Chapter Text
Steve could not have said when, exactly, he and Eddie had become friends.
Maybe it was during the weeks Eddie was in the hospital, when Steve had taken Dustin almost every day to visit and always ended up staying, at first because he didn’t want to leave Dustin alone with Eddie’s pale, unconscious body, and then, after Eddie woke up, because he didn’t want to leave Dustin alone with a guy so messed-up on pain meds he could barely focus his eyes. And then, when the doses were lowered, because sitting in a corner and listening to Dustin and Eddie crack each other up about incomprehensible nerd shit made him weirdly, life-givingly happy.
Maybe it was after Eddie got out of the hospital, when he and Wayne officially moved into their new, government-issue apartment and Steve brought over the TV from his parent’s bedroom, because they’d moved to Florida full-time and didn’t need it anymore. Maybe it was when Steve helped Wayne install grab bars in the bathroom while Eddie kept up a running commentary from the other room about how they were doing it wrong. Maybe it was when Eddie mentioned wanting to see Labyrinth the same day Steve had watched Robin set it aside for herself at Family Video, and the three of them had ended up crowded onto Eddie’s cozy couch with a joint, Steve squished in the middle as the two of them talked through the whole goddamn movie—at least until Bowie showed up, at which point they went completely slack-jawed and silent and Steve got the giggles so badly he choked on popcorn and had to be whacked on the back.
Or maybe it was before that. By a lake, or in a van, or surrounded by thousands of demo bats…
Who could say? Not Steve. But somewhere down the line, it had happened, and now, four months after the Upside Down had been closed for good, Eddie was his friend.
“And friends give friends rides,” Steve finished.
Eddie, who’d been slouched in an armchair smoking a cigarette, stubbed out his smoke to give a round of very slow applause. “Great speech,” he said. “It had pathos, it had humor, it had Bowie. Next time, though, try pacing a little, or grab your hair, like, aghh, you’re so frustrated!” Eddie demonstrated, grabbing his own hair and making an agonized face.
“Eddie,” Steve said, exasperated. “You gonna let me drive you to PT or what?”
“It’s not PT,” Eddie said. “It’s OT, it’s—”
“Occupying therapy, right right, I know.”
“Occupational.”
“Whatever!”
“Yeah, fine,” Eddie said. “You wanna drive me so bad, far be it from me to hold you back from a good time. But you gotta let me pay you back somehow, okay? No, shut up Steve, I don’t want to be ferried around like one of your children, you’re not my babysitter. Let me like, buy you lunch afterwards. Help me spend my hush money.”
“Deal,” said Steve, and reached out a hand to shake. Eddie’s grip was warm, and even better, it was strong—testament to how much he’d healed since that awful night. His right side had been most affected, and between nerve damage and scar tissue, it’d been an uphill battle to regain his lost mobility, but now he was at about eighty percent in his hand and shoulder and had tentatively started re-learning how to play the guitar. His right leg, though, still gave him a lot of grief. This new regimen of OT was supposed to help him learn to work around his lingering pain and stiffness, so he could, as he’d explained it to Steve, “Put on my own fucking shoes and socks so I don’t have to wait for Wayne every time I wanna leave the house.”
The problem was, his twice-a-week Tuesday and Thursday appointments were scheduled during Wayne’s workday, and Eddie couldn’t drive yet. Tuesday and Thursday happened to be Steve’s days off, along with Monday, so to Steve, it only made sense that he’d be the one to take Eddie. It had been a little harder convincing Eddie of this.
Steve stood from Eddie’s couch, triumphant. “Tomorrow, ten am,” he said, pointing.
Eddie shook his head in resignation, curls dancing on his shoulders, almost covering the tattoos peeking out from the edges of his tank top. His hair had gotten so long. Steve had the sudden urge to touch it, though he wasn’t sure why. To see if it was as soft as it looked, maybe.
“Thanks,” Eddie muttered.
“Thank me with lunch,” Steve said, and Eddie, finally, smiled.
