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It begins- as many terrible things do- with Gareth’s god awful taste in movies.
Eddie likes the guy- he’s a fucking excellent drummer, and a decent smoking buddy too, but his affection wanes the moment Gareth ever suggests a film pick when they’re hanging out after practice. It’s so weird, too- it’s either shit like Footloose, and Sixteen Candles- or action flicks like Bad Boys, and New Fist of Fury. None of them have ever really gone down well with the rest of the band- despite them all sharing the same taste in pretty much everything else.
Well. Maybe not everything (but Eddie’s good at it now- the lying. About who’s got the best rack, etcetera etcetera.)
But it gets to a fucking point.
“Moonraker?” Jeff wrinkles his nose. “Dude. No. Where are you even finding these?”
Gareth looks crestfallen. Eddie offers him the J in consolation, cherry still lit up, glowing red. He scowls, but takes it, flopping down onto one of the beanbags he has gathering dust in his mom’s garage. She’s cool, Gareth’s mom- one of the only adults who doesn’t look at Eddie like he’s a piece of gum Gareth tracked in on his sharpie-adorned combat boots.
“Your recs are getting worse every week, my guy,” he yawns. Gareth rolls his eyes, mumbling. Sounds suspiciously like ‘something something Steve Harrington.’
Eddie narrows his eyes.
“Didn’t catch that, G-man.”
“I just meant- you guys always shit on my picks! It’s lame! The only person who ever gives me credit for finding these is fucking Harrington.”
Eddie blinks at him, stupidly.
“As in…”
“Yeah, yeah- King Steve. He’s relocated his throne over from the basketball court into Family Video. You’d know if you ever bothered to rent the tape, Munson- it’s always me or Jack picking them up.”
“Woah,” Jeff interjects. “Not cool. I rented one like, two months back. Day of the Dead?”
“Now that,” Eddie comments, rolling his eyes and pointing at Gareth, “is a decent pick. And no- please, do continue- you have been taking movie recommendations from Steve Harrington?”
Gareth takes a drag, kicks his legs out, groaning.
“Are you like, slow today? That’s what I said the first time.”
“No I’m not- what, you think that’s a normal statement? You think I’m gonna be normal about this?”
“I don’t ever think you’re gonna be normal about anything, dude-”
“I mean fuck, Gareth- no wonder you’ve been striking out,” Eddie snorts. “Not someone I would go running to for fucking picking out anything man- he’s-”
“Lights are on, nobody’s home,” Jeff adds.
“The wheel’s spinning but the hamster is dead,” Eddie agrees, and Jeff and Jack crack up.
Gareth scowls. “You guys are fucking assholes. He’s okay people, Harrington. Or he is now, anyway- we hang sometimes. At the store.”
Eddie’s jaw hits the concrete floor. “You’re just- you’re just hanging out with King Steve now? What, are we lowly serfs not cutting it for you?”
“You know,” Jack muses, “I actually don’t mind the guy. He’s always picking Buckley up after band-”
Everyone snickers at this because Jack’s mom still insists he goes every week. In the dumb uniform. With the trumpet.
“-AND she says he’s alright. We’ve chatted a few times- lot different from what I remember the last year he was in school.”
“Yeah,” Gareth agrees happily, jumping on someone else willing to defend his new best friend Steve Harrington. “Buckley works with him- same store. She shits on the tapes I rent too though. But Steve’s seen all of them- he gives me a lot of good recs.”
Eddie’s head is still spinning. It’s not even from the weed- the stuff Rick gave him last week isn’t the best, and he’s way overdue a break from it to build up tolerance again. But this is- it’s just fucking weird, ok?
“Steve Harrington. Prom king. Basketball jock asshat. The guy who spent half of high school calling us freaks? Called me a fag last year in Hauser’s class, fifth period?”
“That was Tommy Hagan, not Harrington.”
“Same fucking difference,” Eddie hisses, “they’re all in the same fucked up little jock hive mind?”
Jack just clears his throat, awkwardly.
“He doesn’t hang with them anymore,” Gareth says, matter-of-fact. “Hasn’t in like, a year. More than that, I think. I don’t even think he was prom king- wasn’t that Hargrove?”
“Harring- man who gives a fuck about prom king?” Eddie huffs.
“Dude. You asked. I’m just-”
“I didn’t- fuck. Nevermind. Gareth- put on the fuckin’ film before I regret this. If it’s bad I’m personally marching down to Family Video to egg the front window when your new boytoy’s on shift.”
Gareth sighs, puts it on. Eddie smokes. Eddie thinks.
The movie is very, very bad.
*
It’s not even the fact that Gareth has oh-so-casually started rubbing elbows with royalty that has him pissed off- it’s the specific fact that it’s King Steve.
Because this isn’t the first time Eddie’s had him stuck in his drug-addled brain like some shitty tape stuck on replay- it might have been a while (a whole year, probably)- but Steve Harrington has occupied far too much space in his mind before all of this.
Eddie isn’t blind. He’s a red-blooded male, interested in other red-blooded males. Like James Hetfield and Dave Mustaine, and his third period math substitute with the really nice ass.
And Steve Harrington.
It doesn’t mean anything.
Eddie had just… noticed him, before. He’s very pretty, in that boy-next-door, wonderbread, cookie cutter kind of way. Nice eyes, great hair (obviously). Nice ass.
He’d sat two rows up from Eddie in English last year, and had been pretty excellent daydream fodder for when things were getting especially dull. Easy pickings- good-looking, entirely unaware of Eddie’s existence (except maybe during lunch, if their table was especially rowdy that day), occupying an entire other world from him- never likely to cross paths. Never.
Not even when he’d sold at one of Harrington’s famous blowouts- at the big house up on the hill, with the pool and the distinct lack of adult involvement, judging from the frequency of King Steve’s parties.
He’d seen him, once- two years ago, maybe? More? Standing out in his back yard as Eddie packed up to leave, counting up his earnings for the night. Steve never bought off him. His friends did- with their lips curling, careful not to touch his hands when he handed them over the goods. Don’t want to catch freak cooties.
But he was smoking Eddie’s product, then. He’d paused for a moment, watched him, illuminated by the big glowing pool. Pretty, so pretty, even the way he smoked.
Then one of his asshole friends had shouldered into Eddie- Carver, maybe. Asked him what you looking at, freak.
And Eddie hadn’t wanted them to work out what he was looking at, to start calling him another other insult beginning with F-
He hasn’t really seen Steve about much since then.
So it’s just- highly fucking irritating, that he’s being forced to try and remember him now. What he looked like. Is he really reformed? Was he that much of a prick to Eddie before? Eddie isn’t sure anymore.
Tries to put it out of his mind.
He doesn’t egg Family Video.
It lasts two weeks. Two, blissful weeks.
Then Hellfire starts to ramp up- they’ve recruited a couple of promising young outcasts this year- Eddie likes them. Especially Dustin- the way he laughs at Eddie’s shitty jokes. Thinks his badges are cool. Hangs on to his every word during his long, rambling rants.
Which is why this feels even more fucking infuriating than Gareth.
“Need a ride, dingdongs?”
He’d been packing up, everyone else headed out. Just Mike, Lucas and Dustin, hovering in the doorway awkwardly. He jingles the van keys at them expectantly.
“Nah- Steve’s just running late.”
Eddie frowns. “Your dad?”
They crack up at this, sharing an in-joke look.
“More like his mom,” Lucas cackles.
Eddie doesn’t get it. Just narrows his eyes, then bows deeply to them, promising them a good session next time. He’s turning to leave, and then-
“Steve! You never answered your walkie, dingus.”
The car door behind him slams, and Eddie’s stomach does an unsettling somersault as Steve Harrington climbs out of his shiny BMW, looking harassed and agitated.
“Yeah, yeah I know. Come on dipshits, I don’t have all night. And don’t start calling me that- Robin’s bad enough as it is,” he grumbles, waving them towards the car and herding them into the backseat. He glances up then- suddenly aware of Eddie- staring at him open-mouthed like a frog- and flashes him one of those 100-watt smiles. “Hey, man.”
Hey, man.
It’s over before it’s even begun- before Eddie can come up with any witticism or funny retort- he’s back in the BMW. He’s driving away.
With half of Hellfire in his backseat.
And it’s like- it’s like that opens the damn floodgates.
Suddenly- Eddie’s most promising protegee cannot seem to shut the everliving fuck up about Steve Harrington.
Steve always picks them up. He and Steve are marathoning Star Wars this weekend. Steve let him borrow his NES. Steve is helping his mom clear out their garage this weekend.
“Is he like- related to you?” Eddie asks eventually, at the end of their next session.
“What? No. He’s our friend,” Dustin says.
“He’s Dustin’s favourite older male influence,” Mike snickers.
Eddie just… doesn’t even know what to say to that. Why the fuck would Steve Harrington put up with a bunch of nerdy middle schoolers.
Gareth fixes him with an I-told-you-so look as they tidy up- it’s fucking aggravating, actually.
“I’m just saying,” he says, palms up in the air, “he’s a nice guy. You’d like him- you’d get along, I think.”
“Yeah, maybe when hell freezes over you can set up a playdate,” Eddie mutters.
He sees Steve again three more times, always outside the school. Always after Hellfire. And he always smiles at Eddie. He always says Hi. Hey. Hello.
The last time he even says- “Cool rings.”
Eddie just stares at him, blankly, till he gestures down at his silver adorned hands.
“They’re- I mean, what are they? Are they animals?”
He squints at them in the darkness, moves a little closer. Dustin and Mike are squabbling over who called shotgun first.
Eddie still hasn’t spoken to Steve.
He just extends his arm out, like he’s mute or something. Which he definitely isn’t- he normally can’t shut the fuck up. It’s like all of the words have been sucked out, he’s all dried up. Out of stock.
Steve smiles at him like he’s said something really interesting. It makes him kind of want to die. A lot.
“Did you-”
“STEVE! Come ON!”
