Chapter Text
Steve was drunk. He was that kind of drunk that he hated and loved all at once. While his feet were hitting the pavement, it was as if the oceans rolling waves were crashing onto his neck and drizzling down his shoulders. Steve had only been to the ocean a few times in his life, yet when he was drunk, he searched for it in everything. His sober mind told him there was no sea in Indiana, but the expensive liquor from his parents' cabinet told him otherwise.
His mouth felt like it was coated in a waxy film, it tasted like citrus and pennies. Steve stood for a moment, and swished his head around multiple times as he staggered. He swore he could hear it- he could hear the rushing waves behind his ears. He grinned and tried to make out which direction the sea was hiding. He spun like a carousel in the road for longer than he meant to, and finally his legs gave up on him, thus he collapsed into a messy heap on the pavement. Steve started to laugh, but there were tears in his eyes. He wasn't sure what day it was or where he was anymore. It was the third time in a month he had been drunk like that. So plastered he couldn't tell his left foot from his right.
He was running for the sea, he heard it, he needed it. The salt, the stupid waves and the sand that got everywhere. Steve's laughs just turned to sobs in the road, and he held his hands over his face. It was a cold autumn evening in Hawkins, Steve would have to find his way to some sort of shelter again before he froze to death. He couldn't will his numb feet to stand or lift his arm much above three inches from the ground. Maybe this was the time he really overdid it. Where he drank his problems away so much they were all going to go disappear overnight. None of his friends would even know what happened, and maybe that was for the best. He'd been pulling away from Robin in the last two months, avoiding the kids too. They all seemed to get better, to fall back into a normal life.
Steve tried that- he really did. He tried to be normal. He went to work, hung out with his friends, he pushed down all the shit He'd been through just like before. Steve hit the ground weakly with his fist in frustration. Nancy went to college, Robin was still Robin, the kids stopped needing him for various trips around town and school projects, even his damn parents weren't there- though that was nothing new. Steve Harrington was alone. He was going to die alone, drunk and crying while looking for the ocean in Hawkins Indiana. He gave into the cold, and curled up as comfortably as one can on concrete. He fell asleep.
* *
Steve was aware of his body before he started to wake up fully, he felt warm, comfortable. These were qualities that the street didn't contain so he naturally assumed he was dead. He felt the waves from the ocean crashing against his neck again, sending a cold shiver down his spine. He twisted in his attempt to rise, and pressed a hand against his face. Fuck his arms were like heavy noodles. He managed to rub his left eye enough to peek it open. His vision was blurry at first, so he rubbed his eye with more effort. When clarity returned, he vaguely wondered if the afterlife had band posters. Steve wasn't dead, apparently.
He groaned and flopped around again, his jeans were fitting weird, twisted around his legs and such from sleeping in them. With more effort he opened both his eyes halfway. A feeling of calm fought off the cold waves from the night before. The pillow under his head felt like the softest thing on earth. His face was half pressed into the pillow, he took in a deep breath through his nose. Whoever this pillow belonged to used prell shampoo and conditioner like one of his exs. The fresh scent lingered with the normal smell of hair and- well, human that one would find on a pillow. Steve wondered why he cared so much about what the pillow smelled like and not enough about where he was.
At that moment he didn't really care though. He was comfortable, he still had not felt the first signs of the massive hangover he knew was coming. He sniffled in through his nose, and mustered the strength to look around a bit more. The room was dark and a little bit messy with a few beams of sun peeking through the black curtains on the window. Steve's eyes passed over the wall closest to the bed and he froze. There on the wall was Eddie Munsons guitar. There was no denying it, he'd seen Eddie use it during the summer when fighting the demobats in the upside down. Steve licked his dry lips and sat up on his elbows with some difficulty. So he was at Eddie's house. That alone wasn't cause for alarm, he'd been over to Eddies a few times since the whole saving the world thing.
Steve had hung out with Eddie and Robin once or twice in the trailer, but always in the living room. Steve hadn't ever been inside Eddie's bedroom, let alone swaddled all comfy like a dream in Eddies bed. While he tried to recall how he ended up there, his thoughts were interrupted by the urge to vomit. He flung himself out of the bed in a hurry, but got caught in the blanket. Steve fell on his knees and barely had enough time to grab the small trash bin that was next to the bed before he puked. It felt like his first even hangover, his head suddenly rushed with pain and heat. He untangled himself and sat criss crossed on the floor before retching again. Vaguely, he realized Eddie must've put this can next to the bed for a reason. It had a fresh plastic bag lining it and there was already a wire bin across the room half full with balled up paper. Steve coughed and groaned in pain, but snapped his head around when he heard a knock at the door.
