Work Text:
By late summer ‘86, things in Hawkins had moseyed on back to normal, or at least as normal as it ever got. Summer used to mean time spent by the pool, or playing baseball, or really anything that meant being out in the goddamn sunshine. But now that Steve was a working stiff, summer just meant sweating on his way to work and then freezing his ass off in the A/C, plus an uptick in annoying little shits bugging him when he was trying to do his job.
He was glad they were all alive and well, he really was. But his gratitude was starting to run a little thin.
The kids’ latest operation (after the failed Arcade Coup and the Buy Will and El a Dog Campaign) was pestering Steve about a trip halfway down I-80 into the boonies, where they’d just opened some kind of mini-golf attraction. Lucas had seen an ad for it on TV and then he had roped all the other kids into begging for a ride out there.
Steve was fully prepared to ignore them, but then Robin heard about it and said it would be fun, and Nancy said she wanted to have a last hurrah in Hawkins before she left for college, and even Eddie said he wanted in. So Steve caved, even though he had to drive up two days before just to pay for the group reservation because there were eleven of them coming all told and this place had an advance group policy, pre-paid non-refundable yada yada yada.
Sometimes he wondered why he did any of it. It’s not like anybody thanked him.
The big day finally dawned and Steve was all ready to start his round of pick-ups; half the group was coming in his car and the other half were going to drive in Eddie’s POS van. But then the phone started ringing and basically never stopped. Robin called first: she’d been roped into some kind of last-minute college shopping excursion with her mom, so she had to cancel. Then Dustin called in a tizzy because his mom had found the report card he had managed to hide from her for two months and she had immediately canceled the trip. Then a very flustered-sounding Mrs. Sinclair had called just minutes later, letting Steve know that they were all down-for-the-count with food poisoning after last night’s dinner, so Erica and Lucas were out too.
That left Steve all alone in his car so he just headed out the door and figured he’d split Eddie’s passengers on the drive home. It was a nice drive, anyway; the day promised to be warm and sunny, he could play tapes he liked without being made fun of, and no one got crumbs in his car.
He got to the Mitchburg Mini-Golf Experience and Fun Farm! about twenty minutes early, so he waited in the parking lot, leaning on the hood of his car underneath the one sad tree that seemed to be the only natural shade on the whole property. The old barn from the original farm had been converted into the main building, painted a cherry red with white trim, and the mini-golf course sprawled off to one side along the parking lot. It was farm-themed: lots of plastic animal statues, what looked like a real tractor, and a fake stream running through it, complete with an unnaturally blue waterfall.
It was already getting warm, the parking lot taking on that hot tar smell that promised that the pavement was already too hot for bare feet. Steve was grateful for his sunglasses, but not for the first time he wondered if he should have just sucked it up and worn a hat. The hair was his best asset, but a red, peeling nose wouldn’t do him any favors either.
Just when Steve was considering getting back in his car and wasting some gas to run the A/C, he heard the distant sound of heavy metal blasting. Moments later Eddie’s junker of a van squealed into the parking lot, jumping the curb a little and screeching to a stop one spot over from Steve’s beemer.
The music cut off and Eddie hopped out of the driver’s seat, bounding over to Steve with the sort of energy that could never sit still. He was wearing some obscure band shirt that had been hacked to pieces, the arm holes ripped off so they were open nearly to his waist. He wore black cutoffs—which Steve assumed was the fate of all his jeans when the holes at the knees grew too big—and his ratty old Reeboks.
No one else got out of the van.
“Hey man!” Eddie cried as he walked over. He stopped short when he got a good look at Steve. “Dude, is that a fanny pack?”
Steve glanced down. He had strapped his green Hawkins Tigers fanny pack over his khaki shorts and paired it with a matching tee from sophomore year PE. It was gonna be too hot to wear polos today and anyway he didn’t expect to meet anyone to impress out here. It was all going to be screaming kids and their families.
“Yeah, it is,” he said defensively. “You know how much shit I gotta carry around for the little gremlins?”
Eddie laughed. “Okay, man,” he said with a smirk. “Where’s your crew, did they already head in?”
“Where’s yours?” Steve countered.
Eddie gave him an exasperated look and started ticking off on his fingers. “The Wheeler grandmother got sick so they’re both halfway to Fort Wayne by now; the Byers-Hopper family are all down with the flu, except for El who has the measles; and Max’s mom won the big slots at the casino in Shelbyville last night so she took Max out on a ‘girl’s day’.” He dropped his hands and shrugged. “So I drove up here by my lonesome, but I’m ready to join the festivities!”
Steve shook his head in disbelief. “Fucking hell,” he muttered, running his hand through his hair. “My whole car bailed too,” he explained, “they’re all out of commission.”
Eddie’s eyebrows shot up. “All of them?” he asked incredulously. “Shit, man, what are the odds?” He peered skeptically up at the big red barn. “Is this place cursed or something? Should we bail too?”
“Fuck that,” Steve snapped. “I already paid for all the damn tickets and not one of those little shits has paid me back yet. I’m getting my money back from this place, and then you and I are playing at least one round of mini-golf cause I didn’t drive all the way out here for nothing.” He started walking toward the entrance.
Eddie laughed and followed him, catching up to grab and jostle Steve’s shoulder. “That’s the spirit, Harrington!” he cried. “But you should prepare to get your ass kicked, I am the fucking king of mini-golf.”
Steve scoffed. They’d see about that.
Inside the big red barn there was a ticket counter manned by a tired-looking teen, an arcade area, and a little food counter with some tables and chairs. It was vaguely farm-themed, with cow-print trim along the walls and more big plastic animal statues strewn around. The whole place was done up in way too much neon and it was loud for ten in the morning, kids running all over with parents slowly trailing after them, yelling over the country music that was being piped in through the speakers.
