Brows lifting in amusement, Buck tilts his head. “What're you looking at?”
Eddie blinks out of his daze. He knew he’d been staring at Buck and Chris beside him but he hadn’t realized he’d been obvious about it. Buck had been so focused on eating dinner that Eddie thought he could get away with it for a little bit but now even Chris is staring at him, Buck’s curious expression mirrored on his face.
When Eddie takes a moment to answer, Buck continues to press. “If you have a complaint about dinner, remember you wanted to make the salad so that's on you.”
Chris giggles beside him and they high five like Buck uttered the world's funniest joke. It only proves Eddie's internal musings further.
He stabs his fork into the last remaining piece of chicken, busying himself before he says. “I didn't realize how much Chris is starting to look like you, that’s all.” His curly hair, his grin, his love for knowledge, that’s all Buck.
“Uh.” Buck gaps like a fish, gaze darting between Chris and Eddie. His own fork drops to his plate. “I don't—”
But Chris is already nodding along to Eddie's observations. “A lot of people at school think Buck's my dad. I don't bother correcting them anymore.”
“Ah, bud, you probably should. Your dad—”
“I don't mind,” Eddie interrupts, “You are his legal guardian.”
“Yeah but only when you…” Buck swallows the rest of his sentence, unable or unwilling to say the words out loud, but Eddie understands it just the same.
“The specifics of it don't matter. You're as much of a parent to Chris as I am.”
Buck stares at him with those widening blue. He struggles to speak.
Chris grunts, not in protest to Eddie's statement but in the way that he's on the verge of becoming a teen and thus is so done with this conversation—which Eddie can say is a trait Chris fully got from him and Shannon. “I'm gonna finish this in my room, see if anyone's online.”
“Don't stay up too late,” Eddie calls after him but maintains most of his attention on Buck. It's Friday at least but Chris and Buck have plans in the morning, one of the reasons why Buck is having dinner and sleeping over in the first place, not that he's not welcome to do so literally any day.
“Eddie,” Buck whispers softly once Chris shuts the door to his bedroom.
“Buck.” Somehow he gains the confidence to place a hand on Buck’s thigh and squeezes in reassurance. He needs to hear this just as much as Eddie needs to actually say it. “I've felt so stupid lately. For years I've been searching for a way to give Chris a proper family but he's had one all along.” It took too long for Eddie to realize that while he’d felt like he had to search for a mother for Chris, his son had a second father all this time and Eddie was never alone. He already had the partner he wanted. The only person he wanted to see life through with. “Chris is ours, just as you're... mine.”
“I-I'm yours?” A light flush blooms on Buck’s skin, almost matching his birthmark.
“If you want to be.”
Buck ducks his head but the action doesn't hide his smile. When he looks up at Eddie, that flush is much darker but his gaze is steady. “I don't think I've wanted anything more, to be honest." He rests his hand on top of Eddie’s, curling their fingers together.
arthur somehow summons a genie (or smth similar) and is given three wishes with some restrictions: can't wish for more wishes, can't wish for love, and can't wish to bring anyone back from the dead. after some deliberation, arthur’s first wish is to be able to see the truth, to see people for who they really are. he has been lied to and betrayed enough times, he wishes to see clearly. the genie grants him his wish. he doesn’t know what else he should wish for so he pockets the other two. he returns to camelot and notices how different people seem. there isn’t anything physically different with them, they look the same to him - same clothes, same hair, same face, etc., etc., but there are some who walk past surrounded with gold. as they pass by arthur, he feels safe and protected and knows that they’d make a good, loyal knight. he walks past some that bow to him as he passes but are shadowed in sludge. it makes arthur nauseous as he passes. they are not to be trusted.
arthur continues and sees a woman and man run into one another outside a shop. they shoot back with apologies that stutter off when they meet each others gaze. a red string ties around their ring fingers, connecting the two. they continue to converse, helping one another with what they dropped, their fingers brushing and causing them to blush. he walks past two women who also have a red string connecting them, but a man shuffles down the street and wraps an arm around one of the women. he kisses her cheek and both women look away from one another. the man doesn’t have a string.
he runs into a few of his knights who prove themselves to be as loyal as arthur believed them to be. though there is something different about them, their…auras? energies? are more fractured. they shift as the seconds pass them by. gwaine has a constant dark blue that curls around his gold. when arthur focuses on it, it pulls at his heart, an ache in his soul, some sadness he doesn’t fully understand. lancelot’s is fuzzy and shifting faster than the others. he has secrets, many, but the gold remains true. he has a red string wrapped around his finger. arthur doesn’t have to wonder who it's tied to for long, as guinevere strides around the corner a moment later. hers is golden with loyalty, but the dark blue of sadness lingers and grows stronger when she notices lancelot and arthur are together.
it hurts but arthur cares deeply for both of them. her red string isn’t tied to his finger. he’d be the man in the street disrupting the two women’s conversations. a heartache borne through loyalty. arthur will let her go. she and lancelot will be happy. arthur will survive. this is what he wished for after all.
arthur returns to his chambers to try and work through his headache but the silence doesn’t last long before merlin is bursting through his door and striding across the room towards him going on and on with some lecture about how arthur should really stop sneaking out and at least tell merlin or leon where he’s going. merlin is surrounded by gold, stronger and more vibrant than any of his knights. his energy is even more fractured than them too, shifting with each word he speaks. its fuzzy in the way lancelot's was, a lot more fuzzy. a lot of secrets. there's a dark blue, a deep sadness, that arthur hadn't been aware of. merlin reaches up to pull a leaf from arthur's hair and the king watches as the sadness ebbs and a rich pink pours over it.
arthur's eye catches on the red string around his finger that leads down to arthur's own.
merlin sighs and fiddles with the cape over his shoulder, babbling on and on as he takes care of arthur. the blue fades into almost nothingness as the pink and gold meld further and further together with each touch. his energy is also...bubbly? sparkly? it feels more alive than leon's, gwaine's, lancelot's, and even gwen's do. he wasn't entirely sure what it meant.
until he saw the same with gaius's. and audrey's. and mordred's. until he saw the same on the young man brought to his knees before arthur and accused of sorcery. until he ran into a camp of druids and saw the same energy so full of life surrounding each one of them, the energy of magic.
Eddie got himself a boyfriend that is absolutely real and totally not fake. Inspired by an old tweet of mine where Eddie says he has a bf but corroded coffin think its a “my girlfriend goes to another school” situation.
“Bullshit.”
“Wha- You can’t say bullshit, this is totally unbullshitable information!”
“There’s no way you have a boyfriend before any of us get a girlfriend.”
“Hey!”
“Sorry Gareth, before any of us get a partner.”
Eddie moved to wrap his arms around Gareth, resting his head on the shorter man’s shoulder. As he began to speak he started running his hand down Gareth’s head with a less than gentle caress.
“Wow casually erasing Gareth’s bisexual identity maybe instead of discussing the credibility of my words we question if you’re actually a good friend or not cause really-“
“Knock it off dickhead!” Gareth said with a chuckle while he pushed Eddie off him.
Eddie feigned taking a massive blow and fell onto the couch in Jeff’s garage.
“I’m wounded that you would believe I would lie about such things! I am a teller of truths! A figure of honesty!”
Freak chucked a chip at Eddie, “Boooo,” the rest of Corroded Coffin joined in on the booing. Eddie tried to catch the chip in his mouth, it hit his face instead and landed sadly on the floor. Eddie leaned over to grab it and ate it with a shrug.
Jeff waved his hands in the air and the group fell quiet.
“Okay okay, lets say you do have a boyfriend. Whats his name? Where did you even meet, we know basically everyone in this town and last time I checked you aren’t exactly the talk of the town in a positive way.”
Eddie laid back down fully on the couch, clutching his heart and with a dreamy sigh said, “Steve.”
“Steve.”
Eddie rapidly shook his head up and down as best you can while laying down.
“Sure lets feed this delusion, and where did you meet this Steve?” Jeff said skeptically while grabbing a drink from a cooler all while squinting at Eddie.
“I met him in that game shop over in Indy, we were reaching for the same miniature and at the same time I swear our hearts started to beat in sync.”
Gareth huffed, “Yeah right, you just happen to find Mr. Perfect buying a mini? Your new boy toy also plays D&D? Can we go back to when we called bullshit cause no fucking way.”
Eddie raised himself from the couch quickly and stuck a finger in the air, “Nay! In fact even better, he doesn’t play at all!”
“How is that better nimwad?”
Eddie signed dramatically while dropping his hand and instead folding in half. He quickly righted himself and spoke with a tone that indicated somehow his friends were being ridiculous, “Steve wasn’t buying the mini because he plays, he was buying the mini for one of the kids he babysits who plays and it was gonna be a birthday present for one of the little guys.”
Eddie looked at his friends expecting a reaction of understanding, finding confusion he continued on, “Trust me I would have died then and there if he played himself, but to know he was nurturing his own little flock of sheepies,” Eddie wiped a fake tear from his eye, “hes gonna be such a great papa to little Eddie Jr.”
“Jesus Christ. Okay so he’s what, a full time babysitter?”
Eddie grabbed a drink himself, “Well he isn’t like an actual babysitter, more like a disgruntled sibling slash pararntal figure cause the group is a bunch of highschoolers.” He flicked off the cap of his drink and ignoring the stares from his bandmates chugged till the bottle was empty. He attempted to throw the now empty water bottle in the trashcan kept in their makeshift studio but missed.
“Nice,” commented Gareth with a smug face.
Eddie bowed with his own grin, “Why thank you.” He moved to start grabbing his gear. “Well this has been a real hoot but like I said before I got a hot boyfriend to woo, real wine and dine situation you know the deal.”
Eddie lugged his guitar and backpack with him.
“I bid you ado,” He stepped out of the garage and headed to his van.
“So he’s totally lying to us right? No way Eddie’s got a boyfriend, I mean Steve? C’mon. For being a DM you’d think he would have come up with a more realistic name.”
“I don’t know guys maybe he is real,” Freak casually said while joining the other two who had gathered to watch Eddie leave.
“Pffff sure, just as real as your chances of passing PE.”
“Hey!”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“He is real! He just can’t come cause of work!” Eddie yelled back at his bandmates while they waited backstage at the Hideout.
“And what exactly is his job? All we learned is that he was named Steve and was a ‘not really but kind of a babysitter’.”
Eddie got a faraway look on his face, with a smile and an awed expression he spoke, “He’s an EMT, real life superhero. Saving lifes like he was born too.”
Eddie shook his head, trying to not get lost in his thoughts of his boyfriend and maybe also trying to stop himself from thinking about how good Steve looks in a uniform.
The guys all shared a look, Jeff as usual bit the bullet, “So your boyfriend can’t make it to the concert he said he would go to cause of work? Wouldn’t he know that his hours would run into our showtime?”
“Being an EMT doesn’t really bring about the most stable job shifts if you can believe it,” Eddie replied with sass. “He gets called in all the time, therefore…hours he should be free turn into ones where he is not.”
Eddies slightly judgmental look downturned to a more bittersweet smile, “While I wish he was here I understand he’s doing important shit. He will make it to the next one Im sure of it!”
Jeff and the guys recognized poking further might not be the best thing to do before a performance so they decided to try to distract the long haired member of the band.
“Sure he will, now who’s ready to do this!?”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Unfortunately that would not be the last time Eddie’s “real” boyfriend would have to miss an opportunity to meet the rest of corroded coffin.
“His cars in the shop, he’s had to take the bus everywhere!”
“His best friend is having a love life emergency and needs him, are you gonna sue him for being a great friend? Thats his platonic soulmate!”
“One of his sheepies forced him into driving them to some store a bunch of cities over for some last minute science project.”
“You guys literally just missed him! Maybe show up on time next time, he stayed longer and everything but had to book it so he wasn’t late to work.”
“Sorry guys, can’t make it to band practice this week. Steve got us tickets to that new horror flick, hes a big scaredy cat and still got them cause he knew I wanted to see it, isn’t he the sweetest?”
“My godamn real life paladin of a boyfriend is currently on bed rest cause he got knocked around in some bar after someone tried to start shit with his friends. Im actually gonna head off to go watch over him so raincheck on the smoke sesh.”
Excuse upon excuse pilled up and with no credible proof of Steve even existing the guys got more and more frustrated with their friend.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Jesus Eddie if you give us one more reason for why your boyfriend can’t show Im going to flip my lid. Just admit you lied and move on!”
“Hes real Gareth! I can’t help that shit keeps getting in the way, he said he wasn’t feeling well and instead of driving up to him like a good boyfriend I’m here because I promised I would go on without him!”
“Maybe we would believe you Eddie if we had any sort of proof he existed but you don’t even have any photos of him!”
“There too are photos of us together he just has them all Jeff! You know this town already hates me, now imagine what they would do if they found a photo of me being real up close and personal with a guy. Its just unsafe in Hawkins to have that lying around!”
Eddie was ruffling and pulling his hair in frustration, he started to pace in the small makeshift greenroom.
“Why would I even lie about having a boyfriend!?”
The guys shot him a sympathetic look, “Look, we know its hard for you to date cause of the whole…yknow,” Jeff sighed, “We just don’t want to feel pressured to lie about dating cause you think you’re falling behind or something, and when you get a boyfriend we will be so happy for you. So just be honest with us, Steve isn’t real is he?”
“Oh umm,” Four heads turned to a figure in the doorway of the greenroom, “I can’t tell if this is the worst time to interrupt or the best.”
Carrying a bouquet of roses, wearing a yellow sweater in acid wash jeans stood a man exactly like Eddie had described before.
“Stevie!” Eddie ran and jumped at his boyfriend, completely disregarding his friends and their gobsmacked faces.
Steve seamlessly caught Eddie, used to his antic. With the roses somehow still in tact he shuffled his arms until he could hand them to his boyfriend.
With a lovesick look in his eyes Steve spoke, “Hey Teddy, these are for you. I wanted to surprise you but maybe I shouldn’t have.”
Steve weakly chuckled when he fixed his gaze back to Eddie’s friends.
“I told you he was real!” Eddie yelled, pointing at his friends from Steve’s arms. Quickly sticking out his tongue then turning back to Steve he responded with a gooey smile, “Its okay baby, I love any surprise from you. Its not your fault my friends are dumbasses.”
After a few more minutes of truly taking in that the boyfriend Eddie had that seemed too good to be true was actually real the guys got their act together.
“Well huh, uhm egg on our faces,” Jeff walked forward while sticking out a hand. “Its nice to finally meet you, I’ve heard about you so much from Eddie.”
“Remember before when I said I thought Eddie wasn’t lying? Can we circle back to me being right?”
The phone vibrates for some time now. Hen, Chim, and Ravi watch it slowly vibrate off the edge and hit the floor with a good smack.
Ravi winced as his eyes flickered to Eddie, who sat there rubbing his forehead and sighing.
"You, uh, gonna get that?" Ravi asks.
"Nope," Eddie says, relaxing further in the chair and kicking his feet up. "Where the hell is Buck? Thought he'd be here by now," the man says. They were at a small get-together at Maddie's and Chim's.
"So, who are you exactly ignoring?" Hen asks.
"Nobody," Eddie says.
Hen huffs. "Right, and I'm a straight woman."
The phone then starts a series of singular brr-brr.
"That, my friend, is a group chat," Chim says, waltzing in the living area with drinks. "What other group chat are you also in, Diaz? Are you cheating on us?"
Eddie laughs. "No, no it's just-" another single vibration. "My cousins, and sisters. They're trying to get me to come over."
"Oh?" Hen asks, raising an eyebrow.
"Are you not on good terms with them?" Ravi asks, curious about the man's family.
"I am," Eddie sighs. "They all caught wind of me coming out, you know? And by wind, I mean my mom calling every single family member and telling them what I told them,"
"Ooo, damn," Hen winces. "Do you think they wouldn't...?"
"No, no, they wouldn't care. My cousin Alysia has a wife. Still, I'm a little nervous. I didn't get the chance to tell them, and so I'm avoiding them. And I don't want the date set-ups to start again," Eddie groans.
"Well, it doesn't seem to be working," Maddie says with a sigh. "Baby Nash is down for a nap. "Thanks again for the white noise machine, Hen. I was freaking out when our old one stopped working so suddenly."
"Hey, not a problem. We have a few in the closet, so it's no bother."
Another vibration, but this time it was a different pattern. Eddie perks up, reaching over for his phone. "That's Buck."
"I'm not going to even comment on the fact that he set a different pattern just for Buck," Chim says, amused.
Eddie quickly sits up, alert. "What the fuck--" he says, panicking. Everyone whips their heads over to Eddie, all concerned.
"What?"
"Did something happen to Buck?" Maddie says, worried. She pulls her phone out."
"He just messaged me help sos, but left a crying emoji," Eddie says, confused. "Jesus Christ my cousins and sister left so many messages," the man mutters. Eddie notices a voicemail left by his cousin.
He sighs, ignoring it and clicking on the voicemail Buck left.
"I have been taken against my WILL," the voicemail Buck left says.
Maddie tilts her head at her brother's tone of voice. Not panicking enough.
A woman laughs, "You came willingly!"
"I-I did not--" the voicemail ends.
Eddie glares at the screen.
That laugh.
"That was my fucking sister," Eddie hisses. He scrolls back to his voicemail logs, clicking on the previous one he had ignored from his cousin.
