Chapter Text
These days, Steve was a fucking adult, goddamnit. Seriously, he ate on a consistent schedule and slept on one, too. He had finally gotten his eyes checked out and scheduled a dentist appointment and washed his bed sheets on a regular basis (well, mostly) kind of adult. Which meant it was weird to be woken up by the blaring of the phone when Steve barely even slept in these days.
Fuck, times had changed.
Though, not too drastically, since he still hated waking up, especially before he had to, and the fucking phone. Dumb contraptions. Even dumber when they’re a room away , Steve thought as he stumbled to his living room while wiping a lazy hand through his hair. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes as he fell into his arm chair, picking the phone up with a grumble.
“Steve Harrington. I hope this is good,” Steve said. His voice was dry and crackly from lack of use.
“I always forget what a little shit you are in the mornings,” Max said, pausing to take an audible sip from her coffee. Steve could imagine her perfectly—legs up on her desk, coffee in hand, phone held up to her ear as she insulted him through the hazy guise of career advice. He fucking loved his manager, but he would never tell her that. “I thought you were all zen now. Did yoga. Went on hikes. Meditated. Hippie Harrington.”
Steve groaned, throwing his head to rest on the back of the chair. “You saw me drink a green tea one time, Mayfield. That’s not the same thing as being zen. It’s a normal morning beverage.”
“Steven. There was a full pot of coffee right there. That’s blasphemy. You’re lucky I didn’t drop you right then and there.”
“I make you too much money.”
Max clucked her tongue. “Do you? Are you sure?”
“Mayfield…”
“Fine, how would you like to make even more money? Like, a lot of money.”
There was something in the way Max said it, excited, but a little on edge, that made Steve pause. He wasn’t sure what he expected Max to say next, but he knew enough to be wary. Usually, in his experience, if pills had to be hidden in peanut butter to be swallowed, then they probably shouldn’t be swallowed at all.
“Spit it out, Max. I’m on the edge of my seat.” He played it for a joke, but Steve felt it fall flat. There was a beat of silence on the line.
“First off, as your manager I want to emphasize what a good opportunity this is for you.” Max had slipped into what Steve thought of as Manager Max’s voice—clear, concise, no bullshit. “We’ve received a huge offer if you’re willing to finally do a proper recording of your unreleased song Million Reasons. It would be in a high profile film, which means publicity for you and a shit ton of money when we release it as a single plus likely resurgence in sales of previous albums. Specifically—”
“1982,” Steve cut her off. It brought up memories of late night writing sessions and living with Robin and that fucking tour bus. Of Eddie Munson. It wasn’t that he actively avoided thinking of Eddie these days, he was an adult after all, but even with a shitload of therapy there were still memories that ached. Moments he hadn’t properly forgiven himself for, yet.
“As your friend— ”
“I’m never going to let you forget you called me your friend,” Steve interrupted, laughing when Max groaned over the friend.
“As your friend,” she repeated, though the Manager Max voice was disappearing and the annoyance of normal Max, the one that Steve did consider his friend, was creeping back in, “I know it’s a lot. It’s a big ask. The choice is up to you.”
“Fuck,” he said, brain tumbling over itself with thought. It wasn’t an easy ask. Not at all. Hell, he’d previously said a million fucking times that this song would never get recorded without Harringley. Without all of them together again, and when he’d said it, in some ways, it was a copout. A way to ensure he would never record it, but it was true, too. There was no way to play that song without Nancy and Robin. Without Eddie.
Even if the thought of playing it again in front of Eddie fucking hurt.
“What do you want to do, Steve?”
“You haven’t reached out to Chrissy or Argyle, have you?” he asked. “Have you floated this to their agents?”
Max scoffed. “No. First, I needed the go ahead from you. Second, you know how shitty it would be for me to call them instead of you ?”
“I’m not calling Chrissy or Argyle,” Steve said.
“Don’t be a fucking idiot, Steve,” she said. “You know what I mean. You’ve got to talk to Nancy and Robin.” She didn’t say Eddie, but Steve knew it was there. That lingering ghost trailing after him, but to acknowledge it… sure, it hadn’t been radio fucking silence in the last five years, but Eddie and Steve were practically strangers these days. All of Steve’s knowledge of Eddie came from afar—picked up details like Steve was one of those wild teenage fans of his dotting their walls with Eddie’s posters.
He was a fan, truthfully. Steve would be lying if he said he didn’t pick up every interview he could get his hands on, listen to his albums, practically memorize the lyrics as if he might find some hint into what this Eddie—the one with so much life away from Steve—was like. If he was catching up on the phone with Nancy and only Nancy, he might even ask what she’d heard from Eddie these days. He attempted to be casual, but Nancy had a knack for seeing right through all the bullshit, always.
It wasn’t obsessive or weird, Steve thought. It was just… he didn’t know how you turned off the tap of love you once had for someone entirely. Eddie was his friend before he was his lover, and Steve knew now how much he’d been at fault in the situation too, and it was all just… fucked. It was fucked, but they’d all moved on, and so Steve still kept tabs. Because he still wanted the best for the other man he’d loved, loved in a way he’d never learned or managed to recreate. Someday, maybe.
Whatever.
But was walking back into all of that the best move? He could turn this down right now, and the rest of them would probably never be the wiser. Never know the opportunity Steve was passing by just for the sake of potentially reopening old wounds. Sure, maybe it would be easier to not agree to do it, but there was a tug in his chest that so desperately wanted to. When was the last time Steve was genuinely at his happiest? Not his healthiest, sure, not his most stable, but happiest ? On stage. All four of them. Looking past the microphone as he sang to Eddie and Nancy and Robin. The possibility of recapturing that joy? Even if just for a fleeting moment? It was too good to pass up.
“I’ll call,” he said. “We’ll do it.”
“Call me back when you know if everyone is in, cool? Then I can reach out to Argyle and Chrissy.”
“Thanks, Max.”
“It’s my job,” she said, but he figured she knew what he meant. That he was grateful she was both his manager and his friend, above all else. “Talk to you later, loser.” The phone clicked off.
“Fuck me,” Steve said, groaning as he pushed further into the furniture and turned to gaze out the plant-filled window. He felt a little better just seeing the green and the blue sky beyond them, a reminder that he was the type of person who could take care of plants. How much he’d grown. “This should be fun,” he said, feeling kinda ridiculous that, really, he was pretty much just talking to the succulents lining his ledge.
Part of him wanted to push the call away, avoid it forever, but he knew that was ridiculous. He should just do it, get it done with, and talking to Nancy and Robin might make him feel better. Hell, maybe they wouldn’t even want to do another Harringley project when they’d been doing so well together over the last five years. Sure, their duo attracted a slightly different crowd these days, but they were putting out music and touring and doing great, being all in love and shit. And if they were too busy for it, then Steve would never have to bring it up to Eddie at all.
Unfortunately for him, he was a fucking idiot and of course that wouldn’t work.
“Are you serious?” Robin exclaimed over the line. They literally lived in the same city, and it wouldn’t have been that hard to pop over to their place and talk to them about it in person. But Steve felt as if the barrier of the phone might give him some much needed privacy in all of this. The pit in his stomach ached with the nerves fluttering there.
“I think it would be really fun to get the band back together,” Nancy added.
“Yeah, absolutely what I was thinking, too,” Steve said, voice dry.
“Come on, dingus. You love us. You miss us,” Robin provided. “Fuck, the cat just jumped onto the candle table again. Fuck, his tail— ” Steve heard the noise of rushed movement.
“Why the fuck do you guys have a candle table, again?” Steve asked.
Nancy sighed. “I don’t know. We’re gay? We like festive scents? The ambiance? Take your pick. But, hey, now that it’s just us…”
“Nope. Let’s not.” Steve took his bottom lip between his teeth, contemplating all the possible routes of conversation Nancy could take while he nibbled on the skin.
“You left Eddie for last, right? You haven’t called him?”
“Nah, he’s thinking it over as we speak,” he tried, eyes trailing over his apartment to find something worthy of distraction.
“Liar.” Nancy scoffed. “What are you going to say to him?”
“I don’t know, Nancy. I’ll offer it the same way I offered it to you two. It’s not a big deal. Let’s just… not make it a thing.” Steve paused, working it all over in his head. What were the chances he said no? What were the chances he said yes ? What was worse or better or— fuck. “What do you think he’ll say?”
“I think you should call him,” Nancy said, voice sprinkled in that tough love he sometimes loved and mostly hated. “You won’t know until you call him.” She hummed, Steve sinking into the delicate sound of it, and then she puffed out a light breath of a laugh. “It’s just Eddie, Steve.”
It was just Eddie. Yeah, sure, just Eddie. Steve couldn’t remember the time in his life when Eddie had ever been just Eddie in his head, because there had always been something. A pull. A curiosity. A desire to peel back the layers so he could dive into Eddie’s consciousness and finally understand how he worked.
When Eddie dropped to his knees in front of him that first time, blood still drying on Steve's temple Eddie didn't seem to even notice, Steve was confused. Shocked. Giddy and panicked and a million things at once, but mostly he was certain he was dreaming. It just felt… unreal. From the very first time Eddie had looked at him with eyes pooling with lust, desire, want.
So no, it wasn’t easy for Steve to think of Eddie in justs. But there was a version of Eddie, a private kind of Eddie that was a little looser, calmer. The type of Eddie that used to pretend to read his palm in bed or attempted to braid Steve’s hair as he detailed whatever shitty syndicated sitcom he’d been watching on the television earlier. That version? That was the Eddie that Steve knew he could ask anything in the world to, and he’d never be mocked. That there was no reason to fear.
