Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The goddamn radio is crackling again.

Apparently it doesn’t matter how many whacks you give it.  After eight years of use, the radio has been reduced to a hunk of metal decorated with chipping paint and a rusty antena.

Eddie would have tossed the thing out the window and popped in a cassette if he were desperate for some half-decent music.  But he got the strong impression that Steve didn’t like his choice of genre.

Eddie raised his joint back up to his lips, the lingering smoke from his last hit still curling in front his eyes.  His hope was to fog the room up so much that the sleeping face next to him would blur into a comfortably unfamiliar form.  A form with frustratingly perfect hair, even while fast asleep.

It didn’t work.  All that ended up happening after the joint had been stubbed out was the slow softening of Eddie’s mind and the ever-growing appreciation for the curves and edges of Steve Harrington’s face.  It really was infuriating.

Eddie huffed and threw his head against the pillow.  He didn’t even know why he tried.

He ran through a few distractions in his head, the only four things that he can get himself to focus on anymore.  His mind ran to Wayne, working his third night shift this week so he can “surprise” Eddie with a new amp this year (“How’ll you become the next Ozzy if you ain’t got a half-good amp?”).  That train of thought led where it always did—sharp and debilitating guilt.

Next on the list of possible distractions: the band (they were in between names at the moment).  They’d been picking up more gigs lately, expanding their audience beyond blacked-out truckers and their “girlfriends” for the night.  The guys had big hopes.  Micheal wouldn’t shut up about exposure and branding .  As if four midwestern burnouts presented an attractive image—from a marketing standpoint, that is.  Eddie was more than confident in his looks.  And if he wasn’t, Hawkins’ Certified Golden Boy sleeping half naked next to him was the Mody Dick of ego boosts.

And just like that.  Distraction #2 had failed.

Third time’s a charm.  Eddie ran through his newest campaign.  It wasn’t fully formed, reduced to a pile of mismatched Post-Its under the left corner of his bed.  He usually convenes with the other Hellfire members when planning out their next quest, but he had a feeling about this one.  Every once in a while, Eddie will get an idea while watching a movie, tuning his guitar, ordering a burger, etc.  An idea swiftly snowballs into a hell of a great campaign with the potential to give each and every one of those kids a few stress pimples.

Those games were always his favorite.  Eddie loved the drama of it all, the spectacle he could create being the only one in the room who knows what lies ahead.  He also gets a kick out of seeing his beloved freshmen break out in zits after two days.

They were all so different.  Dustin always started out confident until Eddie threw one of his perfectly crafted twists his way, then it would be hours of stubborn shouting quickly followed by gloating when he inevitably proved to be right.

Mike was the perfect counter to Dustin’s passion.  He started quiet.  He hung on every word spoken, listening with open ears as the gears silently worked in his head.  After a few wins, four at the most, he’d forget himself, screaming along with Dustin and always opting for the rasher choices until he eventually bites himself in the ass.  Then it’s back to quiet strategizing.  Rinse and repeat.

Lucas was a nut he hadn’t yet cracked.  And if leaving his pubescent psyche alone was enough to keep his little sister’s wrath on the backburner, Eddie was more than happy to comply.

Hellfire meetings were just about the only things that weren’t maimed after the Spring Break From Hell, as Robin had taken to calling it.  The tangible excitement hadn’t changed.  Nor had the sheltering sense of comradery.  They laughed and screamed and sweated and—on one particular occasion—cried together the way they did before Vecna.

Then, just like before, all the little shitheads would pile into Harrington’s BMW like it was a clown car.

Eddie screwed his eyes shut.  There it was.

Distraction #3: failed pathetically.

The fourth and final option wasn’t even a distraction.  It was a last resort.  The last on the list of Things Eddie Can Stand to Think About.

Steve.  King Steve.  Steve “The Hair” Harrington (Eddie had always gotten a kick out of that one).

Steve who was currently passed out, his stupid pretty face resting on Eddie’s pillow as if it belonged there.  And if Eddie was especially tired or drunk or stoned, he might believe that it did.

They’d ended up here in the afterglow eight times now.  “Afterglow” referring to the thick, suffocating silence between them while they come down from their respective highs.  After regaining an acceptable heart rate, Eddie would reach into his drawer and pull out a joint for them both.  Steve always had the first and last hits, Eddie being content with laying on his back and staring at the ceiling, the paper absently burning between his fingers until Steve snatched it back.

There were a couple of scenarios after that.  If Steve was up for it, and if God had decided to punish Eddie once again, Steve would climb back on top of him, arms bracketing his head, and they’d go for a slower, often quieter round two.

Or it would be like tonight with Steve falling asleep within minutes.  Eddie never liked this scenario.  It gave him too much space.  He would sit up on his mattress and stare down at Steve with no other option than to think.  It was exhausting.

Eddie turned onto his side, facing away from Steve as if it would make his heavy presence in the small, small bedroom disappear.

He spent God knows how long running through their past few campaigns, trying and failing to rope his thoughts into something presentable.  He did that until Steve’s sleepy arms winded themselves around his ribs, a shaggy mess of chest hair tickling his back.  Eddie fell asleep within minutes.

He woke up as he always did, clutching his sheets to his chest, curled in on himself on one side of an empty bed.

Steve could pinpoint the moment he started to notice Eddie.  Notice him beyond frantic attempts at survival.  It wasn’t in high school, or a boathouse in the woods, or even the cold damp of the Upside Down.  It was in the aftermath, eight of them piled in the back of a stolen RV, each in various states of bruising.  Steve was inspecting the gash in his side, searching the dried and crusting blood for any sign of infection.  Robin was shakily securing his bandage with bloody fingers when he looked over to Eddie, sitting on the floor by the entrance, slumped against the door.

His hair was a mess.  What wasn’t stuck to his forehead with sweat and blood was curtaining his face, sticking in eight different directions to resemble a mangled bird’s nest as opposed to the usual untamed lion’s mane.  His eyes were screwed shut, his nostrils flaring to take in strained breaths every few seconds.  No one else was looking at him.

Steve took in the rest of the RV.  Lucas was stroking Max’s hair where she lay unconscious against his chest.  Her left arm was snapped ninety degrees at the elbow and—according to Lucas—her eyes had turned a shade of milky gray.  Lucas had quit sobbing and had resorted to staring down and whispering pained affirmations under his breath.  Steve couldn’t see Nancy’s face from her place in the driver’s seat, but he could see her death grip on the steering wheel and the dirt and grime that had embedded itself under her manicure.

Robin had moved on to Erica, tending to her various cuts and scratches.  The two of them were easily the least maimed of the group, but they still looked no better.  Erica was quiet, yet unmistakably panicked.  She continued to spare glances at Max’s limp figure and disfigured arm before quickly averting her eyes and shutting them tight.  Robin barely let on, but she was more shaken than any of them, rambling a hundred miles an hour about rubbing alcohol and early signs of infections and Nancy, could you maybe step on it, please?

Dustin was gripping his ankle, dried tears streaking his face.  Steve had already checked it out, his guess was a sprain, but his medical opinion was akin to a nun’s input on lube brands.  Steve didn’t have the faintest idea of what went down at Eddie’s trailer, but it clearly wasn’t as metal as Dustin and Eddie had planned.

He looked back to Eddie who was arching his back awkwardly and adjusting his position with sharp, stiff movements.

For one wild second, Steve thought he resembled a newborn Bambi, trembling and shaking to keep himself upright.  The sight would have been akin to a small cartoon deer had it not been for the tears in his already tattered clothes and pained tightness in his face.

Steve all but crawled his way off of one of the cushioned benches and stumbled his way over to Eddie, crouching beside him.

“You’d probably be more comfortable in an actual seat.  I don’t think we have to worry about you getting spotted through a window right now.”

He was right.  Apart from the trademark hair, Eddie was near unrecognizable.

Eddie startled Steve by gasping a harsh breath, eyes still studiously shut.  He spoke quietly, a whisper of a voice barely decipherable in the panicked air of the RV, “You know, Harrington, I’m barely holding it together down here.  So let’s just make it to the hospital, shall we?”

Steve gave him a once over.  Eddie’s arms were stiff and his palms were flat against the plastic tiling.  Steve had been mistaken.  He wasn’t leaning against the door, but instead hastily supporting himself with drawn up shoulders.

“You okay man?”

Eddie’s face stayed more stoic than he’d ever seen it, “That a joke?”

“Show me.”

Eddie cracked his eyes open, looking defiantly at Steve.  Maybe a day ago that look would’ve been enough to make Steve give up, to stand up and walk away with a huff of ‘suit yourself’.  But he wasn’t in the mood to give up tonight.

“Come on man, show me,” He repeated himself as much authority as he could muster.

His babysitter voice worked instantly, Steve noted.

Whatever he’d conveyed in his tone, it seemed to be enough as Eddie shuffled into his knees, bracing himself on the ground as he struggled to work his baseball tee over his head.  Steve caught a glimpse of fresh blood dripping down his spine and pushed the hem up to his neck in a second.

There it was, a claw-like gash at least an inch deep stark between his shoulder blades.  Scratches and scrapes littered his entire back, bright red and shining against the pale skin, but whatever had done this to him had zeroed in on this one spot, skin and tissue torn below his left shoulder as if it was trying to tear straight through to his heart.

“Christ,” Steve muttered before he could help himself.

“Yeah,” It came out as a feeble cry from Eddie as Steve maneuvered him into the light, illuminating the deep crimson blood that continued to ooze from his back.

Steve snapped into action, motivated by the need to cover up the ugly mess of flesh and blood in front of him.  He began by easing Eddie’s shirt off, working it above his head, down his arms, and off his wrists.

“Robin?  Bandages?”

He wasn’t sure if the rest of the party was aware of the scene in front of him, but he quickly felt the roll of gauze hitting his back along with the slide of a metal flask across the floor.  Their budget had unfortunately only supported their extensive armory and a few boxes of wound dressing, leaving their only source of disinfectant a half empty flask of vodka they’d found under the passengers seat.

Steve tore off a square of his own bandage, quickly coating it in vodka and—as delicately as he could—dabbing away the grime surrounding Eddie’s open wound.

Eddie, to his credit, only cried out half as loudly as the kids had, resorting to tightening his shoulders and increasing the volume of his shallow, ragged breaths.

He nearly buckled to the ground by shooting a trembling hand behind him.  The stripped flesh on his back repulsively stretched and shifted as Eddie balanced on one shaking arm.  His outstretched hand grasped feebly at Steve’s forearm.

“ Give it. ”

“Sure about that, man?” Steve hesitated, not fully present as he held the flask further away.  He was trying to pry a chunk of black gunk from the top of his largest gash.  It looked like one of those bats sunk in their teeth as far as they’d go and ripped all the way down his back, “I think we should all be in our right—”

Nancy must have hit a pothole.  The RV slumped heavy to the left then righted itself with a painful bounce.  In the suddenness, Steve’s practiced steadiness faltered.  His vodka soaked rag slid over a centimeter of Eddie’s puffy, bloody, exposed tissue.  Eddie screeched .  Loud enough to shake the van again, he cried through his straining teeth and, although Steve couldn’t see his face, he could practically feel the way it screwed up.  He imagined his big brown eyes full of fire, mania, fear, screwing shut now in crippling pain.

“Wheeler!” Eddie yelped.  As pained as he sounded, Steve was relieved to hear that he still had some power in that voice.

“Sorry!” Nancy called from the driver’s seat, her tone strained and severe.  It was one thing to drive a 7,000 pound hunk of metal down Indiana backroads and keep it from wobbling.  It was another thing entirely to do it at 60 miles an hour because you have a hoard of bleeding kids and one torn up fugitive in the backseat.

