"...You don't have to always worry about me, y'know?"
Steve stops fiddling with the edge of Eddie's sleeveless top, hand moving to card through wavy hair instead, "I know, I just... I'm not letting you slip through my fingers. Not again."
The easy smile on Eddie's face probably couldn't get any softer, but somehow it does, "You never did. Over and over and over. You never gave up on me."
Steve hums in acknowledgment, eyes distant, "Would it sound cheesy if I said I never will?"
Eddie snorts, leaning in to hide it in the crook of Steve's neck, "Absolutely."
The shoulder under Eddie's cheek starts shaking with laughter as Steve finally eases into the cushions, arranging their bodies a little to get more comfortable, "No, I'm serious, Eds, you gotta take me seriously."
"It still sounds cheesy."
"You know what?" Steve slides a hand under Eddie's shirt, fingertips running along pink, raised skin, skimming the path of a shared history only the two of them know the whole truth of, "I'll dig up your notebook and next time we're having a bonfire night, I'm throwing it in the flames."
Eddie gasps, hand pressed tight to his own chest in dramatics, "You butcher! You wouldn't dare slaughter my eldest daughter, would you?"
Steve shrugs – as much as it is possible with at least half of Eddie's weight on top of him – cocking his head to the side, completely innocent.
"Steve Harrington," Eddie coos, grinning from ear to ear, "Just because you're cheesy as fuck, you don't have to commit a murder spree on my journal."
"Oh, yeah?" Steve challenges, "And how come half of said journal is full of corny lyrics, stuff you wrote, mind you–"
"That's different." Eddie butts in to no avail.
"–Stuff you spent many sleepless nights on, oh, and by the way, you still refuse to show me." Steve finishes, using his fingers to count and keep track of his apparent list.
"Baby, I hate to tell you this, but you're overreacting," Tapping Steve's jaw twice, Eddie finally manages to capture the attention he long craved. Hazel settles on chocolate brown, and suddenly the world stops and continues to spin simultaneously, "You can burn that thing all you want, but the stuff that's in there is engraved in here," Eddie points to his temple, "and here." Then, the same finger moves to prod at his chest where his heart beats, alive and in rhythm, thanks to Steve's quick thinking.
Steve stares at him for a hot second, gaze intent and fiery in ways not even the sun could resemble, and it's getting way too difficult for Eddie not to get lost in the warm hues.
Eddie watches a smile form on soft, rose colored lips, morphing Steve's face until it reaches his eyes. Eddie's own smile gets permanently attached to him at the sight.
"I'm surprised you didn't gag." Steve comments, impressed.
Eddie swats at him, throwing his head back as laughter makes him shake to his core, "You're full of shit."
"And you're a romantic in denial!"
"Sweetheart," Eddie starts, tone dropping, "I never said I wasn't going to love the hell out of you. Gotta fish for opportunities, though."
Steve rolls his eyes, but the gentle smile he wears evolves into a wider one, pulling at Eddie's heart strings.
Comfortable silence settles in, coating them in what Eddie only registers as a homey, orange glow of warmth. Steve's fingers still trace patterns into Eddie's scar, the one that matches the one on Steve's side. He listens to Steve breathing, steady and calm.
The quiet, tranquil moment is so nice Eddie finds himself almost nodding off.
"I know where you keep it." Steve murmurs, stirring the stillness.
Stirring Eddie's heart, as usual, although this time Eddie might be a little more worried.
When Steve doesn't continue, Eddie tilts his head in the perfect angle to see the smug look Steve sports. Determined, sure, serious.
It isn't even an exaggeration when Eddie yells in panic, "Steve!"
Steve feels like an absolute fucking idiot for thinking Eddie would ever be interested in him. He’s no one compared to a guy like Jonathan. All Steve brings to the table is a nice body and an empty home. He doesn’t read nerdy books or like obscure indie music. And as much as the kids try to explain DnD to him– he can’t work past the math and weird names.
Jonathan, on the other hand, is sensitive. It’s why Nancy chose him over Steve, and it’s one of the same reasons she likes Robin. They’re two people who are good at listening and always know exactly what to say. He can’t help but think back to Carol ranting about something Tommy did to piss her off, only to stop mid-sentence because she thought Steve wasn’t listening. That was never true though. He just didn’t know what to say.
He listened to Nancy talk about Barb in a way Steve never figured out how to do. Jonathan is more in touch with his emotions as Nancy worded it when she’d finally confronted Steve about what happened. Steve can’t keep track of his own emotions, let alone read others’ body language or hear it in their voice.
Even if Steve had confessed his pathetic crush, and Eddie– for god knows what reason, reciprocated– it’s not like he’d all of a sudden be interested in any of Steve’s lame, normie hobbies like cars, sports, or working out. Sure Eddie came to the park every once in a while to watch Steve and Lucas practice on the court, but he was almost always bent over his notebook working on either new song lyrics or campaign notes.
Really, it shouldn’t be as much of a shock as it is that Eddie and Jonathan ended up together. It’s just– Steve had hoped.
Which is now how he’s ended up hiding in his own kitchen on the verge of a breakdown. He feels like he’s coming undone, almost exactly how he’d felt after fighting Billy and stalking through the tunnels, when the adrenaline had worn off and the pain had kicked in. When he laid down in bed and screamed until his voice went hoarse, burning off as much energy as he could without exacerbating his injuries.
Shit, he’s actually crying. Steve hates crying. There’s a goddamn hurricane of emotions building up and he doesn’t know what to do with any of it. All he can feel is the heat creeping up his neck and the grit of his teeth grinding together. He hears his dad’s condescending tone in the back of his mind telling him not to be a pussy, a fairy– to be a man.
The front door slams shut, cutting through the swirl of frustration just enough for Steve to realize he’s losing it. At least now he’s alone, he can do what he’s always done to calm down. Do it without judgement, without prying, concerned eyes. Because he knows it’s not healthy, but it works. Steve rubs the sleeve of his sweater over his leaking nose, heading for the stairs to grab what he still keeps hidden under his bed when he hears it. The faint step of socked feet coming down the hall towards the kitchen.
There’s only one person it could be, and even though he desperately wants to be left alone, he’s at least thankful it’s her. Still, he needs her to leave, because he’s barely containing himself as it is and he knows she’ll want to talk about it, want to console him and be the prying, concerned eyes he’s hoping to avoid.
Before the kitchen door opens, Steve turns his back toward her to face out the kitchen window overlooking the pool. Flinching at the sight, he instead moves his gaze to stare sightlessly down at the counter, gripping the edge of the sink to brace himself.
“Everyone’s gone home,” Robin says, the consolatory tone grating against his skin. He doesn’t need her pity, or anyone else’s. Besides, Steve wouldn’t even be in this mess if it wasn’t for her. Letting people meddle in his love life has never worked out for Steve in the past, and he doesn’t understand why he convinced himself it would be different this time just because it was Robin.
She’s the one who pushed him to act on his crush, even though Steve knew it wouldn’t amount to anything. And he was right. He can’t stop his mind from raking through every small detail she shared about Eddie. Like how Eddie blushed anytime Steve laughed at his jokes, or how he'd gaze at Steve from across the room. When she gushed about how Eddie would go out of his way to be next to Steve in a crowded space, quite literally pushing people out of the way to get closer.
But of course none of it was real. He laments himself for ever believing anything she ever said. Even with her good intentions, it was all just lies and bullshit. Steve is always bullshit.
“Then why are you still here?” he bites back. Steve can already feel his former crown sliding back into place. It’s sickening how much he misses it. The old, awful comfort he worked so hard to shed. And yet, it feels so fucking good to wear it again. It feels as safe and familiar as the ache in his shoulders and the bloody blisters on his palms from a good round of practicing his swing.
Steve expected her to shout at him. He expected her to fruitlessly attempt to make him feel better, accompanied with a well-deserved apology. But instead, Steve’s shocked when a heavy silence falls between them.
People always have a reaction when they meet King Steve, whether it’s disdain from the kids he tormented, pride from his asshole friends, or disappointment from people like Nancy. Robin’s never met the King before, not really.
The tension pulls at his guilt as shame burns him from the inside out. It’s been too long since he’s been King Steve. This time, there’s no false bravado to help him not give a shit, to not care about the people around him. Because it’s Robin– of course he cares. He always has.
The crown might be a cold comfort, but it’s been too long since Steve’s had to wield it as a sword and shield. He’s unpracticed, unsteady as he feels the heavy crown sit crooked atop his head. And yet, it’s the only lifeline he has, so he clings to it.
Steve still hasn’t turned around to face her. He denies the sharp urge to look at her– to consume and study every twitch of her mouth, every crinkle of her eyes– to know what she’s thinking right now. She’s the only person he’s ever easily understood– except for Eddie. They wear their emotions out loud, and he loves them for it. But looking at her means she gets to see him too.
Except he should’ve known he can’t hide, especially from her. He’s ripped from his seething by a firm hand on his shoulder, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.
“Steve, look at me.”
Brushing her hand off his shoulder, Steve storms across the kitchen. She can’t look at him, she can’t see him. He can’t talk to her with all the shit clogging his throat. It’s all bubbling up inside him, the way it always does, thoughts and feelings he can’t name or pin down long enough to examine, not that he’d ever want to in the first place.
“I don’t want you here, Robin. So just– get out of my house. Leave. ”
Steve swallows the hot acid suddenly flooding the back of his throat. He feels deranged, sweating with anxiety, skin too warm with the anger vibrating just below the surface. This is beyond King Steve, the cool, calm, collected guy without a care in the world. Now, he’s barely contained, lashing out at anything and anyone around him.
Robin’s never seen him like this before. He’s never wanted her to see him this full of shit, knowing she’d leave him the second she caught a hint of his former self– his true self. His friends only liked him now because of the goofy, roll-with-the-punches guy he’s worked so hard to become.
Sick dread roils in his stomach. She’ll leave him after this, and then he’ll be alone. He can’t help but think maybe that’s a good thing.
“Hey!” Robin shouts, a warning as much as it is to grab his attention. Steve’s never heard her yell before, not like this. Shock forces him to turn and look at her, and what he finds is somehow worse than he could’ve expected.
Her eyes are wet with frustration. There’s an unexpected wrinkle to her forehead he’s only used to seeing when she’s concentrating, but instead of her tongue sticking out slightly to match the expression, her lips are pressed into a thin, white line.
It’s the ruddy, red splotches staining her face and neck that twist his insides. Brutal, obvious hurt. The same color red Steve has seen time and time again whenever Robin cries, whenever she’s embarrassed or angry. A red so much more chaotic than the adorable blush that tints her cheeks when Nancy smiles at her, or when Steve tells her he loves her. This is a burning red, and it’s his fault.
No matter how much it hurts to look at what he’s done to her, all of it is drowned out by the unimaginable steel behind her glistening eyes. Shoulders pulled back, spine straight, Steve’s looking at a Robin who’s ready to fight demons, ready to throw moltovs.
Shit. She’s going to fight him.
Sure enough, Robin marches across the kitchen and crowds him against the counter. She points a shaking finger in his face as the countertop digs into his back. “You don’t get to do this,” her voice shakes but holds firm. “You don’t get to act like this, to be this guy again. Not to me.”
He can feel the snarl in his upper lip, his flared nostrils. Robin’s eyes bore into him, rake over his face, meeting his glare with her own. Because no matter how much Steve tries to force the crown to fit, it never will. It never did, not really.
He scoffs. The sound’s a little too wet, too choked up. “What makes you think you’re any different than–”
“Because I know you, Steve Harrington” she shouts, poking her still raised finger hard into his shoulder. It stings. “Better than Nancy, or Dustin, or Eddie– better than Tommy and Carol ever did. I know you better than anyone.”
