Eddie overhears his three new hellfire club members mention the words 'party' and 'Steve' in quick succession and takes it upon himself to listen in because if his lost sheep are going to a Harrington party he might have to go too. He's been before and seen how wild they get. It has nothing to do with the weed he has yet to sell this month that's burning a hole in his pocket, he's simply concerned for his young friends who still know barely anything about high school social dynamics.
So imagine his surprise when he turns up to the Harrington abode on a Saturday night to find it's just Steve there. He thinks maybe no one has arrived yet, so he rings the doorbell.
Steve answers in his pyjamas, his hair not styled like it typically is and gives Eddie a confused look. The overall effect is actually really cute and makes Steve look like a human and not some perfect, meticulously crafted robot for once and Eddie doesn't really know what to do with that thought so he parks it for now.
"Munson?" Steve questions. "What are you doing here man?" Something more like frustration clouds over his features. "Did Henderson put you up to this because if he's harrassing you to spend time with me like he's been harrassing me to hang out with you then I'm sorry about him. He gets really bullheaded when he thinks he's right about something. I'll have a word with him."
"No. No, Henderson did not put me up to this. Although you are right the kid can be... a lot." Eddie laughs. "I just overheard him mentioning something about you and a party and I thought I'd come check it out for old time's sake. But now I'm thinking the little shit was pranking me. Sorry to bother you."
"Oh." Realisation dawns on Steve's face. "No. It's totally cool. Henderson and the others call their group 'the party' sometimes. I can see where that misunderstanding would come from if they mentioned me in the same sentence."
"Right," Eddie nods, then a small teasing smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. "You know, I still find it so hard to believe that King Steve Harrington hangs out with a group of kids who are nerds. Did you get bored of your jock friends and decide to become a full time babysitter or something?"
Steve lets out a surprised laugh. "You'd be surprised how close that is to the truth." He relaxes into a casual lean against the door frame and crosses his arms. "So, you came prepared for a party," he says, mirth lighting up his eyes. "Does that mean you brought-"
"The goods?" Eddie finished. "Yep. Guilty as charged."
He lifts up a familiar black lunchbox and rattles it a little.
"Hmm," Steve responds. "I feel kind of bad you won't be making any sales now."
Eddie is oddly touched by the sentiment. "Don't sweat it, someone in this town is bound to want to get high soon enough. And I'll be ready to swoop in like their night in shining armour."
"Heroic," Steve grins. He looks deep in thought for a few moments then says, "How about this; I'll buy some weed and you can come in and smoke it with me? That way you didn't come all the way out here for nothing and I get to smoke. My best friend Robin, I love her like a sister, but if she saw me with a joint she'd probably snatch it out of my hand and throw it into the neighbour's yard."
"I'm a bit overdressed," Eddie points out.
"That's fine, you can borrow some stuff. I'm assuming you wont be driving home high, so just stay over."
Steve says it like it's simple, and he's so confident Eddie will agree that he's already walking back into his house and leaving the door open for Eddie to follow.
Eddie hesitates for under a minute before saying, "Fuck it, I've had weirder Saturday nights."
As he shuts the door behind him and starts taking his boots off, the smell of home cooking reaches his nose.
"I just finished making lasgna but I always make too much," Steve shouts from the direction of the kitchen. "You want some?"
Eddie appears in the doorway in time to see Steve take the most appetising lasagna his ever seen out of the oven.
"Uh yeah, of course I would. Are you kidding me? That smells amazing. All I've had today is coffee and the shitty gas station sandwiches. You're a lifesaver, Harrington."
Steve gives him a concerned look. "Eddie you need to eat properly. Please tell me that's not what you usually have in a day."
"Ok then I won't tell you."
Steve puts his hands on his hips and Eddie is reeling because Steve is a mom friend and that is just too sweet. He doesn't get how he could've been so wrong about him.
When the hellfire club shows up to their next session they're surprised to see Eddie eating home made sandwiches from a perfectly presented packed lunch. Then he shocks them even more when he puts it away and looks up at Dustin.
"Before I start, Henderson, Steve says if you want a lift to the arcade tomorrow you need to let him know where from and when by tonight or he's not doing it."
Dustin is stunned into silence for the first time since Eddie's met him but he can tell from the journey Dustin's facial expression is going through that it won't last long. It somehow settles on a strange mix of both excited and annoyed.
I think the thing I like most about Steddie is that Eddie looks like such a badass rebel with his leather jackets and rings and wild hair and Steve looks like he still says ‘H-E-Double Hockey Sticks’ and thinks baby carrots and ranch are the perfect snack.
