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August 1985 – Forest Hills Trailer Park
Steve pulled into the Forest Hills trailer park with a casserole dish on the passenger seat, carefully wrapped in foil to keep it warm. He’d been doing this for a few weeks now— bringing food over to the Mayfields. After Billy died in July and Max’s stepdad bailed, things had gotten bad. Max’s mom had spiraled hard into depression, doubled down on the alcohol. The lights inside were always off now, even in the middle of the day. Home cooked meals were pretty much nonexistent.
So, Steve cooked. It wasn’t much, but it was something he could do.
Pulling up to the Mayfield trailer, he spotted a familiar figure bent over the hood of a beat-up van a few spots down. Eddie Munson— long hair pulled into a high pony, donned in a grease-stained gray shirt with the sleeves cut off, completely absorbed in whatever he was doing to the engine.
Steve had no reason to stop. Should have just dropped off the casserole and left. But after leaving the dish with a note on the Mayfields’ doorstep (Max’s mom didn’t always answer), his hands turned the wheel anyway, pulling up in front of Eddie’s trailer.
“Harrington?” Eddie straightened up, wiping his hands on a rag and squinting at Steve like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. “Slumming it in the trailer park now? Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” he quipped. There was no real bite to it though. Just that theatrical quality Eddie had, like everything was a performance.
“Yeah, well.” Steve killed the engine and got out. “Needed to drop something off for Max and Susan. Saw you struggling with that piece of junk and thought I’d offer my expert opinion.”
Eddie’s eyebrows shot up. He put a hand on his chest in mock offense. “Hey! Watch your mouth around the lady, Harrington. She doesn’t appreciate the j word.” His mouth spread wide in a grin. “Expert opinion? Really?”
“I know my way around an engine.” Steve moved closer, peering at the exposed machinery. “What’s the problem?”
“She’s overheating. Again.” Eddie patted the van’s frame with genuine affection. “Third time this month. I think the cooling system’s shot, but I can’t afford to take her to a real mechanic.”
They fell into an easy rhythm after that— Eddie explaining what he’d tried, Steve offering suggestions, both of them getting progressively more covered in grease as they worked. The summer heat pressed down on them, making Steve’s shirt stick to his back. Somewhere along the way Eddie disappeared inside and came back with two cold beers.
“Don’t tell Wayne,” Eddie said, handing one to Steve. “He thinks I’m being responsible with these.”
Steve took it, surprised by the gesture. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
They sat on the steps of Eddie’s trailer, shoulders nearly touching. The conversation came easier than Steve expected. Eddie was funny when he wasn’t performing for an audience. Sharp and quick-witted, but also surprisingly genuine. He talked about his uncle Wayne working nights at the plant, about how Wayne worried about Eddie but never made him feel like a burden, even when he got into trouble.
“Can I ask you something?” Eddie picked at the label on his beer.
“Sure.”
“Why’d you stop? Really. We barely know each other, and what we do know…” He gestured vaguely. “I mean, I actively annoyed you pretty regularly in high school. You could’ve just kept driving.”
Steve thought about it. “Honestly? I don’t know. Impulse, I guess. Seemed like you could use the help.”
Eddie studied him for a long moment, his gaze sharpened, intent now. “You’re not what I expected, Harrington.”
“Yeah?” The back of Steve’s neck grew warm, and it had nothing to do with the August heat. “What did you expect?”
“I don’t know. King Steve, all ego and hairspray?” Eddie grinned. “But you’re…different now. Less…”
“Douchey?”
“I was going to say ‘rigid’, but sure, that works, too.” Eddie laughed, and Steve found himself following. “So, what happened? What made King Steve into…this?”
Steve could have given him a dozen different answers. Could have talked about the Upside Down, about Starcourt and the Russians, about learning what actually mattered to him. Instead, he just shrugged.
“Grew up, I guess. Realized being popular doesn’t mean shit if you’re miserable.”
“Deep.” But Eddie wasn’t mocking him. If anything, he looked impressed. “So, what makes you happy now?”
The question caught Steve off guard. When was the last time anyone had asked him that?
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’m still figuring that out.”
Eddie nodded slowly, then stood up and brushed off his jeans. “Well, when you figure it out, let me know. I’m curious to see what makes Steve Harrington tick these days.”