"Hey Harrington, I'm coming in!" Chimed Eddies voice,
"Are you modest?" Steve could almost hear the stupid smirk on Eddie's face. He winced from another pound of his head.
"Yeah- yes!" Steve called back, arms still clutching the trash can in preparation for another fit. Eddie soon entered through the closed door, glancing around a bit until his eyes landed on Steve sitting on the ground next to his bed.
"Damn, you look like shit" Eddie says. It almost seems like another one of his usual jabs, but there was some sympathy to be found on his face. Steve groaned a bit and nodded.
"Thanks. Uh- How did I-" he gagged, then vomited once more into the bucket. He couldn't be bothered to be embarrassed, just wanting it all out of his system already. Eddie seemed to know what Steve was trying to ask.
"Well.. I was driving home from my usual gig, and I almost ran you over. I thought you were a fucking, dead deer or something" Eddie walked towards the younger of the pair, and sat on the edge of the bed nearby.
"I thought you were dead, but you were just really drunk, and cold." He says sort of stiffly. Steve looked up at him, and sniffled again, one hand wiping his eyes.
"I was drunk, sorry- I was just.." Steve trailed off, trying to figure out an excuse. He doesn't know Eddie as well as he knows Robin afterall.
"I was on a walk after getting plastered, got lost I suppose, I'm really, really sorry" Steve groaned and tied off the plastic bag
"Thanks for not running me over, and for.. I'm assuming dragging my ass back here?" Steve leaned against the bed. He felt like he'd just been punched in the gut a few times. He almost wished he could've stayed in Eddie's bed like that. Warm, safe, comfortable and drowsy. Steve's mind drifted, but he snapped back to reality when he felt Eddie's hand against his forehead. He opened his eyes and looked up at him with furrowed brows.
"You've got a fever, Harrington. Also I carried your ass, I didn't drag it" Eddie chuckled a bit and took his hand away. Steve must have a fever because he could feel the heat in his cheeks. Before he could really reply to that, Eddie snatched up the bucket of vomit next to him.
"Now get your smelly ass in the shower, Harrington. I'll get you a new barf bucket liner and something to wear" he says, almost like a command really. Steve had heard Eddie talk to the boys like that a few times before. Ordering them, telling them what to do. Steve always rolled his eyes and wondered why they listened to him so blindly. And yet Steve found himself rising to his feet shakily to find the bathroom. Maybe he felt obligated to do what he was told after Eddie apparently tucked his drunk ass in and just waltzed out with a bucket of his puke like it was no biggie. Steve was just really confused honestly, he considered slipping out the door and walking home. He struggled enough to walk to the bathroom though. Eventually he admitted defeat to himself and locked the door.
Steve took a bit of a long shower, enjoying the warmth of the water and the feeling of being clean finally. When he finally wandered out he was freezing, towel around his waist and another around his shoulders. Eddie was in the kitchenette, fumbling around with some pots and such when he spotted Steve.
"There's some clothes on the bed, Harrington! Get back in there, I think you caught something from the cold! Don't worry, Mama Eddie will make you some soup!" He smirks and holds up a can of Campbell's tomato. Steve felt a smile on his lips, and an ache in his stomach when Eddie's words reached his ear. He was sure it must be the illness, so he defied.
"I could try to get one of my parents to come pick me up, if they're not working. Really Eddie you already helped more than you needed to-" Steve had begun to walk down the small hallway towards the living room when Eddie held a hand up and exclaimed,
"Zip it, Harrigton!" With a cheeky grin. Steve cut himself off.
"I'll do as much as I want to do for you, even if I have to tie you to that bed myself. Besides, I've got nothing to do and you've saved my ass more than once before. Now. Room. Clothes. Bed!" He anouncisted with some of that Eddie Munson flair and a wag of his finger as he went back to soup making. Steve stood frozen in the hall, mouth still slightly ajar. Eddie suddenly turned his head back to Steve, who sucked in a breath and went back to Eddie's room before he decided to scold him again. Steve was still freezing. He pulled on the awaiting sweats and old band shirt Eddie had left out for him. He finished drying his hair off, and found a place to hang up his towels.
Steve Harrington climbed into Eddie's bed and pulled the covers up over himself. He had a fever, and had practically tried to end his life the night before. And now he was comfortable, confused, wearing his friends clothes. The scent of Eddies musk made itself present after a moment, and Steve wondered absently if the shirt he was wearing was actually clean or not. He didn't really get to ponder it much before he dozed off into a silent sleep.