Steve’s face twitches in irritation, but he just smiles again at Eddie- does a weird little salute- then circles back to the car to drive his hellspawn back to their real mommies and daddies.
“What the fuck was that?” Jeff asks in a curious voice.
“I… don’t even know.”
*
Eddie is shopping, one week later. He’s in the middle of the grocery store, and he’s got a big fucking decision to make.
Lucky Charms or Cinnamon Toast Crunch.
They’re both expensive. Both an option he doesn’t need to buy- should buy the off brand crap, but it’s his one reward for actually attending all of his classes this week. And picking up shit for Wayne, who always forgets to buy more milk, more smokes.
He’s agonising over it when a voice beside him goes-
“You look like you’re gonna murder those Lucky Charms.”
Eddie turns to face him- and there he is. There. He. Is.
Steve.
He’s in a blue Henley with his Family Video vest thrown overtop, his hair all sprayed and styled into place. He’s smiling warmly at Eddie- who really needs to talk this time- to prove to both himself and Steve he’s capable of doing it.
“What?”
It speaks!
“You just- you looked very focused. Very… intense,” Steve replies. Then he leans in, whispers conspiratorially- “don’t want people thinking you’re a cereal killer.”
Eddie blinks, silently.
Steve goes- so so red. Like- fire engine. It’s so fast as well- he should be concerned about passing out, the speed at which all that blood must have rushed to his face.
“Sorry,” Steve blurts out, “I just meant- bad joke. I don’t think you look like a serial killer. Or any kind of killer-”
“No? What’s the point of the reputation I’ve been cultivating for the last five years?” Eddie grins. Seeing Steve flustered has entirely loosened his tongue. Completely wiped the slate. He wants to see that again, very badly.
Steve snorts. “Just spare Dustin, please. You can take Mike- would do wonders for my headaches.”
“That kid is whiny,” Eddie agrees.
“So you- you’re like the leader? The dungeon leader?”
Cute.
“The dungeon leader,” he snickers, “you’re making it sound freakier than it is. I run Hellfire, sure. Have done for a while now.”
“But that’s what it is, right? Dungeons and dragons?”
“Yeah- but its dungeon master.”
Steve’s eyebrows disappear into his hairline, and dammit now Eddie’s the one blushing.
“Again- it sounds… it’s just a board game. No satanic rituals or whatever the fuck else- sorry to burst your bubble.”
Steve rolls his eyes. “I know that- I never thought- I mean, these guys have been playing it for years,” he continues, “I knew it was just a… game club. Sorry-” he coughs. Resumes.
“Sorry if you got a lot of shit about it. At school. From- you know.”
Eddie stares at him. “From… your basketball lackeys?”
“Sure. Yeah.”
Is this… is Harrington winding him up?
“Are you winding me up?”
“What? No. No!”
“Pardon my hesitance,” Eddie says, narrowing his eyes, “this is just- kind of unexpected. And by that, I mean- a bit of a mind fuck.”
Steve clears his throat, looks down at his shoes.
Eddie kind of dances from side to side, ducks down to catch Steve’s eyes again. “And by that- I mean, cereal shopping with Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington while he apologises on behalf of high school jocks everywhere.”
“I wouldn’t say everywhere-”
“No take-backsies, Harrington. Now- Lucky Charms, or Cinnamon Toast Crunch?”
They queue together.
After.
For the groceries.
Eddie buying a single bag worth of stuff- Steve buying what looks to be enough food to feed a family of twelve and then some. Eddie helps him carry out some of the bags- he still doesn’t trust Steve- that he’s reformed or whatever- but he’s not an asshole.
They open the boot.
And there is a bat. A spiky bat. One with nails driven into it- like the one in Escape From New York.
His mouth drops open and he looks at Steve- who immediately shuts the boot, panicking.
“That’s-”
“Dude.”
“It’s not what it looks like-”
“It’s not a fucking bat with nails in it?”
“Well- ok, yeah- it’s exactly what it looks like. But it’s not- it’s not real,” Steve babbles, “it’s a costume. It’s fake.”
There is no way on earth that that bat was fake. How can you even make a Fake Nail Bat.
“A costume? What, are you a fuckin’ LARPer now, Harrington? You play a barbarian in your free time off of Family Video?”
Eddie’s grinning now. Not because of the bat- that is actually a touch concerning- or because of the references clearly going over Steve’s head- but because Steve is blushing again. Really red. Such a pretty colour.
*
So what, Steve Harrington is maybe different from what Eddie had been stereotyping him as in his brain for the last few years. He’s a bit weird. He’s very weird, actually- the ferrying around school children and the job at family video and the shitty film recommendations with Gareth and the nail bat. The nail bat. It’s kind of metal. It’s kind of hot.
Anyway.
It doesn’t change anything. Nothing whatsoever. Eddie still bums off school, still runs his campaign, still plays Thursdays at the Hideaway. Still sees Steve during School Pickup after Hellfire. He sometimes smiles back now, or does a dramatic little bow. And Steve still lives in his shiny plastic BMW picture perfect wonderbread world. It’s fine.
Eddie goes to Family Video.
He tells himself it’s to get the guys off his back about never picking the film, never renting the tape. That, and he’s sick of Gareth mooning over the guy every practice. He isn’t sure he wants to accept Steve is cool yet- it’s going to throw off his entire understanding of the world and of Social Constructs if he does. So he goes.
Steve isn’t there.
Robin Buckley stands behind the counter instead, blowing bubblegum and looking as though she’d very much like to be shot in the head. The store is pretty dead- just one other old guy in the corner picking through the sci-fi shelf. She glances at him, bored. Then something flickers across her eyes- recognition?
“You’re Eddie Munson.”
He narrows his eyes at her. Crosses his arms.
“In the flesh.”
“Here to find a film?” she asks him, and there is something… there, something in the way she’s asking him. A little too innocently. Like-
“Do you guys rent things other than films?”
“Not last time I checked, no.”
She’s silent after that, just chewing her gum. And tracking him with her eyes as he picks through the store. Feels like she’s waiting for him to explode into song or something. Or start running around screaming.
“Can I help you?” he asks, after five minutes of staring.
“Isn’t that my line?”
“I’m not going to like- steal shit. I already have late fees, I’m pretty sure.”
She hums. She’s very good at this… I’m-barely-acknowledging-you-to-get-a-rise-out-of-you game. Must drive Steve up the wall.
He picks out Nightmare on Elm Street. They’ve all seen it a million times, but he kind of wants to get out of here and stop feeling like he’s a creature in a zoo.
“You overruling Gareth’s pick this week then?”
She doesn’t look at him, when they make conversation. Just at the screen while she inputs his choice, as if this is a very unimportant and uninteresting matter to her.
“What is he, a fuckin' narc? Does he come here crying to you and Harrington?”
“Something like that.”
“Where is Harrington, anyway? Thought this was his new humble abode.”
He tries to mimic her I-don’t-care-because-I’m-very-nonchalant look when he asks that, but it doesn’t work. He does care. He is very Chalant.
She fixes him with a look that says she knows this about him, tells him, “he doesn’t work Wednesdays or Saturdays. I’ll let him know you asked.”
She says this last part very sweetly. Because she knows- if he protests, he’s giving it away.
The actual reason he came in here in the first place.
So Eddie just doesn’t speak.
“Four bucks.”
He frowns.
“I have late fees. I’ll square them now, I can cover it.”
She looks at him, bemused.
“No you don’t.”
“I know I-”
“Steve cleared them. A week ago.”
Eddie’s mouth hangs open a bit. Damn. She’s got him, he can see it in her eyes- victory.
“He do that for all his new pals?” he mutters, picking up the tape. She’s still watching him, smiling slightly. Chewing her gum.
“Something like that.”
*
Meet me at picnic table at 4- tell Dustin if ok. - S :)
Eddie re-reads the note again. As if it might change the words. As if it might re-arrange into a message that actually makes sense. Maybe it's an anagram. Maybe it will spring to life and talk to him if he stares at it for long enough.
It’s written on the note paper they used in class. It’s also written in Dustin Henderson’s handwriting- which explains the source, and the fact that the note-leaver knew the location of his locker. What it does not explain is the Reason. And the S.
And the weird smiley face.
Look- he’s not thick. He might be flunking out of high school for the third year in a row, but Eddie does know who the S likely belongs to. It also explains why Dustin is the one leaving the note- but still. The reason.
He tells Dustin anyway, over lunch. That it’s fine. He’s free after school. At four.
It’s not fine. He’s not even free, not really- he has a gig tonight, should head back straight away to get ready for a final practice. But whatever.
It’s damp, and getting colder now, as he waits for the Note-Leaver to arrive. He sits on top of the table, watches the dead leaves fall down, down, down off the trees. Brown and slimy, cold. He sighs, watches the air puff out from him in a little white cloud. Dragon’s breath. Wonders if Steve is even coming. Wonders if he’ll bring the bat. Bring out the bat and beat Eddie to death with it, minutes away from the school, like a cheesy slasher flick. He giggles.
“Eddie?”
Steve is all bundled up. He’s got a thick wool sweater on over his polo, and a leather jacket on over that. And a little scarf tucked round him. Gross. Cute. Yuck. Gross.
“Where’s the bat?”
Steve frowns. Then he goes pink. “I don’t- carry it around. Can we pretend you never saw that, please?”
“No,” Eddie beams.
“What can I do you for, Harrington?”
“You still sell?”
Ahh.
“You wish to sample my wares?”
Steve squints, like he isn’t sure what Eddie wants him to say.
“...yes?”
“Step forth then, brave warrior. I offer thee, a selection of three.”
He pulls out the black lunchbox from his bag with a little flourish. Stupid, to carry it about- but it comes with him back here as a force of habit now. Flips open the lid, revealing a tidy mess of baggies with weed, baggies with white pills, baggies with red pills.
Steve looks overwhelmed.
“Weed, please.”
Eddie smiles at him like a shark.
“Yes, king, I gathered that- how much are you wanting to take off my hands today? You need skins? Prerolls?”