:::
Eddie’s appointment was an hour and a half long, and after Steve had dropped him off, he realized it was kind of an awkward period of time to fill. The clinic was in the next town over from Hawkins, about thirty minutes from Steve’s house, so it didn’t make sense to go back home, and it was in kind of a dead zone in terms of businesses. There was a dentist’s office, a donut place, and not much else, though the industrial strip was right on a stretch of grass leading to a big, man-made lake surrounded by a cement path, and it was a nice day, so the path had its fair share of bikers, rollerbladers and joggers.
Maybe that’s what Steve should do, twice a week while he waited for Eddie: jog. It had been over a year since he’d graduated, and he was definitely out of shape compared to his peak athletic high school self, though he lifted weights regularly enough to keep some muscle definition. His stomach was still pretty flat and solid, but he’d noticed recently that his six pack was basically gone, though he could probably get it back if he doubled down a little.
On Thursday, Steve would bring his sweats and go for a run. For today, though, he got a cup of coffee and a couple donuts and went to sit on a picnic bench, enjoying the spring sunshine. There were ducks in the pond and a group of little kids feeding them from a loaf of bread, and even though most of Steve’s kids were full-on teenagers now, it still gave him a little pang to watch these kids splash and laugh without a care in the world. Most of his young friends were doing okay, or as okay as could be expected: Max’s second eye surgery had been a success and she’d gotten back some vision; Lucas remained devoted to her and was crushing it in basketball; Dustin was getting straight As and had just visited Suzie for spring break; Will and El were happy and healthy in California; Mike was mellowing out as puberty settled; Erica was still terrifying. Still, they’d seen shit no one should have to see before the age of eighteen.
Or after.
They’d seen shit no one should have to see, period.
After a while, Steve finished the last of his coffee and popped the last bite of donut into his mouth, then stretched, checking his watch. He was surprised to find that it was already almost time to grab Eddie. The sunny morning had passed so pleasantly and he felt grounded, calm. When was the last time he’d let himself just… sit? He couldn’t remember.
He walked back up the grassy knoll to the parking lot and brought the car around to the front of the clinic, idling as he waited. Soon enough, Eddie came out through the automatic doors, leaning heavily on his cane, his hair piled onto his head. Steve hopped out to help him into the car, and Eddie gave him a tired grin.
“We’ve been doing this all wrong,” Eddie said, as Steve opened the passenger door for him. “That’s what I learned today.”
“Oh yeah?” Steve’s hand was already on Eddie’s elbow, ready to help lower him down from the side, like he usually did.
“Yeah,” Eddie said. “I’m supposed to like, back up and get in butt-first.”
“Show me.”
Eddie tossed his cane into the seatwell and put his back to the open door, facing Steve. One hand reached into the car for the dashboard; the other, hesitantly, reached out to Steve. Steve stepped forward into Eddie’s space, letting Eddie grab onto his shoulder as he slowly began to lower himself into the seat, hampered by the stiffness that plagued his hip. It was oddly intimate, standing like this, almost as if they were dancing. He could feel the tension in Eddie’s body as he tried not to fall backwards, and both of them let out a relieved breath when Eddie was safely down.
“Good technique,” Steve said, “but I think we gotta work on the form.”
Eddie huffed a laugh, pulling his legs into the car. “That’s the point of this, I guess,” he said, waving at the clinic. “Fuck, I’m sore. And hungry. What do you say to a blunt and a burger?”
Steve, who’d just had two donuts, wasn’t actually that hungry, but he nodded. “Sounds good.”
They smoked the joint in the car on the way back to Hawkins, Eddie hitting most of it, Steve’s eyes glued anxiously to the rearview in case of cops. He was still kind of a lightweight when it came to weed, and even though he’d only taken a couple hits, he was really feeling it when they pulled into the diner parking lot. Getting Eddie out of the car was a two-man ordeal of uncoordinated limbs, and at one point Eddie was laughing too hard to hold himself up and fell back with a clunk of his head against the doorframe.
