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"Hello … Ed, is that you? What's all that noise? What's goin' on?"
"Wayne, can you come pick me up ... I’m at a party at the Harringtons’ house ... I don't wanna talk about it, man … Can you please just come get me? Please."
Eddie hangs up the phone and swallows down the lump in his throat.
He refuses to cry in Steve Harrington's kitchen.
Making his way through all the teenagers crowding this soulless house, he blinks the fog from his eyes. No tears are gonna take him back to half an hour ago, shooting the shit with his dad in the van, happily ignoring years worth of bloody hatchets and skeletons between them.
While Eddie was desperate for it to be real this time, dear old dad hadn’t changed at all, taking off with Eddie’s van the second he came inside to scope out the party. Sorry to all the manicured girls of Loch Nora that pay pretty pennies for his shitty joints, but his stash is long gone, along with all the cash he made the last few days.
It’s all in the wind with Al fucking Munson like always.
The muggy air washes over Eddie when he steps outside, rubbing his eyes against the cool sting of wetness brimming in them. He’s not gonna cry in front of Steve Harrington’s pool either, even if he’s alone out here.
It’s like a different dimension from the crowd inside, but everyone knows the pool is off limits, though no one seems to know why. Everyone just falls in line to the will of the king. Whatever, Eddie doesn’t give a shit he just needs a minute to breathe. He needs a damn cigarette, too, but of course, his smokes were in the van.
“Hey Munson, you sold out already or something?”
Eddie’s hands drop from his face, whipping around to where the voice came from. Caught off guard, embarrassment rises in his cheeks under the gaze of the man himself, Harrington. There’s an almost eerie blue glow casting off the water where he’s sitting poolside in a deck chair, strangely alone out here when he’s got a whole party inside.
Eddie clears his throat, trying to shield his vulnerability from a moment ago, “Nah man, all my shit was stolen.”
“That bites. Do you know who took it?” Harrington sounds oddly… concerned. “I bet it was that dickhead, Hargrove. I kicked him out like 10 minutes ago.”
“What’s it to you?” Eddie shoots back, instinctively distrustful, hackles raised like a cornered animal. He’s already taken a knife to the back tonight.
Harrington holds up a hand as if to ease him, like somehow in all his prim Polo-wearing properness, he’s used to handling wild things. “Just figured maybe I could help you get it back.”
“Why do you care?” Maybe Eddie’s being too defensive, it’s not like Harrington has ever given anyone hell like Hargrove or Hagan, but they’re all one in the same right? Or maybe Harrington really was ousted from the throne like the rumors in the hallways say. Eddie’s got more on his mind right now than the intricacies of Hawkins High pecking order.
“Uh, because it’s my house and I don’t want some thief around? Jesus you’re prickly, dude.” With an eyeroll, Harrington waves him over to the empty chair next to him. “Here, just sit down and relax for a sec. We’ll see if we can figure it out.”
Eddie hesitates, feeling like it has to be some kind of trap, but there’s no one else around. Harrington’s never done more than stand by while his jock buddies do their damage to whoever or call Eddie a freak under his breath a couple times, but who hasn’t? Eddie encourages it, even. What would Harrington get out of pulling anything now when it’s not for show?
Honestly, Eddie’s just trying to rationalize it because he could really use the beer that’s also up for grabs, offered with an outstretched hand.
So Eddie stalks over to the empty chair, warily sitting down as if it might snap him inside like a snare. His nerves are all frazzled. Between his dad’s little stunt and now the king of the jocks (former king?) is handing Eddie an open beer that he’s taken a sip from himself, give him a break. Eddie mellows out a tad after a couple chugs.
“Do you have any clue who took it?” Harrington asks, way too much concern in the line between his brows than he should be able to fake for Eddie.
“No one here.”
Eddie sort of wishes it was that simple. A stranger would only hurt his pockets, instead of this bone-deep betrayal he should’ve seen coming. He doesn’t even care about the money, or his van, it’s deeper than that. It aches somewhere the booze can’t wash away. He squeezes the cool bottle in his grasp, blaming the contents for what he woefully admits next.
“It was my pops, man. He ran off with my van and everything in it.”
For some reason, it’s embarrassing to say. Either secondhand for his old man pulling something so low-down, or just his own pride for falling for it. He stares at the unnaturally still water in front of him, instead of meeting the gaze beside him.
He can feel Harrington taking in it, questioning it. Maybe he’s wondering how a father could screw over his own son like that, or maybe he’s thinking everyone knows that’s exactly what Al Munson would do, and Eddie— especially Eddie, should’ve known that.
Even Jeff warned him this time too, having been there since the days that Al would bring Eddie a new bike when he won big at the casino, then steal it back the next week to sell when he lost. Seems like Eddie was the only idiot willing to give his dad another chance, even blowing off band practice the last couple days to spend time with him.
“Your van, huh?” Is what Harrington finally says, soft for some reason. “I could give you a ride home. Forest Hills, right?”
That’s… not what Eddie was expecting at all. Just picturing that hotrod that’s all the rage in the school parking lot kicking up gravel in the trailer park rubs him wrong. It’s all off-beat, Eddie feels so far off his center that he’s normally so sure of. All he can do is push back to try and find it again.
“What, you’re gonna ditch your party to slum it on the wrong side of Hawkins with me? Don’t worry about it, I called my uncle.”
Looking over, he sees how Harrington almost looks disappointed by that.
“Yeah okay, but I don’t really care about this party,” he says, not even trying to pass it off in a ‘cool’ way, he just seems put off by it, “Graduation’s coming up, y’know, it was Tommy’s idea. I should’ve said no, I don’t give a shit about it. Or Tommy.”
Again, not what Eddie was expecting. He feels a thud in his stomach at the mention of graduation, yet another failure under his belt. “Well I’m not graduating, so does it count as that kinda party if you’re out here with the super senior freak?”
