Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The plain honest truth is a bit too embarrassing for Steve to stomach. So, he settles for ignorance. A polite shrug given when someone questions his unexplained absences for hours every few weeks. A quick cancellation of plans is coupled with a lousy excuse about his parents coming back home early. Steve begins thinking that his friends aren’t believing him that much anymore.

The web weaves tighter together with each lie he tells. Sure, they’re few and far in between, but they start to feel more like reassurances for Steve, rather than wool to pull over his friend’s eyes. He doesn’t really like doing it. But, hard to swallow pills get stuck in the throat; and Steve doesn’t feel like choking on this particular piece of truth. 

And the truth is that Steve the Hair Harrington, King of Hawkins High, riding the wave of his last semester of school, finds himself on the horizon of the future, with no prospects of college or otherwise. Yeah.

That one, Steve’s been coughing up a lot, staring at it in the bathroom mirror like bile in the sink after a wild weekend. It’s the one that sits on his chest when he lays in bed, looking him dead in the eyes and whispering in the quiet of night, “Is this all there is?” 

No, he likes to say no. But, as weeks turn to months and most of Steve’s graduating class sport college t-shirts and wave around acceptance letters, he turns to other methods of coping. The ones that billow out in soft clouds and push him down with tender hands. 

It’s a Thursday afternoon, but Steve’s a little jittery since Will got out of the hospital. Steve calls Joyce about once a week, just to check up. Just to see if they didn’t need their favorite babysitter to go digging in their backyard or check under the bed for monsters before bedtime. She always says no, of course, but he tries anyway.

Steve thumbs over the keys in his pocket to keep him tethered, still looking over his shoulder just in case. There’s an itching at the back of his skull, trying to pull his eyes away to stare behind him. 

He’s not sure how he got here. He’s not complaining. And, he kind of likes how this truth is shrouded in secret. The truth that opens a trailer door at any time of day or night with a wide smile and enough weed to sedate a fucking elephant. Deals made through ringed hands and an air of secrecy. 

“Long way from home, King Steve,” His dealer chuckles, opening the door wider to let Steve walk in without another word. “And it's been a long time since I last saw you.” He takes a good, slow look at Steve, up and down before their eyes meet. They’re like vines, those eyes, tangling up and around Steve, undressing him without laying a single finger on his frame. “How’ve you been?”

“You know,” Steve shrugs, trying to be casual, but it looks more like he’s trying to shake the devil off his back. He remembers exactly why it took him so long to visit Forest Park, the weeks spent in and out of sterilized rooms and scrubbing muck out of clothing.

“Just living the dream.” He looks around the Munson trailer like it’s his first time, like he’s looking for something to point out and ask about, something to do.

What he’s actually looking for is something to help sop up the oozing mess of nightmares, of parents, of a particularly rough breakup, and the storm cloud of his future, all which Steve has decided to call with a dismissive hand wave ‘life’. 

He’s found it. Somewhere between losing Nancy and saving the world (again), through thick smoke. Steve dug it up, an emotional rag durable enough to wipe the shit clean, at the bottom of a little black tin lunch box.

The door closes behind them.

“My uncle’s working a double,” Munson meets Steve’s flighty eyes. “If you want to stay over.” 

Steve tries to be casual, but the shake of his head is too quick and jittery, like the devil’s on his head now and trying to fight for his crown. He feels a headache coming on, right on top of his head, like someone’s trying to crack him open like a boiled egg. 

“I’m fine, just final semester jitters, you know. I’ve got work in a few.” He couldn’t give less of a shit about finals but he needs something to get his dealer off his back, to make those concerned puppy dog eyes lose their grip on him.

They don’t.

The older man nods, slow and confused. “Uh huh… sure about that? ‘Cause it looks like you’ve got rocks in your shoulders.” He smiles, and it gets a half-snort out of Steve. “C’mon,” He nods to his room. “I know just the thing that’ll help.” His smile turns into a devious grin, and Steve follows to the bedroom without any preamble, already shrugging off his jacket on the way in. 

The first time they did this, Steve got more than he bargained for. Crashing like a semi into a Cadillac on I-80, he realized that he desperately needed to be sedated in more ways than he anticipated. 

And as wet lips travel down his neck and a hand runs through his hair, that’s exactly what Steve’s doing: trying to piece together the insane route he took getting here before colliding head first with the whirlwind of metal and noise that is Eddie Munson. Which is… difficult to do when there are too-tight jeans keeping his rock hard dick trapped between his legs. 

Almost like Eddie read his mind, his free hand snakes between Steve’s legs, massaging his dick and easing the pain. Steve sighs, head knocking against the Metallica poster behind him.

“What’s got you all tense today, Harrington?” Eddie hums. The rumble of his voice sends shivers down Steve’s spine, and pulls him away from his thoughts. 

“What,” He tries to think of something to say, something sexy, something fucking coherent as Eddie Munson assaults his neck which— “No marks, Munson, I got work in like, two hours. I can’t—fuck— walk in looking like I got mauled.” 

“You still didn’t answer my question.” Eddie pauses his work and pulls back so they’re face to face. “You good?” In the cloudy haze of Munson’s hot-boxed room, Steve swears he sees genuine concern behind the freak’s watery red eyes. Opting to ignore the way Eddie’s voice dropped into a quiet tone, Steve rolls his eyes and snorts. “Did you miss the part where I said I have work in an hour?” 

“Yeah, and here I got all excited thinking you’d change into that cute uniform.” Eddie pulls Steve by his belt loops so their hips rock together. “How long are you gonna keep holding out on me?” 

Steve sighs, rolling into the friction. “That’s a privilege—christ—” Eddie’s giving Steve’s hard-on a slow, deliberate massage. “You gotta earn.” Steve pants out. 

“Really?” Eddie’s brow arches. “Then I guess if you want a blowie, that’s something you’re gonna have to earn, right?” Eddie’s touch is practiced, knowing exactly where to kiss and press to get the exact noise he wants. Steve feels like a fine-tuned instrument in Eddie’s hands. Like he’s a breakable thing that Eddie knows his way around. 

Steve groans, chasing after Eddie as the hand between his legs disappears. “C’mon, man I told you, I can’t waste time.”

“Then use your words, Stevie.” Eddie crowds his space, their noses brushing together. Long fingers comb through Steve’s hair, forcing him to look at the smug smile on the other’s face. “Earn it.” 

Steve battles between just saying fuck it and stomping off to work early. But that would mean trying to ah… take care of himself, which, in those sailor shorts, wasn’t ideal. And like hell he’s going to drive back to Munson’s after work for a quickie. “Please.” He pushes out, and knowing they’re on a tight schedule, Muson’s a little more lenient. 

“See,” Munson sinks to his knees, hands running down Steve’s sides and settling on his hips as he does so. “That wasn’t so bad, was it, Harrington?” Eddie beams up at him. 

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, just make it quick, Munson.” 

“Aye aye, Cap’n.” Eddie gives him a mock salute, almost ruining the entire fucking moment. Almost, being the operative word, because the cheeky smile Munson wears as he unbuckles Steve is cute if he admits it. And once the familiar warmth of Eddie’s mouth surrounds his dick, all other thoughts filter out of his head, completely transfixed by the watery doe eyes that stare up at him. 

“You’re late again!” A Scoops hat is tossed at Steve’s face as soon as he steps behind the counter. “C’mon, didn’t you play sports, Harrington? Where’d all that athleticism go?” Robin’s teasing voice comes from his right as he pushes the cap onto his head. 

“Well I don’t see mister boss man wagging his finger at me, so, far as I’m concerned, I’m in the clear.” He calls over his shoulder as he walks into the backroom. On the other side of the wall, he hears his coworker say something snarky about hurrying up which he chooses to ignore as he stuffs his backpack into a locker. 

He shuts the tiny metal door, and along with his car keys, his backpack, and quite frankly, his dignity. Steve also tries to keep the last two hours of his life in a tight little ball like dirty laundry tossed in a closet. 

Still, it lays, in the back of his mind. The grip of Eddie’s fingers on his hips, pulling him closer and closer to the heat of his mouth. Those fluttering eyelashes batting up at him. The thick heady scent of weed and sex and whatever cheap cologne Eddie obviously sprayed his room with to mask the smell of himself. Which, if Steve is honest, enjoys that just as much. 

“That’s it, Stevie. Better come quick or you’ll be late for work.” 

And even though Steve listened to Eddie, pumping into his wet fist like a desperate animal, he was still late for work. But, Steve would be hours late just to see Munson’s picture perfect face painted in his cum again. 

“Steve!” 

Ah, right. Work. 

Running a palm over his face to try and ground himself, Steve lets out one last sigh, pushing those memories further into the depths until they feel like nothing more than a hazy dream. 

“Steven Harrington!” Robin’s voice comes again, more urgent than before. 

“Yeah, yeah hold your horses, Buc—” He opens the window that separates the backroom from the rest of the store, finding a quite frazzled Robin holding two scoops while a long line forms behind her. “Shit.” 

“What the hell is this, Steve?” 

A report card sits hauntingly on the kitchen counter. Its stare is as harsh as the voice coming from Steve’s right. His throat is clogged by a knot of unspoken words. 

“I asked you a question, Steve.” Tom Harrington’s voice is a low, commanding growl.

“It’s… I…” 

“What the hell have you been doing this whole time?”

I spent my nights fighting inter-dimensional demons and protecting kids more than you ever tried to protect me. I saw my friends come back from the brink of death. I saved the fucking world, and I can’t even tell you about it. I saved the fucking world, and you wouldn’t even believe me. 

Behind his eyelids Steve sees the kids, cowering as a demogorgon tears shrapnel off an old bus. Lights flickering above his head and is reminded of the constant panic Will Byers still lives in. The awful stench of demogoron ablaze fills his nostrils like his mom’s cooking it for dinner. He hears the sickening squelch of meat and bone being hit again and again and again and—

“Four years, and for what? Partying? Having your mother worried sick when I went on business trips? Huh? Is  that it, Steve?”

Steve shakes his head, refusing to look at the eyes that dig into his head. 

“Your mother and I work day and night to hand you everything on a silver platter, and this is the thanks we get?” A hand gestures to the glaring piece of paper. “So you can fuck around and steal from my liquor cabinet, huh?” Tom’s crowding his son’s space now, and Steve shrinks further back into himself, crossing his arms over his chest, tight tight tight.  

“You want to act like a big man so you can get the best tail Hawkins Indiana has to offer, is that it? Go fuck some bitch and have a kid when you can’t even take care of yourself.” The words claw into Steve, twisting up his insides. He shakes his head, eyes still at their feet. 

He’s wearing new shoes, Steve thinks , When the hell did he get new shoes? 

“Dad—” Steve finally looks at his father, anger twisting in his gut at the bile that spills from his father’s lips. It’s not true. He knows it's not true and he’s got the scars to prove it, but the absolute certainty in his father’s eyes makes Steve want to listen to him. Want to get on his knees and beg for forgiveness for things he never did.

“I’m no idiot, Steve. You might not have inherited that trait from me, but I know exactly what you’re up to. People talk, and I’ve heard things.” Steve’s father looks at him like a sewer rat that crawled its way in though the pipes. “Chasing after Wheeler’s girl like a damn dog. When what you should be doing is this,” an accusatory finger points at the report card. “Getting your damn future together.” 

Steve swallows the knot in throat, taking in a heavy, shaking breath. “Dad, I swear that’s not it. It's not— It's not true, Dad.”

“Still think you can lie to me?” Tom rolls his eyes. “You’re gonna learn some responsibility, and grow the hell up.” 

“Dad—”

“Enough! Tomorrow, you’re going to take your sorry ass to the mall, and find yourself a job or you’re out of this house, Steven. Do you hear me?” 

Steve can’t figure out whether to ask for forgiveness or spit in Tom’s face. 

“I said: do you hear me?”

“Yes sir.” 

That’s the thing they don’t really mention on job applications or in those grainy training videos. Food service work is a hell of a way to compartmentalize. Something about the ongoing sea-shanties, the stickiness under his shoes, the endless amount of sprinkles that end up on any and every surface is enough to push all of it deep deep down into a frozen tub of raspberry swirl. 

“You know,” Steve grins up at the smiling curly haired girl across the counter, scooping out a rather large helping of rocky road. “Rocky road’s my favorite flavor too.” He’s lying. It’s not. It’s Banana Foster. Robin, knowing this information, gives him a side eye from the register. 

The girl smiles. “Really? You’ve got good taste.” 

Steve gives her a charming grin, leaning on the counter as he hands over her change. “Well what’d’ya say later this weekend we could share a scoop and figure out what else we got in common?” 

“Wrong tree, dingus.” Robin hisses from behind; Steve ignores her warning. 

At his proposition, the girl gives him a tight smile. “I’ll check my schedule.” She looks at her friend with raised eyebrows. “Thanks.” 

“Yeah, course! See you this weekend!” Steve calls out as she’s already walking out the store. 

“Nice one.” Robin snorts, turning from the collection of freshly dried spoons. Her tone is anything but congratulatory. 

Steve frowns. “She said she’d check.” He says defensively, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Yeah,” Robin nods in thought. “And what’s her name?”

“Uh…” Steve looks around. “Her name is uh… Rose!”

“Rose? Really? That’s the best you could come up with?”

Steve deflates, putting his head in his hands. “I know. I know.” 

Even in the shelter of his palms, he hears his coworker snickering to herself. “I should start a leader board.” Steve looks up with a frown of confusion. Robin’s smile curls up further. “You know,” she shrugs. “To keep track of your wins and losses.” 

“Absolutely not.” 

Sometime after the local middle and elementary schools get out, Wheeler Jr. shows up with the whole gaggle of kids, all asking for free samples. And, Steve always gives them willingly, no matter how many times Lucas insists he needs to try the Butter Pecan again ‘just to make sure it tastes the same’. 

Steve sighs as he hands over another wooden spoon of Salted Caramel. “That’s six times now, Sinclair.” 

“Yeah but,” Lucas sucks around the spoon in mock thought. Behind him, the rest of the party are giggling, thinking they’re so clever. “The fourth time and this time are inconsistent. I’m gonna need ano—”

“Nope. Either buy something or scram.”

Will visibly deflates like Steve just threw out his favorite set of dice or whatever. Lucas rolls his eyes, as does Max—jeez those two were made for each other. Steve sighs, getting over all the wide eyes thrown his way. “Seriously, guys. No.”

“Dingus,” Robin calls from the counter, drying off sundae bowls and spoons. “Tell your children to get something and skedaddle. We close in thirty minutes—” She checks her watch. “Twenty-nine and counting.”

Steve gestures behind himself. “See? I’ll even throw in an extra scoop.”

“Two.” Mike’s eyes narrow. Damn these kids were stubborn.

“One and sprinkles.”

“And hot fudge?” Will pipes up, a little too hopeful. 

Steve sighs and nods in defeat while the party begins to cheer in their small victory. 

“And can we…” Mike looks behind Steve’s shoulder to the backroom with hopeful eyes. 

Steve crosses his arms. “No, absolutely not. Don’t you have school tomorrow?”

“Don’t you have school tomorrow?” Lucas’s eyebrows shoot up like he cracked the case. 

“Like,” Steve gestured vaguely around. “A week left, Sinclair. It’s a school night which means—”

“Which means we won’t get caught!” Max interjects. The rest of the gang all nod in agreement, pulling out the oldest trick in the book with ‘pleeeaaaase’s and wide eyes. 

“Just let them go,” Robin calls from the back. “We gotta close up, dingus.” 

“Hurry. And be back home right after or—”

“You’ll call our parents, yeah, we know Steve.” Mike waves off the older boy’s warning before leading the rest of the gang without any guidance. 

Chapter Text

Fresh-cut grass. Each breath Steve takes is filled with the scent. It’s sweet and earthy, caked under his sneakers and cushioning his landing as he dives for the ball, successfully catching it. From the field comes a whoop of victory from his teammates. 

“Nice one, Harrington!” Coach Dover calls from the sidelines. He nods in thanks, too out of breath to call back. He tosses the slightly-deflated ball back out onto the field. 

The game’s down to the fourth quarter, but unfortunately, most of the opposing team has a competitive streak in them. Even though they look just as tired as Steve feels, they’re still trying to make another goal and break the tie they’ve had since the first half. 

Usually, Steve would be out on the field. Granted, he was never a gifted soccer player, but he enjoys the chase. But, with the heat of late May beating on the back of his neck like it has a bone to pick with Indiana, Steve opted for the goalie. Sure, it’s a lot of responsibility, but the less running he had to do without so much as a drop of water, the better. 

The sun’s finally broken through the overcast skies that plagued the small town. It’s a call to the blossoming flowers of summer and her warmer, longer days. It’s Steve’s reminder of how close he is to the finish line of his senior year, but now, at high noon and without lunch yet, he hates it. He stares up at its hazy rays with squinting eyes, wanting to pick a fight. 

Steve watches the other guys scramble to the opposite goal, the yelling and shuffling of feet getting more distant. And then, it’s just him. Cicadas whir above the sound of his breath. For a second, if he tries to ignore the burning in his lungs, it feels a bit peaceful. 

“Hey.” And, peace ruined. 

Steve looks to his right and finds a very sweaty Eddie Munson standing close to the goal line, hands on his knees. 

Steve frowns. “What’re you doing? Aren’t you supposed to be on defense?” 

Eddie looks at him incredulously. “Does it  look like I know what the hell we’re doing right now?”

Steve shrugs, knowing the band kid has a point. Still, while Muson’s been a bench warmer for most of the game, he, like the other players, is drenched in sweat. Somewhere between second and third, Munson tied his hair back, bangs and all, into the most peculiar ponytail Steve’s ever seen. It doesn’t look half bad, though most of his hair is still sweat-slick against his neck.  It’s not a foreign site. Those dark curls are always held back one way or another when Eddie’s a sweaty mess. Steve watches a bead of sweat trickle down Eddie’s temple. He’s parched. 

The lanky kid side-steps closer, to the goalie line, eyes darting every which way the ball goes as he speaks. “You didn’t stop by last night.”

Oh right. Whoops. “My new job—”

“So I can upcharge you even more?” Eddie smirks. 

Steve rolls his eyes. “It’s at the new mall, don’t get too excited ya’ gold-digger.” 

“Alright, Richie rich. Just let me know so I make sure Wayne’s out—”

“Wayne?”

“My uncle. He ah… doesn’t appreciate my small business endeavors being done out of his house.” 

Steve nods slowly, not realizing that Eddie was even living with his uncle. Sure he’d been over to the Munson residence a few times, but never really stayed to have a look around, let alone wonder who exactly Eddie lived with. It dawned on him that he never really thought much about Eddie unless it was a Thursday evening for his bi-weekly… endeavor. 

“Tomorrow night work?” 

“Munson!” Dover’s voice bellows from the sidelines. “What are you doing over there? Follow the ball!” 

Eddie nods in affirmation before darting to the ball. Well, it would be in the realm of running, but he’s doing more of a fast walk to the ball than anything like he’s trying to concentrate on using the least amount of effort possible to seem engaged. He kinda looks like a LEGO, limbs all stiff as he joins the rest of the guys. 

Soon, the mess of sneakers, sweat, and one slightly deflated soccer ball comes tumbling toward Steve. 

“All yours, Harrington!” A kid on his team hollers as the offense comes closer and closer.

Without much thought, he jumps for the ball, barely knocking it back from the net with his right hand. He doesn’t get much time to get a good landing on his feet, falling in the grass on his chest. Above him, he hears the cheers of his own team, and a series of groans from the offense, chastising the kicker for having poor aim. 

Steve breathes into the grass in heavy breaths, collecting himself. Above him, he can hear the praise of his team and the sound of a whistle blowing. 

“That’s the game, everyone! Hit the showers, you got 15 minutes!”

Cold water beats down on Steve’s face, washing away the grime and exhaustion. School’s almost over, but even as May creeps into Hawkins, Coach Dover insists on playing a game outside in the blazing heat. Steve appreciates the workout, but his skin was hot with what he figures will be a gnarly sunburn. 

He tosses a towel over his shoulders. There were only a few minutes between changing and the next class, so Steve works quickly to dry himself off and throw his clothes back on. His hair would suffer, but it was better than getting yet another lecture from his chemistry teacher and a possible phone call home. He’s tightening his belt when he hears a body getting against a locker. 

“What the fuck were you looking at huh?” Someone growls out between tight teeth. Steve keeps his face to his belongings, preoccupying himself with his shirt, and pulling it over his head. 

Another shove. “You heard him,” another. “Answer the fucking question.”

Steve looks over his shoulder once his shirt is pulled on. He recognizes the two guys from his team: David Price and Andy Johnson, both kids who finally inched their way onto the varsity basketball team next year and acting real cocky about it. From his vantage, Steve can’t really tell who’s in between them, but they’re not giving the kid much air to breathe. 

“Let me get my shit, Price.” The third kid finally says, with an exhausted sigh. “Wouldn’t want to be bothered looking at your micro-dick anyways.” 

The answer clearly doesn’t satisfy David, who pushes the kid back into the locker. “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to, queer?”

When Steve finally catches a glimpse of who David’s got his eyes on and recognizes Eddie instantly. For a second, Munson looks past Price to catch Steve’s eye. There’s a bit of a realization between them, but before either of them can say anything, Price’s pushing at Eddie again. They both know he can’t do any real damage on school grounds without getting in trouble. 

And, knowing this, Eddie begins to smile. “What? Mad I can’t be your punching bag, Dave?” The other kid scowls at him. “Let me get my shit. And maybe after the last bell rings I can show you the real pleasure in pain, hm?” 

“Shut the fuck up!” David snaps. His fist collides with Eddie’s cheek, a wet slap echoing in the now mostly empty locker room. Steve jolts a bit, realizing he’s been frozen for most of the interaction. Eddie groans and turns into the lockers, trying to breathe through the pain.

“What the fuck are you looking at, Harrington?” Andy’s turning away from his prey to pursue him. 

Steve’s heart leaps into his throat but swiftly swallows it down with a drop of courage.

“The hell are you doing?” He straightens up, turning to face Andy. They’re damn near chest-to-chest. Over his shoulder, Steve notices Eddie, frozen like a deer in headlights, eyes glued to him. 

“Put some fucking clothes on, man, before you try to fight me.” Steve rolls his eyes, trying to play cool as Andy tries to size him up. 

“What?” Andy chuckles. “Are you trying to look at my dick too?” He crowds Steve’s space, putting him in a similar position to Eddie, back against the locker. “Didn’t realize you were a queer, Harrington.” 

“Nope, just think it’s kinda weird you wanna take a swing at me without some damn pants on.” Steve grimaces a bit. Eddie laughs. 

“What’s so funny?” David gives him a jostle. 

“Get off me, Price. You can’t do shit on school grounds.” Another blunt wet sound comes from behind Andy that Steve can’t see the source of. Eddie sounds like a kicked dog. Steve flinches. 

“I want you,” Steve steps into Andy’s space, giving his shoulder a good shove. It pushes him a few inches back. “To leave him the fuck alone.” 

“Why? The hell does Freak Munson mean to you?” 

Steve looks at Eddie and sees a pleading look in his eyes. He’s trying to communicate with his brows, a slight tremor in his lower lip.

“You didn’t see anything, got that Harrington?” Andy hisses.

Steve frowns. “Like hell I didn’t.” He drops his backpack, putting his full force into Andy to shove him into the lockers opposite him. The stronger kid lets out a grunt, doubling over so his towel doesn’t fall. 

“Told you man,” Steve huffs. “Put some damn clo—” He chokes on the rest of his words as David’s fist collides with his side, forcing him to hunch over. “Fuck.”  

“Sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, huh?” 

“Should ask you the same thing, Price.” Steve wheezes, inching onto his knees to nurse his ribs. He looks up to a sneaker poised to kick him back down. 

“What the hell is going on here? Bell’s about to ring.” Dover’s voice comes from the other side of the room. Andy scrambles to his feet, and David reaches out a hand to Steve to help him up, which Steve swats away with a scowl. 

“Sorry, coach just uh,” David flimsily grabs Steve’s bag and hands it to him. “Getting some stuff together.” Andy gets his clothes back on, and Price preoccupies Dover before a series of footsteps shuffle out. 

The metal door shuts and leaves Steve alone. After grabbing the last of his things, he turns to see the space Eddie once occupied vacant. 

“Munson?” Steve turns the corner on the lockers and finds the guy scrambling to get changed. 

“If you wanted to see me with my shirt off, Harrington all you had to do was ask.” The metalhead chuckles as he tugs his t-shirt on without drying his hair. It’s splayed over his face, making him look more exasperated than he already is. 

“Look man,” Steve ignores the comment. The bell rings. Eddie curses, shuffling to tug his boots on. “I’m just making sure you’re ok.”

“You didn't have to do that,” Eddie grumbles to his boots. With each punctuated word, he’s twisting his laces over and over. “You what kind of hell they’re gonna put me in later?” Their eyes finally meet, and Eddie’s are filled with disappointment. Blood trickles through his tight-lipped smile. “Fucking with those dickheads even though you’re gone in like, what… a week? Two? Real mature of you.” 

Steve rolls his eyes. “What was I supposed to do?”

“Oh, excuse me for wanting to defend myself.” Eddie huffs, standing back up to be eye level with Steve. “Unlike you, I don’t have the luxury of mommy and daddy coming to save my ass, so I gotta do it myself.” 

The sour look he gives makes Steve’s skin crawl. 

“I didn’t need your help. Now the whole damn school is gonna be wondering why King Steve defended a wallflower.  And you—” He jabs a finger into Steve’s sternum. “Aren’t my bodyguard.” 

Steve takes a step back and frowns. Since when did Eddie care how the rest of Hawkins treated him? “Look—” 

“Bell’s rung, Harrington. Better get to class before the rumor goes around that you’ve been blowing the town freak between passing periods.” Eddie pushes past him and out the door before he can be stopped.

Steve’s halfway down the hallway when the last bell rings, pushing past other kids so he can get home and nurse the dull ache on his side. He hasn’t gotten a chance to check, but Steve already knows it’ll be an interesting shade of yellow and pink once he finally gets home. 

As he’s digging through his locker, a finger taps at his shoulder. 

“Hey, Stevie!” He turns to see Tammy Thompson smiling brightly at him. In hindsight, he should’ve known from her voice, considering she won’t stop ‘practicing’ for the musical auditions before class. 

“Hey, Tammy! How’s it goin’?” He smiles amicably, trying to avoid her starry-eyed gaze. 

“Well,” She adjusts the books she carries in one arm, pulling out a bright pink flier from the stack she has in her hand. “I’m having an after-party for the musical, if you want to come—” 

Steve’s face screws up. “Isn’t that more of a theater-kid thing?” 

Tammy’s already shaking her head. “Nope! I’ve invited everyone. Even Jessica said she’s going to come!”

“Williams?” Steve’s eyebrows shoot up, and the girl nods with pride. Seems anyone would go anywhere for some free booze and loud music. And well, Steve’s not above anyone, so, “Yeah sure,” he shrugs. “Count me in, Thompson.” 

She squeals with delight, and Steve tries his best not to think how much it sounds like Miss Piggy. He smiles brightly to hide the laugh bubbling in his throat. 

“Awesome! See you around, Harrington!” Tammy smiles, practically skipping back to her friends. 

Once Steve’s walking to his car, the parking lot’s almost empty. He twirls his keys on his finger absentmindedly, humming quietly under his breath. “My fear is fading fast… been saving it all for you ‘cause only—” 

A wall of heat and metal slams into Steve’s already bruised side. “JESUS FU—!”

Before he can get his balance, Steve’s sliding up the hood of a red Toyota Starlet. He tries to grab the hood but loses his grip. The car comes to a screeching halt, and Steve rolls off the hood. He lands on the pavement and gets a hot gravely slap in the face. The hard landing knocks the wind out of him.

“Shit shit shit oh my god,” a car door opens and closes. Steve stays motionless on the ground, eyes still closed. “Are you okay?” A familiar voice asks. “Shit—are you dead?” 

Steve groans. 

“Oh thank god.” 

“Where the hell were you looking?” Steve groans, pushing up to his arms as best he can to see who he gets to cuss out. He’s got an earful locked and loaded behind his lips when he finally looks up. “Robin?”

She’s already rushing to crouch next to him, using an old band t-shirt to help wipe some of the blood from Steve’s brow. “Jesus christ I’m so sorry Steve I had no idea it was you—”

“So you would’ve kept going if it wasn’t me?” Steve backs away a bit, frowning at her. He sits with his knees to his chest and back to the car.

 Robin puts her hands up in surrender. “Hey, look, Harrington, I’m just trying to help.” 

“Yeah, I really owe you one,” Steve grumbles. 

She sighs, inching closer. “Are you gonna let me help you or not?”

He frowns for a second. “What’re you doing out here?” 

“Practicing driving— I need the hours and I thought I could do some rounds between rehearsals.” She shrugs off the nervous energy. “You should get to the nurse though—” 

“Nope, nah, all good.” Steve stands with a wince. “Totally fine, just need to,” He tries not to groan with every exhale. “Lay down for a sec, you know, rest the ol’ bones.” 

Robin stands and looks him up and down. “Right… I’m really sorry, I’d drive you to the hospital but—”

“I think I’ve seen enough of your driving skills to last a few decades, Buckley.” That earns an eye roll, but Robin doesn’t protest. She seems about to leave, when she looks down at the old shirt still balled up in her hand. 

“Well, take this at least, for,” she gestures to his face. “Are you sure you’re okay? Seriously, I can get you to the nurse or—” 

Steve shakes his head, taking the shirt still extended to him. “Well, uh… thanks? I guess.”

Robin gives him a half smile. “Yeah, ‘course. I’ll uh…” She steps back, nearly tripping on a rock on her heel. “Shit— I’ll see you at work I guess.” 

“Wait, Robin—” She looks over her shoulder. “You’re in the musical?” 

She nods, smiling a bit. “Are you thinking about performing, dingus?” 

Steve snorts. “Not in a million years, Buckley. I was gonna ask if you got invited to the party Tammy Thompson’s throwing.” At the mention of Tammy, Robin’s eyes seem to light up a bit. She stammers over her words, managing to nod. 

“O-oh—yeah, maybe, I dunno…” She stuffs her hands into her pockets and kicks the ground. “Gotta see how the actual performance goes, you know?” 

Steve shrugs. “Well, I might stop by, so maybe I’ll see you there.” He smiles, and Robin, to his disbelief, scoffs. 

“King Steve is going to a theater kid party? You really are turning a new leaf, huh?” 

Steve rolls his eyes. “Something like that, maybe.” He gives her a lopsided grin. “See you at work, Buckley.” He salutes her with his keys in hand, continuing his walk to his car.

“Hello! You’ve reached the Harringtons. Sorry, but we can’t come to the phone right now. Please leave a message after the beep!” 

The answering machine’s echo welcomes Steve home. The sound of his mother’s disembodied voice is reassuring, filling the empty space with something besides dust and sunlight. He unlaces his shoes while the answering machine beeps. He doesn’t pay much attention to the voice that filters through, assuming it’s someone from the firm a multilevel marketing scheme pitch. 

“Steve—” 

That brings his head up, and finally, through the noise of his mind, Steve recognizes that voice. He dashes to the phone like the walls will hear and tell his parents of the boy who called home asking for their son. Tripping over his untied shoes, leaving his jacket unhung on the kitchen floor, Steve rushes to the living room to answer the phone. 

“How’d you get my number?” Steve hisses into the receiver.

“I’m doing good Steve, how are you?”

He rolls his eyes at the dry reply. “Fine, Munson. What is it?” He sounds a little too sharp, even for his standards, and he lets out a sigh. Tension rolls off his shoulders and he tries to relax in his house.

“Sorry, jesus,” memories of that afternoon start flooding back quicker than he’d like. He hears Eddie’s crushed voice ring in his ears. “How are you?” He asks with more intention. 

“Well,” Eddie laughs on the other end. “Not great, I’ll tell you that.” 

“Look I,” the words are easy in Steve's mind, but tough on his tongue. He forces them out.

“I’m sorry. If I crossed the line or whatever, I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” His chest grows a little bit, finding his footing in the protector shoes he kicked off a little while ago. 

“I know,” Eddie says.

Silence stretches between them, gets itself latched onto Steve’s neck where it scratches until he can’t take it anymore. There’s no way Eddie called to talk about how he’s feeling. He doesn’t know Munson well, but he knows enough that the guy has a motive, and shimmies his way through the smallest crack of a door to get to it. 

 “So uh,” Steve clears his throat. “What’s up?” 