Steve drove away that evening with grease under his fingernails and Eddie’s laughter echoing in his head.
Three days later, he found himself back at the trailer park. He needed weed for a party, he told himself. That was all.
Eddie answered the door shirtless, hair still wet from a shower, and Steve’s brain short-circuited for a solid three seconds.
“Harrington. Twice in one week. People are going to talk.” Eddie leaned against the doorframe, completely at ease in his own skin in a way Steve had never managed. “Let me guess— you need party supplies?”
“How’d you know?”
“You had this mischievous look. Like one of those suburban moms at the pool watching the changing of the lifeguard this summer.” Eddie’s grin was infectious, even though Steve had mixed emotions about being compared to moms ogling the late Billy Hargrove. “Come on in. Wayne’s at work.”
The inside of the trailer was smaller than Steve expected but surprisingly cozy. Lived in. Eddie’s guitar sat on the couch, notebooks scattered across the coffee table. The air smelled like cigarettes and something Steve couldn’t quite name. A record player sat on a shelf with records stacked in milk crates beside it.
“Make yourself at home.” Eddie disappeared into his room, and Steve found himself drawn to the guitar, admiring the leopard print pattern on the body. He slid his fingers gently up the strings, curious to see how firm they were. He had always heard how guitar players had callouses from playing so much.
“You play?” Eddie emerged with a lunchbox, pausing when he saw Steve touching his guitar.
“God, no. I’d be terrible at it. But I do like listening to music.” He gestured to the collection of records across the room.
“What kind?”
Steve rattled off a few bands and artists (Wham!, a-ha, Prince, Madonna, obviously) and watched Eddie’s nose wrinkle in playful disgust.
“Harrington, your taste is tragic. Sit down.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I’m about to educate you.” Eddie moved to the record player, fingers dancing over the spines of records as he searched for something. “Can’t let you walk around with such embarrassing musical knowledge. It reflects poorly on me as your …dealer.” Eddie started saying something, but cut himself off and redirected at the last second. Steve wondered what he was about to say.
Steve sat on the couch. Eddie pulled out a record and set it up with practiced ease. Those restless hands that were always moving, always gesturing, went careful and precise as he placed the needle.
“This,” Eddie said, settling onto the couch next to Steve— close enough that their knees bumped, “is Metallica. And before you make some joke about it being noise, just listen.”
The music started, heavy and intense, but Steve did listen. Not just to the music but to the way Eddie’s whole body responded to it. The way his fingers tapped against his thigh in time with the drums, the way his head bobbed slightly, his face relaxed into something peaceful and focused. The outlandish, eccentric Eddie from school was completely gone.
When the song ended, Eddie looked over at Steve and their eyes met. A spark passed between them, a question— a possibility Steve carefully didn’t name.
“So?” Eddie’s voice was softer now. “What do you think?”
“I think,” Steve said thoughtfully, “that you really love this stuff.”
“I do.” Eddie’s smile was genuine, not the mischievous grin that Steve was used to seeing. “It’s like— it’s the only thing that makes sense sometimes, y’know? When everything else is chaos, there’s music.”
“Yeah,” Steve said, even though he didn’t fully understand. Not yet. “I get that.”
“You wanna stay for a while? I’ve got more beer, and I promise not to subject you to too much metal education in one sitting.”
Steve knew he should leave. Knew this was starting to feel like the budding of something more than just buying weed from a dealer. But he stayed anyway.
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
Eddie played more records— some metal, some classic rock that surprised Steve with how much he recognized. Between songs, they talked. About music, of course, but also about Hawkins, their dreams that felt too big for a small town. Eddie told him about wanting to get out someday, to find a city where being…different, as he worded it, wasn’t a liability. Steve found himself talking about feeling stuck, about not knowing what he wanted to do with his life now that college was off the table and his dad made it crystal clear what a disappointment he was.
“You don’t have to have it figured out,” Eddie said, flipping a record to the B-side. “Most people who act like they do are just really good liars.”
“Is that what you are? A good liar?”
Eddie swallowed. He considered this, settling back on the couch. “I’m a good performer. There’s a difference. I know what people expect from the Freak, so I give it to them. But that doesn’t mean it’s all I am.”