“Yeah, just Eddie.” The words still didn’t sound genuine, but he wouldn’t know until he tried, right? That’s what Nancy had said. So, sure, call Eddie. “I’ll let you know what I hear.”
“Please do. I’m going to go rescue Robin now since Ripley is tangled in her hair, but good luck.”
“Your cat is—” The line clicked off. “Okay, then,” he said to himself.
As the dial tone rang in his ear, he flopped down onto his couch, dragging a ringed hand down his face. The phone dropped down onto his chest, the tone still buzzing in the air as he stared at the wall in front of him. His walls were fairly bare except for the painting he found at Pike Place… he thought it was cool, he won it in the informal separation of assets when his ex moved out. But the woman in the image was almost taunting him, daring him not to call Eddie.
He groaned audibly as he shut his eyes and tilted his head up against the couch cushions. Steve had fucking evolved in the past five years, he has literally seen the guy a few times since that disaster of a final show. Why was he being such a little bitch about calling Eddie? He knew Nancy was right, he was trying to avoid talking to the man directly. They were civil though. The only link between the two of them still was Nancy, so he sort of thought they were civil for her sake…
He groaned again as he reached out for the base of the phone, stretching it out to his lap. Steve grumbled to himself as he tapped the achingly familiar digits. He hesitated for a beat on the last one, his heart beginning to race as his index finger hovered over it. “Fuckin’...” He hit it. The phone rang.
He ran a hand through his hair as the phone rang. He almost wanted to slam the receiver down after the third ring. His heart was too fast, he felt a little sick, honestly. Why was he nervous? It was just Eddie . Eddie, whose life he ruined for better, kind of. Sure, Steve’s heart was still a little fucked up from it all, but Eddie was a fucking star now, the most successful of them all. It was for the better, right?
“Munson residence. This is Eddie, not Taco Bell,” Eddie sighed over the receiver. Steve’s mouth twitched into a smile, the familiar voice both settling his stomach, and making his heart pound. If he had been really paying attention, he would’ve noted the way it swooped with his jovial cadence.
“Eddie, hey, it’s Steve… you got a minute?” Steve asked him hesitantly. Fine, he’d admit it. He was fucking nervous. It’s hard to ask the guy that you wrote a damning song about to not just hear it again, but to fucking record it with you. He was going to kill Maxine.
“Harrington? Long time no talk,” Eddie said, voice trailing off a little bit. He heard some shuffling over the phone as he continued, “I always got a minute for you buddy. What’s up?”
“It has been a while, hasn’t it?” Steve said with a sad little smile. He sank further into the couch, pressing the phone closer to his ear. “My manager called me with an interesting proposition. I just wanna preface that I called the girls already and they’re in—”
“Saving the best for last I see,” Eddie crooned, his beaming smile shining through the receiver. Steve snorted, tapping his fingers against his chest.
“Something like that,” Steve murmured, his eyes glancing back towards the painting. The lady’s eyes were now glaring at him, telling him to just get to the fucking point, spit it out, Steven . “Anyways, Harringley got an offer to be on a movie soundtrack.”
“Oh sick. What movie?”
“Some romance one with Ethan Hawke?”
“Oh fuck, he was in Dead Poets Society, right?”
“Yeah, that guy,” Steve hummed. He closed his eyes as the line buzzed from the silence for a beat.
“So what song do they want?” Eddie asked. Steve could hear more rustling in the background. He wondered what Eddie was up to. What he had been doing before Steve had called him. Had he just woken up? All Steve knew was that he was in his New York home. “No, no, let me guess. Habits ? No, that one doesn’t have that cinematic je ne sais quoi, y’know? Oh, maybe a Parisian vibe? Jolie? Please fucking tell me it’s Jolie— ”
Steve couldn’t take his babbling, he couldn’t handle Eddie being so kind, so endearing, after all this time. “It’s Million Reasons , Eddie. They want that one.”
“Oh,” Eddie whispered after a beat. Steve let out a shuddered breath as he tucked his knees to his chest, the heels of his feet digging into the couch cushion. He felt his past hurtling towards him. Maybe if Steve curled himself into the tightest ball, he could save himself from impact. “But that one was never released, how did they— how do they— why?”
“They want us to go to New York to record it. Properly,” Steve swallowed as he tilted his head against his knees. “It’s your call, like I know that song is… a lot … and I don’t want you to feel like you gotta do something you don’t wanna do since, yeah… Max didn’t tell me how they even found out about the song, but you know how managers are—money first, questions later.”
“Yeah,” Eddie said with a large and loud exhale. “Always fuckin’ comes back to that song, doesn’t it? Listen, I gotta chat with Argyle, but I’ll get back to you, okay? With everything going on, I don’t wanna make a promise I can’t keep… man of my word now and shit.”
“So I hear,” Steve responded, tilting his head so his cheek rested against his bony knee. “No pressure, man. Just let me know. Hell, have Argyle chat with Max if you need more information. No sweat.”
“No sweat…” Eddie echoed. The line felt still as they listened to each other breathe. They never really talked about the song. There was just never an opening, both men not wanting to break open a wound that had barely just scabbed over. “I’ll let you know, okay?”
“Take your time, Eddie.”
“Thanks for calling. I hate when people do that dumb shit where they make their agents call me. Like just talk to me yourself, I don’t bite.”
“No, you do .”
“Yeah, but they don’t know that.” Eddie laughed. “Anyways, I guess I gotta go call Argyle now.”
“Yeah,” Steve said, somewhat awkwardly. He wasn’t great at ending phone calls these days, the smooth banter of his youth leaving him at the sight of a discarded engagement ring and an apology note on the counter. That was something to unpack further with his therapist, though. “This was nice.”
“It was. Don’t be a stranger, okay?”
“You know Nancy won’t let that happen.”
“I know.”
“Alright, chat soon?”
“Chat soon.”
The dial tone buzzed in his ear once more. He lazily dropped the phone back into its dock as he stretched out his body on the couch. He felt tight, each muscle coiled up from the anticipation and execution of the conversation. He needed a fucking drink… was ten in the morning too early for a beer? Probably. But it wasn’t everyday you had to call your ex-situationship to ask for a favor.
Steve pushed himself up off the couch and pondered calling Robin again as he strolled into his small kitchen. She would both make him feel better and remind him that he’s both the shit and a piece of shit with no balls. Then she would go on a whole rant about how it didn’t make sense that balls were synonymous to strength when they were in fact weak. He would remind him that she of all people wouldn’t know that, as a lesbian woman. She would remind him that her kiss with Eddie was all she needed to know about men in that way. It always went back to Eddie, didn’t it?
Warm fingers wrapped around the cold neck of beer as he took it out of the fridge. He always kept a hearty stock of his favorite, Sierra Nevada. He’d been meaning to dip his toes into new waters, try something new, but why do that when his favorite was so damn good? He instantly felt relaxed as the cool liquid slid down his throat.
As he leaned against his kitchen counter, beer bottle sweating down his hand, he couldn’t help but think about Eddie. He wondered what he was up to, what the rest of his day consisted of, what he had already done that day. He wondered what he was wearing (no, no he wasn’t, bad Steve, bad) .
He hadn’t seen Eddie in a few years, not since the Incident… he had been meaning to call Eddie to see if he was okay, but how do you even start to call someone after rehab? What’s the opener? Hey buddy, remember that guy that lit up your life with a fuckin’ song? Yeah! It’s me! How was rehab, did it work? Like Jesus Christ, how do you even start that conversation? Steve had wanted to call. Of course he wanted to, he always wanted to. Whether he wanted to admit to himself or not, he would always care for and about Eddie. The packed shoe box under his bed proved the point.
He kept a box for each of them—Robin, Nancy, and Eddie. Anything and everything Steve could get his hands on was tucked into their respective boxes; Newspaper clippings, magazine articles, photos, ticket stubs. His insistent tracking, specifically of Eddie, had made his ex raise her brow. She didn’t like how he had an Eddie box under their bed. She just didn’t get it though. It was Eddie .
It was Eddie, who rose to stardom after Harringley, but sank into the depths of himself. He drowned himself in his world of drugs and who knew what else. Steve knew his usage was bad after New York, fucking New York , but he didn’t think it would get as bad as it did.
He remembered the day Robin called him, clear as day. Snotty-nosed and sniffling, asking him to come over, that it was urgent. She wouldn’t tell him what was wrong, just that she needed him at their place, now . When he got to Robin and Nancy’s apartment, Nancy was curled on the couch, phone pressed to her ear, angry tears running down her face as she whispered into the receiver. Robin’s thin arms had enveloped him the moment she saw him, sobs racking through her body. All Steve could do was stand there, arms wrapped around her. Nancy had looked up at him, her sad and angry eyes like ice through his body. He knew it was about him. Something happened to Eddie.
The hospital had called Nancy, asking if she could come down, that Eddie Munson was in their care. They were in Seattle, Eddie was in New York, but of course she could come. She had quickly called Argyle, who told her that he had found him in his bathroom that morning, passed out, needle still in his forearm. He was about to leave for the hospital once more, having only left for a few hours to settle some loose ends. Him and Nancy were Eddie’s emergency contacts. Not Steve .
Steve remembered leading Robin to the couch, scooping his girls in his arms, and holding them close. They cried together. They mourned what could have been a different call entirely. They mourned their best friend, their family .