But only one of them has killed multiple demonic creatures, undergone government torture, and bit the head off of a bat and it’s not Eddie.
Eddie grins as his players groan and reluctantly start to gather their things. There's a bit of chatter as they all start to clean up, and Eddie's ears hone in on Dustin as the kid says "At least Steve will be happy we're ending on time for once."
That makes Eddie pause and he looks over. "Steve? Steve who?"
"Uh, Harrington? He usually drives us home after D&D?" Dustin says like it's obvious, like Eddie is a moron who should just know that Steve Harrington doubles as a taxi service for a gaggle of nerdy teens.
Eddie doesn't focus on the attitude though, because his eyes snap to the container of cookies Claudia had sent with Dustin for the game. "You're not taking those in his car, are you?"
Dustin gives him a look, which is fair. "Why is everyone so concerned about me getting crumbs in Steve's precious car??"
Eddie scoffs and grabs the tupperware, pulling it closer. "These are peanut butter cookies, dipshit. Are you trying to send the guy to the hospital?"
"Steve's not allergic to peanut butter," Mike says, piping up from across the table. "He keeps some at his house."
Are these children insane??
"Uh, he definitely is. I've watched him swell up like a balloon more than once from just touching the stuff. Speaking of, all of you to the bathroom now, you gotta wash your hands before you get in that car."
The boys all grumble as they finish packing up, but relent as Eddie practically forces them to the restroom down the hall. He stands in the door and watches like they're five-year-olds who need supervision, and only lets them leave once he's satisfied.
Eddie leaves his own things for a few minutes as he follows the three teens out to Steve's car, and watches the other boy step out to greet them. "Pop the trunk, Harrington. The kids got grubby peanut butter fingers all over their shit."
Steve gives the boys a look and says "Are you guys serious? Do you want me to stop breathing while driving you home?"
Dustin makes a bewildered noise. "You've never said anything about an allergy before! And you have peanut butter at your house!"
"That's almond butter, dickhead!" Steve replies as he opens the trunk of his car so the backpacks can be tossed in. "All of you put your shit in the back. And don't touch anything!"
Eddie moves closer as Steve shakes his head in disbelief. "I made them all wash their hands, hopefully that helps. And I've confiscated the rest of the batch, so you won't have to worry about any stray crumbs."
Steve looks at him and Eddie's stomach flips at having those hazel eyes locked on him. "I'm surprised that none of these shits knew about my allergy, but you seem to know even though we've never really talked."
Shit.
Eddie shrugs, trying to be nonchalant. "Yeah, well. Watching someone go into anaphylactic shock multiple times in a year isn't really something you forget, Steve."
Steve flushes a bit at Eddie's words. "I like Reese's," he admits softly, like he's sharing a secret with Eddie. "And sometimes I don't think before I put something in my mouth."
It takes a moment for the words to register, but then they're both going red; Steve from horror and Eddie from absolute delight.
Eddie grins as Steve tries to stammer out some kind of explanation, but Eddie cuts him off with a "Don't worry, Harrington. I'm the last person to be judging what another man puts in his mouth."
He does a little flick of the tongue at the end, just for emphasis, and Steve's eyes snap down to it before going even further down, like he's thinking of something else he could have in his mouth.
Eddie is seconds away from saying fuck it and propositioning Steve against his better judgement, until Dustin snaps a "Hey! We gotta go! I can't be late for curfew."
Steve rolls his eyes before catching Eddie's gaze again. He gives him another quick once-over then says "See you around, Munson."
It almost feels like a promise, and Eddie grins. "I hope so, Harrington."
so what if one time while Dustin was staying back a bit late at hellfire to help clean up because his momma raised him right, he's about to leave when Eddie stops him,
"Hey, idiot don't forget your dice." and he tosses the pouch at Dustin, who barely catches it because he's an unathletic loser. He scoffs and smiles anyway, "Thanks dad."
Before Eddie can process that, Dustin walks out, completely oblivious to the fact that he'd even said the D-word. Eddie stands there for way longer than he should, circling through pride, affection, and offense because he is NOT old enough to be a father!
A few weeks go by, Eddie pretty much forgets about it and chooses not to bring it up, because despite what everyone thinks, he isn't the biggest douchebag in the word. (He still is one of course but not the biggest!) Eddie forgets about it until another hellfire session is over, but Dustin took a little too long, and Steve Harrington comes marching into the school.