"Ahhhh!!!!! Baby Primo!!! Come on, don't ignore us!! We just wanna hang out. It's been forever, and I feel like we haven't done that in a while--hang you know? We got a party going on, ama making some food, managed to get your sister here too, but she said you wouldn't come unless we had something to get you to come over. Usually, abuela works, pero you know she's in Texas right now for a small trip," his cousin, Fernando, says.
Oh. Oh no.
"I don't like where this is going~" Chim says, looking at Eddie amused.
"Oh no," Eddie mutters in horror.
"So we got your gringo here!" Fernando cheers. "It was easy, man."
Another voice chimes in. "Yeah, all Sophia had to do was show up at his place and wave baby pictures of you, you know, the one where you were all cute and chunky--" Alysia, his cousin, says.
Eddie's face turns red. He glares at Hen and the others, who were all too amused by the events unfolding. Hen looks like she really wants to see those photos.
She was going to probably get those photos one way or another.
Alysia continues. "He was confused about who we were until he spotted Adriana and Sophia, probably from family photos you have in your house. Soon as he saw your baby photo, he was all happy, smiling away. Swear his eyes lit up and everything."
"They manhandled me into the car!" Buck's voice says in the background.
"He's kinda right. Sophia actually manhandled him into the car. Said something about it being chilly and that we should all sit in the car." That. That was his sister, Adriana. "He was like, 'okay.'"
"They're lying!" Buck cries out.
"You keep that up, and I'm not showing the videos," Adriana threatens.
Silence.
"Thought so," She huffs,
Jesus Christ.
"Anyways, you know where mi mama is, we're all at her place. We'll wait for you. Don't worry, I think ama is going to keep him busy in the kitchen. We'll feed him, too. He looks like he needs a few tacos," Fernando mutters.
The voicemail ends.
And a headache starts forming for Eddie.
"Did-Did your family just kidnap my brother?" Maddie asks.
"Is it kidnapping if he went willingly?" Chim says. "I mean, leave a trail of Eddie's baby photos, and Buck will go anywhere."
"I don't blame him. I kinda want to see those photos too," Hen says.
"You expect me to forget about the fact that you just kissed me?!"
"Yes!"
"Eddie!"
Buck knocked on the bedroom door again, to no avail. Sighing deeply, Buck closed his eyes and slumped forward against the locked door, unwittingly replaying the last few minutes in his mind.
He truly did not see it coming. And with the way Eddie was acting, it didn't seem like he was expecting to kiss Buck either.
They were at Buck's new place, testing out recipes for his big housewarming dinner scheduled a couple of days away. Buck had been struggling to pick a menu, overwhelmed with vastness of the choices available to him (from his own repertoire and online) and the pressure to make it perfect for everyone. It was going to be their first real family dinner following months of gloom and Buck had taken the initiative for once. With Eddie (and Chris) back and Bobby better and Mara officially adopted and the Hans having welcomed their son into the world, it was time they had a positive gathering. A celebration.
Except, two hours into researching and planning had found him inundated with a myriad ideas and no hope of narrowing them down. So, he'd done what he should have done in the first place — accepted Eddie's standing offer to help.
Eddie had turned up and converted his haphazard concepts into a concrete list. And together, they had accomplished a lot in a half hour, managing to shortlist Buck's recipes based on his ability to make them and the time it took to cook it all.
"Alright. This sounds amazing, Buck! If you do a trial run now, you won't be nervous about how the newer recipes will turn out on the day."
"Yeah, you're right."
"So, which one do you want to start with?"
"None of them."
"Excuse me?"
Buck ducked his head, shy with what he was about to admit. "I... actually have another recipe I want to try out first."
Eddie frowned. "Okay? Why didn't you write it down?"
"Because it's Pepa's Queso fundido."
Eddie's mouth parted in surprise. "What?"
"Yeah," Buck rubbed at the back of his neck, chuckling nervously. "I called her before you got here to get some ideas and she told me about it. It sounds really easy to make and Pepa said it was your favourite dish growing up, so that pretty much sealed the deal. I was going to surprise you with it."
"You were?" Eddie asked, still looking a little stunned.
"Yeah, but I can't anymore," he groaned, pouting at his friend. "I really don't want to cook it for the first time on the day and we're on shift tomorrow, so today is the only time I can trial it. I'm just annoyed the surprise is ruined."
"Buck," Eddie breathed, stepping up to him, hand on his shoulder. "I promise any queso fundir you make will be a surprise even if I'm standing next to you the whole time. You haven't ruined anything."
Buck grinned at him. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Eddie reassured him, matching his smile.
"Okay then! Time for some chopping! But you're not allowed to do anything because this is still a surprise."
"Buck. C'mon, it'll go by faster if I do some of the chopping. Or even the grating! If this is my Tia's recipe, then I know there's a monstrous amount of cheese involved."
"... fine. But only because I hate grating."
Soon, the sounds of prep floated through the air in Buck's new kitchen. Buck started chopping the veggies while Eddie took over grating the three types of cheese involved. It was quiet until Eddie chuckled, seemingly out of nowhere.
"What?" Buck asked curiously.
"Just... this takes me back," Eddie explained, eyes alight with memory.
"Oh yeah?"
"I was stuck with the grating back then too. Sophia used to say I had to do the 'yucky' job since I was the oldest and Adri was too young to do more than hand her the ingredients as she cooked." Eddie shook his head fondly, his smile turning sweeter. "I loved it anyway. It was a simple yet delicious dish we could make whenever and it meant we could have as many tortilla chips as we wanted. And believe me, we ate a concerning amount."
"That amazing, Eds."
"Hmm. It was one of the best times I spent with them."
After the initial prep was done, Eddie was delegated to sit on the counter whilst Buck busted out the iron skillet.
"You sure I don't need to stick this in the oven? I didn't want to believe it when Pepa said I didn't really need to, but you get that crispy top with it."
Eddie smiled, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. "Yes, Buck, no oven necessary. It's just as amazing without."
Once Buck had checked that all the cheese had melted into that pleasing stretchy consistency and switched off the stove, he added the pico de gallo garnish and reached for a spoon.
"Sorry, I don't have any chips to hand right now," he said, carefully scooping up a portion and twisting the spoon to get all the cheese, "but tell me what you think."
Eddie inclined closer wordlessly and wrapped his mouth around the utensil, his eyes never straying from Buck's face. They lit up as he proceeded to chew.
"Good?" Buck asked tentatively.
Still chewing, Eddie opted to smile broadly and nod.
"Good," Buck sighed out, relieved, moving to taste it himself. "I think this will be a good alternative for your usual dips. And who doesn't love tortilla chips, right?"
There was no answer.
Buck was too busy taking a bite to notice. "Mmmf, you weren't kidding. I'd want to eat unhealthy amounts of this, too. No wonder it's your favourite, Eds, I don't think I can stop making this now."
"Yeah."
Buck was being hauled forward then, his chin tipped up as soft lips pressed to his. The spoon dropped the floor as his fingers slackened with surprise, the metal clattering noisily on the tile below.
Buck's eyes dropped shut as he melted into it after a moment, kissing back gently, hands coming up to frame Eddie's face. But as he tried to angle their lips and deepen the kiss, Eddie ripped himself away, his eyes wide with panic and shock.
"Eddie..." Buck murmured, his mind finally catching up and sending his heart racing. His best friend had just kissed him.
However, Eddie didn't reply, hopping off the counter and sprinting out of the kitchen. There was the distinct sound of a door slamming shut by the time Buck managed to pry his feet off the floor and trail after him.
"That's my bedroom!"
"So?"
"You can't hide in there forever!"
"Watch me!"
"What about Chris, Eddie? You gonna leave him to his own devices?"
"I've had a good run being his father. It's your turn now!"
Buck choked out an incredulous laugh, feeling slightly ridiculous shouting at a door. Did he unknowingly step through the Looking Glass with Alice?
"I will break down this door, man, new house be damned."
Silence rang out from the other side. Buck decided that he'd wait about twenty seconds before he'd follow through on his promise.
He'd counted down to five when the lock finally clicked.
The door creaked open to reveal a red faced Eddie, biting his lip, eyes cast to the floor. "I don't know why I did that," he whispered.
Buck shuffled forward carefully, stopping when their feet touched. "Do you regret it?" he asked, voice hushed. That was the only real question at the moment. They could figure out everything else.
Eddie didn't meet his eyes. His head shook side to side.
Exhaling slowly, Buck closed the last of the distance, gathering Eddie into his arms. It was slow, but Eddie embraced him back, nestling into him with a sigh.
"I think I got it wrong, why Queso fundido is my favourite."
"Yeah?" Buck hummed, palm gently soothing up and down Eddie's back.
"I think I like the process of making it more than just eating it."
"Why's that?"
Eddie pulled back from his chest then, finally looking him in the eye. His cheeks were still flushed prettily and there was a cute little smile adorning his lips.
"Because making it always meant that I get to spend time with the ones I love."
Buck made a pleased sound, his lips splitting open in a blinding grin as he tilted forward to nudge his nose with Eddie's and rest against his forehead.
He closed his eyes, letting out a dreamy sigh.
"I think that's the perfect reason to call anything your most favourite thing in the world."
Modern-ish fake dating Steddie AU where Steve is still the king of Hawkins High when the party enters their freshman year.
He used to babysit them when he was with Nancy but became friends when they started to teach him how to be less of a jerk and remained friends after they broke up.
He loves them, and he is excited, although begrudgingly, to have them in high school. He expected the bunch of kids to bother him at any minor inconvenience, get the perks of being friends with someone "popular," like they continually pointed out. But none of them does.
Which comes as a surprise because Steve finds out that they are being bothered.
At first they brush it off; they say that it's to be expected, they are nerds after all, that Steve wouldn't understand because he is popular.
But Steve doesn't buy it; he knows there's more to it by the way everyone immediately closed off about it. Repeating like a broken record that he wouldn't understand. Steve's hunch is right, as he later finds out they are specially bothering Will and Mike, calling them slurs and such.
He hates it, he hates it so much and wants to intervene, but Mike tells him to "mind his own business."
Steve figures out that maybe that was the thing he "wouldn't understand" that the kids were so adamant on telling him.
He doesn't know what the right move to do is, but he knows he has to do something. He looks for help, for someone who does understand and can help him do something for his kids. And he meets Robin.
He found her in the library while he was investigating one day, she was reading some language book, and he just happened to see a pin on her jacket. Barely inconspicuous, but those who knew, knew.
He shot her with one of the lines he had learned in a zine about finding community, and she looked at him with wide eyes. Needless to say, she questioned the shit out of him about his knowledge and why or how.
She admired his desire but still thought he was out of his mind. Telling him the kids were right, he couldn't understand their struggles, and aside from supporting them, there wasn't much to be done.
Steve told her how he just wanted them to feel secure, to have something to look up to, and to show them and all the other people that it was possible.
Robin telling him that of course it was possible, and although the town wasn't as bad, it was little, and not many people wanted to be the first to be out and deal with the nasty comments and the looks that everything that was 'different' brought while people adjusted to it. While they decided to either accept it or ignore it.
And that's when the idea came to Steve.
What if he was the first one to be out? What if he dated someone publicly?
"You're not gay, Steve," she said simply.
"Well, no, but people wouldn't know that, and I don't mind them thinking that of me."
And Robin hated the idea so much, it was dangerous and crazy and absurd, and it was simply bad. She knows it, but, god, what if? What if it works? Maybe it was just her delusional side that wanted it to work, but who cared?
"Ok, ok, god, I can't believe I'm saying this, but Steve, we need to get you a boyfriend."
They spend weeks looking for someone to be Steve's fake boyfriend, but they can't seem to find the perfect match. Robin scolding Steve for rejecting candidates because 'there was no way he would date a guy like this or like that.'
Steve claiming that it had to look real and that he would never go for a guy whose whole personality was hitting the gym and drink proteins.
Steve reassures Robin that they will find the perfect match. She has to trust him.
And they do find the one.
Steve takes one look at Eddie Munson stepping on people's lunches and ranting about nonconformism and the big man, and he just knows it has to be him.
It helps that Eddie displays his handkerchief in his back pocket, a patch on his vest, and a pin on his backpack that loudly call to Steve.
His lips are parted, and his heart is beating rapidly as he watches him.
"Robin" he calls her. She was mildly listening to Eddie, more preoccupied with eating her lunch. "I think I found him."
Robin had never moved as fast, turning to see Eddie loudly yelling at the jock's table. Looking back at Steve, "Him?" she whisper-yelled, but finding only amusement in Steve's face, "Munson? Really?"
So it's settled: Steve meets with Eddie at the beat-up picnic table where he deals and tells him the whole plan.
Giving the whole speech he practiced with Robin, telling him the situation bar the names of his kids, what he wanted to accomplish, what he could do for him to ensure he was safe, everything.
If he still wanted deniability, he just needed to let Steve be the one to approach and take care of things. If anything turned ugly, he would take the brunt of it.
Eddie at first laughs, thinking it's a joke, but when he sees Steve's confused puppy look, he knows it's for real.
He immediately tells him he can't help, but he sees Steve's face fall with his answer.
"Not that I don't find your quest admirable, Harrington, but do you even understand what you are asking? Like, seriously?"
And well, Steve knows he could never really fathom it; he understands why the thing he is asking for is hard but never really understands going through it the same way his kids or Robin and Eddie do, but there's not a thing on earth that he wouldn't do or try to ensure his kids were happy and safe.
"I do know, Eddie," Steve said, almost a whisper. "I do know, that's why I was asking you."
But it didn't matter anymore; Eddie had already said no, and he swore to Robin he wouldn't press.
But that gets Eddie's attention.
Suddenly stopping him to ask what that meant, why the King of Hawkins High and apparently mother of some freshman kids chose him?
"You like the Dragons and Dorks game that my kids play," Steve tells him. He wanted someone the kids could relate to, someone who liked the things they liked and understood them better than Steve ever could. He wanted someone that they could look up to.
Eddie seems confused with his answer, holding onto Steve until he explains, and Steve only wants to get out of there, feeling rejected, so he just blurts his thoughts out, wishing any of it makes sense to Eddie so he lets him go.
"You are always yelling about not letting other people dictate your life and breaking the expected. You rant endlessly in the cafeteria about not conforming to the system and openly enjoy the things you like, even if they are strange or not popular. You are just so unapologetically yourself, man. I was sure that if anyone would understand and want to actually do something about it, it would be you."
Steve pursed his lips but ultimately slumped his shoulders, defeated. "I guess I was wrong"
And he leaves.
Steve was slumped after that, he didn't realize how high his hopes were about Eddie accepting that when he didn't, he felt really hurt. A constant pang in his chest every time he thought of their conversation. He called Robin and told her everything, she saying that it was expected and that they would try to find another person.
Steve didn't feel like telling her how little he wanted to find another person. Wallowing the whole weekend.
By Monday he had half his mind to just quit the plan altogether; he couldn't think of anyone other than Eddie who could hit all the marks. He was in the middle of telling all of that to Robin when they made it to his locker, and there, peeking out, was a red envelope and a rose.
He quickly took the thing. On the front, in a chicken-scrawled signature, it read
"For Steve from Eddie <3"
Steve's heart was beating fast. Robin gasped at his side; she was looking over his shoulder, urging him to open it and pulling at his jacket to hurry up.
Steve blinked like he was awakening from a dream and hurriedly opened the letter.
It read:
"Dear, King Steve,
although I still think you're crazy and out of your mind. Your words have moved me, and I accept whatever lunatic thing you have in that head of yours.
But, for someone who apparently has been listening and watching what I say and what I do, you don't know shit about me if you think you will be the one courting.
There will be some rules to discuss later, but for now, enjoy the little gift. Like someone said, 'What's in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet' or something romantic like that.
Love, your humble jester, Eddie"
Robin points out how clever Eddie was with the writing of the letter, making sure that if anyone other than Steve snooped around, they would only think they were involved. Like really involved.
And that's when Steve remembers this card is part of the performance, because they are faking it.
And something in there doesn't sit right with him, because this is the first flower he gets in his life, and he doesn't like that it's part of a scheme.
Robin bumps his arm, getting him out of his head, silently asking if he is ok, and Steve smiles at her. This is good news; he is happy.
The fake dating ensues.
Just like Eddie said, he takes care of all of it; he constantly leaves notes and poems for Steve. He walks him to all his classes and makes sure to sit (or make him sit) with him at lunch. His hands always finding their way to interlock with Steve's. He is boisterous and knows how to make a show of how infatuated he is with Steve.
They did put rules, but if he wanted the plan to work, there needed to be more than just hand holding. So Eddie kisses his hands, cheeks, and forehead whenever he deems necessary.
Steve is in kind of a shock because he is accustomed to being the one doing the charming, but he can't say it hasn't been nice to experience being on the receiving end of all the affection. Still, he does try to do his part; he asks Eddie to wear his letterman jacket and trade him something in return, he asks the people in the radio club to put on some corny-ass song for him during the morning announcements, and he gets Nancy to include a tiny poem in the school's newspaper for him. Steve is all about the gestures, after all.
Everyone at school is shocked at first, but even if they aren't really friends anymore, Tommy gives shit to others for being in Steve's business, and Carol makes fun of his teammates for being more interested in who he is dating than actually scoring in games, and that seems to calm the waters.