Steve still mourned it all a bit, as he pressed the beer bottle to his lips once more. He sometimes wondered how it all would have happened if he and Eddie stuck together. If he was there during those early New York days. If they were all there for each other the way they were supposed to, how they always planned to. Would it all still have happened? On his worst days, he would let himself wonder if he could have stopped it. If he could have loved Eddie enough to make him not want to hurt himself like that. That he wouldn’t need to escape the world that way…
He wasn’t going to let himself spiral over this, not today. His therapist wouldn’t like him spiraling without her… something about communicating his past to process his present echoing in the back of his mind. So he drank instead. Each sip being a step closer to letting go, to moving on with his day.
He wondered if Eddie would call again. He secretly hoped he would.
“So.” Steve shifted in his chair across from Max who was staring him down as she drank a smoothie. Which she’d been doing for the last two minutes since he arrived, and Steve was honestly just confused at what kind of power play she was shooting for at this point. “Max, Jesus.”
She rolled her eyes, setting the cup down and shifting forward to rest her elbows on the desk. “You lasted longer than I thought you would before you cracked. Honestly.”
“I swear to God. Today is the day I fire you, Mayfield.” Steve huffed, running a hand through his hair. “Have we got all this shit figured out?”
“Yep,” she said, popping the p and giving him a shit-eating grin. Then she slipped back into business mode, reaching for her stack of papers. “Since you heard back from Eddie, I got on the phone with Argyle—”
And yeah, that had been weird, hadn’t it? Picking up his phone and hearing Eddie Munson’s voice for a second time? Just as casual as when Steve had given him the offer.
“I’m in, Harrington,” he’d said, accompanied by the soft tones of a television somewhere in the background. Steve wondered if he was in a hotel or at home, what his place even looked like. Did he still lounge around in crop tops and cut-off jean shorts or had he finally progressed to baggy crewnecks like the ones he used to steal from Steve? Soon, Steve would get an up close and personal glimpse of who Eddie was now, and his gut was filled with both elation and dread. “You there, buttercup?”
“Yeah, sorry. I got distracted trying to figure out what you were watching. Sounded familiar.” A lie, really, but now that he’d asked it he was kinda curious. Another puzzle piece to place into Eddie Munson: 1993 Edition.
“Oh, Dead Poets Society. Haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since talking on the phone with you, so I figured it would be worth a rewatch. Especially since I’m agreeing to do this recording. In case you missed that part.”
“Definitely didn’t miss it,” Steve said, but his voice didn’t match his words. “How are you casually watching that movie? And not, like, bawling on your sofa instead of talking to me?”
“Chillax, I’m only like ten minutes in, man.”
“Chillax? Damn, you and Argyle are becoming one.”
Eddie laughed, and fuck Steve missed Eddie’s laugh. He missed being the cause of Eddie’s laugh. “Well, you spend enough time around a guy…”
“Makes sense.” Steve chewed on the cuticle of his thumb, eyeing the ceiling. “I’m excited you agreed to do it.” It felt so goddamn tender to release those words, to speak them softly into existence; tender like a fresh bruise.
“Yeah?” Eddie asked, voice soft back, and Steve could almost close his eyes. Pretend he was five years younger and life hadn’t crumbled apart. But Steve liked who he was now, and he didn't need to disappear into what if’s and maybe’s. That was backsliding.
“Of course,” he replied, which brought him back to Max’s office, missing only a spotting of whatever words she’d been spiraling his way.
“I’m going to send you home with copies of all of this, by the way,” she interrupted herself, slapping a manilla folder closed. “I know what Spacey Steve looks like. You smoke weed earlier?”
Steve balked. “Excuse me. No. Why does everyone think I’m so spacey when I smoke? I’m perfectly normal.”
“Sure.” Max nodded, clearly disbelieving the words. “One last thing. There’s several options for hotels we can book you to stay, so I can—”
“Oh,” Steve cut her off, and he smiled when she looked up from her list to meet his gaze. “I’ve got a place to stay already. Eddie is hosting.”
Which had also been weird as hell, by the way, having Eddie offer for Steve along with Nancy and Robin to stay in his New York apartment. If there was any polite way to decline, Steve probably would have, but he was also disgustingly curious in what sort of place Eddie was living these days. He also didn’t mind all that extra time with Nancy and Robin at his disposal, all four of them together. Plus, it was barely a weekend. Just a couple of days. He could do a couple of days.
Max narrowed her eyes, looking for something on his face before clucking her tongue and picking her pen back up. “Okedoke. I’ll get you a car from the airport to his place, then. You’re all set.” She slid the folder across the desk. “In no time at all, Harringley will be back on the charts.”
“Weird,” Steve said, meaning it. He’d never been sure if they would find their ways back to this moment, but his chest was bubbling with anticipation at the idea of it. The possibilities. “Thanks, Max.”
She rapped her knuckles against the desk, winking at him before picking her smoothie back up and bringing the straw to her lips. “That’s what I’m here for.” She slurped and popped her feet onto the wood.
And just like that: Harringley was about to be back.
Walking up to Eddie’s apartment made him feel like he was in a fever dream of sorts. Never in a million years did he think he would wind up on Eddie Munson’s doorstep, let alone even be allowed in his space. A home was a sacred space, and the way that things had ended between the two was anything but. He didn’t think Eddie would want to risk dirtying the clean slate he created for himself. Steve sighed as Nancy raised her knuckles to the door, a pattern knock erupted against the wood, as the two girls flanked either side of him.
“Oh my god, do you and Eddie have a secret knock?” Robin barely whispered as she poked her girlfriend by leaning behind Steve. Nancy snorted.
“Of course we do. It’s Eddie we’re talking about.”
Eddie, who had just opened the door, was eye-to-eye with Steve for the first time in years.
Steve almost dropped his bag to his feet at the sight. Because holy fucking shit, he was beautiful . His eyes were warmer than he remembered, the growing crows feet at the corners crinkling as they took him, no, them, in. The swirling shades of brown were lit up by the bright lights of the apartment overhead, bringing out flecks of amber and chocolate. He was clean shaven, his skin still the silky porcelain color that continued to illuminate the depths of Steve’s dreams, even after all these years. Even if he wouldn’t admit it to himself, he would sometimes wake up with certain freckle patterns and smooth, smooth skin burned into his memory. What really got Steve the most was his hair .
He had seen in the tabloids that he had shaven off his famous curls. It had been around the time Nancy had told him Eddie had gotten out of rehab, that he was making big talk about how he was doing better and he was going to get his “stupid little life back on the big boy track” again. A few days later, the pictures of him carefully smiling with his face tucked into his coffee, the gas station paper cup curled into his hands. He remembered how his stomach swirled when he looked at the photo. He remembered what little Eddie had told him about his father, of the harsh realities of his childhood. He remembered him pleading to him in that motel bathroom, begging Steve to let him fuck himself up so Steve could feel better. Those memories made the sight of Eddie painful. But actually seeing Eddie now was anything but.
He was radiant. He stood taller, his shoulders carrying less weight, his body looking healthier (and no, Steve was not eyeing the lines of Eddie’s stomach through his tight black shirt, thank you). His smile reached his eyes. And that alone made Steve feel okay.
“Ladies, ladies,” Eddie sighed, leaning against the door frame. His shirt rode up with the movement. Steve definitely wasn’t looking. “No need to hide behind the King. I don’t bite.”
“Thought we already discussed this,” Steve said with a raised brow, feet rooted in place. Eddie locked eyes with him once more, leaning forward into his space.
“We did, but they don’t know our truth.” Eddie smiled, his voice hushed into a loud whisper. “Hiya, Stevie.”
“Hey–” Steve was cut off by knobby arms flinging around him, causing him to drop his bag. It landed with a thud at his feet. Eddie rocked their bodies back and forth as he squeezed the life out of Steve. “Thanks for having us, man,” Steve squeaked out, the pressure against his ribs building.
“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie grinned as he pulled away. He stepped back to the side, his arm flourishing towards the doorway. “Mi casa, su casa, and all of that.”
Steve walked past him into the apartment as Eddie pulled Nancy and Robin into a hug, squeezing them both into his body. If his eyes lingered on the expanse of skin on display for a beat too long, then nobody had to know.
When he finally pulled his eyes away, however, his jaw was nearly on the floor. Sure, they knew that Eddie lived in the nicer part of the city, in one of the nicer complexes, but actually walking into his place was shifting into a different axis. It was incredible. White walls and exposed brick adorned the walls, with long hallways and lush interiors. Plants were tucked into corners, awards and records hung from the walls, and leather furniture and soft blankets were strewn across the space. It was all so incredibly Eddie.
He sensed the girls coming back to his sides, Robin equally impressed with the space. Nancy walked ahead of them towards the couch, flopping down onto it and easily making herself at home.
“You’re seeing this too, right?” Robin asked, her expression awestruck.
“And I thought my place was nice…”
In a blur, Eddie swirled past them and headed towards the kitchen. He paused at the opening, hand resting against the archway. “Can’t tell if this is a good judgy look or a bad judgy look.” He sighed as Steve and Robin snapped their eyes towards him.
“Good judgy. Holy shit, Eddie!” Robin gasped, stepping forward. She gunned straight towards the couch, falling on top of Nancy. Nancy choked out a laugh as her arms circled around Robin’s waist, pulling her to the side so as to not crush her further into the leather cushions. “This couch is awesome. Like, really fuckin’ nice.”