"Dude, I told you to be quick today! I promised Max and Lucas I'd take them to the movies!" The perfectly styled brunette started to scold, Eddie found himself a little hot under the collar as he glanced between Dustin and his much taller, much more attractive friend.
Dustin rolled his eyes, "Okay, okay, jesus, you're such a nag, mom." He added the "mom" mockingly, Harrington didn't even bristle. "I'm flattered to be compared to your mother, now move your ass." He demanded, dragging Dustin away by his bag.
Eddie was once again, stuck standing there for a little longer than he should've, before his feet were suddenly moving and he burst into the parking lot and luckily, somehow, Harrington and Dustin weren't in their cars yet.
"Henderson called me dad once!" He shouted over at them, a little out of breath. "If you're his mother I think I owe you a date! Or at least child support!" He called, giving Harrington a sharp grin even though a part of him was horrified at his own actions.
Dustin looked ten times more horrified than Eddie felt, but Steve just turned, glanced Eddie over, and paused. "That can be arranged." He smirked a little before getting in his car, Dustin followed, and even over the engine starting Eddie could hear the kid screeching about dignity or something.
They drove away but Eddie's heart was pounding louder than them turning out of the parking lot.
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.
what if: high school steddie, where Eddie is all too aware of the social hierarchy of Hawkins High and his standing in it—the lowest of the low—versus a Steve who either doesn't know or doesn't care.
Eddie knows he's at the bottom of the food chain. Knows he's the first to eat shit when some jocks are hungering for some violence. Knows he's about as good as the dirt on their shoes, as far as they're concerned.
And at the top of that mountain, just about the other side of the world, really, is Steve Harrington. Steve "The Hair" Harrington. King Steve. Double Team Captain. Mister Harrington Charm.
They shouldn't EVER interact. It's against the laws of nature, or some shit, Eddie's sure.
Which is probably why it seems like the world's imploding when Steve "The Hair" Harrington—Mister Harrington Charm, Double Team Captain, whatever the fuck else Gareth has on his endless list—asks him to prom.
It's probably a good thing they're alone, in the middle of the woods, on opposite sides of Eddie's favorite deal-making table, so no one's around to hear him yell, "What the fuck?"
It echoes around the woods anyways, maybe louder than he meant to be, which is good, because it's definitely a 'what the fuck' moment.
They've literally never spoken before. Actually, they've done less than spoken—they could live on opposite poles of the Earth, for all the interaction they've had. They don't share any classes. Hell, they don't even see each other in the halls.
And now Steve Harrington is staring at him like he's actually waiting for an answer.
Again: What the fuck?
A record scratches in his brain and yup, there’s Harrington’s voice again, smarmy little smile on his face, asking: “Will you go to prom with me?”
As in, Steve Harrington just asked, in this existence, in this reality, on this planet, for Eddie Munson to go to Hawkins High Senior Prom with him. For real.
For real?
No. No way.
Harrington’s joking, Eddie knows. Figures the day’d come he decides torturing Eddie is just as much fun as the rest of his shit-jock cronies made it out to be.
And then, suddenly, Eddie knows what it is. Has seen enough of those terrible movies on early-morning TV with Wayne. Has seen the same damn plot enough times to smell it coming from a mile away.
“You know what,” he says, leaning into Harrington’s space, too close, brimming with irritation and a disgusting desire to one-up the smug, cocky bastard, “You get me a bouquet of roses as black as your twisted, festering soul, and I’ll wear a pretty little dress for you, too.”
Harrington’s frown makes anger tighten Eddie’s jaw. “Do roses… grow in black?”
“I guess that’s for you to find out and for me to know, Harrington,” Eddie sneers. He gets up, snatches his lunchbox, and stalks back through the trees to school.
He throws a “fuck you” over his shoulder when Harrington calls out “Benny’s at six?” but doesn’t turn around because the last thing he needs is to eat shit tripping over a goddamn branch. As it is, he’s already waiting for any of Harrington’s little friends to appear out of the shadows and jump him. That’s how it goes, right?
Only, it doesn’t.
There’s no swirlies, no shoving into lockers, no missing clothes after gym, no brutal beatdown on late days after Hellfire. Eddie’s almost worried the meatheads have had too many concussions and forgot he was next on the hit list.
And then he realizes—oh. Oh no. They’re waiting for prom. Actual prom night to fucking flay him open on stage in front of the whole school or something equally psychotic. Drown him in the punch. Stomp him to death on the dance floor.
