaches for Eddie and Eddie squeezes Steve’s hand lightly in return. Perfect match. 

“Not before the third date,” Steve winks and then pulls Eddie towards the rock. “C’mon, I’ll give you the tour.” 

Just like the last time he helps Eddie climb up, careful not to push over any candles. When they reach the top Eddie lets out a low whistle. 

“I get why all the girls at school fawn over the Harrington special.” 

“This isn’t the Harrington special,” Steve frowns and pulls Eddie down next to him on the picnic blanket. “I told you I’ve never brought anyone here by night before.” 

He hadn’t even brought that many girls here during the day, made out with maybe two or three here when it had been too crowded at Lover’s Lake during the summer. 

“Sure, not here. But you’re telling me you’ve never lit up half a living room full of candles for a date?” Eddie looks smug, like he figured Steve all out, like he refuses to believe that he is special. And that just won’t do. 

“Eddie, most of the dates I went on were watching a movie neither of us would remember before having the most boring dinner that eventually leads to making out in my car. Or if we magically managed to bond about how much we love the taste of bland chicken breast and steamed broccoli driving to her place and some very unspectacular sex. That’s the Harrington special.” 

The most mediocre date you could imagine. But somehow it is what the girls of Hawkins High expected. He had tried once to be more romantic with Cathy Burner. Had cooked her dinner, lit up a candle for dinner and put one of his parents' records on. Cathy had basically run out of his house. Romance was not a quality the King of Hawkins was meant to have. 

Even with Nancy Steve hadn’t really allowed himself to show his romantic side. He had never subjected her to the Harrington special, but he had never really planned any dates for them either. They had hung out at parties, kissed at some, and then just met up at Nancy’s under the guise of studying. Well, Nancy had actually at some point studied. The closest to lighting up a whole forest with candles for her that Steve had gotten was giving her flowers for Valentines. But their relationship had grown stale at that point anyways. 

“Then why…?” Eddie frowns, like he really is not understanding why Steve would do this for him. 

Steve is going to be brave for them both. 

“Because I wanted your first date to be special,” Steve says earnestly. “Because I like you and I get that it’s hard to believe. I’m still wrapping my head around you liking me. But I do, Eddie. I like you so much it drives me a little up the wall sometimes. Like I think about you constantly and I hate it when we can’t hang out, my day is absolutely awful when I don’t get to see you. And I know I’m too much and too needy most of the time. But I wanted this to be special because you deserve something special! And I’m sorry if this is too much we can—.”

“Hey, no, no it’s not too much,” Eddie interrupts him and takes Steve’s hands in his own. “It’s not too much Steve. It’s a lot, but the good kind.” 

He smiles gently before lifting Steve’s hands and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. 

Maybe, they can be brave together. 

“And I don’t know why you think that you’re too much or too needy but you’re not, okay, sweetheart? You’re never too much,” Eddie’s eyes are watery and Steve’s own vision begins to blur slightly too, announcing tears he knows he doesn’t have to hold back but still tries to. 

“You know I would have been completely content with take out and a movie on your couch. But then you came just out with this,” Eddie spreads his arms and marvels at all the candles, his voice shaky. “No one has ever done something like this for me!”

“It’s why I wanted to do it,” Steve croaks and feels the first quiet tear running down his cheek. He would berate himself for crying like he always does on the very few occasions he can’t hold the tears back. But Eddie is crying now too, so it feels like Steve is allowed too. 

“Thank you,” Eddie half chuckles, half sniffs, and gently wipes Steve’s tears away with his thumb. His hands stay on Steve’s cheeks, holding his face gently. 

“We’re supposed to have a good time,” Steve laughs through his own tears, “not cry like little girls.” 

“Nothing wrong with letting it all out now and then,” Eddie says and gently pulls Steve into a kiss. Both their faces are wet and Steve can taste the salt on Eddie’s lips from their tears mingling with the sweetness of the kiss. Eddie still doesn’t let go of Steve’s face when they part, simply leans his forehead against Steve’s and inhales the air Steve is exhaling. 

“So now that we have crossed crying off the list, what’s next on the date agenda?” Eddie jokes as their noses brush gently against each other. Steve loves how close they are. He almost regrets turning around to grab the flask and snacks he carried up Skull Rock.

“Wine and dine?” 

They pass the flask back and forth and feed each other grapes and mini quiches that Steve had snagged from his parents' pantry. It’s still not the home cooked dinner he had promised Eddie, but there is always their second date. Once they are done with their food they lie down on the blanket, Steve snuggled against Eddie’s chest and gaze into the stars. 

“You know, you have a couple of freckles that look just like the big dipper,” Eddie whispers and points at the constellations above them. 

“Sap,” Steve says back and tilts his head up to steal another kiss from Eddie. 

“Says the guy who set up half the candles in all of Hawkins for me.” 

Steve doesn’t argue, just hums content and snuggles further into Eddie’s chest. He knows he is sappy, but Eddie doesn’t seem to mind. Actually seems to like the soft side of Steve, maybe even enjoys the hopeless romantic that Steve tries to suffocate but fails to. Eddie just tightens his arm around Steve and presses his lips to the top of Steve’s head. The worry Eddie had come to Skull Rock with seems to have ebbed completely. 

It still makes Steve’s heart ache a bit, to think that until the very last second Eddie hadn’t been sure if Steve had really meant it. But then what else is expected from a school yard bully. Steve never wants to hurt Eddie, hopes he never does, but it painstakingly occurs to him that he might already have. 

Steve sobers from the giddy content he had felt seconds ago. He knows it’s going to ruin the mood, but he has to ask. 

“Hey, Eddie?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Was I…did I ever,” Steve takes a deep breath, focuses on Eddie’s arm around him. “Before all of this, did I ever bully you or something?”  

Beneath him Steve can feel Eddie still for a second, taken by surprise by the question. Then he continues to gently let his thumb rub circles into Steve’s shoulder. 

“No, the handful of times we met you were…kind,” Eddie says softly and Steve frowns. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, you are delightfully bitchy at times and I love…that about you. But overall, you’ve always been kind. To me at least.” 

Kind is not really a word Steve would describe himself with. He would like to be able to do it, but he doesn’t think he’s earned it. He can’t even remember the few times he had run into Eddie. He does remember the time he called Jonathan Byers a queer though, remembers throwing food at a mathlete in the cafeteria, remembers the taste of the rumor he spread about Celine Myers giving blow jobs behind the gym. He remembers a lot of reasons why he is not kind, and the ones he doesn’t even remember only add to it. But Eddie sounds honest, serious, not like he is trying to humor Steve. 

“Tell me about it?” he asks, almost shyly. It feels narcissistic, like fishing for compliments he hasn’t earned, or asking for absolution he doesn’t deserve. But Steve wants to be able to see through Eddie’s eyes for a second. See the Steve that used to be kind, the Steve who Eddie had a crush on, the Steve who actually deserves this. And he wants to know about all the times his and Eddie’s lives had crossed and Steve had failed to make Eddie stay. 

“First time was on the playground. I think I was about five? I tripped while playing tag, scraped my knee pretty badly,” Eddie starts and gently lets his finger wander through Steve’s hair. “I bawled my eyes out, but my mom must have been busy with something, I don’t really remember. But I do remember the boy with the perfectly pleated shirt and cleanest jeans I had ever seen coming up to me and offering me his string cheese, asking me if I wanted to come back and bake sand cakes with him.” 

Steve’s memories of his early childhood are blurry and filled with many gaps. He does vaguely remember that his mother would pack him string cheese and apples when she brought him to the playground. He doesn’t remember baking sand cakes, but he does remember the exact tone of voice his father had used when he told Steve that baking sand cakes was for girls. 

He also remembers a flash of dark eyes and even darker curls, but it’s more ache than memory and Steve vividly remembers the hot pain of a hand around his arm, dragging him away. 

He doesn’t need to ask what happened afterwards. Why they didn’t stay childhood friends attached at the hips. But he still wants to know more, wants to know why Eddie thought of him as kind and not as the awful dick most people would think of him now. 

“Was that the only time?” 

“We crossed paths now and then,” Eddie continues. “Passed each other pencils in class and shared pieces of paper. I think I even let you copy my homework once, don’t know why you asked me of all people, but you did trade me a lollipop for it.” 

Steve tries to remember, but comes up blank. He’s asked for pencils and homework constantly, always had candy to share as a child, thinking generosity and sugar could forge friendships together. Too many faces blur together. He probably isn’t the only one Eddie had ever given a pencil to either, but Eddie had seen something in Steve, enough to remember him and the softness Steve had carried on the outside, before cruelty had replaced it like an exoskeleton. 

“The last time we kinda spoke was the first day of freshman year. We passed each other in the hallway and you just smiled at me. Don’t think you would remember this anyways, I had buzzed hair at the time,” Eddie says, already sensing Steve wanting to beat himself up for not remembering something that was only four years ago. 

But now that Eddie has mentioned the buzzed hair, another memory surfaces. Of angry guitars and a loud bass and fast drums. Of lyrics that were more shouted than sung. Steve had loathed the middle school talent show. The only thing he had been good at back then had been running fast. And as far as the talent show board was concerned that wasn’t a talent. 

His parents had been there though. They’d been asked to hand the winner the prize as high valued members of the community and the publicity that came with them. And even though they hadn’t been there for him, Steve had hoped that they could spend some time together. Maybe have some food afterwards. They already were so seldomly home, it had felt like the perfect opportunity. 

But of course, Richard and Susan had ignored him the entire time, livid that Steve hadn’t qualified for the show. Not that they had ever cared much if Steve had any hobbies or talents he had wanted to pursue. No, Steve had not received any attention or affection during the show. Just had to sit there and bitterly watch how his parents applauded other children. So Steve had hated the show and every single participant. He hadn’t even fully paid attention. Until Corroded Coffin had come on. 

The first, loud guitar riff had made Steve snap up his head and stare at the stage. He had never heard music like that before, only used to the generic pop music his parents or nannies liked to play. There was something intriguing about the metallic sound, the fast rhythm, the anger Steve could taste in the words that were being shouted at him. He had become completely enraptured until he had seen the disapproving glower in his parents’ eyes. A little part, deep, deep down inside of him had felt pleased at that. But the rest of Steve had already started to curl in in fear, nothing ever good came from his parents being displeased. 

He doesn’t remember much else from that day, but he does now see Eddie’s young face clearly in front of his eyes. Grinning wildly, buzzed head thrown back, making all the good citizens clutching their pearls at the bright age of 13. Before Steve can tell Eddie though that he remembers, Eddie continues talking about the last time they had talked to each other before Steve had become king. 

“I tripped once again because of that smile, guess you just know how to whisk me off my feet,” Eddie winks and Steve buries his face in Eddie’s neck with a groan. “Well, I dropped all my books and one of the asshole senior jocks at the time thought I’d be funny to kick some of them away. When I had scrambled back up you were holding them out for me. I think it was that moment I got a little bit of a crush on you.” 

Then Eddie grows silent. Steve knows exactly what happened after that. But ever the masochist martyr he asks, “And then?” 

“And then nothing,” Eddie shrugs, but his voice sounds heavy. “I took my books, said thanks and we went our ways. You joined the basketball and swimming team and after your first game you had people over for a party. You bought weed from me a couple of times but that’s it.” 

That Steve vaguely remembers. He always rushed through the transaction, wanting to spend as little time with Eddie as possible, even though Eddie had always sold the best weed. Steve wishes he could turn back time a bit. Savor every possible moment they could have had together. Hates how much time they have already lost not knowing each other. 

“So yeah, you never bullied me,” Eddie sighs and Steve senses that there is something else coming. “Hagan sure smashed me into a locker a couple of times and I’m pretty sure he threw a couple of worse names at me than freak .” 

Eddie is kind enough not to mention Steve’s silence. They both know Steve used to watch, to laugh, to stand by and let it happen. Steve never bullied Eddie. But he didn’t stop the bullying either. And Eddie still has the audacity to call him kind. 

“I’m done with that. Tommy, Carol, Hargrove, the whole King Steve, I’m done with it,” Steve says and he means it. He is so sick of being complicit. “I ran into Tommy earlier and told him to fuck off.” 

Eddie sits up surprised and Steve slips off his chest. There is a mixture of wonder and worry in Eddie’s eyes. Steve sits up straighter and takes Eddie’s hands in his own to really bring home his point. He is done with it all. 

“I know we can’t be all over each other in public, but I wanna say hi to you at your locker,” Steve adds. “And sit with you at lunch. Go record shopping after school, watch movies in the cinema, have burgers after.”

“The Harrington special?” Eddie asks dryly, but Steve just ignores him and continues on. He doesn’t want to hide behind the comfortable shield of humor right now. 

“I don’t want to keep pretending like I don’t know you. I want to say you’re my friend when people ask, actually boyfriend, I really wanna say that, but I know we can’t.” 

“Steve, you don’t want that. Believe me, the people at school—”

“Fuck school, man,” Steve snaps. “We graduate in, what, three weeks? Let them fucking talk. And before you start, I don’t care about the people in this fucking town either.” 

“I’m not worth—”

“Yes, you are,” Steve down right yells now. “You are worth it Eddie, okay. I like you and you are worth it to me! And I’m gonna spend every day trying to make you believe that!” 

Steve is slightly out of breath when he stops. The air around them is humid and sticky and Steve would kill for a cool shower right now. Eddie just continues to stare at him, stunned. 

“Are you sure?” he asks eventually, so quietly it’s almost inaudible. 

No. 

“Yes,” Steve says. They still are on borrowed time and with graduation coming closer so does the black void of Steve’s future that will probably tear them apart. But maybe it won’t. Maybe they can find stolen minutes, hours, days, enough to make this last and build a life. Maybe if Steve is brave enough to leave his parents they’ll have a chance. 

Finally, finally, a small smile spreads over Eddie’s face. If Steve had not already been head over heels in love with Eddie this shy, hopeful glance would have done it. 

“So, do I have to wait until date three or can I kiss you know?” Eddie asks. 

“Oh, no sex before marriage, Munson, I’m saving my flower,” Steve grins and muffles Eddie’s groaned gross with his lips. 

They spend the rest of the night in Steve’s house because he lives closer. They cook breakfast together during the later hours of noon and float in the pool for the rest of the afternoon. In the evening Steve drops Eddie off at the trailer and when Wayne asks him to stay for dinner, Steve happily sinks down into the beat up couch in their living room. He stays the night and he stays the morning. 

“You’re not gonna rush back to yours before school,” Eddie asks while they stand in the cramped trailer bathroom, brushing their teeth. 

“Nope,” Steve shakes his head and spits the toothpaste in the sink. “Beemer has been making funny noises. I think I need to catch a lift to school.” 

He is going to make Eddie believe that he is worth it every single day. 

Eddie spits the toothpaste out too and swallows the are you sure that undoubtedly mixed together with spearmint in his mouth. He just nods. 

“Lucky you then, I’m going your way.” 

Steve holds Eddie’s hand the entire drive to school. It physically hurts to let go of it once he gets out. But Steve knows that not giving a fuck about his social status by letting people think he and Eddie are friends and outing both of them by walking through school holding hands are two very different things. 

“I’ll see you at lunch?” he asks instead of the goodbye kiss he wants to give Eddie. 

“You’re gonna sit with the freaks, baby?” 

“You better have a rant about forced conformity ready for me, I bought front row tickets,” Steve grins and it really takes all his strength not to step into Eddie’s personal space. 

Eddie seems to have the same struggle, his hands twitching, almost as if he wants to reach out. 

“I’ll see you at lunch, Harrington,” he says and then walks to his locker. 

With a sigh, Steve shoulders his bag and does the same. He nods to a gaggle of teenagers standing next to his locker, talking animatedly. They don’t pay him any attention, but Steve doesn't mind. 

Someone had the fun idea to put little crown stickers all over Steve’s locker. It’s cute, but the exhilarating thrill it would have sent down Steve’s spine a few months ago stays out. 

He sees Tommy come down the hallway. When he spots Steve he stops, stares for a second and then turns around and leaves. Apparently he really got the message. Good, Steve thinks. 

Steve turns his head into the other direction and glances at Eddie, taking some books out of his locker. Steve allows himself to look longer than usual, not caring if someone catches him or not. Eddie is absentmindedly chewing on a strand of curls, nimble fingers quickly flicking through pages. Probably history, Steve figures, Eddie has a quiz later today. 

“Did you hear, Chrissy Cunningham was found unconscious this morning, drug overdose apparently,” Steve hears one of the cheerleaders next to him say. His head instantly perks up and he finds Eddie’s eyes across the hallway. Next to him the cheerleader loudly continues, “She’s in the hospital but they don’t know if she’ll make it.” 

Chapter Text

1985

There is something nauseating about hospitals. Headache inducing flickering, fluorescent lights in pale hallways mixed with the stench of blood, death, despair and disinfectant. At least according to Eddie’s dramatic rant on the way over to the hospital. Steve had let him talk, well aware that Eddie starts to ramble when nervous. 

But now that they are sitting in said pale hallway, waiting for a nurse to let them see Chrissy, Eddie has grown quiet. His leg is bouncing and his fingers are pulling on the rips in his jeans and all Steve wants to do is reach out and squeeze Eddie’s hand. To wrap his arm around Eddie’s shoulder and just hold him while they wait. 

But Steve can’t and he hates it. It’s stupid that all the comfort he can offer to the guy he loves is sitting next to him in silence, their plastic chairs neatly set apart, not even allowed to press his knee into Eddie’s. The only touch he could get away with is a quick clap on the shoulder, but Steve is sure it would only add to Eddie’s nausea. His face is pale enough to match the hallway and he does look like he is about to throw up. 

Steve doesn’t have the same aversions to hospitals as Eddie, but he understands why Eddie loathes them. He doesn’t know everything, but Eddie and Wayne have let enough bits and pieces slip in casual conversation for Steve to get a blurry picture. 

In the quiet hours of the morning, right before dawn, Eddie had whispered into the darkness of his room how his mother had died of cancer. How for weeks he had held her hand in his tiny nine year old ones, clinging to her like she was trying to cling to life. He had basically moved into her room, slept in her bed and ate the food she couldn’t stomach anymore in the end. How his father had shaken him awake when he had fallen asleep in his mother’s cold embrace and he had been the only one to wake up. 

Steve knows that when Eddie was thirteen, Wayne had picked him up from the hospital and decided that Eddie would stay with him. Steve doesn’t know much about what exactly happened, knows Eddie’s dad, drugs and driving a stolen car were involved, knows he doesn’t have the right to pry. But he does know that night is the reason why Wayne doesn’t talk to his brother anymore.  

Steve also knows that it was Wayne who dragged Eddie to the hospital when he had shown up to school with that black eye half a year ago. That Wayne had insisted Eddie would get his head injuries and his cracked ribs checked up. Steve can understand why the smell of disinfectant makes Eddie want to throw up, he has doused his own cuts and bruises in it many times, is far too familiar with the stinging pain and the biting smell of it. 

Steve briefly wonders what it's like to have someone who cares enough to drag you to the hospital. His parents hadn’t been there when he had gotten into the fight with Hargrove that had left his ears ringing, his vision blurring and headaches as a constant in his life. But if they had been there, would they have insisted that he’d go to the hospital? Somehow, Steve doubts it. Billy hadn’t been the first one to give Steve a tinnitus and a split lip. 

His eyes flicker to Eddie, fidgeting on his chair, looking up with dread in his eyes every time a nurse walks past. Maybe Steve now has someone who’d care enough to come to the hospital with him. He thinks about the worried look Mrs. Henderson had given him when she had seen the bruises on his wrist. Steve is still not sure if Wayne likes him, but if Steve called the trailer and Eddie was out he dares to hope that Wayne would maybe come and pick him up too. 

It’s all hypotheticals, it’s hope he knows is unwise to have. It’s not something he needs to think about either, it’s not like he gets into the kind of trouble that warrants a visit to the hospital. The kind of trouble he gets into can easily be covered up with the medical kit in his bathroom cabinet behind the mirror. Still, it’s nice to think that if he ended up here, he wouldn’t have to be alone. 

Steve looks back at Eddie. He has started to chew on his lips, Steve is surprised he hasn’t drawn blood yet. Unable to take it anymore, Steve reaches out and squeezes Eddie’s hand briefly. Eddie turns around with a thankful look in his eyes and squeezes back. 

It’s mere seconds, dangerous seconds, but the soothing touch seems to have been enough to make Eddie ease up slightly. At least he doesn’t look like he is about to pass out any second. It hurts having to let go of his hand again. 

“Thank you,” Eddie whispers so quietly, Steve almost doesn’t catch it. “You didn’t have to come.” 

He looks so small on that hospital chair, like he is nine years old again and about to lose another one of the most important people in his life. Steve just wants to curl around him and shield him from the world. 

Before Steve can say anything, a nurse finally approaches them and tells them to come with her if they want to see Chrissy. They both scramble up quickly and follow her. 

It had been a huge effort to convince the nurses to let them go see Chrissy. They weren’t immediate family and the ripped jeans, hellfire shirt, and denim vest with patches had not made Eddie seem more trustworthy. Fortunately, Steve had been able to sweet talk the nurse, managing to get them five minutes once Chrissy’s parents had left. 

Compared to the bustling hallways, Chrissy’s room is dead quiet other than the beeping of the heart monitor and the hissing of her ventilator. It feels like they’re intruding, their shoes squeaking on the laminate floor as they walk closer. 

“Shit, Chrissy,” Eddie whispers, the heartbreak audible in his voice, as he stops next to the bed and reaches for her hand. Steve stays right behind him and looks at Chrissy. 

Specks of glitter from her prom makeup still stick to her skin and clumps of mascara cling to her lashes. Apparently she was found still in her prom dress, passed out behind the bleachers, covered in dirt and vomit, traces of white powder dusting her flawlessly filed and polished nails. 

Even in a coma, there is still something eerily beautiful about her. The way she is lying in the bed, hair flowing around her shoulders, cheeks still rosy. She almost looks like sleeping beauty, waiting for her white knight to kiss her awake. 

Cursed princess is far more fitting for her than drug overdosed cheerleader. After all this is Chrissy Cunningham, perfect girl next door, predestined new head cheerleader and with that the next Queen B in the line of succession at Hawkins High. Perfect grades, perfect boyfriend, perfect teeth and perfect life. Immaculate Chrissy Cunningham.