The kids don't believe it right away; this is their Steve! There's no way they didn't know he liked guys; he dated Nancy and a bunch of other girls; he is famously a ladies man.
Eddie didn't know they were Steve's kids, but as soon as he clocks them, he takes them under his wing, inviting them to Hellfire and making sure to keep an eye on them. They are skeptical about it but warm up pretty soon when they see how ruthless he is with the game.
Robin meddles a bit in his favor and lectures them about bisexuality, and that, plus the kids seeing Steve actually blushing with Eddie's words and gestures, makes them buy it.
The plan seems to work just right, better than right. Against every odd, Mike ends up confiding in Steve about him and Will and everything that happened at school before.
Steve understands a bit better, because even though Eddie and him are doing fine, they still receive some hate.
At school it's mostly Billy and his cronies, but Steve is so high up on the social hierarchy that his words fall on deaf ears, and Eddie and his band are 'freaky' enough that they are scared of trying anything funny in case they curse them or something.
But around town, when Eddie and him go on 'dates,' because according to Steve they have to be seen outside of school too, they get sneers and comments that actually make Steve shake.
He tells Mike just that, the good and the bad, and that if he needs anything, he can count on him anytime.
He tells Steve he is happy that he found Eddie and how much they love each other, and Steve is met with the realization that he might not be faking it as much as he though.
Which Robin seconds with a "duh" because she had the thought since he was so adamant on Eddie being the one he wanted to fake date.
Steve feels guilty about it because there's no way he can tell Eddie about his feelings. This was supposed to be fake, and Eddie might not like him in reality, and now Steve has trapped him in an awkward situation. On top of that, if they break up, he will not only lose Eddie but also shatter the illusion for the kids.
Unbeknownst to him, Eddie has been fighting with the feelings he caught for Steve since he told him his crazy but sweet plan to help the kids, along with learning the vision Steve had of him before they even 'met.' They even have kissed! (They agreed they had to do it to keep up appearances, nothing else at all. Nope, they didn't practice at Eddie's van, multiple times).
So they both think there's no way out of it without a heartbreak and try to keep it from the other, but they become so stiff around each other and they miss being close so much that they break.
Steve tells him he was sorry, but he lied, and he enjoyed every date and gift and gesture as if it was real and directed at him, and Eddie tells Steve he is sorry because it was real for him, and he never faked anything because he really wanted it to be so he had been flirting and doing all of it, taking advantage of the plan to be close to Steve.
When they realize what the other is saying, they realize they have actually been dating for months. That the looks and blushes Steve got anytime Eddie would come near were real. The heart-to-heart talks they had on their dates and any smile he gave Eddie were sincere.
As well as Eddie's sweet and encouraging words, the poems he wrote and the way he made Steve feel warm and taken care of instead of being the one taking care of things. It was all real.
They end up telling the kids years later, when the party is on their graduation day, and they give them shit for lying for about two seconds before they reason it wasn't actually a lie if they did end up together.
Eddie washes dishes late at night. It has to be past midnight but he can’t sleep. The reminder of dirty dishes in the sink had managed to filter through his weighted thoughts, loud enough to force him out of bed instead of continuing to stare at the ceiling for four more hours thinking of his son in Texas and all his disastrous romantic entanglements.
Warm water glides over his hands; he scrubs at the caked-on food until the soap disappears and his skin reddens from the temperature. He hums a song he’s heard too many times on the radio, completely lost to the outside world.
A pair of strong arms wrap around him.
Eddie’s breath hitches but his body never startles. He twists his head slightly to the side as Buck crams his face into the crook of his neck.
“You’re drunk,” Eddie says, returning to his dish washing duties. He didn’t mean to make too much noise, didn’t mean to wake Buck up too. His grip grows tighter in response, or lack of one, and Eddie sighs.
Buck only gets super touchy with him when he’s drunk. It happened at the bachelor party where for the entire time maybe not a minute had passed without Buck keeping him close—whether draping an arm over his shoulder or helping strip off his shirt. And he’s rather still fresh off his break up with Tommy, which is probably partly the reason why he drank so much tonight and Eddie barely finished one beer so he could drive them both home.
“Am not,” eventually comes Buck’s delayed reply. It should be impressive that he only slightly slurs his words. You could almost make a case that exhaustion is the thing blurring his speech but they went to bed no more than an hour ago—Buck face-planting on the couch without so much as a complaint about comfort—and even Buck’s system can’t process alcohol that quickly.
When Eddie fully turns to face Buck, Buck slips his arms from Eddie to plant them on the counter, blocking him on either side. Eddie settles against the counter top not looking to escape. Buck leans closer, a sloppy grin on his face as if he can’t keep his thoughts contained, though that’s also not out of the ordinary.
“If I asked,” he whispers, blue eyes shining, “would you kiss me?”
Oh—that’s… that’s not at all what Eddie could have predicted for this evening. His eyes widen, brows rising high. He opens his mouth, lips parting, before daring a response. Crossing his arms, then crossing his ankles, he presses his fingers into his biceps to ground himself, choosing to say,
“I wouldn’t kiss you when you’re drunk.”
Buck pouts but remains undeterred by Eddie’s reply. “Tomorrow then. If I asked tomorrow, would you?”
A stuttered laugh catches in Eddie’s throat. This is ridiculous. Totally, completely ridiculous. ...Right? “You’re not going to remember any of this in the morning.”
“I will,” Buck mutters with utter certainty. As if late night exhaustion has finally crept up on him, his eyelids flutter closed for a few seconds, his long lashes brushing his skin. “I will.” Repeating it a second time doesn’t convince Eddie any better, especially when Buck releases a yawn he is compelled to mirror.
“If you do, you’ll be weird about it.” Buck will probably avoid him too until enough time has passed to convince himself that Eddie would have forgotten the whole encounter—but what he never quite gets right is that Eddie remembers everything that has to do with Buck.
Buck shakes his head. “You’ll be weird about it,” he argues back like he’s five.
Would he? If Buck asked to be kissed tomorrow, would he do it? Something sputters inside him.
He thinks he would.
Suddenly, he holds Buck’s face in both hands, propping up his drooping head and forcing him to look at him, to hear him. “If you remember this conversation, ask me in the morning.”
Buck grins, nodding way too many times while Eddie guides him back to the couch, insisting, “I will. I definitely will.”
But Buck doesn’t remember and Eddie locks the question behind his lips, partly wondering if he imagined the whole thing after all. Maybe that one beer had made him delusional.
Following @cafecito-by-thewindow suggestion, and this post.
When the day of their concert in Indianapolis comes, Eddie feels a little nervous. He didn’t get any replies from Steve, confirming if he’d be at the concert or not, but he did know the package he’d sent was personally delivered to the guy, so he did get the tickets and Eddie’s note.
Logically speaking, Eddie knows he shouldn’t be anxious. He doesn’t even know the guy, their only interaction in that convenience store was a complete disaster, but Steve’s honesty that night had been like a breath of fresh air. It had been years since anyone had dared to talk to Eddie like that, without filter or fake pleasantries. It’s safe to say that, after that single, horrible interaction, Eddie was smitten. Smitten enough to bully the man’s name out of the store cashier, then use his influence to track down where he lives.
Does his little infatuation make any sense? No, but a lot of things in Eddie’s life don’t make sense, so he doesn’t give a fuck, really.
That night, he gives everything he’s got in his performance. He sings each song with so much emotion even his bandmates notice there’s something different there. The crowd screams his name, sings with him; the atmosphere inside the venue is like nothing he’s ever seen.
And Eddie is elated, so, so proud of himself and his art. He hopes Steve is watching him, hopes the guy can give him a chance to finally meet him and apologize for being a prick to him the other night.
When the concert comes to an end, Eddie is basically vibrating with adrenaline. He goes backstage in a hurry, heart pounding like crazy inside his chest, in his ears. He makes quick work toweling the sweat off his skin, checking himself in the mirror to make sure he looks composed enough to meet with his guests.
But minutes pass, a few people come backstage to meet the band, but there’s no sign of Steve anywhere. He recognizes some of their label’s higher-ups and their families, some celebrities who were there watching their show, and still no Steve in sight.
Then, Eddie sees a curly-haired teenage boy with braces, dressed head to toe in Corroded Coffin merch, and a brunette girl with a buzzcut. They are both looking at Eddie with these huge eyes, the boy even has his mouth open dumbly. Eddie’s never seen these kids in his life, but they are looking at him with so much awe in their faces that he can’t help but approach them.
“What’s up, kids? What can I help you with?”
That’s all it takes for the kids to start talking non-stop. Eddie soon finds out their names –Dustin and El—, finds out they’ve been following Corroded Coffin music for a few years now, that it was their friend Will who introduced them to the band when they were twelve and that they became hardcore fans since then –they are seventeen now. They then start asking Eddie a thousand questions about their songs, about life on the road, about what inspires them when they are writing their lyrics.
Eddie tries to answer everything; they are nice kids, and it’s amusing how excited they are about meeting him. When Dustin introduces himself, Eddie recognizes the name and wonders if this is Steve’s Dustin, but the kids talk so fast that he can’t find an opportunity to ask them.
They talk for some good twenty minutes. Eddie offers them some soda and snacks, and they sit on the couches, their conversation interrupted now and then when Gareth, Jeff or Freak join them for a minute or two.
It’s nearing half past one when Dustin takes a quick look at his phone and kinda freaks out.
“Oh my God, El, we need to get going!” he almost squeaks, frantic, already jumping out of the couch and pulling El by the arm. “Steve’s already called me seven times. He’s gonna skin us.”
“So you two are friends with Steve,” Eddie says, following them. “Why didn’t he come to the show? No offense, El, it was lovely meeting you.”
El grins knowingly. “None taken.”
“Ah, right. You probably don’t know,” Dustin says. “Well, Steve can’t really come to places like this; he’s got some kind of chronic migraines because he suffered a lot of concussions when he was in school. Places with loud music and large crowds are a no go for him.”
Ah, so that’s why the guy didn’t show up. Eddie is still disappointed, of course, but at least now he knows it’s not exactly because Steve didn’t want to see him, but because he couldn’t.
“But he did drive us here,” El chirps in, taking Eddie out of his thoughts. “And we’re supposed to meet him in this pizza place a few blocks down the street before he can drive us back home.”
Eddie is so confused by the sudden information that all he can say is, “Oh. Really?”
“Yeah,” Dustin nods. “The guy is super protective. No way he’d let us drive here alone.”
For some reason, that only makes Eddie’s disappointment grow even more. Honest, pretty and a sweetheart, why the hell did Eddie act like dick when he met the man? He’s so fucking stupid.
“You can come with us if you want,” El suggests, and there’s this glint in her eyes that lets Eddie know that she’s painfully aware of what’s happening there.
Dustin shoots his friend a confused look.
“He can?” he asks, at the same time that Eddie asks, “I can?”
“Of course,” the girl smiles. “Don’t you wanna say hi to Steve?”
That’s how Eddie finds himself sneaking out of the concert venue with two teenagers, so they can walk the few blocks to the pizza place El mentioned.
The look of surprise in Steve’s face when he sees Eddie walk in with Dustin and El is the funniest thing Eddie’s seen in a while.
He knows how to wear a uniform, how to stand at attention, how to look like part of a machine with gears and teeth. He knows how to make a suit behave on Sunday mass or his cousin’s wedding — collar tamed, tie obedient, shoes that pretend they never once knew dust. But tuxedos are a different animal. The jacket sits too smooth against his shoulders, like it might slide off if he breathes too deeply. The bow tie itches. The ballroom smells expensive: chilled air, polish, something floral that isn’t any flower he’s met in real life.
Eddie Diaz takes another sip of champagne he doesn’t like and tells himself he can leave after one hour.
He’s here because Marco wouldn’t shut up about it — a guy he knew from the Academy who got himself assigned to a station across town and somehow, miraculously, loves charity galas. It’s good to be seen, Marco had said, clapping him on the shoulder. Make a few friends before you start at your new house. LA likes a familiar face.
So Eddie came. He stood along the edge of the crowd through the program, nodded during speeches about community partnerships, smiled at a slideshow of firefighters posing with kids and rescue dogs. He thought about Christopher’s laugh during that slideshow, the way his son’s entire face becomes one joyful squint when a dog thinks he’s interesting. He thought about calling him in the morning, about checking how the first sleepover with his tia Pepa went. He thought about Monday — about a new station, a new captain, the kind of introduction where you shake hands and pretend your heart isn’t pounding at the idea of trusting these strangers with your life.
He was thinking of those hands — strong ones, he hopes, steady ones — when the room shifted.
It’s the sound first. Laughter bright enough to hook him, threaded through with something shameless. Eddie looks up and the tux issue falls away because the man on the little stage is wearing one like he was born inside it: jacket open, bow tie already loosened like he ran a race and won, hair doing something artful and ridiculous. He leans into the microphone with a grin that could sell out the Staples Center and says something Eddie doesn’t fully catch, because he’s listening to the way he says it, the way his whole body gets in on the joke. The crowd laughs again, helpless, and Eddie feels something in his chest tip toward the stage before he can drag it back.
Okay, Eddie tells himself, amused by his own reaction. So he’s got charm. Lots of people have charm. So what.
@steddiemicrofic prompt: experiment | wc 398 | Gen
Steve's never heard his heart break so loud.
"It's mutual, right?" Eddie said with a half smile. "We were just messing around. I'm moving to Chicago. Jeff and Freak are already there. I'm moving up and there's a whole city —"
A whole city of people to fuck, is what Steve heard. A whole city of people who are better than you. Steve wanted to throw up.
"— And I don't want to be someone's experiment," Eddie said nonchalantly. "I want to be loved."
Loved by someone who's not you, rang too familiar in Steve's ears.
"But we're okay, right?" Eddie asked hopefully. "Still friends?"
Steve didn't want to talk. He didn't want to open his mouth, afraid what was going to come out. He wrapped his arms around his chest, leaning hard against the counter. "Yeah," he squeaked out.
"Great," Eddie breathed. "Great! For a second, I thought I fucked all of this up and ruined everything I had with you."
Steve nodded, feeling small.
God.
Steve was so stupid.
"I'm gonna head out," Eddie said, gesturing towards the front door. "I'm leaving Saturday. I'll call you when I get there?"
Steve nodded.
"Okay," Eddie nodded. "Bye, Steve —“
"It wasn't an experiment," Steve blurted out. "Not for me."
Eddie turned around, looking at Steve with wide eyes. "What?"
"It was real to me," Steve admitted quietly. "You and me. I thought —" he swallowed the lump in his throat. "— we were together."
The silence was loud. Steve closed his eyes, waiting for Eddie to retreat, to slam the door and leave.
Except, he doesn't.
He lunged forward, hands cupping Steve's face. "Oh my god, sweetheart, I'm sorry —"
"Don't do this to me," Steve said, feeling the tears fall from his cheeks. He pushed Eddie's arms away. "I can't —"
"I'm so sorry," Eddie said. "Stevie, I thought — I love you. Please. I fucked up — Let me love you."
Steve collapsed in Eddie's arms, sobbing as Eddie continued to apologize. He thought an amicable split would be better than his own heartbreak, not even aware he broke Steve's heart in the process. That Eddie was so in love with Steve, that he was scared. That he would do everything he can to prove to Steve that he does love him.
You know what I was thinking about? Medieval/Royalty AU where Steve is a prince, who grew up alone and isolated from most people because his father was awful and thought no one was good enough to be around them.
Steve grew up by himself, with no real friends, no one he could trust. He learned really young that most people only got close to him because he was royalty; no one was interested in Steve.
Then one day this bard shows up at their castle. He’s passionate and funny and tells the best stories. Steve is awed.
The King, however, is not impressed. He’s not very fond of art, thinks the whole thing is pointless and a waste of time, so the bard is not allowed into the castle very often. And that angers Steve in a way it’s new to him.
Because he’s always followed his father’s rules without questioning. He’s been the best son and heir a king could wish for, he’s spent years of his life learning things he’s not interested in because his father says it is his duty, and he’s never asked for anything in return. And after all this, Steve can’t even hear some stories because his father says it’s useless.
For the first time in his life, Steve rebels. In his own way, but he does.
He finds out the bard is telling stories almost every day in the market, so Steve sneaks out of the castle and goes there to watch whatever tale he is telling that day. He spots the man easily, it’s impossible not to.
The bard starts with the usual adventures children love so much. He sings about a group of friends that fought together to defeat a horrible monster who was trying to conquer their village; they face hardships and dangerous enemies, but they are victorious because together they are stronger than any monster could ever dream of being.
The children cheer and clap when the man finishes his tale, and Steve joins them. The next story is about two lovers who find each other again after years of separation and heartbreak; this one makes Steve tear up a little.
Then, in the softest of voices, the bard starts singing about a prince, so beautiful and so kind, who’s admired by his people but always looks so, so sad. No one seems to understand the reason behind his sadness; he’s a prince after all. They think it’s because the prince is lonely, but there’s no way for them to know that because very few people are allowed to get close to him. If only the prince knew how much his people love him and how much they wish they could show him that.
By the time the bard finishes his song, Steve is full on crying because that song is about him, isn’t it? It has to be, there’s no way it isn’t.