“Well I uh,” Eddie pauses—a rare thing he does. His mind’s usually dashing after his mouth. The tight leash is new. “Are you still stopping by tonight?” 

Steve blinks. “Are you—”

“I was wondering since you haven’t been around in a second. I just picked up a new batch from Rick so you get first dibs.” Eddie sounds like he’s pacing. “If you want.” He blurts. 

Steve checks the time like he has somewhere to be. Like the answer isn’t already on the tip of his tongue and he hasn’t been worried that some other goons got to Eddie on his way out today. He fiddles with the phone chord, wondering how hard he can press, how far he can step. 

“O-or I can stop by,” Eddie offers when the silence gets too much. Apparently, not far enough. 

“I’ll stop by,” Steve says, trying to sound casual. “See you in a bit.” 

Eddie breathes out a sigh. “See you.” 

There’s a Hello Kitty band-aid on Eddie’s lip that Steve can’t stop looking at. It doesn’t do much to cover the cut on his lip, already blackening with dried blood and a purplish bruise underneath. It gives Steve an excuse to watch his lips, admire the way they stretch and curl with his words. 

His face is still red from that afternoon. It’s not as much damage as Steve anticipated. Still, Eddie’s hair is draped close to his face, trying to hide the evidence. His gaze must be noticeable, because even before Steve has his jacket off, Eddie chastises, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

That immediately puts Steve’s eyes to the floor, muttering out an apology and shucking his jacket off. He wants to explain a bit, this newfound concern he’s never had for his dealer; the guy’s house he should only know the porch of and not the foundation.

He hangs up his jacket without prompting and leaves his shoes by the door. Eddie wanders into the kitchenette.

“You want something to drink?” he asks while Steve pads around the living room aimlessly. He looks away from the collection of mugs to find Eddie already pouring two glasses of lemonade before he can say no. 

“You have anything to smoke?” Steve asks instead. Eddie looks up with a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“What’re you feelin’ tonight, your majesty?”

“Whatever you’re offering, Munson.” Steve smiles and finds his usual spot on the couch.

Eddie leaves the glasses by the microwave, already forgotten as he dashes away to his room to find whatever that offer might be. He comes back quicker than usual, grinder in hand and a shiny glass pipe—that’s new. Steve examines it while Eddie gets the rest together, picking out bud from a small baggy. 

“Where’d you get this?” He asks, looking at the black and red piece, shiny and just a little used. 

“Birthday present,” Eddie says easily. He smiles a bit while he places the flower in the grinder.

Steve blinks and looks at him. “Wait—when was your birthday?” He asks with a frown, confused how and why he missed it—why he didn’t know. 

Eddie only shrugs. “October.” He glances at Steve and chuckles. His bruised face wrinkles up with a smile. “What? Sad you missed out on the festivities?” 

“What? No, I was just—” he shrugs, remembering exactly where he was in October. “Busy. That’s all.” He looks down at the pipe, now warm in his hands. Red glass curls and snakes up around the black length of the pipe, pooling into the bowl like it’s slipping down a drain.

“Cool gift, though.” He places it back on the table. 

Eddie grabs it and fills it to the brim with ground weed. He picks up the lighter and examines the bowl, packing it in until he’s satisfied. Steve watches his care, the slowness of his hands, a touch he’s unfamiliar with. Eddie’s tongue sticks out over his bruised upper lip, face fixed in concentration. 

“So,” Eddie looks up and smiles a bit when he realizes that Steve’s been staring at him. “You wanna do the honors?” 

“Do you even have to ask?”  Steve smiles back and takes the blow. 

By the time the pipe is passed to him for a fifth time, his lips are spread into a permanent smile. There’s something on the television that Steve hasn’t paid attention to for a while now. A commercial screams for attention and brightens the dim room. 

Steve stares at Eddie. The television paints Eddie’s face in blues and greens. The kitchenette's orange light halos his crow. Steve never smoked much with Nancy, but now it’s the perfect excuse to just stare, just observe and smile without judgment. 

“Harrington,” Eddie’s voice filters through his thoughts, and he hums, finally blinking back to the present. Eddie laughs properly now; Steve can’t tell if his face is red from impact or from inebriation. 

“Oh my god,” Eddie puts the bowl in his own lap, which Steve realizes blearily, that Eddie was holding out to him this whole time. “You’re so fucking gone, dude.” 

“Pfft,” Steve waves him off. “No ‘m not” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Steve crosses his arms, trying to sound serious though his cheeks are starting to hurt from smiling. “Just distracted.”

“Distracted, huh?” Eddie speaks around the pipe, inhaling deep. Steve watches the slow rise of his shoulders with the inhale, the push of his tummy on his t-shirt on the exhale. His shoulders stay up by his ears despite the heavy sigh he lets out. 

“What’s distracting you?” Eddie looks at him, almost begging Steve to take the bait, to not notice the obvious signs of tension in his face, his muscles, his hands. He’s curled up on the opposite side of the couch, sweatpant-clad legs underneath him. Eddie’s casting a perfect line for Steve, but he doesn’t want to bite. 

Steve chews on his lip and reaches his hand out, Eddie passes the bowl.

Steve feels the tremor in his hand. “You ok?” 

Eddie freezes for a second, hand still on top of Steve’s. 

“I mean,” Steve swallows, and takes the bowl. Eddie immediately puts his hands in his lap. His eyes dart from the television to Steve and back again. If he didn’t look panicked before, he certainly does now.

“I’m sorry. For earlier.” Steve says carefully, gently, even if his voice gets beaten into the ground by the television. Eddie doesn’t move. 

“I know this isn’t like…” Steve shrugs off whatever title would make it official, put them in the confines of something neither of them want to be in. “but I don’t want the shit getting kicked out of you.” 

“It happened before you,” Eddie says. “It’ll happen long after you’re gone, Harrington.” He sighs and picks up the bowl, inhaling the last of the smoke trapped in the pipe. He looks at the blackened ashes. “Y’owe me.” He murmurs.

“What?” Steve frowns. 

“You owe me,” Eddie raises the pipe. “Y’know, the whole reason why you’re here.” 

Right, because the reason Steve’s here is to smoke, to forget about the world, get his rocks off, and high-tail it before someone questions a BMW sitting next to a trailer. He nods with understanding. His brows are still twisted up like his stomach, unsettled. 

“Eddie—”

“I’m low on cash, Harrington.” Eddie huffs. “Wayne’ll have a fit if I don’t buy something from the grocery store next time.” He grumbles like a grounded teenager. “Sorry to disappoint.” 

Steve’s lips twist up. Eddie’s lanky form is knotted up on the other side of the couch, tattooed arms crossed over himself and his legs tucked inwards, all joints pointed out in protection. When their eyes meet, Eddie looks away. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve nods and goes for his jeans, shimmying a bit to get his wallet out. Usually, he tosses out a twenty and calls it a day. This time he passes over a folded ten as well and hopes Eddie doesn’t notice before he leaves. 

Eddie stuffs it in his sweatpants and deflates against the couch. Instead of asking his guest to leave, Eddie glances at the television, like he’s super interested in the Teen Wolf trailer. 

“I can stay a little while.” Steve offers. Eddie looks back at him. “My parents are out of town so,” he shrugs, suddenly feeling vulnerable under the other's confused gaze. “I can hang out—o-or leave. Whatever.” 

Eddie gets up. Steve frowns. 

“Oh…kay…” 

His host looks over his shoulder, his face unreadable. Steve puts his hands on his thighs, waiting for an invitation. 

“C’mon,” Eddie finally says, “I have a pre-roll in my bedroom.” 

The pre-roll gets forgotten the moment Steve gets pushed back onto the bed. Smoke fills the room. Eddie’s tongue fills his mouth. Steve moves without protest.

It’s practiced now, this dance they’ve choreographed. Eddie’s hand lands on Steve’s hips. Fingers fiddle with the button on his jeans, which are just a bit too tight now. But, while his hands are a gentle guide into the mattress, Eddie’s teeth and tongue are ferocious and selfish. Steve replies with similar dexterity, both hungry for each other’s bodies. 

“Eddie,” Steve manages once those lips have trailed down his stomach. Long fingers push his polo up to expose his nipples. While one hand twists and pulls them to hardness, the other unzips his jeans, pulling out his half-hard cock. Steve groans through his words and pushes up into Eddie’s dry, slow-moving hand. 

“Eddie,” he tries again, but his mouth is too occupied on his hip bone to reply. His lips are far too close to the head of Steve’s cock for comfort. His voice is too gentle and his hand too slow. Steve lets out a breath, trying to ignore the itch his skin has taken on as Eddie teases him. 

Soft lips press to the head of his cock, and a pink tongue peeks out to lap up the precum that’s beaded at the tip. Steve moans. Eddie smiles. 

“Something wrong, baby?” 

The pet name has the heat in Steve’s belly boiling, sinking deep into his veins and through his bones. He wants to say something else, wants to flip Eddie into the mattress and pull some of the tension that still sits between Eddie’s shoulder blades. He parts his lips, and a whine escapes. Eddie giggles. 

“Just wondering,” Steve says in a voice he barely registers as his own. It’s too needy, too anxious to be his. All the greed he has for Eddie’s smirking lips is layered under those heavy breaths. And Eddie knows it, the sly fucker. 

“Wondering why you’re taking so long.” Steve finally pushes out. 

“You know,” Eddie murmurs between slow kitten licks his tip. “I wasn’t going to, but now that you mention it…”

“Munson…” 

“What? I thought you said you could stay a while, right Harrington?” 

And before Steve can reply, Eddie does exactly as he intends with a warm, dirty-talking mouth and methodical fingers: explore Steve’s body like he’s memorizing it. He takes Steve down to the hilt, making him shout into the smoky room like he needs saving. A chuckle vibrates around him, and Steve shivers in the musky sheets. 

While Eddie sucks around him, getting him warm and wet, he shuffles in the bed, shimmying his sweatpants down until the slight curve of his ass up and bare to the ceiling. If Steve’s fingers weren’t tight in the sheets, he’d give him a nice slap. 

“Think you can be quiet for me?” Eddie’s sliding back up to Steve’s ear, hands on either side of his head.

Against Steve’s thigh is that thick cock that piqued his curiosity the first time. Steve gets a hand around it, letting the dribbling precum wet his palm to make the twist of his hand slicker. The punched-out groan Eddie makes next to his ear has Steve grinning ear to ear.

“I dunno. Can you?” 

“You’re a cruel man, Harrington.”

“Can be crueler and you know it.” Steve counters with a squeeze. The other man whines. “You’re a bold one thinking some weed can get me to bed.”

“And yet, here you are.” Eddie grins breathlessly. He thrusts into Steve’s palm. Steve loves it, how gone Eddie becomes when they’re like this. Only he gets this view, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Not that Munson was his—not that he wanted Munson to be his—that wasn’t—this wasn’t—

“You gonna let me cum over your pretty tits, Harrington?” 

Steve bites hard on his lip to stop the moan from getting out. In the dim light, he can see the fragments of a triumphant grin spread across Eddie’s face. 

Steve whines. Eddie grins. “Yeah, you are, baby. You wanna stroke me off? Or do you want me to titty fuck you? Maybe one of these days I’ll let you fuck my thighs, let you grind on my cock ‘til I’m beggin’ for it—”

“Munson fuck—” Steve groans again, and his cock twitches needily against his thigh. Eddie chuckles; the bastard knows exactly what he’s doing. 

“Turn over for me.”

Well. This is new. Steve’s brows raise. Eddie's eyes, for a second, softens. It’s okay, they say. The Hello Kitty Band-Aid crinkles as he smiles. Steve nods finally and does as he’s asked. 

Eddie’s hands are on his hips, guiding his ass into the air and placing a pillow under Steve’s hips. His grip isn’t as hungry as it normally is. His fingertips are as warm and gentle as the first rays of dawn. It’s just because they have to be quiet, though, Steve tells himself.

It wasn’t like trailers were notorious for being soundproof—or neighbors for being discrete. 

Steve waits on his knees, for the heat of a hand wrapped around his cock between his spread thighs, to come undone by Eddie’s hunger. But there’s no tell-tale pop of a lube bottle opening or the squirt of thick liquid. Just the grip of ten fingers, spreading Steve.

“Eddie—” 

“Jesus Harrington,” Eddie’s breath is hot on his exposed hole. 

Steve shivers. “Eddie I—” he doesn’t really know what to say that Eddie doesn’t already know. The tension in his voice makes a grin spread across his sensitive body. Eddie’s teeth graze the swell of his hairy skin. 

“It’s okay, baby—” Steve doesn’t hear the rest of that sentence, instead whimpering into the heavy-scented sheets. His back arches a bit more. 

Eddie chuckles. “You like that, Harrington? You like being my baby?”

“Fuck—” Warm air tickles Steve's center. His fingers tighten in the sheets. His answer sits heavy on his tongue, but he can’t get it out. It’s still tangled up in a web of doubt, so instead he whines and leaves it up for interpretation. 

Eddie laughs, and the wet heat makes Steve shiver. 

“Fuck—Get on with it, Munson. Are you waiting for the sun to come up or what?” Steve manages with a steady enough voice.

It’s not to convince Eddie of anything, that illusion’s been shattered. But it gets Steve’s feet back under him, and that settles him back down from whatever place his mind started to float off to. 

Eddie nips at his thigh.“That sounds like a challenge, Harrington.”

Steve jumps. “Don’t you dar—ah, fuck .” 

The slick, heavy heat of Eddie’s tongue envelops him. Steve buries his face into the pillow so the other man doesn’t get the satisfaction of a moan. It’s muffled, and Eddie hums with delight.

With that talented tongue, Eddie gets to work. Steve’s body burns up with something new, exciting, shameful . His back aches in this position, but he loves it, loves being manhandled to Eddie’s liking for whatever reason that may be. 

He gets all of it out on the pillow, his moans and whimpers, the spit that just can’t seem to stay down, wetting his forearms and the sheets. It’s nothing compared to the absolute meal Eddie’s made of him though, moaning deep between Steve’s cheeks, keeping his ringed fingers tight on him. Keeping him spread and laid out like he should be on a platter. 

Wet heat presses and prods at Steve, trying to coax him open, pulling those little noises out of him. He feels like ice on Eddie's tongue. Spit dribbles down his skin, wetting his thighs to a point he didn't even think possible. Eddie massages him into relaxation, as much as Steve tenses back up. 

He aches for Eddie's touch, desperate to feel a hand around himself, but he doesn't beg for it. Because that feels worse than having his back arched like a cat. So, instead Steve gets out his frustration into the thin pillows, panting and moaning and hoping that Eddie'll have mercy on him. He doesn't.

"Fuck—" Steve moans into the crook of his arm. "Fuck fuck, Munson—" he doesn't want to say it. Doesn't want to beg. He's not used to it, not getting what he wants. And Eddie knows this, god knows how, but he does. He finally lets up, humming softly behind Steve. 

"What is it, baby?" Eddie asks in a silky voice he keeps in his back pocket. Steve gasps like there's a blade pressed to his throat. "C'mon talk to me, what do you want?" He's gentle all over, but Steve still hears it, the unmistakable, cocky, shit-eating smile. It makes him burn up all the more, hearing Eddie gloat. 

"Touch me." Steve gets out, tilting his head to the side so he can be heard properly. "Want you to touch me." The chuckle he gets in response is all he needs to know. 

"I am touching you." Eddie swats his ass instead. 

Steve whines and presses back into the harsh touch. He knows what Eddie wants; it's the same thing every time, and Munson pulls it out of him like a tooth. 

"Please," Steve looks over his shoulder. Eddie bathes him in a fiery grin.

"Please touch me."

This time, he stays. 

It didn’t take much convincing; all Eddie needed to do was roll over to the left side of the mattress and Steve flopped down next to him, all heavy breaths and damp skin. It’s not like that time was any different from those prior. No pillow talk, no gentle kisses, just deep breaths and an Indiana lullaby from crickets and cars. 

As dawn creeps through the window, she brings the birds with her. The warmth and the rise of the world are what wake Steve. When he turns, he finds his sheets still tangled around a sleeping mess of hair and unshed metal.

The sky is still a mix of dark blues and thick oranges as Steve gathers his things. He’s still in his boxers and a shirt he doesn’t recognize or remember putting on. Behind him, the bed shifts, and between the pillows and sheets Steve spots eyes squinting his way. 

“Where’re y’goin?” Eddie grumbles. 

“Home,” Steve pulls the t-shirt over his head and tosses it on the bed. “You should get up. It’s a school day.” 

With a grunt of protest, Eddie slowly raises up. “Wait—”

Steve stops pulling his jeans on to look at Eddie. He looks a little more alert now—a little scared. Steve frowns. “What?”

“You should uh,” Eddie swallows his sleepiness down with a gulp. “Wait a sec. I wanna make sure Wayne doesn’t see you.” 

Steve wants to argue that. His car is still parked next to the trailer, for christ’s sake. He nods instead, and Eddie’s shoulders sag with a little relief. He doesn’t move though, and Steve raises an eyebrow. 

“So are you getting up, or..?”

“Yeah, yeah gimme a sec,” Eddie says through a yawn, slowly stretching out of bed. His limbs are loose as he reaches for the sky. His tattooed frame gets bathed in sunlight. Steve bites the compliment that’s on his tongue. 

“C’mon, man we gotta go.” He says, continuing to get dressed while Eddie wakes. He watches the other man slink around the messy room like a cat, stepping over things and snaking past his desk to find a shirt to hide his frame. No marks, just modesty. 

“Wait here,” Eddie instructs and pads down the hall to see if the coast is clear. Morning light halos his silhouette as he walks down the small hallway. After a minute, he turns back to Steve and nods, motioning him to follow. “Quiet!” He stage whispers like that certainly won’t wake his uncle. 

Steve listens, though and tiptoes down the hallway until he’s back in the living room, by Eddie’s side. In the morning light, the trailer seems softer. The chirping of birds filters over the hum of the air conditioning. Outside, car engines rumble to life, waking up for another day of work. 

Eddie nudges his side. “C’mon, man, you don’t have all day.”

Steve frowns. “You’re not coming?” He asks, already tugging his shoes back on. Class doesn’t start for another hour, but a little bit of Steve hoped Eddie would tag along, maybe ask for an egg McMuffin before they finally get to school. 

His question gets a dry laugh. Eddie grabs Steve’s jacket, putting it over his shoulders for him. Steve tugs on the lapels like a child does a blanket. 

“You’ve gotta work on your optimism, man.” Eddie pats his shoulder and gives him an amused smile. “I’m not walking the stage this time around, so far as I’m concerned,” he shrugs, hand falling away from Steve. “Summer’s officially here.” 

Steve looks at the bright pink band aid still clinging to Eddie’s lower lip. “Whatever you say, Munson.” He laughs and puts his coat on properly. He goes for the door without a goodbye, hoping the silence will push down the concern he wants to drown Eddie in. 

He gets caught by the arm before he descends the steps. Steve looks back.

“Thanks, by the way,” Eddie says, “for staying last night, I mean.” He smiles.

Steve nods, looking down at where he’s held. He yearns to dive into Eddie’s embrace like his bed.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, mostly for himself. Not like he wants to think about how pleasantly he slept with Eddie by his side, heavy arm draped over his midsection and his heavy breaths tickling Steve’s ear. It’s not like it’s the best damn sleep he’s gotten in weeks. “I’ll see you.” 

Eddie nods. “See you.”

Chapter Text

Since school ended, May’s come with a vengeance. Her heat poured into Hawkins a few days ago, drowning out any attempt to ignore her presence. Days like this, when he was a kid, Steve would jump into the pool, washing away the cares that he carried through the school year. But this summer, everything he’s been running from begins to crawl its way up from the pool drain. 

And this morning, it’s hung on his door, iron pressed to perfection. The waterfall of fabric stares him down with a green gaze. Against the plaid wallpaper, it jumps into view every time Steve glances at his door, a glaring reminder of what’s around the corner.

Yesterday, Larry Burch asked him what he wanted to decorate his graduation cap with like the thought even occurred to him. 

“What are you gonna put on yours?” Steve had asked instead, and Larry seemed to have had the answer in his back pocket, explaining how he was going to commemorate his time on the swim club with waves and a stick figure swimming across the middle. He hadn’t been a bad swimmer, either. He and Steve practically dragged the rest of the team with them to State in ‘84. 

“Maybe you should do something like that. Or, hey— Maybe something for basketball! Something to remember the best four years of our lives, right, Harrington?” 

Steve frowns at the cap sitting on his desk, dark green and blank like a chalkboard. If that was the case, he might as well write ‘world’s best babysitter’ on the top and walk the stage swinging the bloody bat, nails, and all. It still sits in the back of his trunk along with some jumper cables and a duffle bag just in case. He knows it’s fine, but… yeah— it's all fine; he’ll make sure of it. 

“Another day,” Robin sighs, pulling the whiteboard out from behind the counter. “Another dame, right dingus?” She adds a fourth tally mark under the “YOU SUCK” side of her scoreboard. 

Steve gives her a tight smile. “Love the annotation.” 

“The what?”

“You know,” Steve shrugs. “Annotation. When you say words that have the same letter. Like, ‘Sally sells sea shells’.” He beams at her with his new word.

“That’s alliteration, dingus,” Robin says condescendingly and disappears into the backroom. Steve twitches his head and mumbles ‘dignus’ in her voice. 

“Heard that!” 

“How?!” Steve groans, pushing through the doors to find Robin idly stacking defective waffle cones. Last shift they accumulated 10. In the past hour since they opened, Steve’s already collected four, not including the kid’s cones.

“Band gave me super hearing,” Robin says with a shrug. All her focus is directed to the castle of cones she currently has, and slowly placing her Scoops’ cap atop it. 

“What if I just…” Steve slow-motion punches the tower, pulling away before impact. 

“I’d have to kill you.” 

“Ouch.”

“And I’d use your corpse to build a bigger tower.” 

“Wait—uh what?” 

Before Robin can elaborate further on that truly dark plan, a ding comes from the opposite side of the wall. They both groan. 

“It’s your turn.” Steve nods to the door. Robin opens her mouth to protest before the bell rings again. 

“Helloooo?” A familiar voice sings from the opposite side. “Is Robbie hoooome?” 

Robin immediately lights up. 

Steve’s eyebrows furrow. “Is that—”

“Eddie!” The girl beams as she opens the partition. The boy in question waggles his fingers at her before his eyes flick over to meet Steve’s. 

“Hey, Captain Harrington.” 

In the summer heat, Munson’s abandoned the leather jacket for a jean vest and t-shirt, showing off the many tattoos Steve’s gotten more than acquainted with over his last semester. “Been a second since I last saw you.” 

Steve shrugs. “Yeah, well, school’s out, and unlike some of us, I’m not planning on making another appearance there.” 

“Ouch,” Eddie’s hand splays on his chest in offense. “Low blow, Stevie. I thought you were past high school drama.” Behind Steve, Robin is shaking her head. Eddie chuckles. 

“Why are you wandering around Starcourt?” Robin squints at him. “Aren’t malls an ‘institution of conformity’?” She punctuates her last words with finger air quotes and an arched brow.

Eddie shrugs. “My friends wanted to come, and said they were opening up a comic book stand.” 

Robin shakes her head. “Closed up. Apparently, there aren’t enough nerds to buy the nerd books.”

“Needed a new guitar pick.”

“The Guitar Center doesn’t open for another week.” She crosses her arms. “Spill it, Munson.”

Eddie puts his hands up in defense, giving his friend a wry smile. “Alright, you caught me Buckley,” He sighs, looking at Steve briefly, but mostly talking to her. Which Steve admiditly, is grateful for. 

He can barely look at Eddie because every time he does it pulls out another piece of laundry from that neat little ball Steve keeps in the back of his mind. It’s not organized, but there’s a system, thank you very much. Eddie’s currently royally fucking it up with every glance he makes in Steve’s direction. 

“I actually just wanted to stop by and say hi,” Eddie smiles as Robin rolls her eyes, “to both of you.” He glances at Steve, and his eyes travel up the uniform just slow enough for Steve to notice. When their eyes meet, Eddie smiles warmly at him. It burns Steve’s skin. “Uniform suits you, Harrington.” 

“Just to say hi?” Steve crosses his arms. 

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Alright fine a little birdie might’ve told me that any friend of Robbie’s gets free samples so—” He gestures to himself. “Here I am, but a humble beggar.”

“What? Which birdie?” She frowns. Eddie zips his lips shut and throws away the key. He gives her an overexaggerated shrug of innocence. 

Robin rolls her eyes but still opens the freezer case, a scoop already handy. “Take your pick.”

Eddie stays around to chat with Robin over some samples of mint chip, rocky road, and whatever else the metalhead desires which is… absolutely great because there’s nothing Steve loves more than spending some quality time with his dealer-slash-fuckbuddy-slash-...friend? Eddie and Robin are currently engrossed in a conversation about band, which Steve knows fuck all about, so he pretends to be occupied with the flavors. 

Seems cotton candy is getting a little low… should probably order a refill for that. Oh, rocky road is still around, no surprise there because it's the worst flavor. Vanilla is always just about to run out because no one in this town has any goddamn taste. 

“Harrington.” Robin pushes at his side, making him jump. “Eddie’s talking to you, dingus.”

Steve finally pulls away from the tubs of ice cream to meet Eddie’s smile. Steve kind of hates how polite it looks, how different it is from the one he saw not even two weeks ago, all too pleased to have Steve wrapped around his finger. 

“Sorry, man, what was that?” Steve finally asks.

“What’s your favorite flavor?” Eddie tilts his head. 

You. “Banana foster.”

“Ew, what?” Robin scowls. “What are you, like 80?” 

Eddie snorts. 

“What’s so funny, Munson?” 

Eddie shrugs. “I mean, Rob’s right it is kind of an old man staple.” Robin gestures to Eddie and looks at Steve with raised brows.

He scoffs. “Alright, alright then what refined palates do you two nerds have?” 

“Mint chocolate chip.” Robin says firmly. Steve already knew that, of course. Within their first week, the two of them were bickering about whether mint chip actually tasted like toothpaste. Steve, of course, like a sane person, believes that it absolutely does.

“Alright first of all,” A ringed finger is pointed in Steve’s direction. “That’s freak to you,” Steve bites back a smile at Eddie’s mock annoyance. “And secondly, it’s rocky road. Got all the texture and flavor combos you could ever want.” 

Steve’s face screws up and he shakes his head. “Nope. Absolutely not. rocky road is a crunchy, chocolatey mess. And I can tell you, from months—”

“It’s been like, five weeks—” Robin rolls her eyes. 

“You don’t like chocolate?” Eddie asks, looking offended.

“ Months ,” Steve doubles down with a finger pointed in Munson’s direction. “Of cleaning tables here, that rocky road is the absolute worst flavor to clean up.”

“Wait actually… he makes a fair point.” Robin purses her lips.

Eddie shrugs. “Sounds like you don’t know how to eat ice cream, which is a shame, considering it's literally your job.” Steve rolls his eyes. Munson’s smile gets wider. “You need some practice with that mouth?”

“Gross!” Robin frowns, and Eddie’s already bursting at the seams with laughter at Steve’s reddening face. 

“I— I actually— I don’t—” Steve doesn’t even need to look in a mirror, he can feel the blood creeping under his collar. Munson only shakes his head with a cheeky smile. 

“The hell is that look?” Robin’s frowning over a tub of rocky road she digs in. Her question immediately pulls Eddie’s eyes away from Steve, fixing his face like he wasn’t fully gloating in Steve’s humiliation. 

“What? Like you don’t enjoy teasing the King once in a while?” Eddie pushes back. Robin hands him a cone of rocky road without another word, giving Eddie a look Steve can’t read. Eddie returns the expression with raised eyebrows. 

“Thank you kindly, Robbie.” His eyes dart to Steve, lips curling into a familiar smile. “See you around, Cap’n. Don’t be a stranger this summer.” Eddie winks like it’s the most casual thing in the world. As he walks out of the store and back to his friends, there’s a little bounce in his step, like Eddie’s a bit too thrilled to get under his skin. Steve likes the itch. 

The sky’s painted in a series of purples and oranges even though it’s nearing nine o’clock. A warm breeze tickles Steve’s face as he walks to his car, the bottom of his shoes still kind of sticky with each step he takes. The parking lot’s nearly empty, save for a few bored teenagers chatting in their cars and a few mall rats waiting for rides. It’s quiet, though, and the hiss of cicadas echoes in the empty space.

“Harrington!” Steve turns away from his car, key already in the door, to see Jason Carver smiling at him, a bit too wide. “Where you goin’ in such a rush?” 

“Carver, seriously?” Steve rolls his eyes, shoving his keys back in his pocket. “Let me guess,” He shoves his keys back into his pocket. “David ran and told you what happened, huh?” He rolls his eyes. “Little late don’t you think?”

“Really?” Jason’s flanked by two others, Andy on his left and Patrick on his right. “Because it seems like you’ve had a change of heart since leaving, Harrington.” 

They back Steve into the door of his car. “Didn’t realize that you had a soft spot for queers.” 

Steve smiles wryly. “Yeah, well, people change, Carver. Try it sometime.” He tries to push past, but the wall of jocks pushes him back into the BMW, hands on his shoulders. He calms his face, trying to ignore the pacing of his heart.

“School’s out, Harrington. Nowhere to run now. And since you’ve got such a heart for freaks,” Jason’s pushing the sleeves of his jacket past his elbows. “I’ll give you a little taste of what we put ‘em through.” 

A punch hits Steve right in the gut, pushing the air out of his lungs with a groan. 

“Hold him up.” Jason commands, winding up again to jab the other side. Two sets of hands grab his arms, pinning them to his sides as Jason lays another hit onto his chin. 

Steve leans forward, trying to use his weight to put them off balance, but Andy hoists him up again, slamming him into the car. 

“Not so fast Harrington.” 

Steve huffs out a breath, trying to ignore the ache that burns in his chest. He struggles, kicking the legs blocking his escape, but they don’t budge. 

“Get the fuck off!” He half-yells in hopes that there’s another straggler in the parking lot. “Hel-!” The last thing Steve sees clearly is the green gem of a class ring. He yelps as the metal cracks against his brow. Steve leans forward to duck out of Jason’s hands. He punches out a groan from Steve as his knuckles land between his shoulder blades. 

Out of his one good eye, Steve sees Jason heaving over him. His blue eyes are bright and wild like he’s about to do it, make the final blow, like a wolf about to sink its teeth into a deer. His fist winds back, aimed at what Steve assumes is his other eye. 

“Hey, Carver,” a voice calls, “you better come quick, someone just slashed your tires, dude!” 

Jason’s face immediately falls, and he looks to Andy and Patrick for backup. Their attention strays from Steve, and he falls from their grasp and onto the concrete without a second thought. Footsteps run off into the distance to the opposite side of the lot, Jason’s worries about the car drifting with them. 

Steve groans, rolling onto his back and staring up at the oranges and pinks that paint the evening sky. 

“Hey,” Robin’s face comes into view, grimacing at the sight. 

Steve cracks a smile. “Thanks.” His coworker sighs. 

“Yeah, uh… no problem.” She helps Steve back to his feet. He leans against his car once he’s up, heaving with every breath. “How are you always getting the shit kicked out of you?”

“‘Thanks for asking Robin, I’m doing okay, actually.’” He rolls his eyes. “Thanks for saving my ass.”

Robin crosses her arms. “You’re welcome.” 

“What are you still doing here?” 

“Waiting for my bus. You want me to get you something?”

Steve shakes his head. “Nah. I don’t want you to miss your ride home.” He stretches out, leaning against his car and looking up at the colorful sky. “I’ll wait with you.” He lolls his head to find Robin looking at him in slight confusion. “If you want the company.” 

“You don’t want to get home? Lie down or get some ice?”

Steve shrugs. “Nothing I haven’t had before. Besides, how long will it take, like fifteen minutes?”

It takes nearly 40 minutes for the bus to arrive, and while Steve anticipated the conversation to be just as painful as his aching jaw, he’s starting to enjoy Robin’s company. They talk about Hawkins, and Steve learns that Robin hadn’t been in Indiana since she was ten. 

“I lived in Seattle for a long time, but when my parents split, my mom wanted to move back here.” She kicks at the ground with a frown. “But,” she sighs. “What can you do? Besides, I have the best job in the world.” 

They both laugh. 

“Have you ever thought about going back?” Steve murmurs up to the clouds.

“Maybe. I was thinking California. Berkeley doesn’t sound too bad.” She says. 

“Buckley at Berkley?” Steve chuckles at how neatly the phrase fits around his lips. 