“What else are you?”
“Still figuring that out.” Eddie’s mouth quirked up at one corner. “But I think I like who I am when you’re around. Less performance. More me.”
Steve had to remind himself to breathe. “I like this version, too.”
Over the next two weeks, Steve found excuses to go back. Needed more weed. Wanted to hear that Metallica album again. His VCR was acting weird, did Eddie know anything about electronics? (He didn’t, but they spent an hour trying to troubleshoot it anyway.)
Robin backed him into a corner about it one Thursday afternoon, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. They’d been hanging out at the park, killing time like they did most weekends since neither of them had jobs yet.
“So,” she said, dragging the word out. “Eddie Munson.”
Steve’s hands fumbled with the chain of his swing. “What about him?”
“Oh, nothing. Just that you’ve mentioned him— let me think— like six times in the last hour. ‘Eddie says this band is derivative’. ‘Eddie thinks John Hughes is overrated.’ ‘Eddie has really interesting thoughts on—’”
“I have not mentioned him six times.” Steve glared at her.
“You’re right. Sorry. It was more like eight.” Robin kicked off the ground, swinging slightly. “I was being generous with my count.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Uh-huh. And I’m sure it’s just a coincidence that you keep zoning out with this dopey smile on your face.” She gave him a pointed look. “Very subtle, Steve. Really. I almost didn’t notice.
“There’s no dopey smile.”
“There’s definitely a dopey smile. It’s the same one you used to get after that girl would come into Scoops—” She stopped, eyes widening slightly. “Wait. What’s going on there? With you and Eddie?”
“Nothing. We’re just— we’re hanging out. He’s cool.”
Robin stared at him for a long moment, and Steve had the uncomfortable sensation of being read like one of her Russian code books. Her expression shifted from teasing to something softer.
“You know you can talk to me, right? About anything?”
Steve’s throat went tight. “I know.”
Robin squeezed his arm and didn’t push further. But Steve caught her watching him with a thoughtful expression for the rest of the afternoon.
September 1985 – Eddie’s Trailer
“You know what your problem is, Harrington?”
Steve looked up from where he was sprawled on Eddie’s bed, tossing a stress ball at the ceiling and catching it. This had become normal— showing up at Eddie’s trailer with increasingly flimsy excuses, staying for hours, existing in this comfortable bubble they’d created.
“I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”
“You think too much.” Eddie was on the floor, working on a campaign for Hellfire, papers spread around him in organized chaos. “You get in your own head and just spiral.”
Steve sat up like a shot. “I do not spiral!”
“You absolutely spiral! I’ve watched you do it like four times this week— in fact, let’s not forget, you burst into my house today yelling about how if you don’t get a job soon, your dad is going to literally disown you.” Eddie glanced over his shoulder, grinning. “It’s kind of endearing, actually. In a neurotic, golden retriever sort of way.”
“Did you just call me a dog?”
“A golden retriever specifically. There’s a difference.” Eddie turned back to his project. “They’re loyal, friendly, and freak out at the first sign of disappointment in their direction. See? Perfect comparison. Well, minus the fact that you have yet to tear up my couch cushions.”
Steve threw the ball at Eddie’s head. To both of their surprise, Eddie caught it without looking.
“Hey, Eddie?”
“Mm?”
“Why do you let me hang around so much?”
Eddie’s hands stilled on his papers. He was quiet for a moment, then set down his pen and turned to face Steve fully.
“You want the honest answer?”
“Always.”
“Because you’re interesting.” Eddie’s expression was unusually serious, his whimsical mask completely obscured. “Most people see what they expect to see when they look at me. The freak, the drug dealer, the…guy who’s going to end up dead or in jail before he’s thirty. But you…you look at me like I’m an actual person. Like I matter.”
Steve tilted his head. “You do matter.”
“Yeah?” Eddie’s voice was small, vulnerable in a way Steve had never heard from him before. “Because sometimes it feels like I’m just going through the motions, you know? Playing a part. And then you show up and I get to just…be.”
The air between them felt charged, heavy with something unspoken. Steve’s pulse hammered in his throat, though he didn’t examine it too closely.
“I feel the same way,” Steve admitted, “when I’m here. Like I can stop pretending I have it all figured out.”
