Jeff can’t put his finger on it, but something’s wrong with him.
He’s never the first one to arrive for band practice, let alone early. But here he was in the garage tuning his guitar.
Jeff is watching from across the room. He’s punctual. He’s been playing his music at a lower volume. He hasn’t killed anyone’s character out of spite in at least a month. And Mike actually deserved it last week.
Jeff even heard him make comments about the cubs/cardinals game to Wayne in passing.
And there’s something wrong with Eddie’s hair.
It’s not frizzy like it normally is. It looked … soft. Defined. Conditioned —
“You’re sleeping with Steve Harrington!” Jeff snapped, pointing accusingly to Eddie.
Eddie’s face dropped.
His eyes darted between their friends — when did the other guys get here?
For a moment Jeff felt bad blurting it out, catching the fear in Eddie’s eyes. But just like everything else Eddie has faced, he’s replaced the fear with confidence.
Eddie’s eyes narrowed angrily at Jeff. “So what if I am?”
Jeff shrugged, plucking at his strings. “Good for you, man. Just hit me, that’s all.”
That made Eddie physically stumble. Like he wasn’t expecting that. “What?”
“You’ve been different,” Jeff said. “Not in a bad way. Good actually. Just — made me realize it.”
The garage was silent. As if everyone was afraid to make a move.
“Is there — is there gonna be a problem?” Eddie asked, all bravo drained from his voice.
“Nope,” Jeff said. “Like that we’re not waiting on you. Bring him by sometime.”
Eddie stood still, still trying to process everything.
“How did — how did you know?”
Jeff pointed to his own curls. “Your hair. Looks nice. Figured Steve washed it, huh?”
Eddie blushed, pulling a strand over his face. There was a mumbled of a ‘yeah.’
Gareth scoffed. Eddie’s glare quickly went to him. Gareth threw his hands up defensively. “No, it’s just that if anyone can take that mane of yours, it’s Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington.”
Eddie let out a laugh. “Whatever. Just play, bozos.”
Yeah, something’s different about Eddie.
He’s happier than he’s been in years. And Steve Harrington is to thank for that.
Prompt: Steve joins corroded coffin and fans speculate the hell out of him and Eddie bc they’re always in each others space on stage doing suggestive shit. Eddie even licks him on multiple occasions and Steve never protests, always grinning about it.
Eventually they finally kiss on stage and the crowd goes wild, but not as wild as that one time Steve pulled Eddies head back by the hair and bit his neck
Steddie AU where everything actually goes right, Eddie lives, and Steve an Eddie eventually get married. Eddie and his band, Corroded Coffin make a break and quickly become one of the most successful metal bands and taking over the US.
Steve goes on tour with Eddie and his band, showing up at every single concert. He visits Hawkins a lot though, so he can keep in contact with Dustin and the rest of his not-so-legally-adopted-kids.
During one Corroded Coffins hiatus, Steve goes back to Hawkins for a few months or so. While he’s there, he volunteers to be a PE coach at Hawkins High School and/or middle school. When he’s there as a teacher, he notices one kid at the school that doesn’t seem to have a lot of friends and gets picked on for being a ‘freak’
Steve tries to get closer to this kid and through a conversation finds out that the kid’s favorite band is Corroded Coffin. Steve immediately calls Eddie and fills him in on the situation. Eddies is like ‘oh hell NO’ and calls the rest of his band to Hawkins.
Steve, with much pushback, convinces the kid to come meet him at school a bit earlier. The kid comes to Steve’s classroom and is met with their all time favorite band. Eddie and his friends are super ecstatic to meet the kid and they go on for a good 2 hours about different bands, music, dnd, being the ‘weirdo’ and otherwise nerdy things. At the end, Eddie gives the kid one of his guitar picks and VIP Tickets to their next concert.
When Eddie and the rest of his band eventually have to leave, Steve is tackled into the tightest hug ever by the kid. Steve is so fucking happy he made a difference in this kids life and the kid forever went to Steve’s room whenever Steve was around.
The kid went to the show, everything was paid for him already by the band (transportation, food, housing, etc.) and the kid comes back to school in a brand new Corroded Coffin shirt and other merch.
Some other weird kids notice this, and when Steve comes back to Hawkins, the kid now has a new friend group and Steve is regarded as a god amongst the nerds.
Modern Steddie where the Corroded Coffin boys are protective as fuck and pretend to be Eddie's boyfriends whenever they notice some creep making unsolicited advances during their gigs.
This has always been a thing, but they get even more protective after a guy corners Eddie in the bar bathroom and gets way too handsy with their vocalist.
One night, they are playing their usual Friday gig when Eddie catches sight of a pretty guy giving him this awed, hungry gaze. His interest is picked instantly.