He can’t breathe, can’t goddamn think when he’s this angry. Steve repositions his hand braced behind him on the countertop, haphazardly knocking over a few stray glasses where they sit drying on the rack.
Robin’s so close to him it’s virtually impossible to avoid her judgmental tears. She’s flaying him open, the dread he’s filled with now so much more visceral than when Nancy called him bullshit or even when Eddie leaned in to Jonathan’s kiss. Because Robin is Robin, and right now King Steve’s a runaway freight train that can’t be stopped. It’ll run her down, hurt her in ways he won’t be able to fix.
“Shut up,” Steve snaps.
“I know you're scared you’re going to end up alone again just because Eddie–”
“I said shut up,”
“But you aren’t alone, Steve. You have me,” Robin pleads, shaking him as she reaches out to grip the front of his shirt. “You have me, and I have you. And I’m never leaving you–”
“I SAID SHUT UP!”
Steve sees red. There’s something smooth and cold tucked tight in his grip, followed by a loud smash as the glass he grabbed shatters against the wall opposite them. The tinkling of shards gliding across the tile lights up his nerves.
He’s vibrating out of his skin. He’s ready to fight, to brace for a hit that’ll knock him back into his body. A hit to the jaw in an alleyway or a plate to the head or a bottle to his throat- anything to just bring him the fuck down.
Craving floods his veins. Steve needs to swing and hit and smash his bat into any tree stump he can find, breaking it down to splinters until there’s no feeling left in his arms. Because he’s vibrating and shaking and fuck why does he miss this?
None of those things, however, are what pull back his focus. It’s a small sniffle, the loosening of his shirt as small hands finally release him. Robin’s backed up into the kitchen island across from him, just out of arms reach but a chasm away. Her eyes are wider than he’s ever seen them, hands over her mouth in shock.
This is it. This is always it, where everything ends. Because if she didn’t know him before, she’s seen the truth of him now. Pull the cold crown of Steve Harrington away and all that’s left is someone angry and violent. Dangerous– someone to be afraid of, to steer clear from.
A person like Steve doesn’t deserve people like Robin or Eddie, good people who care and love without having to play pretend and hide all the things wrong with them. There’s always so much wrong with Steve. He’s known it since he was small, when ripping and tearing felt good until he saw his teddy shredded in his hands. So have his parents. Once people figure it out for themselves, they leave.
He’s done so well at hiding it over the few years he’s known her. Now, he’s fucked it up like he always does.
Robin takes a slow step towards him, hands slightly raised like she’s placating a spooked animal. He feels like one too. A rabid dog, shorts breaths coming in and out and in again too fast, leaving him lightheaded. Steve feels frozen under her gaze, unable to move as he watches her move closer.
With each step forward, his eyes stay locked on to hers, both unblinking. Steve takes advantage to catalogue every piece of her. All of the freckles, the stray blonde highlights in her bangs, every eyelash and the flecks of green in her eyes. He’ll never forget Robin.
Steve watches her until she’s pressed close to him again, and doesn’t move when she reaches behind him. A goodbye hug, he thinks. Except she doesn’t wrap her arms around him in a warm embrace, or hold him close to comfort.
She steps back again, her eyes now alight with mischief and resolve. There’s a quirk to her lips he can’t place. It’s such a drastic shift in her mood he doesn’t notice the glass in her hand until she winds up.
Robin plants her feet before taking a large step forward with her left foot, winding up her right arm in the exact form he taught her over the summer, when they played softball with the kids. She’d made fun of him for being a jock of course, too obsessed with telling her to follow through on each of her throws. It’d been worth it for him though, when she’d struck out both Mike and Dustin.
It’s worth it now, as he watches the crystal glass explode right next to the scuff on the wall his own glass had left behind. Large, twinkling shards of clear glass slide across the floor between the smaller slivers. It’s almost beautiful, the way the pieces reflect the sun setting through the window, casting little rainbows across the tile.
Robin threads her fingers between his own and squeezes hard. Steve looks into her blown out eyes, her face split into a manic grin as she trembles with adrenaline. A feeling he knows all too well, and relies on more than he should. When he squeezes her hand back, she shifts her energy into bouncing on the balls of her feet.
“I told you, Dingus,” Robin says, letting go of his hand to grab his cheeks, squeezing them together until his lips pucker, “I’m not going anywhere. So if you want to be mad, let's be mad together. And if you want to cry, let’s cry together. Because you don’t scare me, Steve Harrington, and you’ll never be too much for me.”
This time she does wrap her arms around him. Steve reflexively tucks his head into her neck and breathes. She smells like weed and the cheap lavender perfume from Melvald’s he bought her last Christmas, and it makes him so happy he cries. His body sags into hers, wrung out with exhaustion. It feels like coming home, like he’s only whole when she’s pressed against his chest.
She’s seen him now, the best and the worst of him, and she’s still here. So Steve cries harder. His tears and snot stain the collar of her sweater. Robin runs her hands through his hair, shushing him as he gasps for breath, fighting against the tears even though he knows he doesn’t have to when he’s with her.
They stand there in the kitchen, floor covered in splinters of glass, wrapped up in each other for eons. Steve finally pulls back, wiping the snot from his nose and scrubbing at his eyes. The sun has barely moved. The twilight sky outside of his small kitchen window is a burst of pinks and oranges.
The glow is reflected in Robin’s eyes, catching the gold in her hair like the sun itself has woven into her whole being. She’s beautiful. Even more so when she smiles at him, still so full of love that he can’t stand to look at her. So Steve closes his eyes and kisses her on the forehead, cherishing the fact that she’s still here.
She’s still here.
He repeats it over and over like the mantra of a man who's almost lost everything. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, she is everything to him. Steve might’ve lost his chance with Eddie, and maybe some people think he’s bullshit. But not Robin– never her. He’ll always have her, and she’ll always have him, because if she’s not leaving him, he’s sure as hell not ever leaving her either.
Part 4
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Steve’s been running a hand through his hair, pacing back and forth in front of the stove for almost ten minutes. She’s told him over and over to be confident, that he’s got nothing to lose and everything to gain. But he’s still nervous. And to be fair, she can’t hold it against him. It took her ages to ask Nancy out.
“I don’t know, Robs,” Steve sighs, “are you absolutely sure?”
“Yes, Dingus, he likes you. Eddie never pulls the tips of my hair or holds my hand or leans on my shoulder. Because people only do that if they’re interested in someone. Right?” Her cheeks twitch under the strain of her reassuring smile.
“Yeah…?” He shines with guarded hope.
Robin can’t help but ask, for what has to be the millionth time, “have you at least told him you’re bisexual?”
Steve’s eyes dim again and it’s all the answer she needs. Honestly, he’s doing a hell of a lot better than she expected. He’s told a few people so far– as practice, Rob, with the easy people– including her and Nancy, Dustin, Max and Lucas. It might have been practice to start, but now he’s just stalling the inevitable. And they both know it.
“Let’s go back out there,” Robin encourages. She throws her arm over his broad shoulders, highlighted by the plain indigo t-shirt that’s on the right side of too small. They’d picked it out together: something dark and tight for Eddie, yet something still classically Steve.
He nods as she hauls him back towards the living room, two cold six packs in their hands. The group’s Saturday movie night tradition at Steve’s had been going well so far. After a few joints, Argyle suggested a drinking game, hence the beers. Eddie, Steve, and Robin were quick to jump on the bandwagon, leaving Nancy and Jonathan as sober cabs for Robin and Argyle, who’d just rented a new apartment in town.
Eddie, very pointedly, hadn’t committed to how his night would end. Robin snorted when his eyes darted to Steve to gauge his reaction as they coordinated cars, even though her poor best friend was completely oblivious to Eddie’s blush.
Steve’d been in the middle of ordering pizza when he’d overheard their planning and almost dropped the phone, bulldozing their conversation to shout, “Teddy, why don’t you just spend the night, since your van is back at your– oh, hi yeah can we get one large–” and Eddie sagged in relief.
Robin loves them, but my god are they actual idiots. Even Nancy couldn’t help but giggle at their antics, Eddie smacking her lightly on the arm in protest of her teasing. The two have become increasingly close since Eddie’s two month stint in the hospital recovering from demon bat rabies. Not rabies, Robin! Just a normal infection.
It was a shock at first, to find Eddie and Nancy spending time together away from everyone else. They just didn’t seem to fit together, from the outside looking in. But much like Steve and Robin, all you had to do was look past the surface.
Which means if Robin can successfully set up Steve and Eddie, they’ll create the perfect little quad. Sometimes she gets caught up imagining their double dates, if onlookers would be surprised to find Robin on Steve’s arm and Nancy on Eddie’s, and not the other way around.
They’d be able to go on actual dates in public. She could hold Nancy’s hand under the table and lean her head on Steve’s shoulder. He’d give her a light kiss on the forehead while playing footsie with Eddie. Then Robin would go home with Nancy and fall asleep wrapped up in each other like a dream.
It’s the perfect plan. Or at least, it would be if the boys could just take their heads out of their asses.
So as the six of them lazed around all day, Robin and Nancy made sure Steve and Eddie were always next to each other; although, they really didn’t have to try that hard. The boys reflexively sought each other out, eyes catching from across the room, or shoulders brushing sitting side by side.
They were the only two who shared a joint, even though Argyle had plenty to pass around. Steve whined about his low tolerance, how he didn’t need a full one, only for Eddie to fall over himself– literally, with how fast he turned to face him, almost smacking Steve in the head– to offer his own to share.
So when they walk back into the room and something feels just slightly off, Robin briefly wonders if her own smoke was stronger than normal, even though she’d only felt a slight buzz. That maybe, hopefully, this is some awful hallucination and the joints were laced with acid.
Argyle’s sitting on the sofa next to Jonathan right where they’d left him, now lazed over the arm and lightly snoring with his feet curled up underneath him like a giant cat. Eddie’s still sitting on the floor next to Jon’s legs, an open space to his right where Steve had been sitting only minutes ago. Except there’s something different with Nancy.
Nancy had been sitting in the chair across from Argyle earlier, complaining about Robin’s bony ass digging into her leg but refusing to let her up. Now she’s standing by the opening of the hallway, almost like she was waiting for them to come back. She's biting her lip, eyes wide, ringing her hands in front of her like she doesn’t know what to do with them.
Robin moves towards her, anxious to know what’s got her so upset. She notices Nancy’s eyes flitting between Steve and the boys, so Robin follows her gaze.
Jon’s bent forward, leaning down over Eddie like they're sharing a secret. His hand cradles Eddie’s cheek, and Robin can see the moment Eddie fits himself between Jon’s legs. Eddie cranes his neck as he turns to face him. It’s uncoordinated roaming hands and sloppy lips, too much tongue– and the sounds. Wet, slurping and sucking she’ll never be able to unhear, obnoxiously loud and seared into her brain.
They're kissing.
Robin’s going to throw up. She’s died, this must be hell. No wonder why Nance looks so freaked out. None of them knew about Jonathan. Sure, they all wondered if he and Argyle had something going on, but no one pried, and the two had never said anything. Objectively, Robin knows this wouldn’t bother Nancy. She and Jonathan dated almost three years ago, they’ve both moved on and are good friends at this point. So why would she–
Jonathan opens his eyes to find them watching. They crinkle around a smile as he looks behind her and tugs on Eddie’s curls. Without breaking eye contact, he shoves his tongue deep into Eddie’s mouth, who then moans in response. Robin’s not sure if Eddie knows they’re in the room, but Jonathan sure as hell does.
It takes her too long to put it together, to realize Jonathan’s not looking at her or Nancy. There’s a small whimper behind her where his gaze is locked and he smiles again, triumphant.
Robin rounds on Steve, who’s frozen to the spot. All the blood’s drained from his face, leaving him pale and sickly looking like he could pass out any second. He isn’t blinking. He’s staring and staring and staring, completely enraptured by the scene unfolding before them.