“Prerolls,” Steve affirms. That seems familiar to him. Eddie’s seen him smoke before, nothing new there. Except-
“Why, all of a sudden? Just curious.”
Steve shifts uncomfortably. “Just want to get out of my head a bit. It’s for me and Robin, actually.”
Eddie nods. “Your girlfriend smoke before?”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Steve replies. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
Eddie blinks at him.
“I’m single,” Steve says, and then goes very red all over. It’s actually enough to make even Eddie’s face heat a little.
“Dry spell, Harrington?”
“Something like that, yeah.”
Eddie doesn’t trust himself to open his mouth after that- all that’s going to happen is him offering Steve some kind of sexual favour under the pretence of it being a very Funny Joke and then Steve is either going to look at him really weirdly or do something possibly more violent. At least he doesn’t have The Bat.
He fishes out three prerolls, raises his eyebrow at Steve. “This ok? You need more, less?”
“Uh- I was hoping for four? But it’s cool.”
Eddie grins, pats the bench next to him. “Pop a seat, class is in session. I’ll roll another quickly- do you a discount. Friends and family, yadda yadda.”
He is very aware of Steve looking at him when he’s rolling. Looking at his hands- maybe the rings- again. Looking at his face when he focuses. Looking at his mouth, when he seals it shut. He’s also still very red, when he hands it over. Steve hands him a bunch of cash- too much, way too much. He only slightly shortchanges him. He’s cute enough to mostly bypass the rich boy surcharge.
“Well-”
“Do you- want to like, hang out?”
Eddie freezes. “What?”
“I mean-” Steve holds up a joint.
“Oh- nah man, I can’t. Got some band shit tonight.”
“No worries. Thank you- thanks for this. Good luck at your band thing.”
“Maybe some other time,” Eddie tells him, fuck you you fucking moron why would you open your goddamn mouth, “when I don’t- have band shit?”
Steve blinks at him, then smiles. It’s a nice smile- it’s such a good smile. It makes something flip-flop in Eddie’s stomach.
And isn’t that always a sign that the end is fucking nigh.
*
“You smoked with him?” Eddie asks next week, when they’re lying around in Gareth’s garage. The space heater is on full whack now, and Jeff is acting like a five year old- trying to make fucking smores over it. The marshmallows aren’t melting though, he’s just getting chocolate all over his fingers.
“Yeah- him and Buckles. It was pretty fun,” Gareth grins.
Eddie hates him.
Eddie loathes him.
“That’s nice,” he says dismissively.
And then-
“Why?”
Gareth squints at him. “Why not? He asked. His house is huge, and his parents like, don’t live there. Him and Robin are really funny when they’re stoned. They kept talking to me about Russia.”
It’s just- it’s so unfair. Because Eddie Didn’t. He said No. He played it safe- and now Gareth is the one that got to hang at Steve’s house, smoke Steve’s weed. They probably shared the joint. Indirect kiss. Gareth got to hear all about Russia.
“He asked a lot about you,” Gareth comments. “I think he wants to join Hellfire, you know.”
“What?” Jack asks, before Eddie can get there first.
“He can’t join Hellfire- he’s old. He graduated.”
“He’s a year younger than our fearless leader,” Jeff snickers. Eddie can’t bring himself to feel embarrassed anymore.
“He’s still Steve Harrington,” Eddie points out. “What did he ask about me?”
Gareth stares at him.
“About the band. What you play. And about hellfire. What we play. Just- stuff.”
“Stuff?”
“Yeah, stuff. Where you live, your social security-”
Jeff and Jack crack up, and Eddie flicks his guitar pick at Gareth’s head. Asshole.
“I told him he could come, next session,” Gareth remarks. Eddie wishes he had another pick to throw. Or like, anything.
“Do you view this,” Eddie spreads his arms out, “as a fucking- democracy, Gareth? You think you can just- do shit like that, and I’m gonna roll over?”
“I didn’t think you minded. He said you guys were cool now.”
“We’re not- it’s not even about that-”
“I mean,” Jeff muses, “could be good to have fresh meat in the party. He got a sheet yet?”
“Nah,” Gareth says. “I’m helping him though- thinking wizard, maybe.”
Eddie scoffs. “He should obviously play barbarian.”
“Why?”
“Because-”
Because he has a fucking bat covered in nails in the trunk of his BMW, Gareth.
But somehow Eddie thinks that isn’t knowledge Steve particularly wants made public for whatever reason. So he just trails off, saying, “too many casters already. Hassle.”
Gareth looks at him curiously, then flicks his guitar pick back at him.
“Whatever, man.”
*
Steve is there next session.
Eddie has mentally prepared for this, for Steve Harrington playing dungeons and dragons. Very cool and very normal things happening today in Hawkins High.
“Let’s see it,” he commands, sitting next to Steve. Gestures at the character sheet.
It’s a barbarian.
“Gareth help you?”
“He told me you said this one was the best to play.”
Eddie frowns.
“It’s not. There’s no ‘best’. But it’s fine- you’re fine. You’ll do good.”
Steve smiles at him hopefully, like a dog wagging its tail at someone for entering the room. His foot is brushing against Eddie’s, just the slightest little bit of contact. Eddie wants to drown.
“Henderson, you’re babysitting today,” he tells Dustin when he sits down next to Steve. Dustin looks ready to implode with excitement- he’s practically vibrating in his seat.
Eddie sets up. Gets into the groove, gets going. They’re mid campaign- throwing Steve in the deep end here, but whatever. Dustin basically takes every round for him anyway- Steve doesn’t really get the roleplay bit but it’s fine. He’s watching Eddie very intently- very focused. Like he’s a teacher. Like he’s a priest.
When he asks Steve to roll for the first time- investigation check- Dustin walks him through modifiers. Steve is really bad at math. He goes red when they all watch him- Eddie wants to cover him up. Look away, don’t look at him when he goes that colour. That’s my colour.
He’s slow, on his combat turns- nobody says anything, because any time Jeff or Jack or Mike start to look like they’re about to make a comment, Eddie fixes them with his best I-fucking-dare-you look until they back down.
The thing is- even though Steve is slow- he rolls really fucking well.
In fact- he hasn’t rolled below a twelve all game. He’s had three crits- it’s absurd.
“Is this like- a built-in silver spoon feature?” Eddie eventually asks. Not to be mean, but.
“Like- absurd luck?”
Steve smiles, and rolls a seventeen. “I’m not lucky,” he says.
Eddie starts to target him a little more after that- sends a beholder after him and Dustin that gets him scrambling, losing a fair amount of hit points. He manages to kill it anyway- and this entire rigamarole, the whole thing- it’s all very much worth it when Steve grins. He’s pink again, but in a sort of flushed-happy way. Eddie just stares and stares.
“Did I make the cut? Or am I not cool enough for your cult, Munson,” he asks afterwards, grinning.
Eddie punches him in the arm. “You were abysmal. Next time I’m only letting you get Dustin for half your rolls- new handicap rule.”
“I warned Gareth about how shit at math I was,” Steve grumbles.
“Gareth’s pretty bad as well,” Eddie adds lightly.
“You’re pretty good,” Steve replies. “I could never do that- all the characters.”
Eddie waves him away, like he can bat away the compliment. Shoo away the face Steve is making at him.
“You’ll get used to it,” he says instead. “If you’re planning on coming back?”
Steve rolls his eyes. “I’ve already broke the news to Robin, I’m already getting slaughtered at work now- might as well bite the bullet and come back for more. I’m warning you though- if you cut down on my Dustin time then prepare for me to get a lot more shit wrong.”
Eddie grins, just folds up his DM screen, packs up his notes.
“Or maybe Gareth can help me, next time?” Steve asks, hopefully.
Eddie feels a twinge of irritation. Gareth. No. No, that won’t do.
“You free Saturday?”
Eddie waits for Steve to say No. That he’s working (He knows he isn’t). That he has a date. A party. A funeral. Literally anything else other than spend time with-
“Yeah- yeah I’m free. You wanna hang out?”
Eddie looks into those big brown eyes. Pretty, so pretty. It feels like rolling a nat one.
“I’ll help you, then.”
*
He spends an absurd amount of time getting ready. It makes him angry for some reason, worked up. Like he’s being forced into doing this. Getting ready for a presentation at school, or a wedding. Wayne makes no comment as he charges around the trailer, swearing and drinking too much coffee and losing things, losing his dice, his van keys, his left boot.
He drives up to Steve’s half an hour late- feels guilty, even though Eddie is late to everything. It’s a core part of who he is as a person. Steve needs to understand this, if Steve is going to spend any time around him.
Steve is waiting for him, when he pulls up. Doesn’t look mad at all- he looks happy. He’s all bundled up again- Eddie frowns. Pulls the van into his driveway, then rolls down the window.
“You not letting me into your castle, Harrington?”
Steve just opens the front door of his van, gets in. It’s a mess in the front- there’s loose bits of tobacco and weed all over the seats and bits of crumpled paper everywhere and pens and fast food wrappers and unwound tapes and a drumstick Gareth left there on Monday and like- way too many things hanging off the rearview mirror. Old, faded cardboard air freshener hangers, a big set of fuzzy novelty dice Jeff got him last year in Indy.
Steve blinks, looking around.
“Nice ride.”
“Dude-”
“Can we do this- in your van today? Or somewhere else? Anywhere else?”
Eddie squints up the long driveway. He isn’t one hundred percent sure- he’s so overdue a vision test- but it looks like there’s two cars rather than one, parked outside the McMansion. Rents are home, for once.
“Might be a bit cozy, but why not. Sure.”
Eddie gets back in, whacks up the heating. Cold as balls today- should have worn more layers.
Steve has dumped a heavy sounding rucksack at his feet. He looks entirely too pleased with himself.
Eddie sighs, then starts to drive.