“Yes! Exactly.” They repeat the phrase ‘Buckley at Berkeley’ with wide smiles, watching the clouds drag across the sky until the oranges turn to pinks and the pinks turn to purple. Their giggles dissipate into silence.

“You think you’ll ever leave?” Robin asks quietly. Her eyes are on him, but Steve still looks up at the slowly appearing stars. He shrugs. 

“Hopefully. Maybe. I thought about Chicago. Not too far so I could still visit, check up on things.” If someone asked him about what he wanted just two years ago, he’d be sure to tell you that his parents were shipping him off to Chicago, no questions asked. Now… “I’m not sure.”

“What, you’ve gotta check on your children?” 

Steve snorts and shakes his head. He stares up at the darkening clouds, trying not to focus on how similar the orange night sky looks to the upside down. “Someone’s gotta look out for ‘em.”

There’s just a pinch of daylight left once the bus finally turns up. As Robin dashes off to the stop, she once again reminds Steve to get his ass to a hospital. He gives her a non-committal wave before hopping into his car. 

He goes through the backroads. The thick woods and rushing wind pick up the stress on his shoulders and carry it out his open windows. His fingers graze the air, reaching out to something he can’t quite reach. It breezes between his fingers like dandelions in the wind. 

Instead of the hospital, he drives to the only place he knows is safe. His hands turn the wheel and shift gears on sheer muscle memory. The thinning pot-hole-filled roads get wider and smoother. The speed limit gets lower, 55… 45… 30… until he’s cruising past could-e-sacs and into quiet suburbia. He pulls into the driveway, making sure to leave enough space between his car and the two bikes parked to his right. 

The lights are on in the Wheeler house. From the first-floor windows comes the familiar flicker of the television. Before the smarter part of him can protest, Steve’s already on the porch, pressing the doorbell. It takes a few minutes before the door opens, and instead of who he hopes to see, he finds Mike looking at him incredulously.

“Nevermind, Will! It’s just Steve.” The kid turns back to Steve, with a lopsided frown. “What happened to you?” 

“Not Demogorgon-related I’ll tell you that much.” Steve huffs, hands on his hips like he’s trying to garner some type of authority at the scowling kid. “Is Nance home?” 

Mike rolls his eyes, walks to the stairs, and yells, “Nancy! Steve’s here for you!” He looks back at Steve with what feels like the most pitiful smile in the world. “She’ll be down soon.” 

“Wait, I can't come in?” Steve asks, a hand to the screen door. Mike walks past him silently and back to the kitchen, where he can hear hushed giggling. Footsteps descend from the staircase and down comes Nancy. She frowns at the sight of him, and her confusion turns to shock as she takes in Steve’s swollen lip and cut brow. 

“What—” Her lips are parted like she wants to say something, but is battling which question to ask. “What happened? What are you?—Are you okay?” Big blue eyes look him over, concerned, always filled with so much concern. It does something to Steve’s insides. He can’t help but look at his shoes like he’s trying to get away from them, fearing he’ll get overwhelmed by the warmth. 

“I’m…” He shakes his head, because no, he’s not really fine. No one’s really fine after getting nailed in the ribs half a dozen times. His chest dips in like he doesn’t want to be seen like this, after everything, after all the bullshit. He doesn’t want to answer her questions and doesn't want to explain. 

“I just didn’t know where to go.” The words spill on the porch with a sigh. He offers them up to her and hopes it’s enough, and of course, it is. She chuckles.

“Maybe a hospital?”

“You know,” Steve looks up to meet her, smiling a bit despite the ache in his jaw. “You and everyone else in the damn world is saying that.” 

“Hm. Coincidence, surely.” 

“Surely.” 

Nancy sighs and shakes her head. There’s still confusion behind her eyes. Her arms are crossed over her chest like she found him trying to start her car or throw rocks at her window again. She looks over her shoulder, back inside. 

Steve knows that Mr. Wheeler is glued to his chair, watching the evening news and that the Mrs. is in the kitchen serving the rugrats dinner, like always. From the window they watch Karen Wheeler bring her husband a plate with a smile, and Ted thanks the television. 

When Nancy looks back at him she hesitates, trying to bargain with what she thinks is best. A particularly loud laugh comes from the kitchen. It sounds like Mike. 

They both start at the same time.

 “Can I—” 

“I don’t think you should come in.” 

Steve stops. He wants to ask the question he already knows the answer to. It’s written in Nancy’s face, plain as the moon in the sky. He swallows the words on his tongue. 

“Yeah. You’re right.” 

As usual. There’s never been an argument there. 

“Just,” She puts a hand on his forearm. When she squeezes, a wave washes over Steve, but this time he doesn’t feel like he wanted. He feels pitiful. Those eyes say it all. “Wait here.” Nancy steps back inside. 

Steve feels like a dog that crawled onto her porch. He wants to come in but he’ll just dirty up the carpet and dig through the trash. He stays on the stoop obediently. 

From the screen door, he hears Mister Wheeler go ‘who’s at the door?’ to which Nancy replies, ‘School’s looking for donations to the nurse’s office’ and darts back upstairs. Ted mutters something to himself, but doesn’t make an effort to press his daughter further.

Steve looks back up to the sky, the cotton candy clouds now gone and a sliver of the moon hangs in their wake. It stares back down at him, waiting. It’s not bright, but Steve still squints, like maybe there’s an answer waiting up there for him. Like if he yells loud enough maybe, just maybe, something will yell back louder. 

Nancy steps back outside, a large brown paper bag in her hands. “Here.” She hands it to him.

“What’s this?” Steve takes a peak in as Nancy speaks.

“Bandaids, Neosporin, stuff for bruises, some painkillers…” It’s all stuff that Steve’s got tucked away in a bathroom cupboard back at home, but he appreciates the gesture. 

“There should be some other things, too.” Nancy’s words are hesitant, eyeing Steve as he keeps looking. Neatly folded in the bag is an old but familiar green sweatshirt. And a t-shirt. And a swim club shirt he swore he lost at State. They smell like mothballs. “Oh.”

“Just thought,” Nancy shrugs, “since you’re here. I didn’t want to give everything to you in front of the kids.” Steve chuckles a bit at that, still looking through the bag. 

“Oh yeah, Lucas’ll never let me live that down.”

“Yeah.” She laughs. “But I hope you’re okay. Seriously, Steve,” God she’s looking at him like a wounded animal. It makes him want to scamper into the bushes or something just apologize for ever turning back up in the first place.

Steve gives her a tight, grateful smile. “Thanks, Nance.” He steps back from the porch. “I’m sorry I uh…” He can’t really find the words. Then again, he can’t think of a time he ever could. Nancy’s gaze is patient. She wears a similar tight smile that’s impossible to read. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay.” Nancy sighs, sounding almost relieved to have gotten rid of the last of Steve Harrington. He knows it’s not true. He knows that, but her smile grows just a bit more as he nears his car. “I’ll see you soon?” 

Steve nods. “Think you can get rid of me that easy, Wheeler?” She laughs, and Steve forgot how much he missed the sound. “Henderson’s going to his camp for smart kids, so you’re gonna get four weeks Harrington-free.” He’s already at the car door, keys in hand, stalling.

“I'll cherish every second,” Nancy says without a hint of malice. “Drive safe, Steve.” She waves to him, finally pushing him to leave her doorstep. 

As he pulls out of the driveway, she watches him go. He stares out the rearview mirror, watching the glow of the Wheeler house get eaten up by the evening horizon.

Chapter Text

After two days of playing hooky and a weekend filled with frozen peas for pillows, bandaids, and painkillers, Steve finally goes back to work. Robin was kind enough to cover for him, something about getting hit with her car making them even. And well, Steve couldn’t argue with that. 

When he gets home, he expects the driveway to be empty and the lights to be off, but he’s surprised that neither is the case. As he parks his car and starts up the driveway, Steve mentally prepares himself.

The kitchen doesn’t smell particularly enticing, but it smells good enough to eat. And after six hours behind a sticky counter drowning in an ocean of flavor, Steve’ll take what he can get. He expects to see dinner already cooked on the stove with a note about some chores that still need to be done, but, to his surprise, Mom’s at the stove, stirring a box of Hamburger Helper. 

“Hi, Steve,” She looks up from the pot with a smile. It’s not that smile that’s shining with delight at the sight of her son. It’s amicable. Pleased at best, and unsurprised at worst. 

“Uh, hey Mom.” Steve suddenly feels awkward in his uniform, stained with strawberry shortcake and cherry sauce from an incident involving three teenagers and a dog that definitely shouldn’t have been in the mall. Mrs. Harrington’s still dressed in her work clothes, sleeves rolled up as she preps dinner, and Steve almost wants to apologize for coming home wearing the silly sailor suit. He kicks off his shoes by the door. “Where’s dad?” 

“The study. Go get freshened up and I’ll finish up dinner for us.” 

Steve nods, still mildly disoriented from finding his home populated with people and not just fancy things and silence. He can’t hear his father in the study, but his shoes are by the door and his suit jacket lays across the side of the couch like a shed snake skin. 

Once he’s out of the shower, he can hear the quiet chatter of his parents downstairs. It sounds like water cooler talk, something about the weather, and a paid vacation echoing in the high ceilings of the living room. Dinner smells finished. 

The table’s already set once Steve walks into the dining room, and he feels out of place with his parents already seated. His mom’s already set a plate for him, and his dad is already eating, a newspaper in one hand and a fork in the other. 

Steve plops down across from his mom and starts to dig in, too hungry for preamble. Besides the quiet clatter of cutlery is the television, always on when his dad is home, turned to a news station so they all stay well informed about whatever hell is going on outside of their little town.

“How was work?” His mom’s voice cuts through the tension. She dyed her hair. It looks pretty good; the dark brown reminds him of when he was a kid, when she was home more. It reminds him of when the pool was installed when he dove in for the first time and was driven into swimming lessons a week later. Mom always dropped him off, but never bothered to stay, using the hour to get her roots done the same oak brown color. 

“Fine, dear.” His dad finally pipes up from the opposite end of the table, exasperated like he just ran out of napkins. 

“I was asking Steve, Tom.” She corrects, which doesn’t seem to have any visible effect on her husband. She looks back at Steve with the same smile. Like she’s interested in what he does for a living but not interested in whether he likes it or not.

So, Steve makes it easy for her and just shrugs. “Fine. Usual stuff, you know.” He returns the smile, shoveling more food in his mouth to just be through with this.

“What kind of stuff?” Well, this is a surprise. Pleasant, even? Steve stops his attack on his plate to swallow. 

“Like uh,” he wipes his mouth. “Making banana splits… this kid tried to get a cone with five scoops on it today.” 

He conveniently leaves out the fact that it was Robin who had to deal with that god-awful mess while Steve was graced with a 15-minute break. Still, from the partition he could hear her arguing with a child about his sugar intake and abominable flavor combinations. 

He explains the story as if it was his own, getting his mom to laugh, and shit, that isn’t a sound he’s heard in… months. She covers her mouth, laughing between bites while Steve explains the tower of mango sherbert and mint chocolate chip the kid was demanding. 

“That sounds disgusting!” She grimaces. 

“It is.” 

Tom gets up from the table, takes his plate to the kitchen, and leaves no trace of himself. 

“You don’t want seconds?” His mom asks, and over the sound of running water, comes the echo of a ‘no’. She sighs, resting back in her chair. 

“I thought you were on a business trip this week,” Steve says between bites. 

She smiles that same one-size-fits-all smile.  “It got canceled. But, now your father and I can be here for your graduation weekend.” 

Oh, right. Three days until ‘the rest of his life’ as the principal put it hauntingly during their last assembly. The cap and gown he’s supposed to wear are still hanging, untouched.

Steve gets through with his plate, hunger satisfied and his pallet unharmed. While his dad settles on the couch for the evening, where he’ll fall asleep, Steve helps his mom clean up. They don’t speak much besides the occasional ‘here’ and ‘thanks’ when handing over dishes. Leftovers are tucked in the fridge, where they’ll inevitably be eaten by Steve when he’s too tired to cook for himself. 

While his mom joins his dad on the couch, Steve ambles upstairs with an excuse of being too tired to join them for a movie. He flops down onto his bed, turning to the door to see the cap and gown looking back. He hadn’t really thought about life after graduation. Everything had been so uncertain that the idea of walking, of finally getting his diploma, felt like a sick joke. 

‘Congratulations for spending the best four years of your life babysitting and getting the shit kicked out of you. Here’s a scrap of paper.'

Steve wasn’t really a god-fearing man like his folks, or even like his nana was, but the irony feels damn near cosmic. The hum of the air conditioning is too loud, and from his window, he can still see the light of the pool, a spotlight of where it all began. Maybe if he hadn’t invited Nancy over, maybe if they just went on a date instead, maybe if his parents were home that weekend maybe… maybe… 

Something catches his eye on his bedside table, next to the alarm clock shouting the time at him in bold digits. A bright pink flier, decorated with stars and sketches of film reel. Steve scoots to the end of the bed, picking it up to read: Wizard of Oz Afterparty: 9:30 PM May 15th at the Thompson residence. The clock reads 10:15. Steve sighs through his nose and stares up at the ceiling. The eyes of his future are unmoving from the doorway. He did promise Robin he’d go; and who is Steve Harrington if not a man of his word? 

It takes a while to figure out what to wear. Parties are his thing—love a good party— but this is different. He’s never gone to a musical, let alone think about hanging out with some of the theater kids. But with his parents home, everything’s a little emptier. They sit but they don’t take up space. They cook but they don’t eat. They talk but they don’t listen. And drinking with strangers was far better than dining with ghosts. 

His mom is already upstairs, getting ready for bed. Tom’s still in front of the television. They meet eyes for a second once Steve descends the stairs. His father watches him leave, an unwavering expression of neutrality. Steve’s been told he has those eyes. 

Music comes from down the street like an impending warning. Cars line both sides of the street, forcing Steve to park further away than he’d like to. It’s been a while since he’d been to a party and is pretty sure the last time he went was with Nancy. He hasn’t even gotten around to washing the clothes she gave back to him.

The front yard is packed with people, far too many than Steve would think for a cast party. Some people are sitting on the hoods of cars, chatting over beers and sharing cigarettes. A few kids managed to get on the roof through the upstairs windows, gazing up at the stars. Maybe these artsy kids knew how to party after all. 

The night air is warmer with summer creeping back into Hawkins, but it’s nothing compared to the muggy air that hits Steve when he opens the front door. There are nearly twice as many people inside, most still wearing makeup from the show. Most are rosy-cheeked, and Steve’s too disoriented to find out if their red faces are from face paint or alcohol. Probably both. 

He’s trying to make a bee line for the kitchen when two arms are thrown around his shoulders. “Steve!” Tammy’s blotchy red face comes into view, all smiles. 

“H-hey!” Steve quickly untangles himself from the girl’s grasp. “You look ah—” She’s still in costume—well, partially, most of the Glinda garb she wore, including the fluffy gown, had been traded in for a pink jumpsuit. Still, the crown sits atop her head, and her wand in hand. “Great!” Steve finally says with a wry smile. He looks around, trying to sparse through the bodies to find out where everyone was getting all this alcohol. Like she’s reading his mind, Tammy points her starry wand to a hallway filled with too many bodies and—wait— is that beer pong? 

“Kitchen’s in the back, and we’re singing some karaoke in a bit, so you’re just in time.” She gives him a flirtatious grin. He thanks her quickly, brushing past before Tammy can say much more. 

He squeezes past a particularly tense game of beer pong, two crowds having formed on either side and making it damn near impossible to get through without getting at least one stink eye. And once he gets to the kitchen, it seems pretty empty except for the few couples that have taken up opposite corners of the counter. 

Steve gets to mixing a drink, not particularly concerned about what he’s pouring, just making sure it doesn’t taste like shit. He’s got about a half cup full of Crush Orange when a voice pops up behind him. “Well, you’re fashionably late.” 

“Jesus fuck!” Steve jolts, and orange soda spills onto his hands. “Robin? What the hell?” He grumbles, wiping the mess on his jeans before he pours some vodka into his cup. “Where’s your makeup? Thought you’d be one of those flying monkeys or something.”

“I’m in the pit dingus,” She says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, leaning against the counter. “You’d know that if you saw the musical.” 

“Yeah well,” He shrugs. “not really my thing.” He murmurs over the lip of his drink. “But this,” He gestures to the party, mostly just bodies bobbing and moving to Don’t You Want Me by The Human League. “This is my thing.” 

Robin nods and scratches her chin. “Right, so, drinking alcohol while a bunch of people make out on strangers’ kitchen counters?” Behind them, a girl moans a little too loud. “Not creepy at all, Steve.”

“That’s not—” Before Steve can protest, his coworker snatches up a bottle of Smirnoff and walks to the back door, motioning for him to follow. Another uncomfortable noise has Steve dashing after her.

There are nearly just as many people in the backyard as there were inside. It’s an eruption of noise and bodies. “It’s like she invited the entire school.” Steve thinks aloud, almost impressed.

“Nah,” Robin shakes her head, “it’s just that the cast of The Wizard of Oz was huge.” Steve follows behind her as she continues to talk. “You wouldn’t believe how many Munchkins we fit on stage.”

A lot of people are by or are in the pool, some lay in the grass talking quietly amongst themselves. In the middle, two guys, still dressed as Munchkins, are having what looks like a cartwheel competition. Neither of them can cartwheel, but there are enough people around them to keep them going, cheering them on and shouting out numbers to give them points. 

“You come alone?” Steve asks. 

Robin shakes her head. “They’re up there.” She points, and Steve follows her finger to a large oak tree. There’s a glowing light coming from the canopy. Once his eyes adjust, he sees a bonafide tree house, ladder and all, suspended in the canopy of the old oak tree. 

“Holy shit.” His mouth hangs open in disbelief, following Robin to the base of the tree. The earthy scent of weed gets thicker as they reach the ladder. From above comes the echoes of a rowdy conversation. Robin’s already halfway up before Steve realizes he’s still gawking from the ground. 

“C’mon, dingus! Or we’ll lock you out.” 

Well, he can’t take that risk and lose the only person he knows here. He downs the rest of his drink and abandons the empty cup by the stump. The conversation begins to get clearer as he scrambles up after her. Something about The Thing filters through the floorboards as Robin opens the hatch up.  

“I brought the goods!” She declares, and a chorus of applause greets her. Robin stands over the trap door and looks down at Steve with a grin. “C’mon up, dingus, say hi.” 

“Hi, dingus!” “Welcome, dingus!” A few unknown voices call out. 

“Oh, she brought a friend!” Another croons. The thick smell of weed hits Steve when he peaks up from the trap door, and the haze of smoke and humidity surrounds him.

“Harrington!” Munson gasps. “Didn’t think a priss like you would turn up to a little shin-dig like this.” He walks over to the trap door, offering his free hand. 

From the ladder, Steve looks up with a frown of offense. “Priss?” He ignores the offered hand and hoists himself up into the tree house. “Thought I was the King.” 

The lively conversations Steve heard before entering are all whispers, most people just staring now. There seems to be a sort of rotation going around, two lit pre-rolls being passed around from person to person. He gives the strangers a small wave and polite smiles, but few are returned. Most faces are familiar, kind of in the way commercials get when you’ve seen them a lot. 

He doesn’t know anyone by name, and with so many eyes glancing in his direction, Steve backs to the wall, trying to minimize his presence. With luck, he finds a space next to Munson. Steve sighs as his back hits the wall, getting Eddie’s attention. 

“Tough crowd.”

“Yeah well, your reputation precedes you, Harrington.”

“Reputation?”

“Dude, seriously?” Eddie looks at him incredulously. “Don’t act like you weren’t a total wad like, two years ago.” 

“I mean,” Steve stuffs his hands in his pockets and shrugs. “I’ve changed.” 

The other man nods slowly. “Right. Yeah. They’ll totally believe you.”

“I mean, you did, right?”

Eddie scrunches up his nose and shakes his head. “You’re… 30% better than before.” 

30? Steve could roll out a scroll as tall as the tree detailing how that’s patently false. He should get an extra 20% for chaperoning, far as he’s concerned. Hell, he’d bump it up to 80% for the blowies he’s been giving Munson for the past two months. 

As much as the words scramble around his tongue, he doesn’t say that. He turns to face Eddie, shoulder leaning on the wall. “Give a guy a break, Munson. You know what,” He gets the other’s gaze, a smile on his lips as he continues. “Let’s make it interesting. End of the night, I’ll bump that number up to 35%.”

Eddie’s brows raise over the lip of his cup. He hums in thought, swirling a mix of Crush and vodka in his mouth. “How about,” another sip. “An even forty, and I’ll give you one of these bad boys,” He plucks a pre-roll from the breast pocket of his denim jacket and waves it in Steve’s face for a second. “Free of charge, Hair-Harrington.” 

“What if I lose?” Steve tilts his head, brows raised. “There’s gotta be something you want from all this.” He gestures to himself, loving how Eddie’s eyes follow his hand. When their eyes meet again they’re both smiling. A rush of giddiness digs into Steve’s nerves, like he’s passing notes to his crush in class. 

“Not really something I don’t already have, right, Stevie?” Eddie wets his lips as he says so. The animal in Steve wants to chase after that tongue and get it down his throat. “How about,” The metalhead hums, “if I win, you have to sing karaoke with me.” The smile on his face is devious, and Steve knows exactly what’s going through those rusty old gears in Munson’s cranium. 

He points an accusing finger.“I’m picking the song—” 

Eddie’s jaw falls open. “Unfair.”

Steve shakes his head. “As someone who’s a karaoke master, the whole point of karaoke is to get the crowd to sing with you Munson, not boo you off the stage. Besides, no one’s gonna know about Black Saber—”

Eddie’s eyes become slits, teeth grit together as he corrects with a hiss. “First of all, it’s Sabbath,” Steve smirks with satisfaction. “Fine.” Munson huffs. “You’re right. But, I get to veto the song.”

“Sounds like a deal to me.” Steve grins, sealing the deal with a handshake. 

Eddie looks over his shoulder. “Robin, you better share the wealth over here; the King needs a drink!” He bellows out the last statement like a royal decree.

Robin approaches the two of them with solo cups. “A vodka sprite for you, dingus,” she one to Steve before raising her own. “Here’s to…” She stops, pursing her lips as she decides what exactly to toast to.

He looks at her expectantly. “To…”

“To the end of another production!” Eddie comes up behind him and slings an arm around his shoulder. He squeezes, bringing Steve’s shoulder into his chest. “We might be among royalty, but ‘tis the peasants and poets that keep the world turning, do they not, dearest Harrington?” He snickers into Steve’s ear, patting his jean-jacket shoulder. 

Steve shrugs, already sipping on his drink. “Guess so.” He murmurs over the plastic lip of his cup. 

“To the freaks!” Eddie declares, raising his cup to the leaves above them. 

“Here here!” A guy dressed in all black grins, raising his Miller Lite. A round of whoops comes from the treehouse, all cheering, ‘To the freaks’ along with Eddie’s howl. He’s right in Steve’s ear, all wide smiles and a too-tight grip.

“C’mon Stevie,” Eddie shakes him a bit. “I know you feel a little left out, but don’t leave a guy hanging.” He pouts. His eyes go impossibly wide, practically begging for attention. It’s familiar, reminding Steve of fistfuls of Munson’s hair between his fingers, wet lips open for his—

Steve shakes the thought out of his head, no matter how much it persists with its knocking. He sighs, focusing on Eddie’s face, a picture of disappointment. Keeping eye contact with him and a slow smile forming on his lips, he raises his cup. “To the freaks!” He finally says, getting another cheer from the rest of the group. 

“Atta boy, Stevie.” Eddie claps his shoulder and finally releases him. Without the warm body next to him, Steve scrambles for balance, not realizing how much he was leaning into Eddie’s chest. The metalhead watches him with an amused smile. “You a lightweight, Harrington?” 

Steve scoffs, shaking his head and finally standing on his feet. “Pfft, no. I could out-drink you any night, Munson. Believe it.”

The other man puts his hands up in surrender. “Not that type of night, but consider your challenge accepted.” He punctuates his promise with a wink over the lip of his cup. “Go make friends,” Eddie nudges his side with a smile. “Since when did you become such a wallflower?” Steve frowns. Wallflower? With an eye roll, he pulls himself from his spot next to Eddie, getting an affirmative pat on the back. 

“Go get ‘em, tiger.” He teases and pushes Steve into the swarm of people. Most everyone’s back into their previous conversations, weed passed this way and that. He finds Robin cross-legged on the floor, chatting with three other people about… he can’t really tell what. Robin’s passionate explanation sounds almost like an argument when a blond-haired kid from her right jumps in with the same infatuation, talking about… god knows what. 

“Can I uh,” Steve talks mostly to Robin, whose cheeks are now a pleasant rosy color as she smiles up at him. “Can I join in?” Without any hesitation the group scoots back a bit, making room for Steve with a series of greetings echoing around him. 

“Everyone, this is Dingus Harrington; Dingus, this is Gareth,” She nods to the blond kid to her right, who waves to Steve, “Annett,” A girl with faded green-brown skin and dark curly hair smiles at him. Steve looks at her puzzled for a second before he realizes she was the Wicked Witch. “And that’s Jeff, Annett’s younger brother.” 

Jeff raises his cup. “Welcome to the nerd side of Hawkins, Harrington.” He chuckles. Steve smiles in thanks, toasting with the kid to his left. “Gareth’s just telling us about Internet.” Jeff nods to the kid across from him. 

“You ever heard of Internet, Steve?” Robin leans into him. 

Steve shakes his head. “Like, the computer thing?”

Gareth snorts. “Yeah, the computer thing. It’s literally a written language for computers. Like, real robots and shit.”

“Gareth thinks we’re gonna be attacked by aliens when we’re in our forties,” Robin says in a stage whisper, a hand cupped around her mouth, but her explanation just further confuses Steve. 

“Basically, like, computers can send information across space. Like— there’s a military base in Hawaii that’s getting intel from the Pentagon; isn’t that insane?” Gareth does a ‘mind blown’ gesture with his hands as Steve’s eyes widen. 

“Shit that’s…” He looks around to see where the joint has gone, and like magic, Jeff is passing it to him with an empathetic smile. 

“He usually gets like this when he’s high.” He whispers as Steve takes the joint with a quiet ‘thanks’. 

Gareth continues on, something about Artificial Intelligence that Robin immediately relates to the Terminator. Steve mostly listens, getting lost between a war with robots and Annett lamenting on how attractive Arnold Schwarzenegger is, to which everyone in the group agrees. 

“He’s super jacked. If robots ever looked like that I think we’d all be screwed.” Robin says, taking a sip of her drink. “Like… instead of soldiers we just created an army of Schwatzenagers to demolish the Russians. Or like, anyone!” She grins like she just cracked the case, like Reagan’s about to pop through the tree house hatch with a medal of honor for Robin Buckley, thanking her for creating the hottest weapon of destruction. 

Steve snorts at the thought, but it’s lost in translation, and Gareth looks at him puzzled. “Something funny Harrington?”

The tone quickly sobers him up a bit, and he swallows down his laugh. “No, nah, just,” He swallows, remembering where he is. “Just thinking about an army of Schwarzeneggers.” Gareth chuckles, releasing the tension, and Steve lets out a laugh of relief. 

“Army of Schwarzeneggers?” Munson comes up behind Annett with a full cup. “Excuse me, Miss Walters,” Eddie smiles, and Annett happily makes room for the new addition to the conversation. “That sounds like a dream of mine. You’ve been digging around in my diary, Gareth?” He accuses with narrowed eyes. 

“I’m just saying that if scientists get ahead of computers we could have an army of Terminators!” Robin says with such conviction Steve swears she’s acting. 

Eddie snorts. “Robbie, I think that’s the vodka talking.” 

Annett shakes her head. “She switched to water. Definitely the weed, though.”

The group erupts into laughter, and Robin, while still defending her point about the hottest army of robots the world will ever know, laughs along, leaning into Steve’s side as she dissolves into a fit of giggles.

The joint gets passed around a few more times, and the conversation flows from robots to movies to horror to Stephen King, which, Steve quickly learns, Annett and Eddie have a strong conviction for. The other three listen to the two of them explain some lore, mostly about some poor girl getting drenched in pig’s blood. 

As Steve finishes his second drink, his skin begins to warm, like he’s a sunflower basking in the sunset. It’s a soft haze, one he can wrap into like a blanket fresh from the dryer. 

Steve leans into Robin and Robin leans into Steve. They watch Eddie get excited about the book, practically bouncing as he talks about his favorite part where the girl takes control of a car with her mind. Faintly, Steve remembers Eleven, an itch to brag about the real-life superhero he knows like a proud parent. Eddie’s grinning from ear to ear when Annett agrees, praising the author for his ‘literary style’. 

The ring of microphone feedback comes from the house, halting conversations in the treehouse. 

“What the hell?” Annett gets to her feet, walking to the window to inspect the commotion. Robin groans, chugging the rest of her water bottle. She gets to her feet to stand by Annett, the two murmuring to one another. 

“Hi y’all!” Tammy’s voice seems to be coming from everywhere, and soon even the people in the backyard come closer to the house to inspect. “We’re starting karaoke out here in a second, and I know we’ve got some talent in our midst, so don’t be shy!”

Steve’s eyes catch Eddie’s, who’s looking just as confused, if not a little excited. “Munson—”

“I didn’t say anything!” He puts his hands up in defense. “But if you’re thinking what I’m thinking…” His lips spread into a devious grin, one that Jeff recognizes with an ‘oh no’. 

“Eddie, you remember what happened last time you tried karaoke?” Jeff tries to reason, but Munson shrugs off his friend’s warning, eyes still burrowing into Steve like it’s all he can look at. 

“Doesn’t matter, good ol’ Harrington’s not just the King of Hawkins, Walters, he’s also the self-proclaimed King of karaoke.” Eddie beams. A warmth spreads throughout Steve’s chest, one he blames on the alcohol. 

“Really?” Jeff looks almost impressed. “Good luck, man. Eddie’s a natural performer if you couldn’t already tell.” He pats Eddie’s shoulder and stands up to join the girls. 

“So…” Eddie scoots across the floor until he’s shoulder to shoulder with Steve. Normally, Steve would move away, but with the lack of attention, he stopped caring. Instead, he leans back into Eddie, raising his brows expectantly. “What song are we singing?” 

“I thought you said if I won I didn’t have to.” Steve squints at the smiling boy. “Give it to me straight, Munson, how high is my approval rating?”

“Well,” Eddie strokes his chin. “According to the surveys, and the audience’s approval, I’d say you’re at a smooth 38.6%.” He’s biting back a cheeky smile, as Steve glares in frustration. 

“Sounds like you’re fudging the numbers.” He huffs. From outside, the familiar beat of Like a Virgin begins to play. “Shit.” He grumbles, and Eddie looks at him with concern. Steve waves a dismissive hand. “Someone chose my song, I gotta think of another.” 

Eddie pauses. “Oh, my god.” Munson’s jaw could touch the floor. “You’re kidding—”

“Shut up.” Steve takes cover in the palms of his hands. “Please shut u—”

“You were gonna get me to sing Madonna?! Do you know how that would ruin my reputation, Harrington?” Eddie continues on, and Steve tries to tune into his favorite song, not like it makes it much better. 

Gonna give you all my love, boy

My fear is fading fast

Steve peeks through his fingers to find Eddie chuckling down at him. 

“Seems like you gotta think harder on that one. And pick fast, or we’re singing Animal , and you’re gonna like it.” Steve brings his head up with confusion. Eddie leans into his shoulder, tapping his foot to the song. Steve can smell the weed and lingering sting of vodka on those lips. Those soft, wet, pouting lips. 

“Hey, hey, eyes up here Harrington. Animal? By W.A.S.P.?” Eddie says like that clarifies jack shit. He shakes his head, mostly focused on whoever is butchering Madonna’s vocals on the bridge. He’s nudged back to focus on Eddie’s amused gaze. 

“You know for someone who claims to not be a lightweight, you’re not doing a great job of proving it.” He teases. 

“How’re you going to give me a challenge like that when you know I was the party king for three years straight,” Steve argues, getting to his feet and walking to the table. The handle of vodka Robin brought sits nearly empty with just a whisper of lemonade left.

“Well, shit.” 

“Oh.” Eddie’s voice comes from behind him, filled with dread. “Shots?” He shrugs at Steve. “Unless you really are a lightweight.”