Steve knows a thing or two about having to be immaculate. He sees it beneath her impeccable, unblemished skin; cracks that run deep, chipped edges, dull spots. He sees the seams that are slowly coming apart. He wonders if sawdust is going to trickle out of her as well. He sees the golden cross dangling around her neck and he knows it’s a chain. 

Steve can feel his wrists hurt. 

He looks at her and can’t help but wonder if that would have been him. If Nancy hadn’t broken up with him. If Eddie hadn’t offered to smoke with him. If one small gesture hadn’t made Claudia Henderson decide to have dinner with him. 

Steve knows that the pressure would have never turned him into a diamond, only would have made him shatter. His parents are still going to try to make him shine, and if it means setting the piece of coal he is now aflame. He wonders if all the sparkle and the shine wasn’t a natural glow, he wonders if Chrissy was on fire too. 

“This is my fault,” Eddie whispers and in the empty privacy of Chrissy’s room Steve dares to reach out and draw Eddie into his arms. Eddie lets himself be held, buries his face in the crook Steve’s neck and Steve can feel the tears running down Eddie’s face dampening his throat. 

“She asked me for it and I said no,” Eddie mumbles against Steve’s skin. “I didn’t even bother to check up with her. She said she had wanted it for a party and got really pissed when I told her no. I should have known something was up. I think I did, I just…I don’t know why I didn’t just ask her.” 

Eddie is trembling now and Steve doesn’t know if he should squeeze Eddie harder to keep him from falling apart or if Eddie will crumble to dust if Steve holds him tighter.

“Yeah, but you didn’t sell her the drugs, it’s not your fault,” Steve says softly and lets his hands run through Eddie’s hair soothingly. 

“No, it is,” Eddie insists and steps out of Steve’s embrace. “Because if I had just given it to her she wouldn’t have had a lethal amount and the drugs wouldn’t have been laced with god knows what kind of fucked up stuff.” 

“Eddie,” Steve tries again but in that moment the door flies open and the nurse steps through. 

“Time’s up,” she says coldly. 

Steve wants to argue, wants to ask for another five minutes. But Eddie just nods, sniffs and wipes the last of his tears away. 

“We’re going,” he says and without waiting for Steve he basically runs out of the room. 

Steve doesn’t bother to say goodbye to the nurse and hurries after Eddie. He almost crashes into him, Eddie standing in the middle of the hallway, frozen like a pillar of salt. At the other end of the hallway, dressed in his dark green letterman, fists clenched and just as still stands Jason Carver. 

Carver is staring at Eddie with such pure hatred Steve almost expects his eyes to turn red and foam to bubble up at his mouth. It’s not a secret that Carver dislikes Eddie, but he never laid a hand on Eddie for Chrissy’s sake. Grief lets people do a lot of things though. But when Carver steps closer, ready to find out if offering Eddie’s comatose body to the universe instead of Chrissy’s would make her wake up, Steve thinks that Carver is not driven by grief. 

He has seen the look on Carver’s face before. It’s a shark tasting blood in the water, it’s a teenager aiming a magnifying glass at an anthill, it’s Billy Hargrove staring at Steve from across the hallway licking his lips imagining what Steve’s blood in his mouth would taste like. 

What for Hargrove is psychopathic pleasure is fanatic supremacy for Carver. He probably sees himself as a righteous angel of death going after Eddie when he really is nothing but a religious bigot in the making. Thinks he is going to cleanse the earth when the world would be a far better place without hate preachers like him. 

Before Jason can do or say anything the nurse reappears and gives him a saccharine smile.

“Jason, honey, come, I’ll bring you to her,” she says as if Carver was a frightened little lamb in need of coddling and protection and not a rabies driven, feral wolf about to pounce. 

Of course, the nurse is nice to him. Golden boy. For the second time today, Steve sees a version of himself that he could have become. If hate and bigotry had not hollowed his bones but grown into his muscles and made him bulk up with the same spiteful superiority. His parents aren’t as heavy church goers as the Carvers, but in a different life Steve can see himself sat next to Carver at a republican rally, pristine pressed suits and slicked back blond and brunette hair, all American boys drooling over the venom Reagan spouts, eager to spit it back at people like Eddie. Steve shivers and recoils from the thought in disgust. 

He doesn’t spit on Eddie, instead foolishly reaches out and grabs Eddie’s wrist to drag him out of the hospital. If no one looks too closely, if no fingers are intertwined and thumbs brushed over the back of hands, they just about can get away with this. 

Eddie has grown quiet again by the time they have reached the parking lot and Steve is maneuvering him into the passenger seat of the beamer. He doesn’t really know where he is heading as he starts driving, just knows that he isn’t driving them back to school, neither of them would survive Click’s class right now. 

The drive is quiet, Steve doesn’t feel like turning on the radio, and only Eddie’s stifled sniffs fill the car. When Steve glances at him there is still the occasional tear running down his face and Steve feels so out of his depth. 

He never had to comfort someone like this. Tommy never cried, only lived in his happy airhead bubble. Nancy had turned to Jonathan for comfort when her emotions became too much, probably feeling like Steve had the emotional intelligence of a rock. And it’s not like anyone ever took the time to wipe Steve’s tears away and told him it would all be alright. He is sure he must have cried a few times as a child, but he learned quickly that the ignorance he got when he was quiet and obedient was better than the attention he got when he whined, hot tears streaming down his little face. 

The only person who had ever taken care of him when he had cried had been Eddie. And now Steve can’t even repay the favor because he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t even know where to drive. 

Going back to his big empty house doesn’t seem comforting. Cuddling up in Eddie’s trailer might not be the worst idea, but right now thinking about the tiny, dark room feels claustrophobic. 

Next to him, Eddie digs his nails into his wrist, harshly enough to draw the smallest bit of blood, leaving pink crescents in his pale skin. Steve glances at his own arms. The faintest hints of scared half-moons are peppered along the delicate blue veins running from his wrist to the crook of his arm. He hasn’t added any new ones to the galaxy sprouting on his skin in months now. Steve might not know how to comfort Eddie, but he is achingly familiar with the self-hate Eddie is grappling with right now.  

He reaches over and takes Eddie’s hand in his, to keep Eddie from hurting himself any further. He knows the pressure from his fingers around Eddie’s isn’t enough to ground him, not the same way drawing blood is. But Steve knows that there are other ways to ground yourself. 

It’s how they somehow end up parked at Lover’s Lake. 

“Are we here so I can drown myself?” Eddie asks meekly, knowing the joke was bound to not land as they get out of the car. 

Steve doesn’t deign it with a response, not even with the roll of his eyes. Just tugs on Eddie’s hand and pulls him to the shore. 

“Take off your shoes and roll up your jeans.” 

“Sorry?” 

“Take off your shoes and roll up your jeans,” Steve repeats and kicks his own Nikes off. 

Eddie stares at Steve and for a second Steve expects Eddie to stomp his feet down like a petulant child, to cross his arms and grumble I’m not doing it. But then Eddie does kick his Reeboks off and crouches down to roll his skinny jeans up as best as he can. When he gets back up he glares at Steve as if to say are you happy now?  

Steve won’t be happy until he has gotten Eddie out of the self-destructive spiral he is sliding down like a coiled slide on a playground, letting the sun heated metal chafe and burn his skin because he thinks he deserves it. 

Without saying anything, Steve grabs Eddie’s hand again and walks into the water. To his credit, Eddie follows Steve without any resistance or struggle and biting comments. 

“Fucking shit, that’s cold,” Eddie curses as the water licks up their bare ankles. Steve can just about keep a similar curse in. 

Despite the unbearable summer heat Lovers Lake is always freezing. It has to do with a mountain stream running into it, Steve had learned some point during primary school. There is a reason couples come to Lovers Lake to make out and not to go swimming. 

The cold water is like a shock to the system, clearing the head of any thought other than cold, cold, cold. Even though Steve’s head wasn’t clouded he welcomes the clarity the freezing waves bring. Nancy had once explained to Steve that strong physical sensations like coldness can distract the mind enough to calm it down from a panic attack. Back then, Steve had just blinked at her, not understanding why she was telling him that. Now he gets it and mentally thanks her for it. Next to him, Eddie relaxes slightly. 

Steve squeezes his hand and slowly pulls Eddie down so they can sit down with their feet still in the freezing water. They sit in the slightly damp sand of the embankment in silence, just listening to the water gently lapping on the shore. Steve’s feet are starting to hurt, the water absolutely biting, before slowly everything becomes numb. Eddie seems to feel the same, shivers slightly, before he rests his head on Steve’s shoulder. 

“Feeling better?” Steve asks gently. 

“Not as self-destructive,” Eddie mumbles. “Still think it’s my fault though.” 

It’s hard to let go of guilt once it has dug its teeth into your neck, steadily applying more pressure, just waiting for your bones to eventually snap. Steve can feel the bite marks every time he thinks about who he used to be a year ago. But he deserves that guilt, deserves the biting pain and dizzying regret that comes with it. Eddie hasn’t done anything wrong. 

“Given that she overdosed, even if you had asked her what was wrong it probably was the kind of problem you couldn't have helped with,” Steve says. “The kind of problem you might need professional help for. And sure, you are her friend, but it’s not like you are trained for these kinds of situations. It’s not like you could save her all alone.”  

The similarities between Chrissy and him make Steve’s skin sting like pins and needles crawling up his entire body. Being with Eddie is itself kind of like a drug. It takes the edge off, reduces the symptoms, makes everything feel bearable for a while. But it’s the same as pasting wallpaper onto ramshackle walls on the brink of collapse. No matter how alive Eddie makes Steve feel, deep down Steve knows that it’s not enough. That it’s not fair to pin his entire well-being on a freaking high schooler. That feeling alive is not going to cancel out the pain that roots at his very core. 

Eddie’s curls are soft against the skin of Steve’s neck. Maybe he’ll ask for help. The version of him that makes it out, that runs away, and elopes with Eddie. The one that works shitty minimum jobs until he figures out what he truly wants. Who sleeps in broken cars and rancid shit hole apartments that feel more like home than the golden cage in Loch Nora ever did. Who has no plan, follows no steps, lives a life built by himself but shares it with the person he loves. The Steve Harrington that is brave and kind and whose limbs sometimes still lift stiff and wooden but move on their own accord and not through pulled strings. Maybe he’ll ask for help. 

The Steve Harrington sitting on the shore with his feet frozen and numb, and his hands buried in the hair of the guy he loves, hopes and hopes and hopes. It’s the most dangerous thing he has ever done. 

“I still wish I could have done something,” Eddie says eventually. The self-loathing tone has left his voice, his words coated more in regret than in blame. Steve knows he hasn’t won, knows that guilt lurks in the shadows like a predator, ready to jump back out and bite any time. But it’s a step into the right direction. 

“You can be there for her when she wakes up.” 

When, not if. Because Chrissy is going to wake up. She is going to wake up and get out of this town alongside Steve and Eddie and anyone who is threatened to be swallowed whole and be buried alive under the rotten soil that Hawkins is built on. When Eddie graduates. When Steve tells his parents off. When fear is no longer the force holding them but the wish to be free is driving them. 

Maybe the cold water has cut off Steve’s circulation enough to make him think realistically. But stubborn determination and naive hope mix together into a fatal fantasy. 

“Thank you,” Eddie says, eyes still focused on the blue of the lake. “I needed this.” 

Steve hums happily in response. He too needed this. He watches the sun dance along the rippling water surface for a while longer before he suggests getting up and getting their feet warm. The faintest start of a sunburn is spreading across the bridge of Eddie’s nose and Steve can’t resist kissingthe stressed skin better, causing Eddie’s entire face to turn red.

“You’re being sappy,” Eddie says bashfully, but lets Steve press kisses to his flushed face a couple more times.  

It’s not like Eddie has spent an entire afternoon cataloging every single freckle and mole on Steve’s face with his mouth before; pressing his lips against every single one twice, claiming he had to surpass the sun for every time it had kissed Steve’s face. It had been horrendously cheesy and silly and Steve had molten like…well like ice cream in the sun. 

It’s ironic sometimes, Steve thinks on the walk back to the car, how they’ve had any kind of kinky, hot, mind blowing sex imaginable, but it’s those small gestures, the sweet ones that render them speechless and flustered. But kind touches and kinder words are a rarity neither of them has experienced much, so neither of them really knows how to deal with them. 

The same way Steve doesn’t really know how to deal with all the love has for Eddie. It’s so much, so intense, Steve sometimes feels he is drowning in it. He knows he should just say it. But every time he gets close, can taste the words on the tip of his tongue, he thinks about Halloween parties and pink punch, about white dresses and awful truths.

So he breathes in a mouthful of water and writes the words on the top of his bucket list instead. Circles it in red for highest priority, like everything he plans to do soon. Soon. 

They eventually end up in Eddie’s trailer, stripped down to shirts and underwear, holding each other on Eddie’s small bed, only their feet shoved under the blanket. Steve’s body aches from emotional exhaustion and he wasn’t even friends with Chrissy. He doesn’t want to imagine how drained Eddie must feel. 

They spend most of the afternoon napping until Steve can hear Wayne getting up. Eddie is fully asleep at this point and Steve slips carefully out of Eddie’s embrace. He chucks on his jeans and gives Eddie a quick kiss on the forehead before he sneaks out of Eddie’s room and into the kitchen. 

“Bit early for you boys to be out of school,” Wayne says when he spots Steve, but hands Steve a cup of coffee nevertheless and pours himself another one. 

“Eddie’s friend Chrissy ended up in the hospital,” Steve explains and takes a sip of the coffee. It’s too bitter without the heaping teaspoons of sugar Steve stirs in it, but he still drinks it. “It’s not his fault but he kinda thinks it is. Took a lot out of him.” 

Unlike Eddie, Wayne doesn’t carry his emotions on his sleeve, a constant frown plastered across his face. Still, his eyes widen in shock a little when Steve mentions Chrissy. 

“Nice kid, the Cunningham girl,” he says and puts the coffee mug down on the counter. “She gonna be alright?” 

“We don’t know.” 

Wayne just nods absentmindedly and looks out of the window, as if the answer if Chrissy is going to make it written on the dusty glass. It’s obvious that he liked Chrissy. It’s hard not to, but Steve can see that it runs deeper.

He knows Eddie never had that many friends and that Wayne worries a lot. Doesn’t maybe say it that much, but Steve can tell from the way Wayne looks at Eddie sometimes. It’s the same look Steve occasionally catches Mrs. Henderson giving him. Steve also knows that Chrissy has been around since middle school, never cared that she and Eddie came from different sides of town, shared juice boxes and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with him. For a worried Wayne Chrissy must have been a little bit like a guardian angel, making sure Eddie wasn’t totally alone and keeping him from getting into too much trouble. Steve has learned that for the Munsons, family is found and Chrissy had definitely belonged in it. 

Wayne sighs and turns back to Steve. 

“You gonna stay? Have an eye on Eddie?” 

It’s Steve’s turn to nod. He only has an abandoned house to return to. And even if his parents were back in town, Steve would have stayed with Eddie. 

“Thanks, kiddo,” Wayne says and then looks at his hands for a second, hesitating, like he is considering saying something else. “You’re good for him, ya know?” 

“He is good for me too,” Steve says, trying not to get choked up. He didn’t think Wayne’s approval would mean so much to him. But it surges through his bloodstream alongside the caffeine, making Steve’s heart beat faster. 

Wayne nods and chucks the rest of his coffee. He isn’t really talkative and Steve can tell that they have reached the end of their little conversation. Wayne has to head to work any moment anyways. Steve gives him an awkward nod too and fills up his mug, still not asking for sugar. It’s silly, Wayne has just given Steve his approval, but Steve still can’t fully shake a little bit of his anxiety around Wayne. He returns to Eddie’s room with bitter, black coffee. 

Eddie slowly stirs awake as Steve closes the door. He hasn’t fully opened his eyes yet before he already makes grabby hands at Steve. Feeling incredibly fond, Steve climbs back into bed next to Eddie and Eddie leans back against his chest before stealing the coffee mug out Steve’s hand. 

“Thanks, baby,” he says before taking a sip and then almost spitting the coffee back out. “There is no sugar or milk in this!” 

He sounds like having to drink black coffee is a personal affront against him, even though he constantly teases Steve for how sweet he drinks his. Still, everytime Eddie makes Steve coffee, he stirs in the extra spoon of sugar Steve is not allowing himself to have. 

Having any amount of sugar in his coffee already feels far too indulgent. When Steve had joined his first basketball team at eleven, the abundance of candy he had carried around the playground like it was currency, had disappeared overnight from his parents' cupboards; alongside sweet cereal, birthday cakes and anything that wasn’t in support of an athlete’s diet. Stirring sugar into his coffee had been the one thing Steve had been able to get away with. 

“You know poor people can afford sugar and milk too, Stevie,” Eddie teases and bumps his shoulder into Steve’s. “You don’t have to be all frugal for our sake, rich boy.” 

“Didn’t wanna be a bother,” Steve mumbles quietly.

And while Steve prefers his coffee sweet, it’s not like needs it. It’s just a little treat, more of a bad habit really, he should probably stop doing it. Maybe he would have at least gotten one sports scholarship if he had cut sugar completely out of his diet. 

For a second, Steve’s thoughts flicker back to Chrissy. To her slim waist, her thin legs, her empty tray at lunch. He can feel anger growling in his empty stomach on her behalf. Because it’s easier to be angry for her than for himself. Having sugar in your fucking coffee isn’t going to kill anyone. Asking for it when it possibly could be an inconvenience to Wayne though feels like it might. 

“You’re never a bother,” Eddie says gently, still ever so patient with Steve. “Okay, sweetheart?” 

Steve doesn’t quite believe Eddie. He knows he is too much a lot of the time. Either too whiny and pathetic because shocker, mommy and daddy don’t love him enough. Or too snarky and snappish, falling back into the patterns and a little bit too into the comfort of King Steve. He is trying to be better though. Not unload all of his issues onto the myriad of things Eddie has to deal with. Walking with his middle fingers raised away from Tommy and the rest of Hawkins High. 

And maybe it’s just about enough to no longer hate himself, but Steve isn’t quite sure if he likes himself. But for some reason, despite all of his flaws, his bad habits and his truckload of baggage, Eddie does like him. Doesn’t think that Steve is too much, even tries to convince Steve that he isn’t a bother. 

Maybe one day, Steve will think so too. In the meantime, he tries to at least humor Eddie with a nod and a smile. It seems to be enough for now. Has to be. 

“C’mon, let's get you sugar, then,” Eddie grins and climbs so ungracefully over Steve he almost spills the coffee. 

Wayne has already left by the time they make it into the kitchen. They decide to finish their coffee on the couch, catching a couple of episodes of Golden Girls on the TV. Every now and then Steve can feel Eddie getting back into his head, so he grabs Eddie’s hand and peppers kisses along his knuckles, or snuggles tighter against Eddie’s chest or turns his head and kisses Eddie’s cheek. He knows affection isn’t going to solve any of their problems, but just for a moment it makes the sadness in Eddie’s eyes vanish. It’s fighting symptoms, not ripping out the root problem. But it’s the best Steve can do. 

The next few days are a little bit of a blur. Chrissy’s name echoes across the hallways, bounces around in the cafeteria, and is whispered in class. With a comatose cheerleader, no one really cares that King Steve is spending his lunch break with Eddie The Freak Munson, or hanging out at Eddie’s locker, or notices when Steve’s hand lingers a second too long when he claps Eddie on the back. 

The only one who really seems to notice is Tommy, glaring at Steve whenever they’re in vicinity of each other. It’s not the same violent, unhinged stare Hargrove and Carver throw into Eddie and Steve’s direction. But it’s close. There is something cold and surprisingly calculating about it and it has Steve slightly on edge. 

But Tommy never says anything, doesn’t throw any sneers across the cafeteria or ambushes Steve after gym class. He just keeps his distance and stares. There is still something unnerving about it. Especially on Thursday morning when Steve catches Hargrove basically running towards Tommy out of the corner of his eyes. Hargove seems weirdly upset and fidgety, very unlike him, but Steve is too far away to make out what he is saying. Whatever Tommy is saying back though seems to calm Hargrove down. Both of them have a smug grin on their faces that makes Steve shiver when they leave the hallway. 

Instinctively, Steve walks to Eddie’s locker. Strength in numbers and all that and maybe in the one class they haven’t shared today, Steve might have missed Eddie. It’s stupid and maybe it should terrify him, that 45 minutes apart can turn him so clingy. It’s what scared Nancy away. But Steve knows that Eddie is drawn to it, doesn’t mind? Steve being too much, likes the sticky toffee and extra strong cling film that Steve turns into when he is in love. Appreciates the feeling of being wanted and Steve feels the exact same. Because Eddie clings just as much, like they are both lifeboats keeping each other from drowning, and in a way they are. 

“You nervous about tonight?” Steve asks as he slides casually next to Eddie’s locker with a move that would have made several girls at Hawkins High swoon. 

Eddie just looks unimpressed, well aware that Steve is not smooth or actually has any game beyond his title and popularity and is just a huge dork postering. And Steve is absolutely fine with Eddie knowing that. Kinda likes actually that Eddie knows that. Likes that Eddie likes him not in spite of but because of that. 

“I don’t know, might cancel it,” Eddie shrugs and shuts his locker. 

“What, why?” 

“Doesn’t really feel right doing this, going on stage and playing with…ya know,” he says and Steve’s heart breaks a little. 

“She would want you to play, Eddie,” Steve insists and after quickly turning his head left and right to see if anyone is watching them, takes Eddie’s hand. 

Steve knows he is playing with fire, but who cares, he’ll be out of school next week and maybe out of Hawkins soon enough too. Eddie still withdraws his hand quickly and Steve tries not to let it hurt. 

“Still feels wrong,” Eddie sighs and begins to walk to his next class. Steve follows him along. He can see guilt’s fangs piercing through the flesh of Eddie’s throat. 

“What if you dedicate the concert to her?” Steve suggests. “You know, play it for her?” 

Eddie pushes a strand of his curls between his lips and considers. Steve instantly wants to reach out and rescue Eddie’s gorgeous hair from his mouth, but he feels that would cross more of a line in public than their brief hand holding. Super platonic friends don’t touch each other’s lips. 

“Maybe,” Eddie finally relents slightly and Steve decides to treat it like a win. 

“Great, I’ll be at your trailer around four? So you can make sure I don’t stick out like the..how did you put it, like the preppy asshole jock I am?” 

“I never called you a preppy asshole jock,” Eddie rolls his eyes, but he can’t quite hide the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile. Steve knows he has won. “But sure, fine, come over at four and I’ll find some clothes for you.” 

