Work Text:
It kind of starts by accident. Or rather, it starts because Steve works out that Eddie is absolutely terrible at looking after himself.
When Eddie had been released from the hospital, he’d still been recovering and barely able to move without pulling on his bat bites and making them bleed—but rather than stick to the bed rest the doctor had ordered, Steve had caught him up and walking around.
The first time, Eddie had claimed he was curious and had to explore the new apartment.
(It wasn’t that great a place in Steve’s opinion. It was on the edge of town and could use a coat of paint, but the government had bought it for the Munson’s. It was theirs, and they seemed ecstatic by the very idea of it.)
The second time, Steve had found him trying to rearrange the furniture instead of sitting his ass down and watching a movie. Steve had probably bitched a little too much, if the way Eddie had looked at him with amusement was any indication. But the lecture had gotten a lot worse after he’d found out Eddie had forgotten to eat.
He’d grumbled his whole way to the kitchen where he’d slapped a sandwich together for the metalhead. He’d then sat down beside him and forced Eddie to rest for a few hours as they watched Mad Max.
(If he later helped Eddie rearrange his new room to his liking, well, that was no one’s business but theirs—and at least it meant the metalhead was sitting down and directing, not actually pushing a bedframe around.)
But it was apparently a theme.
Eddie would forget to eat all the time, or he’d ignore food entirely so that Wayne would have something to eat when he got home from work.
While Steve could appreciate that Eddie always had to count each dollar and make everything stretch—that they’d grown up in two vastly different households—Steve also knew that after battling the Upside Down, rest and food were important.
It was why Steve started bringing around groceries—only, he soon worked out that even if it was in the fridge, Eddie wouldn’t necessarily think to eat it. Which meant that the only way to get the other boy to eat was to do something about it himself.
And that’s how it becomes an accident—or rather an accidental habit.
But ever since he’d quasi-adopted the kids, he’d taken on the role of caretaker and babysitter for them, and it turns out, he can adopt that role just as easily for a guy a year older than him.
Eddie doesn’t even seem to be complaining about his fussing, or the way he routinely shoulders his way into the Munson kitchen and starts making food—meals that quickly become not just for Eddie but for him and for Wayne.
If anything, Eddie seems to enjoy it.
“What’s cookin’, good-lookin’?”
Steve flicks a glance over his shoulder to see the metalhead leaning against the doorframe. His arms are crossed over his band singlet and his black jeans stick to his legs like a second-skin. Steve can’t help flicking his gaze over the other boy’s torso and arms, double-checking that all his injuries are still healing well.
“Spaghetti.” Steve finally answers, turning back to the pot. “Wayne’ll be here, right?”
“Yup, should be back in about ten.”
He hears Eddie pad closer only to feel the metalhead’s body press against his own from behind. Eddie isn’t entirely behind him, but half of Eddie’s chest is against his back.
“Dude,” Steve elbows him gently. “Stop breathing down my neck.”
“More like breathing in dinner. You know, you’d make a pretty good housewife, Stevie.”
Eddie’s reaching up and tugging his hair before he can react. He goes to elbow him again, this time less gently but Eddie’s already dancing away and giggling. Steve fights his own smile even as he goes back to stirring the sauce.
“Oooh,” Eddie says, “did you bring dessert? We should totally have dessert.”
Steve shoots him a glare. “You’re eating a decent meal. So, no, I didn’t bring dessert. You eat enough crap during the day already.”
Eddie pouts, jutting out his lower lip in a way that doesn’t sway Steve at all. He continues to glare until Eddie finally sighs and slumps against the kitchen counter.
“I take it back, you’re a horrible housewife. No pie in the oven; my dreams of domestic bliss are shattered.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Steve mutters. “Suck it up. You’re lucky I’m doing this much for you.”
“Oh, sweetheart, I know I’m the luckiest boy in town.”
Steve bites down on a smile and hopes Eddie doesn’t notice. Because, that’s the thing about Eddie, unlike the kids or even Robin, he doesn’t… take whatever he does for granted. Eddie always praises him, always says he’s amazing and acts like his little home-cooked meals are gifts from God.
He always flusters over it and tries to tell Eddie to shut up, but the metalhead never does.
Wayne also thanks him, compliments the meal and refuses to let him clean up. He often forcibly hands him some money to help cover the costs despite Steve’s protests since he’s eating it too. A couple of times, Wayne has even beaten him to the kitchen but he just makes Steve sit down, using the same tone he gives his nephew, before cooking and serving up dinner.
It’s just… it’s nice.