Steve spent more than twenty minutes at the ticket counter trying to reason with Andrew the prickly teenager—who could give Keith a run for his money on customer service—and then his manager Stella, who was apologetic and sincere and completely unwilling to budge. In the end, defeated, he walked back to Eddie who had wandered into the arcade and was losing badly at skeeball. Steve sat down on the other unused track in a huff.
“No luck?” Eddie asked as he bowled. His ball went up the track, fell well short of the 100 point hole, and slid down into the 5. He immediately grabbed another ball and tried again, still aiming for the 100 point hole. Another whiff.
“I guess I missed some fine print about refunds,” Steve grumbled. “So they won’t give me back the money. But they were willing to exchange it, so now we’ve got—” he looked down at the pile of brightly-colored slips in his hands, “—two rounds each of mini-golf, one round each of bumper cars, one round each of lawn games, two meals and—” he pulled a fistful of coins out of his pocket, “—twenty-five arcade tokens.” Steve sighed and rolled his eyes. “Redeemable today only.”
“Wow!” Eddie said as he bowled again with much the same result. He really was garbage at this game. “Well, I guess we’re making a day of it, huh? What do you want to do first?”
Steve zipped all that junk back into the front pocket of his fanny pack before grabbing the last of the skee balls and hip-checking Eddie out of the way. He bowled it and watched it sail perfectly into the 50 point slot.
“Mini-golf,” he said, turning to Eddie with a grin. “I want to see you put your money where your mouth is.”
Eddie laughed and threw an arm around Steve’s shoulders. “I think you mean your money, dude,” he replied as they headed back outside. “And don’t say I didn’t warn you!”
Eddie was cheating.
He absolutely had to be cheating, because there was no way he was this much better than Steve at a sport. Or something sports-adjacent, anyway.
“There we go!” Eddie crowed as he sunk yet another hole-in-one. Steve huffed in annoyance; his first shot had bumped into one of the plastic hay bales and bounced off into an awkward corner. He slapped the score sheet against Eddie’s chest, who took it gleefully, and went to try to salvage this round.
“How are you so good at this?” Steve asked as he checked his sightlines. No room to maneuver here, he was going to have to waste a putt on freeing up his ball.
“Practice makes perfect,” Eddie replied absently as he tugged the miniature pencil from behind his ear and wrote down his score, sticking his tongue out a little as he tried to use his hand to provide a flat surface to write on. “My dad stole a couple of these putters when I was a kid. We used to spend hours setting up little obstacles at home, building ramps and making courses around the furniture and stuff.” He looked up and grinned. “And it’s really paying off now, huh?”
Steve glared at him and then returned to his ball, setting his feet carefully like he’d been taught—eight weeks of golf lessons, the summer he turned thirteen—and loosening his shoulders. He gave it one practice motion and then swung and hit his green ball with a little clack. It sailed out of the corner, whacked into a wall, bounced off another goddamn plastic hay bale, and landed right back in the same spot.
“What the fuck!” Steve yelled loudly. He straightened up and made eye contact with a mom at the next hole over, who gave him a dirty look. He shot her an apologetic wince, then looked over at Eddie, who was grinning ear-to-ear.
“Aw, don’t sweat it, Harrington,” he said condescendingly. “You could still make par!”
Steve put a fist on his hip and stared angrily down at his ball. “Why am I so bad at this?” he asked. “I’ve played actual golf, this is just putting practice.”
“Because it’s not actual golf, duh,” Eddie told him, sitting down on one of the hay bales and drawing his knees up so his feet weren’t on the green. “It’s the same equipment but it’s, you know. Fun.”
“Real golf is fun,” Steve grumbled.
“If you say so, Mr. Country Club,” Eddie replied, rolling his eyes. He spread his hands and gestured all around them. “You can’t play real golf out here, Stevie! It’s just putt-putt as far as the eye can see.”
“God help me,” Steve muttered. He went back to his ball and squatted down to look at where it could possibly go. He sighed loudly.
“You gotta use the slope,” Eddie said from his perch.
“Huh?” Steve said.
“The slope, it slopes up on one side here,” Eddie added, waving at the green near his feet. “If you catch it right your ball will roll down the other side and you could sink it from there and make par.”
Steve squinted at the course, tilting his head to the side. “Okay, man,” he said doubtfully. He rose and carefully set his feet, checking his aim twice and practicing the motion three times before he finally struck the ball. As promised, it sailed over the hump on the green and slid down the other side into the open space behind the hay bales, near the hole.
“Hey, nice!” Eddie cried. He stood up on his hay bale and hopped across the green onto the one closer to Steve, clapping him on the shoulder from above. “Now it’s easy pickings,” he said, folding his arms.
Steve glanced up at him for a second, framed in bright light by the merciless sun, the muscles on his pale arms showing starkly against his dark shirt. Eddie’s shadow sprawled over the green, the triumphant lord of a tiny golf course. Steve looked back down and walked around to his ball. It just needed a tap and it would go right in.
It did not go in.
“Oh, come the fuck on!” Steve yelled. He stepped over to behind where his stupid ball had sailed right past the hole to try again. But before he could putt he felt a hand on his arm.
“Whoa, dude,” Eddie said, now standing right next to him. “You gotta relax or you’re just gonna whiff it again.” He moved, stepping up close behind Steve and grabbing onto his wrists as he pulled, bending Steve down enough that the head of the putter rested on the ground.
Steve just breathed and followed the motion, unsure what was happening. He looked blankly down at his ball.
“Okay, good,” Eddie said in his ear. “Can’t go into it angry, man. Relax, good. Now,” he pulled Steve’s arms back a little, moving the putter just a couple of inches.