Looking over the expanse of Eddie’s gory back, Steve settled a hand on one mostly clean shoulder.  He paid mild attention to the moony pale skin hiding under the dirt and grime of that hellscape.  He placed what he hoped was a reassuring hand over the sticky skin and was returned by Eddie’s desperate palm slapping over his knuckles.

Deciding it would ease them both, Steve pressed the flask against Eddie’s chest where a shred of his stupid tee bundled up.  He took it gladly and drained the thing without a wince.  Steve got back to work.

The longer Steve cleaned the more horrified he became.  He had hoped it looked worse than it was, that the edges of the opened skin would close in once he’d rubbed away the dried blood.  All that the cleaning did was illuminate the frayed skin that had been clawed away and was now hanging in shreds.  The skin miraculously intact was raised to create a bloody crater in the center of Eddie’s back.

After a few seconds of shock, Steve glanced guiltily back at Dustin.  The kid sat with Max’s limp legs in his lap, sobbing softly, eyes fixed on blood dripping from Eddie’s back into a puddle on the linoleum.  Steve just wished the kid didn’t see this happen, that he stumbled upon the aftermath of the attack and never looked too close at Eddie’s matching shirt.  It was unrecognizable anyway.

He’d done his best to manage Eddie’s hair away from the wound, but the bandages require two hands.

“I need you to hold your hair and keep your arms up,” Steve tried to be gentle, tried to coax Eddie’s quivering arms above his head to bunch up his sweat-soaked hair.

Eddie complied with little protest.  The only hesitation came when Steve leaned forward, drawing the roll of gauze around the front of his chest and breathing down the back of his neck when Eddie’s hands slipped, dropping several locks of hair down his back.  Steve ignored it and gathered the hair back up, pushing it back into Eddie’s hands and continuing his work.

“We need to talk about what to tell the police,” Steve announced to the party.  They fell silent.

He kept wrapping up Eddie while he spoke, “I’m sure that El’s government guy—”

“Owens,” Dustin said meekly.

“ Owens will come through eventually, sort out Eddie’s situation, but we need a story in the meantime so we don’t all end up locked up too.”

Steve wrapped Eddie up as tight as he could without drawing too many of those pained gasps in the process.  He looked at Robin while he reached for another roll of gauze.  She gave him the smallest nod and an even smaller smile behind her haunted expression.  A subtle reassurance that Yes, you’re making sense, you’re just as shaken as the rest of us but kudos to you for being coherent.

Steve tried to smile back.

They made a plan.  Or rather, Steve made a plan while they all sat in silent obedience.  Their narrative would be a rescue mission.  Steve created a story about a serial killer—a human serial killer—who had made his first kill then promptly kidnapped the only witness, holding Eddie hostage in Victor Creel’s decaying house as he continued his string of Creel-esque murders, targeting only Hawkins High’s brightest.  Head cheerleader Chrissy Cunningham, valedictorian Fred Benson, basketball starter Patrick McKinney, a pattern of victims that Eddie would have had no place in, deeming him a hostage.

When asked how they knew where to find Eddie, they’d recount Nancy's hunch that led her to the library’s archives.  Why didn’t they alert the police?  The department was letting a teenager turn the town into a bloodthirsty mob out for the head of an innocent kid.

How did they know he was innocent?  Dustin was his confidant, he’d die vouching for Eddie’s good character.  He even made up a story of Eddie crying over a dead bird in the school parking lot.

Come on man , Eddie cried through gritted teeth.

You have to look pathetic!

What happened when they got to the house?  They group split up in search of Eddie, each armed with their respective makeshift weapons (Nancy was at peace with getting charged with a misdemeanor for the sawed-off).  Steve, Nancy, and Robin had just stumbled across Eddie locked in the basement and bleeding from his back when they heard Max and Lucas’ combined screams from the second floor.  They ran up to find Max limp in Lucas’ arms, no trace of a murderer.  How did the rest of them get so bloodied?  Old house falling apart at the seams, a group of headstrong teenagers searching for their friend?  Easy.

They ran through the story at least ten times, Eddie never giving more than a half-hearted nod.  Steve stayed close to him, repeated every sentence to him as if that would make the story true.

They rolled up to the hospital eight minutes later.  Steve knew because he was counting the seconds dutifully in his head.  They were each piled into respective hospital rooms and that was where Steve lost track of them.  He was rushed straight into surgery, the next forty-eight hours reduced to a blur of hospital gowns and painkillers.

Whatever they’d told the police seemed to have done the trick, at least long enough for some “friends of Owens” to come and clean up the mess.  After six days of hanging in hospital limbo handcuffed to his bed, Eddie had lost his title as a person of interest and was left to stew in his injuries.

Steve watched for weeks as the bruises around Robin’s neck healed.  He watched Dustin’s ankle splint disappear and Max’s milky eyes open up.  He walked in a protective circle with the others as Eddie finally left the hospital, denying needing any help despite leaning half his weight on his uncle's shoulder as half the town hounded him with pitchforks and cameras.

Steve watched the spring rain flow into summer.  He stewed in ninety degree heat for two hours to watch Robin and Eddie strut across a makeshift stage and snatch their diplomas.  Despite the scattered jeers when Eddie Munson’s name was called, he still found it in him to flip the silver-ringed bird at the principal before making his escape.

Eddie was given the option (heavily encouraged to the point of begging by the faculty) to accept his diploma privately and skip all the ceremonial hoopla, but he was adamant.  It was while strutting across the green and white stage with a stiffness only Steve recognized did Eddie really, genuinely impress him for the first time.

You could argue that valiantly cutting a sheet rope and running back into a swarm of bats to buy Steve and the girls a few more minutes is brave, but it’s the blind headstrong dumbass kind of bravery that got Steve into fights with Byers and Hargrove.  Eddie presenting himself to Hawkins High’s parents who all wanted him dead two months ago, and likely still do, to accept a piece of paper that didn’t begin to account for all the ways he saved their town is just plain and simple brave.

Eddie flipped off his principle and went to sit with Buckley and Steve had never clapped and hollered at any basketball game the way he did that day.  In the moment, Eddie found Steve in the crowd easy as pie, given that the only person louder was his uncle on his feet right next to him, two fingers in his mouth whistling.  Steve could’ve sworn he saw a shy smile, which was funny to see considering what a spectacle Eddie makes of himself in every room he walks into.  But for a moment, looking up in the bleachers at his uncle Wayne and best friend by alternate dimensional proxy, he was shy.

Steve hadn’t offered up his place for an afterparty, not really.

What Steve had said was that he would lend his pool to Robin and Eddie for the night as a long overdue reward.  And Nancy if she so wished.  Jonathan’s ceremony in California was a week ago, so he wouldn’t bother her for a party if the happy couple wanted a quiet night in.

Robin wanted to invite Vickie, Eddie wanted to watch the “inevitable lesbo disaster” in store for her.  This had led to a charming back and forth between the two that picked up right when the kids had found them on the football field.

“Are we invited?” Dustin had said.  He looked up at Steve under his overgrown curls and that had been the end of it.  Or so he thought.

Five minutes later, Robin was weaving her way back through the crowd, Vickie along with at least ten other band nerds close behind her, eyes wide and sparkling with her newfound independence.

Now, here Steve sat, slumped in the worn plastic of his pool chair, watching a dozen drunk graduates practically waterboarding each other.  Mike and El had been whispering in each other’s ears for the better part of an hour while the rest of the kids had occupied the hot tub.

Four metal chair legs scraped themselves against the concrete, followed by a slurred, teasing voice.

“ Steeeve Harrington .”

The chair came to a stop approximately three inches away from Steve’s and Eddie all but threw himself down into it, beer sloshing out of his can and dripping onto his bare thigh.  Everyone else had taken a pit stop to grab their swimsuits before showing here, but Eddie just waved a dismissive hand with a quick comment about “having an alternative”.

As it turned out, Eddie’s alternative was to strip down to his boxers and throw himself into the water before anyone else could get the chance.

Steve looked at him now, clutching his beer to his chest like a newborn baby, leg drawn up on the chair, the only articles of clothing on him being his black boxers dotted with tiny skulls and a maroon guitar pick hanging from his neck.

“What happened to being the sober one?” Eddie asked, eyeing the pile of empty beer cans by Steve feet.

“Gave up when Vickie chose Robin to be her chicken fight partner.”

Eddie snorted, “Yeah, she was shooting me looks the whole time.  Never thought someone could look so panicked between a girl’s legs.”

Steve wished he’d stifled his laugh.  The shit-eating grin on Eddie’s face when he wheezed out a laugh was enough to want to kick him out of his house, or at least into the pool.

“Shoulda seen me at fifteen,” Steve laughed, grabbing another Pabst from the 20 pack, “You wouldn’t happen to have a knife on you?”

Eddie, for all his loudness, looked at him blank for a second, two seconds, before diving for his discarded jeans and retrieving a switchblade, “As long as its not for a blood pact, I’m not nearly fucked up enough for it.”

“You’re never beating those satanist rumors talking like that,” Steve mused, examining the pattern of scratchings and marker on the handle.  Tapping into his sophomore instincts, he sliced a hole in the base of the can, cracked open the tab, and to his own surprise, only spilled a couple drops.

“There he is!” Eddie said delightedly, poking at Steve’s cheek with unnecessary force, “King Steve.  The Party King!  Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington, facilitator of every noise complaint north of the Mississippi!”

“East of the Mississippi.”

“Potato, tomato,” Eddie downed the rest of his beer in one long drink, theatrically wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and crushing the aluminum in his palm, “Now, as much as I’m enjoying this richass brewery shit, I just earned my ticket out of this town and I would love something a little stronger.”

Steve narrowed his eyes, “And you didn’t think to bring your little lunchbox?”

Eddie chuckled at him, that strange, out-of-place laugh that makes him all the more difficult to crack, “I try not to smoke too much of the product.  Bad business, you know?”

Steve didn’t know, but he nodded anyway.

“So, what?  You want my stash of old vodka under my bed?”

Eddie rolled his eyes, “C’mon, buddy, you’re telling me your folks don’t have some eighty-year old wine cellar containing the finest spirits in the land?”

There was a slight lilt taking form in his voice that Steve recognized as his Dungeon Master persona.  He’d heard it many times in the darkened parking lot of Hawkins High, chanting nonsense towards him while the kids piled into his car.  Steve thought it was stupid when he’d first heard it, then he just thought it was ridiculous.  Now, he had to physically stop the fondness from manifesting on his face.

He assumed it was the levity that he loved about Eddie, the way he’d fanned himself like a damsel in distress the first time he saw him after the Upside Down.  Straining against a crutch, his unwashed hair matted down to his forehead.

He had started exclaiming in a light, breathy voice the second Steve walked into the hospital room.

“Oh, thank heavens!  Lord Harrington, whatever would I have done without your valiant aid in that ghastly recreational vehicle?”

He had promptly thrown himself towards Steve with the back of his hand pressed to his forehead.

Steve was relieved to find that it calmed his nerves just a little.

In any case, Steve came to realize quickly after things had settled that he truly did genuinely, shockingly , like Eddie Munson.

It was a bit embarrassing how fast he’d been won over by the theatrics and, even more so, the earnestness that followed.

Eddie, still bleeding from his back, had dropped between worlds flat onto his stained spring mattress and immediately jumped to his feet, a wild grin on his face as he clapped his hand down on Steve’s shoulder.  In hindsight, he had put more weight on him than he needed to, or so Steve thought before he knew just how torn up he was.

“I didn’t run this time, did I?”

He looked so proud of himself, elated even, despite having murder charges and an angry mob looming over his head.  Steve blamed it on the adrenaline then and could do nothing but smile.

“No, man, you didn’t run.”