“Can’t wait,” Steve smiles before they part in front of the next class room. 

By the time Steve comes over, Eddie is already fully dressed to Steve’s surprise. Usually, Eddie happily procrastinates, sits half dressed on his bed, playing guitar, pondering over DnD or simply claiming that he is only going to read one more page, when he was meant to leave the trailer ten minutes ago already. 

Not today though. Today he is ready to leave any second, dressed in a black shirt that has so many holes it’s a miracle it hasn’t fallen off Eddie’s torso yet and leather pants so tight, Steve forgets how to breathe for a second. The silver chains on his belt jingle with every step, accompanied by the loud impact of Eddie’s heavy, polished, black boots on the floor of the trailer. 

Eddie is always hot, but today he looks so delectable, so tantalizing, that Steve has to forcefully keep himself from pushing Eddie against a wall, sinking on to his knees and begging. He doesn’t even know what he would beg for. Something, anything. Firm hands and soft words, rough kisses and even rougher thrusts, wants his mind blissfully empty and his face streaked with tears. His arms crossed behind his back and the weight of Eddie’s cock on his tongue. Wants harsh tugs on his hair and sweet names buzzing in his ears. He wants to devour Eddie and let himself be ruined in the process. 

Eddie just grins devilishly at Steve, holding a bundle of clothes for him in his hands, well aware of the effect he is having on Steve. 

“Strip.”

It’s only meant to rile Steve up, Eddie likes to play with him like a cat with food, but it still sends a shiver down Steve’s spine.  

“Want me to get on my knees too?” he half teases, half hopes as he starts to unfasten his belt. 

“Always, but we have places to be, baby,” Eddie says amused, but there is a dark glint in his eyes. 

It’s enough for Steve to push a little as he kicks off his Levis and grabs the hem of his shirt. 

“Could always make it quick and dirty,” he grins as he pulls his shirt over his head. 

Steve startles slightly once he has pulled his face out of the cotton fabric, because Eddie is standing suddenly right in front of him. Steve hadn’t even heard him cross the room. Very, very slowly, Eddie lets his eyes rake over Steve’s naked abs. 

Hook.

“Not when you’re acting like a brat and I will have to take my time with you,” Eddie’s voice is dangerously low. 

“You’re gonna make good on that promise after the show?” Steve grins back as he tosses his shirt towards Eddie’s hamper. 

Line. 

“Or are you just giving me empty threats?” 

“Feeling brave and stupid today, are we?” Eddie says with a slow, syrupy, sadistic smile. “I don’t think you want me to make good on that promise, big boy.” 

And sinker. 

The bundle of clothes is pushed against Steve’s chest with enough force that he stumbles backwards a little. 

“Now get dressed.” 

Satisfied that he too managed to get Eddie just as riled up, Steve quickly obeys and scrambles to get dressed. 

The shirt Eddie has picked is well worn and soft with big, bright, red letters branding Steve as a DIO fan for tonight. Of all the bands Eddie has forced Steve to listen to, DIO is the one he probably hates the least. The shirt is tight on Steve’s chest and shoulders, the cut off arms really showing off his biceps. 

Eddie steps back into Steve’s personal space and with the weak excuse of adjusting the way the shirt sits on Steve, he lets his hands brush over Steve’s arms. 

“So with the shirt on,” Steve whispers with an impish grin, “want me to pull my boxers off or your pants on? I can keep the shirt on either way.” 

And that sure is a mental image. Letting himself get fucked in nothing but Eddie’s half torn apart band shirt. Steve might already have had a similar fantasy concerning Eddie in Steve’s varsity sweater. Judging by the almost pained expression on Eddie’s face, he isn’t completely opposed to the idea either. 

“You’re a menace,” he says and takes a step back to lean against his desk. “Put the jeans on.” 

Steve sighs and the thin fabric of the shirt stretches tightly over his chest with every inhale and exhale. The shirt is still sitting looser than the ripped skinny jeans Steve has to wiggle into, hopping across the room, trying to pull them up. Eddie watches him amused and the second Steve has managed to pull up the zipper he flips Eddie off. 

“You got any other shoes?” Eddie asks when Steve bends down to slip back into his white Nikes. 

“Uh…not with me,” Steve says and hesitates tying his laces. “I could go back and get my winter boots?” 

“Nah, it’s fine. Just make sure no one breaks your pinky toe.” 

“That can happen?” 

“Baby, there is pure carnage and havoc rampaging in the mosh pits,” Eddie says while digging through the drawers of his desk for something, before he trunks around a second later, triumphantly holding up a pen. “Maybe we should keep your precious face out of there. The things they do to pretty boys like you in those pits.” 

“Bit late to scare me off, Eddie,” Steve huffs and points at his outfit. 

The predator-like grin as Eddie steps closer says something else. 

“Au contraire, I still have an ace up my sleeve, Steve,” he says, pen twirling between his fingers. “Ever had someone put eyeliner on you to make those doe eyes pop?” 

Steve doesn’t point out that Eddie is actually the one with the doe eyes. Instead he thinks back to the day he had borrowed some lip balm from Carol, not knowing that it was heavily tinted. Carol of course had known, but for her it had just been a stupid prank. A way for Tommy and her to make fun of Steve the second he had put it on. 

“Yes, ha ha, very hilarious,” Steve had grumbled and had almost wiped off the balm with the back of his hand. But Tommy had stopped him. 

“I dare you to wear it for the rest of the day,” he had said. 

And eager to please Steve had kept the lip balm on. Ironically, no one else had really noticed. Tammy Thompson had only told Steve that he was really looking good today. And the few times Steve had caught his reflection in school windows and bathroom mirrors he had been inclined to agree. He had looked really, really good with his lips slightly glistening pink. When he had gotten home, his dad hadn’t shared the sentiment though. 

But this isn’t tinted lip balm and Richard Harrington isn’t here and can eat dirt for all Steve cares. And he knows Eddie wouldn’t offer it, if it would make Steve look stupid. 

“Lay it on me,” Steve says and crooks his fingers, motioning Eddie to come closer as if he was challenging Eddie to a fight. 

Eddie closes the distance between them and gently but insistent pokes Steve’s chest, making Steve take some steps back until the back of his knees hits Eddie’s bed. 

“Sit,” Eddie says with one last careful push, not leaving Steve any choice but to stumble down. Gently, Eddie nudges Steve’s knees apart and stands between his thighs. 

“Chin up.” 

Steve does what he is told and is rewarded with a soft brush of Eddie’s thumb over his cheek bones, before Eddie grips his jaw just on the right side of harsh. 

“Good boy,” Eddie basically purrs before he presses the tip of the eye liner against Steve’s skin. His hands are admirably steady as he drags the pen along Steve’s waterline. 

Steve’s skinny jeans are growing uncomfortably tight.

“You sure you don’t want it quick and dirty?” Steve rasps, relishing in Eddie’s fingers digging into his skin, holding him in place. 

Eddie lifts the eyeliner off Steve’s face. For a second Steve thinks he has won, when Eddie shifts his leg, his knee pressing ever so slightly against Steve’s crotch, drawing a gasp from Steve’s lip. Without letting go of Steve’s chin, Eddie bends down slowly until his lips are only an inch away from Steve’s. 

“No,” Eddie says, smug, and then straightens back up and lets go of Steve’s face. “Gotta have some entertainment for the aftershow party.” 

Steve is only a little bit embarrassed about the whine that escapes his throat. 

“Tease,” he grumbles as Eddie turns around to the little mirror on his desk. 

“Look who’s talking.” 

Eddie grins and begins applying eyeliner to his own face. Steve’s mouth goes a little dry. The eyeliner really does make Eddie’s doe eyes pop. Steve wants to reach out and smudge it. Which is a satisfaction he doesn’t want to give Eddie right now, so he tries his best to frown. Eddie catches Steve’s glance in the mirror. 

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” he chuckles and turns back around. “If you’re good, I’ll let you blow me in the car on the drive back.” 

And Christ, okay, yeah, Steve can work with that. He is sure he would be blushing furiously right now, if all his blood wasn’t occupied rushing south. 

“Not helping, Eddie,” he mutters and gets up, willing, begging for his boner to go down. 

Eddie does take mercy at least and stops teasing. Instead, he grabs various pieces of jewelry from his desk. Captivated like a magpie Steve watches Eddie put several silver piercings into his ears and chunky rings on his fingers. Lastly, he grabs the guitar pick he always wears on a chain around his neck. He holds it out to Steve. 

“Kiss it for good luck?” He asks and Steve is pretty certain that Eddie is joking. 

Still he reaches out and presses a quick kiss to the plastic. Eddie’s eyes widen in surprise. Especially, when Steve takes the necklace and puts it around Eddie’s neck instead of just handing it back, fingers dancing across warm skin. 

“You’re something else, you know,” Eddie says before he hooks his fingers into Steve’s belt loops and pulls him in for a quick kiss. 

“So you keep telling me,” Steve whispers back against Eddie’s lips. 

Then, for the sake of his sanity and Eddie’s wish to be on time for once, Steve steps back; knowing that if he stayed any longer in Eddie’s embrace he would kiss him again and again and again until he finally had his way and Eddie naked on top of him. 

“Do I need to put on some accessories as well?” 

“Nah,” Eddie says and glances at the ring Steve has not taken off his finger since Eddie gave it to him. “You look good with just that one on.” 

This time the blood reaches Steve’s cheeks and he can feel his face grow hot. Sheepishly, he rubs the back of his neck and avoids looking directly at Eddie. He loves the ring, loves that he has a secret little piece of Eddie, something to remind him that Eddie is his and he is Eddie’s. 

Eddie doesn’t fare much better, his pale skin glowing pink. 

“C’mon, give us a spin then,” he says with a wiggle of his eyebrows, still trying to cope with heavy emotions by blocking them with humor. Steve can’t blame him, is even glad for the change of topic. 

“Spin yourself, Munson,” he shoots back, but when Eddie twirls his finger Steve spins around nevertheless, rolling his eyes. 

“Happy?”

“Very,” Eddie grins before he grabs Steve’s hand. “C’mon, pretty boy. I have a show to play.” 

When Eddie had said four drunks and a bartender he clearly had been underselling Corroded Coffin. Steve has never been to The Hideout, not needing to find raunchy bars that don’t ID when he grew up with expensive liquor in glass cabinets and empty living rooms. So he doesn’t really have a frame of reference on how busy The Hideout usually is, but tonight it seems positively packed. It’s still not Madison Square, still just a run down bar in the middle of nowhere but Corroded Coffin have drawn a decent crowd.

Even in Eddie’s clothes with his hair messed up and eyeliner framing his amber eyes, Steve feels like he sticks out like a sore thumb in the mass. The people around him are littered with tattoos and covered in piercings, their long hair the wet dream of every hairdresser and every single one of them wears a denim vest heavy with pins and patches. Steve feels like a little kid playing dress up. He wishes that he had at least gone back to get his winter boots. 

“You alright, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, the music loud enough to drown out the pet name for curious ears nearby. 

“Yeah, fine,” Steve mumbles, not really wanting to admit that he feels a bit out of place. Eddie already has enough on his mind, he doesn’t need to have to deal with Steve’s insecurities too. 

Only that Eddie knows Steve far too well, can instantly tell that Steve is uncomfortable, and is stubbornly sweet enough to wait for Steve to spit out whatever is wrong. 

“I feel like I look silly,” Steve sighs eventually. “Like some really uncool poser.” 

“You look metal as fuck,” Eddie says, and the way his eyes slowly wander up and down Steve’s body like he can’t wait to have his wicked way with Steve after the show does make Steve believe that Eddie means it. He still feels a little bit out of place though. 

“Here,” Eddie shrugs off his vest and drapes it around Steve’s shoulders. “Highest honor I can bestow on you. Nobody is gonna question why you’re here with my battle vest on, baby.” 

The denim is soft, well worn and smells like Eddie. It does make Steve feel more secure. 

“Shit, why do you look better in it than I do,” Eddie curses, his fingers brushing over the skin of Steve’s shoulders as he takes his time to adjust the vest. 

Steve almost kisses him right then right there. It’s sometimes too easy to forget where they are. He wants to kiss Eddie all the time, hates that they can’t, thinks about the clubs and bars they could drive to in Indy, where they can be themselves, grind against each other on the dance floor, share drinks, kiss on the well worn bar stools and hold hands in the queue for their coats. Soon, Steve tells himself. They are going to do this soon. 

“I gotta go get ready, but I’ll come find you afterwards,” Eddie says and nudges Steve’s shoulder with his own. “If you get uncomfortable just move to the bar. Alex’s on tonight and he is a real dear to metal newbies.” 

He waves at the lanky bartender behind the bar and Alex nods back in acknowledgement. Steve thinks back about what Eddie has said about mosh pits and maybe moving towards the bar isn’t the worst idea. 

“Good luck,” Steve says and leans in, only catching last minute what he was about to do. 

Awkwardly, he rocks back on his heels and shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans. Eddie gives him a sad little look as if to say I know, sweetheart, before he disappears behind the stage. 

Steve drags himself to the bar and orders a beer. He has an alright view of the stage from here, but part of him wishes he had made it to the front row, even despite the mosh pits. Still, Steve sticks to the edges of the crowd, he doesn’t need another concussion after the one Hargrove had given him last November. 

He is halfway finished with his beer, when the music blaring over the stereo cuts out and a spotlight bathes the stage in white light. Conversations turn into loud hollering and cheers as Corroded Coffin enter the stage. It’s impressive really, how four teenagers are able to command the stage for themselves. Most of it is due to Eddie. He looks like he was born to stand in the limelight.

Cocksure grin on his lips, eyes set on the audience, getting them to quiet down with a simple lift of his eyebrow. It’s mesmerizing, maybe Eddie has been a cult leader all along. Steve finds his own breath hitching. Eddie does a little bow until his lips are nearly touching the microphone in front of him. It’s intimate, almost a kiss, the mic picking up Eddie’s breathing and Steve can feel it ghost down his spine. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he says with his voice sweet as maple syrup, as if he was about to make a public service announcement and not play a concert. “We are Corroded Coffin. And this is a concert—”

Eddie’s hands strum down on the guitar and one loud riff echoes through the bar. 

“—and not a wake.”

The bass player starts playing, slowly growing louder and louder. 

“So make some fucking noise,” Eddie yells down the microphone and the crowd yells back.  

Behind Eddie, the drummer joins in. 

Eddie grins into the mic before his gaze softens for a second. 

“Chrissy, this is for you,” he whispers, barely audible in the mix of instruments and audience screams. Then Eddie steps away from the mic and starts to play his guitar in earnest, fingers swiftly pushing down on strings and strumming out an aggressive melody that threatens to shatter Steve’s eardrums. 

It’s still not Steve’s favorite kind of music, but the way Eddie struts on stage, his angry screams down the mic and the ferocity he plays his guitar with is transcendental. He feels the bass vibrating from his toes up his spine, his body clashes into the ones around him jumping up and down screaming in ecstasy. His ears ring and his lungs hurt, his mouth is dried out from alcohol and screaming and Steve has never felt so alive. 

By the end of the show he is drenched in sweat, probably turning deaf by the time he is thirty and feeling every single bone in his body ache. Steve never wants this feeling to end. 

The crowd slowly thins, some people staying behind continuing to drink, some leaving for the night. Steve still has to fight his way through too many people before he reaches the front of the stage. 

Eddie spots him and hands his guitar case to Jeff with a grin, before jumping off the stage and landing surprisingly smoothly in front of Steve. He is sweaty too, his eyeliner smudged and his hair sticking to his skin. He is still out of breath and basically vibrating with leftover adrenaline. Steve is itching to touch him. 

“Enjoyed the show, sweetheart?” he rasps, voice husky from all the screaming.  Quickly he snatches the beer out of Steve’s hand, downing it in one go. 

“Let’s put it like this,” Steve says and leans in closer to whisper into Eddie’s ear. “You’re going to go back on stage and help the rest of the band pack up. Then you’re going to meet me at the back door, walk me to your van, get in the car and then use my throat until I sound just as hoarse as you.” 

Eddie chokes on Steve’s beer while Steve feels like smugness personified. 

“Making demands now?” he manages to get out between coughs. 

“Just reminding you of the promise you have to keep,” Steve smiles innocently before making a little shooing motion. “Come on, on you go. We have places to be.” 

It’s gonna bite him in the ass later, literally. And he can’t wait. Eddie just flips him off, but very very quickly climbs back up on stage. It takes ten minutes tops before he meets Steve at the back door. He still grins widely, but Steve can tell that Eddie is exhausted. 

“Ready to get out of here?” Eddie asks, voice a little bit less hoarse by now, more tired.

“Ready for you to get into me.” 

“Christ,” Eddie mutters as he grabs Steve’s wrist and pulls him out of the door into a back alley. “That was such a bad come on I’m actually impressed.”

“I’d rather you’d come on m—”

“Yeah, I get it, don’t finish that sentence,” Eddie interrupts Steve, his voice laced with fake annoyance. He can’t manage to hide the fondness in his eyes though. “You’re impossible.” 

Steve grins and lets himself fall against one of the walls in the alleyway. He reaches out for Eddie’s jacket and pulls him closer. It’s still risky, even in a dark back alley with no one around. But Steve feels like he might die if he doesn’t kiss Eddie right now. 

“You love it,” Steve teases softly, eyes focused on Eddie’s lips. 

Eddie lets himself be pulled closer. He pushes one hand against the wall right next to Steve, boxing him in with no way to go. Not that anyone could pay Steve right now to leave this spot. Gently, Eddie uses his other hand to push Steve’s chin up until Steve is forced to look into Eddie’s eyes. Etched into the deep brown of Eddie’s eyes, like initials and a heart into a tree, is so much affection it engulfs Steve like resin, keeping him and Eddie in this moment forever, immortalized in golden amber. For once, Steve glows on his own accord, doesn’t need anyone to set him on fire. 

Tenderly, Eddie brushes his thumb over Steve’s bottom lip. They are so close that they are almost sharing the same breath. Steve can already feel the phantom pressure of Eddie’s lips on his. Eddie doesn’t close the distance between them though. He takes one deep breath and whispers, “I love—” 

“Hey freak,” a voice calls out from behind them, making both Eddie and Steve jump apart. 

In the darkness of the alleyway stands no other than Jason Carver. He must have been drinking based on the way his speech is slightly slurred and the way he staggers closer. Even across the alley Steve can smell how much he reeks of alcohol. 

“Jesus Christ, Carver, go home!” Steve tells him, pushing himself off the wall and gently pulling Eddie behind him. 

Carver is nothing but a drunk junior, nothing more than a stupid kid really, worried about his girlfriend. But Steve knows not to underestimate stupid kids raised on disdain and doctrines, knows the disgusting self-righteousness they are fed with a golden spoon, knows about the violence they are starved off to have them ravenous and blood hungry at any moment. 

“Harrington?” Carver blinks confused, trying to make Steve out more in the darkness. “Fuck, did Munson corrupt you too?” 

If Steve gave more of a crap about religion and damnation maybe he too would think Eddie had corrupted him. Snuck into his life like a hellspawn demon, temptation dripping like honey and blood off his lips, split tongue whispering sweet nothings and aramaic charms into Steve’s ear, seducing him to seal his eternal perdition with a kiss. But as Steve sees it, Eddie is maybe the closest he will ever get to salvation. And he might have ruined Steve for anyone else in the process. 

Carver just takes Steve’s silence as a yes. 

“‘s his fault,” he slurs as he comes closer. “He corrupted Chri-chri-Chrissy. Made her ‘n addict. They told me!” 

“Bullshit,” Steve snarls back, while Eddie tugs on his arm, slowly stepping back, further into the alley, away from Carver. Steve lets himself be pulled back, they should get out of here. 

“No, they told me! He gave her the drugs. They told me! Thought she would fuck him for it.” 

“What the fuck,” Eddie hisses behind Steve. 

Steve feels equally confused. Who the fuck told Carver what? 

They don’t get an explanation, instead Carver suddenly launches forward, fist swinging. It all happens too quickly, Steve has enough time to push Eddie out of reach, throwing himself forward crashing into Carver, trying to keep him away. 

Steve has been punched before. Well deserved by Jonathan Byers, less deserved by fucking Hargove, accidentally while wrestling in hallways by Tommy, on purpose by his dad.He is no stranger to the pain of knuckles forcefully connecting with the soft tissue of his cheek, breaking the fragile gristle of his nose, bruising the tender skin around his eyes, or painting his pink lips red. Still, when Carver’s fist lands in his face it’s still a little bit of a shock. 

He packs a mean punch too, Steve doesn’t wanna know how hard he can hit when sober. The ringing is back in Steve’s ear even though no music is playing and his tongue tastes iron and salt. He stumbles back slightly . 

“Steve!” Eddie calls out, frantic, panicked and reaches out for him. 

Carver lurches forward again, trying to get to Eddie, but this time Steve sees him coming. There is a satisfying crack when Steve’s fists connect with Carver’s nose. He ignores the pain booming in his knuckles.

Carver stumbles and swiftly, Steve grabs the collar of Carver’s letterman and slams him into a wall, keeping him in place and away from Eddie. 

“Gonna kill the fag,” Carver spits, trying to push Steve off him. “Gonna kill him for Chrissy.” 

“The hell you are,” Steve growls, anger and adrenaline coursing through his veins. He lifts Carver just the slightest bit, only to slam him back against the wall. “You’re not going to fucking call him that and you’re not going to fucking touch him! Understood?” 

The ghost of King Steve flashes through Steve’s eyes, vicious and pissed off and just for a second Carver cowers. It’s enough for Steve to deem himself in fake safety. 

There is an irony in the way Carver hunts after false demons, when there is something absolutely demonic about the smirk on his lips when Steve lessens his grip on Carver’s jacket. Before Steve can comprehend what is happening, Carver leans his head back before slamming it against Steve’s. 

Steve staggers backwards, the familiar feeling of hot blood trickling down his face. Carver has found his momentum again and before Steve can do anything he gets hit in the face again. His head flies back, pain surges through his entire body forcing him onto his knees. 

Everything starts to spin, everything turns fuzzy, like looking through frosted glass. He can hear someone calling out for him, but everything sounds muffled as if Steve was underwater. 

“Steve!” 

Eddie. Shit, Steve needs to get up. He needs to keep Carver from Eddie. He needs to- he needs to- he needs to- fuck, his head feels heavy. When Steve manages to sit up, his environment slowly becoming more sharp and the ringing in his ears quieter, he spots that they are no longer alone in the alleyway. 