She bodily moves herself in front of him, thankful more than she’s ever been that he’s a little short for a boy and she’s a little tall for a girl. He won’t look at her, he can’t see her standing right in front of him, his eyes a million miles away. She grabs both of his hands and digs her nails into the meat of his palms.
His eyes finally snap to hers, and she almost wishes they hadn’t. Steve’s hands practically vibrate within her own, matching the wobbling of his lip and the shimmering on his lash line.
“Robs,” Steve croaks, the rest of his thought lodged in his throat.
There’s nothing she can do as she watches Steve’s heart shatter in real time, cracked down the center like it was struck with a bolt of lightning.
“Steve,” Eddie calls out in concern, “are you okay? What’s wrong?”
Robin turns around to face him, keeping her place in front of Steve like a shield. She catches the downcast of Jonathan’s eyes as his hand threads through the ends of Eddie’s hair, lips still loose and open waiting for the next kiss. But now Eddie’s pushing himself up from the floor, brows drawn tight together, fixated on Steve like he’s the only boy in the room.
Except she’s seen him look at Steve that way a thousand times in the months since they barely survived hell together. Eddie looked at Steve with stars in his eyes, like he was the man of his dreams. How he would grow wider and taller and louder if Steve kept laughing until he’d snort. A sound Eddie fucking loved. She’d watch Eddie take care of Steve during migraines, scrape his fingernails down his scalp until Steve fell asleep, head cradled in Eddie’s lap.
Robin loved watching Eddie watch Steve because, for the first time, it felt like someone finally saw in him what she’s always seen. She’s wanted nothing more for Steve than to have someone in his life who loves and takes care of him as much as she does. And Robin was so, so fucking sure that that person was Eddie Munson.
How things have gone horribly wrong.
Steve catches Eddie’s movement and bolts back toward the kitchen, faster than she’s ever seen him move on the court. Nancy moves to follow him but Robin slips her hand into hers. Beautiful, sweet, smart, wonderful Nancy Wheeler understands Robin quick as a flash, shoring up next to her to help block the hallway.
Eddie stands on tiptoes in front of them, stretching his neck to catch a glimpse of what Robin hopes is a closed door.
“What happened?” Eddie’s genuinely concerned, and Robin has to shove down the warm, fuzzy feeling she normally gets when Eddie asks about Steve in favor of the overwhelming urge to murder everyone in this room. Except for Nancy, and maybe Argyle, who’s started slowly waking up from the commotion.
Robin obnoxiously shifts to the side to block Eddie’s path. “Don’t worry about it, Munson. He’s fine, just a little sick from the shitty weed.” The weed isn’t shitty– it’s Argyle’s. It’s the first excuse her brain concocted. But it doesn’t really matter.
Her tone is barbed, meant to dig the hurt in deep and hook it inside his skin. She’s never considered herself a mean person. Apparently all someone has to do is hurt her best friend. Eddie flinches away, nose flared and eyes crinkled, ready to argue back until Nancy interrupts them both.
“If Steve isn’t feeling well,” her voice chimes with a practiced false sincerity, “maybe we should all head home and let him rest.” God Robin fucking loves this woman. Always quick on her feet, fast on the uptake.
Robin’s gaze is unyielding in the face of an angry Eddie Munson. They both know, under normal circumstances, Robin would back down by now. Every second he’s forced to soak in her wrath, she catches him shrinking further in on himself. There’s uncertainty growing in the uptick of his brows, the crease of his forehead. He’s tugging at the hem of his sleeveless Queen t-shirt.
Her lip pulls up into a fierce scowl in recognition. Robin tugs at the front of the shirt hard enough to stretch it out. She’s not too worried about ruining it anymore than it already is. There’s white paint stains on the shoulders from when Steve begged her to help give his bedroom walls a base coat. Little holes dotted along the hemline from Steve’s poorly-ashed joint a few months ago.
The shirt is old, faded, well-loved, and Steve’s. It’s all the reasons why Eddie asked to keep it, and why Steve didn’t hesitate to give it up, wanting Eddie to always have a little piece of him.
Robin’s white-knuckled grip stretches the shirt enough that the sound of ripping causes Eddie to try and escape. When she lets go, a few of the holes in the hemline have torn together. He stumbles backwards, smoothing out the new stretch marks on what’s left of the printed lettering.
Robin revels in the moment he truly recognizes what he's wearing. His face now completely devoid of the Freak’s bravado and misplaced anger. What’s left is a montage of emotions like confusion, frustration, and panic, running him over like a bulldozer and Robin gets to watch each hit smash him deeper into the dirt.
“Yeah, Nancy might be right,” Jonathan sighs, sounding faux-tired and yet all too pleased to call it early. He slaps his knees as he stands and gives Argyle’s shoulder enough of a shake to get the guy up and moving.
They gather their things, Nancy wandering over to help push them along, while Eddie and Robin stand as stone pillars facing each other. She’d plant herself here the rest of her life if it meant keeping her soulmate safe.
“Robin,” Eddie practically whimpers, “please–”
“Hey, uh, Teddy?” Jonathan chirps up happily from across the room. Eddie’s eyes slip closed in pain when Robin mockingly mouths the nickname back at him– one she thought was special, just for Steve. “I’ve still got a few more pre-rolls, want to head back to my place?”
Eddie’s eyes fly open. A sardonic smile splits her face as he chokes on his own spit in response. “Guess this means you won’t be staying. Right, Teddy?”
Eddie flinches when Jon slings a heavy arm over his shoulders, which morphs into a possessive claim when he drops his arm to wrap around Eddie’s waist, going so far as to slip the tip of his finger into the top of Eddie’s skin-tight jeans.
Robin notices Argyle’s hair dip forward to hide his face. It’s only now she realizes he’s missed everything that’s happened. Sure enough, she barely catches the shock in his eyes before he turns away.
This is such a fucking nightmare. If she breaks Jonathan’s head open with the nail bat upstairs, she wonders if she’ll be able to see the part of his brain that’ll tell her what the hell he was thinking when he decided to kiss Eddie.
Moving to extricate himself from Jonathan’s hold, Eddie awkwardly chuckles. “Actually, Johnny-boy, I think I might just head home instead.”
“Oh,” Jonathan frowns, in a way that Robin absolutely hates. “How are you going to get home? Didn’t Steve pick you up earlier?”
Eddie– eyes still locked on Robin– very obviously flounders for an excuse and Robin’s enjoying watching him grasp at straws. “I’ll just walk home. Little bit of fresh air never killed anyone, right?”
“No, dude,” Jonathan croons, “I can give you a ride. I’m more than happy to go a little out of my way if it’s for you. Maybe we can smoke at your place instead?”
Jonathan’s free hand reaches up towards Eddie’s hair again, like a little boy pulling his crushes pigtails for attention. But Eddie practically throws himself at the opposite wall, putting as much space between them as he can without actually running down the front door.
“I’m dropping off Argyle, anyway,” Nancy jumps in to save the day, her hand gently patting Argyle’s shoulder, “and you two live the same direction. So why don’t I drive Eddie home instead?”
“Please,” Eddie begs, staring at Robin as he melts with relief into the wall. “That’s great, yes. Thanks Nance.”
Jonathan seems to have shrugged off the entire exchange as he moves towards the door to slip his shoes on. Nancy and Argyle are already ready to go, waiting on Eddie, who’s slowly backing his way toward them and still looking at her. This might be the first staring contest Robin’s ever won in her whole life.
Once he’s finally got his shit together, Eddie looks her up and down, confusion scrunched between his eyes. “Aren’t you coming with? You said you and Nancy were–”
“I think I’ll be staying here, thanks,” Robin states flatly.
Eddie chews on his lip, but nods and heads out the door, Jonathan still hot on his heels. Her and Nancy exchange a quick I love you, good luck, keep me updated goodbye before she shuts the door behind her.
Every fantasy Robin imagined about a future filled with her favorite people fell apart in the span of five minutes. She can’t help but wonder if they had just gone back to the party sooner. If Steve had confessed to Eddie yesterday. If Eddie hadn’t gotten so high or maybe even if Jonathan had an ounce of common sense, this could’ve been avoided.
Robin could be lying in bed with Nancy tonight, wrapped around each other, comfortable and warm. She could fall asleep proud that Steve had finally worked up the courage to confess how he felt. She could’ve woken up tomorrow imagining her two favorite dinguses were in a similar tangled mess of limbs, and she could smile knowing they finally found each other.
But now, silence presses against the walls of this empty house, pushing at the ceiling and cracking the foundation. It sits heavy on her chest. Her head’s filled with static and she thinks she finally understands the juxtaposition of a loud silence. But a weak sob cuts the air like a jagged shard of glass. Turning towards the kitchen, she shores up everything she has left in her to help her soulmate pick up the shattered pieces of his broken heart.
rated t | 779 words | cw: implied parent death (not any character we know) | tags: established steddie, good parents steddie, adopted children
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Steve didn’t actually think he would ever be a dad. Not with how much responsibility he took on with Dustin and his crew. He joked about it being practice, and still imagined maybe one day having a kid or two, but most of that wasn’t real.
When he and Eddie get together, and stay together, it seals the deal. He didn’t pay much attention in sex ed, but he knows they don’t have the right parts to make it happen and adoption isn’t gonna happen for them. At least not here in Hawkins.
He’s fine with it. He swears he is. And he means it. Maybe sometimes he wonders what it would be like, but he doesn’t regret not having any kids.
But then suddenly, they do.
A baby girl and her four year old brother needed an emergency placement and no one else in Hawkins answered when Hopper called. They didn’t have time to talk about it, Steve looked at Eddie, and Eddie nodded once.
It’ll just be for a few days while we look for their family, Hopper told them.
It may be a bit longer since they don’t seem to have any family in the state, Hopper told them a week later.
That was over a year ago, and since then, they’ve turned their spare room into a bedroom for Alex and converted the office into a bedroom for Sarah. They rearranged their work schedules so they only work when the daycare is open.
Sarah calls them both dada, and Alex has started to come around to the idea that they might be his guardians for the long haul. They never call themselves his parents because they aren’t. He had parents. They died. Steve and Eddie can’t ever be them.
–
“We have meet the teacher tomorrow. Don’t forget,” Eddie finishes folding the last of Sarah’s clothes. “Alex is nervous.”
“About what? We already know who he’s gonna have,” Steve takes the pile of clothes from the bed and turns to the door. “Or did he forget?”
“He knows he has Will. But apparently he’s worried that he’ll accidentally call him Will instead of Mr. Byers,” Eddie gives Steve a small smile. “I told him no McNugget of ours will have to worry about being made fun of by other kids, especially over something so small.”
Steve snorts. “McNugget?”
“Yeah,” Eddie stands and grabs the empty laundry basket. “Like your nuggets, but different. A derivative of chicken nuggets, I guess.”
“Oh my god, you can’t be serious.” Steve nearly drops the clothes on the floor. “You are not calling them that.”
“It’s cute! And Jeff came up with it!” Eddie half-laughs as he leans in to kiss Steve’s cheek. “Alex thinks it’s funny.”
“You called him that to his face?!” Steve sets the clothes back down on the bed and covers his face. “He just started to get comfortable with the idea that maybe he could call us his dads at school.”
Eddie pulls his hands from his face. “You’re being too much about this, Stevie. It’s just a silly thing, and he laughed.”
“But what if he hates it and is just scared to say that?”
Steve might be taking this too seriously. It’s just a little joke. And Alex laughed about it. He wouldn’t have if he didn’t think it was funny. Jeff would have made sure they didn’t ever call either of them that again if Alex was bothered. Sarah is too young to care, but if they put a stop to it now, she’ll never even know.
“Alex isn’t scared to tell us how he feels,” Eddie tells him. And he knows that. “You don’t have to be so overprotective.”