He likes feeling wanted and appreciated and like… well, like this place is his home too. Like he’s a welcome addition to their family.
“But,” Eddie says, breaking Steve from his thoughts, “a pie would make me even luckier.”
Steve shoots his friend a glance. Eddie is grinning insufferably wide, and unbidden, Steve’s own smile breaks free.
“You want to be that lucky, do something about it yourself.”
Eddie gapes and puts a hand to his chest. “Stevie. Are you telling me I have to go out and hunt down my own pie? Me?”
“Yeah, dude. You aren’t a fucking invalid.”
Eddie pouts. “But your pie would taste so much better, Stevie.”
His stomach squirms pleasantly at the flattery, the way it’s always prone to do when Eddie is in the kitchen hovering at his side and complimenting him.
“I fucking doubt that,” he grumbles.
And he’s already expecting it when Eddie closes the distance and wraps an arm around his shoulders. His face ends up inches from Steve’s and he can see the wide grin from the corner of his eye, even as he tries to keep his attention on stirring the spaghetti.
“Promise, sweetheart,” Eddie says. “You make a pie? It’ll be the best one in all of Hawkins."
Steve feels his face heat and his heart does a little flutter—but he resolutely forces it all down to snipe, “Nice try, but I’m not making you a pie, Munson.”
Eddie groans loudly and dramatically and it almost disguises the sound of the apartment door.
They both turn their heads only for Wayne to say, “You better not be bothering Steve in the kitchen, Eddie.”
“I am not bothering,” Eddie immediately protests, unwrapping his arm and going out to greet his uncle and defend himself.
The lack of proximity helps to get some of Steve’s emotions under control, but he still feels the warmth of Eddie’s arm across his shoulders—not to mention the warmth of the Munson’s apartment and that feeling of home.
Another accident happens, and it’s not one that Steve would have expected.
It actually takes him a couple of months to work it out, just because it’s so far from what he would have imagined that he doesn’t register any of the signs.
But it happens all the same, coming together over time and when he isn’t paying attention.
It’s unfurling when he’s cooking for Eddie; shoving him away as he tries to taste test only for the metalhead to pout at him over every failure, both of them laughing by the end.
It’s building when they’re hanging out together; Eddie never once making him feel bad or like he’s an idiot for not understanding something nerdy—when he patiently explains it and listens attentively when Steve asks a question.
It’s growing every time he’s complimented and hugged by Eddie; being called ‘sweetheart’ and ‘pretty boy’ and constantly told he’s making Eddie feel like the luckiest boy in the world.
It’s happening whenever there’s a flutter in his stomach, a skip to his heart or a flush in his cheeks. It’s the contentment and happiness at being back in the apartment with Eddie—or the surging excitement at knowing he will be back come evening.
It’s… well, it’s a complete accident, but without looking and without realising, Steve falls for Eddie Munson.
And when he does work it out, he doesn’t freak out (which is apparently what Robin anticipates, because when he tells her, she’s shocked and a little annoyed he takes it so well). But he just doesn’t see why he should panic. He’s wanted to fall for someone like this ever since he broke up with Nancy. He’s wanted that spark. That butterflies-in-the-stomach and hate-spending-time-without-them feeling.
So, that it’s a guy and that it’s Eddie isn’t in any way a problem.
Having the guy want him back? That’s… harder.
Which is another thing Robin scoffs over when he tells her, slumped on her bed and frowning glumly.
She hits him with a pillow and says, ‘dingus, that loser would give up all his stupid dice sets to go on a date with you.’
He grabs the pillow and hits her back before saying; ‘no, he fucking wouldn’t. He loves those things. He only likes me because of stupid Upside Down trauma and because I like, cook for him and shit.’
‘Oh my God, you’re an idiot. He likes you for more reasons than that. Also, I swear Eddie doesn’t eat while you’re around just so you’ll come over and hang out with him.’
‘You’re wrong, Rob.’
They’d kind of descended into a pillow fight after that, but Steve still maintains he’s right, even if Robin refuses to agree and keeps calling him an idiot.
But the point is that he… well, he doesn’t really know how to approach being into a guy. He’s also certain that he’s right about Eddie’s lack of interest in him.
The metalhead enjoys the cooking and the attention, but that doesn’t mean he likes him. At least, not like that.
Because Eddie always praises him and needles him for more food—desserts, especially, which he refuses. But it’s just food. Eddie never asks him for anything else. Never asks him out.
So, he just… keeps doing what they’ve been doing since the Upside Down.