As the habit raged on, Steve followed suit and downed the rest of his beer before rising from his chair, “You know what Munson…” He looked down at Eddie who had a childish glint in his eye, “Just for you, as a little reward for saving the world, I’ll take you down into the wine cellar.”

He reached out his hand, for a moment playing into the absurdity of Eddie’s medieval character.  Eddie gasped and grabbed him with both hands, hoisting himself out of the pool chair, “My king!  Why, I must be the fairest maiden in the land! How ever did I get so lucky?”

His volume had increased tenfold, drawing the eyes of many classmates— former classmates—and Steve quickly extracted his hand from Eddie’s grip.

“Just follow me, would you?”

“Lest you defile me in the dark corners of your manor!” Eddie wailed, and Steve wasn’t too happy with the way Robin was giggling at them.  He grabbed Eddie’s dripping arm and tried to haul him inside, “But oh, if you tried I could scarcely hope to fight you off!”

“Shut the fuck up and come inside.”

It occurred to him now that Eddie had never been in his house before.  As they weaved their way through the winding hallways, Eddie remarked on practically every choice of decor like he was a woman on HGTV with a perm and bright blue eyeshadow explaining the difference between powder white and eggshell white.

Most of their “hangouts” since killing in interdimensional being have taken place in the parking lot after Hellfire, or during Eddie’s frequent visits to Family Video to browse the options before walking out empty-handed, or—on one such occasion—in Robin's bedroom before her first party at Vickie’s house which was spent walking her through conversation starters while Eddie single handedly crafted her outfit.

Having Eddie in his space was a new experience.  Every family photo they would pass with baby Steve grinning with chubby cheeks would bring a hot flush to his face that he hadn’t felt since he was thirteen.  He felt Eddie examining each photo, yet remaining studiously silent.  Steve almost would have preferred jabs and jokes about the way they looked in them, all tied up in a little bow in photos that haven’t been touched in years.

But no.  Eddie kept his mouth shut in front of every picture frame.  Despite the beers in his system, Steve was unsettled.  He didn’t want to imagine having Eddie walk through his bedroom, traces of the kid he used to be littered around for all to see.  Trophies, polaroids, diaries stuffed under his bed that he will never admit to owning.  He shook the thought from his head.

If keeping Eddie out of his bedroom was what it took to maintain this newfound friendship, Steve would take that bullet happily.

They came to the end of a dimly-lit hallway with a single chestnut door.  Steve reached into the sconce on the right wall and retrieved a small brass key, holding it triumphantly up to Eddie’s face.

“Now, a few rules before we get down there,” Steve unlocked the door to reveal a beige carpeted staircase, “One: You drink what I give you.  Two: You sit where I tell you.  Three: You don’t touch anything that looks like it might belong in Indiana Jones .”

Eddie didn’t even wait for Steve to finish before bounding down the stairs, waving an arm behind him in a half-assed solute, “Yes, sir.”

Steve flushed hot.  Fuck, he was drunk.

Eddie, to his credit, followed the rules.  He sat himself down on the white leather couch and twiddled his thumbs, waiting for Steve to find the least expensive and most forgettable bottle in the cellar.  A chardonnay from the Burgundy region of France, something that—God willing— wouldn’t stain as bad.

Chapter Text

“Trying to get me drunk, Harrington?” Eddie asked as Steve made for another bottle, the first one—now empty—dropping from Eddie’s hand onto the white shag carpet, “I’m not that kind of girl Stevie, at least buy me dinner first.”

“I threw you a pool party for your graduation.”

“So?” He somehow managed to slur a two letter word.

“So if I wanted to fuck you I totally could.”

It wasn’t what he’d meant to say. Dear God, if he’d caught one of the kids saying that he’d have slapped them across the face and called Nancy to lecture them on the meaning and importance of consent.

But Steve was drunk.

And Eddie was now looking at him like…

Well. Like he’d just offered to fuck him in a wine cellar.

A slow, maniacal grin etched itself onto Eddie’s face, sending a sharp pant of dread into Steve’s gut. He’d never hear the end of this.

“If you were—I mean—you know.  If you were a chick or…”

“ Steve Harrigton ,” Something in his voice made Steve feel like he was staring at a hungry, snarling wolf, foaming from the mouth while eyeing his dinner.  The sly grin turned to a shit-eating one, “Are you trying to tarnish my virtue?  Right here in this basement?”

“N—” Steve would have explained it away with some excuse about being drunk, being tired, being straight.  He would’ve had Eddie not wobbled to his feet and trotted over to him.  He reached out and plucked the wine bottle from Steve’s hand.  It was a chilled bottle with a screw-off top, so Eddie quickly cracked it open and took a long swig.

He looked Steve in the eyes and tapped the glass with the tip of his finger, “Ask me again when we get to the bottom of this puppy.”

Then, he sauntered back to the couch, and Steve spent the next hour and a half attempting to drown in a third wine bottle.

Eddie loved this feeling.  Far enough into the drunken haze so that the edges of his sight were just a little fuzzy, so that everything looked just a little softer, but not so far gone that he was puking his guts out onto Steve Harrington’s richkid shag carpet.

This was the good part.

Steve finished off their third bottle and dropped it onto said carpet.

Rebel.

“Steve.”

He laid his head back against the couch.

“ Steeevie ,” Eddie poked his cheek, then the corner of his mouth where a permanent frown seemed to have taken shelter.

He poked it again.  This time it quirked up into a smile.  Success.

No, wait, not a smile.  A grimace.

“ What ?” He hissed.  Or, Eddie thought it was meant to be a hiss, it came out as more of a tired sigh.

“Don’t use your Dad Voice on me, Harrington.  I’m trying to compliment you.”

“Then compliment me.”

Eddie squinted, “Well now I don’t want to.”

“Then don’t.”

He pouted like it would somehow make Steve open his eyes and give him some goddamn attention.

“You surprised me.”

It didn’t work.  Steve kept his eyes closed.  Eddie would have thought he was asleep if it were for his rhythmic tapping against the couch space between them.

“Cuz I thought you’d be…you know…a huge bitch,” Eddie looked down at his own hands.  Hand shapes are fucking weird.  How do artists do it?  “But you’re not a huge bitch.  Just a little bit.  Just a little bitch.” He giggled at his hands.

“Don’t be such a cliche.”

Eddie looked up.  Steve hadn’t opened his eyes, “What?”

“Why would I be a bitch?”

“Because…”

“Because I was popular and you weren’t?”

“Because you were a bitch.”

Steve cracked his eye open just barely to look at him, “And how would you know.  We weren’t friends.”

“Rumors, darling.  Rumors.”

“By that standard, you’re a nerdy, queer, drug dealer satanist.”

“Three outta four.  Not bad for the high school rumor mill.”

That did the trick.  Steve perked up, his eyes shooting open.  He stared at him, “Holy shit…”

Eddie wasn’t an idiot.  He was on guard.  Drunk, but on guard.  The worst Steve could do was try to knock his teeth out, but they were both in equal states of inebriation and Eddie was sporting some pretty chunky rings.  He could handle himself.

“...So you really are a satanist?”

Eddie stared back at him.

“No.” He said.

He waited for the realization to dawn on Steve’s face.  It never did.  Instead, Steve looked down at his hand between them, then closed his eyes again, “I’m about to crash.  Can you kick people out around two?”

“Sure man,” Eddie wasn’t going to, but he’d let the man sleep in peace.

Funny thing about wine cellars, they’re underground.

Funny thing about being underground, there’s no windows.

This was the answer that Eddie’s aching head came up with when he woke up to the dimmed lights of Arthur and Marie Harrington’s basement with no sense of what time it was.

Steve was asleep.  Eddie let himself out.

He hadn’t kept his word from last night seeing as there were about twenty odd teenagers passed out on the couch, the floor, the dining table, dangerously far on the pool ledge.  It really was a shame he didn’t conduct any business last night.  Drunk, slap-happy graduates were exactly his market.  But he’d been dumb.  He’d told himself he deserved some work-free fun.  He deserved a pool party.  He deserved to maybe hang out with Steve Harrington without having to worry about up-selling cheerleaders.  He could’ve paid three of his uncle’s night shifts with last night alone.

Fucking stupid.

“If you like romances then you’ll love this one, it’s like the gold standard, I swear to God.”

“Yeah?  Tell me if it’s a sad ending though, I can’t handle sad romances.”

“O-oh, uh…” Robin stutters, staring down at the VHS box in her hand.  A sharp red blush formed under her freckles, “I’m not actually sure,” She does her nervous laugh, “Haven’t actually gotten to the end yet.  See the way I do movies is I actually like to take it stage by stage, you know?  Like watch the beginning, digest it for a few days, then—”

Steve zoned out.  He’s pretty sure Vickie has too.  At least, if the whole “leering at Robin’s lips” thing was anything to go by.  There were only a few people in the store.  Vickie, who’s been here upwards of twenty minutes and browsed about 90% of their selection with Robin close in tow, and a couple who were currently searching the back of the store, a section that Steve was specifically advised not to guide customers through.

All this to say: Steve was bored.  Apparently watching Robin be a class A babbling disaster is only fun for a few minutes before he feels like he’s intruding on something.  He’d tried to count down the hours until the end of his shift (two and a half), but wouldn’t you guess, that was boring too.  The movie they had on was one he’d seen a thousand times.  No cute girls to flirt with,  no surprise appearances by the little gremlins asking for discounts or access to the 18+ section in the back.

He never thought he’d say it, but Steve wished they’d come bother him.  Especially since it didn’t look like Vickie would be leaving any time soon.

And just then, like a saving grace, like a singing angel descending from heaven, the bell above the door jingled happily and in strode Eddie Munson.

Not quite an angel.  But his hair was pulled up today, only frizzy bangs and wild flyaways escaping the ponytail, creating a sort of halo around his head.

Close enough.

“His Royal Highness, just the man I want to see.”

Eddie widened his arms, practically taking up half the store with his wingspan coupled with the sheer size of his presence.

“Munson,” Steve mused, a smile tugging at his lips as Eddie approached the counter.

Maybe he was seeing things, but Steve swore Eddie’s grin shifted.  It lost a fraction of its humor, something unreadable left in its place.  But it was only for a second.

It's possible Steve might be seeing things.

“I’ve come to inquire about—if His Majesty would allow it—possibly maybe holding tonight’s DnD sesh at your massive, gaping mansion tonight.”

Eddie had dropped the unplaceable accent halfway through, opting for a timid, jarringly shy voice that Steve had never heard out of him.  He’d heard Eddie yelling, jeering, cracking jokes while deep into a fictional medieval character of his own making, he’d even heard him whispering hoarsely on the verge of death.  But Steve can’t place a single moment when he’d heard Eddie Munson being shy.

Apparently he dwelled for too long as Eddie was rushing into action again before Steve could formulate a response.

“Obviously you don’t have to, but Wheeler’s mom is having like, a wine night?  I guess?  And there’s like a game or a match or some shit that his dad wants to watch so the living room will be occupied and Mrs. Wheeler needs to host her gaggle of drunk moms in the basement and no one else’s place is big enough—”

“Okay.”

Eddie’s doe eyes shot up, large and questioning.

Christ, his eyes.

Steve winced before he even finished thinking if only he were a girl .  Because Eddie was attractive.  Plain and simple, there was something in his pointed jaw, round nose, messy hair, and huge eyes that all seemed to fit.  And they got along.  So it wasn’t crazy to wish there was a girl in Steve’s life to fit that mold.

He really needed to get laid.

Bits and pieces of that grad night had been coming back to him in the days past.  Vickie on Robin’s shoulders when he went to clean the pool the next morning.  Eddie dripping through his house when he vacuumed the rug.  One awful occasion when he was enjoying some alone time in his bed, literally mid stroke when an inexplicable vision of Eddie’s silver rings flashed behind his eyes to the tune of if you were a chick .