The bard follows with a happier song, but Steve is not listening anymore. He’s too shaken up for that. He pulls his cloak closer to hide himself and goes back to the castle in a hurry, heart beating fast and feet unsteady. Luckly enough, his absence goes unnoticed.
This is all the incentive Steve needs to turn his little escapade into a habit.
Whenever he can, Steve pulls on his common clothes, his cloak and sneaks out of the castle. He doesn’t find the bard every time, but the man is at the market frequently enough that Steve becomes quite familiar with his songs and tales. The song about the sad prince makes Steve emotional every single time.
Then one day, when Steve is making the way back to the castle, he runs into the bard. Better yet, he spots the bard sitting somewhere close to the road, as if he’s waiting for something or someone. He has his fiddler with him and is playing a familiar tune.
“Hey there, princeling,” the man greets, waving at Steve. “Did you enjoy the show today?”
Steve stops in his tracks, alarmed. Has the bard been waiting for him here? How did he even get here so fast? Twenty minutes ago, the man was playing and singing in the market square.
“Calm down, I’m not gonna do anything to you if that’s your concern, Your Highness.” Standing up, the bard slings his fiddler over his back and saunters towards Steve until they’re face to face. “I just wanted to say hi to my most distinguished fan. You’ve been coming here a lot lately, I’m honored to know someone so important appreciates my humble art.”
Steve is hyperaware of how close they are and, yet, for some reason, he doesn’t feel threatened at all. Rationally, he knows he should. He doesn’t know this man, he doesn’t even know his name. For all Steve knows, this bard could actually be an assassin in disguise. Still, something in the man’s eyes seems too honest for Steve to feel in danger.
So, instead of doing the smart thing and running back to the castle without looking back, Steve blurts. “Is that song about me?”
“What song?”
“The one about the sad prince.”
And the bard… the bard smiles so bright and fond at him that Steve’s heart skips a beat.
(The fact that the man is easily one of the most handsome men Steve has ever laid eyes on might also have something to do with that.)
“You noticed that, huh!?” the bard chuckles as he takes a step closer, his eyes never leaving Steve’s as he does so. “Will you give me the pleasure of your company if I say it is?”
“Why?”
“Because I’d like to know you, Steve. If you let me, of course.”
Not trusting his own voice, Steve nods, despite the mix of anxiety and exhilaration bubbling in his chest.
“Excellent.” The bard bows his head briefly before offering his hand. “I’m Eddie, by the way. Lovely to finally meet you."
Steve takes his hand without a second of hesitation.
Steddie | 2.5k | Famous Rockstar Eddie Munson | Even more famous singer Steve Harrington | Mistaken identity | Music Awards
ao3
Just the night before the first major awards Corroded Coffin have ever been invited to, Eddie gets a drink and meets someone.
Eddie is not afraid. He is not. He is not afraid, or nervous, or scared, or anything like that. He is pretty chill, the chilliest of guys actually. That’s why he is currently looking for an open bar -or pub, or whatever they call them here- that is not too crowded at almost midnight, because he is so chill he doesn’t care about how he is going to look tomorrow when Corroded Coffin makes their first appearance at a major award show at the International Music Awards, in London, of all places.
The other guys are asleep at the hotel, they had been dicking around the whole flight here yesterday, too excited to be across the Atlantic, and hadn’t slept well that night from the jetlag (even when they are not really known for keeping a normal sleeping schedule). Today, after a few interviews and a good dinner, they had all hit the sheets and fallen asleep immediately. All except from Eddie.
He doesn’t have to get very far from his hotel before he sees it. An inconspicuous little thing, dimly lit, music high, and enough people in it that he won’t stand out, but not packed enough for it to be uncomfortable.
He finds a seat at the back corner of the bar and orders a beer. His eyes roam the place as he takes in the groups of friends, bigger or smaller, the few loners like him.
The music is not bad. It would have been asking too much to find a metal bar, but it’s good enough.
He is halfway through his beer when someone slides onto the seat next to him. Eddie looks at the guy with his side eye. He is handsome, roughly his age. He is wearing a shirt, but the first few buttons are undone, so it looks sexy, his chest hair peaking out.
“Hey,” the boy says when the waitress gets to him. “Can I get one of those?” he gestures to Eddie’s beer. “A pint? Beer. Big.” He does a weird thing with his hands.
The waitress shakes her head, an amused smile in her face. Eddie is sure that she would be annoyed by the ‘stupid yankee’ if the guy wasn’t so cute.
“You not from around here, mate?” Eddie asks, casual, with a fake British accent.
The guy turns to Eddie for a second. “Yeah, no. I’m American.”
“You do sound like you are from the colonies.”
Pretty boy turns to Eddie again, this time with a frown. “Are you making fun of me?”
Eddie laughs just as the waitress returns with the pint and the car reader. Eddie’s seat companion moves to take his wallet out, but Eddie is faster. His phone was already on top of the bar, so it’s barely two moves and the beer is paid for.
“Why did you do that?” the guy asks when the waitress leaves.
“Just a friendly gesture from a compatriot,” Eddie says, fake accent now dropped, and gives a two finger salute.
“You are American.” It is a accompanied by a sigh and a look of understanding.
Eddie brings his glass up with a smile, “cheers.”
The boy mirrors his move and they click their glasses.
“Name’s Eddie,” he introduces himself after they have sipped their drinks.
“Steve.”
“Tell me, Steve,” Eddie says, leaning towards him. Maybe too close, but Steve doesn’t shy away. Eddie likes him. “What is a boy like you doing in a place like this across the globe.”
Steve doesn’t answer immediately, his eyes roam Eddie’s face and body, taking him in. Eddie bites back a smile. He knows when someone is finding him attractive.
“I arrived today and couldn’t sleep.”
“Ugh!” Eddie groans, leaning with his back against the bar and looking at the ceiling. “Tell me about it.” He looks back at Steve. “Jetlag, man.”
“Jetlag, man,” Steve repeats sympathetically. He offers his drink for another cheers, and Eddie accepts it.
“But what brings you to this beautiful country?” Eddie asks.
“Got a… work event tomorrow.”
Steve looks like he would work on something corporate. Eddie is not going to ask him about that, no matter how pretty he is.
“Me too,” he chooses to say.
“Yeah? What do you work in?”
Eddie takes a sip to avoid answering, flags the waitress to get a new beer. He is enjoying Steve’s company. He likes that he is treating him like he is just some other dude, which he is. He is not that famous, but it is always appreciated these days.
Eddie shrugs. “Just stuff.”
Steve scoffs, “just like me, stuff.”
Steve beats him to pay this time. They flirt about it. They continue talking about this and that. They laugh. Everyone always tells Eddie that he is a good storyteller, that he makes anything he says interesting, but Steve is the same. Not in the same way as him, no, but he is also expressive and charismatic. It helps that Eddie’s eyes get lost in his peaking chest, the way his shirtsleeves are pulled to his elbows.
“You know, your face looks familiar,” Steve says, almost an hour into their talking.
“Oh yeah? Seen it in your dreams before?”
“Shut up,” Steve says with a laugh. “I’m serious.”
Eddie shrugs, “you look familiar too.” And he does. There’s something about his jaw… but there’s more people in the world with that jaw.
“It’s one of those faces, I look just like the guy next door. Very common.” Steve tries to brush it off.
If Eddie is objective, he is. He does look like just some guy. A handsome guy, a very attractive guy, but still. Eddie is not objective, so, “there is nothing common about you, big boy,” he says, leaning into Steve’s space again.
Steve stops, blinks a couple of times, Eddie smirks.
This is his opportunity.
A guy clears his throat from beside them. He stands behind them, because Steve and Eddie’s stools have moved to be almost against each other (if Eddie used the Challengers move to get Steve closer when he got up to use the toilet, the other boy didn’t say anything about it).
“Hey, I saw you from across the bar,” they guy says. He says it with a smile, but Eddie sees his nervousness in the way he is looking between the two of them. Eddie lifts his eyebrows. “Thought I recognised you.” Eddie looks at his leather jacket, his band t-shirt. He may not be wearing anything Corroded Coffin, but he knows a fan when he sees one. “I love your music, man.”
“Thank you,” Eddie answers at the same time as Steve. He turns towards the other boy with a frown, Steve looking at him in the same way. Maybe he got confused because the guy is looking between the two of them.
“Steve here can take a picture if you want,” Eddie offers.
“I don’t really want to-“ Steve starts saying.
“Will you really take a picture of us?” the boy asks, turning to him with a big smile in his face.
“Of… you?” Steve has a confused look in his eyes. Eddie would feel bad about not telling him who he is if he didn’t look so adorable.
“Yeah, please? I’m a great fan of you, Eddie. This is nuts, finding you here.”
“Thanks, man,” Eddie says with a smile, he claps the guy on his back and turns towards Steve, who is looking between the two of them with an unreadable look in his eyes. Something between surprised, amused and confused. “Steve, picture?”
“Yeah, of course,” Steve snaps out of it and takes the offered phone. “I’ll take the picture, because he is a big fan of you and I’m just here, talking to you.”
“Yeah?” Now Eddie is the one confused, but he will ask Steve what is wrong later.
Now he stands up to be level with the guy and leans on him with a smile. Steve lowers the phone.
“Come on, you can do better than that.”
Eddie lets out a huff of amusement, but he is right. He can do better than that. He makes the devil horns and sticks out his tongue as Steve takes picture after picture, directing them like he is some kind of professional photographer. Maybe he is not in some corporate thing.
“Thanks, man,” the boy says when Steve hands him his phone back. He turns towards Eddie. “And thank you. My friends are NOT going to believe this, they are going to be so pissed off for not staying longer.” Eddie laughs, slaps him on the chest. “Good luck tomorrow.”
Eddie finally takes his arm away from the boy’s shoulder, “thank you.”
“And sorry for interrupting you.” His eyes fly to Steve, who just shrugs him off with a wave of his hand. “It’s not every day you see Eddie Munson in London, is it? Sorry, I’m leaving now, thanks again!”
True to his word, he leaves. When Eddie sits down again, Steve has his elbow on the bar and his head on his hand, looking at him.
“So?”
“A fan.”
Steve snorts, “Really? Hadn’t caught that. But why? Are you like a youtuber or something?”
“What? No!” Eddie is almost offended. “Who even is a youtuber nowadays, no. I have a band.”
Steve looks at him, from head to toe. “A rockstar then.”
“Something like that. The work thing from tomorrow? It’s the IMAs.”
Steve doesn’t say anything, he just blinks.
“International Music Awards? They started making them a couple years ago to have some awards that really celebrated people from different- doesn’t matter. They make them in a different country each year, last year was Tokyo, this year is London, that’s why I’m here, I’m nominated. Well, my band is nominated for a couple of awards. It’s the first time we are nominated for something like this.”
“That’s- wait, band?”
“Yeah, Corroded Coffin? You may have heard of us.”
Steve snaps his fingers and points at him with a triumphant look in his eyes, “Corroded Coffin! I knew I’d seen your face before. One of my friends is like a super fan of you.”
“Oh yeah?” Eddie tries not to let the pride at listening to those words get to him.
“Yeah, he even joked about me bumping into you. He told me to take a picture with you if I did.”
“Really? And how were you planning on doing that if you didn’t know my face?”
Steve pauses, like he is debating if he should say something. In the end, he just shrugs. “Dunno, the context? Maybe I expected an entourage of groupies or something.”
Eddie laughs. “No groupies for me.” An idea forms in his head. He grabs his phone and toys with it. “You know, we can take that picture your friend asked for.”
“With your phone?” Steve asks with an eyebrow raised.
“I can send it to you.”
Steve looks at him like he knows exactly what Eddie is trying to do, but he agrees. The waitress takes their picture for them when she sees them taking a selfie, Eddie licks Steve’s cheek in one of them, but the boy only protests half-heartedly. Eddie secures Steve’s number under the pretext of sending him the pictures. They continue talking, and it’s like nothing has changed for Steve. He doesn’t treat Eddie differently, if anything, he sounds even more relaxed now.
Eddie doesn’t think about how he should go back to the hotel and rest for tomorrow, too lost in Steve’s hazel eyes. They stay there, talking and drinking until the waitress informs them it’s the last round, and then until the music stops and they have to leave the bar.
They stand outside in the cold, knowing that they have to say goodbye but reluctant to it. Maybe Eddie can take Steve back to his hotel, but he doesn’t want to deal with the lecture that will surely come out of it when the room needs to be filled with stylists. He has Steve’s number, but that doesn’t really mean anything. He wants to see Steve again soon. He wants to see him tomorrow, stupid awards be damned.
Eddie gets an idea.
“Okay, what if,” he starts, his hands in front of him, his head tilted. Steve looks at him curiously. “You came with me tomorrow.”
“To the awards?” Steve asks, his eyebrows high in his forehead.
“Exactly.” Eddie points a finger at him. He starts moving as he talks to deliver his speech as best as he can. “Think about it. It’s our first international awards invite and I don’t wanna be boring! Just showing up with my band is boring! It’s what everyone does! No drama! But showing up with a random guy-“ Steve snorts. “-and walking the red carpet with him? No leaving you behind like people do with their families and friends so they don’t show up in the pictures. I’m talking about you taking the pictures with me (maybe get a little naughty in the red carpet), sitting at our table… The whole thing!” Eddie finishes with a grand gesture. Steve looks amused.
“And they are just going to let you bring me with you with no heads up?”
“We’ll figure a way.” Eddie gets closer to Steve, takes his hands in his. “Please, it will be so much fun! And when else would a normal guy like you have the opportunity of coming to something like this?”
Steve seems to think about it for a few seconds and bites back a smile, “okay, I’ll be your date.”
“Yes!” Eddie shouts, letting go of Steve to celebrate properly.
“You better make it fun, Munson!”
Eddie kisses Steve’s cheek, just a quick press of lips before he is walking away, pointing at him. “I will! I swear it will the best night of your life!”
****
Steve shakes his head as he looks at Eddie’s form walk away with a skip in his step. He will admit it, he is properly charmed. That’s not the only reason he agreed to the date, no. He knows he is going to have a lot of fun tomorrow, in ways Eddie can’t even imagine. He can’t wait to see his face.
He takes his phone out. It’s late (or early) for a phone call, so he just sends a text.
I need a seat change for the ceremony. Also, we are changing my whole look.
Steve and Eddie become pen pals purely out of boredom. Steve begins to tell Eddie about the Upside Down through his anonymous notes. The notes only make Eddie realize that there’s danger at Forest Hills, and he doesn’t know how to keep himself, or anyone else, safe.
Warnings: None really outside of anything canon typical
Part 1 <Part 2>
When he came to school the next day, his fuck you still sat in the desk. Eddie crumpled up the note, shoving it into his pocket and ripped half a page out of his notebook.
He scrawled an ‘I’m sorry’ on the paper before drawing the little demon dog he saw last night.
He then drew a little arrow at the creature.
‘I saw this at the trailer park, not entirely sure if it was a drug induced hallucination. It killed a cat.’
…
In the aftermath of the fuck you note Steve was dreading his next gov class.
He couldn’t tell if it was his expectation of finding nothing in the desk, another insulting note, or the same note, left in the desk for him to see again.
But, when he pulled out the paper dreading whatever hit to his self esteem he was going to get now, he was horrified by what he actually found.
A demodog.
Steve pulled out another sheet of paper sketching the stages of the demogorgon.
Tadpole-esque to demodog to demogorgon
His drawings were much more cartoony than his desk buddy’s but they should be fine. He carefully labels each drawing with its respective name.
‘If you’re ever in trouble, I’d recommend fire.’ He writes under his life cycle drawing. Then a ‘WARNING DRAWN TO BLOOD’
He slipped the note into his desk, sure that this progression was worse than he expected.
When he left class he headed to lunch. Instead of subjecting himself to the Hawkins’ hierarchy in the lunch room, he found himself a nice spot on the roof to sit and eat.
He watched as people moved into and out of the building. It wasn’t until someone did so particularly loudly that he took notice, he leaned over the ledge to find Eddie Munson being shoved up against the wall, Andy rearing up to punch him in the face.
He took his pudding cup and turned it upside down, watching as the vanilla sludge dripped carefully from the container, soaring gracefully in the air, to splash directly on Andy’s head.
He pulled his arm back quickly to avoid notice, only hearing Andy’s chorus of swears and some scuffling in the aftermath.
When he heard the door swing open and shut and Eddie’s following raucous laughter, Steve smiled.
He got up and left before Andy could come up and discover him.
Steve didn’t like vanilla pudding much anyway.
…
Eddie was in an especially good mood.
The image of Andy’s pudding covered visage almost made him forget about the monster in the trailer park.
Almost.
When he got home, it was normal at first.
It wasn’t until he saw a kid playing with fireflies that worry lodged itself in his chest.
He sat, holding Wayne’s gun and watching out the window. He had moved a chair, sitting in front of the door, angling himself so that he could leap up.
When he finally watched the kid run back inside did he relax.
He moved the chair back and went to bed, gun propped next to the door of his room.
When he woke up the next morning, it was to Wayne coming back home.
It was strange because Eddie usually slept through his arrival home.
Regardless of the reason, Eddie wasn’t going to be able to get back to sleep.
Instead, he drew last night. The small boy, Derek, he recalled, chasing fireflies, reaching towards the small flickering light amidst the dark atmosphere.