Drives out, out of Hawkins. Doesn’t like to stay there if he can. Drives out towards Muncie. There’s another little lake- a reservoir there. It’s always dead empty, no risk of fuckwits like Hargrove or Hagan driving by to yell at the freak-mobile. Hargrove, Harrington, Hagan. Maybe that’s another-
Steve is fiddling with the radio. Eddie goes to snap at him, but when Steve looks up, he’s all Big Brown Eyes. He’s all- pink cheeks.
“There’s tapes in that- in front of you, yeah.”
Steve spends a fucking age finding one, they’re halfway there by the time he feeds it in.
Pink Floyd. The Wall.
He’s humming along to In The Flesh- he’s air drumming.
“Sorry I don’t stock Tears for Fears,” Eddie says- because he can. And because he wants to see if Steve will turn red again. Steve doesn’t. He rolls his eyes, instead.
“Am I only allowed to listen to Tears for Fears?” he asks, teasing.
“No, no- believe me, this is a pleasant surprise, dude.”
“I like loads of music,” he says confidently. And then-
“That’s the only album in there I recognise though.”
Eddie laughs. “I’m gonna blow your little mind Harrington, don’t worry.”
Once they’re parked up, Eddie hurries back to the back of the van- tries to clear it up just a bit, because there’s shit everywhere. Everywhere Eddie occupies always ends up turning into a fucking bombsite. He has a blanket though, and a threadbare sleeping bag- they can sit on that.
Steve climbs in with his bag, then starts unloading things. A thermos. His character sheet. Dustin’s old dice bag- Eddie recognises it. And one of the joints Eddie sold him a couple weeks back.
Eddie raises his eyebrows.
“Harrington- did you bring coffee and weed to our math lesson?”
“It’s hot chocolate,” Steve scoffs- as if that's obvious. A normal thing to bring along to your dungeons and dragons training session with your drug dealer.
“You wanna smoke, then?”
“Do you?”
“I always wanna smoke, dude.”
“Then yeah- I’m game.”
They have to sit with the back doors of the van open, to let in more daylight. It is cold- but it’s nice, too. The sky is really clear today, no clouds- just cold. Eddie can see these weird looking birds on the lake, small with little tufts of reddish feathers on their heads like little mohawks. Punk rock birds.
Steve lights up the joint while Eddie takes out his own notebook, reviews Steve’s sheet. To be honest- he has no fucking idea what he’s doing here- most people just kind of pick up on how this works while they actually play DnD. Doesn’t know why he even offered.
Well- no, he does. But its a dumb fucking reason, so.
Steve lets a slow plume of smoke pour out from between his lips, eyes shut. He has definitely smoked before- no coughing here. He takes another drag, slow- his cheeks hollow ever so slightly, and Eddie has to look away or there will be Consequences.
They share it, back and forth, until Steve taps out. Lets him finish the joint alone, and Eddie feels everything start to feel softer. Muzzier. Calmer in his head. He thinks about the joint in Steve’s mouth- and then in his. Sharing spit.
He shivers, a little- and Steve locks onto it immediately. Pulls off his coat, then his big yellow sweater. Puts the coat back on- and then holds the sweater out like an offering.
“Are you… good?”
“You’re cold. I can see you’re shaking, man.”
Eddie is struck dumb again for a brief moment - this fucking guy -
“Just... take the sweater, Munson. I’m not diseased.”
“I don’t need -”
“Or is it because it has a colour?” Steve teases, “it’s not dark enough for you? I promise I won’t tell anyone.”
Eddie takes the sweater. Because that comment has pissed him off - as if he’s the conformist, or something. But also because he is cold, and the sweater smells good. Smells like something lemon-y, and faintly of sweat. In a good way, a very good way.
He pulls it over his long-sleeve and Steve grins. Brings his hands up to his face and pretends to make a little camera motion, makes a little shtick noise like he’s taking Eddie’s picture.
“Harrington... don't make me drown you in this reservoir. The wildlife here will one hundred percent feed on your corpse.”
Steve just keeps beaming at him.
“You’re not cold? It’s cold as balls.”
“Nah. I run hot.”
He undoes the lid of the thermos then, pours out something that smells- utterly divine, the best thing Eddie has ever smelled ever. Fuck the sweater, fuck everything else- his mouth is watering. His fingers are buzzing, he feels so pleasantly high. And Steve is just- there. Looking so nice, so pretty. Giving him stuff, looking at him in that intense way he gets.
“I see it now. Why you’re Dustin’s mom,” he grins.
Steve laughs. “I fucking hate when they call me that.”
Eddie frowns. He’s not as good at reading cues when he’s high, not sure if Steve really means that.
The hot chocolate fucks. Like- so good. He moans the first time he drinks it from the plastic thermos cup, and instantly- Steve is going red again. Looking out at the lake. Eddie catalogues this away as likely irrelevant but highly interesting material I will be reviewing in great detail at a later date.
It hits him then, that they’ve been sitting there for almost half an hour and haven’t touched any of the dungeons and dragons shit. Just been sharing smoke, sharing drinks. Trying not to stare at each other.
If Eddie didn’t know better- if he didn’t have his head fucking screwed on right- he would totally misinterpret this as a date. Wined and dined.
But it’s not. Steve is just weird. Really, really weird.
“So- you get the basic idea, with the dice and the modifiers?” he starts- figures they need to crack on sometime.
“Sort of. I don’t know which one to use when.”
“Yeah, that’s normal- takes time. I’ll go through different kind of rolls and checks with you- then you can tell me which ones you’d use and when.”
He fires into it. Ability checks. Attack rolls. Passive Perception. Rolling Initiative. Easy peasy lemon squeazy- Steve kind of keeps up- just keeps picking up the wrong dice. Mixes up the D12 and the D10 a lot.
Eddie’s trying to show him armor class, on the character sheet- he goes to check his notes and make sure Steve’s got his correct, given his medium armor. Steve wiggles across the van, sits up next to him. Close, he’s really-
“-close Harrington, you not big on personal space?”
“Oh- sorry. Guess I am pretty out of it.”
“Nah, don’t worry man. I’m like that even when I’m sober. Just surprised you’re not one of those ‘get out of my space stop touching me’ people. Especially around all those brats all the time.”
And it’s true- Eddie is enemy number one to everybody’s Boundaries. He tries, he really does- and it’s only really a problem with people he’s around a lot- but he’s clingy. He jumps all over his bandmates, playfights with the hellfire kids, hangs off of Wayne until he’s annoyed at home. He’s like a very badly trained labrador. He’s just never met anybody else with a similar affliction.
Steve is laughing, softly. “I’m really bad as well. Not as bad as- before last summer. But- yeah, just tell me. If I’m up in your space too much- too clingy. It used to drive my ex up the wall.”
Privately, Eddie thinks- wow. Your ex is a fucking idiot!
Doesn’t say that though- he can tell Steve is pretty baked by the way he’s talking loosely without considering the repercussions. Doesn’t want him to feel bad, feel uncomfortable.
So he just jostles Steve’s shoulder with his own, doesn’t look at him too closely.
Steve presses back. The warmth licks up Eddie’s arm like a chinese burn, where they're squished together in his van, reviewing his character sheet.
“I’m really high,” Steve whispers.
“Are you- you ok? You gonna green out on me?”
“Nah- just. What the fuck, man,” Steve giggles- yet another soundbite Eddie is filing away from today- “you really do sell the best shit.”
Eddie beams. “What, you doubted me? My well-earned reputation? Harsh, Steve, harsh.”
They stay pressed together like that for ages. Just rolling dice, practicing. Talking shit. Shit about teachers they both hated, about funny stuff Dustin and Lucas and Mike have said. Shit about Robin and Gareth and movies and the band and Eddie’s guitar and Steve’s car and Family Video and the Hideaway and just. Everything. It’s really easy, really easy talking to Steve.
He’s still reeling from that half-joint- Eddie is reconsidering how much history he might actually have, smoking. Not a lot, it seems. He’s leaning right into Eddie now, Eddie can smell him, feel their thighs pressed together too. He picks up the notebook.
Draws hangman. Seven letters.
Steve screws up his face in concentration, and it is quite possibly the cutest thing Eddie’s seen him do yet- he has to look away, look away, or he’ll do something insane. Kiss him.
Guesses: E.
It’s a good first guess- it’s also fucking wrong. Guesses S. Nope. Guesses L, then D.
“You suck at this, Steve,” he’s laughing, laughing hard enough his side hurts. Steve is indignant, furious, but also laughing, tipped over so he’s half in Eddie’s lap. How did he migrate over here? How is he so close now?
He guesses A- finally. Eddie fills in the two ‘a’s in the word: hangman.
Steve then goes on to guess C- “C? What fucking word are you thinking of, moron?”
And then G. He frowns. Hums. Eddie waits for it-
“E?”
Eddie howls, folds in on himself over Steve sobbing. “You- you already guessed-”
“No! No way- dude come on, I am so much further gone than you- let me guess again, let me-”
He’s reaching over Eddie, reaching for the notebook- Eddie pulls it out of reach, and slices his thumb along the paper as he does so. The pain is instant, sharp and demanding.
He hisses, drops the notebook- inspects the damage. A long slice down his left thumb, beads of blood already welling up as he presses at it.
Steve- without really thinking- without virtually any hesitation whatsoever- places his thumb in his mouth, licks across it where the cut was.
Eddie’s entire world tilts on its axis. Steve’s mouth is hot. His tongue is kind of rough against the cut. It feels insane. Feels overwhelming. Then-
“Fuck! Sorry- sorry I don’t-”
He’s backing away rapidly, looking horrified with himself. There’s a rational part of Eddie’s brain screaming- yeah. Yeah that was actually pretty weird, Steve, even for you.
Instead he reaches for Steve. Holds his hands- they’re cold now. Cold because he gave Eddie his sweater.
“Hey- Steve. Dude- it’s cool, it’s okay. You’re really high. It’s so, so okay.”
Steve exhales a big juddery breath. Eddie tries not to focus on how red he is, the best red he’s seen yet.