Steve looks at the other boy with an arched brow. “You know, I’d consider this peer pressure, Munson. Not really what good people do, huh? Think that just brought your rating down to 35%.” He chides, smiling as Eddie is taken back in mock offense, ringed hand pressed to his chest. 

“Less than 50 percent, Harrington? How cruel.” Eddie leans in, chest pressed to Steve’s shoulder and lips inches from his ear. “Especially considering how generous I am when you come to visit.” The slick whisper into Steve’s ear is fucking cruel, like Eddie doesn’t know it goes straight to his dick.

He uncaps the Smirnoff staring him down and pours himself a double, hoping it’ll wash it back down, or shove it back in. Oceans, closets, either way, Steve doesn’t need his memory betraying him now. He’s about to bring the cup to his lips when Eddie grabs the bottle, pouring the same amount. He watches the other with raised eyebrows. 

“Just getting some liquid courage to sing whatever pop garbage you’ve got up your sleeve.” Munson caps the bottle. He raises his cup with a deep breath. “What’re we toasting to?”

Steve mirrors his singing partner. “How about to…” He mulls over his options, though his mind immediately thinks of Madonna, knowing how it would irritate the shit out of the other boy. 

“To getting a better approval rating.” He finally says, and the laugh that gets out of Eddie sends a warmth of pride through his chest. 

“To higher approval ratings.” He nods, tapping his up against Steve’s. “Alright then.” He stares into the cup like it’s got eyes staring back at him. “Down the hatch.” 

As Eddie tips his head back, Steve does the same. The familiar burn of alcohol digs through his throat and blooms in his chest like a fire. Eddie shakes his head with a grimace, letting out a noise like a cat dropped in water. 

Steve snorts; alcohol slides over him like a slow ocean wave. “Good?” 

The other boy shakes his head, tongue stuck out between his teeth. “That was horrible. Jesus fuck, Thompson’s got a shit taste in liquor.” Eddie rolls his shoulders, looking back at the bottle like a mountain. “One more. You game, Harrington?” His eyebrows raise, already pouring himself another. “No pressure, though.” He reassures quickly. 

“Yeah fuck it, why not.” Steve puts his cup out, getting another double. “Liquid courage.” He says, mostly into the cup. 

“To liquid courage.” Eddie smiles, and they tap their cups together. 

Two shots turn into four. Steve rationalizes it with the fact that he’s going to sing karaoke with the town freak and his fuck buddy in front of all these strangers. But, the vodka makes him feel strong and careless. He’s got the near-empty handle in his left hand, getting passed left and right between the tree house folks before he gets saddled with it. Always the babysitter, one way or another. 

He’s arm in arm with Eddie, singing along to whoever is performing Rod Stewart. They’re off-key, a little slurred, but the crowd doesn’t seem to care, all chanting the chorus. The rest of the tree house makes their way to the backyard. Annett and Robin bob their heads and swing to the beat. Robin’s raising her water bottle to the sky like she’s toasting the angels. 

If you want my body and you think I'm sexy

Come on honey tell me so

Steve’s laughing out the lyrics, mostly watching Eddie shake his hips to the beat. He wouldn’t have dreamed to see him so enthralled in a pop song, let alone such an old one, at that, but the metalhead knows the lyrics better than him. Munson peels away from under his arm, taking Steve’s hand as he dances to the beat, lip-syncing as the second part continues. 

Outside it's cold, misty and it's raining

They got each other neither one's complaining

Steve wishes he brought a camera for some kind of cruel blackmail. Eddie’s a whirlwind of song and delight. He’s all limbs, swaying and shimmying to the beat like it was composed for him.  Steve puts the bottle to his lips, taking a sip to blame the burn in his chest on something other than infatuation. Once the chorus comes in, Steve finally joins Eddie, singing to him as they groove together.

If you really need me just reach out and touch me

Come on sugar let me know

If you, if you, if you really need me

Just come on and tell me so

On the just reach out , Eddie extends a hand to Steve, pulling him close. It’s just a second—Steve knows that—and for that second, Eddie’s chest presses to his. Their fingers fit neatly like gears meant to turn together. Drunken breath tickles Steve’s lips. He wants to chase after the source until he swallows it whole. 

“Easy, big boy.” A hand presses to Steve’s chest, and pulls him back into those dark eyes. Eddie’s stopped dancing, but his eyes twinkle with those same thoughts. His tongue peaks between his lips, mouthing the words ‘do ya think I’m sexy’ with the most devious of grins. And yes, Steve would like very much to tell Munson just how much he thinks so. 

But as quickly as Eddie collides into him, he’s gone, twirling and swaying over to Annett and Robin. Steve still bobs to the music, watching the three others start a sloppy Brooklyn Shuffle. He takes another sip, grimacing at the biting taste. 

The next song is slower, and the crowd that formed disperses again, though a very enthused group congregates by the back porch to cheer on the next singer. Eddie explains something with wild hand gestures that has Robin and Annette laughing. As Steve approaches the three of them, he sees Annette’s eyes welling with tears.

“Christ, Munson, did you break the poor girl?” Steve watches Annette take a deep breath, still laughing through it. 

“I was just telling her about her brother’s last fateful karaoke performance.” Eddie clarifies, and the girl giggles again. “He tried to moonwalk.” He explains, and Annette howls with laughter. 

“He—ahahha! Of course he would, oh my god!” She sighs, leaning into Robin for support as she finally catches her breath. Robin gives her a pat on the back, handing over the half-empty water bottle for Annette to drink. 

“You thought about what song you’re gonna sing, dingus?” Robin eyes him with a wicked smile. 

“Well—” 

“Harrington you’ve got 5 minutes or we’re singing W.A.S.P.” Eddie says with a pointed look. Steve grimaces, completely oblivious to what he’s referring to, but the threat is enough.

“Two more shots and maybe— maybe,” He stresses. “But I think I’ve figured it out.” He gives Eddie a pleased smile, but the expression isn’t returned. He squints with suspicion. 

“Song?”

“When the Doves Cry.” 

“Oh shit.” Annette’s eyes widen. “Oh shiiiit!” 

“Oh.” Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up. 

“You know it?” Steve asks.

“Know it? I bought the tape last month.” Eddie laughs, but it comes out more nervous than anything. “You sure you wanna do this?” He asks, and worry sets in his features. “I mean, I don’t want the King losing his reputation over lil’ ol me.” He laughs again, shaking off the anxious energy on rocking heels. 

“Eh,” Steve smiles reassuringly. “We’ll see how the audience feels about it.”

They push through the crowd until they’re at the porch steps where Tammy’s sitting and watching a girl in blue face paint finish singing What’s Love Got to Do With It. Eddie’s bobbing along to the beat, mouthing the words but a secondhand emotion as he leans into Steve’s side. 

“Gimmie that,” Eddie takes the Smirnoff bottle from his hand, taking a large swig. 

“Christ almighty, Munson, aren’t you trying to get home?” He grimaces. 

Eddie shrugs. “Look, I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not remember the time I decimated my reputation with the biggest jock of Hawkins High. Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve slept in my van.” He offers the bottle to Steve again, only two fingers worth left.

 “Finish her off?” Eddie asks.

 Steve looks at the bottle like it’s got four eyes, puffing out his cheeks as he exhales. “Yeah, screw it.” He snatches the bottle out of Eddie’s hand and tips it back into his mouth. 

While he shakes off the burn in his throat, Eddie gives Tammy the song, who, luckily, has a Purple Rain tape in the cassette carrier she holds.  And soon enough, once Tina Turner’s song has been butchered to hell, Steve walks onto the porch, Eddie practically pushing his paralyzed body up the stairs. 

Robin’s voice cuts through, with a cheer, followed by Annette’s, until a whole sea of people begin to cheer him and Munson on. The electric guitar rips through the speakers, and a punching beat comes in. Steve jumps. An arm loops around his shoulders, and a reassuring smile flashes his way. 

“Not a performer, are you, Harrington?” Eddie grins, mic away from his face. Steve shakes his head like a deer in headlights, getting somewhat lost in Eddie’s eyes. And when the first line comes in, he misses it, but not Eddie. 

His lips are pressed to the microphone, looking Steve dead in the eyes as he sings, “Dig if you will the picture—”  

He releases his hold on Steve, bringing the microphone to his lips as he sings. He’s not looking at the crowd, but at Steve, coaxing him to join with a goading smile and flourishing hands. 

“Of you and I engaged in a kiss—”   

Eddie’s singing to him—Jesus tap dancing Christ Eddie’s singing to him. 

“The sweat of your body covers me—” Eddie runs a hand down his own chest as the lyrics spill from his lips. He’s grinning around the words. Steve’s heart drops to his fucking ass as the other man coaxes him with glimmering fingers to come dance. Those dazzling, glazed-over eyes stay fixed on him.  

“Can you my darling, can you picture this?” Eddie smiles around the words, eyes tracing up Steve. C’mon Harrington, don’t be shy. 

 Steve swallows down the fear bunched up in his throat, just enough to give him room to sing the next line. “Dream if you can, a courtyard,”   

They start a call and response, back and forth with each line.  

“Wooo! Go Dingus!” Robin’s voice carries over the crowd, all gawking at the spectacle of the freak and the king in harmony. 

It doesn’t hit like a train. Not like a wave or a car crash. Not like a fist or a bat or a kiss. It’s a drag into hazy bliss and summer heat. It melts and oozes like molasses, between Steve’s fingers and down his throat. He starts out stationary, eyes on Eddie, the avid performer. Sure he’s been in the spotlight, but never like this. Munson’s shaking his hips to the beat, trying to guide Steve into an easy two-step.

By the second verse, he gets the hang of it, singing earnestly to a song he’s blasted in his car millions of times over. One—and-four-and-one—and-four, Eddie mouths to guide Steve. It helps, watching Eddie’s lips. It grounds him. They get wetter the more Eddie sings, spit on his lip, and sweat on his brow, ready to be licked off.

The beat flows through Steve like the Smirnoff, and he starts to sync up with his karaoke partner. They move across the deck together, swaying to the synth beat and Prince’s crazy improvisation that Eddie tries to mimic. Steve laughs into the mic, coming in on the background singer’s parts as Eddie practically cries out the chorus. But as they sing the last lines, Eddie’s looking him in the eye, his smile just as wide, and voice just as loud, asking why they scream at each other. 

Steve’s face hurts from smiling so much, and he’s leaning into Eddie as they finish off their song. The crowd hollers around them, And then Eddie guides him down the stairs, where Robin and Annette are waiting with prideful smiles and two water bottles. He’s leaning into Steve like a tree, sending them stumbling into the two girls. 

“Shit—” Steve grabs onto Eddie’s t-shirt, tugging him down a bit. Once on the ground, they finally release one another, swaying over to Robin and Annette with wide smiles. 

“How’d we do?” Eddie asks. “You don’t think that a pop song will get my Metalhead card revoked?”

“You two were ah-may-ziiing!” Annette sings, handing him a water bottle. “Surprised you didn’t land the Wizard role.” 

“Wait—” Steve looks at his singing partner. “You auditioned? I thought you were in the pit—”

Eddie looks stunned for a moment, eyes wide with momentary mortification. “Yeah, and I was, here,” A water bottle is shoved up to his face. “Drink this.” And Steve does without question, downing it in a few gulps. 

“Holy hell, are you good, Steve?” Robin winces. 

Steve offers a lazy thumbs up. He feels like a ball of yarn slowly being unwrapped, leaving a trail wherever he’s going now. He’s getting too lazy to clean it up now. 

“Right as rain, Buckley.” He beams at her, all rosy-cheeked. Despite his reassurance, he’s handed a second water bottle, which he shares with Eddie as the night goes on. 

 They make their way back into the heat of the crowd, which grows smaller as the moon gets lower. Gareth and Jeff get on stage, singing Beat It and putting on a show like they’re in a brawl. The cheering around him signifies that they—the crowd— love it, and Steve cheers with them, scrambling on the leather jacket that’s become a permanent fixture over his shoulders. He’s traded in the Smirnoff for a water bottle, which he holds over his head and howls at the sky in delight. 

Crowds start to dwindle after that. Gareth takes Jeff, Robin, and Annette home, and Steve sees them off with amicable waves from the front yard. Robin and Annette walk back arm and arm, teasing Jeff about his second attempt at a moonwalk. Steve thinks it wasn’t half bad.

“See you at work, dingus!” Robin hollers from the sidewalk, and the four of them disappear down the street.

“Well,” Eddie sighs, looking at Steve. “I suppose I should hold up my end of the bargain,” He holds up a pre-roll between his fingers, eyes raised in suggestion. 

“But you said—” Steve says around the lips of his bottle.

“I know what I said.” He says. “But doing karaoke with the local freak bumped you up to 40.2%” 

Steve rolls his eyes. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that, Munson?” Eddie grins. He reaches out for the preroll, but it’s pulled out of reach. 

“Man c’mon, what the hell?” He frowns. 

Eddie snorts out a laugh. “Jesus christ, you rich kids really are all bratty, huh?” He teases. The words tickle Steve’s skin like butterfly kisses. He swallows the words he wants to say, thick and heavy on his tongue. 

“Shut the fuck up, Munson.” He reaches again, and Munson, the shithead, raises his arm up. 

“Oh no you don’t—”

“Why?” Steve grumbles.

“ ‘cause this preroll is your ticket home, and I’m not having your sorry ass get into a crash, got it?” Eddie puts the joint back in his pocket. “Sorry, man, but you’re stickin’ with me.”

Steve follows Eddie begrudgingly. “Careful, Munson, or I might suspect you actually care about me.” 

“Shut up the fuck up, Harrington.” 

Chapter Text

They end up in Eddie’s van. Steve sits with his legs dangling from the open doors. Eddie stands in front of him, pacing to and fro. Even in the twilight hour, the guy’s still got energy to burn. He walks like there’s air under his heels. Conversation about the end of the school year passes between them lazily. 

“It’s over.” Steve looks at the water bottle he’s been cradling, watching the water slosh around as he tilts it. “Just like that it’s done.” He takes a sip.

“God I’m gonna be a fucking senior again… No thanks to me being stellar at chem.” Eddie grumbles to his shoes. “Then what? What’s after that?” He throws his hands up for an answer. 

“You’re lookin’ at it.” Steve points to thumbs at himself. “The picture of post-grad success, Munson.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Yeah but you’ve got like— a house and shit you know? Parents and cash and…” He tosses the rest of the thought out with a shake of his head. He reaches out, and Steve hands him the joint.

“My rents asked me what I want to do to celebrate… you know, graduating and everything.” Steve murmurs, watching the cherry glow around Eddie’s lips. The mention of parents makes Eddie give him a look that edges on surprise. They’ve never talked like this before. Steve hesitates on the rest, but Eddie doesn’t seem to mind. 

“What’d you say?” He asks. Smoke pours out his nostrils. The streetlights make him look like some kind of wizard, too powerful to be in the midst of Steve. 

“Fucking nothing!” Steve laughs and lays back in the van. He’s met with a shaggy crumb-filled rug. It itches on his back. “All this work for— for what?” He puts a hand over his face with a groan. “Sorry, jesus fuck.”

“Don’t be, man.” The van dips a bit. Eddie’s knee bumps his. A smoking joint comes into view, and Steve exchanges the water bottle for it.

“I’ve been thinkin’ the same thing… like,” Eddie gulps down water like he’s been parched. “I’m probably gonna stay here after, taking care of Wayne and all that.” Eddie wipes away the water that drips down his chin.

“Beats being out of school and shit out of luck.” Liquor pulls the words from Steve’s brain and kicks them out his mouth. “Sorry.” He catches himself with a startled laugh. “It’s just—” He sighs, swallowing the thought before he boils over. “Just a lot of shit, dude.” 

“ ‘s okay.” Eddie’s voice comes, quiet and reassuring. He pats Steve’s knee and makes him flinch. Eddie pulls his hand away and they stumble over apologies. Gazes turn to the ground and voices shrink into silence. The panic in Steve’s chest starts to settle. He realizes that it's not the reassuring touch that scared him, but how much he liked it.

Steve takes another drag, blowing the smoke up to the rusty white ceiling. Eddie’s at the edge of the van now, taking his warmth with him. Steve passes the joint back. 

The heat is thicker this summer. With the warmth of alcohol in his bones, he’s caught in the beginnings of a storm, humid and sticky. He sits up to finish the water and watches Eddie hunch over with the joint between his fingers. 

When the water’s finished, Steve lays back in the van, letting out a decompressing huff when his back hits the rug. Eddie comes down next to him. Long hair halos his face. Steve reaches out to curl his fingers through it. It’s softer than he remembers, faintly smelling of cigarettes and cheap shampoo. It draws Steve in, and he curls on to his side to trace patterns in Eddie’s red-brown hair. 

The other man turns to him with a raised brow. The joint sticks out between his smile. “What?” 

“Your hair is soft.” Steve hums, almost mesmerized. He reaches in further into that pretty nest of waves. They curl into one another, like children sharing secrets in their parents’ basement. 

This close, Steve can pick up Eddie’s scent, faint and comforting under the bombardment of liquor and smoke. Familiarity’s flame draws him in. Eddie has this rare look on his face, unclouded by desire or mischief. His eyes sparkle under the street lights, pretty like Bambi. 

“Bambi?” Eddie laughs. 

Steve blinks. “I just said that out loud, didn’t I?” 

“Yeah. You did,” he picks the finished joint from his lips and tosses it out the doors. “Better be careful, or you’ll melt this cold little heart.” 

Steve snorts and rolls his eyes. “Well, I meant it, so deal with it, Munson.” 

“You’re not too bad yourself, Harrington.” Eddie grins. Steve wants to taste it. So, he does. 

When their lips meet, a noise of surprise pushes from Eddie’s chapped lips. Steve moves slowly, taking his time with this one. He blames the alcohol for his slowness instead of his desire to savor Eddie. He’s soft and warm. The taste of weed spills into Steve’s mouth as Eddie licks into him. He hums into the embrace. Teeth graze his lip. A ringed hand snakes to the back of Steve’s head, curling into his hair. 

“C’mere, sweetheart.”

Steve listens to the syrupy voice, following the hands into Eddie’s lap. Fingers finding hair then skin then each other, lacing together once found. Eddie squeezes his hand. A soft noise comes from the back of his throat, unfamiliar and vulnerable. Steve dives further into Eddie’s mouth, chasing after that little sound like an undiscovered treasure. 

“Fuck, baby.” The words are hot and breathy on Steve’s lips. 

Warm hands find a home on his hips, guiding Steve back and forth on Eddie’s lap. He moans into Eddie’s neck, kissing lightly at the small space where his tendons connect to his jaw. Eddie’s pulse thrums under his tongue. The warmth between them stirs up into a heat that rivals the summer sun. Eddie has a fist in his hair and another at the small of Steve’s back, pushing until Steve bends like wire. 

The kisses Steve tried to savor take on a familiar quickness. It’s more comfortable like this, with his body bent under Eddie’s hands and his nose smashed into Eddie’s cheekbone. It’s easier, with his jaw aching to accommodate Eddie’s tongue and his lips parted to ease the teeth that bite them. 

Steve moans into Eddie’s mouth, asking for something that’s already being given to him. Eddie pushes up into his denimy hard-on. They both moan like it’s the first time. Eddie looks like liquid. His eyes and mouth are wide and wet. 

“Steve,” Eddie groans and rolls his hips again. He doesn’t like begging.  Steve’s too tired, too hungry to make him. 

“Steve,” he says again, whining out the word with all the things Steve fantasizes him saying, but never has the nerve to force it out of him. Instead, with quick hands, Steve fumbles for Eddie’s belt and tugs at his loose jeans until they’re around his thighs. He does the same with his own. 

Shimmying out of his tight jeans takes a little more work than Steve'd like. He shifts on his knees from side to side, and Eddie laughs quietly while Steve bunches the denim over the tops of his meaty thighs. 

“Thanks for your help.” Steve grumbles and pulls Eddie back by the worn out waistband of his boxers. Eddie grins into his lips when they meet. 

“Happy to be of service.” 

“Then do your job,” Steve nips at Eddie’s chapped lips, and the gasp that follows goes straight to his dick. “And get my cock out.”

“Pushy tonight, are we?” Eddie palms over his dick, and Steve gasps into that toothy grin. “Bet I could get you off like this, right Stevie? No one else has touched your pretty cock besides me, right?” 

“Fuck, Eddie,” Steve groans.

“Answer me.” Eddie tugs on his scalp until he whines. Steve nods in his hand. He shivers, not with pleasure, but with humiliation, hating how easily Eddie tugs off the dominant mask he’s glued to his face. Eddie takes a crack at it like he made it himself. 

“Please,” He pushes up into Eddie’s unforgiving palm. He kneads Steve’s dick like he wants it to happen, wants Steve to cum right there, all pitiful and whiny. And Steve would, god, he would, and love every second of it. But he can’t. Not now. 

“Touch me,” Steve gasps. “Please, Eddie, I need your touch.” 

“Fuuuuck,” Eddie groans. “When you ask like that baby,” finally, he dips below the waistband of Steve’s boxers, “how can I say no?”  

Steve gasps and presses his forehead to Eddie’s. His eyes are closed but still, he can feel Eddie’s satisfied grin, breathy and wet on his face. Eddie moves slowly, pulling out each noise from Steve.

“C’mon, Harrington,” he goads, “be a good boy and get my cock out.” 

And of course, that’s what does it, the need to be good for Eddie drives Steve like nothing else. With a quick nod, Steve scrambles to pull Eddie’s dick out, and when he does, he gets a hand around the leaking thing, watching Eddie’s face curl up with pleasure. 

“That’s it baby,” Eddie starts to move in tandem with Steve’s. Slick noises fill the van. Steve pulls Eddie in for a slow, deep kiss that contrasts the desperate hunger he feels in his belly. Eddie moans into him, and teases over Steve’s cockhead until he whimpers back in his mouth. 

“Eddie,” Steve whimpers, moving his hand quicker. 

“That’s not what you called me earlier baby,” he kisses the corner of Steve’s mouth and noses at his cheekbone, like his touch has always been this gentle. Like Steve’s always been this fragile. 

“Tell me baby, what did you call me?” 

Steve curses and knocks his forehead into Eddie’s leathery shoulder. The jacket is thick with cigarette smoke, and the heady smell shelters him from Eddie’s fleshy tenderness. 

Eddie moves faster.  He presses a kiss to the shell of Steve’s ear.  “Tell me, baby, ‘s okay.” 

Steve cries like he’s been punched. “Eddie—”

The other man chuckles. “No, not that, sweetheart,” he noses Steve’s hair. Eddie moves quick and fast and dirty. The sound of precum and flesh fill the van. Steve’s hot all over, desperate for something. It itches. All of it: Eddie’s unusual tenderness, the dirty sound of his hand, the heaviness of Eddie’s cock. 

“Tell me, baby boy,” Eddie fists Steve’s hair just tight enough to get him to whine. “Why’re you getting all shy on me?” 

Steve gasps, still trying to keep up with Eddie’s fast pace, but his face only twitches and parts when pleasure rolls over him. 

“Take this off,” he tugs at Eddie’s jacket. “Wanna see you.” 

Before Eddie can move, Steve’s already helping him, pulling the heavy leather and metal off Eddie’s shoulders until he gets the hint. He misses the feeling of Eddie’s coordinated hand wrapped around him, but it’s worth seeing Eddie shuck off his jacket and pull his shirt up.

Eddie unwraps before his eyes. Giddiness builds in Steve's stomach. They never talked about it, but Steve wants to believe there’s an exclusivity here, that Eddie’s the only one who takes his jacket off for, not for the summer, or the sun. But for Steve, Eddie does. 

It wasn’t real—Steve knows that, knows that what he wants will only be a dream. This late, Steve lets his dreams bleed into reality, and watches Eddie like he’s the only one who can. There’s a hunger in Steve’s eyes that Eddie takes notice of with a chuckle. He blinks out of his stupor. 

“What?” 

“You look like you’re gonna take a bite out of me, Harrington.”

 “Yeah,” Steve wets his lips. “Maybe.” He scoots up in Eddie’s lap, but gets stopped by a firm hand. 

“Ah, ah. Nice try baby,” Eddie fists the collar of Steve’s shirt and pulls him closer. “Take it off for me.” 

Steve likes to push back a little, revels in the back and forth he can build with Eddie, knowing Eddie’ll say no to him and mean it. But it’s not the softness of Eddie’s voice or the wideness of his eyes. It’s the act of doing it for Eddie and no one else. Steve pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it over Eddie’s shoulder.

Eddie looks bewildered, like he hasn’t seen Steve shirtless before. He sits up on his arms, gazing up at Steve. He wanders over his chest, but not with the usual wolfish hunger. Concern has his brows all tied up. His eyes drag over Steve’s ribs and stomach. 

“What is it?” Steve follows Eddie’s gaze. 

The pain’s been dull for a while now, but the blemishes are still there. Bruises bloom like an ugly field of wildflowers, mostly yellows, greens and oranges now, but they’re there. 

“Oh, yeah,” Steve shrugs, waving a dismissive hand. It doesn’t do much. He gives Steve an unfamiliar look.

“What happened to you?” Eddie whispers. Steve swallows his words, looking away from those eyes wide with worry. 

“It was Carver, wasn’t it?” 

Steve nods without lifting his eyes. Eddie sighs sharply through his nose. 

Two fingers come to Steve’s jaw, lifting his head up. His grip isn’t like it usually is—Eddie holds Steve like he’ll break if he moves too fast, like he’ll jolt if he raises his voice even a little. Eddie’s eyes are a hurricane of emotion. He fights back anger while guilt and sadness pour out. 

“Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” Steve says, but he lets Eddie hold him. He wishes his grip was tighter, wishes Eddie wasn’t looking at him like he’s about to cry. But, Steve takes what’s offered to him and rests into the warm palm of Eddie’s hand. 

“You should see the other guy.” Steve cracks a small smile into Munson’s hand. Despite being fit to burst, Eddie finally breaks into a grin. 

“Steve—” He sighs out a laugh. “You should—” 

“If you tell me to get to a hospital I’ll lose it, Munson.” 

Eddie grimaces slightly when their eyes meet. “You’re not looking too hot.”

“Not hot?” Steve looks at the other man in mock offense. “And here I thought you were gettin’ all sweet on me.”  

Eddie doesn’t smile. He gives Steve this…look. It’s unfamiliar and scalding to witness. “Seriously, man. You might’ve broken something.” 

Steve shakes his head. “Nah. Not broken.” 

“What makes you so sure?”

“Seen my fair share of fights.” Eddie’s eyebrow’s shoot up. 

Steve chuckles. “I’d know if it’s broken. Trust me.” 

Eddie looks at him with disbelief. His lips part and then close. With a shake of his head, he decides to drop it. 

“You’re full of surprises, you know that, Harrington?” His smile relaxes like his eyes. Eddie’s voice drifts into that familiar lull, the one that pulls Steve out of his head and back into his body. 

“Well, there’s a lot you don’t know about me, Munson.” He smiles.

“Oh, excuse me,” Eddie snorts. His thumb rubs gentle circles into Steve’s skin. “Didn’t realize how multifaceted the King is.” 

Steve snorts, closing his eyes as Eddie’s fingers run through his hair. His calloused fingertips are hesitant and feather-light. Eddie’s slow, tracing over Steve’s jaw, up to his cheekbone and over his brow. He pauses there, where a nasty cut made a home two weeks ago, now a fading scar. Eddie rubs like it’ll heal under his thumb. He’s not rough or desperate; there’s no time limit now, no corner to duck into or need for sedation. 

“It’s not your fault.” Steve opens his eyes, and finds two wide watery ones staring back at him. 

Eddie’s not buying it; he can tell. Steve reaches for the hand still hovering on his face, and takes it into his own. Eddie’s fingers twitch in his palm, scared of the tenderness, but Steve keeps him there, rubbing reassuring circles with his thumb into Eddie’s hand. 

“You know that, right? It’s not your fault.” 

“I shouldn’t—”

“Eddie.” Now it’s his turn to give Eddie that look, and man does that shut him right up. Fighting back a smile of victory, Steve continues with a heavy sigh. “I knew what I was getting myself into. And I couldn’t just sit there and let those assholes fuck with you.” 

“Look at you—”

“So? I can’t just…” He swallows. “I can’t just watch people get hurt.” He looks away from the confused brown eyes burrowing into him. “It’s not—I can’t—not again.” 

“Again?”

 Steve shakes his head. He’s always been so good at holding his liquor, holding his thoughts, so why can’t he now? Why can’t his hands carry this? It feels like water, slipping through his fingers, grabbing and fighting through waves before he drowns. 

“I can’t let you get hurt. Let people get hurt because I’m scared.” He sniffs. It’s wet. Everything is wet. He can’t hold it anymore. 

“Steve—” And then arms finally pull him back up, gasping and wheezing for air. He’s still swimming, still surrounded by water. A pool he should’ve never dove into. He shakes his head into a leather-clad shoulder. Dad’s always said he’s a good swimmer. He shouldn’t need to be saved. 

“No. No I—” Steve sniffs. “I’m ‘sposed to. I have to. I can’t—Eddie—I’m not a good person.” 

“Steve.”

“ ‘m not. I lied. I let people get hurt.”

“Steve, look at me.” Hands dig into his shoulders and Steve’s watery gaze is swallowed up by Eddie’s concern. It wraps around him like a blanket. 

“You’re not a bad person, okay? You—” Munson chews the inside of his cheek like he’s biting back what he wants to say. “You’re one of the best people in this shit town, you hear me? I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, but it’s in the past. You’ve changed. You’re better.” 

Steve shakes his head, and Eddie takes his chin into his hands, stopping him. “Steve. You got your ass kicked for the local town freak. That’s not something bad people do. You’re good.” Steve wants to protest, but he swallows down the bile of dispute. 

“Say it.” Eddie tries to sound stern, but it comes out like a plea. “Say ‘I’m good’.”

“ ‘m good.” Steve sniffs. Cold fingers soothe his lower back in slow circular patterns. He relaxes into Eddie’s arms. 

“Again,” Eddie says quietly. He gets an arm around Steve’s waist and pulls him in. Steve pitches into Eddie's shoulder, trying to hide his face. Long fingers dig into his scalp, forcing Steve back up. 

 “I said, again.” Eddie says with a little more conviction. 

“ ‘m good.” Steve whimpers. He shifts in Eddie’s lap, asking for a distraction. “I’m good.” He says once the wetness in his throat gets down. 

“You are, baby.” Eddie pulls him closer. His grip on Steve's scalp softens, and he inches closer to Eddie’s lips. 

“Say it again, for me, sweetheart.” He whispers, but Steve knows it's a command, as gentle as it sounds. 

“I’m good—” Steve’s whisper turns into a moan as Eddie presses their cocks together. Precum slicks up his palm. His long fingers slip and slide on their hot skin, teasing Steve’s cockhead until he whimpers out ‘I’m good’ without prompting. 

Steve takes heavy breaths. Each one tastes a little like Eddie, his cheap hairspray, cheaper cologne, smoke and sweat. He pushes up into Eddie’s palm like there's a place he can go inside the man, like Eddie isn’t already wrapped around him.

“Good boy,” Eddie kisses his temple. Steve sobs. 

“That’s it, good boy. Just rock into my hand, yeah just like that, doing so good for me, baby boy,” he babbles into Steve’s scalp, hushing him as he cries. 

“Eddie,” Steve whimpers. He digs into Eddie’s shoulder with one hand and fists his hair in the other, like he can push Eddie under his skin and between his collarbones. Eddie’s nose digs into him like he’s sniffing for a way in.

“Baby,” Eddie says between bites, more toothy than teasing. He chews a place within Steve’s chest, pressing apologetic kisses to Steve's reddened skin when he doesn’t break flesh. 

“Eddie please,” Steve doesn’t know what he’s asking for. Eddie bites. Hard. Steve screams. “Fuck, Eddie!” 

Pai and pleasure digs through his twitching body, forcing a release. He sobs into Eddie’s mouth, taking in gasping breaths like he’s coming up for air for the first time. Eddie hushes and coos softly into his skin.

“I’m here baby, I’m here.” Eddie pulls him through it, slowly milking Steve and letting his cum slick up his hand and wet his cock.

“Eddie,” Steve sobs and watches his softening cock slide up onto Eddie’s and disappear between his fingers. 

“Baby, c’mon,” Eddie croons in his ear. “What did you call me, honey?” Steves whimpering makes him smile wider. It spreads across Steve’s reddened cheek. 

Steve shakes his head. His face hurts, feels too wet and too warm. His lap feels too wet and too warm. Eddie teases the slit of Steve’s overstimulated cock, swirling his thumb and pressing with the pads of his fingers.