“I know,” Steve sighs. “I just wanna do everything right.”
Eddie pulls him close and Steve lets out another sigh against his neck.
“You want me to make sure no one calls them that?”
“No. If he’s fine with it, it’s fine. I can’t believe that joke stuck for this long,” Steve huffs a laugh against Eddie’s shoulder. “And now it’s evolved.”
“All good jokes have to grow with the group. That’s what keeps them relevant.”
“But at the expense of our kids?”
Eddie kisses his head. “You and I both know that jokes at the expense of someone show how much we love them. Now, I do believe your oldest McNugget needs a bedtime story.”
“I’m going, I’m going.”
“And this time, maybe he can sound out some of the words like we said we wanted him to do?” Eddie points a finger at Steve and raises his brows.
The pencil stills in his hand, hovering over the paper as if there was an invisible force keeping it right there. Unmoving. Pointless. It's pointless, right?
Fuck if Eddie knows, really. His mind remains loud anyway, telling him a mantra of a never-ending story – screw Dustin for putting that one in his head – that always ends up with something tragic.
Who is Eddie to judge what's tragic and what isn't when his life is the greatest example of how it can go from down to up and down again; repeat and whip out a slate that appears clean, but once you turn it, all the dirt and junk is going to be visible on the underside, sticking to it like glue?
After all, this town he loathes so much still hates him. Steve doesn't say it, because Eddie supposes he is a good guy like that, kind enough to spare him the agitation, but Eddie knows. The vitriol is there, no matter how far he is from the centre. It acts like a bomb, ready to blow in his face any time. Cause chaos. Destruction.
Eddie has been chewed on enough times to know his impact on his surroundings is limited to his ability to always find himself in the sketchy, questionable stuff, deep as mud, unable to get out. Sometimes it acts like quicksand, with the way things go from terrible to utterly abysmal in exactly a second’s notice. He hates that, but he has spent twenty not-so-precious years of his life figuring the world out, setting his foot on dried out soil, only to be whacked in the face not once, but multiple times by the cruel twist of fate. It’s safe to say Eddie knows by now that there is no getting out of quicksand, not even mud. He can’t be clean again, because that would be something he would have to give up his life for.
Not that he hasn’t already.
Truth is, he has given up almost everything he had. His sanity, his youth, his future – and present, because if it were up to him, he sure as hell would have packed up and made a run for California instead of spending his days rotting away in a dingy cabin in the middle of the forest. So Eddie has given up a lot. But most of all: himself.
Okay, okay, it might be a little more dramatic than it actually is. Well, except it isn’t, not really. The point Eddie is trying to make is that a lot has changed throughout the years he has known life, but a lot has gone down the drain the same way as well. It could have been mistaken for a badly written script someone accidentally lost, then another fucker found and published with some alteration. What a way to give ideas for the next generations.
“–re you?”
“Huh?” Eddie automatically answers before his brain even registers the owner of the voice.
Tearing his eyes away from the tip of the pencil that still floats above the paper, Eddie’s gaze lands on none other than Steve Harrington, standing in full glory and with his hands stuffed deep into his mustard members only jacket, looking as flawless as ever despite the late night hour.
The worst thing is that another presence didn’t even phase Eddie.
“What are you doing here?” Eddie frowns, then checks the grandfather near the wall. It’s almost ten thirty. “Aren’t you supposed to keep tabs on Squirt One and Two?”
Steve shrugs where he stands, a tiny pout on his lips, “Got dumped.”
“You?” Disbelief latches onto Eddie, because as much as the party can act like menaces, they surely wouldn’t make Steve scarce. Not Steve.
“Uh-huh,” Steve hums, devoid of any hurt.
That’s good, at least. Eddie would have given Dustin and El a talk if either of them treated Steve like garbage, although Eddie knows it’s less likely to happen with those two. But that one time when little Wheeler broke all hell loose just because Steve joined one session – which Eddie was incredibly proud of – proves that even among the kids you babysit there’s at least one meanie. Lightly put.
“How?” Eddie makes the mistake to push for further information. Judging by the soft grin Steve sends his way, it runs deeper than just ditching the cool older brother.
With practiced ease, Steve slides out of his shoes, places them by the front door – it barely is one with the tiny holes and torn hinges – and chooses the couch as his target to sit on. His leg lands a hairwidth away from touching Eddie’s, which Eddie pretends doesn’t freak him out.
“Apparently… This was some date.” Steve starts, frown and grin both pulling at his face. It’s endearing.
Eddie’s eyes bulge out of their sockets, breath stuck in his lungs, “A what.”
“A date,” Steve confirms, puffs out a small laugh when the picture finally clears out, “Didn’t even know I was going to be chauffeur until Henderson pulled El out of the car, no goodbye or anything. I was–”
“Used.” Eddie butts in, cutting Steve off, “That little shit. I’m going to murder hi–”
“Eds, no, gee, it’s okay.” A firm, calming hand lands on Eddie’s thigh, warm where palm meets his cotton clad leg, “Yeah, he used me to skip between point A and B, but El has the same problem you do.”
It’s Eddie’s turn to frown, because as far as he’s aware, Eleven has way less problems than she used to have. No creepy stepfather slash doctor, no bullies, found father, no running– “Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.” Steve nods, giving Eddie this sweet, sugary smile he probably shouldn’t, because it causes Eddie to lose track of his thoughts, “I don’t mind. I’d rather know they are safe wherever they go on dates than getting a walkie.”
Steve has no idea, Eddie is sure, just how much he acts like a mom around the squirts. He would deny it, sworn on Dustin’s mother – although the term and who it belongs to might be questionable to define at this point – but Eddie catches these glimpses of it. When Steve gets immersed in a talk and he brings them up randomly, when they ask something from him and Steve is simply unable to tell them no, or when one of them pulls a stunt and while Steve actively gets annoyed and pushed until he sees red, he can’t really be mad long enough. Undoubtedly, if Hawkins’s golden boy loves, he loves deeply. That Eddie has learned throughout the months of recovery they had spent side by side.
Eddie places his pencil and notebook down on the coffee table – how long has he been holding those like an idiot? – and sighs. Deep. Dramatic. Just for a little flare to fill up this human shaped gaping hole inside his chest.
“You, big boy…” He trails off as he shakes his head, a secretive, fond grin forming on his lips. Thank god his hair keeps it hidden, “...are hopeless.”
Eddie feels Steve’s hand slip from his thigh. He tries to convince himself it doesn’t affect him.
“What? Why?” Steve snorts, getting comfortable.
When Eddie turns his head, Steve’s sitting cross legged next to him, the same, faux-offended grin he wears brighter than the sun ever could be. Eddie wants to write a song about it. Shit, he already has ideas flying around.
“Because if your motherly instincts were boppers, you’d be drowning as we speak.”
Steve makes a face, one that dances on the thin line between exasperation and amusement, “Hey, I love boppers!”
“Yeah, I know.” Eddie crows, fighting a laugh.
Apparently, he isn’t doing a great job at keeping it at bay, because the next thing he knows is Steve kicking him off the couch, not an ounce of shame following the foul move, not even when Eddie feigns being hurt, rubbing his ass where it hit the ground.
“You’re a monster! A gremlin! A true–” Something soft and puffy collides with his face, only fueling the amusement that threatens to overtake him.
“You done?” Steve asks, derisive.
Eddie whips his head up to pin Steve with a wild, gleeful look, the pillow Steve used to smother him with already held prepared in his hands, “Will you stop?”
“Depends.”
“On?” Eddie widens his eyes in return.
“If you stop.” Steve’s pointer extends towards Eddie’s lap, exactly where the pillow lays.
Eddie hums, pondering, “You know, for a king, your negotiation skills are in dire need of some refinement, because I’m not sure that’s how alliances are fo–”
“Shut up, you dick!” Steve grabs another pillow, lightning speed, and whacks it at Eddie, giggling away.
The sound of a wailing guitar could very well be Eddie’s favorite in the world, but hearing Steve laugh like that? Freely, as if Eddie was someone he could let his guard down around? That fucks with Eddie’s brain, and definitely makes him question whether guitars can ever sound better than joy pouring out of Steve Harrington, coating everything in pure sunlight in the middle of the night.
“Yield! Yield, I yield!” Eddie screams, using the other pillow to shield while rising to his knees. Inch by inch, but he crawls closer to Steve, makes use of the makeshift shield, “Your highness shall receive no harm nor I will showcase my extensive vocabulary! I solemnly swear!”
The gorgeous laugh only strengthens in both volume and intensity. Then, as a consequence, Steve lands a socked foot on Eddie’s stomach, and uses it to keep Eddie away, “You’re crazy.”
Eddie reaches out and circles his fingers around Steve’s ankle, tugs at it to gain advantage, but Steve is determined, because the foot doesn’t budge. Damn, Eddie knows he doesn’t stand a chance against jocks, but he sure as fuck won’t let Steve win. Not this one.
“What is it that you’re saying, sweetheart? This precious, life-saving cushion absorbs your angelic voice.”
“Fuck you!” Steve lets out a playful chuckle, giving Eddie a good shove.
Well, doesn’t Eddie dream about fucking Steve. As a matter of fact, not a day goes by when Steve isn’t on his mind, rendering him useless and unable to function. Sometimes it goes as far as staying in bed, rotting away until he hears the familiar rumble of the BMW and has to get his shit together, at rapid speed, before he blows the only good thing in his life all to pieces.
Sharp as a tack, Eddie takes advantage of Steve’s move by yanking at his leg, essentially pulling Steve closer and towards the edge of the couch. It goes without a hitch, suspiciously easy for Eddie’s liking, now that he thinks about it.
Either he is being played with, or his muscles just gained a weird amount of strength in the past two minutes. The latter is less likely to be the case – although there have been questionable things going on with this town for Eddie to be wary – so he settles with the first option.
“You didn’t pass out on me, did you, Harrington?”
Eddie can’t see shit of Steve’s face from behind the pillow, but he knows Steve is listening, in fact, pretty much alive and kicking, because the ankle held captive in his hand wiggles.
Suddenly, there’s movement right in Eddie’s face. The pillow he’s been using as a shield gets gently lifted and moved to the side, revealing the main attraction of the magic trick. Because it might as well be one with the way Steve makes a show of clearing the way, patient as ever.
Steve grins, but it’s softer around the edges. The curves around his eyes tone down to a gentle, mellow gaze. Eddie briefly compares it to honey, flowy and sweet and golden, the innocent, finished product of months of hard work. Then – because Eddie failed to notice the proximity despite being the one initiating it in the first place – Steve leans in, eyes trained on him like Eddie is a prey he needs to catch.
“Not so chirpy now, are you?”
Every single thought Eddie has flies right out the window and into the dark, autumn night, caught on color changing branches and shiny, white moonlight.
What the hell.
Eddie gulps despite the fear of sending the saliva that’s gathered in his mouth down the wrong pipe.
“I did swear I’d spare you.” He mutters, eyes twitching from trying so hard to keep them from flitting to Steve’s lips. Those – probably – plush, pink, juicy lips that accompany every nasty little daydream he has had about Steve.
Steve hums, long and satisfied, grin widening, “In that case, I’ll let this slide.”
In his head, Eddie is begging to be freed from the misery he is currently forced into. As much as Eddie downplays the effect that day has on him… this might live up to that experience, although under a different light, under different circumstances.
“Let what slide, exactly?” Eddie asks, bordering on losing his mind.
Because Steve still has a metaphorical grip on him, even when the only part of him that touches Eddie is his foot.
Steve is quiet for a moment, chest slowly expanding with each collected breath he takes. Not that Eddie is looking, that would be foolish and unadvised, “The shield.”
“Shield?” Eddie cocks his head to the side, confused.
What does Steve mean by letting the shield slide? What is he even talking about?