“Guess we’re just having a shitty dads party then,” Harrington tries for what Eddie assumes is a reassuring smile, because for whatever reason in this twisted reality, Steve Harrington is trying to comfort him.
Him, Eddie Munson.
But it ends up striking an already sensitive nerve.
“What do you even know about it?” Eddie scoffs.
Harrington’s smile drops, snapping back, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
A bitter laugh bubbles up in Eddie’s throat. He hates how it sounds as awful as he feels. Gesturing with the beer in his hand, he states the obvious, “Look around, dude.”
Maybe Harrington’s not as popular at school, but he’s still well off at home. A rich, two parent household that he’s never had to worry about scrounging to keep the lights on. The only business he’ll ever have to do is for his Daddy’s fucking letterhead. Eddie will accept his pity to the extent of a free beer, but he won’t sit there and listen to Harrington pretending to know what it’s like for him.
“Yeah, look around,” Harrington retorts, an even more bitter curl on his lip than Eddie’s. “Got everything except parents, don’t I? Like if they buy me enough shit, I won’t notice they’re hardly here.”
The look in his eyes is a little hurt but fierce, grating enough to cut through Eddie’s defenses. Wayne keeps telling him to stop jumping the gun and going off half-cocked. Yet here Eddie is again, assuming he’s got this guy all figured out.
When in reality, all he knows is that despite being the talk of the town, Harrington’s parents are rarely ever seen around. He lost his girl, doesn’t seem to have any real friends to show, and looks about as lonely at school as he does now— while he’s doing nothing but trying to help Eddie.
“I’m sorry, man,” Eddie relents, “You’re just going against everything I thought I knew about you right now. I’m trying to kick the habit of putting people in boxes with the whole anti-conformity thing. Been told I can be a real judgemental asshole.”
“Yeah I wonder why,” Harrington says lightly, his lips curling back into a smile that sort of makes Eddie want to hide his face. It doesn’t feel wrong somehow, like the rare times that a girl spared him a look, more like it shouldn’t be directed at him. Steve Harrington shouldn’t be smiling at him.
“And call me Steve, alright? If we’re gonna be in the shitty dads club together, we should be on a first name basis.”
That actually gets a laugh out of Eddie. Short and pained as it sounds, it’s real.
“Okay then, Steve,” he has to look away after he says it, feeling his chest cave under the weight of that smile for some reason. Must be the state he’s in. Steve made him forget for a second but he’s sinking again, staring out over the pool, trying and failing to see the bottom.
“Is it fucked up that I kinda wish my dad was shitty all the time?” He hears himself say without thinking better of it.
A pause, then Steve replies, “I don’t think so. Why?”
“‘Cause he’s good at making me forget.” Eddie feels much older with a cynical twist on his lips. “Most of the time, he’s the best guy you’ll ever meet. Funny, generous, he’s got charisma out the ass. No matter where you're from or what you do, he can carry a conversation with anybody. Could charm a fucking snake.”
That’s why Eddie let him back in. He has a way of turning up when things are bad and making it seem like he’s got the perfect fix. Eddie failing senior year again gave him just the right angle to drop in, offering to help Eddie sell his stash so they could open up a shop and he wouldn’t even need to graduate for that. “Munson Motors, just like we always talked about, me and you kid.”
It was exactly what Eddie needed to hear at the time. Rick’s been on his case about not carrying his weight and he always sells better with his pops riding along. Al knows more people and he’s an even better talker than Eddie, can convince them it’s worth more than what Eddie’s usually slinging, even though it’s sure as shit not.
That’s why it was so easy to believe Al when he said it was better that he waited in the van with the stash while Eddie checked out the party. Then Eddie would come back and get what he needed because it’s safer not to carry too much on him at once. It sounded like he was looking out for Eddie.
That’s why Eddie’s sitting here beating himself up for not realizing his dad was going to run off with his shit again, because he’s so good at making it seem like this time it’ll be different.
“Yeah, my dad is the coolest guy in the world when he wants something,” Eddie shakes his head ruefully, “It’s so hard to hate him.”
Every single time, he lets Eddie down. And every single time, Eddie still thinks it'll be different.
He should've listened to Wayne. Even though his uncle never says it outright, he just gives Eddie a tight look when Al pops up in town and shows up on their doorstep. It’s almost like a ‘You sure you wanna do this again?’
Wayne shielded him from it entirely when he was younger, then Eddie got older, more stiff-necked and defiant, wanting to make his own choices. Wayne always gave him the freedom to do it.
Then when Eddie inevitably gets roped into whatever scheme his old man is running, Wayne gives him a squeeze on the shoulder on the way out, tells him, ‘You keep your head on straight, now.’
Eddie wishes he’d just listen for once.
“What did he need the money for?” Steve’s voice comes, pulling Eddie from his thoughts.
“I dunno, probably to jumpstart some con he’s running, he’s a shark. But it's not really about the money, man, he’s just gonna gamble it off. Not even a high roller, he’s just a damn slot jockey, y’know. It's about that split second high when he wins. Doesn’t even matter how much ‘cause he’s too far in the hole to ever break even. He could hit a million and he'd be at the Blue Chip the same day playing it all back.”
Eddie glances over, finding Steve’s gaze even more attentive as before. It makes it easier to go on, trying to make sense of it.
“It started that way, yeah, needing money. Those casinos send ads in the mail way more often on my side of town. The shittier the neighborhood, the more ads at twice the rate as anywhere else. They’ve got the number to every trailer from the phonebook, always calling on payday. Poor people are easy targets for that ‘get rich quick’ bullshit. It’s sick.”
An agreeing hum comes from Steve next to him, like he understands even if he hasn’t lived it like Eddie. Or at least he’s trying to.
Eddie takes another sip of beer, feels it seep all the way down inside him, deeper than the bottomless water in front of him. He follows it to that place, much deeper than he imagined this conversation with Steve would go, but he doesn’t want to go down there alone.