He’d been keeping his sanity by hoping that Eddie was just as drunk as he was and that line was so forgettable that it just sort of faded into the abyss.  He hasn’t been acting much different, still endearingly weird as ever.

“Okay.  Bring ‘em over.  I don’t mind.”

Eddie stared cautiously, “And your folks wouldn’t mind?”

“They're in Bermuda this week.”

“Oh…”

They both allowed the silence to stretch between them, squashing any semblance of a normal interaction they’d had.  Steve let his gaze waver from Eddie.  Robin and Vickie were staring at them.

Steve cleared his throat, “Yeah, so, come on over whenever you guys usually do your bullshit—”

“Six.”

“Six.  So come on over, I can order pizza or something.”

Eddie looked like Steve had just grabbed him by the arm and pulled him from Hell’s furnace.  He let out a long, labored sigh, “Thank you so much, man.  Really.”

Steve waved his hand, “It’s no problem.”

It would be no problem.

Right?

Wrong.

It was currently 10:37 that night, and they were still fucking going .  Steve had witnessed at least eight mental breakdowns and fuck knows how many screaming matches.  Eddie had brought along a tinny radio with a bent antenna, clearly on its last legs, and it had been spouting out cacophonies of drums unintelligible scream-singing for the better part of the night.

It wasn’t Steve’s personal taste.  But every now and then, in between dramatic monologues involving eight different voices, he would catch Eddie mouthing along to the words, tapping his fingers against the table, sometimes humming almost silently.  All things Steve would have missed had he not been watching Eddie for four and a half hours.

He couldn’t help it.  Eddie was like a drug once you really started looking at him.  Very on brand, Steve supposed.

Steve had gotten a taste of it in the store, inches away from those eyes, flashing various shades of disbelief, gratitude, and about a thousand others that Steve hadn’t had enough time to place.  He guessed he’d just have to keep looking into Eddie’s big puppy eyes.  Bummer.

It wasn’t a chore.  Eddie was electric.  He saw that tonight.

Steve sat in his plush chair all night, just watching.  He watched Eddie slam his palms on the Harringtons’ dining table, earning a good flinch from everyone.  He watched him sit back and twirl his hair around his ringed fingers while the party deliberated, his Hellfire tee slipping up just a bit.  Just enough for Steve to get a glimpse of smooth, pale skin the bats hadn’t gotten to.  Only for a second though, just before Eddie snapped upright again, urging the group to hurry up, putting on the pressure.

One could say that Steve was having fun sitting in the corner of his dining room, nursing a mug of green tea (he usually refuses to drink in front of the kids, graduation parties excluded.  Eddie had refused a drink altogether), watching some of the dorkiest kids—and one nineteen year old—nearly give themselves aneurysms trying to make their way through a fictional terrain.

Steve wouldn’t call it fun.  Fun was a date in the movie theater, taking the time to whisper into a giggling girl’s ear, stretching his arm around her shoulder, touching hands in the popcorn bucket.  You know, the stuff that works.  Fun would be driving her home for a nightcap.  Fun would be taking her up to his room, letting her tease him about his Little League trophies, coming up behind her with a hand ghosting her hip, his lips by her ear—

No.  This wasn’t fun .

But it was something.

It was certainly something seeing Eddie in all his flare and dramatics without getting heckled and tormented.

It was a funny, beautiful, wildly entertaining side of him that Steve regretted not seeing before.

Truth be told, he could take four more hours of this.

“And that, my dear players, is where you retire for the night.”

A collective groan.

“ Eddie—”

“We were just about to get to Menzoberranzan!”

“You’ve traveled a long way boys,” Eddie locked eyes with Steve for the first time in six hours, “Even the strongest soldiers need some goddamn rest.”

Steve narrowed his eyes.  ‘Talking about me or you?’

Eddie just winked.  Steve went red.

It took a ridiculous amount of effort to haul the kids out the door and Steve had to wonder if this was what Eddie had to deal with at the end of every session.  Maybe Steve didn’t give him enough credit.

“Remember kids,” Eddie said, snatching a bag of chips from Dustin’s hands on the way to his van, “No food or drinks on the school bus.”

Dustin scoffed.  Steve laughed watching him sulk over to Eddie’s van, each of the kids piling in like it was a clown car.

“I think I’ve seen at least four types of mold and a dead lizard in your car, but chips are where you draw the line?”

Eddie clutched his chest, “Steve Harrington .  How dare you?  I’ll have you know I’ve been making some changes as of late and I don’t appreciate my accomplishments being diminished by the likes of you.”

Steve didn’t have another retort, he tried, and he came up short.

“Goodnight, Eds,” He clapped him on the shoulder and Eddie’s eyes widened.  At which part of what he just did, Steve wasn’t sure.  This whole night was uncharted territory, but he was choosing to ignore that specific fact.

“Night, Harrington,” Eddie’s voice sounded timid, quiet.  Maybe he was tired.  Being that on for nearly five hours had to take it out of you.

With that, Eddie crept down the darkened driveway.  Steve watched him go for a second, two, three, before striding back into his house, resting his back against the door as soon as he shuts it.

It was nearing 2:00.

Steve hadn’t moved from his couch since kicking the little gremlins out of his house except to get more beer.

He was trying to distract himself.  He really was.

He was on his second cassette that he’d swiped from work that day, trying fruitlessly to keep his focus on Phoebe Cates in a red bikini and not long, unkempt curls tucked behind pierced ears.

It wasn’t working.

I really wasn’t working considering the amount of times Steve had considered calling up Heidi, just for old time’s sake, just to get his mind off Eddie’s devilish, ridiculously well-practiced smile.

Steve had never thought about a guy like this before.  But he wasn’t dumb.  He knew this feeling like the back of his hand.

Somehow, by some stroke of bad luck, by some god with a sick sense of humor pulling the universe’s strings— somehow , Steve was attracted to Eddie Munson.

It made Steve laugh in the moment, a short, humorless burst of breath into the emptiness of his home.

Of course this would happen to him.

Nevermind his womanizing reputation, nevermind his squashed fantasies of having a family with Nancy fucking Wheeler, no.  Apparently a full nineteen years of wanting girls in his bed was no match for Eddie Munson’s ratty t-shirts, dingy van, and infuriating skill for making Steve’s head spin.

Steve popped a beer cap off with his teeth and downed a third of the bottle.

He needed to call Robin.

It was easier said than done.  Steve stumbled his way over to the kitchen phone, leaning his weight against the wall as he wracked his brain for Robin’s number.

It rang once.

Twice.

Thr—

“Hello?”

“Robin!” Steve shuttered at his own volume.  He was sure Robin did too.

“Robin,” He said quieter, “I need to ask you something.”

“I’m a lesbian, Steve.”

“That’s not—” Steve sighed, pressing his forehead against the wall, vice grip on the receiver, “I’m being serious, Robin.”

“I don’t know if that’s possible in your level of intoxication.”

“You don’t know how ‘toxicated I am,” Steve knitted his eyebrows together, “Please help me.”

Robin was quiet for a moment.  A bit too long for Steve’s taste.

“With what?”

“...Is there anyone else listening?”

Robin chuckled, “I mean, Eddie’s passed out on my floor cuddling my Scooby stuffed animal, but I don’t think he even heard the phone ring.”

Steve’s brain fell silent, “Eddie’s there?”

“Yeah, dropped by after your little DnD bash hosted by—”

“And he’s asleep?”

“Either that or he’s ridiculously great at fake snoring.”

“Good because I think I have a thing for him.”

Silence.  Steve dug his nails into the chrysanthemum wallpaper.

“You…”

She sounded confused.

Steve wanted to explain, but he was confused too.

“A thing, you know?  Like how I had a thing for Nance?  And you?  Like how you have a thing for V—”

“Yeah I got that part,” Robin cut him off, thank God, “So you’ve got…”

“A thing.”

“ A thing ,” She had a tone.  Steve didn’t know what it was, but he sure as hell didn’t appreciate it, “ For Eddie .”

“Yes.”

“And…and you realized this tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Just now?”

“...Yes?”

Robin sighed.  A little dramatic, Steve thought, but he really needed her advice right now.

She muttered something that sounded a bit like ‘dingus’ .

“Watch it, Buckley—”

“And you’re calling me at two in the morning because…”

Steve hesitated.

“Steve?”

“How’d you get over Tammy Thompson?”

There.  The words were out.  The hard part was over.  Now for the solutions to start rolling in.

“ Steve… ” Robin sounded tired.  She sounded sad.

“Yeah?”

“Do me a favor,” That wasn’t the response he was looking for.

“Robin—”

“Just do me a favor and drink some water.  Go to sleep, call in sick tomorrow if you need to.  And please don’t forget that we talked about this.”

Now that she mentioned it, Steve was pretty tired.

After stumbling up the stairs, leaving a trail of discarded clothes through the barren hallways and flying face down into his mattress, Steve counted how long he could hold his breath.  41 seconds.  For the first ten he was fine.  As fine as one could be with messily soft curling bangs and rusting silver rings seared behind their eyes.  Then inset the panic, a short flare of red, blaring alarms rippling out from his lungs.  But with the continued beating of his heart and silk pillow fibers tickling his cheek, the panic eased.  After that it was just a matter of willpower.  As the edges of his room softened, darkened, his consciousness followed suit, twisting and flaring like a scarf in the wind before the very last trace of light left the world.

In other words, the beers were a mistake and Steve fell asleep within sixty seconds.

Chapter Text

Maybe Steve had been hoping, praying that when he rolled up to Buckley’s house the day after the campaign from hell, that Eddie’s rusting, chipping black death mobile wouldn’t be parked in the driveway.  No such luck.  And even better was the pair of rowdy teens wrestling each other out the front door.  The Hellfire shirt Eddie had worn the night before was slung over his shoulder, replaced with Robin’s crochet tank top stretched tight across his chest.  The hem was riding just above his belly button, giving way to miles of exposed skin leading down to the frayed waist of his jeans.

Steve looked on.

Eddie looked good in a little color.  The top used the brightest hues of gold and orange and turquoise that did nothing but glow in the sunlight and highlight how ghostly pale Eddie’s gotten.  Or maybe he’s always been that way, and maybe it just shows better in the sunshine than in the cold fluorescents of Hawkins High.

He reminded Steve of a vampire.  Not the Fright Night sort, but one of the sexy ones.

Steve dug his fingernails into the leather steering wheel.

Those are the exact thoughts he is not going to think.  Especially within spitting distance of Eddie.  That was what he needed Robin for.  Except Robin was too busy fake making out with Eddie against his van to come to his aid, the two of them gripping wildly at each other, the mirror image of a natural documentary about horny rabbits.  They snuck glances at Steve every few seconds, seemingly upping the ante when Steve only sat there in his absorption.

Eddie swung around to face Steve’s car.  He earned a sharp shriek from Robin when he thrusted her into a dip, locking his eyes on Steve as he let his tongue poke out between his teeth like a coyote, heading down to lick a flat line right on Robin’s cheek.  It was no big deal.  Steve tore a fleck of leather off the steering wheel and tightened his jaw, but it was no big deal.

“See ya ‘round, Buckley!” Eddie narrowed his eyes on Steve peering out his windshield with one arm slung out the window, “Hey, Stevie.”

With that, Eddie opened the door to his van and all but jumped inside, jostling the tinny running board and swaying the entire obtrusive vehicle.

Robin slinked into the passenger's seat, adjusting her blouse and acknowledging Steve with a restrained smile.  Steve threw it in reverse and sped down the neighborhood street, keeping his eyes steadily away from Eddie’s direction like he was trying not to look at the sun.