Alex is towering over Carver, holding him by the collar of his jacket like an angry little kitten. 

“Fuck off, or I’m calling the cops,” Alex snaps and shoves Carver away from Eddie and Steve. To Steve’s surprise, Carver actually bolts. 

The second he is gone, Eddie is on Steve, cradling his face with concern. 

“Shit, baby, are you alright?” 

“Fine,” Steve manages to say, even though he can feel sticky, hot blood running down his chin. “You should see the other guy.” 

“Not funny,” Eddie hisses and slowly helps Steve up. 

Tentatively, Steve takes a step and instantly the entire world is spinning again. 

“Woah, slowly,” Eddie says and holds onto Steve. “I’ve got you.” 

Steve shuts his eyes and buries his face in Eddie’s shirt to make the spinning stop. His entire face throbs with pain. Eddie holds him, soothingly lets his fingers comb through Steve’s hair. 

“Need me to call an ambulance?” Steve can hear Alex ask. 

Steve is not making Eddie go back to the hospital again. It was already bad enough the first time around. He’s fine. Carver’s punches were like a walk in the park compared to what Hargrove did to Steve. And Steve hadn’t gone to the hospital back then either. He’s fine. 

“‘m fine,” he mumbles into Eddie’s shirt. “Just wanna go home. Please.” 

“You sure, sweetheart?” 

Even without being able to see Eddie’s face, Steve can hear how worried Eddie is. It’s silly, Steve is fine. Doesn’t even feel like a concussion this time. Just some swelling and a little bit of blood. Nothing some frozen peas and band-aids couldn’t fix. Not daring to nod with his splitting headache, Steve just hums in confirmation. 

Carefully, Eddie leads Steve back to the van and helps him get in. When he tries to fasten the seatbelt for Steve, Steve bats his hand away. He got punched twice, not torn apart with a butcher’s knife. 

“To yours or to mine?” Eddie asks once he sits behind the wheel. 

Usually, when Steve says home he means the trailer. But The Hideout is closer to Loch Nora and Steve knows that he has everything in his first aid kit that he needs. 

“Mine,” he mumbles as he leans his head against the cool glass of the window. “If you wanna stay.” 

“Yeah, I’m not gonna drop you off at your house and then just fuck off, Steve! Christ!”

Eddie sounds angry and Steve flinches. Fuck, he kinda ruined Eddie’s night, didn’t he. So much for not being a bother. Burning anxiety mixes with the seething pain, pushing against Steve’s nerve endings with just as much force. He feels like he is going to be sick. Steve presses his eyes shut. He is not going to throw up in the van. He is not going to add even more shit to Eddie’s night. He is just gonna sit here, let Eddie drop him off and suggest that Eddie still might go home. Steve’s a big boy. He can take care of himself. Has done this for years. He’s fine. 

“Sorry,” Eddie suddenly says softly and reaches out to take Steve’s hand into his. “You just scared the shit out of me, sweetheart.”

Steve is in too much pain to really say anything, worried no matter what he says, he’d make it worse. So he just squeezes Eddie’s hand and remains quiet for the rest of the drive. 

When they get to his parents house, Steve drags himself upstairs and into his ensuite, Eddie right behind him. His hands are shaking as he reaches for the cabinet behind the mirror and gets out the first aid kit. Eddie instantly takes it out of his hands. 

“Sit,” Eddie says, his voice as soft as velvet and gently pushes Steve onto the edge of the bathtub. 

Steve wants to protest, say that he is perfectly capable of doing this on his own, that Eddie doesn’t need to bother. But he is too tired to protest and Eddie’s careful touch feels like balm. 

Slowly, Eddie pushes the battle vest off Steve’s shoulders before he helps Steve to take his shirt off. He hesitates a moment before he softly touches Steve, feeling for broken ribs. Steve hates how they both know how to check, how they both can tell. Eddie doesn’t mention the too well stocked medical kit and Steve doesn’t say a word about Eddie being far too good at patching someone up like this. They both know why, they both just quietly hurt for each other. 

Eddie takes one of the washcloths and runs it under hot water before he kneels down between Steve’s legs and ever so carefully starts to clean Steve’s face. 

“Asshole messed up your eyeliner,” he mumbles and gets a weak laugh out of Steve, followed by a hiss because laughing with a split lip hurts. 

It’s odd to have someone else cleaning out your wounds. Steve looks down at Eddie, catalogs the concentrated frown on his face, the way he presses his tongue slightly against his canine, the caution he touches Steve’s skin with. It almost feels like devotion, the tenderness Eddie cleans Steve’s face with. 

Steve has to hold back tears, not because of the pain, but because no one has ever done something like this for him. Looked at the broken, the bruises, the blood and said let me take care of you. 

“I’m sorry, this is going to sting,” Eddie says apologetically when he sprays some disinfectant onto a cotton pad. 

The smell is abysmal, but when Eddie gingerly takes Steve’s face back into his hands, Steve doesn’t stop him. Eddie dabs the pad against Steve’s wounds with such care it makes Steve’s head spin. The disinfectant still burns, but Steve would suffer through the pain forever if it meant Eddie would keep cradling his face like this. Gently, like something precious, like something cherished, something loved. 

Steve knows what it feels like to love. Has freely given a part of himself again and again, unable to stop, even when every part was discarded like trash until almost nothing had been left of him. But to be loved? To have someone take a part of him and cradle it softly, pressed to their chest like something dear? To pry open Steve’s clenched fists to put a part of themselves into his palm, trusting him to take care of it. Could this be it? To be loved? 

Eddie still lets go of Steve’s face, just to dispose of the cotton pads, but it still stings more than the disinfectant. 

“Do me a favor?” he asks as he takes out some band-aids. “Next time Carver tries to attack you, you run!” 

Eddie’s hands feel cool against Steve’s burning skin when he puts a band-aid over the cut on Steve’s cheekbones. His hands linger and Steve leans into the touch, nuzzling his face into Eddie’s wrist. He can almost feel Eddie’s pulse picking up. 

“He shouldn’t have said those things about you,” Steve mumbles into Eddie’s skin. 

Running had been the plan. But when Carver had dared to call Eddie those names, Steve hadn’t been able to let it go. 

“Steve, I’ve been called a fag, a queer, a monster, a freak and what have you not for most my life, I really don’t fucking care at this point,” Eddie sighs and moves on to put another band-aid on Steve’s eyebrow. “I very much do fucking care if you get hurt though.” 

Gently, Eddie tries to smooth out the band-aid, brushing his thumb over it with the faintest pressure. It’s still enough to make Steve flinch. 

“Shit, sorry,” Eddie mumbles and drops his hands from Steve’s face. 

Before Steve can let out another embarrassing whine, Eddie has taken Steve’s right hand and lifted it up to examine it. 

“I care if you get hurt too,” Steve says as Eddie dabs more disinfectant over his bruised knuckles. This time it doesn’t hurt much. There is more swelling than bleeding. He’ll have to get the ice packs out of the freezer for this. 

“Great, then next time we can run away together!” 

Steve nods. He would really love to run away together. Further than just the next corner, or to the safety of the van. Run somewhere where kings and freaks only exist in bed time stories, where fanatic bullies like Jason Carver wield no power, where it’s safe to take Eddie’s hand in public and kiss his cheek whenever he would like to. Steve isn’t quite sure if such a place exists. But they could start looking for it outside of Hawkins. 

“Okay, I think that’s as good as it gets,” Eddie says and puts the first aid kit back into the cabinet. 

“What’s the verdict, doc?” 

“Dashingly handsome with a hefty savior complex,” Eddie gently brushes a strand of hair out of Steve’s face, giving him a sappy smile. “But overall? You’ll live.” 

“Funny,” Steve says dryly before he lets Eddie pull him up. 

Everything hurts when Steve moves and exhaustion seeps into his body alongside pain. Feeling absolutely drained, Steve leans heavily into Eddie’s side. 

“You go lie down, I’ll get some ice?” Eddie suggests and Steve nods. Lying down sounds heavenly. 

“Can you lock the doors?” he mumbles as he drags himself to his bed. 

“Will do,” Eddie calls from downstairs. 

Everything is still spinning slightly when Steve sinks into the comfort of his mattress. Eddie is back seconds later, holding a bag of frozen peas. Steve could point out that they do have ice packs at the bottom of the freezer, but he doesn’t want Eddie to leave again. Just grabs Eddie’s shirt and pulls him into bed with him before taking the peas and pressing them to his face. 

As much as the cold is soothing the swelling, it’s stinging on Steve’s sore skin and Steve can’t help but hiss. 

“Want me to kiss it better?” 

“Please.” 

Eddie presses the gentlest kiss to Steve’s lips with only the lightest bit of pressure. It still hurts, but Steve manages not to flinch this time. Doesn’t want Eddie to pull away, no matter how much it stings. And Eddie doesn’t. Kisses the corner of Steve’s mouth, follows the line of his jaw, presses a quick kiss to the top of Steve’s nose and a last one to his forehead.

“You should try to get some sleep,” Eddie says and pulls Steve into his arms. “Don’t worry, I’ll be here when you wake up.” 

As always when Eddie holds him tight, Steve is gone within a second, despite the pain of his face. 

It’s not the ringing of his alarm that wakes Steve the next morning, or Eddie’s hair tickling his face, or the sun gently flooding his room. It’s the sound of heels clicking on tiles, suitcases being moved around, and disdain being expressed while the coffee maker starts running. 

With panic rising in his chest, Steve sits up and instantly regrets it. There are black dots in his vision, a pounding in his head, and a painful sting on his lips and around his eyes. Fuck Jason Carver, seriously. 

Still the pain is nothing compared to the dread taking hold of Steve’s entire body. His parents are here. Why are his parents here? They aren’t meant to come for another four days. They didn’t call. 

He turns to Eddie. He is still peacefully sleeping, chest slowly rising and falling, a mop of black curls obscuring his face, his hand still half draped across Steve’s stomach. In a perfect world, Steve would lie down again. Gently tug some strands of hair out of Eddie’s face, revealing more and more spots to kiss Eddie awake on, like the tip of his nose, or the point where the crease of his eyes meets his temple, his cheek where a dimple would form if Eddie woke up with a sleepy smile. 

“Eddie,” he whispers urgently and gently tries to shake Eddie awake. 

Eddie groans and stirs slightly but doesn't move. 

“Eddie, you gotta wake up, my parents are here,” Steve hisses again and the mention of his parents seems to do it. Eddie sits up just quickly as Steve did seconds ago. 

They both sit still for a second, holding their breath, just listening out for more footsteps and muffled voices coming from downstairs, but all Steve really can hear is his heart hammering in his chest. The clacking of heels suddenly comes closer. They should move, hide Eddie, beat Steve’s mother to the door, but all they can do is sit in Steve’s bed petrified with fear. The footsteps stop right in front of his room. 

Like a train crash in slow motion, Steve watches the door knob turn, unable to tear his eyes away, unable to do anything. There is a noise of wood being attempted to be pushed and the metal lock of the door keeping it in place. The knob turns again, but the door remains closed, even after the third try. 

Steve takes a deep breath. He has this habit of locking his door whenever he has to patch himself up. A weak attempt to keep the bad outside, even though it could easily break down the door. It’s like wearing a raincoat when drowning in the ocean. But his mother is too poised to break open a door, won’t ruin her flawlessly manicured nails or crease her pristine clothes draped artfully over her body. 

She simply calls out through the door, annoyed, “Steven, we are waiting for you downstairs. You have five minutes.” 

“Coming,” Steve yells back, his voice trembling like an aspen leaf. If his mother notices, she doesn’t care, learned out how to drown out distress the moment Steve had screamed for the first time and instead of taking him into her arms had told the nurse to just keep him quiet. Didn’t even care that the screaming meant he was alive. 

The clicking of heels grows as distant as it has always been. It’s enough to jump kick Steve into action. 

“You need to leave, now!” He says to Eddie as he slips out of bed, rushing to get dressed. Half of Eddie’s clothes that Steve had worn last night are still discarded on the floor. Steve swiftly kicks them under the bed and pulls out some random clothes out of his dresser. 

Eddie looks less than pleased about the idea of leaving. But he does get up and gets dressed too. Steve longs for their slow morning routine of dressing each other, of their tiny pocket of tenderness before having to face the world. But there is no time for it this morning. 

They maybe have a minute to spare when they are both done. Eddie swings one leg over the edge of Steve’s window and lingers. Steve knows that Eddie wants to stay. To walk downstairs holding Steve’s hand and catching Richard Harrington’s if he tries to lay it on Steve. 

In a perfect universe Steve could walk downstairs, arm slung around Eddie and over strong coffee and eggs sunny side up, introduce his parents to the boy he loves. 

In a less perfect universe Steve walks hand in hand with Eddie down stairs, out of the door and never looks back. 

In the worst universe, Steve leans in close, lets his hands run over the collar of Eddie’s jacket and whispers, “You should go.”  

“Are you gonna be okay?” 

They both know the answer to that.

“Yes,” Steve lies and seals it with a quick kiss goodbye. “I—” 

Love you. 

Steve doesn’t say it. Not like this. Not when it would feel like a goodbye, a final one. It’s just breakfast with his parents. He’ll tell Eddie when dread isn’t running one pointed finger nail up and down Steve’s spine, snaking its other hand around his throat, ready to squeeze and pull and snap his neck clean. 

He wants to say it in a moment that belongs just to them. When everything else is not even background noise, when there is only silence. So Steve can whisper the words he doesn’t dare to speak otherwise. When saying them quietly has to make up for the squashed shape they are in, for looking like a three year old drew them on paper and crumpled it up for added texture. When the vacuum around them can muffle the sorry Steve wants to attach to them. 

“I’ll see you at school?” 

“You better, Harrington,” Eddie grins with a levity as real as Steve’s promise to be okay. “I’ll eagerly await you at your locker.” 

And with that he swings his other leg over the edge and climbs down Steve’s house. For a brief second, Steve considers going after him. Climb down the golden tower, try not to break his neck, even though that would still be a better fate than staying here, and running after Eddie. Jumping into his car and telling him to drive. The world is their oyster and each other is all they need. Somewhere, in a different universe, Steve does just that. 

Here and now, Steve lets dread pull him towards his bedroom door and shoves him down the stairs. The picture that awaits him almost feels satirical. His father, at the end of the big dining room table, gigantic newspaper shielding his face. Steve’s mother next to him, face piqued, knife and fork cutting into half a grapefruit with surgical precision, as if the pink flesh was human and the bitter, sticky juice blood. 

He is going to be okay, Steve tells himself as he steps closer, he promised Eddie. He might as well have promised the moon and the stars. Steve would have actually tried to get those for Eddie. He has given up on being okay a long time before Eddie drew secrets out of him like breath. 

“Steve, you didn’t stock up the fridge, I had no creamer for my coffee this morning,” his mother says in lieu of a hello when she notices him, standing in the doorway. 

She doesn’t mention the bruises and cuts, either not caring or thinking that Steve already had them when they left the last time. 

“You didn’t call me to say you would be back early,” Steve doesn’t bother with hello either or with manners drilled into him. It’s not a smart decision but when has he ever made those? 

At the end of the table his father lowers the newspaper. He looks like a cartoon villain, it’s so ridiculous, Steve would laugh if dread wasn’t starting to choke him out. It’s easy to flip Tommy off, easy to talk back to his mother, but compared to them his father is fucking Goliath and Steve has run out of ammunition and spite. 

“Sit,” his father says in the same way one might command a dog to sit down. 

Steve doesn’t want to think about how he probably holds the same value to his parents. Still, he sits down at the table. His mother hasn’t bothered with putting out a cup for him or a plate. He would love to have some coffee, small, warm comfort in his hands. But he knows he can’t just get up and get some. Only good dogs get treats. So instead to keep his hands busy, Steve fidgets with Eddie’s ring under the table. 

“We have some affairs with Star Court to take care of before the opening,” his father says. Steve is surprised he is getting an explanation at all. “Including signing your work contract.” 

“Sorry?” 

“Your father has been kind enough to let his various connections play to get you a job at the mall,” his mother says. “At Scoops Ahoy.” 

“The ice cream chain?” Steve is not following anymore at all. 

“If you are not going to college, you are going to have to work to stay under this roof. No more allowance, no grocery money, you’re lucky enough your mother convinced me to let you keep the car.” 

New life plan, mapped out meticulously, with new steps to follow. Steve is surprised his father isn’t getting out a contract for him to sign. But then again Steve’s life has never belonged to himself, there is no need to sign a contract if his dad can choose to do with it whatever he wants.  

“So you are going to work and then you are going to apply to some other school and this time I will make sure that you will get in.” 

Newspaper goes back up, his mother turns back to her grapefruit, the discussion is over. Steve’s life goes on as planned. 

Getting another shot at applying to colleges would usually mean taking community college classes until his GPA has improved. But god forbid that the son of Richard and Susan Harrington is seen anywhere less than Ivy. Corruption is just the cours de jour, failure and settling for less is frowned upon. 

There is nothing much Steve could say or do. No point in saying yes to the job under the condition that he gets to figure out what he wants to study and where he wants to study. Because Steve Harrington couldn’t possibly want anything, no hopes, no wants, no dreams, they made sure to cut those out of him like tonsils when he was a child. 

Only that they must have screwed up along the lines, because Steve wants so fucking much. He just knows that he doesn’t get to. Not unless he runs. 

“Can I go now?” he asks.

“You’re dismissed,” his dad says in a way as if he was surprised that Steve is still there. 

Unnoticed, Steve slips out of the room. He is almost in trance when goes back up. Neatly folds Eddie’s clothes, including the vest and puts it in his drawer. He grabs his bag, school books, heads back down to his car, all as if he was programmed to do it. 

He has no memory of the drive when he gets to school. Just a little taste of what his life will be, moving through fog with no direction, no vision, no point and purpose. Automatic, no thoughts, no feelings, just following order after order, like the perfect little tin soldier he was always meant to be. Steve feels like he might throw up and rushes inside. 

He reaches the front door at the same time as Officer Callahan. Politely, Steve holds it open for him. Hopper is apparently still on parental leave judging by the fact that they sent Callahan to the school for whatever reason. Probably for a DARE program session. Steve doesn’t really care. Lets Callahan pass, calls him an asshole in his head, still bitter about the couple of ragers Callahan has shut down, and moves to his locker, itching to get to the safety of Eddie’s arms. 

Only that Eddie isn’t waiting at Steve’s locker. He’s seen Eddie’s van in the parking lot so he has definitely made it to school. Maybe something came up, some last minute homework, some long forgotten math test. Steve tries not to let it get to him, tries not to add to the hollow feeling inside. Something must have come up. 

The bell rings and Steve floats to class in a sea of blurry people. He can’t really focus on anything, keeps on moving in trance. Feels the defeat in his body. Sits down in the last row and slowly becomes one with the plastic chair. He doesn’t know why he was so worried about not knowing what to do with his future for the past couple of months. Being told exactly what to do, getting a schedule for his life, clocked and planned to the point of telling him when to exhale and when to inhale, is much worse. He aches for Eddie’s touch, aches for the reassurance that he is more than a bullet point on a paper sheet, aches for something real. But nothing feels quite real anymore. What’s the fucking point. 

He doesn’t focus on class, drifts through the hallways to room after room. By third? Fourth period? he isn’t even sure if he is in the right class. He doesn’t care. 

“Steve Harrington to the principal’s office, please,” an ominous voice suddenly interrupts his pity party. It takes a second for Steve to realize that it’s just the secretary, calling him over the PA system. “Steve Harrington to the principal’s office, please.” 

All heads in class are turned to him, curious eyes watching as he drags himself up. What kind of trouble might their fallen king have gotten into. There is a devilish grin on Tommy’s face when Steve passes him and something like satisfaction on Billy’s. They no doubt have something to do with this. But Steve doesn’t care. 

Three more days and he is out of here. Out of here and stuck to his parents plan like tar. Or maybe he will really be out of here. Find Eddie and run. If he is brave enough. If Eddie wants him to. The void inside of Steve’s chest expands, bravery seems hard to come by these days. Especially when everything is numb as if it was the coldest winter and not the summer sun beating down on them. It adds to the surreal feeling gnawing on Steve. 

The feeling gets worse when he enters Higgins’ office and sees Eddie, sitting on a chair, head hanging low, face obscured by hair. Callahan is standing behind him, arms crossed, eyes fixated on Steve. The same way Higgins’ eyes are fixated on him. And his parents. 

Steve doesn’t think he’s ever seen his parents inside the school. Not even on his very first day ever. He can’t remember the name of the nanny that had dropped him off, but he remembers that she smelled like chamomile and daisies. 

Their faces give nothing away, pristine, poised, posed as always. His father is a lawyer but he has a politician’s smile. Empty and put on, but just practiced enough for you to believe it might be real. Steve doesn’t think there is anything real about his father, never has been. He was born plastic and he took such offense to it when Steve wasn’t. It’s always been Steve’s fatal flaw, too much human deep down inside. 

“Steve,” Higgins greets him curtly, “please take a seat.” 

He gestures to the one free chair his parents are standing behind. This feels like a hearing. Why is he here? Why is Eddie here? 

Steve sits down and in an instant his father’s hand is on his shoulder, keeping him pressed into place. 

“Why are we here,” he asks, fingers digging into Steve more forcefully with every single word. 

“We are sure you have heard about the tragedy that occurred to Christina Cunningham?” Higgins asks and Steve’s parents nod. 

He shouldn’t be surprised. They can’t be bothered to ask about a single one of his games, his friends, his grades, anything about him really. But they know what happened to Chrissy. Keep tabs on any scandal, either to stay clear of it, flashing their pure superiority, or to spin it for their own use. Compassionate Susan Harringont holding the hand of Chrissy’s mother as she cries. Powerful Richard Harringont promising to chat to the big guys up in the big cities to urge the war on drugs, making cities and towns clean again.  They are good at pretending that they care, they just never bothered to pretend to care about Steve. 

“Well, we have reason to believe that Mr. Munson here,” Higgins continues and nods towards Eddie. “Is responsible.”

“We got an anonymous tip that said they saw Mr. Munson sell Miss Cunningham the drugs two nights before she was found. This,” Callahan holds up a clear, plastic bag, filled with pills, white powder, and weed, “was in his locker.” 