“It got worse after my mom died,” quietly, Eddie dives in, “He’d go to the riverboats with his buddies on payday just to get away, shooting dice, playing cards too. Didn’t take long to start burning through his whole check. Sometimes he’d hit big enough to pay the bills and sometimes we just went without lights. I loved when he won ‘cause things would be good for a while, y’know? He’d buy me something new and fill my head with all the stuff we were gonna get to do.”
He snorts wryly at his younger self for believing it, “Then he’d feed it all back to the machines. It’s a cycle, just like chasing a high with a drug. He’ll do anything to get it, that’s the problem.”
Eddie thought it was cool at the time, his dad teaching him how to hotwire, even letting him be the getaway driver sometimes. When he got to stay home alone while Al was at the chop shop cashing out, he felt closer to him somehow.
When he stayed with Wayne while Al went to a different town, finding someone new to sell snake oil to or steal from, Eddie felt like he was helping, instead of just sitting around looking like a haunting reminder of his mom. Every time Al had some new scheme up his sleeve and said it would all pay off, Eddie believed it.
“He had these lucky dice that he was real superstitious about. No one was allowed to touch them, but I was a kid, so of course I played with them. Then I ended up losing them and he tore up the place looking for them. Then he blamed me when he lost his whole paycheck that week. Then it was my fault when he lost his truck after that. Lost his job for catching a theft charge and that was on me too.”
Eddie’s in so deep now, his voice coming out shallow, “That’s when the drinking got bad. We were about to get evicted and I was nagging about being hungry or something and he— He said he’d stick me in the slot machine for 20 bucks if he could. That’s when I ran away to my uncle, and he didn’t even try to get me back.”
He hates that it even affects him now. Wayne is more of a dad to him than Al ever was. Even when his mom was around, he was always leaving to go off on ‘business’ that landed him in the back of a cop car. Too reckless to hold down a nine-to-five very long, even when they’d hire him.
But Eddie’s been nothing but loved and taken care of since the day he showed up on Wayne’s front porch, and it came without any kind of price. So why does it matter that his dad couldn’t do it?
“It’s never like that at first.” Eddie looks over at Steve, hoping he can’t see the tears stinging his eyes now. “When Al shows back up, he always says he’s done with all that, seems like he’s really turning a corner and he just needs some help to get back on his feet. And— how’s he supposed to get better if I don’t give him a chance to?”
Guilt eats away at Eddie, like he’s just as insatiable as his old man because he’s so lucky to have Wayne. Yet there’s a part of him that always feels abandoned because the one person who’s supposed to care about him doesn’t.
“Now I feel like an idiot 'cause I am one, right?” Eddie smiles bitterly around the swell of pain in his voice. “I'm a fucking idiot for wanting to believe my dad actually gives a shit about me.”
Another wave hits and Eddie can’t hold it back any longer.
He catches what he can with a hand over his face, part of him still refusing to fully cry in front of anyone, even though Steve doesn’t feel much like a stranger anymore.
A few tears slip free and it’s sort of a relief, letting it spill from that permanent wound inside him. He has less and less left to bleed every time his dad comes back for more, sinking those red hands into him again.
After a moment, he feels a warm palm come to rest on his arm and it sends a shock through his system. Somehow, he doesn’t flinch, like his body was desperately craving touch even though he’s still stunned it’s happening. He looks over with a sniff, drying his eyes.
Oh, Steve seems closer than he was before, leaning over to reach Eddie. Everything about his face is softened, as comforting as the touch that Eddie still can’t quite believe is for him.
“I don’t think that makes you an idiot,” Steve says, then pauses, searching like he’s just as young and lost for answers. “I still— Like no matter how much I hate my parents for not being here enough, I still wish they were. When they’re around, I go along with whatever because I just want them to stay. So I get it. Maybe not all of it exactly, but that part I get.”
The hand around Eddie tightens slightly. Steve adds, “I know how it feels but you’re not an idiot for that, okay?”
Eddie’s chest clenches, seeing the same thing he feels mirrored even deeper in Steve’s gaze. For a moment, he has an odd urge to just crush him in a hug. Instead, he reaches up slowly, unsure if he’s allowed, but Steve doesn’t pull away when Eddie’s hand covers his own.
“Yeah. Sorry for dumping all my shit on you,” Eddie mumbles, feeling exposed in a way his hair can’t hide, though he tries to disappear behind it.
“No, no it’s—” Steve’s eyes flick down to their hands and back up, “Did talking help?”
When Eddie thinks about it, he can’t help but notice he feels better than when he first came trudging outside. Even just the smallest bit.
“Thanks for listening,” he says, taking his hand away before he indulges too much in the touch.
Steve pulls back too, almost reluctant about it. “Anytime. Helps me too, I think.”
Another twist in Eddie’s chest, he washes it down with the rest of the beer. “Right, I should make it up to you.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Oh but I do.” Eddie sits the empty bottle down, getting to his feet when he hears the telltale rumble of Wayne’s old pick-up coming down the street, even over the muffled party music. “If you ever wanna split a joint or something, you know what side of town I’m on.”
The offer puts that smile back on Steve’s face, and he drags his hand through his hair in a way that has Eddie glancing around the backyard to keep from staring at it.
“Yeah I guess. Might still catch you around school because you run D&D club right?”
How many times is this guy going to shock Eddie tonight? “You know about Hellfire?”
“Well I babysit a bunch of nerdy little twerps, so.” Steve shrugs like that’s just yesterday’s news. “I’m sure you’ll be seeing them next year. Don’t be an asshole or I’ll hunt you down sooner than that. Just, look out for them for me?”
Babysitter Steve Harrington?
Eddie blinks, mouthing the words questioningly and having a hard time connecting them all. In the end, he just tries not to make any more assumptions.
“Yeah okay. I’ll keep an eye out for your sheep, Steve,” he vows, turning back towards the house, “My ride’s here, but thanks again.”