“Mmhmm,” Steve hums again, this time more at odds than before, yet his confidence remains weirdly present. He reaches out and swipes a finger down Eddie’s cheek, eyes following the movement, “One day.”
If Eddie didn’t feel anxious and ripped apart already, he would totally think he died when the bats chewed him out.
Before he could react to whatever this is that’s unfolding within arms reach, the moment is over. Steve smiles, and retreats, falling back against the couch, taking Eddie’s breath with him, too.
“There’s a full moon tonight. Wanna watch?”
The ease with which Steve offers such a mundane thing up has Eddie both want to rip his hair out and sag into this alternate reality his life has come to.
Truth is, Eddie hates the way his life turned out. The lack of contact with the world, the lack of opportunities, the lack of everything he used to have. But something about Steve has him question most of it, pushing him to have faith, at least while he has this. The people he cares about, the ones that got his back in return.
They all have scars not even time can heal, Eddie knows. They go bone deep, an everlasting reminder of a youth neither of them will get back. But learning might just lie in the different shapes they take up. Learning how to avoid quicksand, for example.
Maybe this is his way of finding the path back to himself, to the life he lost years ago, and months back, too.
Maybe he doesn’t even need to do it alone.
Because maybe things can take a turn for the better when you can share. The good. The bad. The ugly. But most importantly…
“My ears may deceive me, but are you, Steve Harrington, suggesting to do nerdy stuff?” Eddie smirks, fueling this newfound rush inside his chest.
The guffaw of laughter he gets out of Steve is all he needs to believe that there's always a point to everything.
The pencil stills in his hand, hovering over the paper as if there was an invisible force keeping it right there. Unmoving. Pointless. It's pointless, right?
Fuck if Eddie knows, really. His mind remains loud anyway, telling him a mantra of a never-ending story – screw Dustin for putting that one in his head – that always ends up with something tragic.
Who is Eddie to judge what's tragic and what isn't when his life is the greatest example of how it can go from down to up and down again; repeat and whip out a slate that appears clean, but once you turn it, all the dirt and junk is going to be visible on the underside, sticking to it like glue?
After all, this town he loathes so much still hates him. Steve doesn't say it, because Eddie supposes he is a good guy like that, kind enough to spare him the agitation, but Eddie knows. The vitriol is there, no matter how far he is from the centre. It acts like a bomb, ready to blow in his face any time. Cause chaos. Destruction.
Eddie has been chewed on enough times to know his impact on his surroundings is limited to his ability to always find himself in the sketchy, questionable stuff, deep as mud, unable to get out. Sometimes it acts like quicksand, with the way things go from terrible to utterly abysmal in exactly a second’s notice. He hates that, but he has spent twenty not-so-precious years of his life figuring the world out, setting his foot on dried out soil, only to be whacked in the face not once, but multiple times by the cruel twist of fate. It’s safe to say Eddie knows by now that there is no getting out of quicksand, not even mud. He can’t be clean again, because that would be something he would have to give up his life for.
Not that he hasn’t already.
Truth is, he has given up almost everything he had. His sanity, his youth, his future – and present, because if it were up to him, he sure as hell would have packed up and made a run for California instead of spending his days rotting away in a dingy cabin in the middle of the forest. So Eddie has given up a lot. But most of all: himself.
Okay, okay, it might be a little more dramatic than it actually is. Well, except it isn’t, not really. The point Eddie is trying to make is that a lot has changed throughout the years he has known life, but a lot has gone down the drain the same way as well. It could have been mistaken for a badly written script someone accidentally lost, then another fucker found and published with some alteration. What a way to give ideas for the next generations.
“–re you?”
“Huh?” Eddie automatically answers before his brain even registers the owner of the voice.
Tearing his eyes away from the tip of the pencil that still floats above the paper, Eddie’s gaze lands on none other than Steve Harrington, standing in full glory and with his hands stuffed deep into his mustard members only jacket, looking as flawless as ever despite the late night hour.
The worst thing is that another presence didn’t even phase Eddie.
“What are you doing here?” Eddie frowns, then checks the grandfather near the wall. It’s almost ten thirty. “Aren’t you supposed to keep tabs on Squirt One and Two?”
Steve shrugs where he stands, a tiny pout on his lips, “Got dumped.”
“You?” Disbelief latches onto Eddie, because as much as the party can act like menaces, they surely wouldn’t make Steve scarce. Not Steve.
“Uh-huh,” Steve hums, devoid of any hurt.
That’s good, at least. Eddie would have given Dustin and El a talk if either of them treated Steve like garbage, although Eddie knows it’s less likely to happen with those two. But that one time when little Wheeler broke all hell loose just because Steve joined one session – which Eddie was incredibly proud of – proves that even among the kids you babysit there’s at least one meanie. Lightly put.
“How?” Eddie makes the mistake to push for further information. Judging by the soft grin Steve sends his way, it runs deeper than just ditching the cool older brother.
With practiced ease, Steve slides out of his shoes, places them by the front door – it barely is one with the tiny holes and torn hinges – and chooses the couch as his target to sit on. His leg lands a hairwidth away from touching Eddie’s, which Eddie pretends doesn’t freak him out.
“Apparently… This was some date.” Steve starts, frown and grin both pulling at his face. It’s endearing.
Eddie’s eyes bulge out of their sockets, breath stuck in his lungs, “A what.”
“A date,” Steve confirms, puffs out a small laugh when the picture finally clears out, “Didn’t even know I was going to be chauffeur until Henderson pulled El out of the car, no goodbye or anything. I was–”
“Used.” Eddie butts in, cutting Steve off, “That little shit. I’m going to murder hi–”
“Eds, no, gee, it’s okay.” A firm, calming hand lands on Eddie’s thigh, warm where palm meets his cotton clad leg, “Yeah, he used me to skip between point A and B, but El has the same problem you do.”
It’s Eddie’s turn to frown, because as far as he’s aware, Eleven has way less problems than she used to have. No creepy stepfather slash doctor, no bullies, found father, no running– “Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.” Steve nods, giving Eddie this sweet, sugary smile he probably shouldn’t, because it causes Eddie to lose track of his thoughts, “I don’t mind. I’d rather know they are safe wherever they go on dates than getting a walkie.”
Steve has no idea, Eddie is sure, just how much he acts like a mom around the squirts. He would deny it, sworn on Dustin’s mother – although the term and who it belongs to might be questionable to define at this point – but Eddie catches these glimpses of it. When Steve gets immersed in a talk and he brings them up randomly, when they ask something from him and Steve is simply unable to tell them no, or when one of them pulls a stunt and while Steve actively gets annoyed and pushed until he sees red, he can’t really be mad long enough. Undoubtedly, if Hawkins’s golden boy loves, he loves deeply. That Eddie has learned throughout the months of recovery they had spent side by side.
Eddie places his pencil and notebook down on the coffee table – how long has he been holding those like an idiot? – and sighs. Deep. Dramatic. Just for a little flare to fill up this human shaped gaping hole inside his chest.
“You, big boy…” He trails off as he shakes his head, a secretive, fond grin forming on his lips. Thank god his hair keeps it hidden, “...are hopeless.”
Eddie feels Steve’s hand slip from his thigh. He tries to convince himself it doesn’t affect him.
“What? Why?” Steve snorts, getting comfortable.
When Eddie turns his head, Steve’s sitting cross legged next to him, the same, faux-offended grin he wears brighter than the sun ever could be. Eddie wants to write a song about it. Shit, he already has ideas flying around.
“Because if your motherly instincts were boppers, you’d be drowning as we speak.”
Steve makes a face, one that dances on the thin line between exasperation and amusement, “Hey, I love boppers!”
“Yeah, I know.” Eddie crows, fighting a laugh.
Apparently, he isn’t doing a great job at keeping it at bay, because the next thing he knows is Steve kicking him off the couch, not an ounce of shame following the foul move, not even when Eddie feigns being hurt, rubbing his ass where it hit the ground.
“You’re a monster! A gremlin! A true–” Something soft and puffy collides with his face, only fueling the amusement that threatens to overtake him.
“You done?” Steve asks, derisive.
Eddie whips his head up to pin Steve with a wild, gleeful look, the pillow Steve used to smother him with already held prepared in his hands, “Will you stop?”
“Depends.”
“On?” Eddie widens his eyes in return.
“If you stop.” Steve’s pointer extends towards Eddie’s lap, exactly where the pillow lays.
Eddie hums, pondering, “You know, for a king, your negotiation skills are in dire need of some refinement, because I’m not sure that’s how alliances are fo–”
“Shut up, you dick!” Steve grabs another pillow, lightning speed, and whacks it at Eddie, giggling away.
The sound of a wailing guitar could very well be Eddie’s favorite in the world, but hearing Steve laugh like that? Freely, as if Eddie was someone he could let his guard down around? That fucks with Eddie’s brain, and definitely makes him question whether guitars can ever sound better than joy pouring out of Steve Harrington, coating everything in pure sunlight in the middle of the night.
“Yield! Yield, I yield!” Eddie screams, using the other pillow to shield while rising to his knees. Inch by inch, but he crawls closer to Steve, makes use of the makeshift shield, “Your highness shall receive no harm nor I will showcase my extensive vocabulary! I solemnly swear!”
The gorgeous laugh only strengthens in both volume and intensity. Then, as a consequence, Steve lands a socked foot on Eddie’s stomach, and uses it to keep Eddie away, “You’re crazy.”
Eddie reaches out and circles his fingers around Steve’s ankle, tugs at it to gain advantage, but Steve is determined, because the foot doesn’t budge. Damn, Eddie knows he doesn’t stand a chance against jocks, but he sure as fuck won’t let Steve win. Not this one.
“What is it that you’re saying, sweetheart? This precious, life-saving cushion absorbs your angelic voice.”
“Fuck you!” Steve lets out a playful chuckle, giving Eddie a good shove.
Well, doesn’t Eddie dream about fucking Steve. As a matter of fact, not a day goes by when Steve isn’t on his mind, rendering him useless and unable to function. Sometimes it goes as far as staying in bed, rotting away until he hears the familiar rumble of the BMW and has to get his shit together, at rapid speed, before he blows the only good thing in his life all to pieces.
Sharp as a tack, Eddie takes advantage of Steve’s move by yanking at his leg, essentially pulling Steve closer and towards the edge of the couch. It goes without a hitch, suspiciously easy for Eddie’s liking, now that he thinks about it.
Either he is being played with, or his muscles just gained a weird amount of strength in the past two minutes. The latter is less likely to be the case – although there have been questionable things going on with this town for Eddie to be wary – so he settles with the first option.
“You didn’t pass out on me, did you, Harrington?”
Eddie can’t see shit of Steve’s face from behind the pillow, but he knows Steve is listening, in fact, pretty much alive and kicking, because the ankle held captive in his hand wiggles.
Suddenly, there’s movement right in Eddie’s face. The pillow he’s been using as a shield gets gently lifted and moved to the side, revealing the main attraction of the magic trick. Because it might as well be one with the way Steve makes a show of clearing the way, patient as ever.
Steve grins, but it’s softer around the edges. The curves around his eyes tone down to a gentle, mellow gaze. Eddie briefly compares it to honey, flowy and sweet and golden, the innocent, finished product of months of hard work. Then – because Eddie failed to notice the proximity despite being the one initiating it in the first place – Steve leans in, eyes trained on him like Eddie is a prey he needs to catch.
“Not so chirpy now, are you?”
Every single thought Eddie has flies right out the window and into the dark, autumn night, caught on color changing branches and shiny, white moonlight.
What the hell.
Eddie gulps despite the fear of sending the saliva that’s gathered in his mouth down the wrong pipe.
“I did swear I’d spare you.” He mutters, eyes twitching from trying so hard to keep them from flitting to Steve’s lips. Those – probably – plush, pink, juicy lips that accompany every nasty little daydream he has had about Steve.