Steve frowns. Eddie didn’t sell Chrissy any drugs. He literally stopped dealing a few weeks ago. Not to mention that he would never keep drugs in his locker like a rookie, but hidden in the beat up lunch box he keeps under the passenger seat of his van. Not like Hargrove, who…

In a single second it all clicks into place. Billy leaving prom with Chrissy, his panicked conversation with Tommy the morning they found Chrissy, Jason’s slurred they told me, the sardonic smile on Tommy’s lips when Steve left the class. Billy is the one who did this, Billy sold Chrissy a lethal amount of laced drugs. Not Eddie. 

Before Steve can say anything, his father’s voice cuts through the air, silencing Steve. The grip on his shoulder slowly becomes unbearable. 

“And what does Steven have to do with this?” 

Callahan clears his throat and looks mildly uncomfortable when he speaks. Even an idiot like him knows not to be on Richard Harrington’s bad side. 

“The night of the alleged deal,” Callahan addresses Steve directly, “Eddie said he was with you.” 

Eddie’s head snaps up and for a second the world stops spinning and everything grows silent. Eddie’s eyes catch Steve’s and a multitude of unspoken things unfolds in the gaze held between them.

There is an apology for bringing Steve into this. A desperate forlornness of not knowing how else to get out of this. A plea for help. Mixed with hope that rests heavily on Steve’s chest. And above all, there is fear. So much fear. 

Because Steve is scared too. This is the moment, the now or never, the speak or forever hold your peace, the question if he actually wants to be a real boy or not.  

Steve wants to be brave for both of them. His father’s fingers dig into the tender flesh of his shoulder like a wolf digs fangs into his prey. And Steve really, really, truly wants to. Wants to get up and break away, let his father’s teeth tear through skin and muscle and bone and draw blood. Sink down stained sanguine in front of the boy he loves like he is something holy, take his hand and avow himself Eddie’s; wishes upon the shooting stars Eddie has drawn between the freckles and moles on Steve’s skin.

And in a different universe, another life, a more courageous Steve Harrington just might. 

But in this one, they both know it’s a promise Steve could never keep. Painfully aware that time would inevitably run out. That it would always end like this. That sometimes love just isn’t enough.

“Is that true, Steven?” 

The grip on Steve’s shoulder is so harsh he wants to scream in pain. But he has learned to be quiet about it. To scold his face, hide the scars, be nothing but clay to be shaped. It still hurts so fucking badly. He just wants it to stop. 

Steve turns his head away and he knows that Eddie knows. He doesn’t want to see the realization in Eddie’s face. The words are placed on his tongue with ink that tastes like betrayal, bitter as bile and strings woven from metal chafing his wrists are tugged. 

“No,” Steve shakes his head, his voice as soft as a kiss to the cheek. “He wasn’t with me.” 

He hopes that everything will go fuzzy. That his vision will blur and cotton fill his ears, that voices will be muffled and that he won’t feel. That he’ll just be numb and unmoving, pushed around like the spineless ragdoll he is. But everything is clear, sharp even as if put under a magnifying glass. And loud. He can hear the buzzing of a fly, smashing its head against the window over and over again in a futile attempt to reach the sun until it will be too broken to fly. He can hear his mother’s nails clacking impatiently on the leather of her purse, can hear Higgins breathing, the ticking of Callahan’s watch, the blood rushing through his father’s veins, and the defeated sob Eddie is trying to hold in. Steve doesn’t get the mercy of apathy. 

He does no longer feel his father’s grip though. Because his heart starts to eat itself. Shreds fiber for fiber apart, tears through veins and rips through arteries, autocannibalizes. It’s not enough pain to make up for what he just did to Eddie. 

Dread has let go of his throat. Instead it is guilt mixed in with blood, saliva and bile that presses against his trachea when he tries to swallow. Steve quietly chokes and no one seems to notice, other than Eddie, whose eyes Steve can feel burning on his skin.

“Then you’re free to go,” Higgins tells him and Steve is pulled up and dragged out of the office and into the captivity of his parents’ making. As they leave, part of him hopes that Eddie will call out for him. Part of him hopes that he will turn around and look back at Eddie. Neither happens. Sometimes love is just not enough. 

He barely registers the impact of being slammed against a locker. Everything already hurts too fucking much. 

“Not here, Richard,” he hears his mother say, always eager to protect her reputation, never eager to protect Steve. 

The force holding him against the wall disappears, but relief won’t come. He still can’t breathe. He knows his father doesn’t tolerate weakness, it’s why Steve never turned away, never curled up trying to lessen what his father was giving to him, always faced it, hoping one day it might impress his dad enough to stop. 

But right now he physically can’t hold himself up anymore, slumps down onto the floor, knees pressed into his chest. 

“We’ll talk about this when you get home,” his father spits and Steve wants to throw back his head, bang it against the cool metal of the lockers and let out hollow laughter. What fucking home? 

The golden cage, the haunted house, the empty mansion, the place slowly devouring what’s left of him? The floors he has bled on, the walls that have muffled his silent cries, the doors he always had to fear might never open again? That home? 

But Steve doesn’t have the energy so he keeps quiet. His parents leave and Steve just stays sitting on the linoleum floor, hands tearing on his hair, tears burning in the corner of his eyes, but he doesn’t allow them to fall. Not yet. 

He doesn’t know for how long he just stays there, body writhing with pain from wounds no one can see. Eventually, the door next to him opens and Callahan and Eddie step out. 

“Don’t leave town,” Steve hears Callahan say and at least that means they don’t have enough evidence to book Eddie already. 

And they are not going to get any. He didn’t do it. Innocent until proven guilty and all that constitutional crap, right? Steve wants to tell himself that it’s going to be fine. But he has run out of lies to believe. 

Eddie just nods and Callahan leaves. Eddie’s shoulders slump and he turns around. He freezes instantly when he spots Steve, on the floor. Steve scrambles up, not really knowing what to say, just knowing that he wants to reach out. To put every apology he can into the gentle touch of hands. 

He lifts his arm slightly, even though he is too far away to touch. Eddie takes a step back further. 

I’m sorry, Steve wants to say. Forgive me, he wants to beg. I couldn’t, he wants to explain. It’s them, he wants to blame. But he doesn’t; he just keeps quiet and stares, Eddie stares back. 

The bell rings, giving them precious last seconds alone, before the hallway is flooded. 

“Eddie,” Steve says, knowing that there is nothing else to say. 

“We’re done,” Eddie says back. Sometimes love just isn’t enough. 

The tears finally drop, turning Eddie into nothing but a distorted shadow in the distance. Steve wants to get yelled at, wants angry screams and raised fists. He wants them to fight. Wants tears and blood and anything. Wants to find something, just the tiniest thing, that could make this Eddie’s fault too. Silence is all he gets. His vision clears and Eddie is gone. No goodbye, no hate filled curses, no chance for closure. Just an abandoned hallway and quiet finality. 

It ends the same way it started: With a split lip and a broken heart. 

_____

1999

Thanksgiving

Pastry dough sticks to Steve’s fingers, flour clinging to his palm, his elbow, his wrist. He presses the dough down, flattens it, pulls it up and pushes it back into a smooth ball before flattening it again. It’s repetitive, meditative, a task to pour himself into. The same way he pours cinnamon into the pumpkin filling, nutmeg into the pecan filling, zest into the key lime filling,  and a little bit of love into all of them. He takes his time crimping the pie crust. A little indulgent treat after the rush of the ski trip. He has barely had time to drop their bags off at home before rushing to the store and getting the last ingredients the Thanksgiving rush had left on the shelves. Gingerly, he takes the crust between his thumb and index finger and pushes a well rounded indent into it.  

Making food is one of Steve’s favorite ways to love. It takes time and devotion, thought and knowledge. Max hates nuts and anything overly sweet, but loves anything with a tang. Lucas can’t stand the texture of pie filling, unless there is a crunch. Will, Mike, and Dustin are happy with whatever. But El and Hopper will insist on pumpkin because it’s a classic, it’s tradition, it’s a little bit of normality that El had been deprived of most of her childhood. 

Steve has whole filing cabinets stored in his mind about who likes what food and why. Can tell when Robin needs a pick me up croissant or when to push a bag of sour patch kids in front of Will during a session. Has a cup of hibiscus tea ready in his hand when Chrissy comes over and has the need to vent. Will save an extra portion of cheesy broccoli when Mike stays over for dinner and he could probably write a whole cookbook about what food to make for Dustin in what mood.  

It makes Steve feel of use. He knows love is not transactional, that the love  won’t just go away if he stops being useful. And he isn’t trying to buy love, knows all too well that that doesn’t work either. He cooks food for the people he loves because he truly loves doing it, loves them, wants to feed them, nourish them, take care of them. But deep down inside a tiny part of him still sees it as a safety net. Like checking the door twice before he goes to bed. Just a little insurance that if he keeps being good, they will keep loving him. 

He knows he could murder someone and they would help him get rid of the corpse, take his hands and wash the blood away from under his nails, tuck him into bed while talking best alibi strategies. But still, as he takes the pies out of the oven, a small, broken part deep down inside always frets. Steve makes a mental note to talk to his therapist about this in their next session.

“Hey, can you help me carry this?” Steve asks as Dustin comes down into the kitchen, ready to go over to the Hopper-Byers’ house. 

Dustin nods and carefully takes the still warm pies. 

Joyce’s eyes light up when Steve and Dustin carry them inside her kitchen. 

“Oh sweetie, you didn’t have to,” she exclaims loudly before pulling Steve into a big warm hug. He allows himself to linger in her hug and Joyce just keeps holding him. Steve knows when to feed people, Joyce knows when to give a little extra love. 

“You and Hop wouldn’t let me help with anything else,” Steve says lightheartedly when they let go.

“Oh, you know how territorial he gets when cooking. Loves to have people sit there and talk, but god forbid you attempt to cut an onion because no matter how you do it, you’re doing it wrong, ” she says with a laugh and rubs her hands up and down Steve’s arms, as if to keep him warm, as if to keep her love inside. “Must run in the family.” 

She winks at him and Steve feels like butter melting in a pan. Joyce knows exactly that Steve likes to feel he imposes. Knows how especially bad it gets during the holidays. Knows that he needs a little reminder now and then, that he is hers and Hop’s, screw what it says on paper.  

Around them the house is buzzing with noise. Sugar fuelled kids running around, arguing whether to put on the game or the parade, even though every year Hopper huffs, annoyed, puts his food down, says they are watching the game, only to let El change the TV to the parade after five minutes. Cutlery and plates, glasses and bottles are clinking loudly together as the adults set the table. Everything is quietly accompanied by a Louis Amstrong record. It’s a home too filled with people and life to echo. 

Steve makes his rounds. Hugs Jonathan and Nancy, asks them how New York is going. With the hurt they all three had dealt each other having long reached past its statute of limitations, becoming friends had been surprisingly easy. Natural even. Steve is truly happy for them when they talk about their life together. He claps Murray on the shoulder, mentally vowing to avoid him the longer the night goes and the more vodka Murray drinks. Says hi to the rest of the kids and gets shooed out of the kitchen by Hopper before he reaches Robin and Chrissy. 

They too pull him into a hug that lasts longer than their usual ones. This time it isn’t just for Steve’s benefit. The holidays are always tough for them all. He can already tell that Robin frets enough about Chrissy and him that when she asks him if he is okay, he just nods. They’ll talk later, on a day less charged with electricity and gray tinted melancholia, and in a house with fewer ears. 

“Are you okay?” Steve asks instead, squeezing Robin’s hand. “All recovered from the food poisoning?” 

“Thanks to your soup,” Robin bumps her shoulder into his, before she suddenly get a little sheepish. “We…uh we think it wasn’t food poisoning though.”  

“Correct me if I’m wrong, I barely scraped past with a C in biology class, but I don’t think you and Chrissy have the…equipment for that kind of thing, right?” Steve asks, half joking, half serious. 

“What, ew, no gross,” Robin grimaces. “I’m so not pregnant. No chance. No alien growing inside of me.” 

They both snort at that like little kids at a fart joke. It’s nice, that childish immaturity and joy they bring out in each other. Neither of them really had that as kids. 

“No, we think…it may have been a bit too much stress,” Robin explains eventually. “Took on too many projects at work. Too much overtime, all that. So we are taking our Christmas vacation a bit early. Driving up to Vermont tomorrow, we’ll be staying until New Years Eve.” 

“Glad you’re taking care of yourself, Robs,” Steve says and it’s his turn to rub his hands over her arms, to keep her warm, to keep the love inside. He knows how much she struggles with doing stuff just for herself. It’s not the same kind of martyrdom Steve suffers from, but a smidge of codependency and abandonment issues. Her childhood might not have been as bleak as his, but she was just as lonely until she met him. Just a different kind of lonely. 

“I’ll call you, twice a week. I promise.”

“Not twice a day?” Steve teases her and is happy that he gets her to roll her eyes. They’ll talk later about Eddie. Steve will survive. He’s a grown up. 

As if summoned, the front door opens and slightly late to the party, Eddie steps in. His cheeks are rosy from the cold winter air, and a couple of snowflakes stick to his curls. He looks beautiful as ever and for a second everything goes completely quiet when he looks at Steve. There is always something special about that moment when their eyes find each other in a crowded room, unable to rest until they have landed on each other. 

Only that today, something is off. It’s not that Eddie’s eyes lack their usual warmth and affection. It just feels distant, as if someone had put a glass wall up between them. Barely noticeable, but still constantly there. 

Steve wiggles his fingers, knowing it makes him look like an absolute dork. Usually, it’s the kind of wave that gets Eddie to smile and wave back equally as silly. Today he just nods briefly before he turns his head away. Steve suddenly feels cold. 

He considers going over, but the kids get to Eddie first. Steve stays on his side of the room and then he freezes. Because right behind Eddie is Wayne. 

In theory, Steve knew that Eddie would bring Wayne along, still he is completely unprepared for it. It’s kind of the same as explaining to a desert dweller what snow feels like. Wayne doesn’t have the same issues of looking at Steve. He happily glares at Steve from across the room and keeps on glaring. It’s a mild punishment for the promise Steve broke and at the same time it’s unbearable. 

It’s Hopper who saves Steve. He steps to Wayne, offering a beer and a conversation about sports. It’s enough to drag Wayne’s harsh eyes away from Steve. He knows Wayne is a kind man, it only makes the anger behind his eyes worse. 

They don’t talk during dinner. Eddie chooses the furthest seat away from Steve possible, and Steve tries not to read into it. It’s probably for his own benefit, since Wayne is sitting right next to Eddie. If only Eddie would look at him. But he doesn’t, keeps his distance, talks to everybody but Steve. 

Steve only catches him staring once, when Nancy places her hand on Steve’s arm during conversation. It’s quick and fleeting, but Steve manages to see a hint of bitterness flickering through Eddie’s hurried glance. The petulant part in Steve wants to push, put his hand on Nancy’s arm too, lean in a little too close, laugh a little bit too much. See how much attention from Eddie he can garner. But he doesn’t. There is something uncomfortable about the way Eddie just won’t really acknowledge him, Steve knows pushing won’t make it better. 

Only once dinner is over do they end up talking briefly. Steve is standing at the sink, doing the dishes with everyone else in the living room, when Eddie comes in carrying the last bits and bobs. He puts them down on the kitchen table, instead of on the counter right next to Steve. There are six checkered kitchen tiles they’d have to cross to touch. Steve can feel his fingers grow pruny in the dish water. 

“I liked your pies,” Eddie says eventually and it feels stilted, as if he was programmed to say it. 

“I’ll make an apple pie for you next time,” Steve says, voice equally as robotic. 

“Thanks.” 

Steve isn’t quite sure what’s happening or why it is happening. One second they are all up in each other’s space, acting like they can’t breathe if they are more than five inches apart. And now the distance between them feels so impossible to overcome, as if the kitchen was an ocean and Steve was trying to cross it with a nutshell.

He thinks back to the last time they spoke. How he already felt like missing Eddie, sitting next to him on the bus ride home. He thinks about the moment before that. The warmth of Eddie’s skin, soft bed sheets and softer curls draped over Steve’s chest, kind eyes glancing at his lips. It’s barely been 48 hours, but feels like a lifetime ago. 

“Eddie, I-,” Steve starts, not knowing what to say. Just desperate to fill the silence. But before he can say anything, Wayne rolls into the kitchen. 

“We should leave, Eds,” he says not unkindly, but insistently. He shoots Steve another one of his vicious glares and Steve can feel himself shrink like a cashmere sweater in too hot water. 

“Happy Thanksgiving, Steve,” Eddie says, his vocal chords still covered in metal. Before Steve can say it back he has turned around and pushes Wayne out of the door. 

Steve watches Eddie leave and he has the horrible urge to run after him. To wrap his arms around Eddie and pull him back inside. Apologize for whatever he did to make Eddie so taciturn. 

He doesn’t though. His hands soak in the sink. He watches Eddie leave. And even though the house is full of people, everything starts to feel empty again. 

Steve decides that this needs to stop. 

Christmas

They don’t talk. And Steve doesn’t know why. Tells himself at first it’s just because December keeps them busy. All of them. Dustin drowns in end of term essays and science projects, while Steve has his schedule filled with college applications and extra sessions. The harsh Indiana winter sweeps an epidemic of seasonal affective disorder over Steve’s already stressed students. Christmas coming up isn’t helping either. Steve and Dustin aren’t the only ones dreading the holiday. 

Eddie is busy too. Between classes, Hellfire sessions, and theater rehearsals, Steve barely sees him these days. They are both just too busy, Steve keeps telling himself, even though he knows that’s never stopped them before. Eddie is avoiding him. Doesn’t wait for Steve with coffee anymore, doesn’t just show up at Steve’s house, doesn’t come by for lunch. Hides in the back of the drama room, mumbling something about cleaning up when Steve comes to pick up the kids from Hellfire. He’s pulling away and slowly, Steve finds himself doing the same. 

Which is fine. Good, even. Ideal, really. Because Steve has been under the illusion that pulling back, spending less time with Eddie somehow miraculously would erase his feelings like pencil on paper. Only distance, as it fucking turns out, does make the heart grow fonder because Steve is miserable. Misses his grocery runs with Eddie, misses his couch being occupied and metal being played in his car, misses the lack of personal space and his kitchen table covered in English homework and red pens.

Steve loves his and Dustin’s little house, loves the home they have built within it. But Eddie’s absence leaves an echo of long forgotten desolate hallways and unused kitchens, of devouring living rooms and haunted bedrooms. 

Despite that nagging empty feeling, Steve doesn’t reach out. And Eddie doesn’t reach back. They hide under the convenient cover of Christmas stress, slowly moving away from each other like magnets being drawn to different poles. It’s weird, Steve has had fallouts before. Sometimes, friendships end. Usually that happens with raised voices and angry words and clear cuts. This one is quiet. It’s not like they have both said to each other, hey, let’s stop being friends. And Steve doesn’t think they have stopped being friends. They have just stopped talking. 

Eddie’s absence leaves a dull, constant, subtle pain, like a headache that isn’t severe enough to take the day off, but still hurts too much to focus fully. In moments when the pain does reach a sudden throbbing crescendo, Steve wonders what the fuck happened. One second they are totally fine, goofing around on the ski trip, waking up in each other's arms and…oh. 

Maybe Eddie knows, it occurs to Steve. Maybe he knows that Steve is head over heels back in love with him. And either he is uncomfortable, the thought makes Steve’s hands fly up, pressing against his mouth, retching, trying not to throw up swallowed down guilt that sits in his gut like an ulcer, just waiting to burst open again. Or Eddie is trying to give Steve an out, has the same stupid illusion that Steve’s feelings will just go away if they don’t talk. If only. 

Steve finds himself almost talking to Eddie. But every time he gets close, nausea floods through him, and Steve sinks back into a wall or hides behind a door, willing his heart to stop racing and his stomach not to throw up. He gets why it’s called being lovesick, he feels like he is coming down with something. 

At night, Steve sleeps even less than usual. Frets about whether this is mendable, whether they can be friends again. 

Eddie is the one who breaks eventually, catches Steve in the hallway between lessons two days before Christmas break. 

“Hey,” Eddie says softly and stops Steve by gently placing his hand on Steve’s forearm, as if he was afraid Steve might just slip away. As if Eddie hadn’t been the first one to disappear. 

“Hey yourself,” Steve says back, trying to sound lighthearted and hold back the exhaustion in his voice, hide the bittersweet heartache of yearning every time Eddie is near. 

Eddie lets his hand linger on Steve’s arm and Steve wishes they could just stay in this little moment forever. Wants them living out of each other's pockets again, wants this weird silence between them to end. They are talking right now, but Steve has the creeping feeling that it’s not going to fill the gap that’s widening between them. 

“You going to the staff Christmas party?” Eddie asks. He sounds casual, but his eyes take Steve in inch by inch and get caught on the shadows under Steve’s eyes. The little crease between Eddie’s brown can’t hide the concern in his face, no matter how much he tries to distract with unimportant chit-chat. “Heard you’re doing a killer Bon Jovi performance at karaoke each year.” 

While getting drunk of eggnog and sing-shouting very long repressed feelings into the mic along side the lyrics Livin’ on a Prayer used to be one of Steve’s favorite and most honored holiday traditions he doesn’t really feel it this year. Hasn’t really since Mrs. Henderson died. Doesn’t especially feel it this year. 

A glutton for self inflicted punishment he might be, but he isn’t really fond of the idea of slurring take my hand, we’ll make it i swear woah livin’ on a prayer on a stage with Eddie sitting in the audience. 

“Not this year,” Steve says quietly and shakes his head. 

“Oh, okay,” Eddie sounds mildly disappointed and his hand glides from Steve’s arm. Steve wants to reach out and keep him there. He knows Eddie is about to slip away. Steve wants him to stay. Is brave enough to open his mouth and ask if Eddie wants to come into his office and have lunch. 

But the school bell beats him too it.  

“Gotta go, I’m afraid,” Eddie says and already starts walking. Students pour into the hallway, pulling them further apart like a strong current. Eddie has to almost shout when he adds, “I’ll see you around.” 

They both know they won’t see each other. At least not the way they used to. 

Christmas comes along and it’s hard. 

For the longest time, Steve used to hate Christmas. His parents couldn’t be bothered to keep up the illusion of Santa Claus by the time Steve was four. And instead of Christmas mornings in pjs and fuzzy socks, spent drinking hot cocoa and unwrapping presents under the tree, his parents used to be on business trips even over the holidays. They sent cards, sometimes called but eventually those stopped too. Christmas was just another lonely day in the big lonely house in Steve’s lonely childhood and adolescence. 