Morbidly, he created a small demogorgon out of highlights. It hid in the trees, in the place farthest from the light of the firefly.
Once he was finished, he folded it up, unable to look at it any longer.
He held onto it until Miller’s class, swapping out his drawing with his desk buddy’s note.
‘WARNING DRAWN TO BLOOD’ pops out at Eddie first. His eyes go a little wide at that.
‘If you’re ever in trouble, I’d recommend fire.’ Eddie doesn’t quite know how to react to that, just filing that information away for later.
His eyes trace the life cycle of the demogorgon. It hops between reptilian in nature to doglike, then humanlike.
It was like someone was flipping through a children’s book on animals and randomly adding that flower shaped mouth and slime.
It felt a little strange, not to have a person to look up at and go ‘what the fuck’ to. Maybe someone to give him a hug because learning that monsters were real made him want to curl up on his long dead mother’s lap.
Eddie played with the edges of the paper until they tore.
What was there even to say?
‘Thanks for the info’
‘I’ll probably run anyway’
It was only his own poverty that kept him and Wayne in the trailer park. Otherwise, the second he saw one of those things, he’d be running for the hills.
Eddie couldn’t help but imagine the abundance of people at forest hills. From the old man who always tried to make cookies for his wife and failing, making the air smell like smoke sporadically, to the little baby girl who waddles barefoot through the park with her mother less than a foot behind her.
There was danger in the forest and they didn’t even know.
…
Steve wished he could respond again before the weekend started.
Maybe scribble ‘hive mind’?
What could he even say?
Tell him to pray?
Steve wasn’t a religious type, but when he fought those things, each little bit of effort he put in felt like a prayer. Each swing of his bat was accompanied with that little animal in his brain desperately hoping that it would be enough to keep his life.
A little information didn’t seem like enough, but he didn’t have anything more.
He felt restless, so he left his study hall to ‘go to the bathroom’ but it was really to simply roam the halls.
He slowed down past Miller’s room.
He saw Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson sitting in his seat.
Clutching Steve’s note.
Steve hasn’t even realized he had stopped until Tammy is blowing a kiss at him and lavashing in the attention from him, not noticing that Steve was looking past her and at Eddie.
Steve’s eyes went a little wide and let his legs carry him away from the classroom, using the interconnected labyrinth of halls that allowed him to get back to his study hall without passing Miller’s class.
He couldn’t think, but the pieces slotted into place. Munson lived in the trailer park.
Maybe Steve could try to catch him, maybe do as he did with the kids and hide Munson behind him.
But most likely, Munson would bolt the second he realized Steve was looking for him.
He settled on slipping a note into Munson’s locker. He listed out anything that he knew.
He wrote down the weapons they used, what worked, what didn’t.
He borderline chewed through his cheek as he struggled to draw information from his adrenaline fueled interactions. Trying to look past the layers of panic, protect, and kill to find anything useful, like the snaily texture of their bodies.
Maybe they were like slugs? Dump salt on them and they die?
Steve feels his brain begin to hurt, a migraine coiling deep in his skull.
Steve’s leg bounced and he felt stupidly frustrated.
If only his brain worked like Nancy, Joyce, or any of the kids.
But it didn’t work like that. Looking at a math equation with his concussion made him nauseous.
He defaulted to any of the consensuses in the party on Demogorgon like the hive mind and Dustin training D’Art.
When he slipped it into Munson’s locker, only distinguishable by the faded FREAK written across it, he felt a little better. But his fingers still jittered nervously.
Later, when he held Munson’s drawing in his hands, he realized he should probably go to Hopper.
Like immediately.
When the bell rings, Steve bolts out the school doors. He jumps into his car and speeds the two miles to the police station.
Steve barely manages to calm himself before entering.
If he just barged in there like he wanted to, they would have written him off as a cokehead and sent him home.
Instead, he greets the woman at the front desk, who seems to be covered by an invisible sheet of weariness.
“Is Chief Hopper in?” Steve asks apprehensively.
“No, he had some business in the next town over. Don’t know when he’ll be back.” She shrugs, going back to the stacks of paper in front of her.
“Tell him Steve needs him when he gets back.”
…
Eddie was paranoid now.
He felt insane.
He watched the woods from a chair, with a bottle of rubbing alcohol and 5 lighters shoved in his various pockets.
He had a gun laying across his lap.
The neighbors would’ve called the cops at the sight of him, but luckily he was obscured by the slatted blinds in his window.
He felt the need to sleep tugging at his heavy eyes after hours of looking into the darkness.
He tried to fight it.
But, eventually, Eddie’s vision goes black and he falls asleep.
It’s the slamming of the door 3 feet from him that wakes him up.
He jolts away, hands automatically grabbing the gun.
“Woah, Eds.” A voice interrupts Eddie’s response.
It’s only when he looks up that he sees his tired uncle staring at Eddie like he’s gone mad.
AN. Uh so I got a job. I will have a nicely padded bank account for college but it does take away time from fic writing. I got my dorm too which FUCK YEA. And I’ve started watching 911 during work (I’m allowed to) and I love it so much, it’s such a perfect show because I’ve wanted my EMT for years. I’m going to try and get it next summer.
Steve gets dragged to a metal festival and he can't stand around just looking while the band is setting up.
“Okay this is fucking awkward.” Steve says, his hands on his hips as he stands next to the group of sitting teenagers.
He had said the same thing fifteen minutes ago when he had left them there to go get drinks for everyone, as soon as they had arrived at the side stage and Steve had seen that there would be no rushing and shoving to stand at the front. They were the only ones there.
It was awkward, being the only ones waiting for the set to start, so he had left them there to go on a supply run. He is now back and the party is sitting there right next to the barricade, the rest of the makeshift pit for the festival empty save for a few other small groups standing around.
One of the guys walking on and off stage looks their way and acknowledges Steve with a nod. It’s the fourth time it’s happened in the two minutes Steve has been back. Every time from a different guy that Steve is pretty sure is one of the members of the band they are going to see setting up their shit.
Steve looks as the one with the twig arms and long hair tries to get a case of what must be a drum up the stairs and sighs. It doesn’t even look that heavy, the guy is just struggling to grab it correctly.
He is at the barricade in two strides and over it with a quick jump. He doesn’t pay attention at the chorus of “Steve what are you doing?” “Oh my god, you can’t do that” “Come back you can’t do that” and “You are going to get us kicked out!” he leaves behind. He just walks over to long hair guy and grabs the other side of the drum.
“I said I could-“ long hair guy starts to say, but the words die in his lips when he looks up and sees Steve.
Fuck. He looks pretty now that he is close. Steve might have miscalculated this. He didn’t know metal guys were pretty, he thought they were gross and rough. He may have tried to look better if he knew.
The guy looks over at Steve’s friends at the other side of the barricade, Dustin and Mike now standing up, their hands gripping the barrier.
“You are not supposed to be here,” the guys says, his voice smooth. There is an amused undertone in his voice, a slight upturn of the corners of his lips. Steve guesses, from his hair and clothes and the fact that he is in a metal band, that he is not a big fan of rules.
Steve shrugs. “Was getting sick of seeing you try to lift stuff with those noodle arms.”
“This?” the guy asks, flexing his arm. Okay, it is not that thin up close, the general look lied to Steve. “How do you know I was not struggling on purpose so you’d come help me?”
“It’d say that would be a horrible plan, luckily for you, I hate to stay looking while people struggle in front of me.”
“Do you know anything about setting up instruments?”
“No, but I’m good at lifting stuff.”
The guy’s eyes move down to look at Steve’s arms, flexing with the weight. Steve looks as the guy bites his lip.
“I see that.”
“Hey! If you guys don’t mind, I need my drums before the concert starts!” a voice shouts from the stage.
Steve and the guy get into action. Up in the stage, to the back where the dumkit is going to be.
“What else can I help with?” Steve asks once the case is set down on the floor.
“Can you bring all the stuff from the van while we set it up?” pretty boy asks. The guy opening the case with the drum (Steve is going to guess he is the drummer) sends him a weird look.
“Since when do we have a roadie?”
“Since now, I’ll get it.” Steve turns to go back for the other stuff.
When he is halfway through the stage, he looks towards the kids. Mike and Dustin are still standing gripping the barrier, but they are now looking at him with their mouths wide open. Steve sends a thumbs up their way.
“Don’t,” he says when Mike moves to jump over the barricade too, his hand moving to stop him with a pointed finger.
Mike stops, but he is about to protest when Dustin starts slapping his chest. There’s a mess of arms and pointed fingers, and both boys are now still, staring at some point to Steve’s back. Mike gulps.
Steve looks over his shoulder. Pretty guy -fuck, he forgot to ask his name- is standing in the middle of the stage, wagging his forefinger back and forth at the boys.
They look properly chastised, so Steve skips the few steps to get down from the stage and grabs the first box he sees.
By the time the set is about to start, they have a good rhythm going, Steve working in tandem with the boys from the band. He has even plugged up some stuff, and adjusted microphones. It is fun. Maybe he can sign up to work on this, Robin will probably be good at it too. He wishes she was here to try, but of course she met a girl that morning and is now god knows where. Probably getting drinks at the main stage, or making use of one of the tents.
Steve has more fun than he thought he would. The set is not very long, festival sets never are, but the music is good enough, the energy is high, and even getting into the moshpit to get Dustin out is fun enough.
There’s also the thing about Eddie – because that is pretty guy’s name. Steve had not asked it, but the other guys had shouted it enough – looking hot as fuck playing the guitar. The fast movements of his fingers, the way he stuck his tongue out, the way he grinned at Steve and winked in his direction.
When the set is finished and the band has said their goodbyes and then got back onstage to clear out their stuff for the next group, Steve wastes no time and jumps over the barricade again.
There is a security guy now, but he doesn’t stop Steve, he had seen him do the exact opposite move right before the concert started and they had talked before that. Steve pointing to his cap and asking him about the game last week.
Clearing up the stage is a bit more chaotic, with the people from the next group wanting to set up at the same time, but with Steve’s help they manage just fine. Soon, Steve is shutting the van’s doors and dusting off his hands.
“We are going to sell some t-shirts now, if you wanna help with that too,” Eddie says, leaning on the van with his shoulder and his arms crossed. He appears so suddenly that Steve almost jumps away, but he catches himself in time. Maybe not fast enough, if Eddie’s smile is anything to go by. “I’m sure your presence will make the ladies flock to us to spend their money.”
“You’ll have to pay me at some point if I keep helping you,” Steve answers with a snort, mirroring Eddie’s pose.
Eddie gasps and puts a hand to his heart, “you mean you are not doing this for the goodness of your heart?”
“A girl has to eat too,” Steve replies, and regrets it immediately when he sees Eddie’s amused face. Damn Robin and her catchy phrases.
“Well, we don’t have much money but I can find some other way to pay you back,” Eddie trails off as his eyes move down Steve’s body and he bites his lip, moving just a bit closer to Steve.
Steve moves closer to the other boy too. “I can take free drinks for the rest of the festival.” He pushes off the van, and starts walking off.
“Wait!” Eddie calls out, as if Steve was really leaving. He stops and turns to look at him. “You are staying for the rest of the festival?”
“Did you think we came all the way here just to see you?”
“Are you camping here too?” Eddie continues without acknowledging Steve’s interruption.
“You want me to camp with that bunch of kids? You think I’m crazy?” Steve waits until Eddie looks properly dejected to say. “We are in the small field, near gate C.” Eddie’s face splints in a grin. “You go sell your t-shirts and you can buy me a drink if you find me later.”
“I will,” Eddie answers.
Steve gets closer to him, puts his hand on the metalhead’s sweaty shirt, “and we can talk about other ways for you to pay me back.”
pairing: pre-relationship steve harrington x eddie munson
summary: eddie comes out to steve and it goes about as well as robin said it would (very well)
aka me writing a coming out fic vs the bat boys wanting to gossip and giggle
word count: 1,563
ao3 link
—
“Robin told me something yesterday.” Eddie pauses, nerves tickling in his chest as he flips back and forth between following through and backing out.
“Oh?” Steve asks distractedly, focused on the careful unlacing of his shoes. There’s another pause as Eddie dithers once more, and Steve takes the opportunity to fully comprehend the statement. “Oh god, it wasn’t about when I fell asleep at work, was it? Because I swear there were no customers, and I –”
“No, no.” Eddie interrupts, shifting a little to the left as Steve joins him on the bed. He wouldn’t normally, content to press as much of himself against Steve’s side as possible, but tonight is different. Tonight Steve might want the space. “It wasn’t about you. It was… It was about her. About her and… Girls. How she feels about them. And not about guys?”
He feels dumb. In both ways. Like his mouth and his brain have been filled with cotton and it’s left him stumbling over his words in a nigh incoherent babble. He sucks in a stuttered breath - like that’ll help - and continues.
“She said, um… She said you knew? That she’d told you about it?”
“Yeah,” Steve agrees softly, before something seems to occur to him and he frowns a little as he glances at Eddie. “Why? D’you have a problem with it?”
Eddie’s shocked into silence for a second. The idea that he could exist in a world where Steve Harrington would lecture him about homophobia felt so incredibly removed from any reality he’d ever have conceived even six months ago, it takes him a second too long to answer, and Steve’s face morphs from suspicious into a disappointed frown.
“No! No, man, of course I don’t.” The idea is kind of laughable really, but Steve doesn’t know that. He takes him at his word, though, and smiles amiably.
“Good. I’m glad she told you. She’s been thinking about it for a bit. I said I thought you’d be cool about it. That’s like, your whole thing, right? Anti… Anti-estabsh… Whatever. Against the grain and shit. Would’ve sucked to find out you were secretly an asshole.”
Steve flashes him one of those smiles. The ones that say I’m making fun of you but you’re in on the joke and I’m so fond of you together in one. Directed at Eddie, they never fail to make his chest feel warm and he can’t stop the answering grin from spreading over his own face, even in spite of his nerves.
“Yeah. I’m big into all that anti-establishment shit. That’s what metal’s all about, dude! Fighting back against the man - capital T, capital M.”
Eddie relishes in every chuckle his antics pull out of the prettiest boy in the midwest, and he takes an extra second to enjoy this one before he sucks in another breath and continues.
He can be brave. He can.
“But that’s not the only reason I’m, like, totally chill about it.”
There’s another beat of silence but Steve only waits patiently, face open and eyes curious.
“It would be…” Eddie drags out the vowel, tilting his head in Steve's direction to cover up the fact that he just can’t hold eye contact anymore. “Hypocritical of me, to judge Robin. For liking girls. Since I… We’re the same. Or, I guess opposite, when you really think about it. Batting for your own team but we’re on different teams, y’know?”
Another silence. Eddie’s anxious and Steve’s confused. Calculating. Eddie can almost hear the thoughts beating one by one through Steve’s head. The steady way he assesses things.
Liking girls. The same. Liking girls? Opposite. Own team. Oh. Oh. Opposite. Liking boys.
“Oh,” Steve murmurs, proving Eddie’s assessment correct. He usually gets there; you just have to give him a little time sometimes. It’s something the kids aren’t always good at, but Eddie’s a patient man. Sometimes. For Steve. “Oh. You’re… Gay?”
The hesitation is fair, Eddie supposes - he couldn’t bring himself to say the actual word so why should Steve?
He casts a sideways glance towards him as he nods in answer, eyes immediately catching on that immutable gaze. Warm, steady, Steve. Unchanged and unwavering, even through Eddie’s confession. Comforting in its familiarity.
Something washes over Steve’s face then, a flicker of oh shit, like he’s suddenly remembered he’s left the oven on, and Steve is the one close to babbling.
“Oh, uh, thank you for telling me, man, I’m, uh, I’m really glad you felt you could trust me.” He smiles softly, nodding once as if to punctuate his words and then, wonderful, beautiful Steve, he reaches out to grip Eddie’s shoulder with his hand. It’s nothing in the grand scheme of things - Eddie’s always been a touchy guy once given permission and hell if Steve doesn’t love to permit - but it means a lot. It says a lot.
It says I’m not going to treat you any differently. It says I’m still your friend. It says I accept you, even when a lot of people wouldn’t.
“Yeah?” He has to check. He has to.
“Yeah,” Steve says, sure as anything.
There’s a pause as Eddie tells himself he absolutely cannot cry over this.
Flip the script. Humour. Jokes. Teasing. Goodbye genuine emotions.
“Did Robin train you to say that?”
Steve’s earnestness cracks into laughter.
“Yeah. She said I was great when she came out, but also awful. And, y’know, I wanted to be ready if anyone… If one of the kids… I don’t know. I just wanted to get it right.” He shrugs, earnest look back at full blast. “I wanted whoever to know they were safe with me. That it wouldn’t change how I saw them. That it’s okay. Normal. Y’know.”
Another shrug, a little self-deprecating. Eddie’s drowning in affection.
“Yeah. Yeah, I do know.” There’s a beat where the air feels too heavy with emotion for Eddie’s liking so he cracks another grin. “You did great, man. A plus. I’ll tell Robin you’re a great student.”
Steve practically giggles, and Eddie feels brave enough to nudge his shoulder against Steve’s. There’s not even a hint of hesitation as Steve pushes back into the touch.
“But now you absolutely have to tell me what you said that was so awful you needed to learn lines before you were allowed to do this again.”