They drove in silence as Robin made no move to adjust the radio or fix her mascara.  No.  She was dutifully silent as Steve got on the main road.  She was also staring at Steve with those wide and baring bug-eyes.

Steve rolled past a stop sign and prayed to Hell below that she’d say something.  Not the thing , just something, anything in the world as long as it had nothing to do with last night or with Eddie or with Steve’s heart rate which was only just settling.

“So…” Steve’s voice rattled out, overstaying its welcome in the tense, fragile air between them.

“So.”

Steve coughs.  That was all he had.

So…I think I came out to you last night?

So I know Eddie’s not a girl but—well, I guess he has long hair, so maybe that's confusing.

So I know Eddie’s a dude but I can't stop thinking about his mouth and it’s kind of weirding me out.

So that’s a lie, it’s not weirding me out, it's actually making me want to go home and jerk off but you’re my friend and we have a video store to open, so I won’t do that.

“Okay I know it’s like, your thing ,” Robin’s voice was enough to jolt Steve back into reality, a pretty good place to be when you’re operating a vehicle with a minor in the passenger's seat, “But I never really bought the whole ‘dumb idiot himbo jock’ thing until right now—”

“Uh…”

“—because how did it take you this fucking long to realize you want to dick Eddie down to Kentuckey?”

“Robin!”

“I mean, are you kidding me?!” Robin sputters, coming alive and flailing her arms around, “Four years of high school with the guy, an interdimensional hiking trip, and some top tier trauma bonding and you’re subconscious has only just acknowledged the disgusting amount of sexual tension between you two.”

Steve was speechless, partly for Robin’s crudeness (that was usually Steve’s job), but mostly because she was right.  It was ridiculous and stupid and embarrassing.  Steve Harrington unwittingly lusting after the town burnout for weeks while Eddie just—

Eddie was just Eddie.  Steve couldn’t describe him any other way.

Eddie walked out of the house in crochet crop tops and he made scenes in the lunchroom and no matter what seduction skills had worked for Steve in the past, Eddie was immune to all of them.  Eddie never faltered, he never blushed, never stuttered.  Nobody could crack him—at least, not Steve.

It was a defeat that took him back to his fling with Nancy.  Only this was worse.  This was so, so much worse.

“Yeah, can we just—” Steve stammers, parking in front of Family Video and reaching into the backseat for his crumpled vest.

He struggled with it, turning it inside out and twisting to fit it over his arms in the compact car.

“Steve?”

Steve grunted and threw the door open, “Can we just not talk about it?” And with that, he strode off and left Robin scrambling out of the car behind him.

“Okay, dingus, we don’t have to talk about it,” Robin panted as she caught up with him, “You know I can’t run, man.  I had that back brace when I was eight and—”

Steve unlocked the doors, flipping on the lights and queuing up the TVs while Robin took her post at the register.  He used to think it was cool working at a video store, unlimited access to Phoebe Cates in a red bikini plus a tried and true opener when the college girls came in.  Steve would steer them towards the romance section, sling some bullshit about how his heart positively swoons when Harry and Sally meet.  It worked like 80% of the time.  With girls, that was.

Steve mindlessly restocked the animated section and imagined trying that line on a guy.  Not Eddie , per say.  Just a guy.  The problem is that Steve hasn’t exactly felt the urge to hit on a guy before Eddie and his stupid hair strolled into Steve’s sight.  So, he imagined himself leaning against the shelves as Eddie perused the Sci-Fi rack, or Fantasy.  Steve wasn’t sure what movies Eddie liked, but he was mortified to find that he desperately wanted to know.

Maybe Dustin knew.

It doesn’t matter.  Steve imagined Eddie coming in, his hair up in a ponytail, wearing some band tee that he cut the sleeves off of…maybe he’s even wearing shorts.  Steve had no idea how Eddie dressed in the summer, but he can’t wear black jeans and denim vests all year.

And now he can’t shake the image of Eddie wearing short cutoff jeans that exposed half his thigh, those were in style this season, Steve had noticed.

Oh, you like laser battles in space?  Might I recommend Star Wars?  It’s got some very organic and intelligent dialogue, not to mention that Harrison Ford…pretty cute, right?  Is that your type?  Roguishly handsome and unattached men with fast cars?  Spaceships?  Whatever, it doesn’t matter.  Want to come over tonight and watch it with me?

Steve cringed, then he knocked his head against the wall and regretted every word he’d ever said to Eddie.

“I’m so fucking out of it, man.”

Steve didn’t mean to say it out loud, but he trusted that his subconscious was trying to help him as Robin perked up.

“What?” She questioned.

“I’m out of my depth, Rob.  Like, entirely…” He looked at her, getting nothing but a blank stare as Robin held a rewound tape in her hands, “This has never happened to me before.”

She cocked her hip and squinted, “What has never happened?” She played dumb.  That bitch.

Steve raised his eyebrow and slumped against the wall, “You know.”

Robin didn’t give in.  She was going to make him say it.  Steve supposed he had it coming after shutting her down in the car.

“How do you handle this kind of shit?” Steve asked, bundling all the confusion and fear and uncertainty and absolute brain rot under the umbrella of this kind of shit .

Gay shit, is what he should’ve said.  But Steve couldn’t.  He just—he couldn’t .

Robin seemed to notice.

“Well,” She sounded genuine, and a little sad, not quite a reassuring sign, “The first step is admitting that you have a problem,”

Steve huffed and Robin grinned.

“Just kidding,” She said, “The first step is realizing that you wanna bang someone you shouldn’t.  The next step is stressing over whether or not they also want your gravy in their muffin until you eventually say or do something so damning that they either stop talking to you forever or politely indicate that they are on the straight and narrow.  Or if you're lucky, I guess, maybe you’ll get some ass after all.  But that’s never been my experience.  And even then, in a town like this it never lasts long.

“And the final step is understanding that you didn’t do anything wrong or evil or hedonistic by just feeling your feelings, and then you move on.”

Steve focused in on an old “It’s a Wonderful Life” poster as Robin recounts what must be years of hard-earned knowledge about how to handle something so weird .

Because it was weird, someone like Steve thinking this much and this hard about someone like Eddie.  They were deep, cold, and uncharted waters in which King Steve of the Suburban Midwest found himself adrift.  They weren’t the waves he thought he’d have to wade through.  He thought he would’ve known by now.  Robin knew when she was ten and she hasn’t even kissed anybody.

(Poor girl.  Steve really has to be a better wingman once he untangles the love knots in his own brain.)

“Okay.” Steve said definitively, because there was no further step, no grand scheme to bend anyone he pleased to his will like he always thought would be possible.  This is what it’s like , he supposed, being this way .  There’s not a happy Hollywood ending wherein he and Eddie retire to Miami and live as happy gay hermits on the beach.  Steve wasn’t even convinced he wanted that, it was just the crushing reality that he never could that made his head spin and his eyes prickle with tears.

This was so stupid.

Robin noticed, because of course she did, and scurried around the counter.  Steve accepted the hug because what else could he do?  Any front of being a manly man in front of Robin had been demolished long ago and now Steve was grappling with his very first utter loss of control.  He wasn’t the type of person to not have control over his life.  His parents were rich.  He was handsome, charming, and—again, rich.  Everything a happy, independent, secure man should be.  Steve had everything he could possibly need to be happy and here the world came to tell him that he could have everything, except boys.

Not boys—Eddie.

Steve wanted Eddie more than anything else he’d ever seen.  More than Nancy, more than college, more than a mother who wasn’t slowly drowning in red wine and a father who knew the difference between tough love and abuse.

And Steve couldn’t have him, and he didn’t think his ego would ever recover.

Robin startled him out of his trance, “But the good news is—”

The door flew open and Robin’s arms retreated and in strolled the dickweasel himself.  Dustin's curls were blonding with the sunlight as they puffed out under his cap.  Steve looked behind him where Mike, Lucas, and Will were close in tow.

“No girls today?” Robin mused, retreating to the register again, “Did you all get broken up with again?”

“Fuck you, no,” Dustin spat, “All of us are still loyally attached.  Except Will, obviously.”

Steve looked to the back of their little chorus line at the boy trying to sink into his flannel.  He wanted to recommend a haircut and some gel, then the ladies would be flocking in, but something about the scarlet blush on Will’s cheeks and his steady gaze aimed at the floor made Steve bite his tongue.

“What are you guys looking for?” Steve asked, putting on his work voice, “And don’t say an empty mansion for your dorky game.”

Please say an empty mansion for your dorky game.

Please say Eddie sent you.

“Relax, jackass,” Lucas went straight to the Action rack, the four of them dispersing to different shelves, “Eddie’s uncle’s working graveyard tonight so we can use his place.”

“Oh…”

There goes Steve’s one excuse to enter Eddie’s vicinity.

“Do you guys…need a ride?  Or something?”

Mike looked at him like he’d grown two dicks, “Are you offering…?”

Steve sputtered, “No, just—”

“Eddie’s gonna take us in his van.  He promised the engine’s fixed this time.”

“That doesn’t sound reassuring,” Robin chimed.

“It’s not,” said Will as he flipped through the romance boxes, “But whatever.”

“Yeah, we’re not scared of Eddie’s van!”

Steve grimaced, “I really think you should be.”

Dustin scowled, “So his car isn’t some luxury bullshit from Sweden, he knows how to drive, man.”

Steve paled, “I-I didn’t mean—”

“Jesus Christ,” Robin sighed, “What movie are you guys looking for?”

The boys quieted before Mike, ever the leader, spoke up, “A few.  We’re having a marathon, Eddie said we each get to pick out one movie.”

“You think he’ll be cool with that sappy shit Will’s looking at?” Steve asked.

“Yes.”

He wanted Dustin to elaborate, to take his eyes off the busty cover he was holding for a second and tell Steve in detail what sort of movies Eddie likes.

“So what sort of movies does Eddie like?” Robin asked.

If they weren’t…in their respective predicaments, Steve would have kissed her.

The boys exchanged mischievous glances, then giggled.  Fucking kids.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Dustin blurted, “Eddie likes, you know, sci-fi or whatever, same as us.”

Mike snorted, poorly disguising it as a cough.  Robin and Steve shared a glance, not a single clue between them of what was so funny.

They rented four movies, three of them some obscure arthouse shit Steve had never heard of and one copy of “Sixteen Candles” courtesy of Will Byers, filed out the door, and took off on their bikes.

“They’re going to die virgins.”

“God willing,” Steve muttered.

3:47 p.m.

Thirteen minutes until Steve gets to return to his empty house and fantasize about Eddie in a crop top until he falls asleep drooling on his pillow.

Robin left two hours ago, child labor laws and whatnot, and Steve was counting down the seconds before Seth walked through the door to free Steve from his hell and release him into another, much worse hell.  He was watching some unrecognizable cocktail party scene play out on the hanging screen when the phone rang out shrilly.

“Family Video, this is Steve.”

“Hi there, Steeeve.  My my, what a sweet sounding voice you have.”

Steve instinctively straightened out his vest despite the source of his embarrassment being a crackly voice over the phone.

“Munson.”

“Guilty,” Eddie chuckled.  Steve shivered.  He was pathetic, sure.  Old news, “I’m calling to ask for your opinion.”

Steve gawked, “ My opinion?”

“Well…an opinion.  What would you recommend for an afternoon of four uppity kiddos pestering me about where I keep my weed while I watch whatever cinematic abominations they’ve borrowed from your fine establishment?”

“Um…” Steve faltered.  Sound cool, idiot.  Sound cool for Eddie , “I recommend smoking it all before they arrive.”

He must have said something right because Eddie laughed, a sweet, fleeting little noise that sounded too girly to have come from someone like—well, like him .