“You definitely don’t have it all figured out. You’re not fooling anybody.” Eddie’s smile was back, gentler than ever. “But that’s okay. Neither do I.”
They stayed like that, looking at each other across Eddie’s small bedroom. Something shifted between them— subtle but undeniable, like a door opening that neither of them had noticed was there.
Late September 1985 — The Woods
Today had started innocently enough— or, as innocently as anything involving Eddie started. Steve had shown up at the trailer after a particularly shit day applying for jobs, and Eddie had taken one look at his face and said, “Nope. We’re not doing this here. C’mon.”
They’d driven out to the woods, Eddie’s tape deck blasting Iron Maiden, and parked in a clearing Eddie swore no one else knew about. If Steve didn’t feel so safe, he’d have been concerned about the fact that he’d let himself be taken to the middle of the woods. But, to his relief, Eddie simply started rolling a blunt with practiced ease. They climbed into the back of the van where Eddie had thrown down some blankets and pillows at some point. It was surprisingly comfortable.
“This is weird, right?” Steve had asked. “Us hanging out like this.”
“What do you mean?” Eddie passed him the blunt.
“I don’t know. We barely knew each other two months ago. Now I’m in the back of your van in the middle of the woods getting high.”
“Having second thoughts, Harrington?” Eddie’s tone was light, but his shoulders tensed.
“No,” The word came out too quickly. Steve took a hit and passed it back. “No, I just…I don’t usually do this. The whole close friendship thing. I’m not good at it. The only person I’ve ever done this with is Robin, and—” He let out a laugh. “The only reason her and I are such good friends is because we were both on drugs when we had this big ass heart to heart. In the Starcourt bathroom, no less.” Steve bumped Eddie’s shoulder.
“Well, you could’ve fooled me.” Eddie stretched out on the blankets, looking up at the roof of the van. “You’re doing pretty well so far.”
“Yeah?” Steve laid down next to him.
“Yeah.” Eddie turned his head to look at Steve. “You’re a good friend, Steve. Better than you give yourself credit for.”
The word ‘friend’ landed strange in Steve’s chest— too small for what this was starting to feel like. His throat tightened. “Thanks. You too.”
They were quiet for a while, the music from the tape deck filling the silence. After only a few puffs, the weed was starting to hit. Sue him, Steve was a lightweight. Everything started to feel warm and hazy and safe. Steve became hyper aware of everywhere they were touching— shoulder to shoulder, arm to arm. The van felt smaller suddenly, like the walls were closing in. He didn’t know if he loved it or wanted to run far away.
This is normal, Steve told himself. Friends lie close together all the time. Robin does this. This is fine.
“You’re doing it again.” Eddie said out of nowhere.
“What?” Steve asked, snapped out of his trance.
“You’re thinking too much. I can practically hear the gears grinding.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Eddie reached over and pressed his thumb to the spot between Steve’s eyebrows. “You get this little crease right here when you overthink.”
He noticed.
Steve’s breath caught. Eddie’s hand lingered for a second longer than necessary before dropping away. The ghost of his touch remained on his skin, burning.
“How do you know that?”
“I pay attention.” Eddie said it casually, but there was weight in his voice.
“To what?”
“To you.” Eddie’s eyes were dark in the dim light of the van. “You do this thing where you push your hair back when you’re nervous. And you bite your bottom lip when you’re trying not to say something. And you—” He stopped, seemed to catch himself. “Sorry. That’s probably weird.”
“No.” Steve turned on his side to face Eddie properly. “No, it’s not weird. I notice things about you, too.”
“Yeah?” Eddie mirrored his position, and suddenly they were close— closer than Steve had realized. “Like what?”
“Like how you tap your fingers when you’re thinking. And how your whole face changes when you smile really wide. And—” Steve swallowed hard. “And how your eyes go all soft when you’re listening to music you love.”
Eddie stared at him, unreadable emotion flickering across his face. The air between them felt thick, charged. Steve could feel the heat radiating off Eddie’s body without having to touch him.
“Steve,” Eddie breathed.
“Yeah?”
Eddie’s eyes dropped to Steve’s mouth, then back up. The silence stretched between them. Steve could see Eddie’s chest rising and falling rapidly, could see the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to reach out but wasn’t sure if he should.