Steve let him, feeling strangely conscious of his senses. Eddie’s hands were hot on his wrists, a little sweaty, long fingers wrapping around far enough to touch on the undersides. Eddie clinked a little as he moved, his wallet chain jingling. Steve blinked and realized he could smell him, sweat and cheap cologne and cigarette smoke.
“The key is not to hit it too hard,” Eddie continued, his low voice near Steve’s ear as he bent forward, half across Steve’s back. “It’s easy to overdo it, but from this distance it’s just a light tap. Don’t think about it too much, just feel the motion.”
Eddie let go and stood back; Steve could feel the skin where his hands had been instantly cooling as it was exposed to the air. He let out a breath and, swinging from the shoulders, gave his ball a tap.
It went right in and Eddie cheered, clapping Steve on the back. And just like that the spell was broken; the mini golf course came back to life, hot and bright and noisy. Steve stood up and looked around but no one had noticed them at all. Eddie was writing down the score, commiserating loudly over Steve’s bogey, and then they moved onto the next hole.
It took another two holes before Steve felt totally normal again; it was almost like having water trapped in his ears, everything a little muffled and off-sounding. He shouldn’t have gotten so rattled; he’d had plenty of people show him proper sports technique in his life, it should have been nothing. Maybe the mini golf thing was a little embarrassing, but Steve knew how to take a correction from a coach.
Eddie was no different, he told himself firmly.
Eventually Steve managed to get his head back in the game; maybe not score-wise, but he was able to shake off whatever weirdness had come over him. They finished out the round—Eddie won by an embarrassing margin—and started the next one. It was starting to get hotter out, the sun climbing in the sky as the morning continued.
Steve stood at the end of the green on their second go at Hole 6, waiting for Eddie to make his shot. He’d gotten a hole-in-one on this one last time, and Steve assumed that would be the case again. Steve had already played through and gotten a respectable birdie; he was determined to make this round less embarrassing than the last.
Hole 6 was next to the waterfall, electric blue water pumping out the top to cascade over plastic rocks and down a narrow stream that wove across the entire course. The hole was on the other side of a little bridge across the stream, along with a plastic cow that Steve was leaning against. Eddie was taking his sweet time setting up his shot.
“Get a move on,” Steve called to him. He took off his sunglasses and wiped at his sweaty forehead with the back of his wrist. It really was getting too hot out there.
“Can’t rush perfection,” Eddie called back, not looking up from his ball.
Steve snorted. His wrist not doing the job, he reached down and pulled up the hem of his shirt, using it to wipe at his face. He heard a sort of aborted “wuh—” then a loud thwack and the unmistakable plunk of a golf ball dropping into the water.
Dropping his shirt, Steve looked up just in time to see Eddie staring at him, red-faced, before he glanced down at the little stream next to the course. Eddie’s bright red ball was there, slowly rolling along the plastic channel as the current pushed it.
Steve started laughing as Eddie rushed over and fished his ball out before it could be swept away. “Ha!” Steve cried. “I knew you couldn’t be that good all the time. I’ve got a good feeling about this round.”
Eddie, his face still flushed, just placed his ball back at the start of the green and set up his shot again. He managed to make par, but it was a real fall from grace. Steve grinned and clapped him on the shoulder as Eddie joined him to walk over to the next hole.
“How the mighty are fallen,” Steve teased.
“Shut up,” Eddie muttered. “I’m still gonna kick your ass.”
“I dunno, this might just be the opening I need,” Steve said, smirking.
It wasn’t. He still lost by more than ten points.
Eddie was insufferable about it.
Steve didn’t sulk after his defeat.
He didn’t. But he did insist that they both have some water before they moved on to their next activity. He had brought a big water bottle full of ice with him and kept it in the little cooler that lived in the beemer’s trunk, so he and Eddie wandered across the blistering hot parking lot to where Steve’s car was parked. The feeble shade from the lone tree had moved on, leaving the car exposed to the sun and scorching to the touch. Steve yanked his hand back quickly after he popped the trunk.
He took a swig from the water bottle and handed it over to Eddie who took a huge gulp, water spilling from his chin down along his throat, darkening the collar of his t-shirt. Steve looked away as Eddie reached up to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Oh, wow, there she is,” Eddie said suddenly. He was peering further into the trunk, leaning over to get a better look.
“Huh?” Steve asked. He grabbed the water bottle before Eddie could spill it everywhere and screwed the top back on.
Eddie reached in and tugged as he stood back up, Steve’s nail bat in his hand. Steve reached out immediately and grabbed Eddie’s fist where it was wrapped around the handle, pushing the bat back into the trunk.
“Dude, are you nuts?” Steve hissed. He looked around them, but thankfully they were the only ones on that end of the parking lot. “You wanna avoid waving the big weapon around?” he asked.
Eddie just stared at him, eyes wide. His gaze flicked down to where Steve’s hand was still wrapped around his own, then back up at Steve.
Steve let go and pulled away, clearing his throat. He wiped his hand surreptitiously on the side of his shorts.
“Sorry, man,” Eddie said after a second. He pushed the nail bat back into position. “Just wanted to check out the hero’s noble blade, you know? The stuff of legend, according to Henderson.” He grinned. “Many foes vanquished, from what I hear.”
“Yeah, well,” Steve said, ducking his head. “It was handy in a pinch, I’ll say that.” He offered Eddie a sheepish smile. “Wish I’d had it when we took our little tour of the Upside Down. I bet I could’ve whacked a few of those demobats out of the sky.”
“Totally,” Eddie agreed. He cleared his throat. “So, fearsome warrior, what dragon shall we slay next?” he said, spreading his hands wide.
Steve narrowed his eyes, confused.