Steve’s eyes scanned the room, pausing for a moment on his best friends laughing on the couch. However, he nearly dropped to his knees at the sight of them . They hugged the television set, illuminating the rows and rows of cds, records, cassettes, and vhs tapes. Although the sight of those rows was heaven already, Steve itched to flick through each one, to get a small slice into the world of Eddie’s interests once again. But that was for later. Right now, Steve had his eyes on one thing and one thing only…
“Oh baby, come to daddy.” Steve sighed gleefully as he sauntered over to the sound system. The loudspeakers hugging the television were the latest and greatest—the Thiel CS3.6 system. Steve had been dreaming of these puppies since he heard about their upcoming release. And by god, they were even dreamier in person. He had to talk Eddie into letting him play with them, he had to. He was in such a haze, he could barely hear the choking noise coming from the kitchen, or see how the tips of Eddie’s ears turned red.
“Did you seriously call yourself daddy,” Robin squeaked from the couch. He could feel her eyes burning into the back of his head. “Again?”
“It’s warranted. Do you know what these are?” Steve asked, dropping to his knees. He held his palm up to the speaker, feeling the grit of it underneath his skin. It was beautiful.
“Didn’t realize you’d get so worked up over my speakers, Harrington,” Eddie snorted, his voice sounding tight. He heard his footsteps inch closer to him, pausing once they hit the side of the couch. “You an audio princess now or something?”
“Audio princess… no! No, I've been dreaming of these babies since they were announced.”
“They are pretty sweet.” Eddie grinned, leaning against the arm of the couch. “Glad someone appreciates them as much as I do.”
“I just know that the new Sade album would be unreal on these…”
“Oh, it is.” Eddie sighed, pushing himself off of the couch arm. “As much as I would love to watch you cream yourself over my speakers, I must show these lovely ladies to their room. You’re on the couch, ass-muncher.”
Nancy guffawed, tilting her body forward so her elbows rested on her knees. She turned her head to look up towards Eddie. “I’ve missed you, holy shit.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Eddie blushed, holding his hand out to her. Nancy smiled as she took it, helping Robin up in the process. “Your palace awaits, m’ladies.”
“You mean the guest room?” Robin piped in, her lips tilted in a smile. The trio took off down the hallway, Steve barely able to hear their voices.
“It’s a damn palace. I put the good sheets out for you two and everything. You better not ruin them…”
As their voices faded to silence, Steve dragged his eyes across the media center, taking in each and every title. Dead Poets Society, Silence of the Lambs, Edward Scissorhands, Ghost… the titles went on and on, bleeding into drawers hiding the best of his music selection. He itched to open up the drawers, but couldn’t bring himself to touch them. He didn’t want to ruin the line up.
“You can look, I don’t mind.” Eddie had popped down next to him, legs crossed over each other. Their knees nearly brushed, as Eddie’s relationship with friendly distance seemed to not have strengthened over the years.
“What, no Munson Tour? Thought you would have had a whole journey prepared.”
“Nah, it’s more fun to see what people gravitate towards on their own. Go ahead.”
With careful eyes and a gentle touch, Steve opened up the drawer nearest to him, revealing an organized column of records. His gaze flitted across the titles, a small smile dragging across his face as familiar tunes bounced out at him. His fingers thumbed over Let’s Dance , Holy Diver , Future World , Orgasmatron , Girls, Girls, Girls…
He huffed out a quiet laugh as his thumb caught onto the familiar dark blue record. The tattered edges felt like home beneath his touch, the cool toned album a stark contrast to the warm ones surrounding it. Eddie’s taste had always been fiery and angry and passionate . This album was one he played on the quiet days, when that anger was settled, when the passion wasn’t eating him alive. He remembered laying in his and Robin’s apartment while writing 1982, the two of them huddled on the floor together as they stared at the ceiling, a joint passed quietly between the two. Joni Mitchell’s Blue . It was their shared love, a secret so gorgeously kept. Steve’s heart felt warm at the sight of the record.
“Still a Joni girl?”
“Always a Joni girl.” Eddie smiled, leaning forward to trace his index finger along Joni’s nose. Their fingertips brushed as they trailed along Joni’s face, their memories of their journeys with her intertwining. “Wasn’t sure if you’d pick her.”
“As tempting as No Jacket Required is…” Steve hummed, his finger flicking over to the next album. He had always had a secret love for Phil Collins. “I’m still a Joni girl, too.”
“I hoped you’d be.”
Steve shifted, turning himself so he was facing Eddie’s side. He couldn’t get over how beautiful the man was. The years apart had done him well, because God, he was just fucking gorgeous. It was a little weird seeing him without the bangs and the curls, the prickly crop taking their place. The cut made his face all the more striking, showing off his delicate bone structure, his high cheekbones, his beautiful, beautiful eyes… Steve had forgotten how easily he got lost in them.
“Want me to get my camera?”
“Huh?”
“Taking a picture, it’ll last longer,” Eddie nudged his arm, an impish grin taking over his face. His fucking smile, fuck he was a weak, weak man. How pathetic—barely a half hour of being back in his presence and he was already putty in the man’s hands once more.
“Shuddup,” Steve mumbled, nudging Eddie back. It felt good to be with Eddie like this. He wasn’t sure what had changed between them since the last time they saw each other. A few years back, they had spent the evening at Nancy and Robin’s apartment for their housewarming party. They could barely make it past a simple hi, how are you, what’s new with you? Eddie had reeked of weed, his hair frizzing out with the Seattle humidity, and eyes reddening by the minute. He had barely talked to Steve before waltzing off to the balcony. Steve sighed with the fading memory, the frizzy curls being replaced by the present fuzz. “Just looking at the new cut. I haven't seen it in person.”
“It’s been that long?” Eddie furrowed his brows as he subconsciously ran a hand across the top of his head. “Buzzed it after rehab. You know when you break up with someone and you wanna do something batshit, like a tattoo? I broke up with myself man, buzzed it off and I was reborn. Phoenix through the ashes sort of shit.”
“Yeah, I think I’ll stick with the tattoos.” Steve laughed softly, eyes remaining glued on the hand resting on top of Eddie’s head. “Do you like it?”
“Fuck yeah, my life is so easy now.” Eddie let out a long breath between his teeth, his knee tapping against Steve’s as he moved to face him. His eyes lit up as he leaned towards Steve, invading his space. “I do, however, miss getting my hair pulled, y’know? Can’t get a good grip with this style.”
Steve choked as he turned his face away, unable to look at Eddie. He felt his face burn up as memories of his own hands running through those curls passed through his brain. He remembered the feeling of the thick strands carding through his loose fingers. He remembered grabbing onto his hair and pulling Eddie’s head back, his mouth attaching to the columns of his neck. His face grew hotter as his mind drifted into the somewhat horny abyss of his memories.
“You make it so easy, Stevie.” Eddie smiled, his nose wrinkling as he laughed. “Forgot how cute it is when you’re all flustered.”
“I’m not easy ,” Steve whined as he covered his face with his hands. God, he fucking hated Eddie sometimes. He knew exactly how to push his buttons, knew exactly how to poke at the chord inside of him that thrummed for this shit.
“Oh trust me, I know you aren’t easy. Just fun to mess with.” Steve dragged his hands down his face as he looked back at Eddie. The man was beaming ear to ear, obviously pleased with himself. He was lucky he was cute. “But do you like it?” He asked after a beat. His resolve had faltered for a moment, almost seeming a little nervous about asking the question.
“The hair?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah,” Steve said, poking Eddie’s knee. “It suits you.”
Just as Eddie had begun to lean into his space, mouth open, Robin’s heavy footsteps entered the room, followed by Nancy’s blushing, giggling face. Steve and Eddie’s heads snapped towards the hallway they were emerging from. They sighed in unison as they took in the sight. Nancy’s curls were in disarray, with a streak of her lipstick smudged to the edge of her cheek. Robin’s blouse had only a few buttons done up, and those few were buttoned incorrectly. Smudges of lipsticks coated her chapstick covered lips. They looked fucked, to say the least.
Steve watched as Eddie’s gaze locked onto Nancy, shooting her a glare only a disapproving mother could give. He remained unmoving next to Steve, their knees knocking together once more as Steve moved to look between the two of them. He ignored how the point where their knees met felt like it was on fire.
“What did I say about the sheets?” Eddie asked, head tilting as he glared.
Nancy’s jaw set in response, a small smirk gracing her lips as she glared back at Eddie. “You didn’t say anything about the carpet.”
“Ew, do you realize rug burn is a thing?” Steve sighed, eyes flitting between the three of them.
“Don’t worry about it, Steven,” Robin smirked, wiping the edge of her mouth with the back of her hand. She turned to look at Eddie with a shit-eating grin. “You got any food in this place, Munson?”
Eddie fake gasped, bringing his hand to his chest and stumbling backward. “You think I wouldn’t have snacks, Buckley? It’s like you’ve never known me at all.” He waved in a follow me gesture, disappearing into his kitchen, and they all stumbled after him.
“Popcorn good?” he asked, though he turned away and barely acknowledged their presence as he tossed a bag into the microwave. A wine glass had already been set out on the counter, the shining goblet remaining empty in the dim lights of the kitchen. He moved to the cabinet and opened it to reveal the largest container of Frosted Animal Cookies Steve had ever laid his eyes on. Seriously, it was huge. Eddie plopped it onto the counter, unscrewed the cap, and popped one in with a sigh. His whole body eased with the first chew. He paused, catching the look. “What?”
“You’re a grown man,” Steve said plainly. “What need could you possibly have for that many cookies? How many of these containers do you go through? I have so many questions.”
“What? Just because I’m twenty-nine doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy delicious things.” Eddie scoffed as he grabbed a handful, using his free hand to point at Steve. “You probably eat oatmeal for breakfast now, don’t you? With like… seeds and shit.”
Robin snorted. “He really does.”
Steve threw up his hands. “Oh, sorry I’m nurturing my body, guys. Yeah, make fun of someone for a balanced fucking diet.”