Clearly, they HAVE had too many concussions if they think Eddie would EVER show his face there. Fuck Harrington, and fuck his minions. Like Eddie’d make it that easy for them.
Except, in the days leading up to prom, weird things keep happening. And Eddie doesn’t know what to think about it.
There’s pudding at his spot at the head of the table. Once a week, because the cafeteria only has pudding once a week. Eddie loves cafeteria pudding.
Steve Harrington grins at him from across the goddamn cafeteria and Eddie’s gut curdles.
One of the Hellfire posters he puts up monthly (and is always shredded by first period’s end) is still up a week later. Sure, torn and taped back together, but it’s not slush in a toilet, either.
Steve Harrington tells him that he looks nice when he finds him smoking just outside the school, and Eddie’s skin itches like he needs to tear it off.
There’s a flower on the driver’s seat of his van the day he forgets to close the window all the way, a day-old daisy with the petals stained a dark blue, the yellow center dulled.
Steve Harrington says he’s got a nice voice and he’s really good at playing the guitar and Eddie wonders how the hell he knows that.
One day, Harrington drops down to sit on the curb next to him, in the parking lot of the shitty little convenience store that’s a five-minute walk from the trailer park. He passes over a pack of his fancy smokes and nabs one of Eddie’s cheap beers so they can drink and smoke together and neither of them say anything. Eddie wants to say it’s because he doesn’t want Harrington to realize exactly what he’s done and get his shit beer cans crushed over his head, but in truth, it’s because he can’t get a damn read on the guy.
Another, Harrington and Hargrove both come to school looking like they’ve been run over, then backed up over, and then run over again for good measure. Hargrove doesn’t haggle him for weed again, and Harrington still smiles at him from across the cafeteria like the pull of his cheek doesn’t make his broken nose and black eye smart.
Again: What the fuck?
He asks the guys. “What the hell is going on with Harrington?”
He doesn’t like how they look at him, mouths twisted and uncomfortable and unsure.
“Heard he and Hagan beat the shit out of each other a while ago. Haven’t talked since.”
Hagan. Not Hargrove. A while ago.
“Ditched Carol P. and Stacy C., too.”
…
What the fuck?
…
The day of prom comes. Vaguely, Eddie remembers: Benny’s at six. Yeah-fucking-right.
He doesn’t go. Doesn’t have a suit, anyway, and wouldn’t have gone even if he did. Obviously. He might be stupid, repeating senior year, but he’s not THAT stupid.
An hour later, the phone in the trailer rings. When he picks up, Gareth is on the other end of the line. Distantly, Eddie can hear the shitty pop that makes up the school’s prom mixtape.
“What’d Harrington’s face look like?” he asks. “Was he pissed?”
“He didn’t show,” Gareth admits. “I dunno, man, maybe he was being serious.”
Eddie’s laugh probably pisses off half the trailer park. He can’t hear Gareth’s through the phone. “Are you kidding me?”
“Don’t kill the messenger.”
“Messenger might get me killed,” Eddie bites back, and then he hangs up. He hopes the punch is spiked and Gareth gets so drunk he falls asleep in a bush.
He grabs his keys off his nightstand and the trailer door slams behind him when he leaves.
Outside Benny’s diner is dark, shadows over the parking lot, but Harrington’s beamer is still there, clear as day. Maroon and hideous. God-fucking-damnit.
Harrington is in the driver’s seat, arms crossed over his chest as his head lolls back against his seat, half-asleep and definitely getting there. He’s wearing a nice shirt and nice pants and his tie goes flying like a whip across his cheek when Eddie knocks his fist against the roof of the car.
“The hell’s your damage, Harrington?” He barks, before the guy can even get his bearings.
Harrington fumbles, flailing limbs punch a short blare out of his horn, and his tie ends up over his shoulder.
“Eddie, hi. Hi, Eddie.” There’s drool at the corner of his mouth. Eddie’s lips curl.
“What the hell are you doing?” he snaps again. Harrington’s window is half-down—he can definitely hear him.
“Um.” Harrington looks sheepish, now, doesn’t know what to do with his hands. “It was—Benny’s at seven. I was waiting for you. Didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
Eddie’s jaw tightens.
“It was Benny’s at seven, right? I thought it was Benny’s at six, at first, but I can’t really keep dates straight up here, anymore,” he knocks against his head with a knuckle, “All the pointless melon-splits of American sports, or whatever.”