He wiggles closer to Steve- caution be damned. Eddie has kind of given up on self preservation in most scenarios- he’s a loud, flamboyant asshole at school, he’s the king freak leader of the hellfire cult. He’s the fuckup who plays in a going-nowhere band every Thursday to a crowd of drunks. And everyone who poses any danger to him already calls him a fag. So really, who gives a fuck. When Steve is looking at him like that. Like Steve is Eddie and Eddie is Tommy Hagan. Or Billy Hargrove. Or who Eddie once thought Steve Harrington was.
“You’re wild, Steve,” he says softly. “You’re really fucking weird.”
Steve blinks.
“I like weird.”
*
Nothing much happens after that, for a few more weeks.
Nothing other than Eddie repeatedly playing clips of Steve Harrington sucking his thumb over and over again in his brain, causing constant inconvenient boners. Nothing other than Eddie’s fantasies beginning to border on prayer. Like he’s seeking revelation every time he remembers Steve’s focused and concentrating face.
They had driven back later that day and not discussed The Incident- Eddie didn’t want to push. Doesn’t know what exactly Steve is thinking- what he wants- just knows he was really, really high. Can’t hold it against him.
Steve comes along to Hellfire again.
Dustin helps- but less, this time. Steve nearly dies anyway, because he’s not paying enough attention to his fast-depleting hit points. Eddie has to school his features to stop himself reminding Steve- he is always an impartial DM, no matter how good-looking the player is.
The next time, Gareth sits next to Steve as well.
This irks Eddie.
It irks him because- they get along very well. Possibly, maybe better than even he and Gareth do at times. And Steve lights up talking to him, smiles animatedly, focuses his attention on Gareth. Eddie wants that attention. Wants to make Steve Harrington light up.
He also wants to fuck Steve Harrington up.
The horny thoughts step up to an unimaginable level, it’s kind of unbearable. He thinks about him constantly now- no one else. Teacher fantasies dull in comparison, porn is ruined. It’s all Steve Harrington’s fault. The way he blushes red. The way he’s so nice to Eddie- nice the same way he’s nice to everyone. Complains and grumbles but does everything for everyone anyway. The way the muscles in his arms flex when he crosses them over his chest, the way his thighs pull at his faded blue Levi’s, the way his neck looks- smooth and pale, spattered with moles, when he twists away from Eddie to look down the table during Hellfire. Eddie wants to mark him up. Wants to make him feel really good- so good that he cries, so good that he only ever looks at Eddie again with his big brown eyes. Only ever gives him that focused, careful attention, only ever smiles softly at Eddie.
The problem is- even if a world existed where Steve Harrington wants that- Eddie doesn’t know how. He’s twenty, gay, and a virgin. In his defence, the options have been dogshit. He’s made out with a couple of guys before, mostly in Indy- but never got any further than a bad handy, never really wanted to. Not in a desperate way, not the way he feels now. Like he’s going to die if he can’t touch Steve, as often as possible and as much as possible.
He’s eternally grateful for the fact that people know him to be incredibly tactile. Overly touchy, annoying, personal-space-invading- nobody bats an eye when he throws himself at Steve.
Which he does. Ever since that weird moment in the van.
He sees Steve twice at Hellfire, and twice in Family Video. Robin Buckley is there during one of those shifts, but she doesn’t say anything. Not even when he has Steve in a headlock, and they’re roughhousing until Steve clatters into a shelf of return tapes and they go flying all over the floor.
He’s always squeezing Steve- on his arm, his shoulders- when he’s sat at the table playing and Eddie’s wandering round, letting off steam, burning up all that energy, that fire inside. He’s mussing his hair, wrecking it, fixing it, pushing it off Steve’s face. He’s tackling him, throwing him to the ground after a session until Steve is laughing and yelling and Dustin jumps down on top of them like a big puppy pile, rolling around on the classroom floor. It crackles through his veins, makes his insides feel liquefied- touching Steve like that. He’s always reaching, more, more, more. Greedy, helpless, orbiting in Steve’s gravitational pull.
Steve never says anything. He reaches back.
It feels like they’re filling up a big tank together. The water tension at the top is taut, brimming, its roiling and spilling, waiting to burst. His cup is runneth over.
It breaks three weeks before christmas.
They’ve hung out again, since that time in the van. Always at Eddie’s, or the arcade, or in the van, or outside, if it's warm enough. Never at Steve’s. Steve never mentions his parents.
Wayne loves Steve. It’s kind of annoying- like some pretty-boy with manners is all it takes to win him over. It was enough to win Eddie over, he supposes. Runs in the family- highly susceptible to Harrington charm.
It’s after another Hellfire session, that Steve asks.
“Do you want to come over this weekend? I’m not working, and my parents are finally gone again. If you’re free.”
He tacks that last bit on at the end quickly, like an afterthought. Like Eddie is never Not going to be free for him at this point. Like Eddie hasn’t re-arranged plans, band practices, drug deals even- all to hang out with Steve when he asks.
“Finally gonna get a peek of casa Harrington,” he grins, and Steve smiles back at him. His favourite smile, the really warm one.
Eddie rolls four joints. This is- that’s too many, he knows that. Steve probably only meant for him to come over Saturday night, maybe crash- head off on Sunday. But he takes them anyway.
Steve calls Saturday morning. Eleven.
“When you coming over?”
Eddie likes that. Loves that- the way Steve is already waiting- the fact he’s honest enough, brave enough to call and ask for what he wants. That he wants Eddie’s company, as soon as possible.
“You miss me that bad already Harrington?” he teases.
“Only your drugs,” Steve tells him sweetly. Eddie isn’t gonna charge Steve for these, he already knows. He’s breaking the golden rule.
“And here I thought you were just using me for my body,” Eddie sighs. “I’ll be over in an hour, yeah?”
The line is quiet for a second.
“Yeah.”
Steve hangs up. Weird. But then again- Steve is just that. Weird.
His house is fucking massive. It’s really clean, like a house out of an advert, really empty looking. There’s no stuff anywhere- piles of shoes and keys and fridge magnets and pictures and vinyls and tools and trash- it’s like an antithesis to the trailer. Steve is watching him guardedly, watching his reactions.
Eddie whoops and skips about, jumping in the air. Trying to fill the space up, with noise, with motion. “You fucking live here, Harrington? How do you not get lost?”
“I have a map,” Steve replies, deadpan. “It’s why I’m so good at reading your dungeon maps.”
“My combat maps are perfect, Steve- that’s why you can read them. Nice and neat,” he says, ruffling Steve’s hair. There’s no product in it today, it’s all soft. Floppy. He’s dressed more casually too, in tube socks and sweatpants and a Hawkins Tigers t-shirt. It’s making Eddie want to tumble him to the ground and mess him up.
So he does. Because he can.
They wrestle for like five minutes, and Eddie revels in the contact and how good it feels, Steve pinning him down after he wins. Tries to pretend he isn’t getting hard from that, rolls Steve off him, all pink and breathless.
Then they lie around watching shit daytime TV for a few hours, talking non-stop. Mostly Eddie talking, mostly Steve listening, focusing on him with his brown eyes. They smoke outside in the back yard- it’s freezing now, patches of snow melting around the pool. They puff smoke in the air, dragon’s breath. Steve calls him a nerd.
Steve’s house heats up like a dream- its the opposite to the trailer in winter, where they have to huddle round the two space heaters Wayne keeps in storage. Eddie lounges around in his tshirt, rolls around on the plush carpet.
They raid his father’s alcohol cabinet. Eddie doesn’t recognise any of the labels in there. Steve takes one of the bottles of scotch, pours them both a little- tops the bottle back up with water so its level again. It burns- scorches as it goes down. Burns the way Eddie burns when Steve looks at him with that fixed, intense look. The hungry one.
It’s dark by the time Eddie remembers it. The guitar.
They’ve just finished demolishing pizzas- Steve is lying on the floor groaning about never being able to move again- when Eddie tells him he remembered to bring it this time. The acoustic guitar, the old one that’s always out of tune. It’s probably because Eddie keeps leaving it in the van, and the van gets cold. Not good.
Steve’s been whining at him now for weeks to hear him play. Eddie won’t let him tag along to band practice- has to keep Gareth under strict orders not to fuck up again and invite Steve round like an adopted puppy- he wants to play for Steve alone for the first time. Himself.
It’s out of tune when he pulls it out of the case- predictably, sucker- and they sit together on Steve’s couch, Eddie tuning, Steve watching. Always watching.
He strokes his finger along the peeling varnish on one end where it got bashed last year. Eddie rarely plays her anymore- not when he has his one true love waiting for him at home, hanging on the wall and ready to plug in and play.
“When did you start playing?”
“Hmm- on acoustic? Way long ago. I was eight, maybe. My mom used to play.”
Steve bites his lip. “That’s cool, that you started that young. My mom tried to get me piano lessons in middle school but I was lousy at it. I always thought drums would be cool to play, way cooler, but my dad said no chance.”
Eddie feels a twang of irritation- rational, because fuck Steve’s dad, and irrational. Because-
“Not guitar? I’m hurt, Stevie.”
Steve smiles wryly. “Guitar is cool too, c’mon. Drumming just looks like it would be a lot of fun, playing. More physical- I’m better at that stuff. Sports.”
Eddie snorts. “I’m telling Gareth you think he’s a jock. Bet he’ll rescind any offers of demonstrations after that one.”
“I didn’t ask Gareth for a demonstration,” Steve rolls his eyes, “I asked you.”
Eddie smiles like an idiot. Can’t stop smiling, like Steve is pushing some button inside him to generate that swooping, happy feeling in his stomach, making his face hurt with all the smiling.
“Well. Prepare to be disappointed in my performance then,” he replies, wiggling his eyebrows.
Steve laughs, shoves his shoulder. “Bet you tell that to all the boys.”
“Only the really pretty ones, Harrington.”
He strums, then makes a pleased noise. She’s back to full health, hit points restored.