Steve hums, long and satisfied, grin widening, “In that case, I’ll let this slide.”
In his head, Eddie is begging to be freed from the misery he is currently forced into. As much as Eddie downplays the effect that day has on him… this might live up to that experience, although under a different light, under different circumstances.
“Let what slide, exactly?” Eddie asks, bordering on losing his mind.
Because Steve still has a metaphorical grip on him, even when the only part of him that touches Eddie is his foot.
Steve is quiet for a moment, chest slowly expanding with each collected breath he takes. Not that Eddie is looking, that would be foolish and unadvised, “The shield.”
“Shield?” Eddie cocks his head to the side, confused.
What does Steve mean by letting the shield slide? What is he even talking about?
“Mmhmm,” Steve hums again, this time more at odds than before, yet his confidence remains weirdly present. He reaches out and swipes a finger down Eddie’s cheek, eyes following the movement, “One day.”
If Eddie didn’t feel anxious and ripped apart already, he would totally think he died when the bats chewed him out.
Before he could react to whatever this is that’s unfolding within arms reach, the moment is over. Steve smiles, and retreats, falling back against the couch, taking Eddie’s breath with him, too.
“There’s a full moon tonight. Wanna watch?”
The ease with which Steve offers such a mundane thing up has Eddie both want to rip his hair out and sag into this alternate reality his life has come to.
Truth is, Eddie hates the way his life turned out. The lack of contact with the world, the lack of opportunities, the lack of everything he used to have. But something about Steve has him question most of it, pushing him to have faith, at least while he has this. The people he cares about, the ones that got his back in return.
They all have scars not even time can heal, Eddie knows. They go bone deep, an everlasting reminder of a youth neither of them will get back. But learning might just lie in the different shapes they take up. Learning how to avoid quicksand, for example.
Maybe this is his way of finding the path back to himself, to the life he lost years ago, and months back, too.
Maybe he doesn’t even need to do it alone.
Because maybe things can take a turn for the better when you can share. The good. The bad. The ugly. But most importantly…
“My ears may deceive me, but are you, Steve Harrington, suggesting to do nerdy stuff?” Eddie smirks, fueling this newfound rush inside his chest.
The guffaw of laughter he gets out of Steve is all he needs to believe that there's always a point to everything.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Author: cpressmn
Teen And Up Audiences
No Archive Warnings Apply
M/M
Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson
Tags: They were roommates, Mutual Pining, Idiots in Love, The Party Loves Steve Harrington, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, First Kiss, Eddie Munson is a Cranky Bastard
Summary
“Why didn’t either of you tell us you were dating?”
He looks so hurt and indignant in the way only Dustin can, and maybe it’s not too late to run out after Steve and make their case for the beers again if it means the kid’ll stop frowning and looking at Eddie like that. It takes a minute for his words to sink in.
Eddie blinks. “What.”
“What do you mean, what? You kissed!”
“No, we didn’t,” Eddie scoffs.
Except, yes, they did. Realization crashes over him, the force of it stunning him into silence.
Steve kissed him. On the lips. Like it was nothing, like it was something they did every day.
And Eddie hadn’t even blinked or shoved him away or registered it at all, just returned the kiss and went right back to bossing Steve around, as if the whole fucking thing was the most natural thing in the world.
Fuck.
rated e | 444 words | no cw | tags: older steddie, established relationship, fluff and smut, laughter during sex
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He’s had years to memorize Steve’s body, to know every curve and mole, to recognize the gasps and the whimpers as pain or pleasure. Years to figure out what he likes and what he doesn’t. Years to know that they work well together in every way, even the ways he never thought.
Like now, like this. They’re probably too old for this, but Steve’s always been flexible and willing.
Even at nearly 50 years old, he’s got one leg on Eddie’s shoulder, pushed almost to his own body. Eddie’s knees creak as he fucks into him hard, but Steve just closes his eyes and smiles. He loves this.
“You love this,” Eddie says, only slightly breathlessly. He’s been going to the gym a few times a week with Jeff, just to keep his body moving and muscles working. And so he can keep fucking Steve for as long as their bodies will allow. “Always have.”
“What? Getting fucked?” Steve grins up at him, wrinkles at his eyes crinkling. “You know I do.”
“Showing off. Trying to be better at this than me,” Eddie squeezes his hip as he slows for a moment. Not because he needs to, but because he wants this to last longer and it won’t if he keeps going like this. “Like you haven’t proven both of those things already.”
“Lot of talking for someone who’s supposed to be making me come.”
Eddie laughs. Steve reaches up into his recently buzzed hair.
“I miss it a little.”
Eddie keeps a slow rhythm, leaning down more when Steve doesn’t seem uncomfortable with the position.
“Me too. But it’s kinda nice not having so much of it,” Eddie reaches up to hold Steve’s hand against his head. He closes his eyes. “Change is good sometimes.”
“Now you sound like a fortune cookie,” Steve giggles. Even after so many years together, Eddie revels in making him laugh. Especially during sex. “But you look handsome like this. Might need to marry you all over again.”
“Yeah?” Eddie kisses him. He can’t help it. He really landed the hottest guy around, got to keep him around for all this time, got to marry him. Gets to fuck him, get fucked by him, do whatever he wants with him. “I could arrange that, sweetheart.”
“Might be ridiculous. We just did it a few years ago,” Steve curls his fingers and groans when Eddie hits his prostate. “I’ll do it if you want to.”
“I’d marry you every day,” Eddie ends his sentence on a moan. “You close enough?”
“Yeah, c’mon, love.”
Years may pass, but Eddie never stops learning and loving Steve. In every way he can.
@steddiemicrofic July prompt "Years" | 444 words | Rated E | CW: explicit sex, trapped in the UD
Lighting flashes above the cloud cover, illuminating the Above for a moment and then it’s gone. He won’t call it the sky, not even after all this time. He won’t.
Eddie won’t, either.
Steve places his fingertips against the window and raises his knee to give it some support from the sill. Behind him, Eddie groans, and winds his arm around Steve’s middle. He can feel it, when they both sink into the altered position, when Eddie’s cock sinks in that little bit more.
“Wish it would rain,” Eddie mutters into his ear. He’s slow, this time. It’s different, every single time. Steve chalks that up to Eddie’s endless creativity and their promise to each other to not go insane inside this little cottage, in the Upside Down, where they’re either trapped or forgotten, or both.
“Yeah?” Steve grips the windowsill, uses it for leverage to push back, making sure to undulate his spine as he goes. He wants to be sexy, for Eddie, pretty. He wants to make it good.
Eddie makes a noise that’s less appreciation than shock. They’ve been down here for years; at least, Steve thinks so. And he can still make Eddie make noises like that, make him draw back in surprise at a joke, a home repair, or yet another failed idea to get out of here.
In some ways it’s the most invested he’s ever been in a relationship, and he can’t even buy the guy flowers.
“Wish I could fuck you in the rain.” Eddie punctuates that with a broad lick up the back of Steve’s neck.
He could worry about that statement. It could go down a road of fear and desperation but Steve’s brain shorts out instead. He reaches back to clutch Eddie’s ass, ducks his head down. Hopes Eddie will reach up and push fingers into his mouth. He’s come to love Eddie’s fingers. He came to love Eddie in a matter of weeks.
It’s proximity Eddie had shouted at him back then, pulling his own hair at the roots. I’m your only option.
That’s just the conditions Steve had yelled back. It’s you! It would always be you.
“Everything I need is in this bed,” Steve says and he lets go of the sill, tugs Eddie’s hand down to wrap around his hard cock. “You and this bed.”
“Fuck,” Eddie says and Steve has to laugh. Reducing Eddie to no words always feels like a win. Then Eddie starts to stroke him, groaning against his neck, and Steve loses his own words as well.
They’re found like that, twined around each other. Alive, asleep, and in love, when the rescue finally comes.
Prompt: Day 10 - Waterbed | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: None | POV: Eddie | Relationships: Steddie | Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Corroded Coffin, Rock Star Eddie Munson, Corroded Coffin make it, future fic, slice of life
Eddie’s never felt this relaxed in his entire life. He didn't know you could be this relaxed, and now that he does, yes please more of this, keep it coming.
He’s stretched out on the bow of a yacht, head in Steve’s lap, Steve absently combing his fingers through Eddie’s hair while he reads Jackie Collins’ Rock Star. He picked it up in the airport and waved it at Eddie thinking it would be funny, but he’s hooked on the goddamn thing. Every night Eddie crawls into bed as wantonly and seductively as he can, trying to get some action, but Steve keeps blue balling him with “just one more chapter”. He should throw the damn thing overboard.
At the other end of the yacht he can hear Jeff and his wife jumping into the crystal-blue water; Matty is sleeping off a hangover somewhere, and Eddie doesn’t want to know what Gareth and his girlfriend are up to. Neither of them have caught much sun.
They’ve spent a week in the Bahamas floating in the clearest, bluest waters Eddie has ever seen. They’re luminous, unnatural and utterly stunning. He never wants to leave.
The vacation is a retirement gift, a send off to him and one last hurrah as Corroded Coffin. It’s a goodbye to living in each other pockets for over a decade, to long months on the road, to exhaustion, to missing Steve and Wayne and the rest of their family.
It’s a goodbye to his time in Corroded Coffin, but not to theirs.
When they go back next week there will be a press release, Eddie will be leaving to spend more time with his family and the band will announce his replacement, a sweet kid name Brad. He’s amazing, Eddie handpicked him. Fans will be pissy for a while but they’ll get over it. Eddie’s heard some of the songs the boys have for the next album and it’s going to be their best yet. It will be the first Corroded Coffin album that he won’t have played on, and it stings. It’s going to be hard when it’s released, without his photograph on the back, hard to watch them on stage without him.
The boat sways, a gentle side to side motion.
He opens his eyes and tips his head back so he can look at Steve.
“Do you think this is what it feels like to sleep on a waterbed?”
Eddie feels the gentle movement of Steve’s thighs as he laughs.
“God, no. I’ve slept on a waterbed, they suck. This is nothing like that. And even if it were we would not be getting one, so get that out of your head right now. We’ve got two dogs pissing all over the place as it is, I don’t need to be mopping the bed, too. Jesus. Go back to sleep, no more thinking for you today.”
Steve leans forward and kisses him on the forehead, the perfect punctuation.
“Aye aye, captain.”
What they won’t get in the press release is the truth. Eddie’s surgeons did a great job on him back in 1986, they kept him alive for one thing. And he bounced back, all things considered. The body he was left with was fine for every day things - grocery shopping, walking the dog, cleaning the gutters - but it wasn’t up to a life as a touring musician. Day after day cooped up in a bus or plane, followed by hours on stage pushing himself to his limit, and beyond, and then night after night of lying like a pretzel in an uncomfortable bunk.
According to his doctors, your body can’t get by on prescription painkillers and steroid injections forever. It took years for him to believe them, and even that wasn’t enough. Medical professionals presenting him with MRIs, X-rays, CT Scans - lots of grainy bullshit that cost him thousands of dollars. Just give him the shot and fuck off.
But Steve telling him to stop? Steve who knows him better than himself? Well, it’s hard to say no to that. Didn’t mean he wasn’t pissy and mean about it afterwards, but then Eddie’s always hated being wrong.
He worries about money, they're not superstars. Still, he’s managed to buy a nice house and it’s all paid off, but he’s thirty-four and at some stage he’s going to need to think about an income. Dustin keeps talking about them opening a game store together.
“Hey,” Gareth calls out as he finally surfaces. “Do you think this is what waterbeds feels like?”
Eddie looks up at Steve with a mischievous grin.
“Yeah,” Eddie answers. “Yeah, I think this is exactly what they feel like.”