“Shit!” Steve said, but he, too, was laughing. “Here, put your arms around my neck, I’m just gonna—yeah, like this.”
He hauled Eddie upright, realizing only belatedly how weird this would look to an onlooker—as if he were holding Eddie in his arms. Which, well… he kind of was, their bodies pressed together for a split second until Eddie turned to grab his cane.
Inside, they snagged a booth by a window, and Eddie sprawled out unselfconsciously, kicking one booted foot up onto the worn-out vinyl and tossing an arm across the back. Steve sat more primly, stoned enough that the fluorescent lighting made everything seem hyper-real: the booths a vivid red, the smell of maple syrup and fried potatoes intoxicating, each of the curls in Eddie’s bangs perfectly defined. He glanced down at the menu and everything looked so delicious he wasn’t sure how he’d ever choose.
“It’s on me,” Eddie reminded him. “So get whatever you want.”
What Steve wanted, apparently, was a shortstack of chocolate chip pancakes, a piece of chocolate cream pie, and a chocolate malt. Then, as a nod to a complete breakfast, a side of bacon. His order made Eddie cackle.
“Munchies, much?” Eddie murmured, when the waitress had departed with their menus. “Too bad they don’t have chocolate-covered bacon.”
“Is that a thing?” Steve asked, mouth watering.
Eddie cackled again. He’d ordered a burger and fries, though apparently the munchies hadn’t attacked him like they had Steve; he ate most of the burger but only picked at the fries, and Steve ended up polishing them off along with the last sips of his malt. He was very, very full by the time he’d finished, a fact that didn’t hit him until he stood up from the booth and felt his stomach give a gurgle of displeasure. He put out a hand for Eddie, but Eddie shook his head, hoisting himself to his feet on his own steam.
They drove back to Hawkins mostly in silence, Eddie dozing against the window, Steve’s energy diverted towards digestion. When they pulled up outside Eddie’s apartment, Steve idled the car for a minute, reluctant to wake Eddie up. He looked so peaceful, his cheek pillowed on his arm, lips slightly parted, breath misting the window glass. When Steve turned off the car engine, he blinked awake, big brown eyes unfocused until they landed on Steve.
“We’re here,” Steve said.
Eddie sat up, yawning, and Steve got out to help him up. “Sorry I conked out on you,” he said, as Steve began hauling him upright. He was still blinking sleepily, and his body felt warm and pliant under Steve’s hands.
“No worries,” Steve said. “You good?”
Eddie transferred his weight to his cane and nodded. “We still on for big kid time tomorrow?” he said.
“For sure,” Steve said. “Me and Robin get off work at 6, so let’s say 7?”
“I’ll bring the pizza if you bring the beer,” Eddie said, and with a last wave, he disappeared through the doors of his apartment building. Steve stood for a while longer, then got back in his car and headed home to his big, lonely house.
“Big kid time” was what Eddie had dubbed hangouts where all members present were over 18—which meant it was usually just him, Steve and Robin, though sometimes one or all of his band members joined. The hangouts always happened at Steve’s house, since he was the only one who didn’t still live with some kind of parental figure, and because Steve liked it when his house was full. It was way too big for one person and he rattled around in there like a lonely pinball. Half the rooms hadn’t even been opened since his parents had left over a year before. He knew some people lay awake dreaming of a big house like his, but he lay awake dreaming of the day he and Robin would have a tiny, shitty apartment with no privacy.
Next year: that was the plan. Next year, he and Robin would move to Chicago together, so she could go to college and they could both finally live a life on their own terms. That’s what they were saving up for. Steve could hardly wait.
For now, though, he got home, wandered through his empty downstairs, collapsed on a couch, and napped a nap of too much weed and chocolate.
:::
Very quickly, driving Eddie twice a week to OT became something Steve looked forward to. It was a nice routine: he’d drop Eddie at the clinic, pick up coffee and a couple donuts, zone out in the park, then he and Eddie would smoke a joint and get lunch at the diner. Eddie seemed to take enormous delight in Steve’s munchie-induced orders, and Steve found himself hamming it up a little, ordering a smorgasbord of sweets or a table full of fried foods just to see Eddie laugh at him.