Which was already pretty fucking shitty in itself, but it would have hurt a lot less if Christmas hadn’t also happened to be Steve’s birthday. There is something ironic, about someone being known as the party king never having had a birthday party. Tommy and Carol either never cared enough to ask about his birthday, or just assumed that one of his regular ragers was a birthday party. The last nanny he had, before his parents decided that he was old enough to stay completely alone, had sung happy birthday to him when he had turned 13. It’s the first and last time someone had sung it for him. 

Even once Christmas became less awful and filled with Mrs. Henderson’s warm hugs and even warmer mulled wine, Steve wasn’t keen enough on his birthday for her to sing for him. The 25th was Christmas first and foremost, Steve didn’t want to think about his birthday. 

He doesn’t want to think about Christmas either this year. Like the previous two ones it’s somber. They’re eating Chinese cuddled up on the couch and watching The Never Ending Story, both craving the comfort of each other’s quiet company. They don’t talk much. There isn’t really much to say. They know they both miss her. They know that despite Steve’s best efforts his sugar cookies never taste the same as hers. They know that Christmas would suck a lot less if they could spend it with their friends just like Thanksgiving. 

Joyce had offered. Had talked about a little cabin up north with a free room for Dustin and Steve. Nancy too had extended an invitation to New York and even Max had suggested for them to come to Cali with her and her mom just to get out of the snow for a while. But Steve and Dustin had declined. Wanting to spend Christmas with your friends and mentally being able to are two very different things. And with Chrissy and Robin gone too this year Hawkins is empty and abandoned around Christmas time. Steve hates how familiar the feeling is. 

“You wanna do gifts?” Steve asks eventually when the movie is over. Dustin just nods. 

Like the rest of the evening, exchanging gifts is nothing special. Steve has never been particularly good at gift giving, having been raised that a card with some money in it is the best it gets. He used to give his ‘friends’ plenty of gifts in high school, as in they would point at something shiny and Steve would get his dad’s credit card out. Everything to feel the illusion of fake love, right? 

Dustin has always been at the opposite end of the stick, growing up with money always being tight. He knows how to get creative with his gifts, but Steve knows how much he always stresses about them, even if he no longer needs to. 

They both have a mutual understanding about gifts. There is no great fanfare about handing each other messily wrapped boxes. It’s not even Christmas themed wrapping gift, but who the fuck cares. 

Steve gets a mug with the words world’s best babysitter on them and instantly insists on making hot chocolate in it. Just to keep his hands busy and his emotions in check. He hasn’t babysat the kids in years and they aren’t really kids anymore, but Steve knows he’ll always be their babysitter and they’ll always be his kids. 

Dustin’s face lights up for the first time that night when he opens up the custom DnD dice set Steve got him. They are a mixture of wood and bronze and silver metal, numbers and lines intricately carved into them, little gears ornamenting the corners. Steampunk-y, Lucas, Will, and Mike had informed Steve, when he had asked them for help picking them out. 

“They’re perfect Steve, thanks,” Dustin mumbles and wraps Steve in a hug. 

They don’t hug that often, usually opting for brotherly punches on shoulders, or if Steve is quick enough, ruffling Dustin's curls. So every hug always feels special. Tonight it feels like a lifeline. 

That night Steve doesn’t dream about Starcourt or the earthquake. Everything is just white. The static of the snow storm in his brain is almost nice. If he wasn’t so fucking alone in it. He learns that ice burns just as much as fire. 

He doesn’t want to move when he wakes up, stays in bed, staring at the ceiling, ignoring the dread pooling into his stomach. Thirty-three. The number of vertebrae humans have. Atomic number of arsenic. The temperature at which water starts boiling according to the Newton scale. Years Steve Harrington has spent on this earth. 

It’s not the aging he minds, lost his ability to be vain about wrinkles and gray hairs the moment his skin started scarring. Even though every single one of his vertebrae feels like it has been dipped in boiling arsenic. It’s just the day. 

He hopes Robin calls. He hopes Robin doesn’t call. He wants his best friend, but doesn’t want the pity that always comes with his birthday or with anything he has been through. Steve knows it’s just her attempt at being sympathetic, but it tends to backfire. 

Most people in the party don’t even know when Steve’s birthday is. It’s never really been significant to him before, so he’s kept it quiet. Always said he wasn’t a birthday person when someone asked. Joyce and Hopper know too and Dustin of course. But they also know that it’s complicated, a little bit of a lose lose situation. Celebrate it and feel the ache of the past ones. Don’t celebrate it and feel like nothing has changed. 

Steve turns onto his side with a groan. At least Christmas always used to overshadow it. Gave Steve the perfect mixture of celebration without all the attention on him. At least before Mrs. Henderson died. His eyes flicker to his alarm clock. It’s only eight am. Enough time to wallow a bit, before putting on a brave face for Dustin. Steve knows he doesn’t have to, that Dustin would be fine with Steve being just as down as he is. But Steve doesn’t want Dustin to worry about him, just wants Dustin to deal with his own feelings today. 

Steve’s wallowing gets rudely interrupted though by someone assaulting his doorbell. When it doesn’t stop after a minute, Steve slips out of bed, not bothering with getting dressed or putting on a robe. 

“You know what this is about?” he yawns as he runs into Dustin on the stairs. 

Dustin just shakes his head, looking as tired as Steve feels. Steve hates that Dustin hasn’t slept well either. He needs Christmas to be over already. They reach the front door and Steve pulls it open, ready to yell at whoever thinks it’s okay to ring up such a storm at eight am on Christmas morning, but the words die on his tongue. 

“Harrington, Henderson,” Eddie gives them a beaming grin that usually means trouble. “Grab your shoes and coats. You can keep the pjs on. The Munsons’ Christmas table has two seats left. No arguing." 

Both Steve and Dustin blink, dumbstruck. Steve knew that Eddie would be in town over Christmas. It’s still a little bit of a shock to see him here. Steve had played with the thought about maybe asking Eddie about hanging out on Christmas, but that had been before the ski trip. Before three weeks of almost complete radio silence. 

“Do you need it in writing? Because I do have a written invitation with me.” 

He actually pulls out an envelope, addressed in curly, cursive letters to Harrington & Henderson. It’s so quintessential Eddie to actually have a written invitation, it makes Steve want to go bite something. Three weeks of trying to get better about everything, three weeks of feeling like missing a limb, three absolutely wasted, pointless weeks. Because apparently a piece of paper with his name written on it, is enough for Steve’s feelings to hit him like lightning, making every single cell in his body buzz with electricity and love. Steve knows he never stood a chance. 

“You didn’t wanna call? Or like ask the other day in school?” he asks, trying to sound annoyed, but he knows his voice comes out weak. 

Dustin is already dashing back inside to get his stuff. 

“Oh, I thought about that,” Eddie continues to grin, but something in his gaze shifts. “But I know you, Steve. I know you would have just said no. And something depressing about burdens and imposing, the whole woe is me schtick et cetera, et cetera. And hey man, I get it, feelings are tricky and you sure as hell are entitled to yours. But you and Henderson are not spending Christmas alone on my watch. So I figured my best plan of action would be kidnapping.” 

“You talk too much before coffee,” Steve groans, still bleary eyes and head heavy with sleep and heart bursting with an onslaught of feelings.

The worst part is that Eddie is right. Steve would have said no specifically because he would have felt like a burden. And while Dustin thankfully didn’t magically inherit Steve’s occasional self-worth issues, he knows that Dustin would have said no too. He carries his own little package of guilt around with him and around the holidays it’s especially heavy. 

But it’s hard to say no to Eddie Munson. Especially when Steve knows that deep down it’s exactly what he and Dustin are craving. A Christmas not spent alone. A Christmas filled with distractions instead of mourning and melancholy. Even though it feels impossible to admit.  

Steve steps further back into the hallway and grabs his shoes. Dustin is already dressed and happily jumping up and down like he sometimes does when he is excited. It’s such a visceral difference to the night before Steve thinks this is what Christmas miracles in Hallmark movies must feel like. If he wasn’t already irrevocably in love with Eddie, bringing out this smile on Dustin’s face would have done it. 

“All part of the plan, Stevie,” Eddie chuckles and presses Steve’s coat into his hands. Even though Eddie had said to keep the pjs on Steve still considers changing. But then he spots that Eddie too is in pjs under his own long winter coat. Apparently that’s how the Munson’s do Christmas. “You’re more compliant when sleepy.” 

“Oh, fuck you,” Steve mumbles, but lets himself and Dustin be dragged into Eddie’s van. 

“You should have brought him coffee first,” Dustin snickers and once again Steve’s heart aches, but in the best way possible. 

“What do you take me for, Henderson?” Eddie asks as he gets in the driver's seat. “An amateur?” 

Before Steve can ask what Eddie means with that, a take away cup is pressed into Steve’s hands.

“Drink up, sunshine,” Eddie grins and turns on the engine. For the briefest second, there is a hint of sadness in Eddie’s smile. As if to say sorry, for all the coffees they have missed together during the last month. Then Judas Priest blasts through the speakers and Steve has never enjoyed metal so much in the absence of Christmas carols. “I might think your grumpy sleepy head attitude is cute, but I’m not quite sure it’s gonna charm your way back in with Wayne.” 

Steve chokes on his coffee at the mentions of Wayne. Half asleep, he had kind of forgotten about Eddie’s uncle. Thanksgiving hadn’t exactly gone swimmingly, Steve can’t imagine that Wayne is particularly keen to spend his Christmas with Steve. Panic slowly spills inside of Steve, floating to the surface, ugly like oil in water. 

“Hey, relax,” Eddie reaches over and squeezes Steve’s arm. His touch too feels like lightning and Steve is sure if his skin was made out of sand, it would melt into glass right now. “It was his idea to get the two of you actually. He might act rough, and never tell him I said this, but he is a huge softie.” 

Steve isn’t fully convinced, but the panic at least dies down a little. He knows that Wayne is incredibly kind, but not to people who broke his nephew’s heart. Not to the people who don’t deserve kindness.  

For some reason, part of Steve expects for them to drive to the trailer park, even though he knows that Eddie and Wayne live in a small apartment not that far away from them. The memory of the trailer and Eddie and the feeling of safety are so much intertwined, it’s kind of hard to imagine Eddie living anywhere else. 

Still, the apartment instantly feels like Eddie’s when they walk in. It still has the same novelty mugs and collection of trucker hats covering the walls. Still smells the same as the trailer, like coffee, tobacco and a little bit like home. Steve’s heart continues to ache. 

Wayne, to Steve’s surprise and relief, does not greet them with a shotgun. Instead, he hands hot chocolate to Dustin and Steve with something that might resemble a smile. He too is still dressed in his pjs, and it makes everything feel less formal. Steve relaxes slightly. 

“Swimming kid,” he greets Steve even though Steve hasn’t swum in years. “Swimming kid’s kid.” 

“Hello sir,” Dustin greets politely, suddenly having found manners Steve had previously been very unaware Dustin possessed. 

“Just call me Wayne, kid,” Wayne says and Steve has a strong sense of deja-vu. “Ya hungry? Eggs and bacon should just be about ready.” 

Steve ends up not having to charm his way back in with Wayne, Dustin does all that by himself. Talks Steve up enough, Steve is close to kicking his leg under the table, if he didn’t know that Dustin was being genuine. After a while, Wayne’s smile feels more real and once he is able to talk with Steve about sports, their conversation feels a little bit like forgiveness. The second Christmas miracle of the day. 

It’s early afternoon but the sun is setting already when Steve sneaks onto the fire escape for a bit of fresh air. Dustin is excitedly talking to Wayne about DnD and thanks to Eddie, Wayne has picked up enough about it to roughly follow along. Eddie is clattering around in the kitchen and usually Steve would join and help. Wash the dishes, because Eddie hates touching wet food and let Eddie towel dry the plates and cutlery Steve hands him. But Steve doesn’t know if they are allowed to return to their little domestic routine just yet. So Steve pulls out a smoke and sits in the cold. Gentle snow is falling slowly. 

He is just about done, when behind him someone opens the window and Eddie climbs out and sits next to him. Without asking, he steals the cigarette out of Steve’s hand and takes the last drag. 

They are both quiet for a moment, sitting there in silence, looking through the windows of the house next to them. Some are decorated with Christmas lights, others are bare. Through one of them Steve can spot a Christmas tree, but there is no light on in that apartment, so it’s hard to make out. 

“Can we not do that again?” Eddie asks eventually and stubs out the cigarette butt on the fire escape. “The not talking?” 

Steve keeps his eyes on the other apartments. It’s barely anything, but Steve already feels too emotional about it. 

“Yeah, that fucking sucked,” he admits quietly. He doesn’t need to turn his head to know that Eddie is smiling that small, private smile of his. The soft one that rarely comes out, like it’s a well guarded secret. 

Steve knows they should maybe talk about the reason why they stopped talking, but hey, you can only make so many healthy adult decisions in a year and Steve ran out of them weeks ago. He’d much rather keep dancing around the topic. It’s all going to come to an end eventually, so why not prolong this state of uncertainty.

The way Steve sees it, friendship is an intricate web of strings and lines, pulled taut between two people. It weaves them together like fibers of muscle until they almost no longer are two different people but mere extensions of each other. Like they are almost one and the same. If they were to push their hands together, skin would sink into skin and flesh into flesh and bone into bone until they would have consumed each other fully and become one; if it wasn’t for that thin membrane of strings and lines pressed between their palms, tying them together and yet keeping them the tiniest bit necessary apart. 

Only that sometimes someone snaps one of those strings, crosses one of those lines and blurs it the process enough for a slither of skin to sink into a slither on skin. And that’s fine. Sometimes friends kiss friends, or drunkenly hook up or for the eighth of a second are so filled to the brim with affection they might mistake it for romantic love. 

Or they might not mistake it. Push and pull purposefully on those strings, smudge those lines until they have dissolved like cotton candy on hungry tongues and two bodies and souls merge into one. 

Steve is pretty certain that Eddie keeps blurring their lines by accident. Carries too much affection inside himself, is quick to touch and even quicker to flirt, even if it’s not like that. It’s just the way Eddie is and the way he is means he might not even notice how his hand slowly turns into Steve’s. 

Not that Steve can blame him. They never were just extensions of each other. The web between their palms is woven out of sticky residue, of ichor and tissue and flesh and gore; the kind that sticks to your fingertips after tearing your body apart, back into two separate ones. 

Some of their lines have always been smudged. Because Steve’s body remembers when he and Eddie were one, wrapped up in each other, unable to tell where one started and the other one stopped. It’s a memory that sits at the bottom of his spine and makes his teeth ache. Or maybe it’s Eddie’s teeth that ache. Sometimes heartbreak feels like splintered bones and torn skin. 

Steve knows, one day Eddie will blur the last line and snap the last string and Steve will let himself be consumed whole by the love he has for Eddie.  It’s going to utterly destroy and ruin him. He’ll collapse, slowly disintegrate, unable to longer be his separate self, unable to become one with Eddie. Because Eddie will probably just be fine. None the wiser of snapping the last string, unaware of what he just did to Steve, maybe sensing the very soft absence of weight pressed back against his fingertips, but not knowing what it means. He’ll be fine. 

So they don’t talk about it. Because if they did, Steve would have to say all this and Eddie would get that sad look in eyes and then…then Steve doesn’t really know what would happen. You can’t argue yourself into loving someone, can’t force yourself. He knows that Eddie would probably try for him though. But Steve doesn’t want that. Has had enough half hearted love for two life times.  

He bumps his shoulder into Eddie’s. 

“I missed you,” Steve confesses quietly in the serenity of this moment they have stolen. It’s not what he wants to say, isn’t even sure he is allowed to admit this, probably just blurred a line on his own. But this whispered revelation is as good as it’s going to get for Steve and Steve knows he is going to take what he can get. Build a card house with every touch, every word, every moment spent breathing each other in, until the day the wind blows too much and it’ll collapse, burying Steve under it. 

“Hey, close your eyes for me,” Eddie suddenly says and Steve just cocks an eyebrow at him. “C’mon, Harrington, don’t you trust me?” 

With my life, Steve thinks. But do you trust me? 

There is very little Steve wouldn’t do for Eddie. So he closes his eyes. He hears the rustling of fabric and the metallic reverb on Eddie’s shoes on the fire escape. There is a very brief absence of warmth, of Eddie, before Steve can feel Eddie sit back down next him. 

“Okay, open,” Eddie murmurs so softly it might have just been the wind whispering. 

Steve opens his eyes and a cupcake with a small, singular candle on it is held up to his face. 

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” Eddie says and Steve forgets for a second how to breathe. 

A cacophony of strings snaps. Eddie’s palm sinks deeper into Steve’s. 

It’s too much all at once, his head is so full with thoughts and feelings it all just turns into static. Steve tries to grab the easiest one. He’s missed Eddie calling him sweetheart. It doesn’t mean anything, Eddie has always been liberal with pet names. It’s already complicated enough of a feeling, Steve doesn’t really want to face the others. 

“C’mon Steve, did you honestly think I didn’t know when your birthday was?” Eddie says softly and there is something sad in his voice. 

It’s not the pity Steve is so used to getting, it’s hurting on Steve’s behalf. Hurting for all the birthdays spent watching the snowfall, hoping for the Christmas miracle of headlights breaking through the dark and a car pulling into the driveway. For all the birthdays that have become fuzzy, drowned out by expensive booze, stolen from badly locked cabinets and the denial that getting shitfaced as a teen is the coolest thing one could do on their birthday. For all the birthdays accompanied by grief and guilt instead of laughter and lightheartedness.

“Make a wish.” 

Steve wishes he could tell his younger self that it’s all going to be alright. That the pain won’t disappear, but that it will ease. That loneliness will leave and love will come. That life still sometimes fucking sucks, but overall it’s going to be okay. Steve is going to be okay. Even when it all comes crashing down, they are going to make it work somehow. He is going to be okay. 

Steve closes his eyes and blows out the candle. When he opens them again Eddie smiles at him, smoke swirling around him like fog, blurring yet another line. Steve can feel Eddie’s pulse in his wrist.

“Whatcha wish for?” 

Steve doesn’t point out that he isn’t meant to tell Eddie because it won’t come true otherwise. Simply deadpans, “World peace.” 

“Not domination? My, my, you truly have changed Stevie.” 

“Why, you looking for a sub?” 

“God, desperately, do you know how much overtime I had to put in this month alone. I’d kill for a substitute teacher at this point.” 

Steve laughs, allows the giddiness to spread through his body, and allows himself to heal a bit. The weight of today is still resting on his chest, but Eddie has managed to make breathing a little bit easier. Steve looks at Eddie and wonders if someone has ever died from feeling too much fondness. He can feel the love gnaw at his edges, devouring yet another tiny part of him. 

Eddie cocks his head towards the window and Steve follows him back inside. They never won’t be anything more, just friends with too much affection and messy history and blurred lines and no personal space. And while it hurts bittersweetly, Steve is okay with it. He’ll take what he can get. Because that’s life. Sometimes bitter, sometimes sweet, never perfect but that’s what it is. There is an indent in the shape of Eddie’s fingertips pressed into the flesh on Steve’s fingertips. 

Despite everything and because of everything Steve is okay. 

New Year’s Eve 

The year comes to an end and Steve can’t wait to leave it with his middle fingers raised. It’s not been a particularly bad year, but it’s the thing he’s always liked about New Year’s. Telling the old year to fuck off. 

When he had shared that sentiment with Eddie, Eddie had just laughed. 

“Maybe there is a punk slumbering deep inside you after all.” 

“New year’s resolution: dye hair pink and get piercings,” Steve had grinned, before hooking his finger around a string and pulling. “You’ve ever given someone a stick and poke?” 

Eddie had choked on air and it had been Steve’s turn to laugh. 

It had been a joke, but the thought still haunts him a little. Thinking about Eddie’s hand, pulling his skin taut, pushing a needle repeatedly into Steve and letting ink and blood mix. 

Steve tells himself not to get too drunk tonight as he shows up on Robin and Chrissy’s doorstep. Otherwise he might ask Eddie again for real this time. And that seems like an unwise idea on several accords. 

Robin opens the door and with an excited squeal that tells Steve that she has already had a few drinks, she pulls Steve and Dustin inside. 

“Ugh, I’ve missed you two,” she says and squeezes them hard. Dustin quickly escapes, which is fine with Steve who squeezes Robin back just as tightly. Despite her tipsy state, he knows she means it. 

“Missed you too,” Steve says back and buries his face in her neck for a second. 

They’ve had plenty of phone calls during Robin’s vacation, but it’s never enough. She cups his face gently and sobers for a second. 

“You wanna talk?” She offers and lets her thumb brush over Steve’s cheeks. 

Steve nods, but spies a flash or red hair around the corner. 

“When everyone else has left,” he says quietly. Robin takes his hand and squeezes it twice, as if to tell him through morse code that she is there for him. 

“Okay, but until then,” she grins in a way that Steve doesn’t like at all, “this is for you.”

She produces a silly, little party hat identical to the one on her head and hands it to Steve. 

“No way I’m wearing that,” Steve protests. “My hair-”

“Is your best feature, yes I know,” Robin rolls her eyes. “Wear the damn hat! If I can get Max and Eddie to wear one, I can get anyone to wear a hat.”

“Max knows she can annoy me with this and Eddie probably thinks it’s camp,” Steve tries to argue, but he knows Robin, he knows he has already lost. 

“That’s exactly what they said, now put! On! The hat!” 

With a very, very long sigh Steve puts on the hat. The smile Robin gives him is almost worth it. But only almost. 

“Great, c’mon, let’s get you something to drink.” 

Steve lets himself be dragged into the kitchen. Says hi and nods towards people he knows from Robin’s work and the kids. Chrissy is already waiting behind the makeshift bar in the kitchen, her jaw dropping when she sees Robin and Steve approaching. 

“Damn, Stevie, you just cost me five dollars,” she mutters, but hands him his favorite brand of beer nevertheless. 

“You bet on me putting on the hat?” Steve asks Robin, wondering why he is even surprised. Of course, his friends bet on that. 

“Oh, Robin didn’t bet,” Eddie’s voice suddenly purrs next to Steve. “But I sure did, big boy.” 

He looks relaxed, the kind you get after just the right amount of alcohol, before you get tipsy. Just like with everyone else, a pointy, paper hat covered in polka dots sits on his hair. He grins and giddily takes the five dollars Chrissy holds out for him. 

“Hey, technically half of that is mine,” Steve argues. 