“Cool," Gareth says, as he wanders in Jeff's direction.
Steve laughs at him, fingers tugging gently at Eddie’s hair.
“You’re an asshole,” he laughs.
Eddie raises his hand and let’s it flop gently to his chest.
“Me?” he asks innocently.
“Yeah, you. Poor kid’s gonna spend an entire fucking royalty check on the biggest waterbed he can find in Los Angeles, and it’s your fault.”
“Well then he’ll learn a valuable lesson, won’t he?”
Even behind the Wayfarers Eddie can see the arch of an eyebrow.
“Oh, and what might that be?”
“Never interrupt Eddie when he has his head between a beautiful man’s thighs.”
They kiss again, and Steve’s fingers trace a line along the underside of Eddie’s jaw, before they slide down his throat, his chest, finally coming to a rest over Eddie’s heart. Eddie covers Steve's hand with his own, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“I’ve only got three chapters left.”
Eddie sighs petulantly.
“Great. Can we carry on with—”
“I’ve only got three chapters left. And if you leave me alone for the rest of the day I’ll finish this book.”
Steve tilts his head, waiting patiently until the penny drops.
“Oh! Shit, yes read, read.”
Eddie closes his eyes and lets the gentle movement of the sea rock him back to sleep.
Insert usual '3am bleary eyed there are probably typos' disclaimer here.
Prompt: Day 4 - Headbangers Ball | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: None | POV: Eddie | Relationships: Steddie | Eddie Munson, Wayne Munson, Steve Harrington, Jeff, Post S4, Eddie lives, Eddie is going through it, minor angst, lots of love
“Sorry, man, not tonight.”
“Why not?”
Jeff asks a fair question, but it’s not one Eddie can answer. Not truthfully.
His mind is a mess today, has been for the last week, maybe the whole month. Anniversaries always fuck with his brain, he feels deeply, Wayne says. His dad used to say he was soft hearted, but sometimes it sounded like an accusation. Weak. That’s what Al had meant, even if he smiled after he said it.
“I’m not feeling great, man. I just want to flake out on the couch.”
“Well, flake out on my couch. I’ll kick Gareth on the floor. C’mon, man, it’s Headbanger’s Ball. This is our night!”
Eddie sighs, catching Wayne’s attention. He’s supposed to be at work but has somehow miraculously been given the night off, just out of the blue. Same thing happened last year, Wayne babysitting him like a toddler even though he’s a grown fucking man. He doesn’t need someone to sit and watch him all night, he needs to be left the fuck alone. Wayne doesn’t get it, and neither does Jeff, apparently.
“Who’s on tonight?” he asks, knowing it won’t make a single bit of difference.
“Uh, LA Guns. And don’t pull that face, they’re not that bad.”
“Yeah, well unless Kelly Nickels is climbing out of the TV and into my lap, I’ll pass.”
“Ew, dude.”
“Eddie c’mon!” he hears Gareth shout in the background. “Stop being a pussy!”
“Firstly, tell Gareth I’m going to kick his ass next time I see him. Secondly…I am grateful for the effort, Jeffrey,” he says, biting back every last snarky comment that tries to claw it’s way out of his mouth. “But honestly, I just need a night to myself, you know?”
He hopes Wayne caught that too.
Eddie can hear the T.V. In the background, and Gareth and Matty arguing about something. For a second he thinks about grabbing his keys and heading on over to Jeff’s; he misses them, doesn’t spend enough time with them as it is, especially as he seems to have something edging toward a love life now. But he’d be moody, at best, and that’s not fair on them, not when they’ve been nothing but patient and supportive over the last couple of years.
Eventually there’s a quiet “Sure, man, I get it,” and Eddie hangs up with a promise to swing by in the middle of the week. Things should be better then, his mind quieter. He doesn’t tell Jeff that, though.
Eddie considers doing exactly what he said he would, flaking out on the couch, but with Wayne there, hawk eyes upon him, he decides the relative peace of his bedroom is his best bet. He says goodnight, even though he knows they’ll both be awake for most of it. This is just one of those nights they have to fight their way through. At least there are fewer of them now.
He stops by the kitchen for a glass of water, and rifles through his little pill box, neatly set out, morning, noon, and night. There’s not as many as there used to be, which is something because he hates the powdery drag across his tongue and the way they stick in his throat no matter how much water he drinks. Tonight he adds a sleeping pill and prays he doesn’t dream.
Eddie pokes his head into the living room.
“I’m heading to bed,” he says.
Wayne gives him a little nod. “Didn’t want to see your show tonight?”
He shrugs in reply. “Just tired. And I didn’t feel like driving all the way over to Jeff’s.”
“Alright. Well, you go on then, get your beauty sleep.”
A little laugh escapes him. “Fuck you.”
He’s about to turn and head down the hallway of their little house, but something stops him, and before he can even think about what he’s doing, he crosses the living room and throws his arms around Wayne. He feels the embarrassing prickle of tears.
“I love you,” he says, but it’s muffled into Wayne’s shirt, and Wayne’s hearing is all fucked up from the plant. But he feels a large hand on the back of his head, holding him closer, hears the soft “Love you too,” and it nearly pushes him over the edge so he breaks the hug quickly, mumbles goodnight and heads back to his room.
He’s got about an hour before the Restoril kicks in so he washes up and gets out of his jeans and climbs into bed with a book, praying for sleep to come fast tonight.
He’s only been in bed for ten minutes before there’s a soft knock on his door and before he can tell Wayne he’s okay, Steve steps into his room, and closes the door behind him.
“I swung by Jeff’s. Not feeling it tonight, huh?”
“Not really.”
Steve kicks his sneakers off, shucks his jeans and climbs under the blankets with Eddie. He takes the book from Eddie’s hands, carefully places the bookmark, and puts it on the nightstand, and then he opens his arms for Eddie to fall into them.
“I’m dreading tomorrow. How stupid is that?”
“I don’t think it’s stupid at all. You died, Eddie. That’s a big fucking deal. I don’t think that’s the kind of thing you get over in a couple of years.”
He feels the kiss to the top of his head, the extra squeeze pulling him tighter.
“I’ll be here with you tomorrow, okay? We’ll just…chill out, watch TV. Whatever you need.”
He marvels at how the world took so much but gave him something wonderful in return.
“Why did you go to Jeff’s? You don’t even like Headbangers Ball.”
“No, but I like this headbanger’s balls, and I was hoping to get a look at them tonight.”
Eddie laughs and slaps him on the chest. It’s been a rough couple of years, it’s going to be a rough couple of days, but at least he has this.
Lucky for me - there was an episode of Headbangers Ball on Saturday 26th March 1988. I love it when the stars align!
LA Guns were presenting, and I don't agree with Eddie, they are awesome! But he's right about Kelly Nickels.
for @corrodedcoffinfest million words celebration!
also on ao3
rated t | 2248 words | no cw | tags: established steddie, band breakup, birthday party, marriage proposal, grieving a loss of a future that never was so the future that was meant to be could exist and other such dramatics
🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻
There’s a million reasons that things didn’t work out for them. They argued about everything, had no money, their van broke down too much, and they never quite understood what sound they wanted as a group to name a few.
But they wanted it. God, did they want it.
Wanting it wasn’t enough.
Eddie always thought if they wanted it bad enough, and worked hard enough, they’d get there. Turns out, you need a lot more luck and hope. And talent. That, too.
He’s not an idiot, or oblivious. He knows they’re good for Hawkins, maybe even Indiana. But they aren’t “go to California on a dream” good. They probably never will be.
And now they won’t.
Steve wraps his arms around him from behind, kissing his neck and then his shoulder, resting his nose against his pulse.
“You should come to bed, babe,” he whispers.
He’s right. He’s barely slept for days, and getting into bed and cuddling up to Steve will help his morose mood. It’s just that he’s twitching to grab his guitar and write something. He’s dying to get in his van and drive to Gareth’s house a mile up the road and come up with a new plan that’s doomed to fail. It’s a habit now, one that’s going to take a while to break now that they aren’t a band anymore. Not officially, anyway.
“Eddie? You okay?” Steve asks, voice louder now, laced with concern. He picks his head up, but Eddie quickly reaches back to tug him back into place.
“Don’t let go,” Eddie tells him. “Stay.”
And because Steve is an angel, and Eddie doesn’t deserve him, he does. He doesn’t ask any questions or try to say anything to make him feel better. He doesn’t push him towards the bed to try to make him sleep. He just holds him.
Eventually, Eddie turns in his arms and cups his face, kissing the corner of his mouth and giving him a small smile.
“Can I play you something?” Eddie asks.
Steve grins. “Always.”
He plays for a while. Too long, going off the yawns Steve tries to hide after a few songs. He’s slowly sinking down into the bed while Eddie strums and hums, occasionally pausing to write in his notebook.
Eddie plays until Steve’s asleep, light snores coming from where he has his face buried in the pillow. When he looks up, he finally notices Steve wearing his cropped Corroded Coffin shirt.
It makes him cry. He’s quiet about it, not wanting to wake Steve and see that worried look on his face again.
He wishes things turned out better for them. He wishes that Steve was visiting him on tour instead of sleeping in a trailer he promised he’d never come back to. He wishes he could say he accomplished what he set out to do, just one time.
—
He writes songs often, but the inspiration isn’t there. It’s harder without Gareth banging on his drums, trying to find any beat that works with the melody Eddie has in his head. They could try Gareth coming up with a beat first, but that’s just not how they do things.
How they did things.
Eddie looks around the record shop. He doesn’t mind this job. The owner’s pretty cool, knows a lot about every genre of music. He plays guitar and bass, too. Sometimes on payroll days, he sets aside some time to jam with Eddie after they lock up.
It’s fun as far as minimum wage, unskilled labor goes.
Jeff comes by every Friday when he’s done with his classes, flips through the new releases, even if he doesn’t like the artists. He just likes shooting the shit with Eddie. They’ve always been like that. Even when they argued about band stuff, they’d find common ground with something else.
Gareth practically lives at the trailer on Sundays, a desperate attempt to escape his own house. His grandparents visit every Sunday and turn it into a miserable place. Eddie doesn’t mind. Steve gives them space for hours before he usually yells for them to come eat. He always gives Gareth a long hug before he leaves, like he knows that Gareth’s grieving, too.
Frankie mostly makes Eddie come to him, but he doesn’t mind. He knows it’s because he had a falling out with his parents and doesn’t want to step foot back in Hawkins if he can help it. He’ll go wherever he has to to see his friend.
But it’s tough not getting together anymore. He wishes they could all just hang out, not as a band, without the pressure, without the commitment. He wants them to be friends again, real friends.
He just doesn’t know how to make that happen.
—
“Cake is in the oven. Wayne will be here in ten to help me set up the tables and chairs. Robin’s got beer. Don’t ask me how,” Steve shakes his head as he runs down his checklist for Eddie’s birthday party. “Dustin might be late. Said he’s bringing his girlfriend and she takes forever to do her hair.”
“Sounds familiar,” Eddie teases, wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist and kissing his neck. “You want any help?”
“It’s your birthday, you’re not allowed to help.” Steve turns to kiss his cheek. “You should go get changed, though. Pretty sure Gareth said he was coming early to avoid his grandma asking if he’d found a wife yet.”
“But he doesn’t even have to lie anymore!” Eddie groans, throwing his hands up. “Fine, fine. I’ll go. You wanna help me?”
“You don’t need my help to get dressed,” Steve rolls his eyes.
“But I could use help with…other things…” Eddie wiggles his brows and winks. “You said for my birthday we could-“
“I know what I said. I meant after your party,” Steve’s face is bright red as he looks back down at his list. “Plus, I’m not wearing that under these clothes. I’ve got too much to do still.”
Eddie smacks a kiss to his lips and rushes off to get ready for his party.