He’s genuinely curious. All Robin had told him was that Steve had been great. Didn’t even hesitate. Put her at ease immediately and that she had no doubt Eddie’s own secret would be safe with him. She’d pushed that point firmly.
“Oh, I, uh, I made fun of the girl she was crushing on.”
Eddie’s eyebrows raise, eyes widening and lips twitching with laughter.
“What?”
“Yeah, I… Look, y’know what - I stand by it. Total dud. Robbie can absolutely do better. I mean, Tammy Thompson? Really?”
He sounds genuinely outraged. It cracks Eddie up so much he ends up having to use Steve’s arm to hold himself up.
He categorically does not think about how firm said arm feels under his grip. He doesn’t.
“She was crushing on Tammy Thompson?”
“Yeah. Said she had ‘inspirations’ or some shit. I said she wasn’t gonna get anywhere singing like she did.”
“I think you mean aspirations. Like, goals in life? But, yeah, that girl couldn’t hold a tune if you handed one to her.”
Steve laughs again, head thrown back and Eddie has to gulp audibly as he stares at the exposed skin of Steve’s neck.
He is not going to bite it over one of those gorgeous little moles. He’s not.
“I told her she sounded like a muppet.”
Eddie feels like he’s getting whiplash.
“You told Tammy that?”
“What? No! I’m not an entire asshole. I told Robin that while we were crazy high on Russian truth serum so it’s not, like, entirely my fault, I think.”
Eddie practically giggles, smacking both his hands over his face as he does.
His mood has taken such a drastic turn, he can hardly believe it. Trust Steve to take him from a ball of anxiety and turn him into a giddy mess. It’s almost infuriating how Eddie’s crush blooms at every example of Steve just being Steve.
Eddie shakes his head, baffled, amazed, and so utterly fond he feels like his heart is flip-flopping in his chest.
”Thank you, though. Seriously. For trusting me with that. It means a lot.”
The earnest look is back and Eddie can only smile.
”You’re a good guy, Harrington. I never would’ve guessed it a year ago, but it’s true. One of the best, I might argue.”
Steve flushes an endearing pink at that. Eddie’s heart does not stutter in his chest at that visual.
“Right back at you, Munson.”
There’s a beat where they sit together, smiling like idiots, before Eddie claps his hands together and announces that he needs a beer. Steve is all too eager to follow him to the kitchen and the evening is wasted away with cheap beer, a good movie, and better company.
And if Eddie has only confessed one of his tightly-held secrets then he thinks that’s plenty in the grand scheme of things, and he’s certainly not going to push his luck by admitting he’s pretty sure he’s in love with one of his best friends.
Summary: Eddie doesn’t expect to find Steve Harrington half-dead on a dark road in the middle of the night — or to be the one he clings to after.
Eddie doesn’t need the devil chasing him to speed down the empty country roads outside the city limits—his own thoughts are doing a good enough job of that.
With Judas Priest’s Defenders of the Faith blaring through the speakers, he pushes the gas pedal down as far as his trusty old van will allow—further than is probably safe. Part of him doesn’t care. A big part, actually. And that should scare him.
But all he feels is empty.
Failing senior year once had been annoying, sure. But it had almost felt like part of his whole thing—giving the system the middle finger.
Failing senior year a second time, though? That stung. More than that.
It makes him feel ashamed. Like a failure. Like the son of his father. A fuck-up. A loser. A lowlife with no chance of ever making it outta here.
It would be so easy to swerve right, just a bit. At this speed, that’s all it would take — a slight twist of the wheel and the van would wrap around one of the trees lining the road. Another thought that doesn’t scare him the way he knows it should. He only wonders if he’d have time to feel any pain, or if it would all be over too fast.
It’s the thought of Wayne that keeps his hands steady and his foot easing off the gas. Wayne has lost enough. His face is lined with the weight of every sorrow he’s carried. He doesn’t deserve Eddie adding more pain to the pile.
A small voice in Eddie’s head suggests maybe it’d be doing Wayne a favor — removing himself from the list of Wayne’s responsibilities.
But despite what Higgins and the rest of the school might think, Eddie isn’t stupid. He knows Wayne loves him. He knows it would gut him to hear Callahan say Eddie died driving too fast.
So he ignores the voice. Ignores the intrusive flashes of twisted metal and splintered bark. Slows to a more reasonable pace. Cranks the music louder — lets the screaming guitars drown it all out.
It’s a good thing he did.
Not a minute later, he sees a figure walking in the middle of the road — swaying left and right like they’re drunk.
“Fuckfuckfuck—” he blurts, swerving and slamming on the brakes at the same time. Exactly what everyone says not to do when a deer runs out — you’re supposed to keep going, keep straight.
But this isn’t a deer.
It’s a person.
And anyway, Eddie wouldn’t willingly hit a deer, let alone a human being — even if it means dying just after he decided not to.
(How is this his life?)
The endless, panicked ramble in his mind cuts off when the person — the boy, Eddie realizes — lifts his head.
Distant, glazed-over eyes.
(Eye, Eddie thinks hysterically. Only one is glittering in the headlights.)
Then the van stops.
Mere inches from disaster.
There’s a beat of silence. And then—
“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!” Eddie screams, slamming his hands against the steering wheel over and over. His whole body feels like it’s vibrating out of his skin, adrenaline flooding him, teeth clattering, hands shaking.
If he’d been driving just a little faster—
If he’d seen the boy a second later—
But there’s no point thinking about that now. Not when there’s a boy outside, his face disfigured, maybe hurt. Maybe in desperate need of help.
Eddie’s brain drops straight into panic mode — always has. Anxiety scuttles just under his skin like ants, worst-case scenarios blooming behind his eyes faster than he can shut them down. And yet, despite the panic, he hesitates. Fights with himself. Afraid of doing something wrong. Of making it worse.
“Get a grip, goddammit,” he mutters. “It’s probably just some drunk jock. The light’s playing tricks on you. He’s fine. Just get out, check on him, drive him into town, and get the fuck out of here. Easy as pie.”
Great. Now he’s talking to himself.
Shaking his head and muttering more curses under his breath, he shoves open the door and climbs out. The plan is simple: tell the guy to get in the van before he gets himself killed. That’s it.
But when Eddie rounds the front of the van, the words catch in his throat.
What he sees could be ripped straight from one of the horror movies he loves.
Or a nightmare.
It is a boy. Or maybe more like a young man, around Eddie’s age. It’s hard to tell, honestly.
He’s dressed in what looks like a uniform — dark shorts, mostly likely a dark blue, with white seams, a short-sleeved shirt in the same style. Strange and kind of silly looking, but not unheard of. That’s not what stops Eddie cold.
It’s the dark stains blotting the fabric. The bruises and bloodied scrapes on the boy’s arms and legs.
It’s the face — battered and swollen, one eye completely shut, lip split, hair matted with sweat and dirt.
It’s that the face is familiar*.*
Even wrecked like this, Eddie knows that face.
“Harrington?” he breathes. “What the ever-loving fuck happened to you?”
It’s meant to sound incredulous.
But it comes out more like a whimper.
The boy — Harrington. This is Steve Harrington, former King of Hawkins High — holy shit — doesn’t even look up at the sound of Eddie’s voice. He just stares straight ahead, unblinking, into the glare of the van’s headlights.
Eddie thinks again of a deer — frozen in the beams, no fight, no flight, no instinct to survive until it’s too late.
He shivers, despite the stifling heat of an Indiana summer night.
Taking another cautious step forward, Eddie moves to stand between Harrington and the van, blocking most of the light casting the boy’s injuries in harsh, unforgiving detail.
“Harrington?” he tries again.
Still no reaction.
Softening his voice, he tries, “Steve?”
Nothing.
Fuck. He looks drugged. That vacant stare, the total lack of reaction — it has all the signs of a bad trip.
Maybe someone slipped something into his drink at a party.
Not anything Eddie would’ve sold — he’s careful about that kind of thing — but he’s not the only dealer around Hawkins. And some people are a hell of a lot less picky about what they push.
Or maybe — another voice in his head suggests — someone assaulted him, and he’s in shock.
That would be typical for Eddie, wouldn’t it? Jumping to conclusions. It's a hazard of the trade, maybe — doing what he does to make a little extra on the side, to help Wayne with the bills. But still, looking at the damage done to Harrington’s usually picture-perfect face, that doesn’t look like the effect of any drug Eddie knows.
And then a worse thought creeps in: Maybe it’s both.
Whatever happened to him, it’s bad. Eddie can feel it in his gut.
It kicks up the same instincts that have always made him step between bullies and freshmen, the same ones that turned Hellfire into a safe haven for outcasts.
Wayne calls it a bleeding heart. Says Eddie cares too much, every time he brings home another stray cat or a wounded bird.
Eddie has the grace not to mention which Munson he got that trait from.
Not that Harrington’s an animal or anything, but he still wakes the same instincts in Eddie.
Hell, Eddie never even liked the guy. Golden boy jock with his pretty face, shiny car, rich parents, and girls tripping over themselves just to get his attention.
It’s not like they ever talked. Not really.
Sure, Eddie was aware of Steve Harrington — who wasn’t? Even after his fall from grace, people were still talking about him.
And Eddie?
Well, he’s only human. Not immune to gossip, okay?
But he never talked to him. Never had a reason to. Their worlds were about as far apart as Hobbiton and Mordor.
Still... something about seeing Harrington like this — standing in the middle of an empty road, beat to hell and spaced out like a lost kid — tugs at something in Eddie’s chest.
Before he can second-guess it, he steps forward and gently places a hand on Steve’s shoulder.
After the way Harrington ignored every attempt to get his attention, Eddie assumes the touch will be no different — unnoticed, ignored.
It’s not.
Instead, Steve flinches — violently — jerking away from Eddie’s hand. His foot catches awkwardly on his own leg, and before Eddie can react — still too startled by the intensity of the reaction — Steve goes down. Hard.
For a second that stretches out like an hour, Eddie just stares. Blinking down at him in stunned silence as Steve whimpers and raises an arm over his face like a shield — as if Eddie’s about to hit him.
Kick him.
Hurt him.
“What happened to you?” Eddie whispers again. It’s not really a question this time, not directed at Steve — just a stunned thought spoken aloud.
He’s frozen, standing there like an idiot, gawking at someone who barely even resembles the Steve “The Hair” Harrington he used to know. Now he’s crouched on the pavement like a kicked dog, flinching from a touch like it burned.
It’s the broken “please” that finally snaps Eddie out of it.
It sounds so small. So afraid.
Like it’s not the first time Steve’s said it today.
The word breaks whatever spell was holding him still, and Eddie drops to his knees beside the terrified boy, only for Steve to shrink back even further.
“Hey,” he says softly, voice gentle — the same one he used when trying to free that cat that got stuck in the chain-link fence behind the trailer park. It had been bleeding, already hurt, and he’d known that if he scared it any more, it would only thrash harder. Hurt itself worse.
He’d managed to get it out in the end. Didn’t even make things worse — though the scratches on his hands and arms took weeks to heal.
“It’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you, I promise.”
Steve doesn’t react outwardly, but he also doesn’t pull away. He stays still, the only movement the rapid rise and fall of his chest, his breathing harsh and ragged. It rattles in a way that makes Eddie’s stomach twist — like he’s got a bad cold. Or a bruised lung.
He wishes he could get Harrington to a hospital right now, but just like that cat, he knows that if he touches him too soon, the other boy might panic. Might do something that ends with him getting hurt even worse.
So Eddie stays patient — which, granted, isn’t a trait that comes naturally.
“Harrington — Steve, do you know who I am?”
Slowly, Harrington lowers his arm, the shield he’s been using to block the world. And then, finally, he looks at Eddie. Not through him — at him.
It gives Eddie a better look at his face, and what he sees turns his stomach. The meagre meal he had a few hours ago threatens to come up, bile rising sharp and bitter in the back of his throat.
Only one bloodshot hazel eye meets his; the other is swollen completely shut, the skin stretched tight and shiny. His whole face is a mess of bruises — dark and mottled and barely recognizable. His lip’s split, red going down towards his chin in a gnarly wound that will most likely scar. Someone must’ve wiped most of the blood off, but they missed a few crusted flecks at his hairline. It’s hard to look away from them, even though they’re probably the least awful part to focus on. Maybe that’s why his brain fixates there — a kind of self-preservation.
With Steve’s attention finally on him, Eddie gives a little bow — or something resembling one, kneeling as he is — and says, in his best dramatic British accent,
“Your highness, how nice of you to join us.”
He doesn’t know why he says it. Instinct, maybe.
But it works.
The eye watching him blinks. Once. Twice. Then Steve lets out a snort that sounds painful but still manages to be amused.
“Munson?” he rasps, though it sounds mostly rhetorical.
Eddie nods. “At your service.”
The tension bleeds out of Harrington’s body, and Eddie finally lets himself breathe. He doesn’t think the guy’s going to bolt anymore. Doesn’t mean he’s ready to be hauled into town, but… baby steps.
“What— Where—Robin?”
Okay. Still not entirely with it.
Eddie has no clue who Robin is, and even less idea what the hell happened to Steve Harrington, but at least he can answer one of the questions.
“We’re just outside of Hawkins, and you’re lucky this town’s as dead as it gets. No one else uses this road at this hour — well, except lil’ ol’ me, apparently.” He gestures toward the van with a dramatic flair. “Which makes me your humble servant of the night, ready to escort you to Hawkins General. So come on, my liege. Your chariot awaits.”
More blinking. Eddie swears he can see the gears turning behind that one open eye.
And because he’s never met a silence he couldn’t fill, Eddie keeps going.
“Harrington, not sure if you’ve noticed, but you look like you went ten rounds with a German tank. I might not be the smartest guy in town, but I’m pretty sure you should be in a hospital right now.”
“No.”
“But—”
“No.”
Even with his face beaten halfway to hell, Harrington still manages his classic scowl — that trademark, bitchy glare Eddie remembers from school. The one Steve used to aim at anyone who dared bothering the King of Hawkins High. It’s only the sixth word out of his mouth — yes, Eddie can count, thank you very much — and Eddie already feels the urge to pull his hair out.
He curses himself for not just getting up, dusting off, and leaving the guy to stew in his stubbornness. Clearly, Harrington doesn’t want help. Or maybe he just doesn’t want Eddie’s help.
Either way, Eddie should drop it. Get back in the van, head into town, and call someone — someone Steve might actually listen to — to come pick his ass up.
But then—
“Told them I don’ wanna go to the hospital,” Steve says, slurring his words a little. But Eddie’s fluent in that language — his dad practically spoke it full-time.
“I hate hospitals,” Steve goes on. “’m fine. ’s not my first—” he waves a hand vaguely toward his head, as if that’s all the explanation Eddie needs.
And maybe it is. Eddie had seen Harrington after Byers rearranged his face. And after Billy, too. The guy’s probably had more concussions than an NFL linebacker.
Eddie draws in a breath, ready to argue — but then Harrington’s expression shifts. The petulant frown slips right off his face like a mask, leaving behind something raw. Something real.
“Please,” Steve whispers again, and suddenly he looks young. Like a scared kid playing dress-up in the King’s crown. “No hospital. I just wanna go home.”
There it is again — Eddie’s bleeding heart, thudding loud and insistent in his chest. Whatever the hell happened to Steve Harrington — not just tonight, but ever since Jonathan Byers knocked him off his throne and he tumbled down the high school food chain — it’s clear he’s not the same guy who used to trip freshmen in the cafeteria and laugh when they spilled their lunch.
That guy, Eddie might’ve been able to leave behind on the side of the road. Maybe. Probably. But this guy? The one sitting in front of him now — dazed, broken, small — Eddie couldn’t walk away from him if he tried.
Goddammit.
“Okay, okay,” he says, slipping into the same soothing tone he uses on frightened animals. Hands up, palms out, peace offering. “No hospital. Promise.”
A small nod. Good. That’s something. Now he just has to convince the dethroned king to get in the goddamn van so Eddie can take him home. Let his parents deal with this mess. Maybe they’ll be able to talk some sense into him — get him to a doctor or something.
“But you can’t stay out here,” Eddie goes on gently. “And as much as I know a big strong guy like you can look after himself, I’d feel a whole lot better if you’d let me drive you home. What do you say?”
Steve hums, but doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even look at him.
Instead, his gaze drifts upward — slow and distant — toward the sky. Eddie follows it but sees nothing unusual, just the ink-dark stretch of night dotted with stars, framed by the crooked silhouettes of tree branches.
Then Steve whispers, like it’s a secret only the stars are allowed to hear: “So pretty.”
Eddie sighs. “Yeah. They sure are.”
If Steve were someone else — a date, maybe, or even just a boy who lived somewhere remotely near Eddie’s realm of possibility — he might’ve said something dumb and sweet, like how the stars don’t hold a candle to him. But this is Steve Harrington. So all he says is, “So… how about that ride we were talking about?”
But Steve’s still somewhere else entirely. “You ever wonder what happens when we die?”
What the fuck?
His mind flashes, unbidden, to his mom — as it always does when death comes up. Even on the days he doesn’t think about her directly, the ache of her absence is still there, humming underneath everything. And yeah, he wonders. He wonders if she’s really gone, or if something of her lingers. If maybe her spirit’s still around somewhere, keeping an eye on him. He wonders if he’ll see her again. Hopes he will.