“What do you usually eat at home?” Eddie asked, a few weeks into their new routine.
Steve shrugged, chewing an onion ring. “Mostly frozen food or canned soup or cereal or whatever. I’m not much of a cook. Sometimes I’ll do spaghetti. Why—what do you guys eat?”
“If it were up to Wayne, we’d eat chicken, broccoli and potatoes for like, every meal. That’s his thing. Sometimes he gets fancy and makes pork chops instead. If it’s me cooking? Depends. I like trying out new stuff. Lately I’ve been making a lot of curry.”
Steve paused with his cheeseburger halfway to his mouth. “You cook?”
“Hell yeah, I cook,” Eddie said. “My mom taught me when I was a kid. Lasagna—that was the first thing she made me learn.”
“Lasagna sounds complicated.”
“Nah, it’s easy. Kinda messy, but that was fun when I was ten.” He shoved his plate of fries towards Steve, who’d been eyeing them. “I’ve been cooking less since, you know…” He gestured to himself. “But I’ve been trying to get back into it. My OT suggested it, actually. Good for dexterity and balance and shit. You should come over sometime, I’ll cook for you.”
For some reason, Steve’s heart gave a little jump in his chest. Maybe because it had been so long since anyone had offered to cook for him aside from Dustin’s mom, who was always inviting him to dinner and forcing her gluey meatloaf on him. “Yeah?” he said. “Really?”
“For sure. Next big kid night, you and Robin should come to the apartment and I’ll blow your minds.”
“Awesome,” Steve said, though he had a surge of… what? Disappointment? Which was completely ridiculous, because Steve loved Robin, and he always wanted her around, he just… he just thought Eddie meant he’d cook only for Steve.
Stupid, stoned brain. Steve ate a handful of fries.
:::
The next big kid night was supposed to happen on a Wednesday, and true to his promise, Eddie showed up that morning to Family Video and invited Steve and Robin over to his apartment with the promise of a home-cooked meal.
“You cook?” Robin said, raising her eyebrows, and Eddie clapped a hand to his chest.
“The skepticism! Yeah, Buckley, I cook, and what’s more, I’m good at it, so show up hungry.” He banged on the counter for emphasis. “Seven pm sharp.”
“I can’t get there til seven thirty,” said Robin.
Eddie banged the counter again. “Seven thirty pm sharp.”
Steve began stacking videos to be re-shelved. “I could come earlier,” he said. “Like, help you cook, or whatever.”
“I don’t need help,” Eddie said, and Steve’s heart dropped for a split second until Eddie pulled a lock of hair across his mouth and added, “But if you wanna come over around six-thirty and keep me company, maybe smoke a J, that would be cool.”
“Yeah!” Steve said. “Sure! Lemme know what I can bring.”
“Just your pretty little self,” Eddie said, and tossed off a salute to Robin. “Buckley,” he said.
Robin returned the salute. “Munson.”
And with that, Eddie was gone, door jingling as it shut behind him.
“Pretty little self,” Robin cooed, and reached over to tousle Steve’s hair. He batted her hand away and she patted his cheek, instead. “Definitely pretty,” she said, and poked him in the stomach. “I don’t know about little.”
Steve felt his face flush instantly hot, the imprint of Robin’s finger burning through his t-shirt. Just a couple mornings ago he’d paused before his mirror, a little startled to realize that not only were his abs completely gone, but his stomach had a slight new outward push to it that he was pretty sure hadn’t been there before. It had vanished completely under his clothing, though, and until now he’d figured no one else could’ve possibly noticed.
He smacked Robin’s hand away and yanked his vest closed. “Okay, okay, my fall from jockdom is complete,” he said. “No need to rub it in.”