Steve waves him off but Eddie adds once more, “Seriously, man, come by sometime.”
Seeming a little incredulous of Eddie’s earnest offer, Steve finally relents, “Yeah, sure thing. See you, Eddie.”
One last wave and Eddie has to go, or else he doesn’t think he’ll be able to leave Steve alone.
Making his way out front, Eddie’s stomach hollows out again. It’s irrational, he knows Wayne never blames him, but his own guilt sinks like a brick inside him. He wishes he didn’t have to face it right now, but he had no one else to call for a ride since Jeff’s still pissed at him for blowing off practice.
“Hey, Ed, you alright?” Is the first thing Wayne asks when Eddie climbs in the truck, only concern present in his tone.
That makes it better and worse somehow. Eddie swallows the shame, mumbling, “Yeah, thanks for coming.”
Wayne asks, “Where’s Al?” Like he already knows the answer, but not in an ‘I told you so’ way. Never.
Without facing him, Eddie just shakes his head slightly.
From the corner of his eye, he sees Wayne’s hands tighten on the steering wheel before reaching out. His warm, calloused palm is nothing but soft when it lands on Eddie’s shoulder.
“Whatever he took, we’ll get it back, don’t you worry.”
And Eddie knows because, awfully enough, this isn’t the first time Al ran off with his van. He usually dumps it at a gas station or somewhere, knowing Wayne will report it stolen if he doesn’t.
Opposite to earlier, surrounded by familiar smells with Wayne’s protective presence next to him, Eddie feels so young. Like a stupid little kid. He moves over to the center seat, making himself small enough to tuck his head under Wayne’s arm.
"I'm sorry,” he says, barely above a whisper.
Wayne’s fingers thread into his hair, tugging him closer, “You got nothing to be sorry about, son, hush up with that. I’m sorry, hear me? I shouldn’t have—” the way his voice breaks makes Eddie burrow in further, trying to hide from it all. “He’s not gettin’ to you anymore, okay? I shouldn’t have let it happen this time. I wanna let you make your own choices, but I just can’t stand to see him let you down again.”
Eddie wants to believe it’ll be that easy. When Al shows up again, Eddie won’t let him back in no matter what sympathy card he pulls, won’t even want his empty apologies. He’ll finally listen to Wayne, he’ll finally learn and not have to find out the hard way again and regret it.
Eddie always wants it to be different next time.
For now, Wayne says, “Let’s get you home,” and that’s about the only thing Eddie’s sure he can do right.
—
Honestly, Eddie wasn’t sure if anything would come of his offer. He especially didn’t think it would be so soon.
Just a couple days after the party, Eddie goes to answer the door, sleep rumpled from an afternoon nap in a ratty band tee because the last person he expected to find there was Steve Harrington.
Rubbing his eyes to make sure he’s not dreaming, Eddie garbles some form of hello. Steve returns it with a smile and leans against the doorframe, an almost casual display if not for the nervous hand he shoves in his pocket.
“Hey, I saw your van out front,” he nods toward the old Beauville, which explains how he knew which trailer was Eddie’s. “Glad you got it back.”
Eddie nods, they found it on the side of the road off Kerley, nothing left inside but the cigarette-burned seats. The two amps that Eddie had been lugging around in the back are probably behind the counter at a pawn shop somewhere. It could’ve been worse, thank fuck his sweetheart wasn’t in there too. Wayne gave him the money to cover his ass with Rick, but he won’t have his uncle working doubles to replace everything. He’s just trying to cut his losses and forget about it.
The other night though, he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about that.
When he really processed it after, Steve gave him a lot more grace than he deserved, given what an ass he was at first. Now Steve’s here, looking sleep-deprived with tired lines under his eyes and that same shade of loneliness that Eddie can’t unsee. He really just wants to give him what he promised. Maybe try to help the way that Steve helped him, just a little.
“Yeah uh, you wanna check out the inside?” he asks and after a beat Steve understands the underlying offer and nods.
That’s the first time they smoke together in the back of Eddie’s van.
It’s sort of awkward in the beginning, without the blanket of night or the background noise of a party— or the freshly opened wound making Eddie spill his guts so easily. Conversation flows eventually without any bloodshed, passing the joint back and forth until it does its job and loosens their lips.
Talking doesn’t take them to any uncertain depths this time, enough for Eddie to read between the lines that Steve’s parents dropped in and right back out. Which explains the bags under his eyes and the fact that he just falls asleep before they’ve even smoked the whole thing.
Eddie knows his shit isn’t quality enough to have anyone belly-up after a few puffs. No way Steve was actually that high, so Eddie suspects he somehow got comfy enough on the mystery stained carpet to knock out. Eddie doesn’t bother waking him, not just because he feels like he owes it to Steve, the guy clearly needs some rest.
For the life of him, Eddie can’t see how this stuffy van is more comfortable than a cushy bed in the Harrington abode. He sort of doesn’t want to imagine why Steve can fall asleep here but not there apparently.
An hour goes by at least, Eddie gives up on trying not to think about him, trying not to stare at him.
Every second his eyes linger on Steve makes him crawl with guilt. He doesn’t know why, it’s not like he’s prying or peeping. It’s normal to look at someone, he’s allowed to look. Yet he can’t shake the feeling. When his gaze passes over the strong shape of Steve’s jaw and the delicate slope of hair on his forehead, there’s a voice inside him reading aloud what he won’t let himself think, knowing it’s not just a look.
When his eyes trail over the slight swell of Steve’s biceps filling out his sleeves, it feels indulgent, satisfying more than just curiosity.
This feeling, Eddie doesn’t know what to do with it. Usually, he turns on his stereo so loud he can’t think, letting the music do all the feeling for him. There’s songs that say having money ain’t everything, there’s songs about missing momma, there’s songs that yell fuck you dad and everything else Eddie needs to hear, but he can’t find a song that tells him this is okay. He can’t find any books to escape to either, doesn't know where to look.