“Yeah, you tell ‘em, Steve,” Nancy fake-cheered, voice devoid of emotion. Steve shot her a withering look, and she simply smiled in response. “What sort of fancy drinks do you have in that two-door fridge of yours, Eddie?”
“Nothing that fancy, I’m afraid.” Eddie opened the fridge and showed off his wares with a dramatic swoop of his arm. “Grape juice, water, Coke, Iced Tea… Yeah, that’s probably about it. Unless one of you is a heathen who drinks milk plain or some shit.” Steve watched Eddie pull out the bottle of grape juice for himself, unscrewing the cap and pouring the liquid into the wine glass with a heavy hand.
Robin gasped. “Never!” She paused, eyeing the fridge for a beat longer. The grape juice was quickly set back in its rightful place, amongst the abundance of juices and soft drinks. “Also, are you totally off the booze?”
Eddie’s brow furrowed. “You didn’t hear about rehab?”
Steve tensed, feeling as if an elephant had suddenly landed in the room. Honestly, all Steve knew about Eddie’s rehab trip was what he found in magazines. Nancy was tight-lipped about what she knew about Eddie, apparently even with Robin. You wouldn’t want me to spill all your secrets to each other, would you? she would say with a roll of her eyes if one of them asked, so they mostly stopped asking.
“No, I did,” Robin began, shooting Steve a look like can you please help me out here. “Just didn’t know if that included alcohol, too.”
“Totally clean, baby,” Eddie said with a nod, giving his chest a little pat. Steve let out a breath as the tension dissipated as quickly as it had come. “If you don’t count the insane amount of nicotine in my system, that is.”
“That’s really awesome, Eddie.” Steve wasn’t sure that was exactly what you were supposed to say in a situation like this, but it felt about as right as anything else. Eddie sent him a kind smile, and that felt kinda like he hadn’t fucked up.
“My theory is the animal cookies all come from his oral fixation,” Nancy added, reaching out with grabbing hands for the popcorn Eddie had just removed from the microwave. “And a Coke, please.”
“What are you? A fucking psychologist?” Steve asked, laughing as Eddie handed him a Coke on instinct, too. It was what he would have picked. Steve tried not to think about how their fingertips brushed with the exchange. He ignored the tingles running up his arms.
Nancy shrugged. “Just my theory. Take it or leave it.”
“She’s probably not wrong.” Eddie poured some of the cookies into a bowl, sliding it across the counter toward the other three. He kept the container clutched in one of his own arms, though. “I still smoke like a chimney.”
Robin scrunched up her face. “Ew. Disgusting.”
“Picking my battles.” Eddie leaned forward on the counter, and it shifted him into an angle that made his jawline look all the sharper. Steve wondered if it still felt the same to trail your finger along the bone, to trail kisses. “So, do we want to rehearse for tomorrow? Or are we going off the cuff?”
Steve was sick with just the thought of playing the song together tomorrow; there was no way he could handle it tonight with all that new information coming at him rapid fire. There were so many new glimmers to Eddie he was collecting, trying to figure out how to look at properly. All four of them were in his swanky ass apartment, together for the first time in years, and it felt so strange and yet not strange at all. The warring ideas were intermingling in his body like ice and fire.
“It was off the cuff the first time. Let’s keep that energy,” Steve answered for the group, purposefully keeping his eyes on the tab on his Coke he twisted until it snapped off.
Eddie shrugged. “Fine by me. Wanna bum on the couch and watch, like, Dracula or something?”
“The answer to that is always yes,” Robin said with a nod.
“You guys never pick the movies I want to watch.” It really did come out too much of a whine, but it popped out of Steve’s mouth before he could help it. Like an ancient reflex proving it was still there.
Eddie laughed, slinging an arm around Steve’s shoulder and tugging him closer. “I see some things never change.”
Yeah , Steve thought as he felt the heat of Eddie’s arm, the warmth of his laugh. You can say that a fucking million times over.
Waking up that morning had been awkward to say the least. They had tucked away into their respective spaces that night, but Steve could barely fucking sleep. Everything smelled like Eddie. The night had been so nice too, the four of them easily slipping back into their old, pre-tour dynamic. It was simple, it was fun, it wasn’t complicated for once. But of course, with Steve’s brain being Steve’s brain, it decided to make it complicated as he stared at the ceiling that night, the scent of faux leather and Eddie’s cologne feeling like a warmer blanket than the throw that was draped across his hips. His brain decided to take him back to when he was twenty-four and a fucking idiot.
So alas, with the power of his early-twenties and his mind, body, and soul being enraptured by Eddie Munson even five years after their situationship, he finally fell asleep. But with a consequence. The consequence being the plague of Eddie’s hands, mouth, and body capturing his dreams.
He dreamed of them in the past, when everything was okay and fun and Eddie had him pressed up against a dingy bathroom stall all those years ago. He dreamed of how he sank to his knees, watching as the man threw his head back in ecstasy, his own lips wrapped around Eddie’s length. He dreamed of chlorine and wet kisses melting into a pool. He dreamed of being thrown into bed, time and time again. He dreamed of how those calloused hands knew every inch of his body, how they claimed their space, made him his own.
He dreamed of a present, where he could’ve kissed the smiling man leaning against the door, where terms of endearment weren’t meant in vain, weren’t a fucking joke. He dreamed of the door slamming shut behind them, and Eddie pushing him against it. He dreamed of those pet names being whispered hotly in his ear while those rough, ringed hands coasted down the plains of his body. Of how it would feel to have Eddie’s hands on him again, cupping him, pressing into him. He dreamed of those lean muscles lifting him up—was Steve not supposed to notice how well he was filling out his shirt?—and carrying him to the leather couch and spreading him open. Running his hands over Eddie’s shaved head, thumbing over the pronounced parts of his face, and finally getting to tell him how beautiful he thought he was. Eddie pressing into him, of finally feeling full again after all these years. He dreamed of how happy tears would spill down his cheeks, to finally be in it again, to be with Eddie. Nobody fucked him like Eddie did. And nobody would. He dreamed of—
Steve woke up with a gasp that morning, sweat prickling the back of his neck. He heard the sounds of sizzling pans and the whine of the coffee maker. He groaned as he ran his hands down his face, his body feeling like it was on fire. The half-chub he was sporting was poking up through the blankets, and he didn’t know what was worse—the fact that he was nearly thirty years old and he was having a wet dream, or that he was having a wet dream about his ex-situationship and ex-bandmate whose couch he was sleeping on. Who was probably the one cooking away in the kitchen. Robin and Nancy didn’t wake up for shit when they were on “vacation”.
As he rubbed his eyes, Steve willed his hard on to go away. Thinking about his eye doctor did the trick. Weirdest motherfucker he had ever met, but insurance was insurance, and a good deal on prescription frames was hard to come by. He shuddered at the thought as he sat up, discreetly adjusting himself during the movement.
When Steve made it into the kitchen, the smell of coffee luring him towards the pot, he nearly keeled over at the sight. The sight being Eddie, small smile on his face, expertly flipping eggs in a pan while bacon sizzled on the pan next to it. A small novelty mug, a frog in a lily pad saucer, sat nearby on the counter, steaming with a fresh cup of black coffee. A cut up Van Halen shirt hung down his body, stopping just above his belly button, and the softest looking sweat-shorts hung low on his hips. Eddie looked up when he heard the nearing footsteps, the smile growing on his face. His sleepy eyes bored into Steve’s as he gestured in front of him, where bar stools were pushed under the counter.
“Mornin’” Eddie’s gravelly voice hummed, only taking his eyes off of Steve to futz with the bacon in the pan. As Steve took in the sight for one more beat, only one thought was running through his mind:
He was fucked .
Steve looked up at the simple studio in front of them. The email Max had faxed him was printed out and neatly paper-clipped in his hands, along with Jim Hopper’s business card. Steve squinted through his glasses down at the card, his eyes still feeling fuzzy from the morning. When his vision cleared enough, he was able to see the address. He looked up at the building once more. The information matched up, this was Hopper’s New York studio.
“This is it, guys,” he said, hand dropping to his side, gripping onto the papers. He ran a hand through his hair, the early morning sun prickling at his forehead, heating up his darkening hair. His hair had gotten shaggier over the years, and had the tendency to puff out whenever he was anywhere humid, especially New York. No matter how long he futzed with it, it just wouldn’t lay the way he wanted to. Robin had insisted he looked fine that morning, before ruffling his hair and cackling, running off to the kitchen. He wanted to be annoyed with her, he really did, but his heart would always swell with happiness seeing her carefree and joyful.
“You really think Argyle would drive us to the wrong place?” Eddie asked with a raised brow. “He’s been toting our asses around for almost a decade.”
“Don’t fucking age me, he’s known us for barely seven years,” Robin groaned, leaning into Nancy’s side. Nancy wrapped a loose arm around her waist, stabilizing a toppling Robin. “Just because Steve is okay with being geriatric doesn’t mean the rest of us are.”
“Excuse me?” Steve asked, his free hand moving up to rest on his hip. Eddie snickered next to him, the back of his hand covering his mouth. “I’ll have you know, I am not geriatric. No grandpa can do pilates like I do.”
“He’s right,” Eddie said, his face going flat, tone serious. He stepped forward, placing a ringed hand on Steve’s bare bicep, giving it a small squeeze. “With arms like this? He’s a classified MILF.” Steve sputtered, the tips of his ears going red.
“So you admit it, he has a mom or grandma sort of vibe to him,” Robin replied, gesturing towards Steve’s hands. “He has his hand on his fucking hip! He’s holding fucking directions to the studio! Big mommy energy!”