“Technically, half of that is Robin’s since she convinced you to put on the hat,” Eddie argues back and puts the money in his wallet. “But sure, I bite. What do you want as your winnings, sweetheart?” 

You. Steve has to bite his lip not to say it. Fake flirting is one thing, but he might as well douse the already fragile web between them in gasoline and set it on fire. 

“You gotta wear this stupid hat on top of yours for the rest of the party.” 

“Done,” Eddie smiles and actually takes the hat off Steve’s head. For the smallest moment he lets his fingers run through Steve’s hair and Steve considers changing his answer. For Eddie to keep his hand in Steve’s hair all night. But then Eddie pulls his hand away and props Steve’s hat onto his own head. 

He does absolutely look ridiculous, like a demon with party hats for horns. But he still somehow, infuriatingly makes it work. 

“Right, now that my fun is ruined and Steve has his best feature back or whatever,” Robin grumbles. “I have other guests to attend.” 

She says the last bit directly at Chrissy, wiggling her eyebrows very pointedly. 

“Subtle, Buckley,” Eddie calls out as Robin drags a laughing Chrissy out of the kitchen to find a quiet corner to make out in. Then he turns back to Steve and Steve suddenly feels pinned like a moth to a board. 

“You’re wrong by the way,” Eddie leans closer to whisper directly into Steve’s ear. “Your best feature is your eyes.” 

Steve doesn’t know much about palm lines, but he can feel his love, life, and fate line merch with Eddie’s. 

“Thanks, man,” Steve says like an idiot. Eddie keeps his cheshire grin on, but there is something unreadable once again in his eyes. 

“No problem, dude, ” Eddie lifts his beer as if to cheer and then mumbles something about saying hello to the hellfire kids. Steve lets him go. 

He wanders around the party by himself for a while. Talks to some people he knows from the youth center, chats to Lucas about play offs and asks El about her Christmas vacation. At some point he runs back into Robin and Chrissy, their make up a mess and their clothes ruffled. They’re both giggly and Steve is happy for them, even though there is a deep cut right across his palm that aches. 

Eventually he makes his way back to the kitchen, only to be ambushed by Mike and Dustin with party poppers, raining confetti all over him. Before he can tell them off, they have dashed around the next corner, their giggles echoing after them. It’s silly compared to the prank Steve used to pull on people when he was their age, but he is still mildly annoyed. 

“Ugh, gross, confetti is like the glitter of paper,” he groans, trying to brush it off his sweater and out of his hair. 

“That made no sense, dude,” Max, who’s been watching the confetti ambush from the kitchen, looks at him unimpressed, holding what Steve hopes is a soda in her hands. Even though it’s at his expense, Steve had missed her sharp glare over the holidays. “How much did you have to drink?” 

“Like one beer?” Steve says and finally manages to get the last bit of confetti off him. “And it makes perfect sense. Glitter freaking gets everywhere and it sticks and you can’t get rid of it and confetti is the same. Only that it’s not made out of…whatever the fuck glitter is made out of, but paper.” 

Max just snorts and takes a sip off her drink. 

“Listen you try getting that shit out of your hair and not vacuuming it still up three months after a glitter incident.” 

“A glitter incident, what are you, a drag queen?” 

“Hey, I would make a great drag queen,” Steve shoots back and okay yeah maybe he’s had more than one beer. “But no, I just happen to be best friends with a drama teacher. They’re made out of fucking glitter.” 

There suddenly is a hand back in his hair, picking out a piece of confetti, and a voice whispering in his ear, “Best friend, huh?” 

For the second time that night, Eddie has appeared out of nowhere. He is standing so close to Steve’s back is almost pressed against his chest. As if they are trying to make up for all the space they kept between each other before Christmas. 

“Yeah, yeah, best friend, you happy now?” Steve grumbles and turns around to face Eddie. 

Best friend, love of his life, same difference right? 

They’re even closer now with Steve turned around. He can feel breath ghosting over his skin and fingers ghosting over his hips. Eddie’s eyes are his best feature too, Steve thinks. Especially now that Eddie’s smile is reaching them again. 

“Hi,” Steve says quietly. 

“Hi,” Eddie says back just as quietly. 

“Get a room,” Max groans and moves out of the kitchen.

Which leaves Eddie, Steve and one minute til midnight, standing alone together, their bodies only inches apart, with smiles softened by the dim kitchen light. There is something clandestine about this moment, with everyone outside, eyes focused on clock arms and bright night skies, while Steve and Eddie are inside, only looking at each other.   

“So, whatcha reckon?” Eddie asks with a grin. “World gonna end?” 

Steve’s world ends constantly a little bit.

In the living room people are starting to count down. 

“Ten!”

“It might,” Steve huffs amused. He quickly glances into the other room. He is surrounded by the people he loves. There are worse ways to go. “Do you?”

“Nine!”

“Oh, 100% Armageddon,” Eddie laughs. “Any regrets?” 

“Eight!”

You. 

Steve doesn’t have to say it. They both know.  He just nods. 

“Seven!”

“Last things on the bucket list you wanna do?” Steve asks. 

“Six!”

“You got about five seconds,” he adds. 

“Five!”

Eddie nods. 

“One thing,” he says. 

“Four!” 

His eyes flicker down to Steve’s lips. 

“Three.” 

Steve is going to let him. The world might not end, but Steve will. Knows the second that Eddie’s lips will touch his, he’ll burn bright and hot like a supernova for all to see. And then that will be it. He’ll be done. It’s long overdue. 

 “Two!”  

Steve is going to let Eddie kiss him.

“One!” 

Eddie leans in.

2000

New Year’s Day

Eddie leans in. Steve closes his eyes. 

“Happy New Year!” 

Soft lips press against Steve’s cheek. Who knew tenderness could feel like a knife carving through your skin. 

There are prosecco bottles popping and fireworks exploding in the sky. Around them people erupt into loud cheers, someone starts singing Auld Lang Syne. Others join in. 

Eddie’s lips leave his cheek. Steve opens his eyes. The bone marrow of his thumb slowly starts to dissolve. 

Maybe old acquaintances should be forgotten. Even though that is the exact opposite meaning of Auld Lang Syne, at least Steve thinks so, he’s always found the lyrics confusing. Just as confusing as he finds Eddie Munson. 

He thought they were going to kiss. 

“Happy new year, Steve,” Eddie whispers. 

Steve feels petulant like a child for wanting. He feels fucking naive like a child for hoping. He knows better. Knows that hope never works out, that hope is not enough, that apologies and love and time and superglue are not enough to fill certain cracks. He feels like a child for the tears springing to his eyes. His father’s words ring distantly in his ears about boys don’t cry. It’s still hard for Steve to let go, but right now he wishes he could hold them all in. 

 “Steve?” 

“Fireworks,” Steve rasps. 

He does hate fireworks, has had his fair share of panic attacks because of them thanks to the 4th of July and the mall fire. It’s a lie, Eddie could probably believe easily. 

Steve doesn’t stick around to find out, flees out of the kitchen, locks himself into the bathroom. He sinks to the floor, trying to let the cool tiles ground him. His knees automatically press into his chest, the closest he can get to a hug right now. He doesn’t bother holding the sobs in. 

It’s stupid. What is he even crying for? The one second of hoping that maybe, the lines weren’t just blurring for him? Of being stupid enough to think that Eddie might be feeling the same. That forgiveness eventually leads back to trust, to love. But evidently it doesn’t. 

There is a knock on the bathroom door, followed by a quiet, “Steve?” 

Without getting up, Steve reaches for the doorknob and unlocks the door. Behind it Robin is looking down at him, worried. 

“Shit, Steve,” she curses and locks the door behind her, before sinking down on the floor too. “What happened?” 

It’s fitting that they are doing this on the bathroom floor, Steve thinks. Spill secrets drowned out by fireworks. 

He presses the heels of his and Eddie’s hand into his eyes, lets out one more sniff before wiping his tears away and looking Robin straight in the eyes. 

“Ask me,” he says, voice as wobbly as his knees if he tried to stand. “Ask me if I have ever been in love.” 

Robin frowns. But then she simply asks, “Have you ever been in love?” 

Steve loves her for it. Loves that she doesn’t question his antics, just goes along with it, knows that he needs to tell her like this. 

“Second semester, senior year,” he says. 

She doesn’t assume that it was Nancy Wheeler. She knows almost all of the truth. Knows that it was the first boy Steve ever kissed, the last he ever loved. Knows about all the yearning, the feeling alive, all the mistakes and all the aching. Knows why the boy would never love Steve again. The only thing she doesn’t know is the name. So after 14 years, Steve gives it to her. 

“Eddie Munson,” he says and it feels like tearing a string right out of his heart. There is blood dripping onto the web between his and Eddie’s hands. “I’ve only ever been in love with Eddie Munson.” 

There is silence for a second. Just the dull echo of fireworks chasing over the night sky. Robin only takes a second to take it all in, but between confessions and the next drawn breath a lifetime always passes. Steve exhales, Robin stirs. 

“Oh, babe,” she whispers and pulls Steve into her arms. He sobs quietly. He doesn’t have to say more. She understands. It doesn’t make the pain any less. 

Valentine’s Day

February brings a mix of old winter snow and early spring sun, turning everything into ugly, gray-brownish sludge. Not quite winter, not quite spring, but sludge season, Dustin declares. Steve too feels like sludge. 

After his confession, Robin had held him through the night. Organised Dustin staying with Will and El. Smuggled Steve into her bedroom, without anyone else noticing. It hadn’t been the first time one of them had gotten a panic attack on New Years, so no one but Chrissy had questioned it. 

They had tried to convince Steve that it wasn’t hopeless. That they were convinced that Eddie felt the same. But when he asked them if they could ever trust someone again after such a betrayal, they had both gone quiet. 

Eddie had called the next day, asked if Steve was feeling better, if it was okay to come over. Steve had looked down at his knuckles and wondered if Eddie had noticed the freckles on the back of his hand. Of course, Steve had said yes. There hadn’t been a point in avoiding Eddie again. He had wanted to take what he could get. 

Eddie is still none the wiser when sludge season rolls around. Steve feels like he is being painfully obvious, but then again, they are Steve and Eddie, Eddie and Steve. The lines between them have always been smudged.  

With sludge season comes Valentine’s and gray-brown mixes with pinks, purples, and purpure. And Steve, despite his lack of a  love life  and luck, gets declared cupid, gets handed a bow and arrows, wings and diapers, quivers filled with hearts and kids needing his advice. It starts with Dustin, flowers and detective work that almost feels illegal. 

Dustin, ever the romantic, wants to send Suzie flowers. Obviously he can’t just send them to her house, her family would get suspicious, duh Steve! So the plan to phone up one of Suzie’s friends, send the flowers to her and then have her give them to Suzie in school is hatched. Only that Dustin doesn’t know any of Suzie’s friends. He knows someone from camp who might know someone though. Only that Dustin didn’t exchange numbers with the kid, but he did exchange numbers with someone who might know the kid who might know one of Suzie’s friends. A very, very, very long phone bill later, one almost mental breakdown, and lots of snarking at each other, flowers are sent to Suzie’s friend Cassie’s house with the promise to give them to Suzie at school.  

Lucas and Mike are a lot easier to handle, both simply just wanting a little help with date ideas. It’s a bit weird to have counseling sessions dedicated to how best to woo your high school sweetheart but it’s a nice change of pace for once. Lucas ends up taking Max bowling, so both can show off their competitive jock nature, before taking her out for milkshakes and fries. Mike, after very, very begrudgingly asking for help, ends with an armful of romantic movie recommendations and El’s secret favorite Eggo toppings. 

Will doesn’t ask for help with Valentine’s. He’s probably too shy to bring it up with Gareth, but even if Will wanted to do something Steve knows he’ll come up with something amazing on his own. 

So it does surprise Steve when Gareth knocks on his door a week before Valentine’s uncharacteristically shy. Gareth tends to be a bit louder, a bit dramatic, taking very much after Eddie. In fact, being a Hellfire kid makes him Eddie’s charge. Not that Steve isn’t happy help, but he would have thought Gareth would also turn to Eddie for help. 

“Please, Eddie is ass with romance,” Gareth says and Steve would very much like to disagree. But it’s neither the time, nor the place, nor any of Gareth’s business. So Steve just lets him talk. 

“Plus, he’s been going on and on about how Valentine’s is nothing but capitalistic, heteronormative, nuclear family propaganda.” 

“Let me guess, he also mentioned forced conformity?” Steve chuckles, every single one of Eddie’s cafeteria rants etched into his memory. Gareth just nods. 

“Well, it’s good then that you came to me,” Steve says, as the perpetually single person, who actually has never been on a Valentine's date with someone who mattered. But if the kids want Steve to be their personal Cupid, Steve will happily learn how to shoot arrows for them. 

The day itself is obnoxious enough that Steve finds himself agreeing with Eddie’s capitalistic propaganda stance. Some of the band kids are dressed up as cupids, going through the school and delivering serenades. If Steve has to hear one more rendition of Never Gonna Give You Up echoing through the school hallways he might scream. There are also rose petals littered everywhere and such an abundance of glittery love notes passes around, Steve is sure Hawkins High might have used the world’s stock of paper and pink pens. 

Steve wonders if he was that annoying back when he was in high school. Remembers the year he opened his locker and was literally buried under the number of Valentine’s cards that had fallen out. He hadn’t cared much about it back then, just laughed and basked in the jealous stares of his teammates, and the idea that he was loved. Now he just worries about the overtime the janitors will have to put in cleaning all of this mess up. Steve makes a mental note to bake some cupcakes for Jeffrey and his crew as a thank you. 

As annoying and in your face Valentine’s is that year, it’s still kinda cute. He sees Lucas hand a rose to Max, who rolls her eyes but still pushes him against her locker for a kiss. Mike picks up El from her counseling session and walks her to her next class, which Steve is pretty sure is the exact opposite direction that Mike has to go. It’s silly that it makes Steve’s heart ache, so he focuses on being annoyed by all of it instead. 

Which becomes pretty impossible when he walks back into his office after spending what had felt like years at the photocopier and finds a still warm cup of coffee on the table with a post it note attached to it. Hot stuff for the hot stuff ;) it reads. It’s just a silly, stupid little joke, but it’s the thought behind it. It’s Eddie noticing the busy day Steve is having and deciding to bring him coffee. It’s the favor you don’t have to ask and someone still does it for you. It has Steve’s heart racing. Chipped black enamel shimmers on Steve’s nails. 

Steve isn’t quite sure if the coffee makes his day better or worse. Either way it drags. At some point, the band kids surprise Steve with a little serenade before the student president and the rest of the student government hand Steve some chocolate they have all pitched in for as a thanks for always being there for them. The second they are gone, Steve turns a little bit into a wreck. 

It’s how Eddie finds him long after the last students have left. Fingers stained with ink, glasses put on his aching eyes, papers everywhere, munching on chocolate feeling far too many things. 

“Woah there, Bridget Jones,” Eddie can’t help but laugh as he knocks on the frame of Steve’s door. “Did your date for tonight cancel or why do you look so…”

“Pathetic?” Steve suggests and stuffs another piece of chocolate in his mouth. 

“I was gonna say like you are going through something.” 

“Students gave this to me,” Steve mumbles, his mouth still half full and holds up the box with chocolates. “As a thank you for always being there for them.” 

Eddie steps closer and lets himself fall onto his usual chair. Steve doesn’t even chide him, when he puts his feet on Steve’s desk. 

“Ah, yes, that is bound to do a number on someone with such low self-esteem it’s a tripping hazard,” he teases and snatches one of the chocolates from Steve. 

“Hey, I’m working on that,” Steve says, hating how Eddie’s teasing is already making him feel better. “It’s already thigh high, okay.” 

“Sure,” Eddie laughs. “Whatever you say, Stevie.” 

Clutching the box of chocolates to his chest with one hand, Steve flips Eddie off which only makes Eddie laugh more. Steve loathes the way Eddie laughs, fully, openly, contagiously and worst of all in a way that makes Steve want to kiss it right off Eddie’s lips. 

“Well, I’m glad it’s just your ego that needs boosting and not a canceled date,” Eddie says, still with a little chuckle, but the levity suddenly has left the conversation alongside the air in Steve’s lungs. 

“Do…do you have a hot Valentine’s date tonight,” Steve asks, trying to sound casual, as if Eddie’s answer might not be the most devastating thing he might hear. But to his relief Eddie just snorts. 

“The only date I have tonight is with my hand.”

“Ew, gross,” Steve says and throws a piece of chocolate at a cackling Eddie. 

Steve hopes it’s distraction enough from the relief in his chest and the blush on his cheeks. He has done his best to not think about Eddie anymore when getting off. But he knows tonight he is going to fail miserably, the mental image of Eddie, kneeling on his bed, legs spread, teeth digging into his bottom lip, hard leaking cock fucking into the hand they share, has already burned itself into Steve’s mind. 

“What about you, loverboy? Any future Mr. or Mrs. Harrington you’re taking out tonight?” 

There is still a grin on Eddie’s lips but it feels off somehow. The same way his tone just sounds a touch too casual. The little, dangerous, delusional voice in Steve’s hind mind whispers something about jealousy, but Steve has become really good at ignoring the voice. He already learned a long time ago that nothing good ever comes from hope. 

“Oh, didn’t you get the memo? I’m the president of the lonely hearts club. Got my license to have any game revoked in ‘86 and my right to call myself pretty in ‘97.” 

It’s meant as a light hearted joke, still Eddie’s eyes narrow when Steve taps against the scar on his neck at the mention of ‘97. 

“You’re still plenty pretty, Harrington,” he says so seriously it almost sounds like a thread. Almost as if to say if you don’t love yourself, I will love you for you even harder. Steve swallows. 

“Okay,” he says quietly. “Still plenty pretty.” 

“Good,” Eddie leans back, face less upset, but he still isn’t smiling. “I’ll happily remind you of that if you forget it again.” 

The unspoken, invisible lines between them smudge further, Steve can feel ink sink into the skin of his arm. Not long and both the lines and Steve will have dissolved fully. 

Random Tuesday, March

The day the last line is blurred and Steve finds himself floating without a tether occurs about two weeks later on a random Tuesday in March. Sludge season has turned into full on spring awakening and the day of the last string ripping starts out nice. 

For once, Steve doesn’t dream. The sun is already bright when he wakes up, feeling rested. Dustin is in a good mood too. Spring break is soon and with spring break the possibility to meet up with Suzie in another nerd camp again. The day Steve falls apart honestly starts like the closest to a perfect day Steve has ever had. 

They get to school on time, Steve has no counseling session for the first two periods and leisurely walks into the teachers’ lounge. Eddie is already waiting with coffee. The skin under his eyes crinkles and dimples appear when he hands Steve his mug. Steve takes a sip of the coffee and swears he can taste Eddie’s smile on his lips. He doesn’t know it’s the penultimate string snapping, too used to the feeling of unraveling alongside the strings at this point. 

“I have a favor to ask,” Eddie starts. 

Feeling bold, because it’s been a fantastic morning, Steve grins, “Say pretty please.” 

“Pretty please,” Eddie actually says, batting his eyes lashes and pouting slightly, because, of course he has to one up Steve, “will you come to the auditorium after school today and be lighting double for some scenes? Don’t wanna keep the kids in longer than necessary.” 

That’s how after a still pretty much perfect day, Steve finds himself standing on stage next to Eddie, with various spotlights shining at him until he starts to break out in a sweat. The stage lights are hot and Eddie keeps staring at Steve, shouting instructions back to the tech guy. 

“So what’s this scene about?” Steve asks eventually. “Paint me a picture, entertain me.” 

Eddie rolls his eyes, but obliges. 

“Helena and Demetrius are in the woods, considering where to sleep,” he says and moves right in front of Steve. “She is obviously very in love with him but Demetrius still hates her, or at least thinks he does. It’s really sad, Helen makes this beautiful speech about love and Demetrius just basically spits in her face before he runs off stage.” 

“Kinky.” 

“Har di har, Steve,” Eddie deadpans and Steve bites his lip apologetically. Sometimes he forgets how much this actually matters to Eddie, how much he loves drama. Such a nerd. 

“Okay, okay, I get it, beautiful speech about love,” he says and raises his hands as if to appease Eddie. “Give me some lines?” 

“I mean it mainly only works in dialogue of the scene, I’m not gonna put a one man show for you,” Eddie says and rubs the back of his neck. Steve bites his lip again, not wanting to make a joke about the one man show he would love for Eddie to put on for him. “But eh…,” Eddie continues, slightly bashful, “I do have a favorite quote from the scene.”  

Steve gives Eddie an encouraging nod, as if to say c’mon let’s hear it Munson. Eddie briefly glances down at his shoes, takes one deep breath and then looks back up at Steve. And Steve knows he’s made a mistake when the affection in Eddie’s eyes tries to drown him. It’s nothing compared to the softness, the love, the devotion, truly the everything in Eddie’s voice when he speaks.  

“For you in my respect are all the world:
Then how can it be said I am alone,
When all the world is here to look on me?”

Steve is sure the last snap is audible. It’s all he hears as the earth tilts by 90 degrees and he is pushed off the edge. There is no ground beneath his feet, no walls holding him back, just Eddie’s words wrapping around him as he drifts, erasing the lines where Steve starts and where he stops, turning him into nothing but atoms floating in the sky. There is no halt, no anchor, no tether pulling him back. Just stardust that in another life both he and Eddie might be made out of. 

“Steve?” 

The sound of his name slams him back into his body with such harsh impact, he almost sinks to his knees. 

“Steve?” Eddie repeats, slightly worried and a hand lands on Steve’s shoulder. This might be what it feels like to get shot, Steve thinks before his instincts take over and scream at him to run. 

“I…sorry, but I…I gotta go,” he stutters and gets up. 

He doesn’t look back at Eddie as he runs off stage. Just like Demetrius apparently. Coward, a voice in his head says. Steve is inclined to agree, but sometimes, he thinks, survival of the fittest means survival of the person that runs first. 

He sprints out of the school, doesn’t even end up at the parking lot, ends up somewhere near the bleachers instead. He doesn’t stop, just keeps on running. It’s not just the lines between him and Eddie that have completely blurred, it’s everything. The world looks like it’s covered in frosted glass and it takes Steve too long to realize it’s because he is crying. Maybe. Is he really crying? Or is he just losing it in general? Doesn’t matter. What matters is that he keeps running. 

He only stops once he almost trips. Breathing hurts, iron coats his tongue, his legs are in pain. Slowly his vision returns. He’s in the woods. At a small clearing. A big, skull shaped rock in front of him. Fucking figures. 