They play for an hour more, Eddie makes sure to use all his seductive moves when he's singing and playing. The guy doesn't take his eyes off him for a second.
When the show is over, they pack their things quickly, load everything in the van, then come back for a couple of drinks.
Eddie makes a beeline to the bar and, unsurprisingly, pretty boy is by his side in a second.
And so is Gareth.
The man doesn't even have a chance to say a single word before Gareth is draping his arm over Eddie's shoulder and saying, "Sorry, pretty boy, this one here is taken."
It breaks Eddie's heart how sad the man actually looks. He just mumbles a small, "I'm sorry, my mistake." Before he sidesteps the two of them and leaves, like a kicked puppy.
Eddie panics. He shoves Gareth's arm off him and sprints after the man, a confused exclamation leaving his friend but Eddie ignores him.
He catches up with the guy just as he's reaching the restroom.
"Hey, hey, wait!" The man turns, pretty hazel eyes large with shock as he takes Eddie in. "Please, ignore what just happened, my friend was just being protective."
"Your friend? He's not your boyfriend then?"
"Oh god, no. Gareth is as straight as they come, no way. But he does that when he thinks some creep is trying to hit on me."
"Creep?"
"Not you! You're not a creep! Gareth is just an idiot! Oh my god, I'm sorry."
The man laughs; this pretty little thing that's a mix of a snort and a giggle and Eddie can't help but stare at those pink lips.
"Can we please start over?" he asks with a sigh. "I'm Eddie."
"Pleasure to meet you, Eddie. I'm Steve." They clasp hands and Eddie swears he can feel too the shiver that runs down the man's body. "Can I buy you a drink? Or are your friends gonna try to hunt me down if I do?"
"You can buy me anything you want, baby. Be my guest."
The smile he gets is blinding and beautiful and Eddie almost melts right there and then.
"Maybe you should get these guys to do the music for your free program," Dustin says.
"Huh?" Steve's foam rolling his calves, attention all on his sore muscles.
"Corroded Coffin," Dustin practically yells over the music. "For your freestyle!"
"Yeah, right." Steve snorts. "Like they'd want to do music for a figure skater."
"Why not?"
Steve gives him a deadpan stare as heavy bass and drums vibrate his portable speaker.
"It's worth a try!"
"Is it?" Steve goes back to rolling his muscles.
The music stops. "I think so. You wanted something different, right?"
"Okay, one, skating's changed, but not that much. Two, why would they want to?"
"Uh, because you're trying to head back to the Olympics after--"
"So, they'd help me out of pity?"
Dustin rolls his eyes. "Uh, because it's a feel-good, heartwarming story?"
"Haven't noticed them really being a feel-good, heartwarming band."
"Which is why you need it."
"Dustin--"
"Steve, it's February! You're running out of time."
"Dustin--" He swallows back his anger, swipes a hand through his hair. He knows the kid is just trying to help. "I'll think about it, okay?"
"You better."
He excuses himself to the locker room, even though his day is just getting started. Corroded Coffin would be different. It would be fun. He would like it. And isn't the whole reason he came back to have fun? To like it?
Before he goes back to the weight room, he opens Instagram, sends a quick DM to Corroded Coffin's band account.
---
It's Eddie's turn to go through the DMs that Chrissy thinks are important. It's the usual interview requests and publicist reach outs and other verified accounts they don't know. There's one guy he doesn't even recognize, and he absolutely would remember him because this dude is gorgeous.
KingSteve317: You guys wouldn't happen to have any interest in helping a figure skater (me) with some competition music, would you?
He snorts hard enough to make himself cough.
CorrodedCoffin4u: No
And that's that. Or it should be. But he's still chuckling when Jeff, Gareth, and Freak walk into his living room.
"What's funny?" Jeff asks.
"Some figure skater asked us for music for...whatever they do."
"They figure skate, Eddie." Freak says. "Who was it?"
"Uhh, some guy?"
"Give me that." Gareth snatches the phone from his hand. "Some guy?"
"Yeah?"
"STEVE HARRINGTON dm's us and you call him some guy???"
Jeff and Freak start yelling, and his eyes dart between his irate bandmates, cause what the fuck is going on?
He uncurls from the couch, hopping onto the coffee table with a bang. "You can't be mad at me if I have no fucking clue who this guy is!"
"How can you not know?" Chrissy breezes in with a takeout tray of coffees.
"You know him?"
"Uh, duh. He was only, like, the biggest figure skater in the world."
"Didn't you look him up?" Freak asks.
"Literally, why would I do that?"
Gareth and Chrissy facepalm with matching groans.
"You can't seriously want to help him with music for his skater--thingy?"