He picks out a few chords, fingers dancing over the frets, humming along mindlessly. Starts to pick out some Zeppelin. Somehow it’s always a Zeppelin song, on acoustic- always where his mind drifts to. Part hums, part sings along very softly to Hey, Hey What Can I Do- can feel Steve’s gaze on him, so heavy and intense, like he’s touching Eddie every time he strums. “Hmm hmm, my, she looks so fine…. hmm hmm, ah, she’s the only one that I been dreamin’ of… maybe someday she will be all mine…mm hmm… wanna tell her that I love her so…”
He glances up, still picking out notes- Steve’s eyes have closed, head bobbing along to Eddie’s singing. Eddie knows he can sing- he’s always had a good ear, decent tone. Always loved performing, never held back. But this might be the first time in a long while that he feels… somewhat shy about it. It’s an alien emotion, an unfamiliar stirring in his chest. It’s the scariest feeling Steve has pulled out from him yet, in some ways.
He switches key, starts picking out Nebraska. Real quiet. Eddie’s not mad gone on Springsteen, but he can appreciate some of his stuff as well as anyone else- and he knows Steve’s a fan. Heard Steve humming this one before, tunelessly, mindlessly. The way you hum a song you’ve listened to over and over, one you’d know anywhere.
Eddie doesn’t dare look at him. Not brave enough for that, not yet, but he can feel the way Steve’s looking at him now, smiling at him, even with his eyes closed. Steve sings along softly, too, he knows the lyrics better than Eddie does. He has a really nice voice- a little slow to the beat, but smooth, even tone. Sounds a hell of a lot better than when Wayne sings this one when he’s tinkering away with some broken shit outside the trailer. Eddie tells him so, grinning at him now, grinning at the way Steve’s blushing again.
“Nah, it’s all your guitar. Makes it sound good. Wish I could do that- fucking crazy you can pick up songs that way. Just listening along.”
Eddie sighs, wistfully. “It is indeed a burden, to be so young and yet so talented-”
Steve lunges at him, shoving him over and fucking up his hair while he yelps- watch the guitar, the guitar, dude!
“Come on then, Springsteen- you’re telling me you don’t want a go?” Eddie asks, minutes later when they’re resettled again. Closer now- Eddie has stopped overthinking about the fact that he and Steve always sit closer to each other than friendship warrants. It would be foolish to assume that it means anything other than they’re both tactile people with a penchant for ignoring personal space- but it’s so nice all the same, like sinking into a hot bath. Eddie thinks that if Steve let him, he’d never stop touching him. Always be wrapped around him, prodding at him, rubbing his face against him like some fucked up dog trying to scent mark his territory.
“I don’t- I’ve never played one before, I told you. Maybe once, years ago in middle school-”
“What, and you’re doubting my teaching abilities now? When have I ever let you down Harrington, c’mon. Sit like this- yeah, that works, now-”
He re-arranges Steve a little- trying not to admit to himself that the increase in touching was the main purpose of this learning exercise. Fits the guitar in his lap, arms draped over it- then arranges his fingers into place for ‘A’.
“Now- play that.” Steve strums, looks pleased with himself when the sounds comes out pleasant. He strums again- over and over and over until one of his fingers slips on the fret and it comes out discordant, laughing.
“How come you don’t use a pick, for this?”
“Just- I don’t know. You can if you want.”
Steve shakes his head. “Show me another.”
They pass time like that- Eddie pushing his fingers into place, Steve strumming. A, D, G. Tries to get Steve to strum- sing along to the first verse of Nebraska- pausing to change, to re-arrange his fingers.
“It sounds different, though, from when you played it,” Steve complains.
“Yeah- you’re just getting the hang of the chords, man. Patience you must have, my young padawan.”
Steve huffs. Eddie takes a leap of faith.
“Here- let me-”
He comes to sit behind Steve, wraps his arms around both him and the guitar. Fits his chin over Steve’s shoulder- hears his breath hitch, his fingers twitch over the neck of the guitar- but he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move away.
“You- hold here, in place,” Eddie says, voice low and quiet. “I’ll play down here.”
Eddie can feel how warm he is. He’s like a furnace, even in a thin cotton t-shirt- heat radiating off him. He can’t see clearly from this vantage point, but he’d bet every dollar bill he’s raked in this week from dealing that Steve is Red. Very red.
He picks out the notes with his fingers while Steve holds the chord, pausing slightly faster this time to switch shape when prompted. Sings very softly. “I saw her standin’-” change- “on her front lawn-” change- “just a twirlin’-” change- “her baton.”
They fumble their way through like that until Eddie runs out of the lyrics he remembers, and Steve stays quiet, ultra-focused on his chord-positioning job and apparently lost for words.
“Not too shabby,” Eddie teases. “Maybe you can play backup for Corroded Coffin one day, if you’re really lucky. And if, y’know,” he gestures off-handedly, “you pass all the hazing rituals, and the guys approve. Think you might have to work on Gareth- he’s really not your biggest fan I’m afraid-”
Steve huffs out a laugh. Leans back a little, against Eddie’s chest- desire lances through him like a flash flood, he has to breath out deeply and focus very hard on not getting hard. Hard-er.
Steve inspects the fingers on his left hand, slightly pink, indented from the guitar strings.
“Stings, a little,” he muses.
“That’s cause you’re a newbie. You need a set of these,” Eddie tells him, showing him the well-worn callouses on his own fingers. They’re tough, developed over years of playing every week. Steve catches his hand- squints at it closely. Runs his own thumb over the pads of Eddie’s fingers, feeling them out. The impending boner situation is- really not good at this point, it’s pretty dire actually. He needs to untangle, needs to-
“Your paper-cut is gone,” Steve tells him. And then he lifts Eddie’s thumb to his mouth again- presses a soft kiss to it.
Eddie’s brain shuts down, entirely. He stops thinking and just Moves. Shifts his hand away from Steve’s mouth and over to cup his jaw, slide into his soft hair- tilts his head around so he can face him- leans forward into the Gap, the minute space that exists between their two mouths, where Steve breathes in and out. His brain is beginning to catch up to instinct now, but before he’s able to panic, freak out, apologise- Steve is kissing him. Softly, at first, just pressing his lips against Eddie’s, making his stomach turn inside out, making him freak out even more. He pulls back- then moves again, more insistent- kissing his bottom lip, sliding a hand behind Eddie’s neck. When he feels Steve’s tongue against his mouth for the first time, Thinking recedes again and gives way to Instinct once more- it’s like a switch is flipped.
Eddie has just enough sense to pick the guitar out of Steve’s lap to not-so-gently drop it on the carpet as Steve twists around to face him, presses him back against the couch cushions- kisses him more fiercely, licking into his mouth. He kisses Eddie like a machine- perfect pressure, perfect speed, the way he draws back a little to make a soft gasping noise, lets Eddie chase his mouth, his taste. Eddie bites at his lip and Steve groans softly, pushes forward into his lap frantically- and the air is suddenly charged, crackling- his hands are everywhere, in Eddie’s hair, over his jaw, his neck, his shoulders, pulling at his shirt like he can’t get enough of Eddie, needs to get closer, closer, more, more.
The noises Steve makes are- he’s honestly concerned about the possibility of coming in his pants from this, they’re so obscene. He tilts his head to the side to give Eddie access to his jaw, his neck- lets him chase down the column of his throat with his mouth, tasting, biting at him. Bites gently at his ear, kisses the soft skin behind it and Steve makes a choked sound at the back of his throat, rolls his hips forward- fuck- they’re both rock hard now, Eddie can’t think- is overwhelmed by how good the friction feels from Steve grinding down into his lap. He tugs at his hair just to hear more of those sweet, whiny noises spill from Steve’s mouth- he’s a work of art at this point, ears burning red, pupils blown so wide his eyes look black, lips wet and red from being kissed so thoroughly.
“I’ve- wanted this for-” Steve pants, “-for weeks, fuck- wanted you- ah, ah - so bad, Eddie-”
Eddie scrambles to pull him closer, scrabbles at his t-shirt to tug it lower, sucks a mark into the skin below his collarbone. Steve whimpers above him, rutting against Eddie’s jeans- there’s no way he’s going to last like this, no way- he’s almost tipping over the edge already.
“Can I touch you? Stevie- can I please-”
“Yes- yeah, please-” Steve whines, gasping into his ear as Eddie struggles against the waistband of his sweatpants- gets his hand in below his boxers, moans lowly when he feels how hard Steve is- hot and wet, slicked up with precome. He’s so mind-shatteringly turned on he forgets to feel- nervous, weird, in his head about touching Steve for the first time like this, just wants to make Steve feel good, wants to make him feel so good-
“Fuck,” Steve gasps, bucking into him when Eddie rolls his thumb over the slit, spreading precome over the head- “jesus- I- thought about this- your hands-”
Eddie’s hips stutter in motion from grinding up against him, almost pushed over the edge from that, from Steve-
“Fuck, yeah? You- you thought about me? When you-”
“Every time,” Steve moans, “every- every time I thought about you. I can’t stop thinking-”
“Tell me,” Eddie begs, jerking Steve faster now, other hand roving up his body to squeeze at Steve’s sides, his chest, his biceps. “Please- just- my hands?”
“Your hands,” Steve affirms, breaking off to lean in and taste him again, slide his tongue into Eddie’s mouth until Eddie groans against him, breaking off and watching as Steve wipes a string of saliva from the corner of his mouth. “Your hands- and- your eyes,” he pants, “I love the way- the way you look at me, I love your eyes-”
It’s too much- it’s fucking insane- it’s so utterly unlike anything Eddie’s ever experienced before, anything he’s ever even dreamed up- it’s so Steve. So perfectly Steve.
Eddie pulls him forward, presses hot, wet kisses to his neck, squeezes Steve to get him tumbling over the edge. Pulls him down against him on his lap, rolling his hips over and over until they’re both gasping, till Steve whimpers again, gasps out-
“‘M close- fuck, fuck Eddie-”
“Love the way you say my name like that,” Eddie chokes, “love the way it sounds- love your voice, Stevie, love-”
“Jesus- fuck-”
Steve spills over Eddie’s fist, over the bottom of Eddie’s shirt, over his stomach where the shirt got all rucked up. Hot and wet and so much of it, gasping Eddie’s name softly like a prayer, eyes squeezed shut and his pink mouth hanging open, and it sends him spiralling, coming untouched in his boxers like he’s fifteen again, his own personal wet dream grinding down into his lap.