Robin’s face fell. “Oh, shit,” she said. “That’s not what I—I only meant, you’re like—you’re bigger than Eddie, so it’s funny he was calling you little, he’s all skinny and lanky and you’re, like, taller, and muscular, and—actually, are you taller? It’s hard to tell with the hair, both of you have big hair—anyway, I didn’t mean that you’re, like, not little, I just meant—”
“Robs, chill,” Steve said, somehow even more embarrassed by her apology. “It’s okay! I put on a couple pounds, it’s fine.”
“I swear to god I didn’t even notice,” Robin said. “I was just teasing! You’re hot shit, dingus, you know that. You’re hot now, and you’d be hot if you gained like, fifty pounds and had a beer belly!”
“What do you know about male hotness?” Steve laughed.
“I’m gay, not blind,” Robin said, and the door jingled with incoming customers, so the conversation was over.
Steve thought about it again that evening, though, as he got ready to go over to Eddie’s. He stood shirtless in front of his mirror, turning this way and that, face red, wondering if this is how girls felt like, all the time. He’d never had much cause to think about his body before, other than sort of distantly registering that it was a good one, but now he examined himself with a critical eye he’d never deployed. Things looked fine up top, his chest still firm, biceps still defined from lifting weights, but his stomach was definitely starting to pooch out a little. He put on one of his favorite shirts, a light blue, striped polo he’d had forever and wore all the time, and realized that yeah, it was definitely a little tighter than he remembered, lightly clinging to his torso in a way it never had before.
Okay, well, whatever. Most people put on a little weight after high school, and he still looked good, still looked plenty fit, so what did it matter? It didn’t. Besides, he almost kind of… liked it? Liked the way he looked like this: hairy-chested and solid, like an actual grown man instead of a boy. And anyway, it was barely noticeable.
He threw on a jacket, feeling cheerful again, and set off for Eddie’s.
He’d been to Eddie’s place plenty of times, especially when Eddie was in the first phase of recovery and wasn’t super mobile, but as he rode the elevator to their third floor apartment, he realized it had been a couple months at least. The apartment building was relatively new and quite nice, and the Munson’s unit was a lot bigger than the trailer they’d lost, but he knew both Eddie and Wayne missed their old home, which they’d made entirely their own. They were slowly doing the same to the apartment, furnishing it with old, comfortable furniture, Eddie working on rebuilding his record collection, but there was still a sense that it could be snatched away at any time. The government giveth, the government taketh, and all that.
It was Wayne who answered Steve’s knock, on his way out the door.
“Ed’s in the kitchen,” Wayne said, pulling on his jacket as Steve toed off his Nikes.
“I’m in the kitchen!” Eddie shouted.
“Make sure he doesn’t burn the place down,” Wayne said, and shut the door behind him, leaving Steve to pad down the hallway alone.
He found Eddie sitting at the kitchen table, smoking a cigarette and peeling potatoes into a brown paper bag at his feet, ash mingling with the potato skin. He had his hair in a thick, messy braid down his back, a style Steve had never seen before. It looked incongruously sweet, especially because a few curls had escaped and were framing Eddie’s cheeks like he was a farm girl in an old painting. Steve thunked down the six pack of beer he’d brought and cracked two open, handing one to Eddie, who put down the carrot peeler to take a long swig.
“Ahh,” he said, and held out the can. “Cheers.”
“What are we cheersing?” Steve said, tapping his own can obligingly.
“Me, obviously,” Eddie said. “For cooking you dinner.”
“Here’s to you,” Steve said. “What are we having?”
“Shepard’s pie, cheddar biscuits, and salad.”
“Whoa,” Steve said, mouth watering. “I love Shepard’s pie.”
“There’s chips on the counter over there, plus a couple joints if you want to grab ‘em—an appetizer, if you will.”
Steve grabbed the bag of potato chips and a joint, and came back to sit as Eddie stubbed out his cigarette and put down the potato peeler, flexing his fingers. “Spark ‘er up, Harrington,” he said.
Steve did as he was told, taking a long hit and coughing out a plume of smoke before passing the joint to Eddie and reaching for the chips. “I like the braid,” he said, crunching.