"You're hopeless," Jeff says. Which Eddie thinks is very unfair. How's he supposed to know one random figure skater? This is not common knowledge, he refuses to believe it.
"Whatever." He hops off the coffee table. "We have real band business to discuss."
---
Eddie's probably cursed, is the thing. He hasn't stopped thinking about stupid figure skating Steve Harrington since he read that dm.
And he can't sleep, insomnia his only repeat nightly visitor, and all the lyrics he's written in the notebook beside him are garbage, so it's not like it's really his fault when he grabs his phone and opens Harrington's Instagram.
He's beautiful, there's no denying it. Like, Eddie has eyes. The shirtless pics alone are enough to leave him panting like some horny cartoon character. But he can't compromise his integrity for a piece of ass, even a perfect one.
He watches Steve on the ice, spinning and jumping. Steve lifting weights in a sweaty tank top that reveals just enough chest hair to make Eddie forget how to think. Steve with his friends. Steve coaching a group of delightfully mouthy teenagers. And sometimes, sometimes, he'll be in what looks like a hotel room, in bed, and his hair is soft around his forehead and he wears these round tortoiseshell glasses, and it activate something deep in Eddie's brain that wants to claim.
It's 4am when he Googles. When he learns that Steve Harrington was the gold medal favorite at the last Olympics. He was sixteen and a prodigy and untouchable, with an attitude to match. He was sixteen, at the Olympics, talking shit and swaggering through interviews. He was sixteen when he performed his short program and fell on every jump. He was sixteen when he didn't even make the podium, not even close, finishing 15th.
When the games were over, he disappeared. Social media dormant, interviews non-existent. He never retired but the figure skating world assumed he was done. Until he resurfaced a year ago.
Steve did a couple of interviews, and he's fully a different person. Calm, poised, quietly confident. Everyone asks about the Olympics, that short program, and he talks about feeling like he had something to prove, the pressure, and right when he stepped out on the ice, right when it mattered most, he buckled.
And it's 5am, right? Eddie hasn't slept, but he opens the band's Instagram and finds the conversation with Steve.
CorrodedCoffin4u: You still want to use our music?
He's not expecting an answer, it's early, but his phone vibrates almost instantly.
KingStever317: Not anymore
He barks a laugh, starts typing.
CorrodedCoffin4u: I'm sorry about before
KingSteve317: Oh, now an apology. Do you talk to all your fans like that?
He can't help but grin. Steve Harrington is really something.
CorrodedCoffin4u: Depends on how nicely they ask
CorrodedCoffin4u: I shouldn't have been a dick before. But we'd like to help
KingSteve317: So, you Googled me and this is pity?
"Ugh, fuck." Eddie buries his face in his hands.
CorrodedCoffin4u: Not pity. Thought more about it, seems cool.
KingSteve317: You're a real asshole, you know?
CorrodedCoffin4u: So I've been told
KingSteve317: You're in LA? I'll be in town next week. Let me know when we can meet up
His sigh of relief is so hard that it makes his bangs flutter.
---
"Oh my god, stop fidgeting." Robin swats at his hands as he tugs at the hem of his polo.
"I'm rethinking the shirt."
"Too late, bud. I told you not to wear it."
"I wanted to look pro--"
"Do not say professional to me right now, you are a figure skater."
"So, I can't look professional?"
"To meet a heavy metal band?"
"For business!"
She mutters something under her breath.
"What was that?"
"Nothing." She grins. "You look very handsome."
"Shut-up," he sighs. He tugs at his shirt and she smacks his hands again.
"Steve Harrington, right on time," a voice calls and his attention pops towards the sounds.
Striding towards them is none other than Eddie Munson and Steve honest-to-god stops breathing. He's so--well. Breathtaking. Steve thinks about simply passing out at the proximity, but Eddie reaches to shake hands and his muscle memory takes over. He says words that he won't ever remember, and then Eddie is ushering them into the band's practice space.
Eddie introduces them to the rest of Corroded Coffin, and they make small talk, and it's all easy. As comfortable as meeting the biggest band in the world could be. Sometimes his gaze will fall on Eddie, and their eyes will meet and Eddie will smile, and then Steve will smile, and the conversation stumbles to a halt, and Steve can't even be embarrassed. Not when Eddie grins like that, not when those molasses dark eyes sparkle like that.
Eventually, though, the Corroded guys stand and head over to where their gear is setup. Eddie slips the guitar strap across his chest, messes with the frets, fingers fiddling with the strings. It's the first time he's seemed nervous, but then, that's ridiculous. Who is Steve to make a guy who sells out stadiums across the world nervous?