Steve collapses forward onto him in the aftermath, panting still. And then shaking a little, laughing.
“Jesus,” Steve sighs, “christ-”
“No, just m-”
Steve slaps his palm over Eddie’s mouth before he can even get the joke out, groaning, smiling exasperatedly. “I’m not letting you- such a fucking terrible joke, Munson,”
Eddie licks his palm, cracking up when Steve exclaims ew and wipes it on his shirt.
“Munson, again?” he grins at him, eyes glinting wickedly. “What kind of pillow talk is this, Harrington?”
“What- do you need to be referred to by your full title or something? Because if you want me to start calling you dungeon master in the bedroom, I’m-”
Eddie grabs him, ignoring Steve’s protests about the mess between them on their shirts, squeezing him tight and laughing into his hair. “That’s okay, sweetheart,” he teases- intending only to pull out that petname to get a rise out of Steve- but grinning broadly when Steve blinks, turning bright red- hides his face away when Eddie snickers. Interesting.
They stay there for another five minutes before Steve starts complaining about feeling sticky, and Eddie separates them, peeling off his shirt and wiping away the evidence. Steve’s eyes rove over his chest- cataloguing every tattoo, every scar, every line and flex of his muscles. Eddie pauses for a minute, opens his mouth to speak- and then Steve is on him all over again, mouthing at his hips and over his nipples and his collarbones- exploring him intrepidly until Eddie is the one hard and pleading beneath him, tugging him down to make a mess all over again.
It’s almost frightening, how intense it is. Being near Steve after that.
They don’t separate, not for a moment. Showering together, pressing up against the wall while Eddie ticks another ‘virginity’ box- on his knees with Steve’s hand in his hair, learning him with his mouth. Then dressed in Steve’s clothes, collapsed into his bed, cuddled up so close that Eddie can hear every little breath Steve takes, feel the vibrations as he talks quietly until they both fall asleep. And then waking up again hours later, grinding against Steve, whispering about how good he is, how perfect, how good he’s going to make Steve feel- cleaning him up after he comes, licking the remains of it from his stomach and chest.
Eddie doesn’t even know if Steve is gay. I mean- at this point, pretty safe assumption he is at least attracted to men- but still. He doesn’t know- what this is, what Steve wants- Eddie wants whatever Steve will give him. As much of it, as often as possible, always all the time.
It’s not until the late morning that it really hits him, blunt and over the head. Steve is chattering away excitedly, making them slightly-rubbery scrambled eggs and bacon and toast. They did talk. All morning- Eddie is running on very little sleep and an inordinate amount of adrenaline. Steve is bisexual. Steve really likes him- really, really likes him (Steve had repeated it to him so sincerely that Eddie felt a rush of blood south at that, even though at this point his dick is really sore and he’s pretty sure he’s running empty). Steve wants to be near him. All the time. Wants to keep hanging out, wants to keep doing- this. Also doesn’t have a clue how it all works- how long has Eddie known he was gay? Does Wayne know? Does anyone, other than Steve?
But it’s only later on, sitting here at the table, that the real Revelation of the day appears- Steve makes him coffee, and adds cream. One spoon sugar. Just like how Eddie always takes it, how he’s made it at the trailer before in front of Steve. Once. Only once- and Steve remembered.
And Eddie is in love with him.
Obviously.
How could he not be in love with Steve? That’s like asking- how are you breathing air? How are you bleeding when cut? How are you in love with Steve Harrington? Just because. Because he is.
Which- given the fact their first sexual encounter happened less than twelve hours ago- might be good to keep that one under wraps for a bit. Steve is weird, sure- but that’s intense for anyone to hear, Eddie thinks. I’ll just hold it in. It’ll be fine.
*
It is not fine.
*
The problem, of course, is Eddie’s personality. Eddie is erratic. Impulsive. Loud-mouthed, speak-your-mind-and-deal-with-the-consequences-later kind of impulsive. And the way he feels about Steve- it’s like a song on a loop in his brain, repeating, getting louder and louder. Ready to burst forth at random moments.
The first time he comes close happens over Christmas.
Eddie is grateful that he and Steve… happened, before Christmas. That they see each other near constantly now. Because it makes it impossible for Steve to hide his sad, sad plans he initially had for spending the day- his parents being gone until the end of January. They offered to fly Steve out to them, he tells Eddie- but they haven’t spent Christmas together as a family in three years now, and Steve always hated the routine they had during those times anyway. So Steve’s plans had been to reheat KFC and watch a really bad action movie Eddie doesn’t care to remember by himself in that big empty show home.
“I was going to go to Dustin’s the night before,” he grumbles, “Claudia invited me for their Christmas eve thing. And Robin asked me over on boxing day- so-”
“Soooo you were just going to cry yourself to sleep alone on Christmas and lie to me about it,” Eddie sighs dramatically. “Steve- nevermind how I feel about it, or about how you feel- think of Wayne. Wayne would never forgive himself!”
“Wayne doesn’t need to know!”
Eddie scoffs. “Wayne doesn’t need to know, who do you think I am? I told Wayne last week. You’re coming over. And I warn you- a lot of your Christmas dinner is going to be cooked in the microwave, and there’s a lot of very important traditions-”
“Jesus christ Eddie, fine- I’ll show-”
Steve shows up two hours early. Eddie beams at him when he opens the door- it’s freezing out. Steve’s nose is bright pink and he’s wearing stripy woolen gloves and a big sweater and it’s making Eddie’s heart ricochet around his chest cavity. He’s also brought pie- maple pecan, so Wayne is very pleased to see him.
The key tradition on Christmas day is decorating the tree. Steve doesn’t understand this- “why on the actual day? Aren’t you meant to do it like- weeks before?”- but Eddie is happy to explain that this is just always how it’s done here in the trailer, how he and Wayne always forgot until the last minute- and it just became routine. Just like how the tree- a tiny one, plastic and re-used for eight years now so it’s pretty scraggly looking- doesn’t get packed away until April at the very earliest. It’s just how it’s done.
There’s a battered cardboard box with a motley mix of decorations they’ve collected over the years, and Wayne leaves them to it while Eddie unpacks it to the floor. Red and silver tinsel, some crushed snowflakes made from paper. Glittery baubles of different sizes, from different sets. A silver star for the top. A garfield wearing a santa hat, a moulded aluminium guitar on a string that Wayne found at the thrift a year back- a bunch of other sparkly treasures that Eddie picks through, a dragon and his hoard.
And.
A laminated paper one- small, round, with a ribbon punched through the top. It’s got music notes drawn in crayon on it over and over in multiple colours. Eddie made it in pre-school for his mom, and it was one of the very few things they took with them from that house after she died, he and Wayne. It just makes him smile now instead of making him sad. It’s sitting under the rest of the junk that Steve is sorting through- very focused on decorating his half of the tree, and before Eddie can pin it in place, Steve is admiring it, smiling- putting it on his side of the tree.
“That’s my favourite,” he says, and then he picks up garfield.
And Eddie has to swallow it down, bite back the words like they’re physically jumping out of his throat. I love you. I love you.
He manages that time. Just smiles back, pink in his cheeks, keeps decorating the tree.
*
It happens again less than a week later.
They’re at Steve’s again- cuddled up on the couch, eating microwave popcorn- well, Steve’s eating it. Eddie is trying to balance it in his hair- as many pieces as possible before Steve notices. They’re watching Star Wars again- Steve is nuts for them, he’ll watch them over and over with Dustin or Eddie or Gareth or Robin. Probably alone, as well. They’re on Empire, and Eddie is content to sit and watch Steve rather than the film at this point- face illuminated by the screen, eyes fixed on the movie. He mouths along to half of the lines- almost all of Han’s- and when Leia confesses her love he mouths along silently to that too, blushing, still staring at the screen while Eddie stares at him. I Love You. I Know.
Eddie bites his lip and shuts his eyes. It’s almost painful, not to say it. He eats the popcorn out of Steve’s hair instead, and stops watching him mouth along to the script because it’s doing bad things for his heart, gonna put him in an early grave.
*
He manages well for another two, maybe three weeks. Steve’s parents are back- only for a week- but Steve hides out in the trailer most of the time when he isn’t at work now.
Wayne knows.
Wayne asked him about it, gently. Like Eddie was gonna bolt. Like Eddie was a buck in Wayne’s crosshairs. Hints at it, to start- that Harrington boy is over here A Lot. You two sure are Close. He’s a nice kid, real polite- and then eventually-
“Is he your boy, then?”
Eddie just stares at him.
“He’s a good kid.”
“Yeah,” Eddie says. “He is.”
And Wayne nods, and that’s it. It’s done.
But Eddie catches Wayne watching Steve with that crinkly-eye smile next time he’s over, chatting to Wayne about some sports team they both like- and Eddie knows Steve belongs here now. In the trailer. If he wants.
They’re lying on Eddie’s bed- Wayne’s on the nightshift, and both of them are gently stoned, coming down from the high of Reefer Rick’s finest supply combined with an orgasm. Eddie had pulled Steve’s hair hard when he came down his throat, and Steve had come from just that and his hand. Now Steve lies next to him, fingers exploring over his chest, stroking gently over his tattoos. He lingers over the spider, circling it again and again.
“It’s wonky, that one,” Eddie tells him, yawning.
“I like it the best though.”
“You’re a spider fan, Harrington? Pictured you more as the type to go smashing them with your big spiky nail bat,” he teases. Steve scowls.
“I always save them,” he says. “I get them outside with the glass trick.”
Of course you do, Eddie wants to say. I love you, he wants to say- feels it behind his teeth again, pushing its way out. He writes it instead. Uses his finger to trace it onto Steve’s stomach, over and over. L-O-V-E-Y-O-U.