“And mommy does pilates… Have I mentioned I’m a yogi now? I have a little studio at my place, I could totally show you some new moves–”
Nancy coughed, cutting him off. “I’m stopping this before you call yourself daddy.”
“You didn’t say shit when Steve did yesterday!”
“I expect better from you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Steve interjected, throwing a pointed look at Nancy.
“It means, that I am used to these sort of antics from tweedle dee and tweedle dumb,” she sighed, pointing from Steve to Robin. “Not from you.”
“Why am I tweedle dumb?” Robin pouted, pulling away from Nancy slightly.
“You’d be mad if you weren’t tweedle dumb, honey.” Nancy sighed. “Let’s just go in, the last thing we need is to be late for this appointment because of a ‘is Steve a mommy?’ debate.”
“It’s not a debate, it’s a fact. ” Eddie smiled, holding his arms out as he walked backwards towards the door. Steve’s mouth scrunched up into a crooked smile and he reached up to push his glasses up. He was fucking adorable. And apparently the menace picked up yoga, but that was something to unpack later… much, much later.
The air conditioner blasted in their faces as they walked through the small door leading into the studio. The reception space was fairly small, four chairs neatly pressed against the wall with a table tucked in the corner, scattered with various issues of Rolling Stone and Billboard . A decent sized desk was plopped in the center of the room, housing a young man in a Mickey Mouse shirt with shaggy black hair and pointed features. The sharp angles of his face looked familiar, especially as his downturned brown eyes peaked up from the binder in front of him.
“You have an appointment?” he huffed, eyes glued on Steve, eyeing the papers in his hands.
“ Mike? ” The man’s eyebrows furrowed as they dragged away from Steve and onto Nancy. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“What the fuck am I doing here? What the fuck are you doing here?” the man, Mike, said as he turned in his seat to fully face Nancy. “What do you think I’m doing? I’m working, Nancy.”
“I’m here to work too. Since when have you cared about music production?”
“Since I needed an internship to graduate, which you would know if you didn’t abandon me at Holly’s birthday party this year.”
“Don’t bring Holly into this, you know why I won’t go back to mom and dad’s–”
“I don’t actually. All I know is that mom was pissed when you ran out during Christmas 1990–”
“You know why I had to leave, you were sitting right there!”
“I was there, but I wasn’t there , if you catch my drift–”
“ Mike! ”
“I was twenty-one, don’t get your panties in a twist.”
“Ew, did he just talk about his sister’s panties?” Robin whispered to Steve, leaning behind Nancy to do so. The smaller girl had begun to walk towards the desk, resting her hands on the counter.
“Wait, that’s Mike Mike?”
“No shit. Keep up, Sherlock,” Eddie hissed, nudging Steve in the ribs. “And yeah, he did, Rob.”
As if he was just noticing the other two for the first time, Mike’s eyes snapped to Robin and Eddie, or particularly, to Eddie. Mike’s whole demeanor changed when he looked at Eddie. His shoulders dropped from his ears, the crease between his eyebrows softened, and his lips slacked open, making his puffy lips look pouty.
“Nancy, what are you doing with Eddie Munson?” he whispered out of the corner of his mouth. His eyes remained set on Eddie. Steve could practically see the stars forming in the deep brown hues.
“If you looked at that schedule in front of you, you’d see Harringley has a session with Jim Hopper,” Nancy said, leaning over the desk to where their appointment had been written clearly on the tabletop calendar in front of him. She tapped on the name for emphasis. Mike’s mouth twitched as he patted her hand away. Eddie stifled a laugh from beside Steve, clearly finding this all amusing.
Steve watched from the corner of his eye as Eddie adjusted the lapels of his leather jacket before sauntering over to the desk to stand beside Nancy. Mike’s eyes had trailed down to Eddie’s trim hips before snapping back up to the man’s face.
“I see you’re a fan of mine, Mike, right? Can I call you Michael?” Eddie asked, turning his body to lean against the counter, but also lean in towards the young man.
“Mike is fine, Mike… Big fan! I went to your three-day weekend concert in Brooklyn a few months ago. It was a fucking trip man! Even my friends who don’t like you liked you after that like… You were absolutely insane, like that was music man. Like Nirvana thinks they are doing shit, but they gotta get a whiff of what you’re doing, it’s unparalleled…”
Eddie smirked as he leaned forward, tapping the tip of his index finger to the dip of Mike’s chin. Mike’s mouth immediately snapped shut, his wide eyes meeting Eddie’s with a nervous look. “Michael… Didn’t anyone tell you that pretty mouth of yours will get dried out with all that talking?”
Steve’s eyes widened at this, immediately looking towards Robin, only to see a twin expression on her face. Because was Eddie seriously flirting with Nancy’s brother, who was also the receptionist of the studio they were set to record at? Also, was he seriously flirting with him ? Listen, Steve didn’t like calling people twinks. But if the shoe fits…
Mike’s eyes were widened as well, the tops of his cheeks blushed and red as he attempted to sputter out a response. Just as he cleared his throat and opened his mouth to respond, a tall, older man burst through the doors leading to the studio, a hardset look resting on his face. “Wheeler, is my noon appointment— what the fuck are you guys doing out here still?”
“A little family reunion has popped up, hasn’t it, Wheelers?” Eddie crooned, slumping down further against the desk. The two begrudgingly nodded in response, the looming man in the doorway making them almost feel small. “We’re ready to go if you are... Jim, was it?”
“Hopper is fine.” Eddie pushed off of the desk and slid into Hopper’s space, holding his hand out to the man.
“Eddie Munson, good to put a face to the name.”
Without much thought, Steve slinked forward to stand beside Eddie. It felt natural for him to be at the front of the group, to be the one to make the introductions, to handle the casual business side of things. It almost felt wrong to have Eddie speak for the group—not that there was anything wrong with him doing so—it's just that it was Steve’s job. It was his job to take care of them all. He was, or maybe is , the frontman of Harringley.
“Thank you for having us, Hopper,” Steve chimed in, extending his hand out to the man. He felt a large, calloused hand capture his own, giving it a firm shake. “Steve Harrington.”
“Heard a lot about you, Harrington. That Mayfield is… persistent.”
“Wouldn’t be where I am without her,” Steve responded slowly. He was trying to suss out what Hopper meant with that statement, whether it came from a place of admiration or was a more crass sentiment.
“Fuckin’ Wheeler, do I need to show you how to unlock the doors again? Is that why this is taking so—oh hello , Harringley.” A man with wide-brim glasses, straggly hair, and a polka dot button up worn wide open leaned against the doorway, eyes raking across each member of the band. Steve felt skeevy under his watch, his skin crawling under the watch of those dark eyes. He unconsciously shifted towards Eddie, barely noticeable, except their clothed shoulders brushed now.
“And you are–”
“Holy shit!” Robin interjected, pushing ahead to reach the man in front of them. She had tunnel-vision when she was excited, so she barely noticed that she had jostled Steve during her rush forward, causing him to slump into Eddie. He felt the man’s hand wrap around the curve of his elbow, steadying him in place. His hands felt warm against the bare skin, his rings ice cold. The duality of sensations was almost overwhelming. He pretended the small touch didn’t affect him while Eddie’s hand slowly slid away. “You’re Murray!”
“Oh no,” Steve heard Nancy groan from behind them.
“Oh yes!” The man—Murray—exclaimed with a leering smile. Eddie stifled a laugh beside Steve.
“Perk up, Steven, this is gonna be a trip,” Eddie leaned in and whispered into his ear. Steve pursed his lips to hold back a laugh as he flickered his eyes between Robin, Murray, and Hopper.
“Your work on Nena, it was revolutionary, I can’t believe you’re here. Like you don’t even know, that album was my entire life when I was a little baby freshman.”
“Robin Buckley, a fan of little ole me? I am flattered,” Murray smiled as he nodded at the woman.
“She doesn’t shut up about that album. Ever,” Nancy confirmed with a sigh.
“Because Nena and this man are geniuses. Geniuses, Nancy.”
“You guys keep talking about Murray and he will get so inflated he will float away,” Hopper grumbled.
“But 99 Luftba–”
“No!” two voices—Hopper and Nancy—yelled. But it was too late. Robin and Murray shared a smiling look before the man grabbed her wrist and jerked her into the hallway. Their laughter could be heard echoing back to them.
“I’m just gonna… yeah,” Nancy said, slightly defeated, as she followed the laughter. That left Steve, Eddie, Hopper, and Mike silently standing in the reception room, staring down the hallway.
“You guys always like this?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Hopper sighed, pinching his fingers in the space between his eyebrows. He mumbled something to himself, nothing that Steve could hear clearly, before turning his head towards Mike. “Actually do your job for once. Please. Don’t make me call El.”
“You’re really going to bring my girlfriend into this?”
“I’m going to bring my daughter into this because I’m doing her a favor by letting you intern here.”
“Semantics,” Mike grumbled, giving Eddie one last longing glance before shuffling back to the desk.
“That was delightful,” Eddie said around a smile, little giggles erupting from his lips. He looked all together too gleeful about it all, and though it annoyed Steve, at least a little, he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t missed it. The way Eddie delighted in the awkward and strange and, well, could make anything fun, really.
“Not the word I would use for it,” Steve replied.
“Me either,” Hopper agreed. He clapped them both on the shoulder, giving them a little shove down the hallway.
They found themselves in a spacious recording room, where Murray and Robin were talking animatedly to each other over the soundboard while Nancy looked just about ready to bash her head into the wall. Or maybe grab a drumstick and gouge her eyes out. Whichever was more convenient really. Her eyes flooded with relief as the boys entered the room.