“Shall we try our hand at games of chance?” Eddie continued grandly. “Test our mettle on the bowling green?” He waggled his eyebrows. “Or shall we take part in the modern joust? Try to unseat our enemies from the back of an iron steed?”
“Is that—you mean bumper cars?” Steve asked, bewildered.
Eddie chuckled as he dropped his hands. “Yeah, man, bumper cars,” he said easily.
“Okay,” Steve said warily. “But don’t try to, like, joust anybody. I don’t wanna get kicked out of here until we get our money’s worth.”
Eddie raised his hand and threw up his devil horns. “Scout’s honor,” he said solemnly.
Steve rolled his eyes and led them over to the bumper car pavilion. It wasn’t too crowded, just the two of them and a group of pre-teens from a birthday party. They picked their cars—red for Steve, black for Eddie—and spent a couple of minutes just racing around the track and bumping into each other.
Steve wasn’t exactly sure how you were supposed to win at bumper cars but damn if he wasn’t going to try.
At one point Eddie’s car stalled out, the wire connecting it to the ceiling got jammed or something, so Steve pulled up alongside while Eddie stood up on his seat to try and wiggle the long pole and get it moving again. It was lucky he had, too, cause not fifteen seconds later some pimply little shit came around from the other side and rammed straight into them, pushing Steve’s bumper into Eddie’s unmoving car and dropping Eddie right into his lap.
The little shithead laughed and sped off back toward the birthday kids, bumping into everyone in sight. Steve watched as the asshole rammed another kid into the corner, then backed up into another and laughed when that kid’s face smacked into his steering wheel.
“What a little bastard!” Steve cried. He looked down at Eddie who was still sort of laying across his lap. Eddie stared up at him, looking kind of dazed.
Steve frowned and put his hand on Eddie’s knee. “You okay?” he asked, concerned. “Did you hit your head?”
Eddie sputtered for a moment and then heaved himself up, climbing awkwardly out of Steve’s lap and back into his own car. “Never better!” he cried as he tripped over the lip of the door and tumbled gracelessly into the seat.
Steve just shook his head. He looked back at the birthday kids, where the shithead was still ramming into other cars even though somebody’s mom had come out onto the floor to check on that one kid, who looked like he had a bloody nose. Steve sneered; maybe it made him a little bit of a hypocrite, but he couldn’t stand bullies.
“Hey, Eddie,” Steve said, leaning over. “You wanna go teach that little bastard a lesson?”
Eddie grinned back at him fiercely. “What did you have in mind, Stevie?”
“You ever try the squeeze and release?”
Eddie didn’t answer, he just threw back his head and howled like a maniac before he took off toward the other end of the pavilion, Steve right on his tail. The shitty kid had pulled away from the pack, coming around to make another pass, so Eddie slid in on his left and Steve broke off to come around on the other side. They both pulled up alongside the kid’s bright yellow car and squeezed in tight so that the car couldn’t steer away on its own.
“Hey, kid!” Eddie said, a vicious smile on his face. “I think you bumped into me back there.”
The little asshole just cursed at them and tried to steer his car away.
“You should really apologize,” Steve said loudly. “Someone might have gotten hurt.”
“Fuck off!” the kid yelled.
Eddie looked at Steve above the kid’s head and shrugged as if to say, we tried. Steve shrugged back, agreeing. They both turned their cars and sped up, the yellow car trapped between them. They made for the other end of the pavilion, racing as fast as the cars could go across the empty end of the floor. The kid yelled and cursed, but Eddie just laughed loudly over the sound of the electric engines, his hair whipping back as they sped along the pavilion.
He turned and looked at Steve, eyes wild and hair flying, and Steve almost messed up the timing. He looked back at the very last second and yelled, “NOW!”
Eddie and Steve both peeled away, leaving the yellow car to slam into the wall and send the shitty asshole kid flopping over the steering wheel. He yelled some more, hopping mad, and turned his car right around, ready to come after them. But just then the buzzer sounded and all the cars powered down as their session ended.
The kid jumped out of his car and headed toward Eddie, who stood up to his full height and crossed his arms, tattoos on full display. The kid looked nervously over at Steve, who had also stood up, and then beat a hasty retreat back to his group where the mom from earlier started yelling at him.
Eddie was still laughing as they made their way out of the pavilion and Steve couldn’t help but join him. They both sank against the wall under a brightly-colored awning that provided a little bit of shade. Steve leaned on one shoulder facing Eddie whose back was against the wall, his head tipped back as his shoulders shook. Even in the shade, the long line of his throat gleaned in the light, a thin sheen of sweat over his pale skin. There was a long, jagged scar along one side, no longer red and puckered but going silvery as it faded. Idly, Steve wondered if Eddie’s scars felt the same as his own under his fingers, if there was the strange skittering of sensation over the patches where the nerves were damaged. Did Eddie like that feeling? How would he react if Steve reached out and—
“Steve?”
He blinked and inhaled quickly, looking around and realizing Eddie was watching him with a strange look in his eyes.
“You okay?” Eddie continued. “Lost you for a second there.”
Steve cleared his throat and shifted his weight. His gaze fell back on Eddie’s neck before he looked up and determinedly met his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I’m—it’s just, uh, it’s way hot out here.” He opened his fanny pack and dug around a little, pulling out the arcade tokens. “You, uh, you wanna get out of the sun and try our hands at some games of chance?”
Eddie’s answering smile was bright; Steve tried to ignore how it tugged a little at the edge of the scar that made its way up onto his cheek. “Lead the way, good sir!” Eddie said, gesturing with a flourish.
Steve led them both inside. He hoped that the A/C would help cool him off and get his thoughts in order. The heat was really doing a number on him.