“Eddie, Eddie, pl-please.” Steve shakes, but doesn't squirm away. Each touch sets his skin ablaze. He twitches while Eddie toys with him.

“No that’s not it, baby. You sound so sweet when you say it.” Eddie squeezes. 

“B-bambi—” Steve gasps. 

“That’s it, my good boy. Say it again.” 

“Bambi,” Steve pants. He lifts his head up and stares into those wide brown eyes. “Fuck,” he groans, rolling his hips up into Eddie’s hand like he has another round in him. Eddie moves with him, an exhausted smile spreads across his face. 

“That’s it, pretty baby,” He goads. Steve laughs. 

Eddie hums. “What?”

“You’re the pretty one.” Steve says with more breath than voice, like a secret. 

Eddie’s face softens for a second, like he’s about to say something a little too real. Something tightens up in Steve, too high to be in his groin and too low to be his throat. He gets a hand around himself and Eddie. Whatever gentleness Eddie’s face took on twists up into pleasure again. He hisses from overstimulation. 

Steve curses. “God, you look so pretty like this.” 

Eddie moans. “So do you.” 

He presses his lips to Steve’s, more teeth than anything. Steve takes what he’s given and tries to keep up with Eddie’s brutal pace, though his body is electric with overstimulated protests. 

“Fuck.” Steve gasps into Eddie’s mouth. “Bambi, ‘s too much.” 

Eddie kisses the corner of his open mouth, licking up the drool that’s gathered there. “You can take it, baby.” He urges softly. “Be a good boy for me.” 

Steve nods and presses his forehead to Eddie’s. He keeps his head down, marveling with a gaping mouth as Eddie fucks into his hand, rocking against Steve’s half-hard cock like an animal, humping whatever he can get ahold of. 

“Baby—fuck, bambi—” Steve corrects with a gasp. He starts to rock in tandem with Eddie, cursing softly as his body twitches and trembles through the pleasure. 

“Close I’m close—pl-please cum please wanna watch you—need you to—” Steve’s begging gets swallowed up in Eddie’s mouth again. He moans, hoping the rest of his plea comes across. 

Eddie makes a similar noise, high and needy. Steve swallows it down like a shot, chasing after that sweet little sound he so rarely makes. 

“Bambi,” Steve gasps into Eddie’s mouth. Against his better judgment, he squeezes Eddie’s cock against his. He bites hard on his own lip to stifle his moan. He drinks up the one that spills from Eddie’s. 

“Fuck, fuck, Steve! Steve!” He cries and clutches on Steve’s shoulder; his blunt nails leave little divots in his skin.  

“Pl-please fuck d-do that again.” Eddie whimpers. Steve pauses, drinking in the desperation in the other’s voice. 

“Ask again.” Steve rolls his hips and tightens his hand, but not enough to get that pretty little sound out of Eddie. 

“Please, Steve, baby ‘m so close—” Eddie stares up at Steve like the sun, eyes wide and watering like he’s being blinded. “Please—”

“You want me to make it hurt, Munson?” Steve squeezes their cocks and swallows his groan. Eddie cries out, head rolling back as he begins to shake. “Say it,” Steve bites. “Say it and I’ll make you cum, bambi.” 

“Pl-please make it h-hurt, baby. Pl-please.” Steve tightens his hand again. Eddie falls back onto the rug with a hard thud. He cries as his orgasm rips through him.“F-fuck l-love when you m-make it hurt, Stevie.” 

Eddie’s warbled voice is what makes Steve shoot off again with a curse. His thighs twitch and tense around Eddie’s waist. 

“Fu-fuck fuck fuck ‘m cumming,” Steve babbles and babbles like the evidence hasn’t painted their hands hand soaked their jeans. He watches hungrily as Eddie’s twitching cock drips on his hand, smearing and mixing his own release.

 “Fuck, Eddie…” Steve wets his lips, and before he can stop, starts licking his fingertips. 

“Jesus fucking—” Eddie gasps, and Steve looks away from his hand to find Eddie, flushed and sweaty, watching him bug-eyed. “Fuck, Harrington you’re so hot.” He groans. He marvels up at Steve, splotchy chest heaving.

Steve slides his fingers into his mouth, and sucks slowly. The taste isn’t great, but that's not what makes him moan. It’s Eddie, digging into Steve without laying a finger on him, scooping out whatever autonomy he had left in him. It makes him feel wanted, needed, craved. Steve’s eyes go blurry, his lips wet and pout.

“Who knew you were such a fucking cumslut, jesus christ.” Eddie groans. His hands find their home on Steve’s hips. He tugs lightly at Steve’s undone jeans. 

Steve wobbles on his knees until he’s sat back in Eddie’s lap. He can’t help but smile when their noses brush. 

“Hey,” he giggles a bit, and Eddie, of course, snorts. 

“Hey your fucking self.” He pushes at Steve’s face and he sits up. He tries to pull Eddie up with him, but the other man is practically glued to the ground. Eddie groans when Steve tries to move him. 

“C’mon—”

“C’mon where, dude?” Eddie groans and pulls Steve back. “Can you just settle for like—two seconds. I just blew my balls out, give a guy a break.” 

Steve snorts, a cocky grin on his face as he settles next to Eddie on the dirty rug. “You’re welcome.” 

“Uh huh,” Eddie lolls his head to the side and gives Steve a not so subtle once over. It starts off suggestive, like he’s about to propose a round two, but something makes his brows knit with worry. Steve hates that he doesn’t have a poker face.

“Eddie…” He warns, not particularly interested in visiting a conversation he’s had with two other people already. 

“Don’t ‘Eddie’ me,” the other man grumbles. He props up on his forearm, staring at the nasty bruises on Steve’s chest before meeting his eyes. “You look like shit, dude.” 

“You’re a real charmer, you know that?” Steve rolls his eyes and tries to shift away. Eddie grabs his forearm and pulls him back. “How the fuck are you so strong—”

“How the fuck are you so stupid?” Eddie snaps and immediately catches himself when the words escape. “Shit—no I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.”

Steve huffs and pulls his arm from Eddie. “ ‘s fine.” He mutters. “Not like you did much to help.” He points at the little teeth marks that litter his neck and chest. 

“You should go to the hospital—”

“What, and tell them I got fucked by a bear?” Steve arches his brow and starts to smile when Eddie laughs dryly. “Thought I said ‘no marks’, Munson?” He chides and kicks lightly at Eddie’s calf. 

The other man looks a little sheepish as he tries to explain his way out of it. And dammit, those eyes do a lot of convincing on his behalf. 

“Sorry, I just got a little carried away.” He shrugs and plays with his hair like he can hide in it. Steve’s smile warms, and he scoots a little closer to Eddie. 

“ ‘s okay.” He puts an arm around Eddie’s waist, the other on his arm to pull him closer.

Eddie moves closer. “You at least have aspirin and stuff, right?” He presses again, and Steve, too tired to fight, just shrugs. 

“It doesn’t hurt anymore.” He rests his head in his hand. “Besides,” he grins. “These scars look metal as hell, don’t they?” He raises his head up to look at the other man. “Yeah they do. Admit it, Munson.” 

 Eddie softens with a quiet laugh. “Okay, yeah, you do look pretty badass.” He looks down, finding their hands still neatly intertwined. Steve follows his gaze and smiles a bit at how neatly they fit. He thumbs over one of Eddie’s rings. The metal is warm.

"What do you need?"

That concerned gaze eats Steve up. It's too whole, too vulnerable. Steve dashes away from the precipice of vulnerability. Swallowing down his unnamed wants, he stares into Eddie's eyes. 

"Kiss me." 

Eddie listens without hesitation.

Chapter Text

Mondays are the slowest. Summer brings an influx of rugrats, all asking for sundaes piled high that their parents just can’t say no to. But, as the evening winds down, people are less inclined to order when the only flavors left are raspberry swirl and pistachio. Steve’s not complaining. It makes closing all the easier, and it’s not like kids have much change to tip anyway. 

Steve wipes down sticky tables and picks sprinkles out of the squeaky booths. The white noise of chatter begins to fade, leaving him in the eerie quiet of glowing neon and echoing pop music. He can’t tell which is louder, the sound of the sign, or the synth beat of another Cyndi Lauper song.

“Hey dingus,” he looks up from the final countertop that needs cleaning. Robin comes out from the breakroom, backpack over her shoulder and her helmet in hand. “I gotta get home. Can you close up?”

“No problem,” Steve finishes up his work and lets Robin out, keeping the keys with him. “See you tomorrow, Buckley!” 

He gets a lazy wave in response. 

Floors are swept. Lights are turned off. After Steve counts the cash in the register, he finally closes up. Once the gate is closed, he takes off the stupid sailor cap and shoves it in his backpack. Without the overhead lights, the mall glows in all its neon glory. The pop music still plays overhead, echoing in an otherwise empty building. 

“Hello?” Almost empty. 

“Helloooo?” The disembodied voice echoes. “Anyone here?” 

Steve follows the voice up the stairs to the second floor. “Hello?” He calls back. 

“Up here! I’m at Macy’s.” The voice calls again, and Steve climbs up the escalator to the third floor, where the Macy’s gate is closed. Among the racks of clothes and mannequins is a pacing figure in a suit. Steve spots it from the window, tags still attached to the stranger. 

“Hey uh, are you ok?” Steve asks, cautiously approaching the gate with his keys gripped like a weapon. The stranger whips their head in his direction. Steve knows those brown eyes anywhere. 

“Munson?” He gawks from the other side of the gate, trying not to laugh. “What the hell, man?”

“What the hell me?” Eddie crosses his arms. 

The red and blue lights illuminate Eddie as Steve approaches the gate. The suit isn’t tailored, but it fits Eddie nicely. It’s the first time Steve’s ever seen Eddie wear anything professional or normal or something that isn’t torn or shredded to hell and… he looks good. Really good. His hair’s tied behind his head with his usual bandana. It matches the dark tie he sports. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Steve finally asks when he realizes he’s spent a little too much time admiring how the suit jacket hugs Eddie’s arms. 

The other man chuckles like he knows. “None of your business. Why are you here?”

“I work here.” Steve deadpans and gestures to his sailor uniform, which, now that he’s acknowledged it, gives Eddie the invitation to give him a slow once over. His smile grows. 

“Can it.” Steve frowns. 

Eddie puts his hands up in defense. “I didn’t say anything.” 

“Didn’t have to.” Steve crosses his arms. “What are you even doing here? Didn’t you say that malls are a testament to American propaganda or some shit?” 

“The epitome of capitalism,” Eddie rolls his eyes. “I didn’t want to, for the record. I had to.” 

“For what?” 

“What part of none of your business do you not understand, Harrington?” Eddie squints. 

“Well,” Steve shoves his hands in his pockets and starts backing away. “Then I guess it’s none of my business if you need help or not—”

“Wait wait wait!” Eddie launches himself at the gate, gripping it like prison bars. “C’mon man, don’t leave me.” He pouts comically. Steve almost takes mercy on him. 

Almost. 

“Hm,” Steve tilts his head, unable to chew away the cheeky smile that grows on his face. “Tell me why you’re at Starcourt and I’ll get your sorry ass out of here.” 

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Quite the negotiator you are.” He presses his face to the bars and huffs. “Fine. Fine ok. I was looking at suits.”

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock. Why?” 

Eddie’s pouty lips twist up. He scowls at Steve and mutters something. 

“What was that?” Steve leans in, gloating as he gets Eddie to repeat himself. 

“I wanted a suit for homecoming.” 

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up. “You’re joking.” Eddie shakes his head. “Maybe there is a little warmth in that cold heart of yours, huh, Munson?” He can’t help but laugh as Eddie rolls his eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah laugh it up Harrington. Maybe this year I’ll get to be homecoming king. Then we’ll see who has the last laugh.” Eddie grumbles. 

“That’ll be the day.” Steve snorts. He looks at the gate for a second with a hum. 

“What, are you gonna climb it?” Eddie jeers. 

“Shut up, I’m thinking.” Steve waves him off and frowns at the grate like it’ll open on its own. 

“C’mon, dude, I gotta take a leak—”

“Go to the back of the store.” Steve fishes his keys out and starts walking to the stairs. Eddie blinks.

“Wait what?”

“Go back to the back of the store! I’ll meet you there.” Steve shouts over his shoulder and runs back down the stairs to the Scoops entrance. 

The squeak of his sneakers echo in the mall as he races back to Scoop’s. He fishes for his keys and quickly opens the gate. It goes up with a rattle and comes down the same. Steve locks up the gate quickly, and dashes to the backroom. Madonna’s grainy voice plays through the speakers still. 

Steve pushes through the backdoor of the breakroom, the same way the kids go to get to the movie theater. But instead of making a left, he goes right, down the dark, fluorescent lit hallway where he thinks the stairs are. Having only been back here once, the map in his head is a little fuzzy, but if his assumptions are correct, if he goes down this hallway, makes  a left here, a right there, down another hallway and—

“Bingo.” 

Steve grins at the AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL only sign slapped on the door. He looks at the shop keys with apprehension, but decides that an alarm going off wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen to him this week. Steve slides the key in. The click of the door echoes down the hallway, but no alarm follows.

He lets out a heavy breath and starts up the stairs. His steps echo behind him, and under the muted pop music, Steve hears something else. 

He thinks it’s Eddie, talking to himself, or maybe some people working after the mall closed, but it… it sounds like it’s in the walls. Steve stops and listens, putting his ear to the cold concrete. He can’t hear anything beyond muffled voices, something said urgently that he can’t make out. It’s probably the security staff or someone from the cleaning crew. 

Steve continues up the stairs, realizing Eddie’s probably still pacing in Macy’s. The second floor is another set of hallways, with the occasional door with a sign for particular stores. He keeps going right, until he’s met with a set of double doors. A printed out Macy’s sign is taped to it, and while it isn’t promising, it’s sure as hell better than some muffled voices in a wall. Steve fishes out his keys and unlocks the door. 

“What the hell took you so long?” Eddie immediately pushes through the small crack of the door. He’s still wearing the suit, now wrinkled as he crosses his arms. 

Steve chuckles. 

Eddie frowns. “What?”

“You really  like that suit, huh?” 

Eddie scoffs. “And what of it, Harrington?” He glares at him. “You gonna help me steal it?” He asks with a grin that screams trouble . And as much as Steve wants to get into trouble, he’d also very much like to keep his job. 

“No can do, Munson,” He pushes lightly at Eddie’s shoulder, back into the door. “C’mon, let’s get you changed.” 

“What? You don’t like your men in black tie?” Eddie teases, but goes willingly. They stumble into the department store, and Steve keeps his hand on Eddie’s shoulder, like the guy’ll dash if he lets go. 

“Lead the way, Munson.” Steve nods, and they walk back to the dressing rooms. 

“I’m pretty sure they locked me out from my shit…” Eddie huffs as they walk through the empty rooms. 

“How’d you even get caught in here, man?” Steve laughs as Eddie gets to his room. Under the door, Steve sees his pile of clothes, a mess of chain and metal Eddie shed to put on the suit. 

“Well,” Eddie hums, looking for a way under or over the locked door. “I was busy checking myself out in the mirror when—” he starts to jiggle the handle, tongue stuck out in concentration as he wiggles it. He looks over his shoulder at Steve—Steve’s waist, more precisely. 

“Can you get with the program, Munson?” Steve steps back a bit and Eddie looks up at him. 

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Harrington, I need your keys.” Munson rolls his eyes and opens his hand. Steve huffs and swallows down a remark as he places the ring of keys in Eddie’s hand. 

“So you just, what,” Steve shrugs as he watches Eddie fiddle with the metal latch. “Forgot that the mall closed?” 

Eddie snorts, but nods nonetheless. “Time got away from me, alright. Sue me.” The lock clicks open. Eddie looks over his shoulder with a proud grin. “Tada,” He sings. “Looks like all those years of lockpicking were good for something, huh Stevie?” Eddie beams. 

Before Steve can ask where the hell Eddie got lockpicking experience from, Eddie’s tossing his keys back in his face. “Jesus—” he stuffs them in his pocket and watches the other man tug off the suit jacket quickly. 

“Wait you’re just gonna—”

Eddie stops and looks at him. “Change? Uh, yeah. I can’t afford this shit.” He dumps the jacket on the dusty floor. He frowns at it like it’s cursed him out. Steve watches it and then looks at Eddie. His fingers stay on the buttons of his shirt, but he pauses to stare at the possibility, the thing that’s just out of reach. 

“I mean,” Steve shrugs, trying to sound casual. “It looks good on you.” He rubs the back of his neck and looks at Eddie like something hurts. The other man snorts, a giddy grin spreading on his face. 

“Let me guess, it’ll look even better on the floor, huh?” Eddie starts to undo the buttons. 

Steve rushes to stop him. “No no I mean—” 

Eddie looks confused. His hands pause. “What?” 

“I think you should get it.” 

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Very funny Harrington,” he continues undressing. “Not sure if you knew this, but not everyone in the world has access to Mommy and Daddy money.” It’s supposed to be a joke, but there’s a venom in his words . 

Steve purses his lips, watching Eddie’s chest slowly get revealed. “What if we just,” he shrugs. “took it.” 

Eddie stops again. “You’re joking right?” Steve shrugs again. 

“What, so you, Steven Goody-two Shoes Harrington—”

“Not so good—”

“Not the point—” Eddie rolls his eyes. “You want to help me steal a suit?”

“Well, I mean it sounds kind of metal to me.” Steve grins as the other man rolls his eyes, mumbling something about ‘that’s not what that is.’  “Don’t you want to stick it to the man?” 

Eddie laughs. “I can’t believe this.” He stares at Steve head on, like there’s something he isn’t saying.

“No games, Munson,” Steve puts his hands up. “I just want to help you out.” 

Eddie frowns. “Why?”

“Because we’re friends.” Steve says before he can catch himself. Eddie looks bug-eyed. “Right? I mean—” Steve starts to stumble when Eddie just… stares. “Friends help each other out.” 

Eddie opens and closes his mouth like a fish gasping for water. His brows knit up a bit, and Steve lets him flounder a bit with amusement. 

“C’mon,” Steve grabs the suit jacket and tosses it over his shoulder. “Grab your shit, Ed, before security catches us.” His smile pulls Eddie from his stupor. 

“Uh,” Eddie blinks. He nods when his brain catches up with him. “Y-yeah, lemme uh,” He grabs his crumpled up clothes. Bunched up in his hands, the mess of denim and metal looks like a shed snake skin. He pulls his vest over the white button down. Eddie lets out a heavy sigh. There’s fear in his eyes, the kind only seen in squirrels. He nods to Steve. 

“Lead the way Harrington.” 

Steve knows the mall like the inside of his palm, and he quickly ushers Eddie out the way he came in. “Why the hell don’t we just open the gate?” Eddie gripes as he follows him down the hall. 

“Because,” Steve hisses, a finger pressed to his lips. Eddie puts his hands up in a silent apology. “If we don’t lock it on the way out, people’ll get suspicious.” 

“Ohhh gotcha,” Eddie nods, and immediately gets hushed again. “Sorry,” he whispers. 

Their footsteps echo down the concrete hallways. Dim lights hum loudly overhead. 

“What was that?” Eddie hisses and stops in his tracks. 

Steve looks over his shoulder and frowns. “What was what?” 

Eddie hushes him quickly and looks around like he’s eyeing a fly. “Wait wait!” He pauses. “...That.”  

Steve waits for the fucking sky to open up, but instead, Eddie motions him forward. He follows with slow steps until Eddie stops and presses his ear to the wall. 

“Dude,” Steve frowns. “Seriously?”

“What? It could be the fuzz.” Eddie hisses and focuses back in on the murmuring in the wall. 

“Dude, these walls are super thin,” he grabs Eddie’s hand. “C’mon, Eddie or we’ll both be trapped in here.” He tugs again and Eddie finally follows with a groan. 

“Y’know, being trapped in here with you wouldn’t be so terrible,” Eddie squeezes his hand. “Right Stevie?” 

Steve rolls his eyes and bites away the smile that starts to grow. 

They finally get back into Scoops Ahoy, just the way Steve left it. Pop music bounces off the walls. The neon signs light their way out. “C’mon,” Steve fishes his keys out and unlocks the gate. “We’re almost home free.” 

As they get to the exit, Steve starts to worry if they might actually be trapped in here. He wouldn’t mind the company, but still in his Scoops uniform and without a bite to eat since 3 o’clock, all he can think about is getting home. Eddie stares with anticipation while Steve tries the door. 

It opens with a creak. 

“Fuck yes!” Eddie howls. 

Steve immediately hushes him and shoves him into the summer night. “Shut up, man we’re almost there!” he snaps and follows him out. He puts a hand to the small of Eddie’s back, pushing him away from the mall and into the parking lot. 

“C’mon, where’s your ride?” He looks around the lot but only sees his beamer. 

“Well uh, see,” Eddie swallows. “I took the bus here.”

“You took the—” Steve huffs out the last of his words. “What happened to your van?”

“In the shop,” Eddie says, rummaging through the pockets of his vest until he finds his cigarettes and lighter. “I could walk home,” he shrugs and puts the cigarette in between his lips. “Unless a certain knight would offer his chariot to a peasant like me.” Eddie’s eyes flit Steve’s way, hopeful and wide as the moon. 

“I have some stuff that’ll sweeten the deal if it helps,” he pulls out the tiniest dime bag Steve’s seen. It looks like leftovers from their last encounter. 

Steve sighs. “Yeah of course I’ll drive you home.”

 Eddie grins and shoves his wares in his pocket. “You’re a real hero, Stevie.” He pats Steve’s back and follows him to the car. Steve hears the flick of a lighter and quickly snatches the cigarette from Eddie’s lips. 

“What the hell?” 

“You’re not smoking that shit in my car, Munson.” Steve huffs and passes the unlit cigarette back to Eddie. The other man grumbles while they clamber in. Once they get settled, Steve deflates into his seat. Home isn’t far away, but the last thing he feels like doing is driving. 

“Thanks for freeing me.” Eddie smiles and leans back in his seat. There’s a triumphant grin on his face, like he’s finally outwitted the law. 

“Mhm,” Steve sighs and closes his eyes. “No problem, dude.” 

“You ok?” Eddie asks softly. 

“Hm?” Steve opens his eyes and looks at Eddie. “Yeah, sorry. Just a long ass day.” He sighs. “You look good though,” he admires Eddie in his white collar shirt and vest. “You clean up well.” He teases and smiles sleepily. 

Eddie laughs. “Yeah, thanks for that,” he slips off the jean vest and pushes the sleeves up on his shirt. “You think this’ll score some ass on the big night?” He asks, tossing his hair over his shoulder. 

“Sure man,” Steve says noncommittally. As he smiles, something in him froths at the thought of Eddie looking for someone else to spend the night with. “If it can get me, then you can definitely get some girls.” He says instead, and smiles as Eddie looks away bashfully. 

“So you do like it, huh?” Eddie tilts his head, fighting to keep eye contact. 

Steve nods, staring mostly at Eddie’s chest before meeting his eyes. “Yeah, a lot.” He wets his lips, trying to steer his way back into familiar territory. “It’d look better on the floor though.” 

Eddie’s giggle erupts into a full on laugh. “That’s rich coming from the guy in the sailor costume.” 

“It’s covered in ice cream if that sweetens the deal—”

“So you’re in shorts and you smell like vanilla ice cream? You should be a salesman, Harrington.” 

“So my father keeps telling me.” He sighs and looks at Eddie with a knowing smile. 

“So, when do we take this to the back, exactly?” Eddie looks over his shoulder at the empty, and quite frankly, tiny backseat. Steve pretends to think about it with a dramatic hum. 

“Oh for fucks sake,” Eddie huffs and gets out of the car. He pushes the passenger seat up all the way before scrambling into the back. Steve watches him with a grin. The other man starts undoing the buttons on his shirt. Halfway down, he looks up with a frown. “What? Are you just gonna sit there?” 

Steve pauses for a moment. “Actually,” he tilts his head and smiles at Eddie’s expectant face. “Yeah. If you don’t mind.” 

Eddie frowns a bit. Blush starts to crawl up his cheeks. “Oh…kay… Do you—”

“Keep it on.” Steve blurts a little too quickly, and Eddie freezes. “Sorry uh,” he licks his lips, trying to keep his eyes on Eddie’s, but finds himself drifting back down to the pale expanse of his chest. “You look really good in it.” 

Eddie smirks. “So I’ve been told.” 

Steve scoffs. “Fuck you—”

“I was hoping we’d do something of that variety—”

“Shut the fuck up, Munson.”

“Come back here and make me.” Eddie smiles wide. 

Steve rolls his eyes. “Keep the attitude up and I’ll leave you here.” He rests in his seat, eyes forward.

“Oh so he’s a watcher and a tamer, huh?” Eddie lounges in the back seat like it’s comfortable, like his feet aren’t under the front seats so he can get a little leg room.  

“A what?” Steve frowns at the empty parking lot. Eddie shuffles behind him. 

“You’re really gonna stay up there, huh?” 

“Yeah, changed my mind.” Steve teases, hoping that might get Eddie to do a bit of begging. Since the last time, hearing Eddie whining like an animal, Steve’s been itching to hear it again. He’s just not sure how to get it out of him. His denial doesn’t stop Eddie.

“Well I haven’t,” his passenger sighs and shifts in his seat. Something unzips. “Suit yourself if you’re gonna stay up there, Stevie.” Eddie hums, a little softer now. Steve rolls his eyes and folds his arms over his chest. 

“Yeah, well, you better ask nicely and I might come back there.” He says, keeping his head forward. 

Silence fills the car like a bathtub. Steve tries to keep his head above and not flail in the drowning emptiness. Instead, he watches the purple horizon that slowly turns to black before his eyes. Eddie shifts behind him. His soft exhale cuts through the tension, slow breaths starting to pick up. 

“Fuck.” Eddie groans. His belt buckle jingles rhythmically. The tell-tale sign of wet skin fills the car. 

Steve frowns. “Are you seriously—” He turns around and finds that yes. He is, seriously. 

Eddie’s neck and face are already splotchy and red. As requested, he kept the suit on, even though the car is hot as all hell. His breath is slow and heavy, unlike the pace of his hand, which is quick and uncoordinated. His dick peeks out through the pristine dress pants, red and wet and unable to be ignored. 

When their eyes meet, Eddie moans. 

“Fuck,” Steve licks his lips, keeping his eyes on him. “You look so hot, Eddie.” He says, and tries not to ease the ache of his own dick. 

Eddie grins. “Yeah?” He asks. “You like me all dolled up for you, Stevie?” 

Steve nods, watching Eddie’s wet dick disappear and twitch in his hand. His mouth waters. 

“Yeah.” He’s glued to the pull of his hand, the twist of his wrist. “Eddie—”

“What?” Munson asks with a breathless smile. “You wanna touch me now, huh?” As Eddie teases himself, he catches his lip between his teeth, like he knows Steve wants to hear the little whimpers he’s stuffing back down his throat. Steve wants to squeeze them out. 

“Thought—” Eddie gasps for steadiness. His body is anything but under Steve’s gaze. “Thought you changed your mind.” His voice pitches up a bit and before Steve can hear the sound, Eddie eats it up with pink-bitten lips. 

“Fuck, Eddie,” Steve groans, watching between Eddie’s hand, his lips, his eyes. He palms his hard on, praying the fabric won’t stain because he’s working a double tomorrow and the last thing he needs is—

“What’re you doing over there, Stevie?” Eddie gasps. His hand’s slowed down now, dragging up and down his shaft like they have all the time in the world, like the moon isn’t crawling up the sky. “Do you like watching me, baby?” As he teases the slit of his cock with his fingers his face twists up. Precum blurts onto the white shirt, turning it milky and damp.

“Yes, fuck yeah you look so good, Eddie.” Steve licks his lips. He slips under the waistband of his shorts, palming his dick until it’s fully hard. Over his shoulder, Eddie stifles another moan. 

“Eddie,” Steve whines and looks in the backseat again. 

Eddie smiles back, breathless and cocky. “Yeah, baby?” Again, he bites his lip, and his back curves off the seat. 

“Eddie please, fuck at least—” Steve groans, squeezing his dick to try and relieve some of the tension. “At least let me hear you.” He meets Eddie’s eye and tries to beg for it without having the words to do so. Eddie doesn’t seem too convinced, and this time, purposely silences himself. 

“This not enough for you?” Eddie asks when he finally gets his breath under him. He spits on his palm before going back to his dick, like he needed any more help. It’s for show, and Steve’s on the edge of his seat for the performance. 

“More,” Steve wets his lips and tries to keep Eddie’s eyes, though the shlick shlick sound of Eddie’s hand pulls him back from time to time. “Want more of you.” 

And god does that put a million dollar smile on Eddie’s face. He lounges on the seats like a cat in the sun, presents himself like a prize to be fought and lost over. He pets over the tip of his dick, coating his fingers in precum. It’s wet and sticky, dripping down Eddie's fingers and between his rings. Deliriously, Steve thinks about how hard it is to get out of the cracks. He thinks about being the one to clean them. 

“Please,” Steve blurts when Eddie doesn’t answer. 

“Dunno, Steve—”

“Don’t know?” Steve whines. “Munson fuck, let me blow you, please!” He groans. A deep, humiliating blush starts in his chest and pushes outward as Eddie starts to chuckle. 

“So fucking pushy, jesus.” His passenger grins. “Forgot your manners, baby?” He squeezes his cock, and moans, finally, uninhibited and loud as all hell. “Bet you can’t even do it right.” He gets a tight fist around himself, pumping quick and fast. 

“Wait wait Bambi please,” Steve whines when he realizes that Eddie’s close. “Please I wanna learn please—” He looks over the seat. Hunger clouds his vision. “T-teach me, Eddie, please.”

“Teach you?” Eddie scoffs. He catches Steve’s eye with a laugh. “You wanna learn how to make me feel good, baby?” Eddie squeezes his cock, and with it, a little whine. Steve answers with his own moan. Precum drips down his fingers. “You need me to teach you, huh?” God, he sounds so condescending; half of Steve wants to hit him for it, snap at him for insinuating his innocence and idiocy. 

But Steve doesn’t. He nods, quick and sure. “Please,” he swallows the lump in his throat. “Please let me just taste—”

“You,” Eddie pants. He drops his head, moaning softly as he starts to fuck himself properly. “You will—so fucking needy.” He growls. 

“Bambi please let me.” Unlike Eddie, Steve teases himself with a slow hand under his shorts, like he’s afraid Eddie’ll catch him. “Please, Bambi, just let me—”

Eddie finishes before Steve can. He spills over the dark slacks, over his shirt, his hand. He gasps through his orgasm, collapsing into the car seat with a huff. 

“Fuck.” he sighs, head tilted back to the ceiling. His hand is still wrapped loosely around his cock, cradling it in his wet palm. Like his lap, his stolen shirt is damp with sweat, and the white fabric leaves nothing for Eddie to hide. His desperation is apparent in the pits and collar. Steve wants to bury himself in the expanse of Eddie’s constricting neck. 

An uninvited sound comes from the back of his throat, small and needy. 

“Yes, baby?” Eddie lolls his head forward, looking at Steve through sweaty bangs. “What’s wrong?”

“You said—”

“I know what I said.” Eddie wets his lips. “C’mere.” 

Steve tries to crawl over the counsel to the back seat bumping his head on the ceiling. “Fuck—” he snorts, shuffling back into his seat when he realizes he can’t fit.

“What—” Eddie giggles, trying not to ruin the moment. “Stevie, back here, baby, jesus.” 

Steve listens, still laughing to himself as he gets out of the car and into the back seat. He’s still giggling as he scoots in next to Eddie. 

“Got a little cockdumb there, didn’t you?” Eddie teases as soon as the door shuts. 

A blush crawls up his neck as he shakes his head. “N-no just,” Steve swallows and takes a glance down at Eddie’s soiled lap. He licks his lips. “You’re just a little distracting.” 

“A little?” Eddie frowns. “There’s nothing little about this—” he gestures to his softened dick and Steve tries to tell him to shut the fuck up through his howling laughter. 

“You fucking—” Steve pushes at the other man. “You’re so stupid.” 

Eddie falls into the door with a grunt. “Just trying to lighten the mood,” He settles back against the window. “You looked like you were about to cry for a second there.” Eddie’s lips settle into a pout as he looks up at Steve. His legs fall open as best they can. One of his sneakers pushes into Steve’s hip, the other extended on the car floor.