He hangs out, he cooks for Eddie and sometimes Eddie's uncle. He stays late into the night and even crashes on the couch—waking up to the smell of coffee and Eddie batting his eyes about scrambled eggs.
(And he always God damn makes them, doesn’t he?)
And he’s heard people say that the way to a guy’s heart is through his stomach—but people also just like a good meal. Wayne appreciates his cooking, and he’s not trying to win that Munson’s attention.
(Well, maybe he is a little. But it’s like trying to get a parent’s approval, and he actually seems to have that from Wayne—and God, he hopes he keeps it, especially if he manages to actually date Eddie.)
Because he’d like to win Eddie’s heart, but he’s also just happy making him happy. And Christ, he doesn’t want to lose his evenings with the Munsons if it turns out Eddie really only sees him as a good cook and a friend.
So, he’s kind of just… stuck.
He’s spending time with Eddie (as much as he can) and cooking whatever meal the other boy suggests, or their ingredients allow. Which, tonight, means macaroni and cheese.
“That smells so good, Steve.”
“Thanks,” he says, stirring the mixture. “Lot better than that packet shit you tried to tell me to buy.”
“That’s only because I didn’t know you could make it from scratch,” Eddie insists. “I mean, I should never doubt Steve "The Chef" Harrington, but you continue to surprise me, sweetheart.”
Steve is really damn lucky he can hide his face so Eddie can’t see his expression over the other boy’s words.
“You sure you want to keep sucking up?” He mutters. “Already enough cheese in here.”
“Ha. Ha,” Eddie replies stepping close and digging his fingers in Steve’s side.
Steve jerks and shoots the other boy a scowl. “Quit it, dude! Or I’ll spill this shit on one of us.”
Eddie smirks and leans forward, all teeth and mischievous eyes.
“Oh, I’d be okay to get dirty with you, Stevie.”
Steve’s breath catches and he stares at the metalhead, feeling his heart race and his mind flood with ideas—with all the ways he’d happily get ‘dirty’ with Eddie—but Eddie’s soon turning his attention to the pot. He grabs the wooden spoon out of Steve’s hand, their fingers brushing before he nudges him to the side and starts to stir.
“Hey, do you think you could get the bowls?” Eddie asks, changing the subject. “I promised Wayne I’d actually help rather than just—" he holds up the fingers of one hand and does air quotes, “—being a nuisance.”
Steve swallows down his regret.
“Right,” he clears his throat, “because two stirs of the food means that you helped.”
“Well, I don’t want to step on Housewife Steve’s shoes,” Eddie teases.
“I’m not a girl,” he grumbles, but starts looking for the bowls.
“You’re right! And that was sexist. So, you can be my Househusband instead.”
Steve whips around, his hand still hovering over the cupboard door, but Eddie isn’t looking at him, he’s focused on the food, but Steve’s heart is in his throat.
Househusband.
Eddie’s husband.
Christ but it sounds… it sounds fucking good.
As if he really could come home to Eddie every day, make them a meal, talk about their day, retire to their bed. He doesn’t even really mind if Wayne still lives with them, as long as it means he’s part of their family and their home.
As long as it means he’s Eddie’s.
And staring at Eddie; in his ripped clothes, with messy hair and tongue poking out as he stirs, Steve thinks… fuck it.
Because, he doesn’t know if Eddie actually wants that future or not, but he’s tired of wishing for a reality that seems inches from his fingertips.
He might not know how to make a move on a guy, but he thinks he has an idea of how to make one on Eddie.
Steve’s nervous.
Actually, that’s a bit of an understatement.
He’d shown up at the Munson apartment when he’d known Eddie wouldn’t be there but Wayne would. The man had looked confused but ushered him in, explaining Eddie wasn’t due back for a few hours.
Steve had then mumbled that he wanted to be here—be in the kitchen—now. Wayne’s eyebrows had risen with every stilted explanation Steve had gotten out.
When he’d finally finished detailing his plans (minus the part about maybe asking Eddie out), Wayne had chuckled softly. He’d then lightly clapped Steve on the shoulder and said, “You’ll make that damn boy’s day. I’m glad to see he’s got a good man like you in his life.”
Steve had flushed red and stuttered out a couple of half-sentences, but one look into Wayne’s knowing, fond gaze and he’d finally shut up. Wayne had directed him into the kitchen, told him he’d be gone before Eddie got home and left him to his preparations.
That had been almost two hours ago.
Wayne had only recently left, wishing him luck with an amused smile and leaving Steve to pace the Munson apartment and wring his hands in-between checking the oven.