Despite his reputation for being a little oblivious, Steve was not totally unaware of what was going on with him. Among all the craziness over Spring Break with the Upside Down and Vecna something else had sprung up, something Steve thought he had buried deep, deep within himself years ago. But spending several days in Eddie’s company—too-wide smiles and dark curls and a t-shirt that rode up just a bit when it was untucked—had forced Steve to admit that maybe he hadn’t actually managed to completely smother that part of himself.
Once all the supernatural insanity had finally come to a head and then calmed down again, Steve had hoped that his little problem would disappear too. But it stuck around, surging to the front of his mind whenever Eddie came around; making him babble like a moron if Eddie swung by Family Video, or trip and nearly brain himself on the pool deck when Eddie joined everyone in Steve’s backyard for a swim. It even started popping to the surface when Steve watched a couple of his favorite movies—suddenly he had some very damning evidence about just why he liked Tom Cruise’s work so much.
Eventually Steve broke down and went to Robin, who yelled at him a lot and then hugged him and then yelled at him some more. But she helped him sort through some things, past and present, until Steve was finally able to get a handle on everything he’d been trying to push away for so long:
Fact: Steve Harrington liked guys just as much as he liked girls
Fact: Steve Harrington liked Eddie Munson
Fact: Steve Harrington was going to do exactly nothing about it, because he had taken enough blows to the face for one lifetime, thanks
Robin disagreed on the last point—she was convinced Eddie was cool, but she hadn’t had the balls to come out to him either, now had she? So Steve kept his mouth shut about both his sexuality and his crush and resolved to just enjoy having a cool, crazy, whirlwind of a friend in Eddie Munson for as long as it lasted.
He had admittedly gotten a little off-track after the bumper cars, but Steve was determined to wrangle his brain back into the “hanging out with my buddy” zone and stop staring at Eddie’s… everything.
The arcade inside the former barn turned out to be a great distraction. It was loud and crowded, full of flashing lights and clanging bells, packs of pre-teens tripping over themselves to rush from one game to the next. Off to one side there was a little counter with all the prizes that could be won from game tickets: stuffed animals, water pistols, action figures, and pool floats all hung on the wall behind the counter, while the glass shelves underneath held dozens of bins of candy and tiny plastic toys.
Eddie immediately dragged Steve over to the counter and started assessing their options. “We gotta strategize,” he explained as he bent over to look at the small row of more expensive prizes visible through the top of the glass counter. “Think we can earn that digital watch? Mine’s still busted from the lake.”
Steve put his hands on his hips. “Dude, shouldn’t we get something we can share? Besides, that’s 4,000 tickets.” He scoffed. “We’re not gonna get 4,000 tickets.”
“O ye of little faith!” Eddie cried dramatically, shaking his head. “Where’s your jock spirit, huh? Don’t you want to win?”
Steve cast a skeptical eye over the cheap, gaudy prizes. “Not a lot of incentive here.”
“Okay, what about the lava lamp?” Eddie pleaded. “It’s only 2,000 tickets!”
“I said something we could share, man.”
“We can share it! You can come over and hang out in my room whenever you want to visit it,” Eddie said with a grin.
Steve resolutely tamped down on any thoughts about visiting Eddie’s bedroom and rolled his eyes. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, okay? I’m not sure I have a lot of confidence in your skills here, given how you did at skeeball.”
Eddie threw up his hands and hung his head. “I admit it, hand-eye coordination is not my strong suit. But that’s why we’re going to divide and conquer, Stevie!” A strange gleam grew in his eyes. “You can handle all the games with balls and throwing or whatever, and I’ll handle everything with buttons and joysticks. We can’t lose!”
“Fine,” Steve said with a sigh. “But I get veto power on all prize decisions.”
“Done!” Eddie said as he grabbed Steve by the hand—don’t read into it, Harrington—and pulled him over to the Pop-a-Shot basketball arcade game. He gestured wide at the machine. “I am prepared to be amazed,” he said, waggling his eyebrows. “I never did get to see any of your games.”
“That’s because you were actively boycotting them,” Steve reminded him as he put in a token and picked up one of the basketballs. The machine sprang to life, the red scoreboard numbers cycling rapidly to zero and the music blaring on.
“Well, I’m here now!” Eddie said loudly as the machine beeped and started the 40-second timer. He leaned his hip on the side and crossed his arms, smirking.
Steve ignored him and took a deep breath so he could focus. He put Eddie and his stupid sexy face out of his mind, adjusted his stance, aimed, and tossed.
Swish! The game buzzed as the ball dropped through the net, first points on the board.
“Hell yeah!” Eddie cried, pumping his fist.
Steve allowed himself one little smile before he grabbed the next ball and threw. He didn’t make every shot before the clock ran out, but he made a lot. The game whirred under his fingers and started churning out tickets. Steve reached down and started folding the long string by tens.
“Fifty-five,” he said when it was done, ripping the last ticket away from the machine. “Not a bad start,” he told Eddie with a proud grin.
Eddie reached out and squeezed his upper arm, shaking him a little. “Very nice!” he said. “My turn.” He looked around for a minute, then whooped and headed for another machine. “They’ve got Dig Dug!”
Steve followed behind, taking his turn to learn against the machine as Eddie added his token. “I’m prepared to be amazed,” he said, raising an eyebrow.
“Damn right you are,” Eddie said as he wrapped his fingers around the joystick. He was good, as far as Steve could tell; he didn’t know his way around the video games like the kids did, but the number in the corner got really high before Eddie lost his last life. And the machine spit out fifty tickets, so they were well on their way.
“Come on,” Eddie said as he leaned away from the game cabinet, “I want to see you hit one of those strength test things with a hammer.”