Then Eddie’s hands came up to cup Steve’s face, and for a heartbeat— two— they just looked at each other. Eddie’s eyes were wide, dark, terrified, and wanting in equal measure.
Then Eddie pulled him in and kissed him.
It was tentative, and Steve’s brain glitched. Eddie’s lips were on his, Eddie was kissing him, and Steve couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe—
Oh.
Oh God.
This was what he’d been avoiding naming. This feeling that had been building for weeks, the reason his heart raced every time Eddie smiled at him, the reason he kept finding excuses to come back.
Eddie pulled back abruptly, his hands dropping from Steve’s face like he’d been burned.
“Oh God. Oh shit. I’m sorry. That was— I shouldn’t have done that. I just…” Eddie was scrambling backward, panic written all over his face. He misread this, there was no way Steve could possibly feel the same. He was so stupid, he should probably just—
“No.” Steve’s voice came out rough, barely above a whisper.
Eddie froze, eyes wide and scared.
Steve’s hands were shaking. His whole body was shaking. But he reached out anyway and grabbed Eddie’s shirt, pulled him back.
“No,” he said again, and kissed him.
This time, Steve didn’t hesitate.
Eddie made a small sound against his mouth, surprised and relieved, and then his hands were back in Steve’s hair, on his face, and he was kissing back like he was drowning and Steve was air. Steve let out a moan against Eddie’s lips.
Oh. He could practically hear Robin now. This is what it’s supposed to feel like.
Steve had been kissed before, plenty of times. But never like this. Never with his whole body singing, every nerve ending alive. Never with this desperate, aching need that made him want to crawl inside someone’s skin and stay there.
Steve’s hands clutched at Eddie’s shirt, pulling him impossibly closer. Eddie shifted until he was half on top of Steve, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other sliding to his neck.
The kiss deepened, Eddie’s tongue tracing the seam of Steve’s lips until Steve opened for him, and then they were really kissing— desperate, messy, perfect.
Eddie’s rings were cool against Steve’s searing skin. One hand stayed cupped around his face while the other moved to tangle deeper into his hair. Steve felt like he was suffocating in the best possible way.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Eddie rested his forehead against Steve’s.
“Holy shit,” Steve breathed.
“Yeah.” Eddie’s voice was wrecked. “That was…”
“Can we do it again?”
Eddie laughed, bright and delighted, and nodded enthusiastically. He kissed him again. This time, Steve was prepared for it, knew what to expect, and he let himself get lost in it. In the taste of Eddie— cigarettes and weed and something uniquely him. In the feel of Eddie’s hands sliding down to his neck, shoulders, the small of his back. In the way Eddie’s fingers pressed into the skin, making little marks where only Steve would see later. The way Eddie kissed like it was the only thing that mattered.
They kissed until Steve’s lips were swollen and his face felt raw from Eddie’s stubble. They kissed until the joint burnt itself out in the ashtray.
Steve forgot to fear what it meant and let himself feel.
“So,” Eddie said eventually, pulling back just enough to look at Steve. His lips were red, his hair wild where Steve’s hands had raided it. Steve had never seen anything more beautiful. “This is a thing now?”
“I want it to be,” Steve surprised himself with how certain he sounded. “If you do.”
“Steve. I’ve wanted this since you pulled up to my trailer and got yourself all covered in grease.” Eddie kissed him again, soft and sweet. “Yeah, I want this to be a thing.”
“Good.” Steve pulled him back down. “Because I’m not done kissing you yet.”
Eddie grinned against his mouth. “Music to my ears, big boy.”
Early October 1985
The first time Steve stayed the night at Eddie’s it wasn’t planned. They’d been in the back of the van, parked in their usual spot in the woods, making out until Steve’s lips were sore and his hair a disaster. When they finally came up for air, Eddie had glanced at his watch and groaned.
“Shit, it’s almost one.”
Steve sat up, trying to fix his hair. “Fuck. I should go.”
“You could stay,” Eddie said it quickly, then immediately busied himself with gathering their discarded jackets. “I mean, if you want. Wayne’s working nights all week. You could crash at mine.”