Steve lets out a laugh that turns into a sob that turns back into a laugh. Yeah, he is losing it. He is surprised it took so long. Laughing hurts worse, amplifies the pain in his chest. There is something raw in the way he heaves, there is something raw in the way he is, torn apart and badly stitched back together flesh. He gasps, but the air isn’t entering his lungs. He can hear blood rushing through his veins, keeping his heart beating, but it isn’t his. 

Apparently Eddie looks at him and the world looks back. Maybe the eyes in Eddie’s face are no longer his own either. The memory of deep dark brown eyes beholding him, all of him, and still filled with wonder is enough to bring Steve back to his knees again. If only he could turn back time. 

His body moves on his own. Drags him back up and towards Skull Rock. He isn’t as sporty as he used to be when he was last here, but he still climbs up relatively quickly. The early spring sun has warmed the surface comfortably. It’s coarse under his fingertips, rips and chafes his skin until he bleeds. Maybe he’s been bleeding all along, who knows. 

Steve lies down once he reaches the top and closes his eyes, letting the rays of sunshine tingle on his face. The streaks of tears dry uncomfortably on his cheeks. His hands burn. He can’t turn back time. But for just a moment he can pretend. For just a moment he can be 18 and loved again. 

He can hear footsteps approaching followed by someone trying to climb up Skull Rock and letting out an exasperated groan. Steve doesn’t open his eyes, the sun continues to warm his skin. Fabric rustles and then there is a second source of warmth coming from the person lying right next to him. Steve keeps his eyes closed. Next to him the person exhales softly. A hand joins the sun, gingerly pushing a strand of hair out of Steve’s face before wiping the dried tears away. 

He can’t turn back time. But he doesn’t have to. Steve doesn’t know it yet, but sometimes love is enough. 

He tilts his head and bravely opens his eyes. Time echoes all on its own. 

“Tell me something real.” 

Umber is still Steve’s favorite color.

“I love you.” 

Chapter Text

2000

For a moment everything is quiet. In the pause between the last syllable of I love you and the next breath Steve draws everything is alright. The words are out of his mouth, there is a weight off his chest, an ache in his heart, tears on his face, Eddie’s thumb on his cheek, no expression in Eddie’s eyes and there is silence. Peaceful, heavenly, hopeful, delusional silence of possibility, of maybe, of a second chance. Quiet before the storm. 

Disturbed only by thunder in the distance and Steve’s sharp inhale that won’t supply him with any oxygen because panic has already settled in his lungs. 

“Sorry, I just…had to say it,” he blurts. 

Whoever first said it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission is full of shit. Because Steve should have gone on his knees and asked for permission, begged for the privilege of getting to love Eddie Munson again, knowing it wouldn’t be granted, knowing it wouldn’t be deserved. He shouldn’t have said it, shouldn’t have burdened Eddie with this, forcing him to kindly reject Steve.  He knows love is a good thing, knows it’s not actually an inconvenience, knows no matter how much progress he makes he will still always feel the need to apologize for it. And so he presses his eyes shut, not wanting to see, and asks for forgiveness. 

“Sorry, I know you don’t feel the same. And I don’t expect you to do anything, I’m sorry if this is going to make things awkward. I just had to say it, because it’s been eating me alive and I could just not not say it. I’m sorry and—”

“Baby, slow down,” Eddie says, voice as soft as dandelion fluff and Steve can feel its seed settling in his lungs, aggressive vines wrapping around his chest and he chokes on it. 

Baby. Eddie says it like it means something and it fucking hurts so much. It’s not like casually dished out sweethearts when Eddie is teasing Steve, it’s not like the one time Eddie called him baby as a joke. It’s different. It’s real. Almost. Steve has spent too much of his life living in the almosts , the soons , the maybes, and he can’t do it anymore.

“Please don’t call me that,” he rasps, trying to swallow his tears. “Not unless you mean it.”

There is a hum in the air, electricity building, tensions waiting to discharge. Steve can feel his atoms turning into glass like lightning struck sand. 

Don’t try to love me if you can’t. 

There is a blinding white flash. Steve counts. One-mississippi, two-mississippi, three-mississippi, thunder bellows. The storm is coming closer. 

It wouldn’t be fair to either of them. He has already forced one not meant I love you out of someone, Steve can’t handle being lied to like that for a second time. 

“Baby,” Eddie repeats and Steve does something he hasn’t allowed himself to do in years, something treacherous, something he shouldn’t do because he knows better. The wind picks up and Steve hopes. Eddie’s thumb is still ever so gently brushing over his cheek.  “Please look at me.” 

The lids of Steve’s eyes are tin clad, weighed down by uncertainty and glued shut with tears and exhaustion. Confessing his love had been hard, opening his eyes feels impossible. But Eddie has asked and Steve wants to try for him.  He forces himself to look at Eddie and finds his own sadness swirled into the darkness of Eddie’s eyes. 

Oh, so this is how it is going to go. They’ll treat apology for apology. I’m sorry I love you. I’m sorry I don’t love you. Both hurting for the other. Everything soft and gentle and careful even though it’s not going to stop the piercing pain. Like a tear soaked kiss as you clasp your lover’s fingers in yours and lie it’s okay as you direct his hands to drive the knife into your stomach. It’s okay, he lies as your blood stained hands hold on to his and he twists the knife all on his own. 

And Steve is right in some regard. When Eddie speaks it is soft and gentle and careful. It’s okay. His hands are wet, sticky, remnants of salt found on his skin. Tears don’t leave stains. It’s okay. This is not a lie. There is no blood. The piercing pain stays out. 

“Of course I love you Steve,” Eddie says and the knife, unsullied, clatters to the stone floor. 

For the first time in forever, the constant buzz in Steve’s mind stills and so does his heart for a moment before it kicks into overdrive. Beating and beating and beating. The storm roars even more nearby now. Tears keep rolling down Steve’s face and Eddie keeps gently wiping them away. Because that’s love. 

“And before you use that frankly impressive yet fucked up talent of yours to somehow twist this and spiral because you think you don’t deserve good things,” Eddie continues, “I love you as in I am in love with you. The head over heels, ass over tits, every love song on the radio makes sense no matter how awful the music is kind of love.” 

Steve lets out a choked snort through his tears and Eddie’s chuckle is wet too. Slowly, Eddie leans in closer and presses his forehead gingerly against Steve’s. There is a palm pushed against the wound Eddie didn’t cause, but keeps Steve from bleeding out. The touch is grounding. 

“I love you,” Eddie, repeats like a mantra, exhales the words into the air that Steve breathes in. 

For a second Steve considered that this is just another dream. It’s dizzying, overwhelming, surreal. But in his dreams Steve’s limbs never grow this stiff from lying down on a hard stone surface for so long. In his dreams Eddie’s touch is always fleeting, not corporeal and real like this. In his dreams Eddie never says it back, because he is right, Steve doesn’t think that he deserves good things. Or at least used to think. Because this, this really is a good thing and Steve gets to have this? Eddie doesn’t vanish, their surroundings don’t blur, no alarm clock rips Steve out of his dreams. This is real. 

“Are you sure,” Steve asks tentatively, unable to stop tasting iron on his tongue. 

The sun is still shining and the sky is blue. But feathery streaks of clouds get swallowed by an onslaught of bulky gray. Steve counts two-mississippi. The weatherman promised sunshine all day. Can’t trust good things. 

“I…of course I’m sure, Steve,” Eddie seems surprised by the question, nudges Steve’s nose with his own. 

It feels a bit like they are at a sleepover, sharing a bed, lying on their sides. Their knees bumping into each other, Eddie’s fingers weaved into Steve’s hair, Steve slowly, hesitantly reaching out to place his hand on Eddie’s waist. Eddie doesn’t crumble to dust under the touch, leans into it instead. Sharing confessions and secrets with hushed breaths as not to wake anyone up. Even though they are completely alone. Butterfly kisses and pinkie swears carrying the heavy conviction only children can have, accreditation that this love is real.  

“I am one hundred percent sure that I’m in love with you. Like if I ran into a wall tomorrow and got amnesia and couldn’t remember my name, my age, who the fucking president is, I’m sure the one thing I would still know is that I am in love with you. Told you, it’s impossible not to love you.”

Eddie says it lighthearted, sober, like it’s a fact. Water is wet, octopi have eight legs, sun sets in the west, I love you. Like it’s easy. A working compass always points north. It’s impossible not to. 

If things were normal, if they had never stopped dating, Steve would tease Eddie affectionately, mumble something about drama teachers being melodramatic and prone to monologue until Eddie would fondly shut him up with an eye roll and a kiss.  But Steve can’t, struggles to form a single cohesive thought, because it’s so much. It is so much love. It makes Steve want to scream, laugh, cry. Because Eddie means it, means every single damning word. Steve can feel it, can feel the love run out of Eddie; can feel the love wrapping around his own body, caressing the cracks stretching over his skin, unable to erase them but trying to lessen the pain; before he can feel the love sink inside of him and settle at his core. Steve’s body hums with it. The sky hums with energy. Eddie is so in love with him. But Steve isn’t worried about the love part. Love is only just one part of the equation that makes a relationship. 

“I meant more that you can like, trust me…after everything,” he adds quietly. Steve’s hands have twisted a knife before. Pulled it out, stabbed it back in on their own accord. He has washed his hands, scrubbed them raw. The memory sits under his fingernails like dirt. 

Eddie frowns and a small crease forms between his brows. Steve wants to kiss it away, wonders if he is allowed to yet. Eddie is right, Steve’s ability to spiral is a dizzying and impressive talent. Steve could do it. Kiss the frown away. One last act of affection before Eddie might realize that Steve is right, that he might truly love Steve, but that that’s not enough. That he can’t trust Steve, that being together just isn’t in the cards for them. But Eddie’s hands just keep on gently caressing Steve’s face. Like he doesn’t mind the dirt. 

“Have you ever considered that you hold your teenage self to a far too high standard?” Eddie asks, staying right next to Steve, not pulling away. “Like, yes, it hurt and yes, I was mad, but Steve, I don’t blame you. You were a traumatized, abused and neglected teenager and I put you on the spot and basically almost outed you. You really gotta stop beating yourself up about that, sweetheart.” 

Steve only processes the words slowly, like water trickling through a clogged drain. He knows Eddie is right though, he does always beat himself up too much, despises himself for things he would forgive others for in a heartbeat. Like everything it’s a work in progress. But maybe, if Eddie can trust Steve, Steve can trust Eddie, that Eddie isn’t blaming Steve, that he no longer holds it against Steve. That maybe Steve can stop blaming himself too. Sometimes  you need someone else to wash you clean. 

“We are not the same people we were at nineteen anymore and while I don’t regret trusting nineteen year old Steve, I can say confidently that I trust this Steve,” Eddie presses his other palm right above Steve’s heart, “blindly. And with all I have.” 

For the past fourteen years an iron band had been wrapped too tightly around Steve’s chest, holding him together for the simple price of not being able to breathe. Steve can feel it break, almost hears metal bursting apart, feels everything inside him shift like a miniature landslide. Instead of falling apart, Eddie’s love wraps itself cautiously around Steve’s rib cage, like a bandage and holds him together. Steve can feel tears forming in his eyes again. He doesn’t even know if he has actually stopped crying. But it doesn’t matter, because Eddie keeps catching them, just like he keeps catching Steve. Even though Steve still feels like he is falling. 

No, not falling. He soars. The sky has become pitch dark. There is no sun to melt the wax of his wings. There is no coming down. Just sky high somersaults or gentle floating. 

“You’re such a sap,” he croaks, because anything else he feels would be just too much. If he tried saying it he’d flake apart like a dried flower held in a fist clenched with too much force. But it’s fine, he’ll say all the things Eddie makes him feel eventually. Genuinely. Because now that Steve gets to have this, gets to have Eddie, he also knows he gets to have time. 

Eddie seems to think so too, doesn’t mind the teasing, teases right back. 

“And you love it.” 

I love you, Steve thinks and then because he realizes he can say it now, free of fear and guilt, he says it. 

“I love you. Ass over tits and all.” 

Eddie laughs and Steve dissolves in the sound. Only this time Eddie’s hands are there to keep him tethered. 

“Can I kiss you?” Eddie asks, a little bit breathless once the last bit of laughter has left his lips and Steve can’t do anything but nod. 

“Please.” 

Eddie moves his hand from Steve’s cheek down to his jaw, gingerly cups Steve’s face and tilts it up. Hot breath ghosts over Steve’s skin before Eddie’s lips press ever so softly against his. It’s slow, tender, chaste almost. 

Steve has kissed Eddie before, greedily, hungrily, slowly, happily and terrified. This kiss is nothing like their previous ones. It feels like saying hello love, I’ve been waiting for you. 

When something wet runs down Steve’s cheek he thinks for a second that he has still not stopped crying, is surprised he even has tears left. But then another wet drop hits his forehead and then another and another. The storm has broken. 

“Ew,” Steve groans when they part and one raindrop goes straight into his eye. 

“Ew? Ew? ” Eddie says with mock offense. “I kiss you and all you have to say is ew?” 

“Oh, shut up,” Steve’s voice beams with affection and because he is allowed now he leans in and shuts Eddie up with a kiss. 

Steve wants to linger, wants to keep his lips resting against Eddie’s, not even to kiss, but just for the sake of touching. But the rainfall keeps becoming heavier and heavier, single drops turning into a downpour. It washes the air clean. 

“Ew, yeah okay, ew,” Eddie agrees after one especially big drop hits him. 

“Told you so” Steve says and grabs Eddie’s hand. There is no woven barrier, flesh sinks into flesh equal parts. “C’mon, let’s go.” 

He slides down Skull Rock and pulls Eddie down with him. They run through the woods back to the school, fingers intertwined, laughing like little kids. By the time they reach the parking lot they are both drenched, Steve’s hair sticking uncomfortably to his neck and Eddie looking a bit like a drowned poodle. It’s not the fun, warm summer rain that you dance around giddily in because you have been longing for it for many humid months. It’s cold, harsh March rain mixed with hail. A reminder that winter is still lurking behind the corner. Still, this might be the happiest Steve has been in a long time. 

They don’t even bother trying to get back into the school, just rush to their cars that are conveniently parked right next to each other. Instead of letting Steve seek refuge in the dry warmth of the Beemer though, Eddie grabs him, spins him around and pushes him against the side of his van. 

“Eddie!” Steve yelps with a laugh as his back hits the metal of the car. Eddie soaks up the sound by kissing Steve again, still slow but no longer chaste. Deep, like he wants to reach Steve’s core and pepper it with kisses too. Eddie lets go of his lips but doesn’t just stop kissing Steve. Instead he moves his kisses to the corner of Steve’s mouth, his cheek, his jaw, his neck. 

“Eddie, it’s raining,” Steve can’t help but groan, even though he wants to stay in this moment forever, Eddie’s warm lips mixing with the cold rain trailing down Steve’s skin. 

“We’re already dripping, ‘s not gonna make a difference,” Eddie mumbles into the crook of Steve’s neck. 

“You want to get me even more dripping?” Steve jokes and he can feel Eddie chuckle against his skin. But then Eddie pulls back and instead of the hunger or the amusement Steve had expected to find in Eddie’s eyes there is something so genuine in them, Steve’s mouth goes dry. 

“I want everything with you, Steve,” Eddie says and it sounds like an oath. 

The rain pelts loudly on the roof of Eddie’s car, drowning out the deafening sound of Steve’s heart beating. 

“Very rom-com of you,” Steve rasps weakly, wondering if he’ll ever get used again to all the love Eddie harbors for him, all the love he is so eager to encase Steve in like a protective cocoon. 

“Nicholas Sparks got nothing on us, baby,” Eddie grins and steals another kiss. Is it really stealing though, when Steve gives them so freely? 

“I want everything with you too,” Steve whispers against Eddie’s lips. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Steve nods. 

He lifts his chin to kiss Eddie again, but then a loud thunder almost makes them jump apart. An especially nasty gust of wind covers them in icy hail, causing both of them to shiver. 

“Shit, maybe we should get inside,” Eddie curses and to Steve’s dismay lets go of him. “I’ll meet you at yours?” 

“Dustin is home,” Steve says stupidly as if Eddie would mind. 

“Oh no, I have to hang out with you and your kid? Who happens to be one of my favorite students? A pastime I have never done before. What a tragedy, what an insolence, however will I get through that?” 

“I was thinking more about having to keep the PDA on low,” Steve mumbles and he can feel the heat of his blush spreading over the cold skin of his neck. They should probably talk more, kiss more, just more. Steve plays with the lapels of Eddie’s jacket. He needs more, needs Eddie. Even pressed together like this, nestled between two cars in an abandoned parking lot with rain beating down on them, it’s not enough.  

“I managed to keep myself from kissing you for the past seven months, Steve. I think I can go one evening without taking you apart on the couch.”

The mental image of Eddie pushing Steve into the pillows of his couch and making him see stars is enough for Steve’s legs to buckle slightly. Eddie might be able to control himself, but now that Steve has kissed Eddie again, Steve is not so sure he is going to be able to control himself around Eddie. 

“You sure you don’t mind?” Steve bites his lips nervously. This is still new, still feels a bit fragile, still making him need a little bit of reassurance that Eddie is happy to give to him. 

“I meant what I said. I want everything with you. And that includes helping Dustin with his homework while you cook dinner,” Eddie says and gently pushes Steve towards the Beemer. “Now no more overthinking, get into your car and drive. I’ll meet you at yours.”

This time it’s Steve who steals a kiss, who grabs Eddie’s damp jacket and pulls him in and pushes their lips together with so much force their teeth almost clash. Steve doesn’t care, needs to tell Eddie how much this means to him, needs to show him since he has never been good with words, especially not when overwhelmed with how much love he feels for Eddie. 

“You better drive carefully, Munson,” he says when he lets go of Eddie. “I want you at my place in one piece.” 

“Race you there?” Eddie jokes. 

“Absolutely not!” 

Even though he sticks to his promise and drives carefully, Eddie still beats Steve to his place. When Steve pulls into his driveway, Eddie is already standing in front of the door, arms crossed in front of his chest, shivering, rain still beating down on him. 

“Why didn’t you stay in your car?” Steve asks as he rushes over to unlock his front door. 

“Couldn’t wait,” Eddie’s teeth clatter as he speaks. 

“You could have rung the doorbell,” Steve points out as he opens the door and steps into the warmth of his house. Eddie follows him inside so quickly that his wet chest sticks to Steve’s back. It feels like coming home. 

“I did not think about that,” Eddie grumbles, slightly sheepishly and Steve has to chuckle.  

“You’re an idiot,” he says affectionately as he peels himself out of his jacket. 

“Your idiot?” 

There is something about the way Eddie says it. Dopey smile on his lips, batting his lashes, almost a little bit coy. It’s not asked out of insecurity or need for reassurance. It’s asked knowing that Eddie is Steve’s, his, yours, mine, that they are each other’s. Steve wonders how many more little love confessions they can share today. It’s almost like they are trying to make up for all the lost whispered words of affection over the past fourteen years. 

“Mine,” he nods, feeling exhilarated about getting to call Eddie his. Giddy, he pushes Eddie’s leather jacket off his shoulders. “If I’m yours?”

“Always,” Eddie whispers and steps closer, gently pressing Steve into the coat rack. Before Steve can complain about his wet jacket getting his barely dry sweater damp, Eddie’s eyes flicker back to Steve’s lips and the words die in Steve’s mouth. “I’ve always been yours, you’ll always be mine. Or at least as long as you want me.” 

Eddie is just about to seal that promise with a kiss, when Steve regains the slightest bit of self control and pushes his hand against Eddie’s chest to stop him. 

“Dustin,” he reminds Eddie, even though it’s damn near impossible to drag himself away from Eddie. “You want hot chocolate?” 

Steve doesn’t really wait for a reply, slips away from Eddie and into the kitchen just to keep his hands busy and away from Eddie. He grabs milk, cocoapowder and sugar and heads to the stove. He wonders if they still have mini marshmallows when Eddie pats into the kitchen. He is drying his hair with a towel that will no doubt leave his curls frizzy. 

“Smells good,” Eddie says as he walks over to Steve before pulling the slightly damp towel over Steve’s head and ruffling his hair. 

“Hey,” Steve tries to bat Eddie away without spilling any milk. Eddie just laughs and continues to mess up Steve’s hair before he throws the towel on one of the kitchen chairs and drapes himself over Steve’s back. He clasps his hands in front of Steve’s stomach and hooks his chin over Steve’s shoulder, his warm breath tickling Steve’s cold skin. Steve wants to sink into Eddie’s embrace, twist his neck and demand a kiss. But Dustin could catch them any moment. Steve is surprised he hasn’t stormed downstairs yet. 

“I can also make coffee. Or dinner? You want food?” 

“Mhmmm, just you.” 

Eddie tightens his embrace and Steve’s resilience shrinks. 

“Eddie,” he wants to sound stern but it comes more out as a whine. 

“There is a note on your fridge that says ‘Went over to Lucas’ for a sleepover, be back tomorrow’,” Eddie whispers with impish satisfaction before he places a kiss behind Steve’s ear. 

That would explain why Dusint hasn’t yet burst into the kitchen to ask about dinner or how Steve’s day went. 

“Well, in that case,” Steve lets himself melt into Eddie’s touch, leans back a little and lets Eddie support his weight slightly. He doesn’t turn around to share a heated kiss and Eddie doesn’t fiddle with the hem of his clothes to get Steve out of them. He just holds Steve for a while and Steve lets himself be held. They sway slightly, just enjoying each other’s presence and touch. 

“You forgot to turn the stove on by the way,” Eddie hums eventually and Steve blinks confused, before he realizes that Eddie is right and that he has been waiting for the milk to heat up in vain. 

“Fucker, you distracted me,” he slaps Eddie on the arm and Eddie lets go of him, giggling. Steve just glares at him. He considers turning on the stove, but now that he can touch Eddie without having to worry that a nosey teenager might interrupt their moment any second there isn’t really a need for hot chocolate, Steve figures. 

“Sorry, sweetheart, “Eddie presses an apologetic kiss to Steve’s cheek even though he doesn’t look sorry at all. “Not my fault you get easily distracted when someone is touching you.” 

“That’s so not tr—,” Steve’s protests falter when Eddie’s hands grip his hips and he places another kiss on Steve’s other cheek. 

“You were saying?” he smirks before pressing a kiss to the tip of Steve’s nose. 

“Oh fuck you, Munson.”