Vaguely, Eddie remembers a long-winded rant on the top of a cafeteria table about the same subject.
“It was at six,” he acknowledges. “I didn’t bother showing up.”
“Oh.” Harrington’s eyes drop, take in his pajama pants and his threadbare tee. “But you did. Now.”
“Yeah, well.” Eddie turns the words over. “Call it a lapse of judgment.”
Harrington nods. He’s not looking at Eddie anymore. It sours something in his gut that he doesn’t acknowledge.
Eddie looks past him. In the passenger seat, a bouquet.
Of black roses.
Harrington’s fingertips are stained a shade darker, black stuck underneath his nails.
What the actual fuck.
“What the hell was your plan here, Harrington?”
Harrington blinks up at him with those stupid big eyes that Eddie definitely, absolutely hates.
“Dinner, and then, you know, prom? Isn’t that how is usually goes?” He asks, like Eddie would have any fucking clue.
Eddie grinds his teeth. “You realize you’ve wasted your only senior prom on this dumb joke, right? And I didn’t even fall for it? Way to have your priorities in order, King Steve.”
Harrington’s face scrunches. Eddie bites his tongue.
“I’ve had the misfortune of having two, and I didn’t subject myself to either. So you can cut the shit—”
“Wait, hold on,” Harrington cuts him off. “It wasn’t—what joke, Eddie?”
Oh. Oh no. If Gareth’s right, he’s gonna have to throw himself from the quarry cliffs.
“You know,” he spits, like it doesn’t affect him, that every last goddamn person in fucking Hawkins sees him as a freak, like a bug to torture and then squash, “Lure me to prom. Dump a bucket of pig’s blood over my head or however that movie goes.”
Harrington—Harrington looks horrified.
Well. The quarry’s always empty at seven in the evening.
“Even I’m not that dumb, man.” He ignores how the words come out, slower, an edge of uncertainty.
“That’s fucked up,” Harrington whispers, “There’s a movie like that? I wouldn’t—that’s not what I—”
“Yeah, I think I’m starting to get that.”
Harrington’s jaw shuts with a click, and they’re both quiet for a minute. And then, like a curse he doesn’t want to say aloud lest he bring it to life, Eddie asks, “That was you, wasn’t it? With the pudding and the posters and the flowers.”
“I broke Tommy’s nose when I caught him trying to let the air outta your tires, too,” he says, hollowly, like it doesn’t matter anymore.
Fuck.
There’s no one in the parking lot, and Eddie tells himself its the only reason he rounds the car and drops into the passenger side seat. The flowers are saved by Harrington’s quick reflexes, and Eddie kind of wants to curse him out for having his doors unlocked.
“Okay.” He hypes himself up like he’s seen Harrington do in PE, a quick breath in and out. “I didn’t know you were being serious. I thought it was just a dumb joke.”
“Yeah, I got that part.”
He twists his fingers together. “Those were for me, right?”
Harrington hums. Hands them over. “Kinda makes it worse, but sure. Yeah, they were for you.”
“Worse?”
Harrington laughs, scrubs a hand over his face. “I thought it’d be funny. You said you’d wear a dress if I got you black flowers, but I—I didn’t mean it that way. I just wanted to get you flowers you’d like.”
Fuck. Eddie does remember that, now.
The stems are still thorny and prick at his fingers when he hold them. He likes them better that way.
“You’ve been… practicing these,” he realizes. Remembers the little blue daisy.
“First ones came out a really gross kind of green,” Steve admits.
God fucking damn it.
“I don’t do prom,” Eddie says.
“Yeah, I figured that one out,” Steve replies. Dry. Still isn’t looking over at Eddie.
“No, I mean—I wouldn’t have gone even if I’d thought you were being honest from the get-go. I don’t DO prom. It’s the death of counter-culture and individuality.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“What I’m saying is,” he takes a deep breath, a little part of him still praying Steve won’t punch his damn lights out, “I’m not gonna go to prom. Ever. That’s an invitation to douchebags like Hargrove and Hagan to split my skull open on the gym floor. I don’t want my last breath to be weeks-old jock socks.”
He ducks, tries to catch Steve’s gaze. Doesn’t manage. He ends up pressed against the dashboard like a moron.
“But there’s this bar I go to,” he continues, “It doesn’t really check ID. I think they’d go out of business if they did. They let us play on Tuesdays.”
“I know.”
He knows? Jesus fucking Christ. Maybe Eddie needs to buy the flowers. About six dozen. Fuck him.
His leg jostles, knocks against Steve’s door. He finally looks up.