The offer hung in the air. Steve looked at Eddie— at the careful way he wasn’t making eye contact, at the nervousness bleeding through his usual confidence.
“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
Eddie’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
The smile that broke across Eddie’s face could’ve lit up the whole forest.
They drove back to the trailer park, Eddie’s hand finding Steve’s across the center console. It was a small thing, but it sent warmth flooding through Steve’s ribs.
When they got inside, Eddie gave him an oversized band tee and a pair of sweats to sleep in.
“Bathroom’s down the hall if you want to brush your teeth or whatever. I think I have a spare toothbrush somewhere.”
Steve changed in Eddie’s bathroom, catching sight of himself in the mirror. The shirt was too big, hanging off one shoulder, and he looked thoroughly debauched. His lips were bitten, his neck had a mark he’d have to figure out how to cover before work tomorrow, and he couldn’t stop smiling.
When he came back to Eddie’s room, Eddie was already in bed, shirtless, reading some fantasy novel with a dragon on the cover. He looked up when Steve entered and let his eyes rake up and down Steve’s body.
“You look good in my shirt,” Eddie’s voice was quiet, careful. He licked his lips and turned back to his book.
Steve’s face heated up. “Shut up.”
“I’m serious. You should steal my clothes more often.”
Steve climbed into bed and Eddie immediately pulled him close, tucking Steve against his chest. It was cramped in the narrow bed, but Steve didn’t mind. Eddie was warm and solid, and his heartbeat was steady under Steve’s ear.
“This okay?” Eddie asked, his fingers starting to card through Steve’s hair.
“Yeah,” Steve’s eyes were already drifting closed. “More than okay.”
Eddie read aloud for a while, some chapter about a wizard and a quest, and Steve listened to his voice more than the actual words. Eventually, Eddie set the book side and turned off his lamp, plunging them into darkness.
“Steve?”
“Mm?”
“I’m glad you stayed.”
Steve pressed a kiss to Eddie’s chest. “Me too.”
He fell asleep like that, wrapped up in Eddie and the smell of smoke and cheap cologne, and got the best sleep he’d had in months.
Steve woke up to sunlight streaming through the thin curtains and Eddie’s arm slung across his waist. For a moment, he was disoriented— this wasn’t his bed, wasn’t his room— and then everything came rushing back.
He’d stayed over at Eddie’s.
Eddie was still asleep, face relaxed and peaceful in a way Steve rarely saw when he was awake. His hair was spread across the pillow, and there was a small crease between his eyebrows like he was trying to solve some kind of riddle. Steve wanted to smooth it away with his thumb but didn’t want to wake him.
He settled for memorizing the details instead. The way Eddie’s eyelashes cast a shadow on his cheeks. The small scar on his chin Steve had never noticed before. The rise and fall of his chest with each breath.
“Creepy, Harrington,” Eddie mumbled, eyes still closed.
Steve jolted. “I wasn’t—”
Eddie’s eyes cracked open, and he was smiling. “You were totally watching me sleep,” He accused lightly.” His voice was pitched low with sleep, rough in a way that made Steve shiver.
“You looked peaceful. It was weird. I’m used to you being loud and annoying,” he teased.
“Rude.” Eddie pulled him closer. “What time is it?”
Steve glanced at his alarm clock. “Almost nine.”
“Ugh. Too early.” Eddie buried his face in Steve’s neck. “Five more minutes.”
But five minutes turned into twenty, the two of them dozing interchangeably and talking quietly. Eddie’s fingers traced lazy patterns on Steve’s back under his shirt, and Steve told him about the horrible dream he’d had— something involving Russian spies and truth serum that Eddie definitely didn’t have context for but listened to anyway.
Eventually, Steve’s stomach growled loud enough that Eddie laughed.
“Alright, alright. I’ll feed you.” Eddie reluctantly pulled away and climbed out of bed. “Fair warning though, my cooking skills are pretty much limited to cereal and toast.”
“Toast sounds perfect.”
They shuffled to the kitchen, Eddie in just his sweatpants and Steve still wearing Eddie’s shirt. Eddie put on a pot of coffee and dropped bread in the toaster while Steve hopped up on the counter.
“Do you do this a lot?” Steve asked. “Have guys over?”