When Steve hears the sound of jiggling key-chains, heavy, familiar footsteps followed by keys in the lock, he immediately freezes in the kitchen. He waits with his breath caught as the door opens. There’s a long silence, then the door shutting before quick steps finds Eddie in the kitchen doorway, his eyes wide and his keys still clutched in his hand.
“Steve?” Eddie’s gaze goes from him to the oven, to him again. “You’re… what are you cooking, man?”
And this is the moment, the whole thing he’s spent two fucking hours cooking and working on, using a cookbook he bought a few days ago and ingredients he meticulously selected earlier in the morning.
Drawing in a deep, fortifying breath, Steve grabs the oven mitts, opens the oven and pulls out his handmade apple pie. He places it on the chopping board and turns to a wide-eyed Eddie.
“I made you apple pie, Eds.”
Steve isn’t sure what he’s hoping for, but it’s not Eddie staring at the pie, unmoving and unblinking. Steve feels his nerves double and glances at the pastry, noticing every flaw, wondering if he messed up somewhere and it’ll taste like shit—if taking it out early for dramatic effect will come back and bite him.
Like maybe this whole idea might come back and bite him, but then—
“I’m about to do something really, really stupid,” Eddie whispers.
“Uh—”
“And I hope it’s not going to completely ruin everything, but…”
Eddie’s tongue darts out to lick his lips, he also steps into the kitchen and tosses his keys on the counter. They make a loud sound, causing Steve to flinch, but in the time that it takes to do that, Eddie is right in front of him.
Steve’s eyes widen as he meets the other boy’s gaze.
“You made me a pie, Steve,” Eddie murmurs.
“You asked me for one,” Steve answers just as softly.
“Fuck,” Eddie breathes. “This is so going to be a mistake, but Jesus H. Christ, sweetheart.”
“Eds-”
He stops when Eddie’s fingers—cool metal from his rings, and warmth from his palm—touches his cheek, gently curling around it.
“Tell me to back off,” Eddie breathes. “Jesus, Steve. Tell me I’m completely insane to think you could… that this...” Eddie’s next exhale is shaky, “Sweetheart. Stevie. Tell me-”
But instead of saying a word, Steve leans in and presses his mouth to Eddie’s. The metalhead makes a small sound before kissing back. His arm wraps around Steve’s waist, slotting them even better together. Steve goes to grasp Eddie’s shoulders only to remember he still has on the mitts.
He makes a disgruntled noise, pulling back and trying to shake the damn things off. Eddie laughs before taking his hands and plucking them free. He throws them behind him, probably landing somewhere near his keys—Steve doesn’t check, he’s too busy staring into Eddie’s eyes.
“Holy hell,” Eddie says into the quiet, his hand coming back up and fingers tracing Steve’s cheek again. “Is this really reality, Harrington? I feel like I stumbled into a daydream.”
Steve smiles and Eddie’s thumb brushes the edge of his lips.
“Daydream about this often, Munson?”
“Only every fucking day you cooked here, yeah,” Eddie answers frankly.
“Holy shit, really?”
“Uh, yeah? Do you think I called you my househusband just for giggles?” Eddie’s expression suddenly morphs, turning a little shy, his shoulders even hunching. “I mean, you know, whatever you want is cool and all. Won’t really say no to anything, but…” He bites his bottom lip and his attention turns briefly towards the pie. “But,” he says, “I’m kind of hoping you’re wanting the same thing as me.”
Steve’s heart flutters and happiness surges through him.
“Asking to be my boyfriend, Eds?” Eddie immediately coughs and splutters, his cheeks turning pink but Steve quickly slots his arms around the other boy’s waist, leaning closer and adding, “Because, that’s kind of what I was asking for when I handmade you a God damn pie.”
He’s rewarded by Eddie grinning, he also ducks his head a little, trying to hide his face, so Steve settles for nuzzling his cheek through his hair.
“Can’t believe you made me a pie,” Eddie mumbles. “Break into my house and try to fatten me up. That’s your move?”
Steve snorts. “You say it like it hasn’t totally worked.”
Eddie pulls back just enough they can lock gazes again; their noses are so close that with one more move, they’ll be kissing—God Steve wants them to be doing that.
“You didn’t have to bake me a pie to get me hooked on you, Steve, was already there for ages.”
Steve can’t help his smile, feeling it spread so wide his cheeks hurt, and then, to make it even worse, Eddie adds, “But I was right. A pie from you? I really am the luckiest boy in all of Hawkins.”
And in response to that, what else can Steve do but kiss the words that are sweeter than any pie right off his new boyfriend’s lips?