They traded back and forth: Steve took on skee ball, whac-a-mole, and a grip tester, while Eddie tackled Donkey Kong, Kung-Fu Master, and Galaga. They raced each other in Turbo, elbows and knees jostling as they squeezed into the tiny cockpit. Steve challenged Eddie to an air hockey match, which Steve resoundingly won even though Eddie was clearly trying to cheat. In the end, Steve had a huge fistful of tickets that they triumphantly brought back to the prize counter.
“Three thousand, eight hundred and forty-three, good madame!” Eddie announced grandly to the girl behind the counter.
She just raised an eyebrow at him and popped her gum. “So whaddya want?” she asked, bored.
Eddie turned to Steve, eyes pleading.
“We are not getting the lava lamp,” Steve said firmly. He looked at the options available and had to laugh when he spotted a box up on a high shelf, labeled ‘3000 tickets.’ “How about that?” he said, nudging Eddie with his elbow and pointing.
Eddie laughed too when he spotted it. “Fuck yeah,” he said. “We’ll take the Lite Brite, please,” he said enthusiastically.
The girl looked between the two of them, bewildered, before she shrugged dismissively and climbed a little step ladder to get the box down. She put it on the counter and tore off the majority of their tickets. “Okay,” she said with a sigh. “What else?”
Eddie offered to negotiate with Steve on the rest of the prizes, but Steve really didn’t care, so he let Eddie buy himself a Magic 8 Ball for 800 tickets and use up the rest on a handful of Tootsie Rolls. Eddie unwrapped one and popped it in his mouth as they left the arcade.
“Man,” he said, chewing loudly on his candy, “I’m fucking starving. We got free lunch, right?”
Steve rummaged around in his fanny pack until he found their meal tickets. “Yeah, uh,” he squinted at the fine print, “good for one entree, one drink, and a bag of chips,” he quoted.
“Oooh,” Eddie said as they approached the service counter, which looked kind of sticky. “Our choice of entree? What do you think, Stevie, the filet mignon or the blackened cod?”
“Never get the filet mignon at one of these places,” Steve told him sagely, “it’s always too dry.”
That earned him a snort from Eddie and a weird look from yet another surly teen manning the cash register. Mitchburg must have been hard up for paper routes and lifeguards if half of its teenagers were working at this dump.
They both opted for the hot dog and a Coke, then sat down at the cleanest looking table they could find. It was pretty crowded, the tables packed with kids and parents, including at least two birthday parties. As soon as they sat down Eddie grabbed the ketchup and mustard bottles on the table and started drenching his hot dog.
“Dude,” Steve said as he opened his bag of Lays, “you trying to drown it?”
Eddie just hummed happily as he took a big bite. “What a way to go,” he said around his mouthful. There was ketchup on his upper lip and mustard on his chin. It was gross and not at all endearing.
Steve just shook his head and pulled a few paper napkins out of the dispenser, shoving them at Eddie. He looked around a little as he ate his own hot dog. It tasted about as mediocre as it looked.
“Mmm,” Eddie said as he swallowed. He took a big gulp of his Coke. “What’ve we got left?” he asked before taking another bite.
“Lawn games,” Steve said with a shrug.
Eddie gave him a bewildered look. “What, like, fucking croquet?”
“I doubt it,” Steve said. He freed up one hand to dig around for the two remaining tickets in his fanny pack. “It just says lawn games, man, I have no idea.”
“Mmmf,” Eddie said doubtfully around his next bite. He tried to frown at Steve, but he just looked like a deranged chipmunk with ketchup on his cheek. It wasn’t cute. It was not cute.
This was the longest he had ever spent with Eddie one-on-one and today was reminding him exactly why he avoided it. The longer they were alone together, the more likely it was that Steve would do something stupid. Like reach across the table and use his finger to wipe the ketchup off Eddie’s cheek. Maybe lick it off his own finger. Maybe hold that finger between his teeth, lips open so Eddie could see, and look at him from under his eyelashes. Maybe—
Steve sighed and handed Eddie another napkin. He just had to get through one more activity.
It wasn’t croquet, thankfully.
Steve and Eddie dropped off the Lite Brite in Steve’s trunk before they headed over to the lawn game area on the far end of the parking lot where a long grassy field with a little equipment booth was set up. He and Eddie argued over which game would be the most even odds between the two of them: Steve had played bocce before on vacation in France, and Eddie had played plenty of cornhole growing up. Eddie wanted to try lawn darts, but Steve didn’t feel like getting stabbed, thanks, so in the end they settled for horseshoes, which neither of them had ever played.
The horseshoe pit was at the far end of the field, so they trudged all the way out there with their four horseshoes and a little laminated instruction sheet that explained the rules. It was still hot outside, but thankfully some clouds had built up while they had been in the barn so at least they weren’t standing directly in the sun.
Eddie wanted to dive right in, but Steve successfully argued for a few practice rounds, which was good because it was clear that neither of them had any clue how to toss a horseshoe accurately.
“So we just… chuck it?” Eddie asked doubtfully.
Steve wrinkled his nose, hefting the surprisingly heavy horseshoe in his hand. “Maybe we kind of flick it, like a Frisbee?” he guessed.
In the end they just did whatever felt right. It turned out they were both pretty terrible at horseshoes, but it was fun anyway. Eddie tried a spinning wind-up like a shot put toss, and Steve attempted the behind-the-back throw he had perfected for beer pong. Eddie actually managed to successfully land one by throwing it like a javelin, and Steve got very close by skimming one over the brown, dying grass.
It was probably some of the worst horseshoes ever played, but Steve's stomach hurt from laughing so hard.
Technically they finished their first and only paid-for game in about twenty minutes—Steve pulled ahead for a six point lead right at the end—but nobody came out of the little equipment booth to bother them, so they decided to just keep playing. Besides, it had cooled down quite a bit with all the clouds and there was even a breeze picking up, so it was actually nice out there in the field.
