I’m linking this fic (Steve/Eddie) again because I’m considering writing another part from Steve’s perspective, very heavily inspired by Billie Holliday’s I’ll Be Seeing You.
Sometimes I get hung up on the idea of Steve not properly mourning Billy’s death, and how bits and pieces of his grief start to show in his everyday life after the fact, specifically with things he used to enjoy.
Here’s a snippet of the fic linked above in case you haven’t come across it yet (most of the inspiration for this was Eddie needing a nickname for Steve that wasn’t pretty boy, because that will forever and always be Billy’s thing):
“Thought you said it was your favorite place in the house.”
Steve hums a laugh that sounds a little too soft.
“It is. It really is, I…” he trails off. Eyes wandering over every relic in front of him before he sighs. “I used to sleep in here more than I did in my own bed.”
“It does seem like an excellent place to take a nap, I’ll give you that.”
A silence settles between them. It feels strangely… light. In fact, this might be the first time that Eddie has felt like his presence isn’t detested. He relaxes in his seat. Slouches a bit and tilts his head back against the top of the futon, smiling when Steve appears to do the same.
“This would be a killer spot to have a campaign in.”
“You trying to bring all of the brats in here and host one of your silly games, Munson?” Steve teases.
“Nah.” Eddie glances over at Steve. Finds that he’s still wearing that pleased little grin on his face. “That’s Henderson’s job now.”
“And he likes hosting outside, usually, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, and it’s so impractical. The kid prioritizes aesthetic over practicality, you have no idea how many times our shit has gotten blown everywhere.”
Steve chuckles, and it brings a warmth to Eddie’s cheeks.
“I’ve gotten an earful about that from Lucas before.”
“Oh, god, Sinclair ,” Eddie groans, slapping a hand over his face. “Those two bicker like an old married couple.”
“Mhm, I’ve gotten an earful of that too. More than once.”
They share a laugh. Eddie can’t help but notice how close their thighs are to touching right now. He lifts his head when Steve closes the short distance. Bumps their knees together and hums contentedly when Eddie doesn’t pull away.
A million things flood his mind in an instant. A good portion of them are things that he wants to say, and even more of them are things he wants to do .
Things like ask Steve why he decided to show him this secret little corner out of the blue after months of standoffish behavior.
Things like lean over and press a kiss to that pretty smile.
“Thanks for, y’know, hanging out with me, Edd,” Steve says softly.
That catches Eddie off guard.
“Our movie nights have been one of my favorite things recently. It’s stupid, but I always look forward to it every week like I’m going to Disneyland or something.”
Steve chuckles again, and Eddie holds his breath for a beat when he shifts closer until their shoulders are touching.
“They’re one of my favorites too,” Eddie confesses.
The words feel like they come out slow and stupid, but that gentle laugh fills the air between them again, and Eddie can’t bring himself to care. All of his focus is on Steve’s face. So close that he can see the flecks of gold in his irises.
“Well, I’d hope so. I always try to pick stuff that I think you’ll like.”
“So you rented Frankenweenie? Seriously?”
Steve snorts, and Eddie chuckles. Chews his lip when Steve slouches further against him and stares at where his hand lies in his lap, palm upturned.
Just another thing that Eddie isn’t advised to touch.
“In my defense, I probably thought we could watch it and make fun of it.”
Another short silence falls. Steve looks away, shrugging nonchalantly, but his eyes are suddenly glassy.
“Guess I just didn’t feel like it. Not today.”
There’s a strange finality to his words. Eddie racks his brain for a moment, furrowing his brows because he can’t think of why today could be anything significant.
It’s Saturday. Nothing special about that. No events come to mind when he thinks of late March, so he elects to sit on it rather than say anything. In the silence, Steve’s hand starts to look more and more appealing, but he tells himself that it’s a bad idea.
“Is there anything that you do feel like doing?” Eddie asks softly.
Steve turns to him once more. Glances down at his lips briefly before he shrugs again and exhales a sigh.
“I’m fine just talking to you, if that’s okay.”
The tenderness in his voice has an embarrassing amount of heat spreading up Eddie’s neck.
There have been plenty of occasions where he’s wanted to kiss Steve Harrington – the time he was a sore loser when he lost at bowling, and when he scared the shit out of Troy Walsh for defacing the Hellfire posters that Will spent a whole week making, just to name a couple – but none so much as he does right now.
Some lovesick, less logical part of his brain tells him that maybe Steve is thinking something similar right now. His eyes stay steadily trained on Eddie’s lips and his face seems closer than it was before. That has to be something, right? He isn’t going crazy?
He apparently isn’t because Steve’s eyes close after another second and the air in Eddie’s lungs shrinks.
“It’s more than okay, pretty boy,” he coos.
And maybe it’s fate that just as he begins to tilt his chin forward, Steve leans away. That there’s suddenly a space between them again.
Eddie instantly wants to backpedal, to ask what he did wrong, or maybe assure Steve that he wasn’t actually going to make a move, though it would be a lie.
His mind is wiped clean when a gentle sob soaks the air.
And when the night is new
I’ll be looking at the moon