“Well,” Steve swallows and trails up Eddie’s disheveled frame, trying not to stare too long at his dick. He fails. “It’s not fair to not give me what I asked for.” He meets Eddie’s face and mimics his pout. They both melt into soft laughter.

“Poor baby,” Eddie says without any bite. “Then you shouldn’t’ve made me take care of myself like that. Really rude of you.” 

Steve tilts his head. “I thought you liked it to hurt.”

“Oh, not like that,” Eddie shifts up a bit. 

He puts his hand out, and Steve follows the wordless command— gesture— suggestion— whatever . Steve follows Eddie’s hand to his lap, shifting on his knees and trying not to knock his head on the ceiling. As Eddie lays back, Steve crouches over him, hands on either side of Eddie’s head.

“Like what, then?” Steve asks with an expectant gaze.

“You want me to show you?” Eddie asks softly. He thumbs over the waistband of Steve’s shorts.

“Yeah. Please.” Steve says it like a secret. “Show me what makes you feel good.” 

He doesn’t mean to, but Steve moans when Eddie slips a hand under his shorts. It’s embarrassingly juvenile, but Eddie doesn’t mention it. All his comments are wrapped up in his smile. He gets an easy, confident hand around Steve. After so many times, it doesn't take long to figure out which buttons to press. 

"Wait—" Steve starts to shift out of his shorts. "I want—" he swallows down the rest of his request, because asking to be seen feels more vulnerable than pulling his dick out. He pushes his shorts down until they bunch around his thighs. The stiff fabric keeps his legs trapped around Eddie. As Steve squirms, there isn't a place for him to go but down into Eddie's arms. 

"This is how you do it, huh?" Steve pants when the silence gets too much. 

Eddie laughs, much to Steve's disliking. "No," he slows his hand, like figuring out how to take Steve apart. 

“Sometimes,” his grip gets tighter, fingers dragging up and down Steve’s sensitive skin. Eddie pulls soft whines from him. “I like to tease myself,” he begins to do so and watches Steve twist and roll with pleasure. 

“Wh—” Steve swallows, “what do you think about?” 

“You.” Eddie says plainly. “How good you make me feel.” He squeezes Steve properly, getting a whine and a mess of precum out of him. Eddie grins. “Yeah, like that baby; how’s that?” 

Steve bucks into Eddie’s hand, trying to steady himself through the painful sensations. “F-feels—oh fuck—” his voice gets lost again as Eddie continues squeezing and pulling his cock, toying with him like he wants Steve to break.

“C’mon, baby, use your words. Tell me.” 

“Fuck, Eddie,” Steve groans. He dips into Eddie’s shoulder, burying all of his noise into his skin. He keeps cursing, unable to say whether it’s good or bad. His body lights up with each tug, like Eddie’s trying to pull something out of him. It hurts, of course it fucking hurts, but the part that has Steve trembling is the fact that he likes it. 

“You like when I make it hurt, baby?” Eddie murmurs into his scalp. He’s panting like he’s also getting off, and knowing Eddie, the fucker probably is, absolutely delighted to have a hand in Steve’s misery. 

“It’s so much.” Steve finally gets out between his moaning. He bucks into Eddie’s hand as best he can, though there’s barely anywhere for him to go. “Fuck, ‘s tight.” He groans, wishing he could slip and slide on Eddie’s palm. 

“I know, baby,” Eddie hums. “You know why?” 

“No,” Steve pants. “Why?”

“Because,” Eddie presses a kiss to the shell of Steve’s ear. The sliver of affection makes him whimper. “Because that’s how tight I imagine you are.” 

“Wh-what?” Steve gasps. 

“Your hole, baby,” Eddie squeezes. “This is how tight you’d be, before I fuck you open—”

“Oh my god, Eddie—” Steve groans, shutting his eyes tight to try and get the image out of his head. 

He’s thought about it, probably too much more than he should. Thoughts of Eddie opening him up finally, no more teasing or mouth stuff, just properly fucking him like they’ve always babbled about in the shadows. But the thought of Eddie thinking about it, fucking his fist and wishing it was Steve’s hole. It makes him cum embarrassingly quickly. 

“Fuck fuck, Eddie. Eddie!” Steve keeps himself up on shaking arms. He tries to pull away, but Eddie won’t let him. His hand is still tight around his dick, keeping him in place. 

“Did I say I was done with you, baby?” 

“Eddie—”

“What did I say I liked?” Eddie asks. He strokes over Steve’s cock lazily, palming over the head and getting it to twitch in his hand. Steve aches for the attention. 

“To hurt. You like it to hurt.” Steve clarifies. He pushes up into Eddie’s hand, as much as his body twitches in protest. “D-do you want to hurt me, Bambi?” He asks, soft and hopeful. 

“If you’ll let me.” Eddie says, just as quiet. His grip starts to tighten. “Is that okay, baby?” 

Steve nods feverishly.

Eddie chuckles. “That’s my good boy.” He picks up the pace, taking extra time to tease over the slit of Steve’s cock. The pressure on his overstimulated skin makes Steve sob and writhe. He tries not to pull away. 

“Fuck, fuck, k-keep going.” He urges, and Eddie listens without question. He pinches Steve’s foreskin, and grins as Steve drops to his forearms. “Fuck! Jesus, Eddie, oh my god—” he does it again, and Steve muffles his cry into the dingy car seat. It feels impossible to articulate. Steve starts to cry properly as Eddie wrings whatever is left in him. His tight fist moves fast and quick, gathering up whatever spills from Steve. 

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Eddie pants into his ear. “Can’t imagine how fucking tight you are baby,” he emphasizes his words with a squeeze. Steve cries into his shoulder. “Just waiting to be fucked open by me.”

“Please,” Steve groans. “Pl-please Eddie,” he’s not sure if he’s asking for Eddie to stop or to make good on his promises. His body keeps twitching but he’s not sure if it’s from overstimulation or excitement. The prospect of finally being fucked, of laying himself bare for Eddie just feels like the next natural step, like it was a place they were always heading. 

Eddie keeps going like Steve has anything left to give, and Steve, desperate to stay on Eddie’s good side, to be good for him, tries to uncover what’s left of himself. It’s a weak spurt into Eddie’s hand, coupled with a pitiful whine that would surely put the Harrington name to shame. Eddie eats it up with a hungry kiss, devours whatever Steve offers. 

Tears spill into Eddie’s open mouth. His hand doesn’t stop. “That’s it, baby, I’m not done with you yet.”

“Eddie—Ed pl-please.” Steve groans like he’s going to be sick. The heat in his gut feels unbearable. It’s reached its boiling point with nowhere to go, and Steve needs to crawl out of his skin to get away from the fire. “Eddie,” he tries again with a voice so desperate and unfamiliar to his ears. 

Eddie coos mockingly. “Oh, baby, is it too much?”

“H-hurts, Ed.” Steve hiccups into his shoulder. He cums again, dry and useless. Eddie doesn’t stop. “H-hurts pl-please—”

“That’s the point, baby,” Eddie says in his ear. 

Steve cries into his shoulder shaking his head. “N-no, please, Eddie,” He grips Eddie’s shoulders. There’s a terrible ache, fighting between being good and feeling good. Neither feel like an option, trapped under Eddie’s hand. “Eddie pl-please. Please stop.” 

Eddie listens immediately. He pulls away like Steve’s a hot stove. “Fuck, ‘m sorry, shit—Steve are you—”

Steve whimpers, tries to self-regulate, but everything’s too tangled up within him to get free. He shakes his head. 

“A lot.” he swallows and tries to get to the surface of whatever haze Eddie pulled him into. “Too much.” He says, though there’s a lot more behind whatever pitiful whimper he tries to get out. 

Eddie nods with understanding. “Can you sit up for me?” He asks, pressing a hand to the small of Steve’s back. Steve nods and shifts so they sit face to face. He groans and tries to get comfortable in between Eddie’s legs. 

“I’m sorry.” Eddie says softly. A tentative hand reaches for Steve. He collapses into Eddie’s shoulder with a groan. Eddie repeats his apology into Steve’s hair. It slowly pulls Steve up from the waters he’s drowning in. 

“Eddie,” 

“Steve.” Eddie tightens his arm around Steve. Their chests press together. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, baby.”

Steve shakes his head. “ ‘s okay,” he feels the need to reassure. Eddie’s voice takes on a tension Steve’s never heard and never wants to hear again. “It’s okay, Eddie.” When he brings his head up, Eddie’s face is a sea of concern, trying to pull him into something that Steve doesn’t have the energy to be in.

“Stop that.” Steve sighs. 

Eddie frowns. “What?”

“Looking at me like that. Like ‘m gonna break or something.” He frowns. 

Eddie looks away. “Sorry I just—” he licks his lips. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Y’know like… like that.”

Steve sighs. “It’s… it’s ok.” 

Eddie runs his hands over Steve’s waist, under the cheap vanilla-scented fabric of his uniform. It doesn’t feel like it should, too gentle and concerned for Steve to get what he’s after. His head is filled with cotton, deep in the darkness like last time, when Eddie pulled every secret from Steve with a talented hand and teasing voice. Steve itches for it, to be tied to the anchor and dropped back into the uncharted waters. 

“Can I…” When Steve looks back at Eddie, he perks up. “Can I try something new?”

Eddie tilts his head. That familiar, curious smile starts to curl onto his face. “What might that be, Stevie?” 

“Can I taste you?” 

Eddie laughs a little at the question. “Baby, that doesn’t sound like anything new to me—”

“No no, I mean,” Steve frowns a little and looks between them. The sight of Eddie’s softening cock makes his mouth water. “I wanna hold your cock  in my mouth.” He can’t explain it, but Eddie lets him, quiet and patient. It makes Steve itch. 

“You wanna cockwarm me, baby?” Eddie asks gently, and Steve doesn’t really know what that means, but it sounds right. He nods. 

“Wanna taste.”

Eddie pauses despite Steve’s consent. There’s still something that’s got his brows knotted up and Steve just wants to cut it out. “You sure, Steve?”

“Yes, fuck, Eddie can you please just—” Steve huffs, pressing a hand to Eddie’s shoulder. He usually doesn’t use his strength like this around Eddie. When the skinner man hits the car seat he lets out an ‘oof’. 

“Please?” Steve asks again, sitting in the other seat so Eddie can stay upright. Steve waits, panic fills his chest with each passing second. 

Finally, Eddie nods. “Ok, baby, ok.” He parts his legs as much as he can in his slacks, covered in what Steve itches to taste. Steve wets his lips and tries to keep his eyes on Eddie’s, but he keeps trailing down to his cock. 

“What’re you waiting for?” Eddie holds his hand out. Steve follows it like a lost animal shifting until his leg is flush with Eddie’s. “There we go,” Long fingers make their way into Steve’s scalp, by the nape of his neck. He guides Steve to his groin, and the heady scent of sweat and musk floods Steve’s nose. His mouth waters. 

“Take what you need, baby.”

Steve does.

The longer he stays under, the heavier his head feels. Eddie’s presence envelopes him, pushes him down with gentle hands until Steve’s throat constricts with protest and his lips strain with the stretch. He stays, commanded by Eddie’s constant, stroking hand, and his equally gentle voice. 

“Fuck, Stevie, you have the perfect mouth you know that?” 

If he could answer he would. Instead, Steve lets the praise wash over him like the incoming tide, slowly moving up and up over his head until he’s completely submerged. Every breath Steve takes fills his lungs with Eddie, all of him, his sweat, his cum, his scent, his voice. Steve drinks it up greedily. 

“So good for me, Stevie,” Eddie purrs. Steve tries to answer, but chokes on Eddie. The other man chuckles, and it rumbles against Steve’s ear. “It’s ok, baby, I know. Just be good for me.” 

Steve does. He lets himself be coaxed into obedience by Eddie’s hand. He tries to stay still, but the taste is too much. Eddie slowly fills out in his mouth, pulsing and leaking on his tongue. Steve swallows it down with a soft whine. Above him, Eddie curses. The gentle hand in his hair starts to twist into something familiar and mean. Steve moans softly. 

“Stevie…” Eddie warns quietly. There’s something building between them, and as Eddie’s hand tightens a bit more, Steve can feel it on his back, this hot, crushing thing that demands his attention, to be held. “Baby, I can’t—” Eddie hisses. His hips jerk involuntarily, and Steve, though his throat jaw aches, pushes down to meet Eddie. His hands tighten on Eddie’s damp slacks, telling Eddie that he can , he should. Steve needs him to. 

He moans properly this time, humming around Eddie and making him tremble against the car seat. Something prideful licks at Steve’s insides at the sound. He swallows experimentally, the same way the girls who would get him off do, and that makes Eddie drop his head with a groan. 

“Stevie you—” He braces against the seat, one hand on the back of Steve’s head while he pushes up into Eddie’s mouth. “Can I please—ah fuck.” 

Steve loves it, swallowing up all of Eddie’s thoughts with just a few licks. He’s not the best at giving head. Drool pools from his mouth and wets Eddie’s pants. He slurps messily, trying to clean up, but by the sound of Eddie above him, there isn’t a need to. As he pushes down, Eddie moves up, poking the back of Steve’s throat and making him gag each time. 

Steve whimpers, but it gets cut off as Eddie thrusts into his mouth. 

“Fuck Steve, Steve keep going pl-please.” Eddie moans. He gets a good grip on the back of Steve’s head, guiding him up and down at his pace. Steve hums and closes his eyes, letting Eddie take as much as he wants. It hurts, his neck strained, his back aching bent over and twisted to get the right angle. But it’s all muted under the sound of Eddie’s voice, pitching up just how Steve likes, a little warning cry of what’s to come.

“Steve—”

Just like that. Steve moans and hopes Eddie understands what he’s asking for. Eddie whines, a little nasally thing that under the right circumstances, would have Steve doubled over with laughter. But the sound goes straight to his overly sensitive dick. It twitches in his lap. Eddie chants his name as he gets closer, twists his fingers into Steve’s scalp without a care how it feels. Lovely, if anyone’s wondering, it feels lovely to be twisted and pulled and molded to Eddie’s liking, for Eddie’s pleasure. 

Steve digs into the damp fabric of Eddie’s slacks. His throat constricts threateningly with Eddie’s thrusts, but Steve stays put, eyes shutting so he can focus on what really matters: the sound of Eddie’s breathy, fucked out voice.

“Baby,” Eddie whines. “Stevie ‘m gonna—” he swallows down the rest of his sentence like he doesn’t have the energy to say it. Instead, he moans, tugging Steve down until his hips push up to his trained lips. Steve’s body aches, but he listens to the constant whines above him, wordless pleas to be good, to do good, to make Eddie feel good. His nose digs into the zipper of Eddie’s slacks. 

When Eddie cums, it catches Steve off guard. So deep under, he didn’t notice the babbling warning he was given before Eddie began to spill down his throat. It’s jarringly warm on Steve’s tongue. His throat finally makes good on all its threats, and Steve pulls away gasping and coughing. 

Eddie’s cock still twitches and spills in long ropes on his chin and cheek, and somehow, being painted feels so much better than swallowing. Steve keens and leans in, lapping up what he missed. Eddie hisses above him and grips the back of Steve’s neck. Steve gasps as he’s pulled up. “Fuck Ed—”

Eddie devours the rest of his sentence with a hungry kiss, more tongue than Steve can accommodate. He moans loudly around the intrusion, and makes room for Eddie within himself. He finds himself gasping as they break a part, like he needs to share every breath with Eddie. His back hurts from twisting into Eddie’s space, but he stays, smiling against Eddie’s lips as they kiss slowly. Eddie moans into his mouth, tasting what landed on Steve’s tongue. He digs into the back of Steve’s neck like he wants to find a way in.

“Fuck, Steve,” Eddie giggles when they part. His breath tickles Steve’s lips. “That was…”

Steve laughs too. “Yeah.” He looks between them, their outfits unfit for anything but the washing machine. “Sorry about your new clothes.” Steve grimaces and looks back up at the other man. 

He shrugs, unconcerned as ever. “No harm no foul, Stevie.” Eddie beams. 

“But you can’t—” Steve’s lips twist up with frustration. There’s no way he’d let his passenger—dealer—friend—ruin a perfectly good suit. 

“Can’t what?” Eddie laughs. “It’s fine, dude. I’ll just change real quick before you drop me home.”

“You’ve gotta get it dry-cleaned, Ed.” Steve frowns.

Eddie just rolls his eyes, starting to undo the buttons on his ruined shirt. He grumbles about why he never gets suits. “It’s fine. I’ve got time before the big ball.” He smiles amicably and shrugs off the white shirt. His chest is still flushed red. 

“I can do it.”

“What?” 

“Let me get it cleaned for you.” Steve shrugs. “My fault it’s ruined.”

Eddie pauses as he tugs his t-shirt back on, looking at Steve like he’s about to object. He can see it coming, from the way Eddie’s lips part to the cross of his brow. 

“It’s no problem, dude. Seriously. Least I can do.” Steve gathers up the damp button-down off the car floor, folding it up neatly. Eddie watches quietly, unsure of what to say. 

“Please? Just let me do this for you, Eddie.” Steve asks his shoes. 

“Yeah,” Eddie finally says. There’s some shuffling between them, and Eddie dumps the soiled dress pants on the floor. “Might not wanna touch those,” he warns with a chuckle. Steve snorts and looks up at Eddie’s smiling face. Against the warm street lights, Eddie’s face melts into something genuine. “Thanks, Steve.” 

Steve smiles. Something sweet sits on his tongue, a compliment or a confession, he’s not sure, but Eddie speaks before he can let it spill from his mouth.

“Finally cleaning up after yourself, huh, Harrington?” 

Steve tosses his head back with a laugh, pushing the other giggling man away. “Keep talking like that and you’re walking home, Munson,” he says between giggles. 

“Ah, but you’d love to watch me leave, wouldn’t you?” Eddie chides, trying to put his jeans back on as best he can. He shimmies back and forth, tongue sticking out in concentration. He looks up when he realizes Steve’s been watching him. “What?” 

“Nothing.” Steve grabs Eddie’s vest and passes it to him. “Wouldn’t want you to forget this.” As Eddie takes it, the small baggy Eddie bargained with falls out between them. 

“Huh.” Eddie stares at it like it grew legs. Steve frowns.

“What?” 

Eddie opens and closes his mouth like he’s trying to speak for the first time. He shakes his head. “Nothing it’s—” he picks up the baggy and shoves it in his pocket. “It’s nothing.” He looks back up at Steve. “Thanks for getting me outta there.” He smiles. 

Steve shrugs. “Yeah, man, uh, anytime.” He tries not to think about what Eddie was going to say, and instead, adjusts himself so he looks ready to get out of the car. “Ready to go home?” 

Eddie nods. “Ready to drive?”

“Hawkins Chauffeur, that’s me,” Steve jokes as he gets out of the car. “But for you,” he says, getting into the front. Eddie sits in the middle of the seats, resting his head just behind Steve. “No charge.”

“Ah, you’re a doll, Harrington,” Eddie croons and quickly gives him a peck on the cheek. He scoots into the back seat again before Steve can protest. Instead, he starts the car up and begins cruising down the empty roads to Forest Park. “Next time,” Eddie says, rolling down the windows. The wind whips about and through his hair as the car picks up. 

“Next time, I’ll owe you one.” Eddie’s offer gets caught in the breeze and flies into the night before Steve can catch it.

Chapter Text

Steve takes slow, cautious steps. Cotton fills his head. Noise fills his ears. He was told to be quiet, and for once he decides to listen, lest he fuck up a once in a lifetime moment. Still, the chatter around him is maddening, tiny acts of disobedience with every whisper, and giggle, and eventually, whooping and cheering. Each unwarned bellow makes his shoulders tense. 

Even in the open air of the football field, Steve feels suffocated by it all,  the booming microphone, his chattering peers, his robe, the eyes of his parents, trained on every step he makes to the stage, like walking across the scorching metal will be enough to commemorate the four years he’s had. 

While the bleachers repeat back names in a robotic cadence, Steve tries to press down the formative moments in the past four years. 

Bleak nights staring up at the ceiling, wishing he would see the ceiling fan instead of the blooming jaws of a monster. Ones pretending to be a teenager desperate for a drink for the sake of it. Afternoons spent packing and unpacking a car just in case, worried about the possibility of something just around the corner, waiting for the day the ceiling fan turns into something worse. 

“Steven Thomas Harrington.”

The sound of his name reminds him of the clothes on his back, and as Steve walks across the stage, he starts to count down the minutes until he’s able to strip it off. Pomp and circumstance suffocate him. Though he’ll be honest, the circumstances don’t call for a silk gown in the blazing heat of late June. 

He dutifully strolls across the stage, face stretching into something he isn’t aware of, hands shaking hands and hands being replaced with a diploma. By the time it reaches Steve’s hands, another name is being called in the same droning tone, and ushers are guiding him back to his seat in the same efficient line, back into the sea of dark green silk and plastic chairs. 

The strong hand on his back makes him jump. 

“Job well done, son!” his father says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. Steve nods and smiles back, trying to focus on finding the car instead of his father’s unneeded praise. Like he wasn’t getting an earful two weeks ago because he came home in the same clothes after a night in someone else’s van. 

Behind him, his mom talks about their reservations and the need to get to the car before they get caught in traffic, like getting caught in traffic in such a small town is even a possibility. 

“The whole town’s here, it’ll be impossible to get through.” She huffs. Steve itches to correct her, tell her that, no, there are a few missing from the cheering, sweating crowd, too busy building radio towers and practicing dungeons and dragons and playing guitars and listening to Black Sabbath to come to a graduation in the sweltering heat. Even if they wanted to come, Steve would’ve told them not to. The last thing he needed was for him to be further patronized and celebrated for the things he couldn’t give less of a shit about. 

“Keep your cap on!” His mom urges when they reach the restaurant. Steve tries not to scowl and instead laughs it off. He stuffs the cap and gown in the backseat before he gets out of the car.

The fork keeps hitting the roof of his mouth. The chicken is dry. The vegetables are overcooked. The music is too quiet and his dad is the same. The warped prong of the fork pokes his teeth. 

“So, what’s after this?” His mom asks first, after they’ve had their obligatory conversation about how good the food is. Steve runs his tongue on the roof of his mouth, soothing phantom cuts. 

“Better be a job.” His father jumps in before he can. They exchange looks. Before Steve can answer his mother’s question, his father chimes in again with, “and not some babysitting gig.”

“Babysitting is a great resume booster!” Mrs. Harrington supplies without really knowing what she’s saying. Her husband makes a face at her. Steve stays quiet.

“How’s that scoops job going?” His dad asks when Steve forgets to give his answer. 

As he pulls the fork from his mouth, the prongs nick his teeth. “Mm— fine.” he nods and smiles, knowing his content face will ruin whatever gross satisfaction his dad would get out of his suffering. Even if Steve does hate scooping ice cream and hates that his skin gets sticky and sweet after every shift. Despite all of it, he’d never give his dad the gratification of knowing his plan worked. 

“I like it. Definitely not the end but,” Steve shrugs, talking mostly to his mother to avoid the cold, angry stare coming from her right. “It’s fun.” 

“Fun.” Tom huffs like it’s a joke. Steve frowns. 

“What?”

“Work shouldn’t be fun , Steve. It should be hard. You should come work a couple days at the firm, kiddo, see what real work is all about.” Tom delivers his threat with a smile. 

“Well, like Steve said, dear,” his mother tries to smooth it over with a smile. “It’s a start. Right, honey?” 

Steve nods and forces a dry piece of chicken down his throat. “Y-yeah,” he nods, trying not to cough. “It’s a start.” 

The bright morning sky gifted that morning  is nonexistent when they leave the restaurant. Steve looks up to the forming storm clouds. Hot air whispers a warning down the nape of his neck. 

“Looks like rain,” his mother comments softly when the car ride home gets too quiet. Steve hums noncommittally. “Dear, your dad and I are going to the country club to meet some folks from out of town. Do you want to join us?”

“Ah, he wouldn’t like it.” His dad answers for him. Steve hates that he’s right. “Too stuffy for you, kiddo. Don’t you want to relax after your big day?” 

And yes, Steve would like to relax. He would also like to prove his father wrong. The two options wage a quiet war within him as he hums in thought. 

“Yeah,” he finally settles on. “It’s been a long day. Can you guys just drop me home?” 

When Steve steps out of the car, he conveniently leaves his cap and gown pushed under his father’s seat to be unnoticed by the careless eye. As they pull out of the driveway, Steve gives them a half-assed wave until they get to the neighbor’s house before finally turning heel to get inside. As he walks to the door, the clouds start to follow through on their threats of rain. 

The patter of the rain is the only sound that greets him on his entry into the house. It echoes through the high-ceiling living room and drips down the windows. Steve sheds his suit and shoes, ready to get into something more comfortable. He listens to the itch under his skin and the layer of sweat that clings to him, ready to rid himself of it. 

When he hops in the shower, the hot water does its work of beating into his skin, scraping off whatever gunk and pomp and circumstance might still be clinging to him. He doesn’t usually take  long, but this time, he makes sure to scrub his scalp, dig into his arms and wash himself red and shiny and new. 

Still, even stripped of a layer of skin and with fresh clean clothes on his back, Steve itches somewhere he couldn’t reach, feels himself digging into an untouchable place to retrieve something that isn’t there anymore. His stomach growls, though it’s full of an unpleasant meal. After getting dressed, Steve makes a bee line for the living room, and surprisingly, not for the remote. 

He picks up the receiver and lets his other hand work from muscle memory until the dial tone starts to drone in his ear. He tries to distance himself from the noise, from the inevitable click and recorded voicemail that’ll answer his plea. 

“Hello?” 

“Eddie?”

“Stevie! Congrats on the big day, dude!” Eddie’s warm voice comes through the speaker. “How was it?”

“I uh,” Steve licks his lips, trying to catch himself after the unexpected pick up. “Are you free?”

“For you? Of course.” Eddie’s smile wraps around Steve like a blanket. 

“I mean, I don’t wanna bother you if you’re—”

“Are you kidding, man? I’m just working on some D&D stuff. What’s up?” 

“Can you meet me at Lou’s?” Steve asks. His index finger starts to turn cold and purple from how tight the phone cord is wrapped around it. “Just wanted to grab a bite with you.” He says a little shy, and Eddie croons from the other end. 

“ ‘course, Steve. Meet you there in twenty? Or do you need me to do the gentlemanly thing and give you a ride?” 

Steve snorts. The chord starts to loosen around his finger. “Nah, I’ll meet you.”

“See you soon, graduate.” 

The rain pours harder as Steve pulls into the diner parking lot. He runs into the diner, vulnerable to the rain’s assault. The roar of the storm stops as soon as the door closes behind him. In the diner's warm glow, Steve warms up. 

“Hi honey,” the waitress smiles at him. “You waiting for someone?” 

Steve smiles back, still a little frazzled. “Uh,” he scans the diner, and sees Eddie sitting in a booth by the window. “Yeah, there he is.” He thanks her quietly and makes a beeline to Eddie, trying to calm the excitement on his face. 

Eddie doesn't. He practically buzzes with excitement as Steve comes into his line of vision. 

“Hey dude!” he instinctively gets up, presumably to give Steve a hug, but sits back down once he realizes what he’s doing. 

Steve settles into the squeaky leather seat opposite with a smile. Something in his chest relaxes, and he gives himself permission to smile. “Hey.” 

“Hey.” Eddie grins, looking ready to jump out of his seat. Before they get to formalities, the waitress stops by to collect their order. Steve asks for the only thing he’s been craving all day, a hamburger and fries, and Eddie gets a reuben with mushrooms. 

“Mushrooms?” Steve’s face scrunches up. Eddie rolls his eyes. 

“They’re good, you big baby. You gotta expand your palate.” 

They giggle, sipping their sodas and eyeing one another like they’ve never had a chance to get a good look until now. 

“So,  how’ve you been?” Eddie asks casually, and Steve can’t help but chuckle, like they didn’t see each other last week and the entire town wasn’t at Hawkins High this morning. 

“Fine. All things considered.” He settles on, grinning as Eddie’s face curls up.

“Fine?” he gawks. “Dude, you’re home free! What do you mean, ‘fine’?” 

Steve can’t help but laugh at that, like high school was the only thing holding him back from the rest of his life. He shrugs and tries not to make a big deal about it. 

“You can finally get out of this shit town, man! See the world, I dunno.” Eddie says like the possibility is inches from his own hands. 

“Free from school but now, I’ve gotta figure out what I actually wanna do.” He reasons. 

Eddie shrugs it off, not understanding the whole picture. “Well, you’ve got rich parents so they can help you out.” He says, and Steve hums in an attempt to brush off the other man’s callousness. 

“Yeah they’re uh, trying.” He says with a light chuckle. 

The waitress swoops back in with their orders, filling up the uncomfortable, existential conversation with food and a light argument about mushrooms, getting Steve to laugh between bites of his burger. Though common and plenty, each bite satisfies Steve, sharing the meal in good company. The taste is familiar, instantly warming him up after a cold day of formalities and structure. He lounges back in the squishy booth, humming contently as he pops a fresh fry in his mouth. 

“Jesus christ man, are you gonna fuck it or something?” Eddie snorts, pulling Steve from his food induced stupor. 

“Wh—it’s just really good, okay?” 

“Parents forgot to take you out for a ‘congratulations’ lunch or something?”

“Nah,” Steve sips his milkshake. “They did but it was shit. Dry chicken and overcooked shit.” 

“Oh heaven forbid the chicken is dry,” Eddie mocks with a gasp, tossing his head back like he’s about to faint. Steve rolls his eyes and continues to pick at his fries. 

“What can  I say, I'm a simple guy, not really a fan of dry chicken,” he shrugs. “Or mushrooms.” 

He smiles as Eddie argues with a mouthful of Ruben shoved into his cheek, about how Steve needs to expand his palette and stop eating dry chicken and shitty vegetables because of the price tag. He practically glows under the dim diner lights. They flicker from time to time with the violent storm. The rain beats down outside but Steve keeps his eyes on Eddie, going on and on between bites of food about  mushrooms and their protein and powers and minds of their own and—

“You’re not even listening to me, are you?” Eddie finally swallows his bite, and Steve shakes his head. 

“Whuh?” He swallows the big bite of hamburger he took. “No, no ‘m listening,” he pops some fries in his mouth. “Stuff about the minds of their own sounds super interesting.” 

“Well yeah, they have like, nervous systems and shit.” Eddie says, almost a little sad. “Sorry,” he mumbles, mostly to his plate. “I jus’ get to talking sometimes you can tell me to—”

“I’ll never get tired of listening to you, Eddie.” Steve says before he can finish. The other man stops, and finally takes his eyes off his loaded fries. “Seriously. It’s why I called you.”

“What? You need a white noise machine?” Eddie jokes, and Steve snorts, trying his best to be serious. 

“No, dude, no I mean…” the thought’s been in his head for a while now, but trying to finally vocalize it, feels like pulling teeth. He looks away from Eddie’s expectant face, finally saying, “I like spending time with you.” Once the words come out, he cautiously looks up from his plate to find Eddie’s smile blooming like a fucking tulip. 

“Awhhh—”

“Don’t,” Steve tries to fight his smile, rolling his eyes. 

“You like spending time with me!” Eddie laughs. Under the table, something bumps Steve’s shin. Eddie winks. “Can’t get enough of this, huh, Harrington?” 

“Can it Munson, before I change my mind and leave.” 

“In this rain? And leave this food behind? Yeah, I doubt that.” Eddie winks and pops a fry in his mouth. Steve scoffs and throws a fry, hitting Eddie’s chest. 

He deflates back into the squeaky booth with a pained groan. “Oh! The betrayal! How could someone so dear to me become such a terrible foe!”

“Dear, huh?” Steve chuckles and takes another bite of his burger. “Sounds like you like me or some shit.” 

“Quite the opposite, Harrington, I assure you.” Eddie winks. 

After their plates are clean, and Steve finally feels satisfied, they order two milkshakes. Steve goes for chocolate, which Eddie has plenty of thoughts about, which is fascinating because he goes for strawberry instead. 

“Strawberry, really?” Steve hums as the waitress walks away with their clean plates and dessert orders. Eddie shrugs. 

“They’re the best kind, I don’t want to hear another bad food opinion come out of your mouth, okay Harrington?” He mumbles around the straw. “My mom used to get them for me when I was a kid,” he confesses. 

Steve perks up. “Did you guys share them?” he pries gently.

“Yeah, even when I was super little, I always wanted one of my own but she knew that I’d never finish it.” Eddie stirs and slurps his milkshake. Steve watches with a patient smile, peeking into a life that isn’t his, finding happiness in memories that aren’t his own. 