“Mr. Harrington,” Eddie’s cute little giggle morphed into a deep, gravelly drawl, “Are you trying to get me inebriated?”

“No!—I mean—” Steve stammered.  His cheeks turned red and he wanted to fall to his knees and thank God that Eddie decided to call instead of coming in, “Dumbass, you know what I mean.”

“Steve, you know I love it when you talk dirty to me, but I actually called for a very serious reason.”

Steve gulped, “What do you want me to do?”

“What don’t I want you to do?”

“Eddie—”

“Per the request of tonight’s guests, I’d greatly appreciate it if you could recommend-slash-borrow your finest adult tape and allow me to, uh…hold onto it.  Just for tonight.”

Steve blanked, “You…want me to steal a porno.”

“Yes.”

“—From my workplace—”

“Very astute, Steve.”

“For a bunch of fifteen-year-olds to watch tonight just because they asked?”

Eddie gasped, “Steve!  Of course not, don’t be preposterous!  I want you to steal a porno for my dumbass friends who will be sleeping over after the little shitbags leave at 8:00 p.m.” Steve faltered, his mouth gaping around unspoken words, “Now, of course, I’m not just asking you for a favor.  I wouldn’t dare overstep the boundaries of our acquaintanceship.  In exchange for this act of kindness you will get your pick of fifty bucks worth of my finest product.”

3:58 p.m.

Steve scanned the parking lot.  No sign of Seth.  No sign of customers.

“Why…would you want—”

“Why would my silly old burnout friends want a porno as tonight's entertainment?  Because some birdie told them that E was the best orgasm of your life and they are all woefully unashamed once they get a few shots down.  And we may or may not be trying to settle a bet.”

“What bet?”

“Doesn’t concern you,”

Eddie snapped just sharp enough for Steve to wonder if he was being serious.  What did serious Eddie even look like?

“Will you do it?”

Steve sighed, “What does fifty dollars get me?”

“The best blowie of your life.”

“...”

“Jesus Christ, Steve, I’m kidding.” Eddie chuckled, oblivious to the crimson flush that had overtaken Steve’s cheeks, “I’ll tell you what, how about you drop by around eight, survey the merchandise, and drop off whatever film you find suitable.  Dealer’s choice.  I trust your judgment in this area.  Just…preferable something with girl boobs, you know, for the guys.”

For the guys.

Not for Eddie.

Steve shook his head.  That wasn’t what he meant.  Probably.

“Um…” A Bronco screeched into the lot.  Steve looked over at the clock.

4:01 p.m.

“Okay.”

“Ugh, I knew I could count on you.  Hang loose, man!  See you at eight.”

Eddie hung up, and Steve gazed hopelessly back towards the 18+ section as Seth rattled the door open.

“Quittin’ time, Harrington.”

As Steve was hanging his vest up in the back, he scanned his eyes slyly over the video boxes.

Sleeping Booty

Romancing the Bone

King Dong

Steve groaned.  This was so stupid.  Eddie gave no specifics.  Just boobs, and Steve would be lying if he said he hadn’t perused the back room before.

He didn’t think about it.  He beelined for the tape buried behind a cluster of rolled up posters.

Sex Wars Episode IV: A New Hole

Chapter Text

Eddie was in the process of corralling the kids across the dirt road when Steve arrived, sending up a cloud of dust in his tracks as if his sports car wasn’t enough to draw the attention of the trailer park’s inhabitants.  Eddie had the kids, the girls included this time, halfway to Max’s trailer when he spotted him.

Eddie’s hair was in a ponytail, differently than Steve had imagined it early that day.  For some ungodly reason, he’d thought Eddie would sport a sleek, brush down ponytail akin to what Tammy Thompson wore in P.E.  He’d overestimated Eddie.  Or maybe he’d underestimated him because the wild curls he’d gathered into a tie high on his head topped every magazine model he’d ever seen.

Eddie waved his arm around, a bit more than necessary, and held up a finger to him before pushing the kids along.  Steve stepped out and heard echoes of “Playtime’s over” and “You must be this cool to participate in Adult Swim” .

The kids groaned all the way.  Only Will, following in the back of the herd, caught Steve leaning against his car, all but ogling their line leader.  If Steve could see through the dark, he would’ve bet that the kid raised a questioning eyebrow before turning away.  He must have known not to ask.  Smart kid.  He’d never say this to Dustin, but Steve always knew Will to be the brains of the operation.  It was backed up by his DnD strategy, and Steve was horrified that he’d used DnD strategy to back up his point.  Like he said, he’ll never say it out loud.

Eddie waited until every child was inside and the plastic door was latched and bolted before he jogged back over to his own trailer, not waiting a second more before lighting up a cigarette.

“Sorry, man.  You mind if I smoke before I take you inside?  Haven’t had a cig in like five hours.”

“That—That’s fine,” Steve muttered, only a little mesmerized by the smoke blowing out from Eddie’s open lips.  He just had such pretty lips was the thing.

“I don’t like to smoke in front of the kids, you know?” He continued, oblivious to Steve’s leering, “God forbid they end up like me.”

Eddie gave himself a chuckle around his cigarette.

“Right,” Steve said, joining him against the side of the trailer, “God forbid they start calling me up to shoplift porn for them.”

Eddie laughed again.  But it was real this time.  Well, maybe not real, but it was different than the little courtesy laugh he’d given himself to counter Steve’s awkward silence.  Who was Steve to say which one was real?  He wasn’t sure he knew Eddie that well.  He guessed he’d just have to spend more time with him and figure it out.  Bummer.

“ Steve ,” Eddie gasped and Steve was glad it was getting dark, because he liked the way Eddie said his name, the way he always just said his name, far too much to not show up on his face, “I explained the situation to you in confidence.  Have some compassion.”

Steve grinned despite himself, “You’re right, you’re right.  I’m sorry.  Who am I to make light of your horrible, simply devastating position here.”

“It is devastating!”

“Maybe this will help,” Steve reached into his jacket pocket, grabbing the God-awful VHS cover.  Not to go into too much detail, it featured two Death Stars in an unmistakable allusion to a girl’s rack, a lightsaber dildo, and a gold bikini.

Eddie snatched it out of his hand, inspecting it two inches from his face.  Steve held his breath as his eyes studied it for approximately four seconds before Eddie’s head flew back, bumping the side of his trailer, his mouth stretched into a hyena grin.  Steve was about to ask if he was alright before a wild howl escaped Eddie’s chest.  Loud bursts of breathless laughter followed by a bout of coughing echoed through the neighborhood, so loud that, upon glancing towards Max’s trailer, Steve caught the blinds peeking open.  It was too dark to see who was curiously searching for the noise, and therefore too dark for them to recognize Steve, but he still prayed it was Will.  He was the only one of them who knew how to keep his mouth shut.

Another fit of laughter began, drawing Steve’s attention back to Eddie, the giggling little metalhead who had nearly dropped his cigarette and was clutching the film to his heaving chest.

This was his real laugh.  It had to be.  It had to be a real laugh because it was fucking embarrassing, even for Eddie.

Steve checked “laughing” off his mental checklist of things he had yet to understand about Eddie.  One down.  About sixteen more to go.  There were probably more.  Steve should really make a list.  Scratch that.  He should not make a list.

“I thought you’d like it,” He supplied sheepishly.

“ Like it?!” Eddie gasped, admiring the cover again, “Oh, Steve, it’s perfect.  I don’t even need to watch it.  Nothing inside this tape could be as enchanting as its cover.”

“Oh, right, I forgot,” Steve teased, “This isn’t for you, it’s for the guys .”

“You bet your ass,” Eddie finally calmed, taking another drag to seal the deal, “I assume it’s got, you know, girl boobs ?” He said it like a little kid repeating a bad word they’d heard at recess.

“Of course it does.  It was my one criteria.”

“Always is, right,” Eddie teased him, nudging him in the arm, trying in vain to draw out a laugh.  But Steve just tensed.

I thought so , he almost said, I thought so until you showed up .

Eddie sensed it.  Well, he sensed something, because the next moment he was putting his cigarette out under his shoe and jumping the steps into his trailer, ushering Steve in behind him.

Let it go.

Steve let it go and followed.

The stench of weed hit him before he even crossed the threshold.

“Dammit, guys, you couldn’t even wait until our guest left?” Eddie chided his bandmates.  Steve was pretty sure they were his bandmates.  Considering their practically matching metalhead attire, he probably wasn’t too far off.

“Are we harming his virgin nostrils?” One of them said.  Steve didn’t know his name.  He was almost certain he’d never been told his name, but he had black nail polish and a septum ring and all Steve could think was that Eddie did it better, that Eddie was the original, and they were just posers.

Eddie didn’t dignify his friend with a response.  Instead, he was halfway down the hallway by the time Steve turned back around.

He scurried after him like the yipping dog he was, taking passing note of the pointedly bare walls.  Maybe family photos weren’t the etiquette for mobile homes.  Maybe family photos didn’t exist to Eddie.

“Hurry up, Harrington,” Eddie called, already out of sight through the door at the end of the hall, “Wouldn’t want you to get a contact high.”

“I’m not ten.”

He followed through the door, stepping into a minefield of loose guitar pics, discarded tees, and an inexplicable pair of handcuffs hung between two band posters.  Steve wanted to ask.  Especially because they clearly weren’t police handcuffs, the chain was too long, so that ruled them out as a souvenir stolen from the Hawkins Police Department.  Steve ran through possible scenarios in his head, then promptly stopped once the image of Eddie’s pale, tattooed wrists chained to a bed frame, red and raw from scraping the metal shoved it’s way into his periphery like a cheap jumpscare.  These are things Steve should absolutely not be thinking about while in Eddie’s bedroom which, incidentally, had Eddie’s bed .  It was unmade and messy with chip bags and comic books and dangerously accessible from where Steve stood.

“Here we are,” Eddie arose from under his bed.  Steve had nearly forgotten he was there.  He held a lunchbox in his hands, his lips turned into a proud smile.  Here in the dim yellow light of Eddie’s only lamp, Steve could thoroughly take in his look tonight.

He’d seen the dark silhouette of his ponytail outside and that had been enough to light a miniature bomb in his chest, but now the loose, frizzy strands and curtaining bangs were practically glowing from just one stupid lamp with a cracked shade.

Steve wondered for a moment if that was all it took, if maybe he should ditch his bedroom’s overhead light next time he brought a girl home.  Of course, he’d have to get over Eddie’s hair and the slant of Eddie’s nose and Eddie’s arms which, while toned, were still slimmer than Steve’s.  A small feat that he took far too much pride in.

“Ecstasy has been reserved for the guys, unfortunately, but let me assure you,” Eddie pulled out a bag full of bud from his little tin lunchbox, “This stuff’s top notch.  My buddy gets it from California.”

“You’re buddy,” Steve snorted, “Reefer Rick?”

Eddie’s grin wavered.  Only for a moment though, too quick for Steve to grasp the full effect of his fuckup.

“Yeah,” Eddie held out the bag.  Steve took it, “You know how to roll?”

“Um…”

Yes.

“No.”

Tommy’s older brother taught us when we were thirteen.

“Tommy usually handled that.”

Eddie softened at that, almost mockingly.  He swiftly moved past Steve, patting his cheek on the way, “You sweet little fawn.”

Steve took it back.  He was definitely mocking him.

“Come with me.”

Eddie set them up at the kitchenette counter, a knockoff Star Wars score playing as his bandmates stared glossy-eyed at the television.

Steve tried not to mind the awkward dialogue, zoning in on Eddie’s steady hands rolling three, four joints for him, walking Steve through it as he went.  Steve pulled out his acting skills from his title role in their fourth grade production of Peter Pan, humming and ohh ing at what he hoped were the right moments.

“Then just twist it off at the end…” Eddie holds up another flawless joint, “ Et voilà .”