*
Breaking point comes two days later, on a Sunday evening. It comes from a trigger that Eddie should have identified as risk-inducing, but didn’t. Foolish.
They had been driving back from Gareth’s in the van- Steve comes to some of his practices now- and Steve had made a comment about craving a milkshake. Got a sweet tooth.
So obviously he’s getting a fucking shake.
Except the diner on main street is closed- shut down early for some inspection.
“It’s fine,” Steve says, looking unbothered. But Eddie knows- Steve wants that shake. Doesn’t have anywhere to be.
So he drives out towards Muncie, winding Steve up and telling him he’s kidnapped, sorry, no ransom note or anything. Drives to the McDonalds that stays open 24/7 out in Yorktown, goes in and buys two huge strawberry shakes. It’s so worth it for the way Steve smiles at him, worth doing anything, nevermind driving for a measly shake. They drive out to where it’s quieter and sit in the back, drinking them too fast and Eddie gets really bad brain freeze. He’s rolling around on the floor moaning, when he notices Steve’s gone quiet. He’s making something with one of the straw wrappers, folding it up and twisting it.
And it’s that little concentrated expression that does it- the one Eddie fell in love with months ago, where Steve gets a little wrinkle between his brows and narrows his eyes, sticking his tongue out slightly. The words come out before he has a chance to do anything else other than speak, there is no force on earth at this point preventing it.
“I love you,” he blurts out. “Fuck- I love that face you make. I love you.”
Steve looks at him, eyes saucer wide, mouth dropping open. Before Eddie can begin to panic he’s on him; kissing him like a dying man, tugging at his shirt and climbing into his lap and shaking, shaking and pressing words and kisses against Eddie’s jaw, his throat, I Love You I Love You I Love You Fuck Eddie Please-
One of the shakes goes flying, half full still and spraying artificial pink goo all over the back of the van door, and Eddie doesn’t even notice it until later because he’s so fucked he’s more turned on than he’s ever been in his life, grinding against Steve and biting him and letting all the words out he’s been swallowing for the last month over and over again until they both come in their pants.
Fuck.
Should have said it earlier.
*
It becomes a common theme then, during sex. Outside sex as well, obviously- but the way it turns Steve on, when he says it- crazy. He says it often enough that two weeks later, Steve has him pinned in his bed, begging him to fuck him. Or let Steve fuck him- Steve doesn’t care. Steve just loves him, Needs him, Needs this.
“Which- do you normally prefer?” Steve asks him, breathless, writhing against him and licking at his neck. “Do you prefer- being inside? Or-”
Eddie freezes up.
So there is a small issue. A minor one.
He has sort of… omitted some facts, from Steve.
They’ve talked about it, of course. Sexual histories, yadda yadda. Eddie mentions getting with, like- two to three guys in Indy. Once in a bar. What he means is- drunk making out, and one shit handjob in a bathroom stall he remembers in a sort of blurry way. But Steve kind of misinterprets it at the time- assumes Eddie has slept with two to three guys. And Eddie just lets it hang- because he still doesn’t know how he feels about Steve knowing he’s that inexperienced, that early on- he’s older than Steve, and Steve’s already joked about the handcuffs on Eddie’s wall like Eddie’s ever fucking used them for anything. He’d kept them with the vague idea of turning them into a guitar strap.
Steve has slept with only girls. Less girls than Eddie had expected, too- from the rumours of the Harrington charm. Six girls. He enjoyed it, liked going down on them. That’s something he apparently still enjoys, with Eddie.
“Eddie? You ok?”
“‘M good. Just…”
He groans, covering his face with his hands. Doesn’t want to kill the mood- grabs at Steve’s cock instead, starts trying to distract him- which works for a bit, Steve starts making a lot of really good noises and Eddie thinks they might both just finish from this- but then Steve pulls his hand off, panting- says-
“You don’t- you don’t wanna fuck me? Or-”
Can’t run away forever.
“That’s… not it. Don’t fucking laugh at me for this, Harrington-”
“Eddie- why would I-”
“I haven’t. Before. I haven’t done this.”
Steve freezes from grinding against Eddie’s thigh.
“What?” he whispers.
“I- I’ve only ever done like- hand stuff. I just got in my head about it- so-”
“I’m- I’m your first?”
Eddie blinks, moves his hand away. Because the tone Steve is using- the way his voice has gone all disbelief and desperate-
“Yeah.”
“Fuck,” Steve rasps, grinds forward against him again, “fuck- Eddie, that’s-”
Oh.
Steve is into this. Like- very into this.
“Yeah,” Eddie says, breathless, “no one’s ever- you’re the only one,” he pants, “the only one who’s ever gonna fuck me.”
Steve comes all over his stomach.
Eddie’s mouth drops open- Steve’s face is bright red- jesus-
“-christ Steve, fuck-”
“Oh god- I’m sorry, I just-”
“Why the fuck are you apologising, fuck- that is so hot man, what-”
Steve groans, tips his head forward. Laughs, kissing Eddie all over his face. Writes I Love You in the mess on Eddie’s stomach- then moves lower to lick at it, clean it up. He looks up through his eyelashes afterwards, says-
“I guess since I finished early it’ll be you inside me then, right?”
*
It’s becoming very hard to hide, at this point. The loving Steve. The having Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington as a boyfriend. The ‘we are just very touchy tactile friends’ excuse really only stretches so far- kissing the homies is off limits. Steve already gets ribbed at every Hellfire session now for all of the hickeys on him- Dustin asks every week about his ‘octopus girlfriend’, and Eddie doesn’t even care because it makes Steve’s cheeks go that lovely shade of red. Makes him glance at Eddie later on, shyly. Makes him pin Eddie to the bed at night and threaten to make him pay if he doesn’t stop doing that- but whenever Eddie is doing that, Steve just moans and pulls him closer, asks for more, begs for another mark.
So whatever.
Eddie wishes they could tell Dustin. He’s pretty positive the kid would be fine about it- but Steve points out that Dustin is a huge blabbermouth, and telling him means telling the rest of their charges, basically, and potentially their older siblings and people who could take the news Less Well.
Robin Buckley knows. Steve claims he didn’t even tell her- she clocks them literally a week into it all when Eddie drops by the store. He’s paying at the counter, staring at Steve- a new favourite pastime- and Steve hands him his change and smiles his favourite smile- and Robin spits out her water.
“Already?!”
Steve and Eddie blink at her.
“Steve- you only realised you were bisexual like, two months ago. How is it fair that you’ve barely experienced any sad gay pining and you’re all loved up already?”
Steve splutters and goes red again and starts arguing but Eddie just grins, checks the store is empty bar them- and tugs Steve forward by the collar to plant a big kiss on his cheek.
“Jealous, Buckley?”
“God, no. Good luck to you.”
It’s been nice, being friends with someone else who understands. Who’s Like Them. Eddie is honestly jealous of Steve, for having that when he was coming to terms with his identity. Eddie didn’t have that. He wishes he could tell the guys.
They all go to a gig, in early March. It’s a cover band in Indy- small scene stuff, but the bar is enough of a dive that they don’t care about obviously fake IDs for obviously underage people.
Gareth, Jeff, Robin and Steve. And Eddie. Jack’s away with his parents somewhere hot for the week. Lucky Jack.
It happens when Steve is away with Robin in the bathrooms, and Jeff is at the bar trying to buy overpriced beer.
Gareth pokes him. “You and Harrington been hanging around together a lot.”
Eddie just smiles, teasing- “aw, Gare-bear. You miss me? You feeling left out?”
“No,” Gareth scoffs. “I’m just surprised he has the time. You know- maybe octopus girl is jealous and stuff.”
Eddie blinks at him.
Gareth stares back- then narrows his eyes.
“I fucking knew it,” he hisses, poking Eddie in the chest, “there is no octopus girl- you! It’s- you guys are together!”
Eddie freezes up- and then Gareth’s hugging him, laughing. “God, dude, your face. I’m happy for you guys,” he says, “but also gross.”
Relief feels like a hot bath. Eddie exhales, laughs back. “Can you believe I’m dating the prom king? I’m kind of royalty by proxy, now.”
Gareth rolls his eyes. “I already fucking told you, he wasn’t prom king.”
He pauses then, then gasps-
“Oh my god. This is my fault.”
“What?”
“You- you guys fucking! I did this- oh ew, gross- you better not start getting even more publically disgusting, Munson, the way you look at him is soo lovey-dovey-”
“What the fuck are you on, man? You mean because you were talking him up?”
Eddie considers for a moment. Technically- Gareth’s approval of Steve had kind of started all this. In a morbid curiosity sort of way.
“No, not you- Steve.”
Eddie frowns.
“I mean talking you up to Steve- I told you we’d been hanging at that store like, a month before I even brought it up with you. He remembered you from school, and I just told him a bunch of stuff. About Hellfire, and the band and shit- he kept asking me about you, I thought it was so weird… now I fucking get it.”
But that- doesn’t make any sense.
“I mean- you thought he didn’t recognise you, when he first came by the club? He asked me what day we had sessions. I just thought it was so he could offer Henderson a lift, but now I see it… ulterior motives,” Gareth mutters, “he totally had ulterior motives! I’m gonna rip him a new one, man.”
Gareth’s voice fades away as Eddie considers. What that means. That Steve- remembered him. Asked about him.
“Hey!” Steve calls over the crowd. He’s beaming- wearing one of Eddie’s Metallica t-shirts so he doesn’t stick out like a sore thumb in the crowd tonight. Wearing Eddie’s marks below his ear, smelling of Eddie’s off-brand bodywash he used after sleeping in the trailer last night.
“I found a good spot over there,” he tells them, “but we could always go further up there and maybe be closer to the stage.”
Robin and Gareth are squabbling about gig etiquette behind him. Steve presses a hand to the small of his back- quickly, softly, just for the contact. Stares at him with his big brown eyes.
“So? Where’d you want to go?”
Eddie smiles. Eddie loves him.
“Anywhere. Anywhere you like, Stevie.”