One time, he asked Rick— in retrospect, the writing’s on the wall— why he likes girls. Rick, in all his stoner eloquence, started listing body parts and details about them that made Eddie wonder, who even notices those things? What’s wrong with me then? He thought he just hadn’t found a girl interesting enough. Even deeper in denial, he thought maybe nerds like himself just weren’t interested in the opposite sex.
Now he’s noticing things about Steve Harrington. Even when he steals glances at some shirtless jock on the cover of Sports Illustrated in Melvads, he doesn’t see much beyond skin that makes him flush. With Steve, he’s seeing patterns of freckles and a scar etched into his brow that he wants to know all about. When he looks at Steve’s hands, he remembers how warm they were, he wonders if his mouth would be the same.
Eddie’s noticing things that he shouldn’t.
Another hour and Eddie has practically wrung himself out agonizing over it. He has to wake Steve up even though he’d rather let him sleep, he has band practice and Jeff just now forgave him for ditching so he can’t screw up again already.
Before he gets the chance to wake Steve, a sudden burst of radio static buzzes from somewhere. While it startles the shit out of Eddie, Steve just yawns awake and fishes out a walkie talkie from the hidden inside pocket of his jacket lining.
A kid’s voice cuts through when Steve raises the antenna, followed by a jumble of frantic code words.
Steve tonelessly replies, “Yeah, yeah. It’s probably nothing, dude, just like the last 5 times you had a hunch … Okay I’ll come check it out … No, don’t touch it … Fine, say goodbye to your fingers first in case it really is radioactive goo … Yeah I always have the bat.” Which may as well have been code language for how much it baffles Eddie.
“What do you need a radio for?”
Steve shrugs, shoving it back inside his jacket. “Uh, you know, babysitting business.”
Right, Jesus, Eddie still can’t process the whole babysitter thing. But Steve’s being purposely cryptic for some reason and Eddie knows he should back off but his curiosity is getting the better of him.
“Who’s Henderson?”
Steve snorts, “A pain in my ass and soon to be yours. Enjoy it while you can.”
Okay, less cryptic, so it’s one of the nerdy kids he mentioned, the future Hellfire prospects. “What’s Code Yellow?” Or radioactive goo?! And why does he always have ‘The’ bat?!
“Probably nothing, you know, kid’s imagination,” Steve hums, getting to his feet, “But I’m gonna check it out, don’t worry your pretty head.”
Pre-pre-pre… Pretty?
It’s just a saying. It’s just a saying. It’s just a saying.
Eddie’s too thrown off by Steve Harrington calling him pretty to question how much more cryptic that last answer was. But Steve’s already climbing out of the van so it seems like all the explanation Eddie’s getting. He says thanks again with a well-rested smile on his lips that does things it shouldn't do to Eddie, and then he leaves.
God, what an enigma he is.
Eddie expects that to be the only time.
—
Through the end of the school year, Steve comes by a few more times.
Not frequently, but often enough that Eddie doesn’t feel like he’s having an out of body experience when it happens. Jeff didn’t quite believe Eddie about the whole thing until Steve showed up while he happened to be there helping with some early campaign planning.
Other than that semi-awkward time, it’s always the same.
They smoke, sometimes Steve falls asleep, sometimes he gets a buzz on the radio for mysterious babysitting business, and sometimes he asks if Eddie’s dad showed back up. No. Eddie asks if his parents stayed longer this time, or maybe his mom didn’t have to go on the business trip too. No. Once, “I wish they’d never come back so they wouldn’t have to leave.” That was the first and only time that Eddie gave into the urge to crush Steve in a hug.
Then graduation comes and goes and summer takes over the town.
Everyone’s got a summer job but Eddie can only work so much at the shop as an apprentice. It doesn’t pay well enough for equipment or saving up for studio time or Corroded Coffin t-shirts to give away (“It’s free advertisement, Jeff, it pays for itself… Eventually … Shut up.”) so he goes crawling back to Rick for another chance.
Other than that, Hawkins isn’t all that bad, but Eddie dreams of “making it out” like every other restless young bastard around here. His band’s got a regular gig and another year at school means another year as DM. Somebody’s gotta carry the mantle, each new class of freshman has less Hellfire recruits because the newspapers are telling parents that D&D is a sinner’s game. So Eddie has to work harder than Satan himself to keep the club running, but it’s worth it to give those outcast sheep somewhere to go.
Meanwhile, Steve comes around less when he gets a job at the new mall.
Eddie would be sore about it, but in the few trips he let himself be lured into the ‘local business killing capitalist mega-machine’ of Starcourt (don’t tell Wayne) he knows it’s because Steve has a real friend now. Eddie’s not sure if he really counts as one, or just the guy that Steve smokes weed with and vents to sometimes.
Now, Steve’s got himself a Robin Buckley and he’s not colored so lonely anymore.
Maybe even more than a friend, which some shriveled little part of Eddie wants to be jealous about, but he’s just glad that Steve’s got someone good for him. Friend or more than that. It’s an odd match, Eddie recalls Robin loudly complaining across the band hall about all the girls falling over themselves for such a douchebag like Harrington, but clearly they’ve found some missing link between them.
And… there’s also a less noble, more selfish reason that Eddie’s glad Steve doesn’t visit often.
It’s no longer denial of his interest in guys now, more of just a hopeless thing of his interest in Steve. Never ever gonna happen. With everything he’s realized about himself, the space keeps him from doing some dumbass shit, like acting on it.
It’s harder to ignore how he feels about Steve when he’s around.
The way Eddie’s stomach flutters when Steve says his name, how his skin lights up where Steve’s hands brush against him. It’s past the line of pathetic, he feels like a blushing school girl. All the things that Eddie wondered why the girls in the skin mags his friends passed around didn’t do for him, Steve Harrington does.