“Oh thank god, you two are here,” she said quickly as she sped over to the two men. She grabbed both of their hands, dragging them into the appropriate room. Eddie grabbed the back of Robin’s shirt in the process, dragging her along for the ride.
“Excuse me–” Robin choked out before she was pushed into Nancy’s direction.
“Stop fangirling, it’s go time babe,” Nancy hissed before walking off to her drumset. Eddie cackled as he strolled over to the guitar stands, eyeing a few different options before settling on a black Yamaha with a particularly gleeful look in his eye.
“So- uh- hi,” Mike said, poking his face into the recording booth. “I forgot to ask… Eddie, do you need anything? There’s a really great coffee place down the street that I discovered, I would be happy to get you something from there. Or even tea! Tea is nice. Bean water, leaf water, it’s all water at the end of the day.”
Steve and Robin shared a look, telepathically communicating. Is this kid serious? Steve asked. How are he and Nancy related? Robin replied with a shift of her brows.
“No thank you, Michael. What did I say earlier?” Mike blushed as he glanced around the room cautiously.
“Mike, could you get me some water?” Nancy asked from behind her drumset. He rolled his eyes as he left the room, slamming the door shut behind him.
“Jesus Christ,” Hopper mumbled, running a hand down his face. “Let’s get this rolling before we have any other… interruptions. Just do your thing, warm up or whatever, let me know when you’re ready to record,” Hopper grumbled through the microphone, waving lazily in their direction once he’d let it go.
Now that they were here, standing with their instruments, microphones in front of them, it hit Steve in a whole new way what they were about to do. It had been years since they’ve been together like this, and he felt unequipped to lead it. How exactly did he start a recording session for a song that broke apart all of them? Broke the man he loved? A song that was a wound, healed over and perhaps calcified, but still ever present. He was digging in with his thumb.
The Fender in Steve’s hold felt heavy as his fingers bounced across the fretboard, music unplaying, but the chords becoming familiar to him once again. The chords that had been haunting his memory since they first hit those pages back in 1988. “Do we want to start with the song , or do we wanna warm up with something fun?”
“Something fun!” Robin practically cheered from behind her keyboard. “I vote 99 Luftballons .” She giggled as she pointed at Murray. Steve looked in his direction through the screen only to see Murray cackling and pointing back to Robin. Steve knew in his gut that that combination of people only meant trouble. He feared for his future self. But his present self just wanted to get over the hump of recording Million fucking Reasons with Eddie fucking Munson.
“Let’s just get it over with,” Eddie mumbled, fussing with the tuning of his guitar. The guitar was probably already perfectly in tune, but Steve knew the man just wanted to keep his hands busy. That he wanted to distract his mind from the situation… the situation being recording Million fucking Reasons with Steve fucking Harrington.
“What about The Chain?” Nancy piped up from behind the drums. “We always had a good groove with it.”
Steve kept his eyes trained on the microphone in front of him, ignoring the desire to turn to look at Eddie. His scar felt as if it was vibrating, pulled taut, and he barely thought about it anymore, but how could he not? That song reminded him to this day, without a doubt until the day he died, of Eddie. But Nancy didn’t wait for a response as she began to kick the bass drum, setting their pace.
With the rhythm coursing through the room, it seemed everyone slipped into the song as if second nature. Steve felt like it was just yesterday they were playing this one on stage, watching the audience lose their shit. He played and he sang, and he almost made it all the way to the end before the tug in his chest made it impossible to not look over.
You would never break the chain, he sang, turning his gaze. Eddie was already watching, eyes trained where Steve suspected they might be. He trailed the curve of the scar, and then upon being caught his eyes jumped back up to Steve’s. There was a small smile on his lips, perhaps a bit forced, but he sent it to Steve before turning back to look at his fretboard. It felt like a consolation prize somehow, but Steve didn’t know what exactly he’d expected to win from playing a song trudging up a million old memories.
“Nice. Sounds good,” Hopper said, voice clear cut. He circled his middle finger in the air as if to say let’s get to it.
Steve watched as Robin took a deep breath, and then she tilted her head in his direction. You ready? What was there to do but nod in response? Her fingers slipped across the keys. They tried to do the damn thing.
But the problem was, trying to record Million Reasons was giving Steve a million reasons why he wanted to be six feet under. Between the looks everyone was shooting at him throughout the song, to Eddie’s guitar string snapping under the pressure of his fingers, to Nancy’s drumstick flying across the room and almost impaling Steve, to Steve’s voice cracking during the bridge of what had been their best take thus far… It was a shit show.
“Okay, what the fuck is going on with us.” Steve groaned, squatting down to the ground, the bass slapping against his stomach. “I know that the original didn’t have a full arrangement, but even then it was cleaner than this shit.”
“Sheesh, I thought we were getting close to vibing, Steve-O,” Eddie said as he flipped the guitar to rest on his back. He walked over to squat down next to Steve. “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”
“Nothing, I just can’t figure out where the disconnect is. I feel like we’ve lost our fuckin’ touch.”
“I can,” Hopper chimed in through the speaker.
“Let go, you kids are overthinking this shit like it’s a war zone. It’s not a battle, it’s a story. Stop trying to fight with your instruments, make love with them,” Murray crooned, his voice edging on irritated. Robin was nodding along enthusiastically.
“See, he fuckin’ gets it! We gotta bleed into this shit, not make this shit bleed.”
“What the actual fuck are you guys talking about?” Steve groaned, pressing his hands to the sides of his face. Before his thumb could begin to trace his scar, Eddie pulled his hands down, his big, brown eyes staring into his own.
“Don’t make me get Mike in here,” Eddie whispered, a small smile creeping onto his face. “I will make it so uncomfortable. So horny and uncomfortable. We don’t want that.”
“What are you even talking about?”
“You are so in your head right now, Harrington. We all are. But you’re the lead on this song. We’re following you, just like we always have. I’m not saying that to put any pressure on you, trust me… but if there’s something I can do to get you outta that head of yours you gotta tell me, man.”
Steve’s eyes widened as his throat got tight for a moment. In another world, he would allow himself to think of many, many ways that Eddie could help him get out of his head. In this world he was being a normal adult, honestly. Not thinking about that first time Eddie dropped to his knees or anything . Not thinking about dragging Eddie into the nearest bathroom and pulling a Munson on Munson himself. Nope. Not at all.
He cleared his throat as he stood back up, shaking his shoulders to rid himself of the tension building up his back. He looked down at Eddie, the man looking up at him through his long lashes, mouth slightly parted open. Jesus fucking Christ. Steve cleared his throat again as he extended a hand out to the man to help him up. Eddie gladly took it.
“No, no, thank you though… I appreciate it… I just— I’m thinking too much of then. Gotta get in the now.”
“Bleed into it, Steve! Bleed!” Robin cackled with a flourish across her keys. She quickly jumped into the song, not allowing for another second of contemplation on Steve’s part. Steve’s eyes widened as he got his hands in place for the beginning of the song.
This was why Steve loved Robin. She knew when to push him, when to shove him into the uncomfortable at just the right time to allow him to thrive. Maybe this is what he needed—no time to think or feel. Just time to bleed into the song. Whatever the fuck that meant.
As the song ended with a flourish of Eddie’s guitar, the somber pluckings fading into the atmosphere, Steve looked up to see a beaming Hopper staring back at them. Steve felt it in his gut—that was the one. It went as perfectly as it possibly could have.
“Now that? That was fucking electric,” Hopper said into the microphone. Even Murray was beaming through the glass, tossing Robin a thumbs up. “One more run, then you guys are good to go.”
After about ten more minutes of recording, they were putting the instruments away in their rightful places, cracking open bottles of water that Mike had begrudgingly put in the room towards the end of their session, sending Nancy an icy glare. It was then that Hopper strolled into the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.
“Good work today guys, I’ll send the final mix over to your managers once it’s completed,” he said leaning against the wall. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and thumbed at the box. He didn’t remove anything from it, just flicked the package open and close. “I think you guys aren’t done yet.”
“Done yet?” Nancy asked from behind the drumset where she had been wiping down the drumsticks.
“The potential is there, you guys still have the sound, I’m just saying. Not everyday you see a group like this, and I see a lot of fucking people. Unfortunately.”
Steve glanced at Robin who threw him a shrug.
“I have a cabin upstate. Full recording space in there and everything.”
“That’s cool?” Steve said, more as a question than a statement. He cracked his knuckles as he stared inquisitively at Hopper.
“What this enigmatic motherfucker is trying to say is that you should record some new shit,” Murray sighed into the microphone, where he had been closing up the sound space. “Take the offer to go to the nice man’s fancy cabin for free and make a fucking album.”
Hopper rolled his eyes before staring back at the group. “You have my information. Think about it.”
And with that, Hopper left the room. Steve bit his lip as he pivoted to turn towards the rest of the group. He stared into each of their faces, trying to decipher the range of emotion amongst them all. Eddie with his cautiousness, Robin with her excitement, and Nancy with her apprehension. The range of their feelings made Steve question whether he could be thrilled about this offer or not.
“Back to my place? Let’s talk.” Eddie said as he shouldered his way out of the room. Steve stood in the space for one more moment before following after him. He was his ride after all.
They’d been back at Eddie’s place for maybe a half hour when Eddie poured himself a wine glass of grape juice, and Robin and Nancy joined him in the kitchen to pour themselves an actual glass of wine with a bottle they’d picked up from the corner store after Eddie said it was fine. Steve was sitting at the counter, unsure yet where the night was going and where he wanted it to go so he was just… sitting. Without prompting, Eddie slipped a glass of water across the counter to him. It had crushed ice, just like Steve loved.