“She sounds cool.”

“Yeah,” Eddie’s eyes dart up for a second. A smile graces his face. “She was.” Steve doesn’t ask about the tense. 

“Can I try it?” He asks instead. Eddie pauses his stirring with a frown. “The milkshake, dude.” Steve clarifies with a giggle.

Eddie passes the glass without a question. Steve trades his in return. “Sometimes things taste better when they aren’t yours.” he reasons. 

Eddie grins around his straw and winks as he takes a sip of Steve’s drink. “You wanna get out of here?” he offers before Steve can continue. 

“Where, dude? It’s pouring.” Steve says to keep the eager ‘yes’ down just a bit more. 

Eddie shrugs. “Don’t wanna leave yet,” he confesses quietly to their empty plates. Whatever taunt about Eddie’s neediness dissolves in the back of Steve’s throat.

“We can go to mine.” he offers, and Eddie smiles a bit around the chocolate-filled straw. “Gimmie one sec, gotta take a leak and we can go. Sound good?”

“Aye aye, cap’n.” Eddie gives him a salute as he gets out of the squeaky booth. 

Steve pretends to make his way to the back of the restaurant to the bathroom, but rounds the corner to meet the waitress at the bar. “Excuse me.”

The waitress looks over her shoulder and gives him her best customer service smile. “What can I do for you, honey?” 

“Just wanted to pay,” Steve fishes a twenty from his wallet and passes it to the waitress. “Keep the change.” He smiles and walks back to the booth before she can ask  a question. 

As he slides back in his seat, he feels Eddie's distrustful gaze on him. 

Steve frowns. “What?” 

He gets a frown back. “Did you just do what I think you did?”

“And if I did?” Steve arches a brow and sips a luke-warm strawberry milkshake. 

Eddie squints. “You didn’t have to do that, Harrington.” Steve shrugs. “No, seriously, man I don’t want you—” Eddie sags into the booth with a sigh. “Thanks, I guess.”

“You’re welcome, ungrateful ass.” Steve says without any bite. 

“Ungrateful? That’s a lot coming from you, Harrington.” Eddie scoffs and tosses a crumb that doesn't hit Steve. “Can we get out of here?” 

“Absolutely.” 

The rain pelts the ground at the same pace it did when Steve first showed up to the diner. Thunder rumbles over their heads. The awning does little to protect them against the storm. 

“Well shit.” Eddie observes with a huff. Steve snorts in agreement. Complete shit. “So are we racing or what?” Eddie eyes him.

“I vote we go in your van instead,” Steve squints in the rain, trying to spot his car in the downpour. 

“Ah. no can do, man.” 

“What do you mean ‘no can do’?” Steve frowns. 

“Band stuff. Forgot to take it out before I came so,” Eddie shrugs, “no room.” He lolls his head in Steve’s direction, mustering his most flattering smile. “Where is your chariot, king?” 

Steve looks in the rain, pointing further down the way under some trees. “Up for getting a little wet?”

“For you Harrington?” Eddie’s smile turns cheshire wide. “I already am.” He dashes off into the pouring rain with a howl. Steve stands under the awning for a second longer, still reeling from his friend’s ludicrous words. 

“C’mon, Stevie I’m not getting any dryer over here!” Eddie hollers from under the tree canopy. His hair is already plastered to his face like his t-shirt. Though he’s already getting soaked, Eddie beams like the shining sun. Steve sprints to get a bit of the warmth.

Clouds rumble overhead. The leaves tremble with fear. Eddie grins up at the gray skies, blinking away heavy rain drops. Steve fishes his keys out of his pocket. .

Eddie giggles beside him. “Need help over there?” He teases while Steve pushes his wet hair from his forehead.

“Shut up and get in the car,” Steve sputters without much bite, finally getting the car to unlock after some fumbling. Eddie listens with a giggle, sliding into the passenger’s seat. The leather seats squeak under his wet legs, and Steve follows with his own dripping clothes. 

“Jesus fucking—” Eddie grumbles, quickly tying his hair up to try and get the water from out of his eyes. Steve tries to do the same, frantically pushing his hair back, only for it to fall flat on his head again. The laughter from his right makes him turn with an arched brow. 

“Something funny Munson?”

“Well, for starters, that mop on your head is fucking hilarious.” Eddie says with a grin. “A little rain is all it takes to ruin your reputation?” 

“That’s fucking rich coming from you, dude. You look like a wet dog,” Steve snorts and pushes lightly at Eddie. The other man goes down with a laugh, shoving back with his foot. 

“Well, so much for trying to go home.” Steve says with a sigh, not even wanting to think about driving. 

“Who said anything about that?” The leather squeaks as Eddie inches back towards him. Steve watches the window, and only turns his head when Eddie’s sopping wet head rests on his shoulder. 

“Dude you’re soaked,” Steve huffs, but Eddie presses closer when he moves away. “Ed, seriously—”

“So are you what difference does it make?” Eddie giggles and smashes his wet hair into Steve’s shoulder. The strands tickle his neck. Steve groans, getting ahold of Eddie’s shoulder to push him up. He scowls at the grinning man, all too pleased to have gotten under his skin.

“Happy?”

“Indescribably, so.” Eddie purrs and tips his chin up, stealing a kiss off of Steve’s frowning lips. “Want me to leave?” he asks, deciding to rest his chin on Steve’s chest. His patient eyes swallow up all of Steve’s attention. 

“No,” Steve says softly, bringing Eddie up to close the gap between them. 

 The rain pelts the roof, drowning out any other sounds that might be present. The windows are clouded with the flowing water, and under the trees, the falling leaves make it all the worse. Thunder roars above them, drowning out whatever soft noises Steve itches to hear from Eddie. Lightning illuminates the darkening sky. The once gray storm clouds blacken as the sun sets. 

The sky crashes above them, making Eddie jump in Steve’s arms. He grins at the trembling man. “You’re not afraid of a storm, are you?” Steve teases. 

“Are you kidding me? Dude that was loud as hell! You’re not—” the clouds rumble above them and Eddie looks out the window skeptically. 

“Say the word and we can drive to my house.” Steve offers, patting Eddie’s damp back. 

“Oh you’d love that wouldn’t you Harrington?” Eddie rolls his eyes. 

“Yeah, maybe I would,” Steve grins, tipping into Eddie’s space again. They meet in a slow, smiling kiss. It’s more teeth than lip before they can stop laughing into their parted mouths. The feels Eddie hum into his mouth, but the sound gets lost in the rain beating above them. He tugs at Eddie’s t-shirt. The fabric stretches between his knuckles, coming away worn and wrinkled. Eddie takes the hint and tries to climb into Steve’s lap. 

“Shit—” the taller man knocks his head on the roof. Steve snorts. He gets a glare in response. 

“C’mere,” Steve coaxes Eddie into another kiss, getting him to dip his head down and into Steve’s space. Despite the length of his legs and the span of his arms, Eddie curls into Steve like he can fit between his ribs. He can barely fit in Steve’s arms, limbs bent and pushed out to get somewhat comfortable. Steve tries to focus on the kiss, but Eddie’s still shifting, restless, wet, and aching. 

“You ok?” Steve asks against his lips. 

“Not really,” Eddie groans. He eases himself off of Steve’s lap, groaning softly as he shifts back into the other seat. “My shit’s been killing me.” He grumbles and fishes through his pockets. As he comes up empty, Eddie huffs under his breath. 

“What?” Steve frowns at him, about to ask if there’s anything he can do to help, but Eddie waves him off. 

“ ‘m fine. Just needed some weed but,” he sighs up at the ceiling. “Left it at my place.” 

“Oh.” Steve says softly, suddenly unsure of where to place his hands. They settle in his lap, acutely aware of how his jeans stick to his skin. “You wanna go home then?” He knows the answer’s no, hears it pass Eddie’s lips, but the rest of it feels incomprehensible as Eddie says, “I came to see you.”

Steve pauses, opens his mouth to say something but isn’t sure of what to say. “I uh,” 

“Did you want to buy something?” Eddie asks, but without a poker face to help him, he disappointment starts to crease his brow and line his lips. "It's fine if you did I just thought that—"

“No! No I,” Steve wets his lips. “I dunno. I think we’re kinda past that.”

Eddie softens. 

“Like uh,” he scoots up to lay against the car door. The rain beats outside, fighting to be let in. “Like…” 

Steve can’t say the easy truth that he's known for what seems like forever, since the party, since Eddie first saw him sitting on a stranger's living room couch in a sea of blurry faces and asked if he was okay. Since Eddie first sat down next to him and started to roll them a joint, Steve never wanted to leave his side. 

"I just missed you. I always miss you when you're not around." Steve finally settles on, unable to get the real words out, the ones lovers say in the books he's assigned in class and the ones all the smooth guys say to the girls when they get to this point, in the back of a car trapped by mother nature. And finally in his moment, Steve realizes there isn't a lot he can say, whatever feelings love might encapsulate, he can't get it out. 

So instead, he pushes it into Eddie’s mouth, gently, softly, slowly. The noise that spills into Steve sounds like a secret, one the storm couldn’t drown out. He savors every second of it, bottles it up for safekeeping like he won't be able to get Eddie to make it again. With a bit of pressure from his teeth, he does, louder, like Eddie's trying to tell him something. Steve's not sure if he's listening correctly. He moves lovingly. Eddie speaks lustfully. 

With a gentle push of Eddie's shoulder, Steve gets him on his back, making sure to follow him down as best he can. His other hand goes for the car seat in front of him, using it as leverage so he can focus on teaching Eddie his foreign language. He's still a bit rusty, a beginner at best in whatever this bullshit is, but he tries nonetheless. 

"Eddie," he murmurs against wet lips. Soft breaths tickle his upper lip. "I want," he thought a bit of action would get the words out, but they feel even more trapped, and with a pair of restless hips against his own, there's no use trying to get them. 

"Yeah?" Eddie asks like he's breathing for the first time. "You need something, Harrington?" 

It feels wrong, the way he says it, like he's looking for something else. Steve shakes his head. 

"You. I want you—" 

"Yeah you've made that pretty clear, dude." Eddie jokes. Pretty pink lips blossom into a grin. 

"No, Ed," Steve says, despite the laugh that bubbles with his words. "No, I want you." 

Eddie frowns. "Oh you mean—" 

"Yeah dude." 

"Wow, okay dude. Really living up to your romantic reputation, huh?" 

"Man—" Steve snorts and pushes at Eddie's face. The other man blows a raspberry into his palm. Steve squeals. "Awh, cmon, dude, gross!" Eddie grabs his wrist, pulling his hand back to his mouth and giving him a nip. 

"Fuck you." Steve giggles. 

"Hmm happily," Eddie gives him a pleased smile. He brings Steve's hand to his lips and gives his knuckles a kiss, sweet and tender like Steve was moments ago. "Now, what were you trying to tell me?" 

"Look dude," Steve sighs and looks at their hands, finding them nearly interlocked. Eddie's rings still catch the little light that hasn't been eaten up by the storm.

"I…" Steve talks to their hands. Eddie watches him curiously. "I really like you.” 

“I’d hope so.” Eddie grins. The other man snorts, pulling his hand away. 

“Shut the fuck up, I’m trying to be serious!” Steve groans. He falls back into the seat,  hands covering his face. Eddie laughs and follows him, laying on his chest. They rise and fall together with each breath. He reaches for Eddie’s hands and takes them into his own. 

“Okay. Serious now. Go on.” Eddie smiles. 

"I…” Steve traces over Munson’s open palms, from the love line to the life line to all the tinier ones he can never remember. “I know it’s a long shot but… Would you wanna maybe meet… outside of this uh,” He clears his throat. “Arrangement?” 

“Like a date?” Eddie supplies, and Steve relaxes. 

“Yes, a date. Fuck, thank you. I mean, would you? I mean if you don’t it’s fine just— just forget I said anything but I just thought since we’ve been—”

“Steve.” Eddie stops his quiet palm reading to hold Steve's hands in his own. “Yes. I’d really like that.”

Steve laughs out the rest of the tension. "O-okay yeah. Shit. Okay. That's uh," he swallows. Eddie smiles. "Awesome. Cool."

"Metal?" Eddie supplies, knowing he's missed the target entirely. Still, it gets Steve to bust a gut, so he must've hit something.

"Haha! I guess. Yeah sure. A little metal." 

Eddie grins down at Steve and it warms him up like an August sunrise. 

"Fuck." Eddie laughs. "Do you, I dunno. Catch a movie? Maybe go to the fair? I could pick you up. If you want. O-or you could pick me up it doesn’t really matter—" he supplies with a soft smile.

“You can pick me up, Munson.” Before Eddie can stutter some more, Steve surges up to give him a kiss, a wet smack that makes Eddie giggle and pull him closer. Steve goes willingly, licking into Eddie's mouth and smiling through each kiss. 

"You know," Eddie hums as he pulls away. "No one's ever asked me on a date before." 

Steve goes bug-eyed. "Wait. Like, ever?" 

Eddie shakes his head. “Nope,” he pops the ‘p’ at the end of his sentence. "Yeah, believe it Harrington. Get ready to have your ass wooed off.” 

Steve snorts. “Can’t wait. And I'll do you one better, pick me up, and I'll have your dry cleaning ready for you." 

"Awh," the metalhead croons. "You're a doll, Steve Harrington." He kisses Steve a quick peck. And then another. And another, until their quickness fades into something practiced and tender.

Chapter Text

Steve should’ve known something was up when he saw Hop’s kid running around Starcourt with Max without a care in the world.  Not to mention when Henderson returned from summer camp with a new hat and newer ideas about radio transmissions and a dream as American as apple pie. 

Getting wrapped up in a hair-brained scheme to save the world meant a lot of things fell by the wayside. Things like dry cleanings, like babysitting, like grocery runs, and chore duty. And things like dates to county fairs. There just wasn’t the time to call up a dear flame and leave a voicemail saying “Hey, hot stuff! Sorry, I gotta rain check on our county fair date. Yeah, I got kidnapped by some Russians and got knocked into next Thursday. How about we try again next week and catch a movie?” 

Unfortunately for Steve, in their vast underground network, the Russians didn’t bother to add a single pay phone. Go figure. Instead of focusing on a date ruined and a heart lost, Steve focused the little energy that hadn’t been beaten out of him into saving himself and Robin, stumbling away broken and bloody in hopes that they could live to tell each other the tale to stay sane.

And they did. Somehow, by the skin of their teeth. They made it out alive. Even just two weeks later, Steve’s not sure how it happened, managing to survive. If it wasn’t for Wheeler’s girlfriend with superpowers, Steve’s not sure where they would’ve ended up.

After spending a weekend in the hospital and finding himself unemployed and shit outta luck, Steve didn’t adjust easily back into ‘civilian life’ as Dustin keeps calling it. The papers are saying it was a fire, the neighbors are saying it was an earthquake. All Steve can call it is

“a nightmare,” Robin grumbles on the other end of the phone. She’s been chewing her way through this story about this babysitting gig that she’s been trying to start without much luck. “It sounds like a nightmare, Steve. I swear I have no clue how you’ve made so much money off these little terrors.”

“Yeah well,” Steve says, looking through the pantry for an easy snack. “A. I didn’t want to be a babysitter and B. I’m not getting paid.”

“Jeez, you really got the shitty end of it, huh?”

“Tell me about it,” Steve shovels chips into his mouth. In the living room, he hears Wheeler on the verge of an argument with Henderson, one Steve vows he’s not going to break up for a third time. 

“Sounds lively over there,” Robin’s laugh cuts through.

“That’s a word for it,” Steve sighs, though he does enjoy the sound of others in the house. “You should come join us.” As soon as he offers, he hears a scoff on the other end. 

“Are you kidding? So I can offer free childcare in exchange for a migraine? Fat chance.”

“Eh, I knew it was a long shot,” Steve chuckles and walks back to the receiver so he can keep an eye on the kids. Robin’s still trying to convince him to leave them alone and grab a bite to eat. 

“They’re practically teenagers, Steve. They can be alone—”

“Last time I tried that shit I had to explain to my mom why her favorite painting suddenly disappeared. I’m not doing that again.” Robin groans in defeat. “Sorry,” Steve grimaces. “How’s the job hunt going?” He asks instead. He’d been advised to take some time off, but true to his word, Harrington Sr. hadn’t given Steve so much as monopoly money, and Steve needed gas money some way. 

“There’s a record shop that just opened, thought about dropping by today if you’re interested.”

From the other room, Steve hears Lucas gloating about his victory in what can only be described as an offensively British accent. 

“I’ll pick you up in fifteen,” Steve says decisively, and Robin laughs in agreement. 

As Steve pulls up to the record store, Robin’s shuffling through a stack of papers like she’s preparing for a project. Steve glances her way with an arched brow. “What’ve you got there?” 

“Resume,” Robin says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. She looks at him incredulously. “What, you didn’t bring your resume?”

“I thought that—”

“What you’d charm your way into a job, Steve?” 

His excuse falls short on his lips, because yeah, maybe he did think a nice conversation and a smile or two would be enough to get him a job. “Maybe,” he confesses with a downcast gaze. 

Robin pats the back of his head. “You’ll be fine, hot shot. C’mon,” she gets out of the car, and Steve follows, catching up to her in the record store.

The door opens to the wiry sound of an electric guitar coming through a new model of speakers, one Steve can only imagine costing a pretty penny.  He takes a quick look around but stays close to Robin most of the time, hoping that he can co-sign on her resume to sweeten the deal. 

But, Robin’s already searching through records eagerly, taking in all the store has to offer. Steve stares at the posters, picking out some familiar faces, and some not so much. There seems to be a theme, though— less pop and more rock. Not that Steve’s gonna complain. Well, maybe. 

The large posters of hair bands and screaming faces remind him of a particular someone who hasn’t called or visited in nearly a month. Steve left voicemails, trying to explain the situation without sounding completely out of his mind, but all he ended up sounding like was a flighty teenager who was too nervous and embarrassed to be seen with the likes of Eddie Munson. 

So much for taking things seriously. 

“Dude!” Robin pulls him from his thoughts by the elbows, handing him a Madonna record with a grin. “First print, dude.” She winks. “Imagine getting that baby at a discount—or better yet—free!” She hisses with delight, lest the record store owner hears about her devious plot. Steve’s lips twitch with a smile. 

“C’mon,” she tugs him a little in the direction of the unattended front counter. “Let’s get this over with.” 

After ringing the bell, an older burly man pops his head out through the backroom. His mustache moves as he asks in a gruff voice, “Can I help you kids?”

The ‘kids’ blink at each other, waiting to see who’ll speak first. “Uh,” Robin lets out a nervous laugh. “Yeah, hi! Sorry, we heard you were hiring?” 

“I am.” The man comes through the door, a decorated name tag pinned to his chest reads ‘Paul’ in bright orange capital letters. “How old’re you?”

“Eighteen.” Both of them say in unison and Paul hums. It sounds slightly pleased, like an off-standish cat.

Robin slides her resume across the counter, and Paul takes a look at it silently. In the quiet, Steve’s mind drifts away, once again glancing at the posters decorating the wooden walls. He comes across a bright orange and black poster, reading “W.A.S.P.”, and Eddie’s voice pops into his head without warning, explaining this ludicrous song that he’s trying to convince Steve is good. Imagining the metal head doing an air guitar solo to the bombardment of noise pouring from his van makes Steve smile, getting lost in the past when the present is too dull.

He catches bits of Robin’s conversation, something about her music taste, something about her work history. The jab she gives Steve’s side pulls him back again. “Me and this sucker used to work at Scoops Ahoy.” She beams. 

Paul’s eyes go wide. “At Starcourt?”

“Yeah, that’s the one,” Steve forces himself to laugh. His skin begins to crawl, thinking of the creature that nearly killed them.

“Were you two there?” Paul asks cautiously. His eyes light up with morbid curiosity. 

“Yeah,” they both say, both a little solemn. They get the obligatory apology, the same one they’ve gotten from loads of strangers over the month, with sorry looks in their eyes like they’re two kittens in a box on the side of the road. 

“Guess you could see why we’re in the market for another job,” Robin adds with a laugh, and that turns Paul's mustachioed lips up again.

“I’ll say,” he scans Robin’s resume and looks at Steve. “What about you, kid?”

“Huh?” Steve blinks, and the neon lights that buzzed in his brain calm down, remembering he’s in a record store and not the mall again. “Oh, uh, worked at Scoops, did a bit of babysitting, uh, I  was president of the American Business Union in high school.” 

The list doesn’t seem to impress Paul as much. He makes another displeased cat noise. “Got any of that in writing?” 

“No sir,” Steve’s gaze casts down. “Sorry.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” Paul reassures, but it doesn’t help all that much. “I’ve got your number, Robin, so I’ll give you two a call in about a week. How’s that sound?”

Steve nods, and Robin agrees with a little delight in her voice. Something tells him he’s not gonna get the gig. Not that he really wanted it anyway. Too many memories he didn’t want to revisit were plastered all around him. 

After giving their thanks, Paul makes his way to the backroom again, and Robin wanders around the shop some more, checking out the little trinkets and occasional instruments that are hanging on the wall.

Steve stays close to her, flipping through records without paying much attention to what’s on them. Robin’s excitement usually gets him in a good mood, but her usual charm isn’t turning him. 

“Hey,” she glances at him, and the concern in her eyes makes Steve want to shrink away. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing! Nothing,” Steve shakes his head and picks through some Bob Dylan records. “Just uh, wish I’d brought something.”

“Well, if this doesn’t work out, there’s always something else,” Robin shrugs, and Steve nods along. “But that’s not it, is it?” she asks a little quieter. Steve sighs, a heavy thing that pulls on his shoulders. 

“No.”

“Is it—”

“It doesn’t matter, Rob.” Steve runs a hand through his hair and crosses his arms protectively. “He’s not calling back. I fucked up.”

“Dude, we got fucked up, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

But it feels like it. Maybe if he didn’t listen to Dustin, if he just minded his own business for once, maybe if he dropped the fucking sword for once he’d be able to—

“Hey,” Robin catches his hand and holds his twitching fingers. “It’s okay,” Steve can barely see Robin through his unshed tears. With heavy breaths and quick blinks, he fights the urge to break down in the store. “He’ll come back, seriously. It’ll be okay, Steve.” 

Her sincerity brings him back just a bit, and he nods in agreement, quietly whispering ‘yeah’ and forcing himself to smile. Robin does the same, and despite how pitiful and careful it looks, Steve doesn’t shy away from it. “Hug?” she asks, and Steve nods, wrapping his arms tight around her and burying his face into her neck with a heavy sigh. 

“There there, big guy,” Robin pats his back, and Steve lets out a groan, and with it, his tension subsides. They stay like that for a moment, with a quiet song playing over those fancy speakers behind the counter. 

If being afraid is a crime we hang side by side…

Steve’s arms wrap a little tighter around his best friend, squeezing a laugh out of her. 

“Are you okay?” He makes a soft affirmative noise into the crook of her shoulder. 

“Thank you.” He murmurs, about to pull away when Robin holds him still. “Uh,” he frowns. “Rob? What’s uh…”

“Uh. Don’t turn around.”

“What?” Steve pulls away, fighting against Robin’s hold and disobeying her advice.

His eyes go wide as the door closes behind another patron. He doesn’t even look at Steve, walking on the opposite side of the store and keeping his gaze pointedly at everything else but Steve. 

“I—”

“Steve,” Robin tries to take his hand, but he doesn’t reciprocate, like he’s paralyzed by the sight. 

The mountain of metal and hair sweeps past the two gawkers, finding his way to the rock & metal section and picking through until he finds what he’s looking for with a smile. 

“I should talk to him—”

“Steve—” Robin grabs his wrist, and they finally look at each other. “I don’t think—”

“Maybe he just missed my voicemails! I just wanna ask,” Steve pulls away from his friend’s warning gaze and words, and makes his way over to the metal head, who’s trying his very best to ignore him.

Steve approaches like he’s trying not to spook an animal, trying to keep himself as disarming as possible. It doesn't work all that well, because Eddie glances over and his eyes immediately go wide. Steve puts his hands up in defense. Eddie steps back, keeping an album close to his chest. 

“Hey,” Steve starts tentatively. 

Eddie’s lips twitch before he replies with his own quiet ‘hey’. 

“I’m sorry.” Steve starts and Eddie sighs.

“I know. I heard your voicemails.”

“Wh—” Steve blinks. “Why didn’t you call back?” Something white hot springs up to his eyes and in his chest, wrapping around it tight. “I thought—”

“It was plain ol’ bullshit, Steve,” Eddie grumbles. “You couldn’t even give me a real excuse besides  work?  If you’re gonna lie, at least be original about it.” He rolls his eyes and puts the album back, about to walk away when Steve says,

“It wasn’t a lie,” he swallows the lump in his throat. “I just,” he sighs. “I couldn’t tell you the truth.”

“That you’ve been hanging out with Wheeler again, is that it?” Eddie’s eyebrow raises, and before Steve can explain, Eddie bites. “Don’t bother explaining that shit either, Harrington. Her kid brother told me the whole thing.” 

“Eddie that wasn’t—she was just—”

“Save it.” Eddie snaps and stomps off to the front counter. He rings the bell, and as soon as Paul sees who’s there, his face brightens up. 

“Eddie! Long time, man. Where’ve you been?” 

“Running around, you know me.” Eddie laughs and slides behind the counter. He doesn’t even look over his shoulder as he follows Paul into the backroom.

Steve swallows the thick lump in his throat, trying to blink away tears so he can follow Robin out of the store. She holds his hand the entire time, even when he says he doesn’t need it. Steve doesn’t even get a chance to start the car before the tears become too much and he starts choking up. 

It feels like he’s drowning in sorrow, hiccuping and blinking his way through hot tears that never cease. Robin doesn’t touch him, or say anything, just lets him heave and sob until his body trembles with the heaviness of it. He can’t quite name the emotion. Sadness? Heartbreak? Grief? The words tangle up and get caught in his throat until he’s choking and wailing on them. 

Steve presses his forehead to the steering wheel until his head starts to hurt, and when he finally lifts his head, Robin looks at him with a pained expression. 

“I’m sorry.” She says quietly, and though there isn’t anything better to say, Steve takes it with a quiet, choked-out ‘thank you.’

“I love you, Rob,” he sniffles.

“I love you too, Steve.”

Chapter Text

“What are you doing here?” 

Those were the first words Eddie said to him in almost a year, in a watery, helpless tone Steve barely heard over the sound of his rabbiting heart. Eddie stared at Steve like a stranger and threatened him like an enemy. If Steve wasn’t so terrified of getting cut, of getting outed, of revealing his past to his friends, he would’ve talked his ex down and done some digging. 

Steve was surprised to find Eddie hiding from the same jocks he goaded and teased constantly, like a fox hiding from a wolf. He wasn’t phased when Dustin called at work  asking him to play D&D with him and his ex Eddie. With Eddie. The two were from similar stitchings, both equally as nerdy, as outcasted, as imaginative, as funny, as—

The phone call was just another ploy to sit him down at the table. A way to conjure up memories from an easier time where things like high school and jobs and world-ending monsters weren't constant time thieves. 

What Steve was surprised by, however, was learning that said ex was a prime suspect for murder. 

Eddie Munson? For murder? Steve couldn’t have thought of a crueler joke the universe could play. And of course Steve was going to help Dustin prove Eddie’s innocence, even if he still felt slighted by Munson’s cold shoulder.

It was better Steve tagged along, because once Henderson made up his mind about something, he was going to do it, with, or without Steve. And while Steve wasn’t looking for a repeat of Starcourt, there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that he’d let the little shrimp do something that stupid on his own. 

It couldn’t have been worse than that summer. Right?

Right?

When Steve dove through a crack in the world, he knew he was wrong. He should’ve done better. By Nancy, by Robin, by Dustin, by Max, by Lucas, by the Wheelers, wherever in California they were. 

And by Eddie. Especially by Eddie. 

Deep under Earth, or in a different one—Steve’s still rusty on those details—he made a vow to Eddie. The same man who was ready to slice his throat open with a bottle and catch a real case. The same man who avoided Steve like the plague any time they were in the same room together. The same man who asked Steve to promise him. Promise him to

“Make him pay.” 

Steve should’ve known it was a goodbye. He should’ve known that look in his eyes, the same one Steve caught when Eddie was pinned against the highschool gym lockers a lifetime ago. It was fleeting and wide, a glimmer of hope that pierced through the fear they were all ridden with. 

Steve blames his own terror, for not saying anything, for wanting to, just once, trust Eddie and let him fight. Steve never gave him the chance to do that. He realized that when they were putting weapons together, watching Eddie goof around to ignore the fact that they weren’t coming back the same. 

No one did. As hard as they tried, when everyone was above the surface again, there wasn’t a recognizable face around them. Even the silence felt unfamiliar, enclosing around them like a bear trap unable to be pried open by nothing but Dustin’s tiny whimper. 

“Eddie’s still down there.”

Steve stared blankly, like he couldn’t quite believe what he heard. There was a plan, tight as a fly trap, one they all promised to follow regardless and of course, Munson, in his rebellious, freakish spirit, on the brink of death, wanted to prove them wrong. 

When Steve grabbed a gun and ran back to the gate, he didn’t care about Nancy and Robin, trying to call him back, the storm brewing overhead, or the earth quaking beneath his feet. All he cared about was getting Eddie back in one piece.

He landed on the mattress with a groan. Despite the ache in his knees, Steve forced himself to his feet, taking one frantic look around the trailer. “Eddie!” 

Screeching got his attention, drawing him from the safety of the decaying Munson trailer. 

Overhead, red electricity pierced through the rumbling clouds, following Steve through miles of wasteland. Despite the lack of demobats circling overhead, Steve kept looking over his shoulder, watching the sky like it would open and snatch him up. 

“Eddie!” he ran back to the bumpy path to Forest Park. “Eddie! Where the fuck are you?” He screamed, running up the Munson’s steps and banging on the boarded up door. “Eddie!” 

A screech echoed in the abyss behind the trailer. Steve clutched his gun. The second animal noise brought him away from the door, stalking around the other side to the source. 

“Eddie?” Steve called, voice filled with concern. “Eddie is that—”

He didn’t really understand what he was looking at. It twitched and oozed into the gravel. Two demobats perched atop it, tails swishing like delighted dogs with a treat. They chewed hungrily on their prize. 

Steve’s stomach dropped. 

Before he could second-guess himself, Steve charged forward with a howl, hoping the noise would draw the creatures away. Their eyeless, bloody heads turned up, jaws blooming with sinew and teeth. 

Steve did as Nancy taught him and aimed for the drooling maw. It exploded wetly before flopping to the side. The other bat screeched in Steve’s direction, tattered wings spread in a poor attempt to threaten. Its peatled mouth bloomed with a scream, poised to swallow Steve’s bullet. 

Shrapnel split the creature open into fleshy threads, flopping into a bloody heap on a twitching form. 

It gurgled helplessly. Steve ran towards it. 

“Eddie!” 

The place where Eddie's jaw used to connect flopped with a malformed reply. Steve fought back vomit to shower the bloody man with encouraging words. 

“It's gonna be okay,” he whimpered and cradled Eddie's limp neck with his good arm. “Promise, I'm gonna get you out.” 

He slipped the gun over his shoulder and slipped his other hand under Eddie's bloody knees. When lightning struck, Steve could see how Eddie's left leg twisted out of place. 

Eddie yelped as soon as Steve lifted him. Between ragged breaths into Steve's neck, he gurgled on his blood. It spilled between Steve's jacket and his skin. The metallic, rancid smell invaded his nostrils. 

“Breathe,” Steve coughed, stumbling up to the Munson trailer again. “I've got you, we're almost home,” he stepped over the cracked threshold. 

Eddie groaned. Warm liquid tickled the back of Steve's ear. “C'mon Ed just hold on,” Steve said between tears, repeating promises he wasn’t sure he could keep. “Please, we’re almost there,” he panted. The cracking gate above him shuddered. 

“Steve?” A distant voice cried.

“I found him!” He searched through the darkness for a sliver of light. “Hello? Guys! I need—”

The trailer was a wounded animal, groaning and quaking. The ceiling bent like a ribcage. Red light bled through each crack. Without a free hand, Steve squinted through the falling rubble, praying to see a familiar face staring back through the portal. 

“Robin!” He shouted. The trailer roared in pain. “Dustin!” Rubble caked Steve’s tearful face. “I found him! He’s alive!”