But none of that’s something he’s about to unload on Steve fucking Harrington, not here, not now — not when the guy already looks like he’s halfway to the other side himself.
So instead, he swallows down the lump in his throat and asks, calm as he can manage, “Where’s that coming from?”
Steve's voice is steady and devoid of inflection when he tells Eddie, "Billy's dead.”
The sentence lands between them like a predator, crouched and waiting — tense with the kind of stillness that promises violence the second it’s acknowledged. Eddie doesn’t touch it. His mind skitters away from the implications, the questions, the truth of it. But not for a second does he doubt Steve’s words.
He just wishes he knew why it rattles him so much.
It’s not like he liked the guy — and yeah, he feels kind of shitty for even thinking it, because his mom always said not to speak ill of the dead — but Billy Hargrove had been a raging asshole. Worse than that. Billy had been dangerous, in a way that went far beyond high school bullying.
Eddie’s not sad that he’s gone. He’s not a hypocrite — not even in his own head.
But he knew the guy.
And now he’s gone.
“Fuck,” Eddie mutters.
Steve sighs. A long, ragged exhale, like the weight of the world is pressing down on his chest. Like just thinking about it has aged him a few decades.
“Yeah. Fuck.”
They sit in it — in the quiet, in the not-knowing what to say — for a stretch of time Eddie doesn’t bother to measure. Steve keeps looking up at the stars, and Eddie keeps looking at Steve. The silence settles between them like a third presence. Not exactly welcome, but not unwelcome either. Just there.
He’s so lost in his own thoughts — and maybe in the soft tilt of Steve’s battered face, who’s to say — that he jumps slightly when Steve speaks again.
“I’m glad he’s gone.”
That one eye — bloodshot, ringed in bruises — locks onto Eddie’s. “Which is a horrible thing to say, I know. But I am. I’m glad. That he can’t hurt Max. That he can’t hurt anyone anymore.”
Eddie nods.
“But I didn’t want him to die.”
Another nod. Then Eddie reaches out, threads his fingers around Steve’s, gives his hand a single, steady squeeze. I know.
Steve squeezes back — startled, like he hadn’t expected the contact, but not pulling away. His eye widens, but the surprise is fleeting.
“Can we go home now?” he asks quietly.
Eddie doesn’t examine the way that question — we, not I — makes something twist tight in his chest.
“Sure thing,” he says, getting to his feet. His legs are half-dead from kneeling on the asphalt, a thousand tiny pinpricks buzzing beneath his skin, but he grits his teeth and powers through it. Then he leans down and gently helps Steve up too, catching him instinctively when he stumbles.
“Careful,” Eddie murmurs, low and soft.
He doesn’t let go until Steve’s safely settled in the passenger seat.
Softly closing the door, a breath rushes out of him, the relief almost overwhelming. He hadn’t even realized how tightly coiled his body had been until the tension finally starts to seep out. Nothing about their situation had been remotely scary or dangerous, but something about tonight — about Steve Harrington walking along the road looking like he lost yet another fight, this one with a prize boxer — didn’t sit right with him.
But now that he has Steve safely inside the van, he feels calmer. There’ll be time later to obsess over everything that happened tonight, but first, he needs to get the hurt boy home. Maybe even come up with a story to tell his parents — one that explains why some trailer trash like Eddie was driving their bruised-up son around and makes them not call the cops.
Clambering into the driver’s seat, he tells Steve to “buckle up, buttercup” before putting on his own seatbelt. It’s not very metal, sure, but every time he doesn’t, he hears Wayne’s voice in his head giving him hell. Basically brainwashed by his own flesh and blood. Can you believe it?
He’s just about to start the van when an annoyed huff rises from the passenger seat.
Turning his head, he finds Steve struggling — trying to twist his upper body to reach the seatbelt, fingers brushing uselessly against the buckle. Every movement earns a wince, a sharp inhale. The way he flinches confirms what Eddie already suspects: bruised ribs, maybe worse. Something bad enough to make even this short, simple movement feel like agony.
What the hell happened to you, Eddie wonders again, but keeps it to himself. Whatever explanation Steve has probably wouldn’t be the truth anyway.
“C’mere,” he murmurs, already unbuckling and leaning over.
The angle puts him in close — too close — and he’s immediately hit by the sour stench of dried sweat and vomit. It turns his stomach, but he keeps his expression neutral. If Steve notices, he doesn’t comment.
For Steve’s sake, Eddie hopes someone gets him into a shower soon. God knows he needs it.
Once Steve’s buckled in, Eddie fastens his own seatbelt again and starts the van without a word. He doesn’t have to ask where the Harringtons live—he’s been there once or twice before, back during King Steve’s heyday. Not as a guest, of course, but to sell a little something on the side.
There are so many questions on Eddie’s tongue he feels like they’re about to spill out of his mouth like an avalanche any minute now. So many that he doesn’t know where to start—which one is okay to ask, and which one might cause further distress to Harrington. One of the questions he’s asking himself is why he even cares so much about Harrington’s feelings. Stupid bleeding heart.
Before he can make up his mind, however, Steve answers at least one of his top three questions without being asked.
“There was a fire. At the mall. I worked there? At Scoops Ahoy.”
The way he says the last part sounds strange, like it’s really important somehow that Eddie believes him.
“Okay,” he says, then adds, “Is that why you look like that?”
Eddie’s never met a fire with fists, but he wants Steve to tell him what happened—not just assume.
There’s a beat of silence, like Steve’s weighing his options, and Eddie knows a lie’s coming before Steve even opens his mouth.
“Yeah. Building caved in. We made it out—Robin and I. Paramedics checked me over and said I couldn’t drive, so I decided to walk.”
Almost ten miles, Eddie estimates. Sure. Totally normal thing to do in the middle of the night, battered and bruised, after escaping a fire.
But he’s pretty sure that’s all he’s going to get, so he settles on, “Good thing I came along, then.”
“Yeah.”
The rest of the drive is quiet, save for the hum of the engine and the occasional crunch of gravel beneath the tires. Steve leans against the window, eyes half-lidded, and Eddie keeps glancing over like he’s afraid the other boy might disappear if he looks away too long. By the time they pull into the Harrington driveway, the tight coil in Eddie’s chest has loosened—but it hasn’t let go.
The house is dark, which doesn’t surprise him. Rich people probably go to bed at reasonable hours. Dinner at six, the news and some primetime TV until ten at the latest, and then off to bed they go.
Steve looks at the house and then at Eddie, but his eyes are blank again, like he’s looking straight through him.
“Thanks for the ride, Munson.”
The words are fine, but his voice sounds off—mechanical, like he’s reading from a script.
“Anytime,” Eddie answers without thinking. “Should I—”
He gestures to the house and reaches for his seatbelt. As much as he’s not looking forward to facing the Harringtons, it feels wrong to just drop Steve off like a package on a doorstep.
Before he can unbuckle, though, a cold hand closes around his wrist. The grip is surprisingly strong.
“No!” The life snaps back into Steve’s voice and eyes. “I… appreciate it. I know I haven’t been—I was a dick at school, I know that. You didn’t have to… do all this. So, yeah. Thank you. But I got it from here. You can go home.”
The slurring’s mostly gone now, just a hint of it left, like he’s working overtime to sound normal. Another thing Eddie recognizes from his father—he’s not fooled for a second.
He shakes his head and gently twists out of Steve’s grip.
“Au contraire, my lord.” His voice is cheery, even though he feels anything but. But two people can play pretend. Before Steve can stop him again, Eddie hops out and circles the front of the van to open the passenger door.
“You—” he gives Steve a pointed look, from his swollen face to the rigid way he holds himself, “do not got it from here. I can go home when I know someone’s actually taking care of you. And if that someone’s not gonna be a hospital, then our options are getting slimmer by the second. I don’t need a diploma to figure that out. So here’s what’s gonna happen, big boy. I’ll help you to your front door, we’ll ring the bell, and then we both pray your parents don’t have me arrested.”
Steve’s face has gone paler and paler during Eddie’s little speech, and for a second he regrets the harsh tone—until Steve meets his eyes and whispers, small and shaky, “I don’t feel so good.”
Fuck. Eddie knows that face.
It’s the I’m gonna puke all over your shirt face.
He has no idea how he manages to get Steve out of the car so fast, or how he does it without seeming to make anything worse—at least, Steve doesn’t scream, which he’s choosing to take as a win.
Then he’s holding him: one arm wrapped around Steve’s waist, the other hand holding back the infamous hair to keep it puke-free.
It’s not pretty, but that’s hard to care about when the body in his arms starts to tremble, the skin under his palm clammy with sweat.
“Shhh, it’s okay, get it all out,” he murmurs, as another convulsion wracks through Steve’s body, more bile and spit hitting the pavement. At least there’s no blood.
The urge to just drag Steve back into the van and drive him to the hospital is strong, but he promised—and as much as most of Hawkins thinks the word of Al Munson’s son isn’t worth shit, that still means something to him.
He just hopes Harrington’s parents will have better luck than he did on that front.
When it seems like there’s nothing left in Steve’s stomach to give, he slumps in Eddie’s arms like a puppet with its strings cut. He’s heavy, but Eddie doesn’t let him fall—just adjusts his grip, presses in closer, and gives the other boy a moment to regroup.
The silence between them shifts again. It’s easier now, lighter. Without the sight of Steve’s bruised face front and center, it almost feels like they’re just two teenagers coming back from a party, and Eddie’s helping out a friend who drank too much. It’s a nice thought, in a weird way. Him and Harrington, friends.
He tightens his grip anyway, one hand carding gently through soft strands of hair in a soothing motion.
“Better?” he asks eventually, more because he feels like he should say something than anything else.
The hum he gets in return seems to be enough—Steve doesn’t move an inch. If they were anyone else, in any other situation, Eddie might be inclined to think they were cuddling. Which is a completely insane thought, so he shoves it far away the second it enters his mind.
Another shiver rolls through Steve’s body, reminding Eddie that they’re still standing on the sidewalk in Hawkins’ finest neighborhood, in the middle of the night.
“C’mon,” he murmurs, adjusting his stance. “Let’s get you inside, your highness, before you catch your death out here.”
Steve doesn’t argue, just lets Eddie sling his arm over his shoulder, half-walking, half-carrying him to the front door. It feels like the night is finally catching up to him—or maybe it’s the adrenaline finally burning off, leaving his body spent and fragile.
Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Eddie rings the bell of the Harrington mansion, wishing more than anything that he were anywhere else. He’s sure these people hate him on principle, and no matter how much he’s tried to help their son tonight, they’ll probably still blame him for the state their precious heir is in.
So he waits, breath held.
And waits.
And waits.
After what feels like an eternity—though it’s probably just a couple of minutes—he swallows his nerves and rings again, this time holding it down longer.
Still nothing.
When he reaches up to press the bell a third time, Steve finally speaks—so softly that Eddie doesn’t catch it.
“Huh?”
Voice a little louder now—and much more annoyed—Steve repeats, “They’re in Florida.”
Of all the things that happened tonight, this somehow throws Eddie off the most. Which is probably stupid, because of course he’s heard the rumors. Big house, no parents. And yeah, sure, the infamous parties King Steve used to throw wouldn’t have been possible if his parents had been around, but even so—it always felt like a universal truth that someone like Steve must’ve had someone at home, caring for him.
He wasn’t Eddie, whose dad hadn’t given a rat’s ass whether he was alone, or if there was food in the house, or if he’d even made it through the week. His dad could disappear for days, weeks, months—and no one would bat an eye.
But Steve was King Steve. Rich kid. Popular. Chicks love him. Captain of the basketball team and every other cliché in the book. A douchebag, sure, but not someone who ever had to want for anything. Right?
“O—kay,” Eddie says, trying to keep his voice light. “And when will they be back?”
He’s hoping—praying—the answer will be tomorrow. Maybe even just a few hours. Please, just this once, let something tonight be easy.
Steve shrugs, careless on the surface, but Eddie sees the way he still won’t meet his eyes, the way his shoulders curl inward.
“Dunno. They didn’t say. Not for a couple of weeks.”
Weeks.
It hits Eddie like a punch to the gut, even though it shouldn’t. The way Steve’s jaw is set, like he’s daring him to say something, makes it worse. Because he knows that look. He’s worn that look.
He knows he shouldn’t push. Knows Steve’s signaling loud and clear that this door is closed. But Eddie’s never been good at listening when he probably should.
“And… does this happen often?”
The question hangs between them, thick, heavy. It spreads like a fog, settling into every crack and space. Eddie’s heart is thudding in his chest, too loud, too fast—like it knows he crossed a line.
Steve doesn’t answer. Just shrugs him off, jaw tighter now, and starts patting at his shorts. Which don’t look like they’re known for their storage capacity. He keeps checking the same pocket twice, and Eddie can tell within seconds that he’s not finding what he’s looking for.
“Lost your keys?” he asks, even though it’s obvious. The awkwardness clings to him like static, buzzing under his skin. Everything he thought he knew about Steve Harrington is crumbling, and he doesn’t know what to do with that.
Steve mutters something that might be “Guess so,” but doesn’t look at him. Just keeps patting himself down in frustration.
Eddie sighs and steps forward, pulling a bobby pin from the inside pocket of his vest like it’s nothing. “Good thing I came prepared,” he says, crouching in front of the door. He works quickly—faster than he probably should be proud of—and the lock clicks open with a soft snick.
Steve stares at him.
"What? I'm sure you've heard the rumors about my dad. Like father, like son, huh? At least it comes with some perks.” Eddie flashes a quick, crooked grin, but it fades fast.
He doesn’t give Steve a chance to argue. Just opens the door and gently guides him inside.
He’s been here before, but it’s still intimidating to be faced with the sheer size of the Harrington estate. Their whole trailer could probably fit into the hallway with room to spare. But it’s more than just the abundance of space that puts Eddie on edge—it’s the absence of life. The place feels more like a museum than a home, and he wonders if Steve ever feels that too. If he ever feels like a guest in his own house.
The thought sits heavy in Eddie’s stomach.
Steve flips on a light, harsh and blinding in the otherwise sterile silence, and Eddie has the sudden, stupid urge to switch it off again. To drag them back into the soft, protective dark of the van, where things felt simpler. Smaller. Manageable.
But one look at Steve chases the impulse away.
He looks worse under the glare of the lights—pale as a ghost, eyes glassy and unfocused, pupils far too wide. The bruises mottling his face look even more brutal now, purpling deeper into his skin, and something about it—about him—hits Eddie like a punch to the ribs.
He must be wearing the horror on his face, because Steve winces, ducking his head and rubbing the back of his neck in a sheepish, defensive gesture that doesn’t belong on someone like him.
“’m fine, okay?” he mutters. “Like I said, not like it’s my first…” He waves vaguely at his face again, as if either of them could’ve forgotten, trying to brush off the damage like it’s nothing, like it isn’t smeared across one of the prettiest faces Eddie’s ever seen outside of a movie screen. “Some painkillers, a few hours of sleep, I’ll be good as new. You can go.”
At Eddie’s no doubt unimpressed and incredulous look, Steve sighs—long, dramatic, put-upon. “Seriously, man. Go back to whatever you were doing before you picked me up.”
There’s a mountain of things to unpack in that sentence, but Eddie never claimed he couldn’t be an ass when he wanted to. So he just mutters, “Thanks for the dismissal, my lord. You’re welcome, by the way.”
He doesn’t know what reaction he was expecting—sarcasm, maybe, or another dismissive wave—but it definitely wasn’t the way Steve’s face crumples, genuine regret flickering there before he buries it in both hands, not even flinching at the contact with his injuries.
“Fuck,” Steve groans, voice muffled and wrecked. “Robin’s right. I’m an asshole.”
The Eddie from maybe an hour ago would’ve agreed with this Robin person, but present Eddie has his world view rearranged just recently and he hates—hates—how easily Steve Harrington can tug at something soft and helpless inside him, without even trying.
Stepping closer, his hands circle Steve’s wrists and he gently tugs at them until he’s once more graced with the sight of his pretty face, bruises or no bruises.
“You look like death warmed over, Harrington. Let’s get you clean and patched up and into bed, yeah?”
It's a peace offering, and they both know it.
“Take me on a date first,” Steve deadpans, and Eddie’s brain short-circuits. He stares at his old high school crush—not that he’d ever admit to that, not even under torture—unblinking, trying to process those words.
Good thing his mouth works just fine without any input from his brain.
“This doesn’t count? Midnight drive, looking at the stars together, holding back your hair while you puke on the sidewalk. Isn’t that a typical date in this hellhole of a town?”
Steve snorts, even as he sways slightly, the little strength he might have left fading fast. Eddie doesn’t think, just wraps his arm around his waist once more and tries to ignore the loud thumping in his chest when Steve leans in without hesitation. Like it’s natural. Like Eddie’s safe.
“I wouldn’t know,” Steve mutters.
Eddie scoffs. “Yeah, sure. I might’ve failed senior year again, but I’m not blind, Harrington.” Then, remembering the important stuff, he asks, “Where’s your bathroom?”
Steve lifts a hand and points toward the stairs. “Third door on the left.”