They were arguing over how many points a horseshoe leaning on the stake should be worth during their third game when Steve felt a drop on the back of his arm. He glanced up and realized that the clouds above them had turned a dark, menacing gray. Another drop plopped onto his shoulder, leaving a little dark green circle on his shirt.
Steve looked over at Eddie in alarm, who was sticking out his hand and staring doubtfully at the sky. Eddie winced and muttered “ah, shi—” and was drowned out by a massive crack overhead. In an instant the sky opened up and rain was coming down on them in sheets.
“Fuck!” Steve cried, dropping his horseshoe and turning to run back toward the barn. Eddie took off with him; he yelled something that Steve couldn’t hear over the rain. Eddie held up his keys and jangled them so Steve followed him to the van and they both threw themselves inside.
“Holy shit!” Eddie panted, crouched on his knees by the open doors. He shook his head rapidly, like a dog, spattering water everywhere. Outside, the parking lot and the mini golf course were barely visible through the downpour; lightning flashed overhead and another loud boom rattled the van’s windows.
Steve ran a hand through his deflated hair and slumped against the side of the van. “Fuck, man,” he said. “I’m absolutely soaked.”
Eddie stood as much as he could under the low ceiling and walked further into the van, coming back with a ratty brown towel that he handed to Steve. Steve took it gratefully and wiped off his face, giving his hair enough of a pass to stop it from dripping down his neck. He tossed the damp towel to Eddie, who flipped his head down and wrapped his hair up in it like somebody’s mom on a spa day.
“You look ridiculous,” Steve told him. He tried wringing a little water out of the hem of his t-shirt, but it was useless. The fabric clung uncomfortably to him everywhere.
“Beauty like this comes at a price,” Eddie said, fluttering his eyelashes and delicately patting the towel turban with his fingertips.
Steve rolled his eyes and looked out at the storm. “You think we’ll be stuck here for a while?”
“Nah,” Eddie replied, “these afternoon storms usually pass really quickly.” He began drumming his hands on the floor of the van next to him, tapping out some complex rhythm to accompany the rain. Steve leaned back against the wall and straightened out his legs, his ankle close enough to Eddie’s bent knee that he could feel a bit of warmth coming off of him.
If this was a date, Steve thought, this would have been the perfect chance for a little romantic privacy. If this was a date, Steve would have already found an excuse to have Eddie curled up in his arms, warming his rain-soaked skin and tugging the damp curls off his forehead. If this was a date, maybe they'd shut the doors and not even notice when the rain on the roof stopped.
Instead, they sat a respectful distance apart, chatting quietly and watching the rain until it slowly began to taper off, a beam of sunlight breaking through and spreading toward them across the parking lot. “See?” Eddie said, turning to Steve with a smile. “Already over.” He pulled the towel off his head and hopped out of the van.
Steve gave himself a second to mourn what might have been. They were done for the day, anyway; they had used up all their tickets. It was time to head home. He climbed out of the van and found Eddie peering through the steam rising from the wet pavement.
“Looks like the storm cleared everybody out,” Eddie said. He gathered up the front of his shirt in his hands and tried to wring it out a little as he walked toward the driver’s door. “I gotta make sure the van still starts, sometimes it gets finicky in the rain.”
Steve snorted. He reached a hand up over his head and grabbed his shirt by the back of the neck, yanking it off so he could wring it out properly. It would still be damp when he put it back on, but at least he wouldn’t drip onto his car’s leather seats.
He twisted up his shirt and gave it a good couple of wrings, shaking it out and holding it up to test how damp it still was. As he did, he happened to glance up and notice that he could see Eddie’s face in the van’s side mirror; he made eye contact, but the angle must’ve been off so that Eddie couldn’t see his face.
But he was looking. Steve’s eyes widened as he recognized the expression in his eyes. Slow, hungry. Taking his time to enjoy the view. Eddie was looking.
Carefully and casually, Steve lowered his shirt and held it to the side as he fiddled with his fanny pack and purposefully flexed his chest a little. Eddie, still staring in the mirror, bit his lip.
Holy shit. Holy shit. Steve yanked his shirt back on and fidgeted with the hem, suddenly nervous. Eddie had definitely been looking just now. Had he been looking that night on Lover’s Lake? Had Eddie always been looking?
Did he know that Steve was looking back?
Before he could fully wrap his brain around it, Eddie hopped out of the driver’s seat and walked back. “Seems like it’ll still start,” he said, perfectly casually. “So, is your Bag of Holding empty? Is our grand adventure at an end? Or do we still have a few freebies left?” He gave Steve a bright, open smile.
Steve licked his lips and squinted at him a bit, trying to figure out how to play this. Eddie had never acted like he was interested but then, Eddie was very good at pretending when he needed to. Maybe Eddie was just as scared as Steve was about saying something. Maybe they had both been circling around this secret hidden something for months; maybe today really could have been a real date.
Maybe Steve could still turn it into one.
“Yeah, uh, no more tickets or anything,” he said, clearing his throat. “But I, uh, on the drive up here I saw an ice cream place that looked pretty good. Do you wanna stop and get some before we head back?”
Eddie raised an eyebrow. “You trying to fatten me up, Stevie?”
Steve laughed. “Come on, my treat,” he tried.
“Not sick of spending all your money on me yet?” Eddie asked awkwardly. “A girl could get ideas.”
Steve licked his lips again. He ducked his head a little and looked up at Eddie through his eyelashes. “I just don’t want today to end, you know?” He raised his eyebrows hopefully.
Eddie blinked at him for a moment, then his eyes went wide. His mouth dropped open, plush lips parting.