The paper looked good between Eddie’s fingers—too good, Steve decided, to be taken away.

“Wanna smoke it?”

Steve held his breath.  Eddie’s face was usually so unreadable that it only confused him more.  He watched the surprise and consideration in his features give way to a sly smile that twisted Steve’s insides.

“It’s your money, man,” Eddie said, a little too amused.

He glanced over at his bandmates on the couch.  Steve had been very intently not listening to the quiet mewing and low grunting coming from the crackling TV, even more the curious metal clanking that only served to remind Steve of the cuffs hanging proud on the other end of the trailer.  It sounded like things were picking up now, though.  What used to be hushed gasps were evolving into heavier moans.  Steve couldn’t see the screen, but he could hear a man’s groaning counteracting the princess’s wails—probably the princess.  Steve saw Star Wars like, once, and he spent the better part of it kissing behind Cindy’s—Cynthia’s?—ear.

He turned back to Eddie who was staring intently down at the scattered bits of bud on the table.  Steve wished the room was lit better than the blue glow of the TV.  He would have killed to know if Eddie was blushing.

His hopes were slashed when Eddie snapped upright.  Steve paid too much attention as his haphazard ponytail lost a few more strands.

“Let’s go outside,” Eddie’s voice came out in little more than a whisper, like there was a delicate wall between them he didn’t want to shatter.

Steve was quick to rush to the door, but not quick enough before he heard a lightsaber sound effect and for the life of him, he didn’t want to know .

It was a gratefully cool night for July.  Cool enough that Eddie rubbed over the goosebumps on his arm every time a breeze flew by.  Steve watched the raised hairs soothe under Eddie’s rings, transfixed.

Now that the neurons had connected, he was plagued.  Steve couldn’t quit thinking about all the ways this evening could go, thinking up dopey lines that wouldn’t have worked even in high school.  He was watching Eddie cough after achieving a few decent smoke rings the way he used to watch Nancy chew on the tip of her pen—dopey and wide-eyed.  Only this time he wasn’t as brazen, as confident.  He shot his eyes to the gravel at the slightest twitch of Eddie’s head.

Steve was a few hits in when Eddie caught him staring at his bowed lips, the bulge at the angle of his jaw, the wispy curl stuck on his eyelash, he didn’t trust himself to weasel out of it.  Gone was any ounce of suaveness from his system.  It expelled itself from his lungs and Steve was quickly realizing that he was, at his core, deeply and unforgivably uncool .  Since last summer—going six rejections for zero dates in the end—he really thought he was on the up.  He flirted, he dated, kissed, fucked, and moved on.  Status quo, rinse and repeat.

But Eddie’s knuckles brushed his own while grabbing the joint and Steve felt like he’d been stripped and plunged into freezing depths and no number of years as swim captain could get his head above water.

Would Eddie even fall for it, everything that worked on the girls he knew.  He couldn’t picture Eddie’s wild eyes growing shy and batting away if Steve looked at him too long.  If he reached out to tuck a curl behind his ear and brush his fingers down the tendon in his neck, Steve wouldn’t be met with the usual soft skin but instead scar tissue and stubble.

Eddie had his eyes shut and Steve allowed himself a nice long look.

The hairband was just an accessory at this point.  Most of Eddie’s hair was loose and reaching down his shoulders in ringlets.  He traced his eyes in a slow, winding path from the reddish tip of his nose, across his cheeks, down to the divot at the corner of his mouth that could be a smile line—probably a frown line.  He wanted to slot his tongue into that crease and taste him.  He wanted to feel like he never had before.  He just didn’t know how to fucking start.

It was a brick wall, a cold bucket of water that made him feel fourteen again.  Like his dad had told him it was time to go out and find a girl to kiss except—

Except this is so much fucking worse.

Eddie reached back, eyes still thankfully shut so he didn’t see the way Steve flinched.  He fumbled a hand over the tinny walls until it landed over a lightswitch.  Suddenly, Eddie’s resting profile became that much more intolerable as a dusty orange bulb flickered on above them.

“Shit,” Eddie murmured.  The eyebrow Steve could see furrowed up.  He wanted to smooth it out again, “I guess I scammed you on this one.  It’s been a while, sorry.”

He was peering down dejectedly as the joint burned out.  Steve watched a dusting of ash tumble over his fingertips, the fine lines of calluses from his guitar strings.

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve said, looking more at his friend’s fingers than the lost money.

“Nahhh,” Eddie flicked the butt away, “I’ll give you a freebee.”

“Seriously,” Steve insisted, “Don’t worry about it.  I enjoyed myself.”

It was properly dark now, only the flickering orange of the porch light gave him any hint to Eddie’s reaction.  Steve couldn’t examine the arch in his thick eyebrows without getting lost, so he only hoped he hadn’t said anything too out of line.

“I mean, it’s not like I have anyone else to smoke it with.”

Eddie huffed, the crease by his lips deepening and piercing through the shadowy porch, “You don’t think Robin might benefit?”

“I think it would make her worse,” Steve laughed, and remarkably—beautifully—Eddie laughed with him.

The noise from inside the cabin had died down about halfway through the joint.  Try as they might, muffled groans and cheap sound effects still slivered through the cracks in Eddie’s trailer door, each one they both desperately tried to talk through.  Steve wasn’t terribly interested in what was going on in there, what ‘bet’ Eddie had alluded to on the phone, but he hoped for all intents and purposes it was over.

“They’ve all crumbled by now,” Eddie said far too casually, considering he had just taken Steve’s thoughts from his brain and read them out loud.

Steve tilted his head at Eddie, who was slouching further and further into his plastic arm chair.  It creaked under his weight and Steve had never been more jealous of a dirty lawn chair in his life.  He’d never been jealous of a lawn chair at all until this freak with pretty hair and an embarrassing laugh decided to be his friend.

“You mean the porn bet?”

“The—” Eddie coughed once, awkwardly like he didn’t really need to, but didn’t know what to do instead, “Yeah.  I get it.  My friends are disgusting and I’ve tainted you by putting you in the same room with them—”

“—I’m already pretty tainted without your help, Munson, but I appreciate the compliment.”

Eddie jolted his head towards him in the darkness, only the wide whites of his eyes were properly visible, “Oh, have I insulted your macho man-whore mystique?  All those treacherous years of conquests crumbled to the ground under my thumb?”

Something about Eddie after he had freshly smoked made him softer, quieter, less convictive when he put on his unplaceable old-ages voice to crush Steve’s ego better than anyone else could.  It was strange to see him subdued, like Steve was peeking past the big animatronic magician—or whatever was in that movie—at the man behind the curtain.

“Wizard of Oz.”

Eddie furrows his eyebrows, “Huh?”

Steve felt himself grin, sharp and unevenly, “You’re the wizard, man.  You play up all this shit like you’re a god or something.  But, you know, you’re just a guy.”

Eddie only looked more confused and Steve took it as a win.

“You trying to start a fight right now?” There was laughter playing behind his voice.

Eddie jumped to his feet in a surge of energy Steve didn’t expect.  Gone was the content, quiet side of Eddie he was actually starting to get used to.  As if he had a ten minute post-smoke refractory period, Eddie was back on the ball.

He crowded up against Steve’s chair, knocking his boney knees against the plastic and bending at the waist.

“Just a— just a guy? ”  Steve couldn’t meet his eyes behind the wall frizz if he wanted to.  He could smell the smoke glued to his hair and wanted it in a candle.  Did Yankee make unwashed stoner hair scent?  Robin would know.

“Everyone thought Jesus was just a guy.”

“Historically speaking, he was,” Steve said absently.  He had busied himself with watching the dim lamplight trickle down his curls, turning chocolate to honey.  He followed the strands all the way down to their split tips, realizing then that Eddie’s crotch was one wayward gesture away from his wrist.

Steve came to his senses with a jolt the second his pinky twitched outwards.  He tried in vain to find Eddie’s bug eyes through the curtain of hair and shadows.

“You think you’re Jesus?”

“To those kids?  Might as well be.”

The faceless head of curls tilted before him, “Well, you got the hair for it,” He shoved his fingers into the mess, gathering as many strands as he could and pushing and wrestling them back.

Eddie’s face was lit harshly, his forehead a wide block of yellow casting shadows down his cheeks.

“Damn,” Steve considered him, scrunching the hair in his hand, “Don’t think I’ve ever seen your forehead.”

Eddie craned his neck at the pressure so, so slightly.  But enough for a triangle of his cheek to find the light.  It looked rosier than the skin on his forehead.

He wrestled himself free from Steve, an action with no real force behind it.

“Yeah, there’s a fucking reason for that,” He said meagerly, turning to gaze out at the barren drive.

Steve traced the motion of his fingers as they pinched a lock of hair to bring over his mouth.  He was too enamored with the thought of making Eddie nervous.

“You hungry?”  Eddie’s voice gloated so nicely with the wind he almost didn’t catch it.

“Always.”

Eddie spun on his heel and headed for the screen door.  Steve’s bones were feeling pleasantly soupy, but he dragged himself up to follow regardless.

The TV had gone silent save for some static crackling, which Steve was thankful for.  He wasn’t sure if he could handle wet slaps and moans while he ogled Eddie’s ass.  A hat on a hat, really.

He slumped against the counter and watched Eddie retrieve two mismatched bowls and a box of honey combs.  It was cute, he thought, that he and his uncle kept the cereal tucked right next to the bowls.  It felt silly and would never fly in his mother’s kitchen, yet made so much sense.

Eddie poured a couple generous helpings.  The noise rustled the boys passed out in front of the TV, one lucky one on the couch, two on the floor.

Steve didn’t realize how dark the trailer was until the fridge light nearly blinded him.

“Shit,” Eddie whispered.  Steve squinted to see him examining a carton of 2%.  He turned to him, half his scrunched face visible in the harsh light, “Shit’s expired.  You okay with dry cereal—”

“That’s fine,” Steve said in admittedly a bit of a rush.  He just didn’t like the tightness in Eddie’s face that looked a little too much like shame.

Eddie nodded to himself, moving to pour the milk down the sink.  Steve took it upon himself to find them some spoons.  The issue was, it was dark, he was high, and Eddie seemed to organize his kitchen with a method way over his head.  He opened drawers one by one, wincing at the series of clunks and rattles it drew.  On his way to the trash can, Eddie brushed past his shoulder and pulled open a drawer, the correct one.  Conveniently beneath the designated breakfast cabinet.

“I was getting to that one,” Steve grumbled as he pulled out a couple spoons.

“And taking your damn time, too,” Eddie sidled up to him, taking the spoons out of his hands and holding them up to the window.  In the dim moonlight, Steve saw the prongs, “And you grabbed forks.”

Steve scoffed, “You ever heard of a label maker?”

“Sorry I didn’t jock-proof the place, bad host etiquette.”

“I’ll excuse it just this once.”

They padded back down the hallway to Eddie’s bedroom.  It glowed golden through the crack under the door like a gateway to heaven.  If heaven looked like you sent a twelve year old to the mall with $200 dollars and serious daddy issues and told him to go wild.  Steve could only assume that’s how 30% of this shit got here.

Eddie flung a few t-shirts and—a chain?—off his bed and smoothed out the plaid comforter.  He laid back against the wall where a metal headboard bumped the wall.  Steve stood like an idiot for a moment.  Would it be weird to sit right next to him?  Would it be weirder not to?  It wasn’t that huge of a bed.  Whatever the in-between was from a twin to a queen.  Eddie was sitting criss-cross, their knees would absolutely touch.  Maybe that was what he wanted—

“You gonna stand there like a creep all night?” Eddie said without looking up.  He jammed another spoonful into his mouth and spoke right through it, “You’re throwing off my munchies, man.”