It was such a sweet, small gesture. Steve felt himself nearly choke up as he took a sip after a muttered thank you.
“So what do we think, party people?” Eddie asked. “We making some music?”
The room fell silent for a moment. They’d all been ignoring Hopper’s suggestion on the way back to Eddie’s, but Steve couldn’t deny it—that moment of fucking magic when they were all playing together, feeling the music. That’s what brought them together in the first place: the knowledge that music was their life force. Sure, in the end, it hadn’t been enough to keep them alive together , but Steve didn’t want to let himself spiral on that train of thought.
“I miss playing with you guys,” Robin said, breaking the silence. She took a sip from her glass, all eyes on her, and she set it delicately back to the counter in a way that felt uncharacteristic of her. “I just… it’s been a long time.”
“We always said we weren’t broken up,” Nancy said. Her hip was leaning onto the counter, and she brought her free hand to play with the charm of her choker as she spoke. “That it was just a break.”
“Doesn’t mean now is the time to end that break,” Steve added, though he wasn’t sure why. He missed playing with them, too. “That sounded pessimistic. I just… do we still have music to write together?”
Eddie eyed him, Steve feeling the heat of the gaze on the side of his face, and he couldn’t help but turn to see the other man’s expression. He wanted to know how he was looking at him. Fuck, Steve thought being older and wiser would make the magnetic pull something easier, manageable. That maybe it was just a folly of youth or some shit, but Eddie still had it. That face that made you want to look. That energy that made you desperate to match it somehow.
His face now was… well, it was just open. Listening. No legible emotion. If it was five years earlier, Steve felt as if he’d have been able to read him without problem. Or maybe Eddie was more outright bombastic then, and Steve was still sticking together the new pieces of him. Figuring it out bit by bit.
“Let’s try,” Nancy said. Steve pulled his gaze away from Eddie and turned back to Nancy, his friend, the one who had kept the thread between Eddie for all these years as Robin and Steve didn’t know how to reach out, what to do. The sensible one. Perhaps the best fighter of them all. “We give it a night. We try to write something. If it’s shit we say it was fun, we keep doing our own thing, but if it isn’t, we talk about using Hopper’s cabin and giving it more of a go.”
“I’m down for that,” Robin said, reaching out her wine glass as if in a cheer. “Eddie? Steve? What says you?”
“Fuck yeah,” Eddie said, bringing his glass in to clink softly against Robin’s and then Nancy’s when she lifted her own. They all turned to Steve.
What was the worst that could happen? They didn’t have the magic anymore? One night couldn’t end in absolute travesty, could it? And Steve wanted it to work. Honestly, he really did, even if it meant further complications and possible drama and… no. They were older. Different people. Better musicians, and there was still that something pulling them all closer, their music the planet they circled around with a gravitational pull.
“Let’s fucking do it.” He reached his own glass out, and they all met in the middle. “Wish we had some skittles.”
Eddie laughed, head thrown back, and Steve tried not to stare at the column of his throat. Tried not to let that flare of longing wrap its way around his windpipe yet again. As if it ever stopped.
“You guys are going to fucking love this,” Eddie said, walking around the counter and down his hallway.
None of them knew what the fuck he was talking about, sharing a confused look, but following all the same. They came into the office, a small room they’d seen last night—a tiny desk, a bookshelf stuffed with weathered paperbacks. When all of them had filed in, Eddie stepped to the bookcase and pulled at the one hardcover on the shelf.
“No!” Robin gasped.
He giggled, practically like a child all hopped up on sugar. “Oh, yes. ”
The far wall revealed a door with a soft click, and all three of their jaws dropped.
“You were holding out on us, Munson!” Nancy exclaimed, pushing past them to be the first into the room. “You fucking asshole!”
“Sue me for wanting a dramatic reveal.”
Steve stepped through the doorway last, and then he saw it. A small soundproofed studio. Guitars hung from the walls. There was a bass hanging, too. A keyboard. A drumset. A collection of a few other eclectic instruments. It was the sort of thing you dreamed about as a kid, at least a kid obsessed with music. Of course Eddie had built himself a secret music room. The bastard.
“This is fucking incredible,” Steve whispered.
Eddie turned to look at him over his shoulder, his smile so wide it took over his whole face. “I thought you’d think so.”
The idea that Eddie thought about him at all still, which Steve knew of course he must but still, shot something else warm through his chest. He couldn’t help but smile back.
“Come on, losers!” Robin exclaimed, already testing out the keyboard with a gleeful smile. “Let’s write some fucking music.”
“Hear, hear,” Nancy added, hitting the drumsticks together from behind the drumset.
“You heard the queens.” Eddie slapped Steve’s shoulder. “Let’s get to it.”
Which was easier said than done, because it became apparent that they were all rusty. Nancy and Robin were on the same wavelength, always matching the other’s idea while barely having to explain it, but Eddie and Steve had both spent the last five years doing their own thing. It didn’t require the collaboration they’d used to be so accustomed to, and it felt weird to get back into the rhythm. Eddie kept coming in too hot, Steve kept coming in too soft, and Robin and Nancy kept getting frustrated when no one understood what they were trying to say despite their orders being shit like no, it needs a little more Sunday morning feeling. As if Steve was supposed to know what the fuck that meant.
They’d been going at it for a couple hours, a few breaks in between for Steve to get a coffee and Nancy and Robin to finish off their wine. Eddie was downing animal crackers from a Costco-sized container like it was his fucking job between smoke breaks on the porch, and Steve felt something heavy crawl into his abdomen. Maybe they really didn’t have the groove they used to. Maybe they were simply all too different now.
Eddie sighed, setting his guitar into his stand and twisting to look at them all. “We’re trying to play like we always play.”
“Um, yeah?” Robin replied. “And?”
“I mean like…” Eddie paused, letting his words catch up to him. “We’re warring with our individual sounds, but we’ve always been different together, and we’re different than we were last time we were together. Like, maybe we have a new sound. We just need to find it.”
Steve considered it. He was willing to try anything at this point, just to prove to himself that when he’d suggested the break all those years ago he hadn’t irreparably fucked them all. Harringley. That he hadn’t made a decision they’d all never be able to come back from. He realized with Eddie’s words how much he did want this to work. Over the last few hours, he’d been overcome with the desire to feel that thing. The same sort of thing they’d found for a brief moment in Hopper’s recording studio. The way it used to feel on stage with all four of them. He wanted it back.
“Okay,” Steve agreed before anyone else had the opportunity to take the conversation off course. “Earlier we made it work because we just… fed off of each other. We’re being too mathematical about this shit. We’re coming in with a full-fledged idea and trying to fit everything else into it. Let’s just start somewhere, and see where it takes us. Cool?”
“Why the hell not,” Nancy muttered as she hit her sticks against her thighs.
“I had an idea for this lyric on the way here,” Steve said. “Maybe one of you can build off of it. It’s like…” He cleared his throat, tried to remember exactly the way he wanted it to sound. “You climbed my heart, but you didn’t come alone.”
Eddie clicked his tongue, eyes trailing to the ceiling as he seemingly worked the words over in his head. “I can dig it.”
“Cut the but,” Nancy called. Steve eyed her, seeing something already ticking behind her eyes. “You climbed my heart. You didn’t come alone.”
“Ohhhh, oh oh. This is a duet, I can feel it,” Robin said, fingers already starting to move over the keys. “You two should riff, just see what words come out.” It was a simple chord progression, with a quick little rhythm, just something to get them moving.
Steve tapped his foot to it, trying to feel his way out, and when he felt the progression tapping in his heart, he gave it a go. “You climbed my heart,” he sang, giving it a breath before continuing. “You didn’t come alone.”
“I’m fighting against,” Eddie jumped in, finding his footing throughout the phrase as he found how he wanted it to land, “the ghosts we brought, the ghosts we made.”
And suddenly it was as if they were on the brink of something, the riffing building, the feeling of the lyrics they were testing hitting right. Nancy yelled a oh, here we fucking go before jumping in, adding that extra something that gave the song that bit of soft grit. Something Steve had never seen another drummer able to manage quite the way Nancy could, and Robin threw in background vocals to give them a go, and it was that feeling again. Even brighter. Even better. The way the song was building with all of their hands on the wheel, on the pen, and Steve could feel his body practically levitating as he gave the thing a groovy little bass line.
The song continued on for what felt like hours, was probably closer to ten minutes, as they ran through possibilities. They kept testing, kept pushing, and it began to feel like Harringley but something new and different. Something just as good, but maybe even better.
When they slowly all begin petering out, eyes flashing between all four of them, Steve felt breathless.
“Holy shit,” he said.
“Holy fucking shit,” Robin added.
Steve caught Nancy’s ecstatic grin, Robins’ shaking head, and then he looked to Eddie. His eyes were bright and wide, so fucking gorgeous (those eyes had always been the death of him, probably always would). He let out a little chuckle, and Steve couldn’t help but match it.
“That fucking worked,” Nancy said. She whooped, clapping her drumsticks together again. “That fucking worked!”
“Guess, we’re fucking doing this gang.” Eddie’s voice, though, still held a bit of apprehension. As if he might be the only one in the room who felt it, and Steve wanted to shout because that was Harringley. That was all of them.
“Hell yeah, take that from the top, Robin.” Nancy giggled, all champagne bubbles and glee. “Someone record this shit so we don’t forget it by the time we call Hopper in the morning.”
“Whatever m’lady commands.” Eddie gave a dramatic bow before twisting over to the equipment, and Steve sunk in as Robin played again.