Eddie snorted smoke. “It’s supposed to be good for me,” he said. “Dexterity and holding my arms up and that shit.”
“Yeah? Well, looks good.”
Eddie glanced at him from under long lashes, looking almost shy. “Thanks, I guess.” He took another pull of the joint and handed it back to Steve, then reached for the cane propped against the table and began maneuvering himself to his feet.
“Can I help?” Steve said.
“What’d I say?” Eddie said, pointing. “Your job is to just sit there and look pretty.”
Steve laughed self-consciously, resisting the urge to touch his hair. He wasn’t used to just sitting and watching someone else do all the work, but he forced himself not to ask again, sensing that this was important to Eddie, somehow. Anyway, it turned out Eddie didn’t need help. He was efficient and confident in the kitchen, and had a couple cool gadgets to help get around his still-weak grip, including a dicer so he didn’t even need to wrangle with a knife. Steve got a funny little thrill out of watching him work, knowing that he was putting in all this effort just for Steve—and Robin, of course.
By the time the biscuits and salad were made and the Shepard’s pie was bubbling away in the oven, Eddie’s braid had unraveled even further and he had a halo of curls around his face. He sat down with a bit-back groan, looking tired but triumphant.
“You better not have spoiled your appetite, Harrington,” Eddie said, peering into the mostly-empty bag of chips.
“Not even close,” Steve said, which was the truth. The savory scent of the Shepard’s pie was driving him crazy and as if to back him up, his stomach gave an audible growl. Eddie grinned, sipping his beer, and seemed about to say something else, when someone rapped on the door.
“Buckley!” Eddie said. “Steve, you wanna—?”
Steve bounced to his feet and went to let Robin in. She burst into the apartment in a whirlwind of chatter, yammering about her mom’s new gardening project and a sighting of her grocery store crush, teasing Eddie and Steve for how red their eyes were, exclaiming over how good everything smelled, accepting a beer, and before Steve knew it, dinner was ready and they were crowded around the kitchen table, ready to eat.
“Fuck,” Steve moaned around his first mouthful of pie. “Eddie, this is amazing!”
“You’re just stoned,” Eddie said, laughing.
“I’m not,” Robin said, “so you can trust me, it’s delicious! I can’t believe you’ve been holding out on us.”
“Well, most of the time we’ve been friends I’ve been, like, trapped on my couch. I only started cooking again recently.”
“So you’re saying this is just the first meal of many?” Robin said.
Eddie grinned. “Why not? New big kid time tradition. I was getting sick of pizza, anyway.”
Steve said nothing, because he was too busy shoveling Shepard’s pie into his mouth, pausing only for bites of cheesy biscuit and tangy salad. Everything tasted so fucking good, even better because Steve had watched Eddie make it. He could taste the work that went into it, and the affection, too, and the pride, and yeah, maybe he was stoned, but it was maybe the best thing he’d ever eaten in his life. He had seconds, then thirds, and probably would have had fourths if he hadn’t picked his head up for long enough to notice he was the only one still eating. The other two had long since finished and were slouched back in their chairs, chatting, Eddie glancing over at Steve every so often with a fond, indulgent look in his eyes.
Steve dropped his fork onto his empty plate and sat back, only just realizing how full he was. “That was amazing,” he said, patting his stomach gingerly.
“I’ll cook for you anytime, Harrington,” Eddie said. “Watching you eat is like the best compliment a chef could get.”
“You were in the zone,” Robin said.
“Bad news,” Eddie said. “There’s dessert.”
“What?” Steve yelped. “You should’ve warned me!”
“Brownies,” Eddie said. “And ice cream.”
Steve ate two, and then they watched a movie, all smushed together on Eddie’s couch. Steve ended up in the middle, Robin’s head on his shoulder, Eddie’s good side pressed against him. He was incredibly full, and distantly he knew he probably looked it, his polo clinging visibly to the bloat of his belly, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was too sated, too comfortable, too happy.
If this was the price for a couple extra pounds, well, Steve would pay it.