They make their way upstairs in silence, the weight of Steve in Eddie’s arms warm and comforting, the smell of smoke and old sweat strong on his clothes—but underneath, Eddie thinks he smells hints of Steve’s aftershave. Something spicy, clean, and manly.
As he leads them to the door Steve told him to, he wonders how many times Steve has brought someone up here. At the few parties he had been at, the upstairs area had been off-limits, but he thinks he saw Steve stumble up the stairs with a girl in his arms, giggling and barely able to walk.
He pushes open the door and stops short.
The room is a plaided nightmare.
“What the fuck?” The words tumble out before he can catch them.
He feels Steve shrug against his side. “My mom likes it, I guess. Not that she’s spent more than five minutes in this room.”
“Is this—?”
“My room?” Steve shrugs again, smaller this time. But Eddie can feel it—the way self-consciousness rolls off him in waves. “Yeah. I’ve got an ensuite. Figured it’d be easier to get into bed from there.”
Steve looks like he’s ready to drop any second now, and Eddie’s not sure he could carry him up the stairs—or even across the floor—if that happened, so this is actually good thinking, really.
He tells Steve as much while helping him toward the ensuite, and almost misses the look on the other boy’s face. Just a small twitch of his brows, a barely-there frown—but it’s enough to make Eddie think Steve assumes he’s being mocked. Like there’s no way Eddie could genuinely believe he did something smart.
It’s one more thing for the ever-growing box in Eddie’s mind labeled King Steve.
The ensuite is bigger than Eddie expected—definitely bigger than the bathroom in their trailer. It’s shiny and spotless, the kind of place where someone’s mom might actually scrub the tiles. Only, Eddie’s pretty sure it’s not Mrs. Harrington who’s doing the scrubbing in this house. Eddie feels out of place immediately in his ripped clothes and dirty shoes. But the only thing that looks even more out of place is Steve himself, in bloodied, sweat-stained clothes, puke on his shoes, and that hollow look in his eyes.
Eddie sits him down on the closed toilet seat but doesn’t let go right away. Steve looks like he might slide to the floor or just keel sideways, so Eddie waits until he feels the other boy sag fully into himself.
“Okay, big boy,” he says, voice gentle but firm, “how about you take a nice, hot shower, and then I’ll see what I can do for your face. You do have a first aid kit lying around here somewhere, right?”
Steve doesn’t answer. He just stares at the floor, vacant and still—like now that he’s home, he finally has permission to check out. Which, fair enough. Eddie would probably feel the same. But it makes the mission of getting Steve clean, patched up, and into bed a hell of a lot harder.
It’s late. Eddie’s tired too, his thoughts racing, all sharp edges and emotion. He just wants a break from the weight of it all.
So, he turns on the shower and kneels in front of Steve to undo his laces and pull off his shoes. Then, he tugs him gently to his feet, bracing his body as Steve sways.
“You will thank me in the morning for this,” Eddie mutters, stripping off Steve’s frankly disgusting shirt. As he crouches again to deal with the shorts, he adds under his breath, “At least I hope so.”
It takes a lot of effort, but he maintains a neutral expression despite the bruise-mottled torso before him. Fuck, he thinks. Who did this to you? Anger flares hot, bright, and sudden in his chest, but he pushes it down for now. His focus needs to be on Steve and nothing else.
There’s no protest from the other boy, just a tired sigh as he leans into Eddie, letting him carry most of his—almost naked—weight.
At least he’s not getting punched in the face, Eddie thinks. Although, honestly, Steve doesn’t look like he could lift an arm right now, let alone throw a punch. And he sure as hell doesn’t look like he can stand under the shower and clean himself up.
Which means that job falls to Eddie, too.
He’s painfully aware that this exact scenario may or may not have featured in more than one of his late-night fantasies—him and Harrington, naked under the showers in the Hawkins High locker room after a big game, his hands roaming across miles of wet skin.
Only, this isn’t that fantasy. For one, Steve’s not an eager participant. He’s hurt, out of his mind with exhaustion, and probably still loopy from pain and god knows what else.
So Eddie shoves those thoughts down, down, way down, and tries his absolute best to ignore the fact that Steve Harrington is clinging to him in nothing but boxer briefs, glorious chest hair and miles of mole-dotted skin on full, unfiltered display.
Instead, he toes off his own shoes and socks, and after a moment of hesitation, awkwardly shimmies out of his jeans—still holding onto the suddenly very clingy boy in his arms the entire time.
Then, in nothing but his black boxers, he guides them both under the spray of the shower.
The water pressure is heavenly, and somewhere in the back of his mind Eddie notes how amazing a real shower must feel here. But right now, his focus is entirely on the half-limp boy in his arms, who finally starts to look a little more awake beneath the stream of warm water.
“I’m gonna wash those luscious locks of yours now,” Eddie murmurs, adjusting his grip, “and if I don’t get it right, you’ve gotta cut me some slack, yeah?”
Hazel eyes blink slowly at him, but Eddie is relieved to see a flicker of recognition there. “Conditioner. Blue bottle.” Steve points vaguely at the line-up of fancy products along the shower wall. Then, with a little grin that’s more felt than seen, he reaches for Eddie’s dripping hair and gives it a weak tug. “You could use some too, by the way.”
“Duly noted,” Eddie croaks, trying not to shiver. This is about helping Steve. This is not about how good even that small, barely-there touch feels.
He’s starting to think this might’ve been a very, very bad idea.
So, to distract himself from the undeniably attractive, half-naked, wet man leaning on him like it’s second nature, Eddie keeps one hand steady on Steve and turns to grab the blue bottle.
“No, no, no,” Steve stops him, sounding more alive than he has all night. “You use conditioner after the shampoo.”
The sheer horror in his voice makes Eddie laugh. He can’t help it. It’s just so unexpected—from a guy who looked like a corpse five minutes ago, suddenly offended by Eddie’s hair care sins.
He’s tired, running on fumes, and his self-control is already hanging by a thread—so he just laughs, loud and unrestrained.
“Okay, okay,” he manages between chuckles. “Sorry.”
Steve huffs in mock outrage, but Eddie catches the twitch of his lips. “The red bottle.”
Following orders, Eddie sets the blue bottle back down and grabs the red one instead. He squirts some of the thick white liquid into his palms, takes a deep, grounding breath, and finally—carefully, reverently—sinks his hands into the most famous hair in all of Hawkins.
Steve—who’s already been surprisingly docile all night—melts beneath Eddie’s hands, the last traces of tension bleeding out of him as Eddie’s fingers dig into the thick strands of his hair.
It’s intoxicating, and Eddie’s not even thinking anymore. He just shifts them until Steve is leaning back against his chest, letting Eddie take his full weight as he gently massages the shampoo into his hair. Like he’s washing the whole godawful day off him—rinsing away whatever violence had brought him here, replacing it with nothing but care.
Steve is soft in his arms. It stuns Eddie, how easily he’s trusted him—how willingly he lets himself be moved, eyes closed, as Eddie shields them with one hand and rinses the shampoo from his hair with the other.
“You’re not falling asleep on me, are you?” Eddie teases, because the weight against him is getting heavier by the second.
“Nuh-uh,” Steve mumbles, though he doesn’t even try to hold himself up. Eddie figures it’s the warm water, the knowledge that he’s home, that he’s safe—safe with Eddie—that’s finally letting him drop his guard and succumb to the exhaustion.
Eddie would never admit it—not out loud, probably not even to himself—but he likes this. Taking care of someone. Taking care of Steve. It feels... significant. Like he’s being let in, granted access to a side of Steve Harrington that most people never get to see. And the more he sees, the more he likes.
There’s a sense of something he can’t quite name, but it feels important.
It would sound stupid if he said it out loud, but tonight feels like a watershed moment.
He doesn’t know why, but it feels big. Big enough to make him pause, hand wrapped around the blue bottle, and wonder if he should run. Pretend it doesn’t mean anything. Let time blur it until it’s just a strange, tender night he remembers only when he’s alone.
But before the panic can set in, a sleepy voice breaks through the fog.
“’ddie?” Steve mumbles, soft and uncertain.
Eddie straightens, still holding the bottle. He squeezes Steve a little tighter. “Just forgot which one’s the precious conditioner, your highness. The white one, right?”
Steve tilts his head until it rests on Eddie’s shoulder and gives him a side-eye. “If you put bodywash in my hair, I’m shaving your head.”
They both know Steve can’t even lift his arms right now, but Eddie plays along.
“Color me intimidated.”
“Good,” Steve sighs—and just like that, the moment passes. The decision is made.
Because even if part of Eddie wants to bolt, to hide from the weight of whatever this is, it would mean leaving. Leaving Steve to fend for himself. And something tells him that’s happened to Steve more than enough already.
So no. Eddie’s not running.
He’s staying. He’s going to be the one who stayed.
The conditioner smells really nice as Eddie works it into the soft strands of Steve’s hair, and he makes sure to massage it in properly, fingers moving gently as he breathes in deep.
“Conditioner needs to be left in to work,” Steve murmurs, and Eddie rolls his eyes fondly.
“Is that so? You live and learn.”
The elbow to his stomach feels less like a threat and more like an angry kitten taking a lazy swipe.
“You’re not funny,” Steve says, but there’s a smile tucked into the edges of his voice, and Eddie’s kind of terrified by how warm that makes him feel.
“No, you’re right,” he says with mock seriousness. Then adds, “I’m hilarious.”
He can feel Steve snort—actually feel it—where their bodies are pressed together, skin to skin. Which would be glorious if it didn’t also remind Eddie that Steve’s extremely well-shaped ass is mere inches away from the growing issue in his boxers.
Unhelpful. Very unhelpful.
Trying to distract both of them, he pokes a finger into Steve’s side. Gently. The bruises all over his torso are hard to ignore, and Eddie would rather set himself on fire than add to them.
“And what do you suggest, oh wise one, I do while we wait for the magic to happen?”
Steve’s answer is soft, slurred, barely hanging on. A testament to how drained and half-conscious he really is.
“Hold me.”
Eddie always thought heartbreak came from being hurt—from betrayal or loss or something sharp and personal. He never expected it to feel like this—like his chest is cracking open just because someone else has been hurt. Because Steve was.
But that ache is real. Sharp and deep.
“Yeah, I can do that,” Eddie whispers. It’s not even clear if he’s saying it to Steve or to himself.
So that’s what he does. He stands under the endless stream of warm water and holds Steve Harrington in his arms like he’s something precious. Like he’s something fragile.
After a while, Eddie starts to hum. He doesn’t even realize it at first—it’s instinctual, automatic, a melody pulled from somewhere far away. Something soft and familiar.
“What song is that?” Steve asks, voice so sleepy it’s practically part of the steam.
Eddie blinks, surprised he even noticed. “Something my mom used to sing when I was little. When I was scared of summer storms.”
Humming in acknowledgement, Steve sways lightly against him, a gentle reminder that they’ve been standing here long enough. He needs to get Steve into bed. He decides to skip the body wash after rinsing off the conditioner. The water has washed off most of the sweat and grime anyway, and the rest can wait until tomorrow.
“Must’ve been nice,” Steve murmurs, voice so soft it’s barely there. “M’mom just told me to be quiet and go to sleep whenever I was scared.”
Then, cracking a little around the edges, he admits, “I was really scared today.”
The air between them thickens with something—raw and quiet and heavy. Something Eddie doesn’t dare name. He lifts the showerhead again to rinse out the conditioner, shielding Steve’s eyes with one hand.
Under the soft white noise of the rushing water, Eddie says to the lonely boy in his arms, “I’m here. There’s no need to be scared anymore. You’re safe.”
“You’ll stay?”
Eddie turns off the water and grabs one of the fluffy white towels from the small stool next to the shower. He wraps it around Steve with care, then grabs another for himself.
“For as long as you want me to.”
Tucking his own towel around his hips—over his soaked boxers, which is probably not his best idea—he starts gently rubbing Steve dry.
“Come on, your highness. Time for bed.”
Rich people and their walk-in showers really are a blessing, Eddie thinks as he guides Steve out of the bathroom and into the adjoining bedroom. He gets him settled on the edge of the bed, the mattress barely dipping under his weight.
“Lemme check out your face real quick,” Eddie says as he examines the damage more closely.
The corner of Steve’s mouth twitches, and Eddie figures it must hurt with the split in it. “You can check me out anytime if you want.”
Jesus H. Christ.
Trying really hard not to let a half-dead Steve Harrington fluster him, Eddie focuses on the task at hand. He’s thankful that while painful-looking, the bruises don’t need more than time to heal. The only open wound is the split lip—and that’s already stopped bleeding.
“Where do you keep your wound disinfectant?”
It takes Steve a moment, but then he manages to tell Eddie where to find it in the bathroom. Eddie heads off to arm himself with it.
Steve barely reacts when Eddie starts applying it to his lip, and Eddie wonders if his pain tolerance is just that high—or if he’s pretending it doesn’t hurt. Either way, he works quickly, wanting to get it over with so they can both get some sleep.
“Where do you keep your sweatpants and stuff?”
Steve, barely holding on to consciousness, waves a hand vaguely toward his wardrobe. “Right door. Bottom half.”
True to his word, Eddie finds the sweatpants easily—along with an old gym shirt that smells clean and soft. He grabs a pair for Steve, plus one for himself, and makes his way back to the bed with his bundle.
“Almost done,” he promises, helping Steve lift his arms so he can slip the shirt over his torso. Steve winces—tries to hide it—but Eddie sees.
Then he freezes, sweatpants in hand.
Fuck.
It’s stupid, he knows it. Just like gym class, he tells himself. Just two dudes changing. With a little help. No big deal. They're using the same equipment, after all. Except... he did happen to catch a few glimpses back in the shower, and well—Steve’s equipment is... notable.
Not the point, Munson. Get your head out of the gutter.
He does what any good Dungeon Master would do: he improvises.
Draping the towel carefully over Steve’s lap, Eddie pulls off the wet briefs with a level of focus typically reserved for dice rolls, then slides on the dry sweatpants with all the care of someone handling a cursed artifact.
And if the warm skin and lightly hairy thighs linger in his memory for future solo... consideration—well, that’s between him and his right hand.
At some point during Operation Get Steve Dressed Without Being a Creep, the guy just topples back onto the bed and starts dozing before Eddie’s even finished. Which, honestly, is kind of ideal—Eddie gets to change in peace without any additional acrobatics.
He takes their wet underwear to the shower, relieves himself, and returns to the room feeling marginally more human.
Steve’s awake again when Eddie steps into the doorway.
“You leaving?” he asks, voice clearer now, more alert than before. He’s still lying on his back, eyes turned toward Eddie like it matters.
Eddie crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed.
“Course not. I’m a man of my word, believe it or not. Unless you want me to go?”
“No.” It’s quick. Then softer: “I don’t wanna be alone.”
“Then I won’t leave you alone.” Eddie nudges at him with a grin. “But you need to scoot over. You’re hogging the whole bed.”
It takes some maneuvering, but Eddie manages to get them both settled under the covers. He ends up on his side, back to the door and facing Steve, who lies flat on his back—Eddie figures it must hurt too much to sleep any other way.
“You... wanna talk about what really happened?” The question slips out before he can stop it, curiosity gnawing at him. No—more than curiosity.
He’s worried. Whatever happened must’ve been bad. More than just a fire. Bad enough to rattle Steve Harrington, who doesn’t strike Eddie as the type to scare easily. He wants to make him feel safe, but he doesn’t even know what he’s supposed to be protecting him from.
With a tired sigh, Steve turns his head to look at him. “No. Not really.”
Eddie doesn’t know what shows on his face—if any of the hurt or disappointment is visible—but something must be, because Steve adds, “I’m sorry. ’m just... tired.”
And he sounds it. Worn thin and fragile, so Eddie lets it go. Decides it’s not what matters right now. He knows a thing or two about fear, and what always helped was knowing someone was there. That he wasn’t alone. Wayne’s TV humming in the next room, loud enough to hear through the walls.
“That’s okay. We should get some sleep anyway.”
“Yeah.”
But Steve’s eyes don’t close. He just stares at the ceiling, brow drawn tight. Eddie knows that look. He feels like he’s been studying Steve’s face for years, even if they only really talked today.
Steve’s still scared.
And then Eddie remembers what else always helped when the night felt too big—when nightmares clawed at the edges of sleep, or some horror movie got under his skin.
“You want me to leave the light on?”
Steve’s face twists into something close to comical surprise—wide hazel eyes, slack jaw. It takes him a few seconds to respond.
“But... won’t that keep you up?”
He sounds so young and hopeful, and Eddie wonders if he was ever allowed to leave a light on when he was scared.
The light probably will make it harder to fall asleep. But Eddie’s tired enough that it won’t matter for long. And even if it does—he can deal.
“Nah. I can sleep through anything.”
Steve watches him for a beat, searching his face. “Okay.”
“Okay,” Eddie echoes, then wriggles a little until he’s comfortable. He closes his eyes, lets his voice soften.
“Goodnight, Steve.”
There’s only silence, but his eyelids feel too heavy to open again. Maybe Steve’s already asleep. He hopes he is.
Sleep is just starting to pull him under when he feels a soft touch against his hand. It disappears almost instantly... then returns, tentative but steady.
And then—Steve takes his hand. Gently pulls Eddie’s arm around him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
There’s a quiet smile in his voice when he whispers back, “Goodnight, Eddie.”
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