"Okay, so." Eddie licks his lips, taps a fingernail against the guitar's body. "We just sort of whipped this one up. It's totally cool if you had something else in mind, but--"
"Eddie, start the song," Freak complains from behind the drums.
He starts playing but the others don't join in. It's only him and his guitar and his voice, raspy and uncharacteristically soft. The rest come in, slow, one at a time, the song building, and he's transfixed. The lyrics grab him I know you want me to be perfect; I can't be perfect all the time; and when will the best I can do be enough for you and will you still be here when I can't perform; when the spotlight's gone?
It doesn't start out as a typical Corroded Coffin song, but at the half-way point, Eddie screams it to life. It's hard, fast, demanding, sure of itself. Robin keeps nudging him, but he's lost in it, goosebumps rising on his neck.
The song ends and he's out of his seat. "That's it, that's perfect." He can hardly stand still, has the unhinged impulse to throw himself into Eddie's arms and vomit every feeling he's ever had onto a rock band he barely knows.
It shouldn't be this easy. Shouldn't be this perfect. And yet--
He and Robin walk back into the still bright sun, and he can only look at her and smile, shake his head. There aren't enough words.
---
Corroded Coffin records the song and sends it to Steve. He, in turn, sends them videos of him practicing. Eddie can't stop watching them, the way Steve and his team translate the song he wrote into movement.
He also can't stop thinking about Steve, or watching his Instagram. He posts trainings and workouts, of course, but there's a bunch of him goofing off with Robin and those kids he coaches. They're silly and funny and, throughout it all, Steve is happy and free and so, so beautiful.
Life goes on, writing music, working in the studio, and then he gets a text from a number he doesn't know, a link to tickets to some figure skating competition called the Cranberry Cup and a message reading, "will you come?"
This can only be one person, and his heart is beating out of his chest. "Wouldn't miss it for the world" he responds.
The typing bubbles pop up and disappear, pop up and disappear, and then a new message, "I really want to see you. If that's okay"
"More than okay, sweetheart," he responds. He resists the impulse to scream into the pillow next to him. It can't be real life that Steve wants him just as bad. It can't be real life that Eddie wants to hangup his rockstar lifestyle for a figure skater.
He's late, the day of the event, and it kills him to miss wishing Steve good luck in person, to miss the short programs. But he's ready and seated--to much fanfare and delight from the crowd--when it comes time for the free skates.
As soon as Steve hits the ice, Eddie stops breathing. He's seen the program before, the costume, but it's totally different in real life, has him pressing his knuckles to his lips to not shout something embarrassing at the guy he's head over heels for.
The music starts and the crowd mutes, like someone hit a button. They all watch Steve skate, spin, twirl, hit a triple axle triple toe combo, hypnotized. The song builds and the crowd's energy with it. Everyone is clapping to the beat, cheering, something electric building between them and Steve. It's wild, euphoric, and Eddie is so, so in love.
Steve comes in second, but that doesn't seem to register. He won in everyone's hearts.
It takes a while for Eddie to make his way down to the main concourse, and he should've known that the song would cause an uproar. He's stopping for pictures when he gets a text from Steve, "will be with media for a while. Find me after?" And he should have anticipated that too.
Finally, though, finally, he reaches the empty locker room, pushes open the door, and there's Steve, hair wet from a shower, shirt half-unbuttoned, and he's rushing towards Eddie.
It's nothing to wrap Steve in his arms, sweep him up tight. Murmur, "you were amazing out there," into the strands of his clean hair.
"I'm so glad you could make it." Steve's hands clutch into the black fabric of Eddie's sweater.
"I'm so sorry I was late. I wanted to--"
Steve laughs. "Why are you apologizing? You're here now."
"I wanted to see you." The simplest answer in the world.
"Eddie," Steve says, voice ragged.
"Yeah, sweetheart?"
And Steve's looking at him with those eyes, big and doe-wide and beautiful. Without thought, his hand slips into Steve's chestnut hair, and he brings their mouths together. It's sweet and desperate and Eddie is certain he could die a blissful death right here, with the taste of Steve Harrington on his lips.
Steve breaks the kiss slow, pressing their foreheads together.
"Eddie, I can't." Steve says between panted breaths. "I've gotta focus on training, the Olympics....nationals are only a few months away, and I can't--"
"I know, I know." Eddie doesn't let him go on. "Can I wait for you? I haven't been able to stop thinking about you, and--can I, Steve? Wait? I will. For as long as you'll have me."
"I can't ask--"
"You wouldn't have to. I'm yours, sweetheart. Have been since I answered your dm."
Steve grins, bashful, delighted. "You're such an asshole."
"I know," Eddie smiles back.
"I'll understand if you can't--it's a lot to ask someone to wait for, this life."