Eddie breathed shallowly against his neck, broken fingers trying to cling onto Steve. “Ureegh,” his watery cough exploded on the side of Steve’s sweaty neck. Bile and blood dripped down his head, sinking into his ear canal as he tipped his head up. 

“Help!” Steve screamed and hoped it would be heard over the storm. “Please! Somebody!” He yelled. The ground above him howled. It split open like an unholy birth. Sinewy tendrils slithered through the widening crack. The collapsing ceiling buckled under the rippling alien’s weight. 

Steve looked up in horror, heart pounding over the crumbling and cracking and thundering and screeching and squealing and roaring and—

“Steve!”

“Robin?” Steve yelled up to the wound in the ceiling. It groaned in response. “Robin, I'm here! Get help!”

“Hold on!” His best friend cried. Beyond the gate, Steve could pick up the familiar sound of his friends, their frantic cries and stumbling steps. 

“Hurry!” Steve cried. “He’s—” 

The ceiling groaned painfully, taking one more warning heave. Despite hearing the decaying trailer’s last breath, Steve held strong, clutching Eddie’s shivering, wet frame. 

“Steve?” 

“Dustin!” a smile spread across Steve’s tearful face. “Dustin, I found him! Eddie’s a—”

The gate collapsed with a final growl, swallowing up Steve’s declaration in a heap of alien flesh and crumbling infrastructure. Someone screamed beyond the rubble. Darkness ate away at the red light peaking through, inviting slimy microbes to make their way across Steve’s skin. Tiny teeth nibbled at his ear, his neck, his cheek, slurping at his warm body greedily.

Steve coughed, trying to call for help. Nothing but dust came up.

“Steve!” 

He screamed, paralyzed under the rubble. Eddie’s limp weight protected Steve from the worst of it. 

“Here! Over here!” Steve cried again. He tightened his grip on Eddie, trying to reassure him. “It’s okay. It’s okay, Eddie.” He whimpered, praying that he wasn’t crushed to death by the gate. 

Urgent chatter came from above them. Dustin screamed again for help.

“You’re gonna live,” Steve tilted his head against the sharp rocks, turning close to Eddie’s bloody face. “You’re gonna live. Promise.” 

“Steve we’re coming!” 

He shut his eyes tight, listening for any sign of life from Eddie. His loose chin drooped close to Steve’s ear. Soft breaths tickled his skin. 

“That’s it,” Steve hiccuped. “Breathe. Just breathe, please, just breathe.” He tucked in close to his limp lover. “I’m sorry, Eddie.” He sobbed. “ ‘m sorry—”

A croak filled the dusty, suffocating space. Steve’s eyes shot open. 

Eddie’s dirt-caked eyelids fluttered. His dislocated jaw worked and crunched loosely. 

Steve clutched him tight. “Eddie?”

“Scheeve…” 

“Eddie!” He cried, choking on his words as he yelled into the darkness. “He’s alive! He’s alive!” Steve put his trembling hand in Eddie’s hair, weeping into his shoulder.

Light pierced through the rubble. Steve squeezed his eyes shut and tucked into Eddie like he’d slip away. 

“He’s alive,” he babbled, curled up to Eddie’s coughing body. “He’s alive, he’s alive…”

Despite his constant attempts, Steve never got a chance to see Eddie. Nurses speculated over what could’ve caused such an accident. It was Nancy that lied and said they fell through a roof—two rowdy young adults poking their noses in abandoned buildings to fill it back up with life—at least, that’s the dream-like memory Steve toyed with while he was bed-ridden for a week.

His parents finally arrived on his discharge day. Without the blood and bruises Steve walked in with, they greeted him with polite concern at best and apathy at worst. 

Receiving the same lie the doctors did, the only thing his parents did was give a short lecture about being careless and keeping company with reckless people. 

“I don't understand why you keep hanging out with Munson’s kid, Steve.” His father grumbled as he got out of the car. Steve shuffled out from the backseat, using his better arm to open the door while his parents walked inside. 

After a well-needed shower, Steve dragged himself back to his darkened bedroom.  His backpack and two plastic bags greeted him when his parents did not, fleeing their son’s pain with a hand wave of a ‘pre-scheduled business dinner’. 

Trying to press the thoughts away, Steve trudged down to the living room to turn the television on to something just as loud and bombarding as his memories. Still, while the screen flashed and yelled for him, the answering machine’s wiry sound got Steve’s attention. 

Hello! You’ve reached the Harringtons. Sorry, but we can’t come to the phone right now. Please leave a message after the beep!

“Hey, Steve. Nance said you got home today…” Steve quickly mutes the television to hear his best friend’s voice. Robin sniffles a little before continuing. Behind closed eyes, Steve pictures her freckled nose red from crying, her blue eyes bleary like an ocean capturing sunlight. “Just wanted to see how you’re holding up.” 

Her whisper is still a little hoarse. Steve wonders how her bruises are healing up, whether her mom is hovering over her anytime she so much as clears her throat. 

“Visitors are probably the last thing you want but—”

The receiver is pressed to Steve’s ear before he realizes he’s up. “Rob.”

“Jesus, dude, hey.” Robin’s sad laugh ripples in his ear. “Are uh, how are you?”

“I’m uh,” Steve tries to find the words as he suddenly realizes it’s the first time he’s been asked that question all day. “I-I—” his breath gets caught in the words, turning into a sob as it spills out his mouth.

“Y-yeah,” Robin says in the same sad tone. They feel it, though it hasn’t been named yet. It lingers in the spaces between words, in the little pockets of silence that sit like an evening fog, the waiting. Waiting for the call, telling them Eddie didn’t wake up, that their luck on government money ran out and they had to pull the plug. Every breath without Eddie conscious feels borrowed. 

“Have you seen him?” Robin asks quietly, and Steve shakes his head.

“N-no,” he says when he finds his voice again. “I can’t.” 

He caught a glimpse between the cracked door, a mound of pink and red flesh covered in thin cotton and bandages. All that remains in Steve’s mind is the blur of color he saw as he was ushered on by the nurses. “Have you?” He asks.

“No.” Robin says quietly. Guiltily. “Nancy and I were going to visit later this week.”

Steve hums, hearing the open invitation on the other side of that sentence. “Hope it goes well.”

“Uh,” Robin sounds a little startled. “Are you going back to work?”

“Soon, yeah,” Steve doesn’t mention the need to fill his head, to cover up his memories with images of the latest blockbuster and the occasional cute girl. “Probably next week.”

“Oh.”

Steve frowns. “Oh, what?”

“That’s soon, is all.” Robin says quietly. “You don’t want to take a break?”

Steve sighs through his nose, breathing out the misplaced anger steaming in his chest. “Not really. Breaks are just—they’re too—” 

“I know.” Robin says over him, hearing the struggle in Steve’s voice. “Just… take care of yourself? Promise me that?”

Steve hums. “I’ll see you at work, Rob.”

“Oh—” Steve can practically hear the frown on Robin’s end. “I’ll be over soon.”

“But—”

“Nope, you’re not weaseling out of this one, Steve. Tomorrow. Okay?”

Steve hums again.

“Okay?” Robin presses.

“Okay. Okay, fine. But just you. I don’t—I just want to see you.”

“Alright, bud. Love you.”

“Love you too.” 

Seeing Robin was a breath of fresh air—of course it was. Even when he’s hell bent on suffocating every social aspect of his life, Robin swoops in like an emergency oxygen tank, breathing life back into him with everything she can muster. And this time, it was with an armload of snacks and a roster of movies snatched from the unprocessed returns collection at Family Video. 

It was the first time Steve felt above the drifting waves in days—probably weeks, but he’d stopped counting. Robin was mostly the reason he decided to go back to work, even if the days drifted on between their chatter and long summer days. 

As he goes through their new inventory, the chatter continues. He makes the occasional hum of agreement while Robin talks to a customer—and has been for a while. He can’t quite get into the conversation, and mostly goes back and forth in the wrap-around counter while Robin talks. 

The slap of paper on the linoleum counter is what brings Steve’s head up to see Dustin standing on the opposite side of the Family Video service counter. 

“He didn’t hear a word I said, did he?” Dustin asks over Steve’s shoulder. 

“Nope. Not one. He’s been like this all morning.” Robin gives his shoulder a shove.  

“Ow,” Steve frowns and looks over his shoulder in mock offense. Robin smiles back. “Your favorite kid is trying to share some very important top secret information with you. Listen up.” She nods to Dustin. “Go on, Henderson. What’s this about Hellfire?” 

Steve grimaces. “Wait, this is about your D&D club? Isn’t that Hawkins High only?” Seemed like all his friends were under the Hellfire spell. Even Robin started playing Dungeons and Dragons, proudly explaining the backstory of her ex-royal assassin gone rogue over stacks of returned tapes a few days earlier. 

Steve didn’t mind, honestly; it was cool that the kids—teens—group—party—whatever— had their own thing going on, even if that did mean Steve was picking and dropping the party off at the Wheeler’s every week or so. What he did mind, however, was the incessant recruitment speeches he received from everyone and their mother. It seems like everyone wants the Hair on their team. Hell, even Nancy mentioned how he might ‘benefit from a new hobby’. The last thing Steve wants is his ex-girlfriend telling him to reconsider a new hobby so he could spend even more time with his ex… whatever even more. No thank you. 

Still, here Henderson stands, proudly explaining the character sheet he already so generously filled out for Steve for an upcoming Hellfire Club meeting. 

“I just thought you needed a… y’know, a little push.” Dustin offers with a shrug. “Steve, please,” He starts as Steve begins to shake his head. “You’re a King for christs’ sakes.”

“Ooh, that’s cool! What’s this King’s name?” Robin interjects before he can give a resounding and affirmative ‘no’. 

The question has Dustin beaming. 

King Steven is a man who’s seen and done it all. He was a beloved ruler—

“Wait— was?”

“Yes, Steve, now will you let me finish?” 

He rolls his eyes, waving the kid on. 

Until plague and war befell his country, leaving his people in chaos and ruin. He wanders the halls of his abandoned castle, wishing he heeded the warning of Will the Wise before it was too late. His fall from grace was a tragic, endless, downward spiral into the unknown, Steve nearly losing himself after his peak as King—

“Wow, Henderson. Why don’t you say it to my face?”

“How tragic.” Robin clutches her tie with a gasp. 

“So… he’s a mad king?” Pushing past the obvious illusions to Steve’s own postgraduate ‘fall from grace’ as Henderson so beautifully wrote, tries to keep a stoic face. But… he’d be lying if he wasn’t the least bit interested in being a bonafide King, crown and all. 

“He would,” Dustin raises his finger, “if not for his only companion and heir to the throne: the prince.” 

“Is that supposed to be you?” Steve’s brow arches. 

Henderson’s lips curl into a cheeky grin. “...maybe...”

Together, the Fallen King and his son search for survivors daily in hopes of restarting a new life. Rumors beyond the city walls speak of a well granting unimaginable wealth and prosperity, but Steve needs help. He needs Edmond the Banished. 

“Wait what?” Steve’s brow knits. “Edmond? You mean Munson?” 

“Yeah no doy. Who else do you think dipshit?” 

Steve frowns. “First of all, ouch. Second of all, I think I have a right to ask considering he did graduate…” 

It was hard to forget it, too. They were all there for the graduation party, with pizza, D&D, and music so loud they nearly had the cops called on them. It was a good time, from what Steve could recall, and the weed Eddie brought as a ‘thanks-for-saving-my-ass-from-literal-Hell’ gift was even better. It smoothed out their relationship, considering the rollercoaster it went on. But since then, Steve hadn’t seen much of Munson, which, to his credit, was deliberate avoidance. 

The only whisper he got of the guy was Eddie’s van parked outside the Wheeler’s every Friday. Sure, Henderson urged the two of them to hang without him, but old habits die like an interdimensional super-demon. Which is, to put it lightly, hard as shit. 

Kings and queens, freaks and geeks, etcetera, etcetera. Steve put that bullshit behind him but… he wasn’t sure how to get back to Eddie without stumbling back into awkward conversations. Fighting Vecna was tough enough, but Steve would sooner take that again than tackle the uphill emotional battle that was his shared past with Munson.

“I’m the one planning this whole thing!” Dustin huffs. “I need to hone my DM skills if I’m ever gonna fill Eddie’s shoes now that he’s gone.” 

“Yeah,” Robin nudges Steve. “Keep up, Steve-o.” 

“And you want me to play because…” 

“Because your character is crucial to the story!” Dustin whines. “And I keep telling you: Eddie and you have a lot more in common than you think, dude. You gotta get over that whole high school crap.” 

Steve rolls his eyes. You got no idea, kiddo. “I’m over that,” he gestures to Robin. “Look who my best friend is!”

Robin winces. “Poor save.”

“Are you, though?” Dusting grimaces. “Because you did just turn your nose up at hanging with a ‘freak’.” 

And like most conversations they had, Dustin left Steve speechless. Because how the hell was he going to explain to Dustin that his (arguably) two role models had a fling back in high school. 

‘Hey son! We just wanted to sit you down to talk to you about how when two people like each other very much, they do the forbidden lambada. But then one person realizes that they’re not good enough for the other and abandons them in at a county fair before the end of the world, but after they still sometimes dance but it’s a lot more awkward and painful because you realize that the feelings haven’t quite left yet and you can’t bare to look them in the eye without—’ 

“Steve? Hello? Earth to Steve.” Dustin snaps his fingers. 

“Well I just…”

“Just what?”

After struggling to come up with an answer with a slack jaw and vague hand gestures, Steve sighs, opening his hand in the kid’s direction. “Alright, alright. Gimme that thing.” 

Dustin obliges with a grin. “Pick me up at 6:30, we’ve gotta be at Mike’s house early to set up!” 

“I’ll think about it!” Steve calls, but Henderson’s already turning heel out the door. Man, was this thing detailed. The little guy really put his heart and soul into this character. All for him. A small smile twitches on Steve’s face. 

“Awh,” Robin pokes his side, making him jolt back to the present. “Look at you, world’s best babysitter.”

“I didn’t say I was going—”

“You are, though.” Robin states it like a fact. 

“Maybe,” Steve throws his hands up. He paces behind the counter, knowing that he’ll be up against a bunch of kids who know their shit and Eddie fucking Munson. “I don’t even know how to play. And I gotta learn in,” He counts the days quietly on his fingers, “two days! Two days for a whole…” He gestures, trying to find the fancy word that wasn’t game, as the party had corrected him several times on.

“Campaign?”

“Campaign!” Steve snaps and points in Robin’s direction. “There’s no way I can do that. I might have plans, or a date, or what if my parents come back home early?” 

He finds refuge in a corner of the counter, legs outstretched and head knocking against the cabinets behind him. Steve knows from the look on Robin’s face she can see right through his glass house of flimsy arguments. Hell, on the drive over he was complaining about the small dating pool he found himself in post-grad. Knowing this, he quietly adds, more honest than he’d like to be, “I’m a newbie. It’ll slow everyone down.” 

“Well,” Robin shrugs, sinking down to a crouch. “When I started, I didn’t really have a good handle on things. But, Eddie taught me most of what I know.” She smiles as Steve groans.

“I’m not gonna go to Munson’s house for D&D advice.”

“Either that or you break poor little Dustin’s heart and die in the first half hour.” Robin clutches her chest with both hands, putting on the biggest pout Steve has ever witnessed. “I think breaking your silent treatment with Eddie is a small price to pay for an awesome campaign.”

Steve grimaces. “I don’t think he wants to see me, Rob.” 

She shrugs. “Only one way to find out. Besides, what’s the worst thing that could happen?”

“He’ll finally tell me to fuck off for good because he’s tired of my shit.”

“Steve,” She nudges him lightly. “C’mon, dude don’t be so dramatic. He hasn’t really said anything bad about you.” 

“He talks about me?” 

“Easy,” Robin snickers. “I just personally know that he’s not out to kill you or anything.” 

Steve sighs, glancing at the intricate character sheet that’s been staring back at him. “Okay…” 

Robin beams. 

“Okay, fine.”

Chapter Text

Around 4 o’clock a rattle comes from the front door, pulling Eddie from his focus on the television. He figured Wayne must’ve forgotten something, so he gets up from the couch to answer. But, it’s not his tired uncle waiting at the door but, 

“Steve Harrington?” Eddie says, a bit puzzled. “Long time no see.” 

The confused look on Munson’s face makes Steve avert his gaze, kicking the gravel. 

“Yeah surprise!” He half laughs, but it comes out more strained than he intends. “Did I uh, catch you at a bad time?” Steve asks the ground. Anxiety builds in his chest. Why the fuck did he say ‘surprise’? Is he fucking five? Steve starts to swim far out of his depth and into the wandering current of his thoughts. There’s no babysitting barrier between himself and Eddie. Just the quiet chirp of crickets and the whirr of an air conditioning unit. 

“Not at all,” Steve looks up to see Eddie’s lips curling with a small smile, damn near happy to see him. “What brings you to Castle de Munson?” 

“I was actually sent here by Dustin.” Steve clarifies to the rocks again.  

 “And here I thought you were coming back to your old dealer.” Eddie chuckles, but his smile falters slightly. “How’s the little shrimp doin’?” 

“Good,” Steve finally lifts his head up to meet the other’s burrowing gaze and interested smile. “This was all his idea, really.” 

Munson tilts his head with an arched brow. “And what idea might that be?”

“To be a part of your next game—campaign.” Steve corrects with a scrunched brow. Eddie’s brows shoot up in surprise. Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, Munson. Laugh it up. Robin said you’d teach me the basics so,” He shrugs, gesturing up to Munson standing on the steps of his house. “You gonna let me in or what?” 

“Mi casa su casa, Harrington,” He opens his door with a smile. 

Once they're both inside, Eddie’s quickly tidying up, like an embarrassed stay-at-home Mom who wasn’t expecting guests. He’s murmuring under his breath as he does so. 

“And you go there—” He huffs, shoving an unmarked VHS in a packed shelf by the TV. Once finished, Eddie beams at Steve, hands on his hips proudly. “You can uh,” He nods to the couch recently cleared of blankets and laundry and what looks like an old bag of Bugles. 

As soon as Steve sinks into the cushions, Eddie’s clearing off the coffee table, picking up old cans and chip bags. 

“You want anything to drink? Eat? We got uh…” He runs to the kitchenette with a handful of trash. After dumping it out, Eddie opens the fridge. “Coke, water, some iced tea, beer…unless you want something stronger? “ He looks over his shoulder with raised brows. “No judgment here, Harrington.” 

The whirlwind of chaotic hospitality has Steve reeling a bit. Since when did Eddie tidy up for him? He tries to think back to the last time he was invited into Eddie’s trailer—before Vecna, that is, and it slowly dawns on him that he’s sitting in the exact spot where Eddie gave him his first blow job. Right before his senior year started. And well, isn’t that a delightful thought that doesn’t make Steve’s head start to swim again. 

His nerves twitch with anticipation, hoping that he can bridge once-was-gap-now-gaping-cavern in whatever totally not awkward way. And if it takes an ol’ fashion campaign and a not-so-gentle shove from Henderson to get the wheels turning, so be it. 

“Coke’s fine. I gotta drive home anyway.” Steve smiles patiently.

“You got it.” Eddie grabs a can from the fridge. “Go high!” 

“Shit—” The can soars across the room into Steve’s outreached hands. “Not bad, Muson. You might’ve killed it on the basketball team in your day.” 

Eddie plops down next to Steve with a chuckle. “Yeah right,” he cracks open his own can. “Not sure if you’ve noticed, Harrington,” Eddie gestures to his lanky frame with a wry smile. Steve’s eyes follow his hands in a completely and totally subtle way. “My talents don’t lie in athleticism.” 

“You sure?” Steve cocks his head. “Because it takes a bit of skill to fuck up a swarm of demo-bats.” 

Eddie nods his can to his guest. “Learned from the best.” Before things could get too chummy, and before Steve’s mind can wrap around the compliment and overthink ‘til the cows come home, he shifts back to the real reason why he's currently sitting on the local freak’s couch. 

“So, what lovely story has Henderson conjured up for us?” Eddie breaks the silence before him, clasping his hands together.

Steve looks puzzled for a second before it clicks. “Right,” He fishes out a folded up piece of paper from his breast pocket handing it to Eddie. “I think it’s about a zombie… demon.. Quest?” He fumbles through an explanation while Eddie’s reading over the story, murmuring quietly to himself. 

“Quite detailed for your first,” Eddie comments with a small smile. “Kid really wants you in, huh?”

“I guess so.” Steve shrugs. 

“Oh yeah,” Muson shrugs, setting the sheet on the coffee table. He leans back into the well-worn couch cushions. “This’ll be a cake walk. Just an average quest, no real twists.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Perfect for a beginner DM.”

“DM?” 

“Dungeon Master.” The explanation only makes Steve’s face contort with further confusion. His lips curl into a question, but Muson’s quick to supply an answer. “Dustin’s like the story-teller of the game. Gives us rules, the world, what we can and can’t do. Basically organizes everything before we start playing.”

Steve’s nodding slowly. Eddie gives him a smile, tilting his head to get a better look at him. “You really don’t know anything about this, do you?”

“Would I be here if I did?” And the answer is yes. It tugs on Eddie’s lips, but he swallows it down with a cough. 

“Well, considering how many nerds and kids you keep company with, it is a little surprising. But,” He pats Steve’s shoulder. “You better strap in, soldier, because there’s plenty to learn.” Before Steve can mention his early start at work the following morning, Eddie’s already scampering off to his room to get what Steve believes are nerd supplies. 

They sit side by side on the couch, and on the coffee table lay all of Eddie’s books, notes, figurines, dice, and the works. Eddie’s got dedication, and quite honestly, Steve’s a bit in awe at it. He loves how enthusiastic he’s getting about Steve’s character, a once-King now barbarian fighting for his life and his kingdom. Hell, even he’s getting a little excited.

Eddie’s knee-deep into a character explanation, looking over Dustin’s meticulous story and explaining what each number means. His words are flashy like his hands, flipping through pages, jotting down notes for Steve to look over later. He’s immersed in the world, smiling happily any time Steve asks a question or gets excited about a certain subject. Steve’s never seen Eddie so enthralled before. 

“So, you have your skills, and your modifiers. You got lucky because Henderson’s done the grunt work for you—”

“Which is?”

Eddie picks up a small velvety pouch that Steve assumed to be another figurine, but what pours into his open palm are an array of shimmery red dice, all numbered and sided differently. He points to each one, explaining their usage, and how each of the numbers on King Steve’s character sheet correlate to rolls. 

“In a campaign like this, there’ll probably be more skill checks in battle, but,” He shrugs, a proud smile on his face. “Henderson did learn all his tricks from me, so he might add a few twists here and there.” 

“So,” Steve picks up a shimmery red 20 sided die, inspecting it in the light. “I roll this,” he picks up a three sided die. “And this for sword skill checks?” He looks to Eddie for confirmation, eyes wide and clouded with confusion. Eddie smiles, patient and… is that pride? His grin spreads wider as he nods in agreement. 

“Yeah! You’re getting it, Harrington.” He gives him a pat on the back, and Steve tries not to think about the warmth that spreads through him.

As Eddie pages through the worn handbook, Steve notices all the scribbles and notes taken on the margins, some faded, others a tad newer. The edges are tattered, stained, like a well-loved mattress. 

“You really love this stuff, huh?” Steve hums. Eddie stops mid-sentence to look at him. “Oh, sorry.” Steve says quickly. “I’m listening, I swear, it's just,” he points to the notes. “Saw your doodles and stuff.” 

Eddie’s lips break into a small smile. 

“Yeah,” he breaks their stare—fuck he was staring, wasn’t he? Get it together, Harrington— and clears his throat. “You can clearly see where all those hours of hard studying went.” He says with a wry smile. He wrings his hands out nervously, averting Steve’s gaze. There’s tension in Eddie’s hands, just a slightest bit of trembling. Instead of laughing with him, Steve shakes his head. 

“But you’re doing something you enjoy, and it’s paying off in some ways.” Steve’s smile is weak but genuine. Eddie looks back at him. “Seriously,” Steve continues, looking at the array of things scattered on the table. “I wish I knew what I wanted to do in high school, so I could just follow it, y’know?” He sighs, shaking his head. 

They sit for a little while, Eddie fiddles with the dice in his palm while Steve looks over what notes he’s taken over the years. Between dog-eared pages and dazzling illustrations of monsters and heroes, Steve sees a timeline outlined of Eddie Munson over the years. Some notes are written in different colored pens, scratched out only to be replaced with a slightly different font in a different color. It's an interesting evolutionary mess. 

“So,” Eddie says after a beat, taking the final sip of his Coke. “what would you wanna do… you know, if you could do it over again?” 

Steve blinks. “Shit. That’s a loaded question, Munson.” 

“I mean,” Eddie shrugs, gesturing to the array of D&D memorabilia. “I’ve been talking your ear off about Dungeons and Dragons for the past hour and a half, and I know this shit can be a bore when you start out. But, if Henderson wants us to be friends… you know like, official good ol’ pals…” He gives Steve a nudge with his below, pushing a small smile onto his face. 

“What does Steve the Hair Harington like to do for fun?” The question drops like a lead balloon, putting Steve in a perplexed silence. 

He swallows thickly. “Well, I mean, I like swimming… basketball, uh, I played baseball in middle school?” He offers Eddie a lopsided frown. 

“Okay, but you’re not a part of the swim team anymore, dude.” Eddie corrects. “And all those just sound like fancy forms of exercise. Which, might I remind you,” he gestures to himself again, and Harrington takes the opportunity to look elsewhere but his eyes. “Is not my forte.” 

Steve scoffs. “So, something fun that we can do together?” 

Eddie looks at him in mock offense. “Too good to hang out with Freak Munson, Harrington?” 

“No, no you know that’s not what I meant.” They both chuckle. Steve blows air into his cheeks, lost for words. He shrugs. “Smoking weed… I guess?”

“Yeah, no shit.” Eddie chides with a grin. Steve rolls his eyes. “C’mon Harrington,” Eddie shoulders him again. “You’re telling me there’s nothing you do in your free time besides… I dunno… drive the little shrimps around and stock tapes?” 

Steve runs a hand through his hair, staring at the coffee table and totally not thinking about how Eddie’s eyes are burrowing into the side of his skull. Since graduating, Steve hadn’t really given ‘fun’ much thought. Between his doubles at the Family Video, his berating father, and his totally legitimate chauffeur business he’s got going for him, the only thing time had left for him was a good night’s sleep and the occasional night alone in his house. 

“Earth to Steve.” A blur of silver waves in front of his face. 

“Shit sorry.”

“Jesus, man, it's just a question. Didn’t mean to give you an existential crisis.” Eddie laughs, visibly deflating into the couch. His gaze hasn’t left Steve’s profile, watching him like a cat lazily watching birds on a tree. “You okay?” His brow cocks.

“Yeah,” Steve rests back. “Yeah, yeah. All good just…” Shit. Maybe Eddie did give him an existential crisis. “Never really thought about it, honestly.” He shrugs. “Guess that’s what happens when the best years of your life are dedicated to baby sitting and trying to stop the end of the world three— no. Four times now.” He gives his host a wry smile. “Got time to figure it out. Whatever that is.”

“Well,” Eddie sighs. “You’re in luck, because I too have plenty of time and many things that might help you figure it out—”

“I’m not buying K from you, Muson.” Steve half jokes, chuckling at the other’s slack-jawed face of offense. 

“Harrington, I would never!” Eddie clutches his chest like a Hawkins local clutches her pearls. “Soil the reputation of the Hawkins High Sweetheart!” He collapses back into the couch, sinking into the cushions as he wails. “Oh the tragedy! Such a fall for the mighty King!” 

Steve snorts, watching Eddie’s theatrical display of scandalization. “Alright, easy there, drama queen. Didn’t realize you were trying to audition for a local theater.” 

Eddie takes the hand that was splayed on his face away, revealing a smile. “Maybe. At least I got some hobbies, Harrington.” 

“Low blow, Munson.”

“Just calling it like I see it.” He raises himself up, clasping Steve’s shoulder. “Look, I was going to offer to take you around on a day off. You know, maybe grab a drink, catch a movie, go for a joy ride.” Eddie shrugs before giving Steve a proper stare, eyebrow raised. “Unless you were looking for some recreation a little more… scandalous.” 

As the last word spills from his lips, he leans into Steve’s ear with a teasing smile. “I’d be more than happy to offer my services.” 

The last sentence tickles Steve’s spine and curls around him like a curious snake on live prey. He swallows thickly, attempting to ignore Eddie’s hovering presence. 

“Alright man, alright. Look, if it's a date you want, all you gotta do is ask.” He half chuckles, and as he looks back at Eddie who’s now leaning on the opposite side of the couch, Steve swears he sees a twinkle of hope in those pretty doe eyes. Pretty? Jesus, Harrington, pull it together. 

Eddie smiles widely. “So…” He raises both hands, weighing the options. “Drugs? Or Date? A new type of D&D, huh, Harrington?” He snickers. 

“One drink, and maybe a drive.” Steve points a finger at his smiling host. “I’ll let you know when my boss lets me have a day off. Dude’s driving me crazy.” 

Eddie smiles. “Of course, Steve. I’ll pick you up and everything.”

“A true gentleman.” Steve half-yawns as he stretches his arms to the sky. “Look man, I’ve got an early start tomorrow, so I’m gonna head out. Thanks for—”

“Don’t mention it Harrington,” Eddie waves off his thank yous and stands, handing him an assortment of notes they’d worked out together. “Happy to indoctrinate anyone into some D&D.” 

Crickets chirp outside as Eddie walks him back to his car. He thumbs over his keys, hesitating to finally unlock his car and drive back home. The glow of the Munson residence draws him in. The light halos around Eddie’s smiling face. 

“I promise I won’t tell a soul about your honorary Hellfire association,” Eddie places a hand to his chest. “Bard’s honor. I can’t believe you came by just to listen to me rant about D&D for…” He checks his watch. “Three hours.”

Steve shakes his head. “I’m glad you did. You know that stuff’s actually kind of interesting. I wish you told me about it sooner.” His smile falters, and Eddie looks at him with a tinge of concern. The barrier between them starts to thin, and Steve lets the heaviness of his words fall between their feet. “Sorry—” He shakes his head. “it's just… why… why didn’t you ever tell me?” 

Eddie’s expression is blank, but still digs under Steve’s skin as he keeps rambling. “I’m glad that you kept at what you enjoyed; even when people talked about you, or bullied you and all the shit that happened last year. I’m sorry I—” 

“Steve,” A hand rests atop Steve’s, stopping him. “It happened. And honestly I’m glad you came, and you want to play some D&D but, I’m telling you right now I’m in no mood to rehash whatever—” he gestures between them “—this was to you. You made that pretty clear. And it was fun.” Eddie says like they’re talking about a movie he watched. 

“And… honestly,” He sighs, averting his gaze. “I never told you because you never asked.” 

“Eddie,” Steve sighs, squeezing Eddie’s hand. Munson quickly tugs it away and shoves it back into his jeans, like he touched a hot plate.

“I know.” Eddie replies with a tight smile. The air between them becomes thin and tight, like they’re up on a mountain. “Can’t say it was the best social situation,” Steve watches the tension practically evaporate from Eddie’s face as he continues with a smile that wipes over Steve’s apology. “But it sure as hell was better than pretending to be like everyone else.” The smile turns a bit more genuine. “And I got the fuckin’ diploma so who can tell me shit now, huh?” Eddie’s grin pushes the crumbling wall back up between them. 

“Guess not.” Steve smiles back in defeat. “See you around?” 

Eddie nods. “Course. I gotta swing by the ol’ video store to return some favorites. Unless…” His brow raises, a hopeful smile on his face. “a certain handsome clerk wouldn’t mind extending that due date?” 

“Man—” Steve blinks. “Wait— handsome?” He chuckles a little. “Jeez, Munson, didn’t realize it was turning into that kind of visit.”

“Look, you showed up on my doorstep unannounced, Harrington. Don’t put words in my mouth.” Eddie points a shiny ringed finger accusingly in Steve’s direction, who puts his hands up in defense. 

“Hey, man, I’m not. You put ‘handsome’ in there all on your own.” 

Eddie’s lower lip sinks between his teeth to fight back a smile. His doe eyes linger as he says, “Thought flattery would work on you, what can I say?” 

“Then you’re bringing those tapes back bright and early, right?” Steve tilts his head, twirling his keys in one hand. 

“Absolutely, Your Excellence.” Munson bellows with a dramatic bow, hand extended to his guest. “I bid you farewell ‘til the morrow, King Steven of the fallen Harringtown.”