Everyone’s coming.
Even Frankie.
It’s not the first time they’ve all been together since the band broke up, but it’s the first time it’s happening under Eddie’s roof. It feels like there’s more potential for something to go wrong here.
It’s the biggest party he’s ever had for himself, but 30 is a big number according to everyone who cares about him. There’s a cake that Steve made sitting on the table surrounded by cards and gifts from everyone who loves him.
Jeff, Gareth, and Frankie are all standing together on the porch. They’re not arguing as far as Eddie can tell.
He joins them hoping it stays that way.
“There’s the birthday guy!” Jeff slaps his shoulder, nearly spilling the soda in his cup when he does. “Heard we’re cutting the cake in a few minutes.”
“Yeah, Steve’s got a pretty strict schedule for that apparently,” Eddie rolls his eyes fondly. He’s never been much for a schedule, but it makes Steve happy and he’s a big fan of that. “Enjoying the party? Need anything?”
Gareth snorts. “It’s your party. We don’t need you to take care of us.”
“I know, but-“ Eddie freezes. He swallows back the sudden lump in his throat.
The final thing, the one thing out of the millions of things that ruined their band, was no doubt that Eddie could be a little overbearing and overprotective about them. He wanted things to work so badly. He pushed on things he shouldn’t have because he thought it was best for all of them. He turned down things that the others wanted to do because he thought it wouldn’t be right for their sound. He fought with Frankie to protect Gareth, he fought with Gareth to protect Jeff. He fought with Steve to protect all of them.
In the end, he tried to be too in control.
Happens to all the greats, right? It’s just not a good story when you aren’t great first.
“I know.” He says again. He gives them a smile before he rushes off to find Steve. They don’t stop him. He’s sure his realization was written all over his face.
When he finds Steve, he’s pacing the kitchen floor, Wayne trying to calm him down about something quietly. It’s a bit unnerving for a birthday party, especially when everyone’s outside.
“Steve?”
Steve’s head snaps up and over to Eddie, eyes widening comically. Wayne mumbles something about idiots and walks out the back door to rejoin the party.
“Hey. Everything okay? Cake in a few minutes,” Steve says, plastering on a fake smile. Eddie steps closer, watching the way Steve’s hands are shaking as he tries to shove them in his pockets.
“I’m good. Are you okay?” Eddie cups the side of his neck, searching his face for any other clues about what could possibly be wrong. Could he be sick? He mentioned a headache yesterday, but he seemed fine this morning.
“I’m good! I promise,” Steve reaches up to wrap his fingers around his wrist, smile changing to something more comforting and real. “Are you happy?”
The question isn’t entirely unusual, but it still makes Eddie worry again.
“Of course I am. You brought everyone I love together and made my favorite cake. And we’ve got naked plans tomorrow. How could I not be?” Eddie tries to push his worry away as Steve leans in to kiss the corner of his mouth.
It’s probably nothing. Steve’s a bit worried that the weather won’t hold up for them and he doesn’t want everyone in the house, so maybe that’s what he’s so riled up about. Wayne was probably just offering to help bring stuff inside if the storms start earlier than they’re supposed to.
“Good. That’s all I want,” Steve kisses him again before he leads Eddie back outside.
He brings him over to the cake and yells for everyone to come sing. He didn’t think people did that for adults, but he goes along with it because it’s entertaining watching a bunch of mostly tone deaf adults try to sing together. He’s beaming by the end, almost forgetting he needs to blow out the candles until Steve nudges his arm.
When he blows them out and turns, Steve’s not there.
Well, he is there.
He’s just not standing up.
He’s on one knee, holding a very simple silver band. Everyone around them is quiet.
“I knew you weren’t just throwing a birthday party!” Eddie laughs, leaning down to tug Steve up off his knee. It’s his bad knee, because he’s an idiot. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”
“I’m fine,” Steve rolls his eyes. “Let me say this.”
Eddie grins at him. “Carry on.”
“I know life’s been different than what you wanted. You hoped to be the next big rock star and it didn’t work out. You didn’t wanna stay in Hawkins. You probably didn’t even think you’d end up with me, but here we are,” everyone laughs as Steve smirks. “I think we’ve got a pretty great thing going here. Even when it’s not perfect, and when we still hope for more, we’re together. That’s enough for me. And I’m hoping that maybe that’ll be enough for you, too. We can’t file the papers to make it legal, but Wayne’s already got a speech ready for us to get married right here in this backyard someday if you say yes.”
Eddie wipes a stray tear from his cheek. “You have to ask me first.”
“What?” Steve’s brows raise before he realizes. “Oh. Right. Eddie, will you please spend forever with me? Wherever that may lead us?”
“Yes. Of course I will. I’d follow you anywhere.”
Everyone cheers. They kiss. It’s like a movie if movies ever showed the kind of love they have.
“Best birthday ever?” Gareth claps him on the back. His girlfriend is standing off to the side. She looks like she was crying. “Guess that puts more pressure on me, huh?”
“Guess so. Surprised you needed any,” Eddie jokes, turning to give him a hug. “Surprised she’s waited this long.”
“I’ve got a way with my hands, what can I say?”
Jeff playfully shoves him and fake gags. “Sure you do. Congrats, Eddie. Steve’s been stressed about this for months.”
Eddie turns to see Wayne hugging Steve close, patting his back.
“He should’ve known I’d say yes,” Eddie smiles fondly as he turns back to them.
“He’s just worried about tying you down for real,” Frankie says as he steps closer. “You’ve never been much for staying in one spot forever.”
“I don’t mind if it’s with him,” Eddie admits. He’s not even lying.
Saying yes doesn’t really change anything for them. They’ll wear rings, have a little ceremony in their backyard, maybe they’ll refer to each other as husbands with their friends. But they’ve already been living together for years, seen each other through so much. They make plans together, they pay bills together, they struggle and win together.
He doesn’t think he’d have that if he had become a rock star. Sure, Steve supported him while he tried. He probably would’ve stuck around for a while if they’d made it. But who knows what would’ve happened a year down the road. Two.
There’s a million reasons why things didn’t work out for the band.
One of them is so he could have this life, this future with Steve.
Steve is excellent at molding himself perfectly to his partners interests when he is in a relationship. With Nancy he read every single article of the school newspaper she wrote. Movies nights were either filled with Tom Cruise (not that Steve minded that much) or documentaries he tried to be interested in. Once he suggested they'd watch an episode of Star Trek together but when she said "I really want to watch this documentary" he had relented.
It's the same with every girlfriend or fling afterwards. They get to pick the movie, the music, the dinner, the activities. Or more accurately Steve picks exactly what they like because they seem to expect it. He shows up to Sarah's piano recital and watches Heidi's cheer practice. He let's Jenna eject his Tears for Fears tape with a frown and put on some Ska instead. And when Chloe really, really wants to go out for milkshakes he pretends like ice cream doesn't make him want to throw up after Starcourt. Not a single one of them ever shows up at his basketball games or his swim meets.
Love means sacrifice and putting yourself second. At least when you're Steve Harrington.
So when Steve starts dating Eddie he doesn't expect anything else. It's not as bad though as with some previous dates. It's nice to listen to Eddie go on a long ramble about the history of metal. He likes to sit in during the DnD games, flicking through a magazine while Eddie and the kids play. And sure he is not the biggest fan of horror movies but it's a nice excuse to cuddle up with Eddie during movie night. Not that he would need an excuse, Eddie is incredibly tactile.
Steve is in the middle of a little league baseball game when things change. He is so focused on coaching his team he doesn't notice the mop of black curls in the audience at first. Only when his little team has their first home run and an eardrum shattering whistle comes from the bleachers, Steve turns and is surprised to find Eddie in the audience, smiling, cheering, hollering.
When he spots Steve looking at him he waves at him with an even bigger smile. During a brief water break Steve jogs over to the bleachers.
"What are you doing here?" he asks, still surprised that Eddie is here.
"Came to support my boyfriend and his team, of course," Eddie grins. If they weren't in public, Steve would steal a kiss right now. Eddie very much loathes sports and yet he still came.
Once the game is over Eddie drives both of them home. When he turns on the tape player, Steve very much expects the usual metal to come out of the speakers. Instead he is met with the familiar voice of Duran Duran. He expects Eddie to change the tape but he just lets it play. After Duran Duran there is a Judas Priest song and maybe the Duran Duran just got on there by accident. But after Judas Priest Hall and Oates plays and Eddie even hums along? No complaints, no berating Steve for his horrible taste in music, but fucking humming along?
"Did you…did you make this?" Steve asks, trying to wrap his head around what is happening.
"Yeah, thought this way we can both listen to stuff we like," Eddie smiles and laces their hands together. "But I also got some Bowie and and Queen tapes if you want something else."
It's the few musicians they can agree on. But Steve shakes his head.
"No, I like it. Leave it."
When they get to their small but comfy new home Eddie dashes upstairs to take a shower and tells Steve to pick a movie from the few he rented earlier.
The first one is Rosemary's Baby. Of course Eddie picked a horror movie. But then the next tape surprises Steve yet again. It's Back to the Future and the one after that is Star Wars there even is Top Gun. And Night of the Living Dead. A perfect mixture really.
When Eddie comes back from his shower Steve is still staring at the movies a frown on his face.
"You alright, Steveheart?"
"You know you don't have to do this," Steve says slowly. "Pretend you want to watch something I like. Or listen to my music. I don't want you to pretend."
Eddie walks over, wet hair dripping onto the floor. He presses a kiss to Steve's cheek and takes Top Gun out of his hand.
"I'm not pretending," he says and walks over to their TV. "I want to watch stuff you like. The same way you agree to sometimes watch stuff that I like. That's how it works, doesn't it? We compromise."
Steve blinks. Compromise. No ones ever really wanted to compromise with him. No one ever cared enough.
"Why?" he asks and sits down on the couch.
"Because I love you. And I want to know about the things you love. The same way I want to hear about your day or how your run went, if you liked your green smoothie this morning," Eddie says and sits down on the sofa too, pulling Steve into his arms.
And maybe it's taken him 22 years to learn. But finally Steve realizes that love is not putting others always first. Love is to meet in the middle. Love is to care, and to compromise and to share.
He's never felt so loved like when the intro to Top Gun starts playing.
[I can't believe I finished this one in under six consecutive hours. I had the utmost fun during the process, and I wish drawing was always as easy as connecting to this one was. Anyways, ENJOY!]
Okay so we know Steve and Eddie were both neglected as children, but I love how it manifests in totally different ways for them.
There’s Eddie, who no matter what he tried or did, never got the time of day from his dad. Even when he tried his best to be useful, helped his dad boost cars, crawled through the windows of houses to unlock the front door so Al could pilfer what he wanted, it was never enough. And at school, he’d pretty much been written off from the start. He’d tried to make friends when he arrived back in Hawkins, head buzzed and nothing but a small suitcase of belongings to his name. But he was labelled a freak and trailer trash and shoved into lockers. And so he just kind of stops trying. He has hellfire and corroded coffin, and he likes those guys, they feel almost like home. But there’s a part of him that’s scared to ever open up. A part that knows, no matter what, he’s never going to be enough. So he closes himself off, pushes people away when they try to get too close. He knows it’s not worth the heartbreak of being cast away again.
And then there’s Steve, who clings onto any kind of validation like a lifeline. Steve, who learned that if he acted certain ways, played the role he was supposed to play, perfect son, star of the basketball team, lady killer, he would get the attention he so desperately wanted. He knew that stepping out of line at school, having any kind of interest that wasn’t mainstream was basically social suicide. And the thought of losing that acceptance was way worse than just pretending everything was fine. So he keeps playing the part, even when it feels like everything inside him is coming undone.
So yeah, you have Steve who holds onto everything so tightly that it breaks and Eddie who's given up trying to hold things at all.