Instead of having a crisis about it, he kept looking for music to get him through it.
There’s no songs about it exactly that he can find, so Eddie started hearing music differently. The same way he never understood his mom’s blues music until she died and put some real fucking blues in him. Those old country love songs she played while Al kept her home waiting, Dolly singing about her Blue Ridge Mountain Boy and Patsy going Crazy over hers, Eddie gets it now.
Oh he fucking gets it now.
Steve drops by and invites him to a pool “party” and he feels like a spinning record for days, thinking about being around Steve half-naked.
He shows up with Jeff at his side, expecting the same masses as the old Harrington ragers of yore, but it’s just Steve and Robin. Very intimate gathering actually.
They keep having little moments to themselves. Robin rubs Steve’s arm in what seems like an encouraging way before they all jump in the pool, inside jokes and shared smiles, like an entire secret language between them. Even though they swear they’re not dating, always laugh at the idea actually, Eddie still has to program his jealousy not to overtake how happy he is for Steve.
It’s fun, really. It’s the first time he’s hanging out with Steve just to hang out, no underlying gloom from either of them.
They eat cold cuts from the fancy deli, Robin knocks Eddie off Jeff’s shoulders when they have a pool chicken fight, Bowie is blaring from a boombox somewhere and Eddie doesn’t hate it.
The only problem is, Steve’s gorgeously hairy chest is on display, along with the rest of him and it’s making it hard for Eddie to stick to his vow not to stare.
At one point, he’s playing chicken against Steve because Robin is determined that she can hold him up on her shoulders. Steve’s hands eclipse Eddie’s when he gets ahold of them, he’s squeezing Eddie’s biceps too and grabbing at his waist, trying to knock him off Jeff. The rough drag of his palms and the strength behind his touch melts Eddie to the bone.
Eventually, he just lets himself fall into the water.
Trying to cool off, he thinks he stays under a little too long.
Steve appears in front of him, blurry and beautiful. His hands reach for Eddie’s, plunged in cold blues, but he’s bright and warm where Steve touches him. Never felt anything like it.
There’s a squeeze, a question that Eddie answers with a returning squeeze. He’s fine, but if it would keep Steve right there in his hands, he might hold his breath forever.
They paddle up and breach the surface but Eddie still feels breathless up until the moment Steve lets go.
Water droplets all over Eddie’s skin prickle in the air, or it could just be the look Steve gives him, nodding toward the edge of the pool for him to follow.
Eddie needs a cigarette, immediately.
Robin makes a squawk of disgust from the deep end when he lights one up, but Steve sends her one of those secret-coded smiles and she goes back to doing laps with Jeff.
It’s so different from the last time Eddie was here sitting in this deck chair. No shadows looming in the depths under them, everything’s sunny and light. Next to him, Steve is shaking his hair out with a crooked grin, playful.
“You should give your lungs a break, you were under for a while.”
“But all the cool kids are doing it,” Eddie takes another puff, letting his mouth get away from him, “Forget lung health. Doesn’t it make me look like a bad boy from a John Hughes movie?”
It’s the stupidest thing he’s ever said, but he’d look even more stupid if he just pretended he didn’t.
So when Steve scoffs a laugh that could almost be mistaken as flirty to a fool like Eddie, he pushes his luck, “Doesn’t it?”
Steve purses his lips, considering, “Maybe with the right hair.” Then he reaches out, he’s touching Eddie, fixing the stray wet strands. Eddie feels every brush of his fingertips reverberate all the way through him like the pluck of guitar strings.
By the time Steve finishes, Eddie’s voice is embarrassingly thin, “Okay, now do I look hot and dangerous?”
Under Steve’s gaze, he certainly feels close to catching fire.
“You’re trying too hard,” Steve plucks the cigarette from Eddie’s lips and takes a drag of his own. The next words come in a haze of smoke over Eddie, “It makes you look cute.”
That— yeah that fucks Eddie up so bad that Steve says he really does look hot, like he’s actually overheating and goes inside to get him a glass of ice water.
Like a lovesick little thing in an old country song, Eddie falls to pieces when Steve walks by.
He falls to fucking pieces just at the sound of Steve’s name.
They’ve kissed a thousand times in his daydreams and he can’t pretend otherwise.
Later at home, he listens to that goddamn Patsy Cline record so many times that Wayne gets worried and checks if he’s okay.
It feels good to tell someone.
The permanently crumpled piece of trash inside him is always afraid of getting tossed out again. He should’ve known Wayne would never. Not just because he’s never uttered any sort of the words that Al likes to sling around, but because he loves Eddie. Accepts him, always.
Though he doesn’t fill Eddie’s head with any hopes of a happy ending with Steve, just tells him it’s alright, he’s alright and to be careful.
It comes spilling out to Jeff too because Eddie can’t stop strumming out the chords to love songs, and humming about boys without changing the lyrics and— he thinks Jeff already knew, in some ways. It still feels good to tell him, to have his best friend hug him for who he is and promise not to tell Gareth that he saw him cry. Though he shares the same regard as Wayne when it comes to Eddie’s soul-crushing crush on Steve.
So Eddie makes peace with it as something that’ll have to fade in time eventually.
Then the mall burns down.
Eddie finds out through a short, cryptic phone call after scouring the phonebook for the Harrington’s house number that Steve’s okay, but he doesn’t actually see him for weeks. Not until he and Robin get a job at the video store that Eddie hits up often. And a spitfire redhead moves into the trailer next door, who’s apparently part of Steve’s bizarre babysitting club.
Then Steve’s everywhere, he’s around so much that it’s impossible for Eddie to just forget about him long enough for the feelings to fade.
—
Of course, Steve happens to be there when Eddie’s dad finally shows up again.