“That’s more my speed,” he admits, in a big rush. “It’s… probably better than prom as a first date, anyways.”
Steve’s eyebrows jump up into that famous hair, perfectly styled. Eddie’s is a mane of despair and hopelessness, wilder than a tornado.
“Really?” he asks, like Eddie didn’t just say he’d thought he was a piece of shit in seven different ways. “That’s—you’d—really?”
“I mean, not right now,” Eddie scoffs, and Steve’s face drops. He hurries to amend, “I’m not really dressed for the occasion. But maybe, like… tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow,” Steve repeats, and Eddie flushes. “That’s soon.”
“Or never,” he snaps, because he’s a goddamn moron, “That works too.”
Steve’s grin splits his face and Eddie has to look back at the flowers in his lap. “Tomorrow’s good,” he agrees, too easy.
“Yeah, well,” he mutters, kicks the door open, probably leaves a scuff, but Steve doesn’t say a word. “Better be.”
Steve’s still grinning as he gets out of the car, slams the door closed, rounds the side again. He’s not scared of a gaggle of dipshits ready to jump him because they’re not there. And he’s got a bouquet of black roses pressed to his chest.
“See you then, Eddie,” Steve chirps, as Eddie climbs back into his own van, and Eddie—Eddie has to hide his smile behind a curtain of hair as he throws the piece of shit into reverse and backs out of Benny’s diner.
…
He leaves the flowers on their tiny kitchen counter and the next morning, Wayne’s put them in a vase Eddie didn’t know they had, with water and that weird flower-food crap and everything.
Eddie knew Steve didn't mean anything by it. He had personally been on the defensive side of an argument with Dustin, and he knew how hellish it could get.
The kid was relentless, and sometimes you just wanted to get it over with.
So when Dustin kept grilling Steve about his relationship with Robin and how there was no way they didn't have sexual tension between them, Eddie already knew it would take a lot to convince the kid otherwise.
And there was no way Steve would spill Robin's secret about her sexuality just to prove a point. He wasn't an asshole.
"Dustin, I'm telling you. Robin and I are basically fraternal twins. There's nothing–"
"Steve Harrington, don't lie to me! You were the biggest womanizer ever, and you're telling me you have sleepovers with a girl and nothing happens? I'm not an idiot!"
Steve muttered under his breath, "sometimes that's exactly what you are," which got a snicker out of Eddie, reminding the two of them that he was still there.
They were supposed to be watching a movie, but then Dustin just couldn't let it go.
"I promise you, there isn't any kind of sexual tension between Robin and me. Never was and never will be."
"I don't believe it!"
"You don't have to," Steve said exasperated, running a hand on his face in that cute way Eddie was secretly so fond of. "I probably have more sexual tension with Eddie than with Robin. Right, man?"
Eddie felt his eyes almost bugging out of his face.
"W-what?"
Now, both Dustin and Steve were looking at him, but Steve had this mischievous expression on his face.
"Yeah, say, if I were to do this," Steve said, moving on the couch. They were at the Harringtons', and their furniture was way too big for a family of three, which meant Eddie was always sprawled out on the couch, enjoying the free space.
But now Steve fucking Harrington was crawling up to him on all fours, and he was basically straddling Eddie's body so he could get really up close and personal with him.
"You're an asshole," Dustin said, and just like that, Steve had won the argument. Because he had done something so ridiculous, Dustin didn't have a choice but to drop the whole thing.
The problem was... Steve didn't look like he was dropping it.
He was currently hovering over Eddie, his face mere inches from Eddie's face.
And maybe Steve was just fucking with him. Doing a bit. Because one minute he was looking Eddie in the eye, and the next he glanced down, right at Eddie's mouth.
The bastard even licked his lips before looking back up, and Eddie felt his whole face warming up.
What the fuck.
"Gross. You've made your point, Steve. Let's just watch the movie," Dustin groaned from his side of the couch.
Steve smiled, clearly pleased with himself, and leaned in to peck Eddie's cheek. Eddie couldn't contain a pathetic little whine, low enough that maybe Dustin hadn't heard, but from the look in Steve's eyes, he had.
And much to Eddie's disappointment, Steve retreated, sitting back on the couch and leaving Eddie and his desperate reminder that he had been pining over Steve Harrington for an entire year by now.
And now, even though Steve meant nothing by it, Eddie couldn't shake the feeling of having Steve on top of him, and how all he wanted to do was to kiss the fuck out of him.