Steve let his smile grow more. “What do you say, Eds?” he asked, pitching his voice low and stepping a little closer. “Let me finish showing you a good time.” He tucked his hands into his back pockets and shrugged, pushing his chest forward a little, wet shirt clinging to him.
Eddie’s eyes flicked down, then back up again. He went a little red. “Okay,” he squeaked out, nodding rapidly. “I—yup. Okay.”
Steve smirked. Hook, line, and sinker; he hadn’t lost his touch.
“Great,” he told Eddie, “it was called Duke’s, right around mile marker 60. There’s a big sign, can’t miss it.”
“Uh-huh,” Eddie replied, stumbling backwards toward the van. He banged his elbow on the door. “Okay, I’ll, uh, I’ll see you there.”
“Count on it,” Steve said, following after him with a grin. He waited until Eddie had climbed into his seat, then shut the door for him and rapped his knuckles against the glass before he walked over to the beemer.
Eddie, Steve was amused to find, was a nervous talker when he was flustered.
It had settled Steve’s own nerves immediately when they both had met in the parking lot of Duke’s and Eddie was already going a mile a minute about his favorite ice cream places and the best flavors and the one time he had tried to eat the 15 scoop sundae at Benny’s Burgers all by himself. If Eddie was this nervous after just a little flirting, then Steve figured he had nothing to worry about.
And it was damn cute.
Eddie managed to keep up his stories all the way through the line and back out to the parking lot, where the two of them sat on the curb between their cars to eat their cones. That forced Eddie to shut up for a minute, so Steve took the opportunity to tease him.
“Mint chocolate chip is objectively the worst flavor,” he declared as he licked his own strawberry cone.
Eddie sputtered. “What?” he cried indignantly. “It is a great flavor!”
“Sure,” Steve said easily, taking another long lick. “If you like eating toothpaste.”
Eddie opened his mouth, ready to start what Steve assumed was a long, passionate defense of mint ice cream, when he caught the fond look on Steve’s face. He blushed and looked down, letting his frizzy curls fall as a curtain, a tiny, adorable smile on his face.
Oh, Steve thought. This was going to be too easy.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he said, knocking his knee against Eddie’s. “Your gross ice cream is melting.”
Eddie’s head snapped up at the pet name, but before he could say anything his ice cream began dripping down the side of the cone, running over his hand. Eddie cursed and began licking it while Steve laughed at him.
It was still too hot, the temperature surging back up despite the brief storm, so they were forced to eat their ice cream quickly before it became soup. When they finished, Steve walked their wrappers and napkins over to the trash can while Eddie stood on the curb, nervously drumming his fingers on his thighs.
Steve smiled at him and tugged on Eddie’s elbow. “Come on,” he said, moving them around to the far side of the van where they were out of view of the highway and the ice cream shop. “I want to test a theory.”
“A theory?” Eddie asked, confused.
After they rounded the corner Steve crowded him up against the van, using one slightly sticky finger to lift Eddie’s chin. “Yeah,” he said softly, “a theory.” He leaned in slowly and kissed him, sliding their cold lips together. Eddie tensed for a second, then he was kissing back with enthusiasm, his arms coming up to squeeze Steve’s waist. Steve deepened the kiss after a moment, licking along the seam of Eddie’s lips and plunging inside when they parted. Eddie responded a little inexpertly but seemed happy to follow Steve’s lead.
After too little time, Steve pulled back just enough to speak. “Okay,” he said, his lips just barely skimming Eddie’s own, “maybe mint chocolate chip doesn’t taste so bad.”
Eddie seemed too dumbfounded to answer, his lips red and slick and his eyes wide, so Steve simply had to lean in and get another taste. But he was all too aware of how public their spot really was, so after another second he leaned away again.
“Listen,” he said, smoothing his hands over Eddie’s still-damp shirt, “today wasn’t supposed to be a date, you know? It was just a weird coincidence that we were on our own. But I’m thinking we should count it as one.”
“As—” Eddie cleared his throat, clearly a little lost. “As a date?” he asked roughly.
“As our first date,” Steve said emphatically. He gave Eddie a soft little smile. “What do you say?”
“Oh,” Eddie said dumbly. He nodded slowly. “That—yeah, okay. Okay.”
“Great!” Steve said, relieved. “In that case, what are you doing tomorrow?”
“Uh,” Eddie replied, still slack-jawed. He shook his head minutely. “Whatever you want.”
Steve had to kiss him again, because he was so cute. “Okay,” he said when he pulled back. “Can I pick you up tomorrow, around noon? We can have a second date that’s a little less public?”
Eddie nodded again. “Yeah, let’s do that. I have… so many questions.” He squeezed Steve’s waist a little.
“I love questions,” Steve said nonsensically. He stepped away before he was tempted to kiss Eddie again; they were already risking discovery as it was. “Tomorrow, noon,” he said as he took another step, moving backwards toward his car.
As if Steve touching him had been all that held Eddie’s natural dorkiness back, he swept forward into a deep bow and waved his arm out in front of him. “I shall await your carriage, my liege,” he said grandly.
“God, you’re such a nerd,” Steve said fondly as he opened his car door. “Go home, I’ll see you tomorrow. Uh, good sir,” he added.
Eddie grinned at him. “Fare thee well!” he cried.
“Get the fuck out of here,” Steve replied cheerfully as he sat down.
“Okay,” Eddie said, still smiling and not moving an inch. “Tomorrow,” he added.
“Tomorrow,” Steve agreed. He finally closed his door and started the car, tearing his eyes away from Eddie’s wide grin so he could back up and leave the parking lot. Steve put on his sunglasses and turned up the radio. It was still a bit of a drive back to Hawkins, but he was in too good of a mood to care.
He had just been on the best first date of his life.