Not on the doorstep, not in full force, Eddie wouldn’t have been able to do what he ends up doing if it was face to face. But Wayne heard whispers about Al getting picked up by the cops for selling stolen shit— again— and it’s looking like he’s gonna do some serious time this go-round. No doubt he’d be calling for bail money they don’t have.
Wayne’s at work when the phone rings, but Steve’s there when Eddie picks up and the sound of the person on the other line makes him drop the receiver like a hot coal.
It dangles by the cord, that unmistakable voice coming through the speaker.
“Hello? Hey Eddie, you there, boy? I hope you ain’t still butthurt that I had to go last time, I was due for a win and you know when I get that lucky itch it’s never wrong. I was just on my way to make things right ‘cause I hit big at the Blue Chip, but these damn pigs have it out for us Munsons. Listen, I need you to…”
It’s all stuff that Eddie’s heard before and yet he still wants to listen to it.
It takes everything in him not to put the phone back to his ear and believe every half-apology and false-promise just because he wants it to be true. He wants to be a good enough reason for his dad to be his dad.
The scars from last time flare up again, like a reminder, like a warning, but all he feels is how they ache for his dad. That motherless part of Eddie doesn’t want to lose him too and Al knows that, he’s used that wound to slither back in before. Eddie always lets it happen because even if his dad’s just there to backstab him, he’s there.
That’s why he wishes Wayne was here to make the decision for him. Alone, Eddie thinks he’d choose to bleed every time just to have what he can, even his dad’s knife, he’ll keep it in him with his momma’s blues.
Eddie doesn’t realize he’s standing there frozen until he feels Steve’s hand come to rest on his shoulder.
It jumpstarts him into grabbing the phone and hanging it on the wall too fast to second guess it.
But he feels it. Slamming the call to an end, it’s like ripping the blade out and that’s what does the real damage. It’s not righteous fury pumping through him for sticking it to his old man. It’s just loss. He feels like he’s draining, already half empty.
If Al calls back, Eddie doesn’t know if he’ll be able to cut him out again. So he switches the ringer off with pale, shaky hands because that’s all he can do right now. When Al eventually gets out of jail and Wayne turns him away, Eddie will worry about dealing with that when he shows up at the door.
“Don’t feel bad, okay?” Steve says, gentle but not that pitiful crooning Eddie’s heard enough in his lifetime to hate. “It’s your choice, nothing more to it than that.”
“Yeah it just,” the words clog Eddie’s throat, eyes falling to where Steve is rubbing out the numbness in his arm. “Feels like shit.”
“I know it does but he did this, not you. It’s not your fault so don’t even think that. He’s the fuck-up father, that’s not on you.”
It’s the same assurances he gives Steve when the roles are reversed, Robin too. It’s a lot easier to believe on the other side, when it’s directed at Steve and not Eddie.
He smiles flatly, “I think I take after daddy dearest in that regard.”
“No, c’mon, you’re so far from that,” Steve’s grip flexes on his arm as if to shake some sense into him, “You don’t use people, you don’t screw them over just because you can. You give them discounts on your shitty weed just because they look a little lonely or they’re nice to you.”
An involuntary snort leaves Eddie at that, a hint of amusement trying to tug the corner of his mouth.
“Yeah everyone knows,” Steve goes on, joking, “Just compliment Munson and get a free drug of your choosing. Hate to break it to you, but you can’t be a shark with those baby teeth.”
The short laugh that escapes Eddie is real then, not much but it brings Steve closer, his gaze never straying as he steps toward Eddie like he’s looking for more.
“I saw you talk your way out of a punch once, standing up for a freshman in a Hellfire shirt. You’re so— you don’t care if you’re weird and loud and obnoxious ‘cause you make yourself the target instead of your friends. I’ve seen how you care about people. I’ve—” Steve releases what sounds like a breath of disbelief and Eddie feels like he could just blow away. “I’ve seen the way you love and I love that about you. Anyone who uses it against you shouldn’t get to have you.”
Every word of that sinks to a place that fills Eddie’s stomach with fluffy warmth, makes his cheeks rise with heat. All that coming from Steve, Eddie doesn’t know what to do with it. A touch flustered, he jokes, “Wow, if this is what my daddy issues get me, wait ‘til I tell you about my mom.”
Steve shakes his head, “You’re so— I wanna hug you. Can I hug you?”
Eddie nods, of course he fucking nods. They’re so close, it would only take a step and a tug before he’s pressed against a warm chest.
But when Eddie moves, somehow it’s just his chin that tips up to connect his lips with Steve’s.
It’s the most chaste kiss in history, probably. The most crooked one too because it’s the first one for Eddie, and he has no idea what he’s doing or what even possessed him to do it. Just for a moment, but it happened, a soft press to Steve’s unsuspecting mouth before Eddie jerks away.
“Holy shit, what did I just do,” Eddie scrambles backwards before Steve can react, “Jesus Christ, I’m sorry, oh fuck.”
The whole trailer is a blur as Eddie’s feet quickly carry him to his room, stuttering apologies and cursing the whole way. He doesn’t stop until he’s closing the door behind him and slamming back against it. His heart pounds, his mind races, barely any clear thoughts cutting through the endless stream of how stupid he is.
Steve might not be the type to kick his ass or out him to the town that’s already looking for reasons to hang him out to dry, because Steve’s a much better friend than Eddie deserves, but he’s gonna run for the hills after this. That’s why Eddie’s been trying his hardest to ignore the feelings, he’d rather have Steve as a friend than nothing at all.
Now, Steve’s never going to want anything to do with Eddie, with the freak who kissed him. Steve’s gonna—
Steve’s knocking softly on the door.
It takes Eddie a moment to even hear it, to stop spiraling long enough to be aware.
“Eddie, hey listen, it’s okay,” his voice filters through. How does he sound so calm? So caring for Eddie, even now. “Don’t worry about it right now, okay?”