“Sorry.”

Steve inched toward the bed, opting for the bottom corner to settle on, the furthest he could be from Eddie and still not far enough to quell his nerves.

Steve took a couple perfunctory bites before realizing how truly hungry he was.  He had neglected dinner in his giddiness to come here after his shift and it was catching up to him.  He shoveled a few more heaps of Honey Combs past his lips before a sharp crack broke his concentration.

A warm, fizzing PBR was shoved into his face.

“Milk replacement?” Steve asked, a little bemused by the concept of warm beer but accepting it all the same.

“Don’t be gross.”

Eddie spoke through a crumby mouthful before taking a few hearty chugs.

“You’re one to talk,” Steve laughed, “Look at your room man, there’s shit everywhere.”

“Useful shit!”

“Handcuffs?”

“ Very useful, Steve, you wouldn’t know.”

Steve forced himself to swallow his mouthful of cereal before responding, offended, “What’s that supposed to mean.”

Eddie scarfed down the last of his bowl and slunk off the bed, headed toward the window as he retrieved a squashed Marlboro box from the nightstand.

“It means you, Steve Harrington, with your little…” He circled his hands in the air like it meant something, “Hair, and your little car, and little jean shorts are probably having the most bland, vanilla-ice-cream sex that would rival mormons, you know?”

His first instinct was to defend himself to Eddie which would be…futile.  At best.  Beyond shower sex and doggy style he didn’t have much to brag about and the disconcerting presence of those handcuffs felt more graphic by just hanging on the wall than Steve’s entire sexual resume.  His brain was also clogged with images of those handcuffs in use, shackling pale wrists, clinking incessantly against the headboard as it rattled against the thin wall…

“Yeah,” Steve hummed in a daze, dragging his eyes slowly from the chain on the wall, grazing over the poster and chipped paint to land on Eddie as he smoked out the window, “You’re right.”

“I know I’m right, Harrington.  I can see right through you.”

If only…

“Maybe I should branch out,” Steve murmured, quiet enough to sound like it was meant to be private but he knew Eddie heard from the way his neck quirked, sending waves of hair swaying in its wake.  He reminded Steve of an animal of prey, ears twitching up at the slightest hint of danger.

Steve went in for the kill.

“What are you into then?  Since I’m so vanilla.”

Eddie was quiet for too long.  Long enough for Steve to second guess this whole night.  The porn, the weed, the warm fucking beer, all clear signs of friendship between them.  Friendship.  A strict, gated community with a neighborhood watch and where talks like this should never, ever happen.

Eddie refused to look at him when he answered, enthralled in the vague street noise and skittering rodents outside the trailer.

“You wouldn’t like it,” He said, blowing another plume out the window.  Maybe it was the weed, but Eddie’s voice sounded weaker than it did a moment ago, back when they were joking.

But it wasn’t the weed that made Steve sit up straighter, cock his head to give off the illusion of confidence, “You don’t know that.”

Eddie only gazed out at his gravel drive.  His silence may have been unnerving if Steve wasn’t so deep in.  He had committed now.  He’d asked the question, and however disappointing it may be, he would get an answer.

“I thought I was full of surprises,” Steve said, rolling over on his elbows.  He continued to burn holes into the side of Eddie’s face.  The paleness in his skin intensified under the moonlight.  He glowed an iridescent and unblemished white as his boney finger tapped the ash off his cigarette.  Eddie—for a tenuous moment—was the spitting image of a Hollywood beauty.

The biggest, darkest eyes Steve had ever seen pointed wistfully to the moon and reflected its glow, his unkempt mass of hair falling over his shoulder in tiny halos with each winding curl.  He really was gorgeous, Steve realized simply and without the lifelines of denial or justification, Eddie in the moonlight was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.

When the dark pools of his eyes turned to Steve, he couldn’t bring himself to look away again.

Eddie started to speak, producing only a broken fragment of a whisper at first, “I don’t—” His eyes darted around Steve’s face like it was a puzzle, “Do you even know what you’re asking for?”

“I’m asking to kiss you.”

Eddie let out a heavy breath that teetered between a sigh and a laugh.

“Dumbass, I knew you were gonna say that,” He stubbed out the cigarette and swung his leg back through the window to face Steve.

Steve grinned, they were an inch away from playing cat and mouse, “So you thought about it?”

Eddie evaded the question, “Have you finally run out of seniors to fuck?”

“To be honest, I haven’t been paying much attention,” Steve held his own, tilting his chin up to level Eddie with a smug stare.  Despite his lower ground as Eddie towered by the window, Steve held his control over the space between them.  He was coming to realize that his tried and true wooing techniques wouldn’t work on Eddie—not that Steve even wanted them too.  He may be jumping the gun, but he suspected Eddie liked to be challenged after leading everyone through campaigns and band practices day in and day out, “And last I checked, you were a senior two weeks ago.”

“I think you’re too stoned.”

“I think you underestimate me,” Steve chided.  Eddie still lingered against the wall, but there was a shift in his body language.  Gradually, his tattooed arms uncrossed and hung at his sides.  Steve caught a glimpse of the bats, an unpleasant reminder that Eddie wore as a war medal these days.  He’d pay anything to know the story behind them, before Eddie was touched by the living nightmares and probably thought bats were cool or cute.

“I hope so,” Eddie said, pushing away from the window and slinking across the small patch of carpet between them, “Because notoriously, when straight boys ask to kiss me it means I’m about to get jumped.”

“Jesus—” Steve started before slumping over with a sigh, “Why can’t you just believe me, huh?  Not everyone has your fucked sense of humor,” He looked up and—big mistake.  During his time buried in the bedsheets, mysterious stains forgotten, Eddie came to stand in front of him.  Face-to-crotch in front of him.

Steve had to hurt his neck to find Eddie’s eyes.  He had to admit the angle wasn’t too bad.  The perspective was deceiving.  Eddie looked like a god descending from his perch to give Steve the time of day the way he loomed over him, wild hair falling over his face as he tilted his chin down.  But a closer look laid bare the tension in his forehead.  The nerves playing in the creases of his eyes told Steve they were in the home stretch now as if Eddie hadn’t expected persistence.

“You can say no,” Steve spoke softly.  He was reminded of being six, approaching a raccoon in his backyard with a handful of cashews.  He’d thought it was a squirrel and ended up covered in scratches and Neosporin.  He told Tommy he fell off his bike.  He told his dad nothing because his dad didn’t ask, “You can tell me no, or yes, or a maybe later but shit man.  I gotta know,” Eddie stared at him, five seconds from either scratching his eyes out or rolling over, “It’s driving me crazy.  It’s been a week and I’m already going crazy over you—”

“Shut up.”

Eddie clapped his hands over Steve’s mouth, got right up in his face nose-to-nose and stared through his lashes like he was trying to intimidate him.  Like Steve was a jock trying to mess with him in the lunchroom.

“You really want to kiss me?” He asked like wasn’t jumping out of his skin to do just that.

His lips smushed up against Eddie’s palm, Steve could only nod like a dumbass.

Eddie took his hands away, placed them on Steve’s cheeks, and rammed their lips together.  Hard.  Steve nearly toppled backwards with the force of it before centering himself.  Eddie was not a good kisser, not in the conventional sense, and Steve was fucking thrilled about it.  He kissed like he needed it.  Eddie’s teeth clanked against his own as he tongued messily into his mouth.  The assault of teeth and tongue was juxtaposed with soft stray hairs tickling his cheeks and when Steve played along, digging his teeth into Eddie’s lower lip, a sharp gust of hot breath shot out of him.

The metal of Eddie’s rings were warming on his skin.  Steve realized that Eddie’s hands hadn’t moved from his face.  Meanwhile, Steve was feeling him up like a lucky charm, threading his fingers through wild curls, holding them tight by their roots, dragging his nails across Eddie’s jaw to feel how far the stubble grew down his neck.

“You can move your hands,” Steve murmured against his lips.

Hot air gusted against his mouth as Eddie let out a pathetic little hmm .  His fingers twitched into Steve’s cheeks, but nothing more.  Steve opened his eyes and it felt like waking up from a dream inside a dream.  For a moment it felt like coming back to reality, the sobering lamplight creeping back towards his irises.  But Eddie’s face was right there, flushed and a little sweaty, eyes sagging like his eyelashes were too heavy and he was a waking fever dream himself.  He looked so fucked out, and they’d barely even kissed.

“I—” Eddie’s voice got lost in his throat, something that has never happened before Steve was determined to make happen again, “I know that.”

“You sure?” Steve challenged him, picking up quickly that it was the easiest way to get Eddie under his thumb, “‘Cuz you’re acting catatonic besides trying to bite my lips off—”

Eddie cut him off with another kiss.  He worried what he said got to Eddie’s head because the incessant scrape of teeth stopped and he was left with only the plush press of lips and the occasional wet slip of tongue.  Either he made Eddie nervous which—while not his intention, not completely unfortunate—or he was just trying to kiss like a girl.

Steve fell into the old routine which felt redundant compared to Eddie’s initial enthusiasm.  But at the very least, Steve was back in his element.  He coaxed Eddie’s lips apart all over again, reintroducing himself with the slickness of his tongue, the ridges on the roof of his mouth, the scrape of his molars.

Eddie sighed into his mouth when Steve bit into his lip, harder than he usually would but he was high and seemed to do the trick.  His slimmer body fell into him, thighs bracketing Steve’s own so tightly that he could feel every twitch, every tremor through his jeans.  All it took was Steve dragging his hands up the back of Eddie’s band tee and over the warm, pasty skin that he just knew would be soft before he even touched it.  All it took was him scraping his nails up and down the knobs in his spine for Eddie to move his hands.

Like a switch that had flipped on, Eddie’s long finger shot through his hair, breaking apart the gelled locks and curling inward.

That was more like it.

Steve placed a palm flat between his shoulder blades and pulled him in closer.  The heat between them had nowhere to go once their chests were flushed and just when Steve was considering going further, stripping off his shirt in the name of comfort or the shitty trailer air conditioning, seeing how Eddie would feel about the forest of hair on his chest, the heat was gone.

Eddie pulled back, giving Steve shoulders a cursory squeeze before jumping off his lap just as quickly as he’d come.

“I’m tired,” He announced, flopping back on his bed, the grandiose in his voice not sounding tired at all.

Steve only stared.  His lips were still tingling, fingers still warm from Eddie’s back.  He scratched the spot on his cheek where Eddie’s curls kept brushing over.

“O-okay.”

“You can crash here, if you want.”

“Mhm.”

“You know, if you’re too high…”

Steve looked at the empty pillow next to Eddie.  The bed was big enough, barely, but stray curls still fanned out over what would be Steve’s side of the bed like an invitation.

“Yeah, I think I will.”

“Cool.”

Eddie had his hands on his fly already, slipping off his jeans and flying under the covers before Steve could properly ogle him.  Maybe that was the point.

“I sleep in boxers,” Eddie muttered, switching off the lamp and plunging them into a mellow blue darkness, “Hope that’s alright.”

“Fine,” Steve said, “So do I.”

He knew Eddie couldn’t see him, but he still put on a show unbuckling his belt, sliding the leather out of the loops and hoping Eddie might peek behind his shoulder.  He didn’t.

Eddie’s mattress sucked and his blankets were too thick for summer, but Steve took what he was gifted.  He slid in beside Eddie with enough inches between them to mask what they had just done.  If he wanted to forget about this come morning, Steve wouldn’t push.  He could deal.

Well, he would stay up at night alternating between jacking off and tearing his hair out trying to get the taste of Eddie’s lips out of his head.

Either way, it apparently was a problem for tomorrow.

“G’night Eddie,” He spoke into the darkness.

“Night Steve.”