Eddie digs his fingers into his hair, his grip punishing and frantic as he twists and pulls, “I can’t not worry about it, man, I’m— I kissed you. God I’m sorry, Steve, you can just leave if you want. I won’t blame you if you never—”
“I’m not going anywhere, alright? We can just put this whole thing on hold if you’re still upset about your dad.”
Baffled by that, Eddie goes still, “What?”
“We can talk about what happened later, I just wanna be here for you now.”
Steve sounds way too level and ready to be understanding. It makes Eddie feel even worse about this, guilt twisting in his chest.
“I’m sorry,” he says again helplessly.
A sigh comes through the door, not exasperated, more like bracing for something.
“Guess we’re talking about it now. Okay, uh, well,” Steve begins and Eddie prepares for the worst. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while. I thought I was being, like, really embarrassingly obvious about it. But I wasn’t sure if you felt the same about me, or any guy, y’know. So I’m not mad you kissed me, just that I didn’t kiss you first.”
It’s still devastating somehow, taking the wind out of Eddie like a low blow. Hits him out of nowhere, unable to even process it, “You wanted to… kiss me?”
Steve clears his throat, his nervous habit followed by a pause where Eddie can picture him pushing his hair back to bolden up. He’s so brave all the time and doesn’t give himself enough credit for it, but Eddie can’t imagine how it’s directed at him.
“Yeah I did, I do want to. Me and Robin have been talking about it and I already had my freakout and like, accepted it if that’s what you’re worried about,” Steve says. Steve is saying this. “I like guys, and— and girls too but the point is, I like you. Pretty much just told you every reason why a second ago.”
Finally, Eddie’s hands fall to his sides, trying to wrap them around what Steve’s giving him and not let it slip through his fingers just because he can’t believe it.
“You… like me,” he checks again, but it feels like less of a question this time.
“Yes, so can you please open the door?” Steve’s laughing lightly as he says, “I didn’t get a chance to kiss you back and I really fucking want to.”
Driven by the sudden pressing urge to see it for himself, to look Steve in the eyes and make it real, Eddie turns and pulls the door open.
Steve looks just as sure about wanting Eddie as he sounded. Still, Eddie needs to feel the warmth of his lips, have him in his hands, feel the blood pumping through him to know for sure that he gets to have this, have him.
“D’you still wanna—”
The words don’t make it out before Steve’s mouth muffles the question.
The kiss is light at first, Steve’s hands cupping his face to do it right, like he really has done it a thousand times. Eddie’s stomach swoops when Steve licks his lips apart and he tastes the mouth he’s been dreaming about. His own hands are clinging to whatever part of Steve he can reach, grabbing his clothes, scratching the hairs at his nape, wrapping around his back because he can now.
It feels like there’s a record skipping somewhere inside him, it doesn’t know how to play out from here. None of those lovesick songs he listened to ended with getting the guy. He’ll have to dig to the bottom of his mom’s tapes, maybe he’ll even have to write one himself.
He’s never felt a beat like what his heart is doing right now. When Steve’s fingers slide into his hair and pull it a little, he’s never heard a guitar whine like the noise he makes.
It’s frustrating and dizzying.
“You called me pretty,” he huffs between kisses, “You called me cute.”
Steve pulls back with a light laugh, his thumb running over the disgruntled crease between Eddie’s brows, soothing it out. “You are pretty cute.”
Eddie feels that ripple down his spine and it’s starting to sink in now. All the touches he tried not to feel, Steve never stopped giving them. Every time they hung out and Eddie felt like he stared too much or let his mouth get away from him, Steve still wanted to hang out again. Every flirty sweet thing he said that Eddie convinced himself he heard wrong, Steve said on purpose. He ditched his own party to make sure Eddie was okay on purpose.
Eddie’s mouth starts moving, putting it all together, “You touched my hair. You talked about me to your best friend. You said I have baby teeth.” Eddie breaks off, doesn’t say ‘You told me I’m not like my dad when I needed to hear it’ just yet. “You said you love the way I love. Do you know how stupid I feel for not realizing you wanted me?”
Steve shakes his head, smiling faintly, “How do you think I feel for not knowing you wanted me too?”
Eddie snorts, “Yeah, why didn’t you kiss me that day you were putting moves on me beside your pool? Coward.”
“I thought you were having a heatstroke!”
“From your hotness, yeah. It was so obvious, I felt like an idiot.”
“You have no idea. It took me so long to even realize how I felt about you, it’s okay.”
There’s a moment where they just smile at each other, it puts a feeling in Eddie that belongs in a song somewhere. Then Steve’s kissing him again, threading his fingers into Eddie’s hair because he picked up on the pleased noise last time and pulls it out of him again. Eddie gets bolder already, licking into Steve’s mouth just to taste, probably using too much teeth and tongue, but Steve doesn’t seem to mind. He seems to like it, actually, which does something crazy to Eddie’s head.
A hand traces down to grip Eddie’s waist, tugging him closer and then— Oh God, Eddie’s definitely writing a song about this, fucking slamming on his guitar about it later.
Steve pins him against the door, slots a thigh between his and their mouths separate with breathy groans.
“How’s it feel now, hm?” Steve drops down, wet lips mouthing against Eddie’s neck. His voice is so low, so warm, “How’s that feel, baby?”
All Eddie strangles out is a little sound, unable to string a thought together when Steve’s trailing kisses up his throat. Then their mouths connect again, slotting together on the edge of something desperate.
Eddie wants to feel everything Steve has, he wants to know everything about him. Why he has nightmares sometimes, what his best friend thinks of him, how those Bowie and Springsteen songs make him feel, what’s he protecting his babysitter’s club from. He wants to fall in love with the way that Steve loves.
Eddie feels like he doesn’t have to do anything but be kissed. It’s true indulgence that he can’t feel the bottom of. It’s deep without cutting through anything to get there. He’s never been opened up and left feeling full instead of empty, with so much room for more.
When he finally finds words again, he whispers the one that feels right against Steve’s lips.
“Better.”