Eddie glanced at him, uncertainty flashing across his face. “Uh. No. Never, actually. You’re the first.”
“Oh.” Heat bloomed through Steve’s body. “Good.”
Eddie smiled, stepping in between Steve’s legs and bracing his hands on the counter on either side of him. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Steve leaned in and kissed him, sweet and unhurried.
The toast popped up, making them both startle and laugh.
They ate breakfast at the tiny kitchen table, knees bumping underneath. Eddie told him about the campaign he’d been planning, gesturing wildly with toast in his hand. It was a miracle that the jelly didn’t fly off.
This felt normal. Like this wasn’t something they had to hide.
Steve never wanted it to end.
Mid-October 1985
They started calling each other late at night when Wayne was at work and Steve’s house was empty. The first time Eddie called, Steve had been half-asleep, fumbling for the phone in the dark.
“Mmn, hello?”
“Oh shit, did I wake you?” Eddie sounded nervous.
“Eddie?” Steve sat up, suddenly wide awake. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just—” A pause. “I wanted to hear your voice. Is that weird?”
Steve’s limbs buzzed with joy. “No. No, it’s not weird.”
“Okay, good.” Eddie let out a breath. “I was lying here trying to work on my campaign, and I kept thinking about you. About earlier.”
Earlier had been a stolen moment in the back of Steve’s beemer, parked behind Family Video during Steve’s break. Quick kisses that left Steve wanting more. They’d almost been discovered by Robin taking out the trash, and the near miss had them both breathless with laughter and adrenaline.
“I was thinking about it, too.”
“Yeah? What were you thinking?”
Steve could hear the smirk in Eddie’s voice. “I was thinking about how you taste like cigarettes.” He let Eddie scoff, before: “And how I shouldn’t like it. But I do.”
Eddie groaned. “You can’t just say things like that, Harrington. I’m trying to be good here.”
“Good how?”
“Good as in not getting back in my van and driving over to your place to climb through your window.”
Steve laughed, quiet in the dark house. “You know where my window is?”
“I’ve driven past your house like six times trying to figure it out. Which one is it?”
“Second floor, far left. But Eddie—”
“I know, I know. We have to be careful.” Eddie’s voice went pouty. “I just miss you. Is that pathetic?”
“If it is, then I’m pathetic, too. I was just lying here thinking about what you smell like.”
“Bong water and shitty weed?”
“No, you ass. Cigarettes, cheap cologne, and something else. I haven’t been able to put my finger on it. It’s nice, though.”
“Nice,” Eddie mimicked, “Wow, Harrington, you really know how to sweet talk a guy.”
They talked for two hours that night. About everything and nothing.
It became a routine. Every few nights, one of them would call, and they’d talk until one of them fell asleep or until Wayne came home and Eddie had to hang up quickly. Steve learned that Eddie hummed under his breath when he was content, that he had terrible insomnia, and that he’d read The Lord of the Rings seventeen times and could quote large portions from memory. Eddie collected guitar picks obsessively and had a shoebox full of them under his bed.
Eddie learned that Steve had nightmares he wouldn’t talk about, that he was terrified of being alone, that he’d never felt like he was enough for anyone until now. That he actually liked doing laundry because it was mindless and soothing. That he wanted kids someday, a whole brood of them, and a life that looked nothing like his parents’.
“You’re enough for me,” Eddie had said one night, his eyes drooping with drowsiness. “You’re more than enough. You’re everything.”
Steve had pressed his face into his pillow to muffle the sound he made, something between a laugh and a sob.
Late October 1985
Steve was getting good at the double life.
At Family Video, he talked about girls with Keith and dodged Robin’s increasingly knowing looks. He hung out with Dustin and the kids, played the babysitter role, and pretended his mind wasn’t constantly drifting to Eddie. To the way Eddie’s hands felt in his hair. To the sound Eddie made when Steve kissed that spot just below his ear.
“Steve? Steve. Steve!”
He blinked. Dustin was waving a hand in front of his face.
“What?”
“I’ve been talking for like five minutes and you haven’t heard a word I said.” Dustin crossed his arms. “What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing. Just tired.”
“You’re always tired lately. And distracted. And you keep smiling at nothing.” Dustin’s eyes narrowed. “Are you seeing someone?”
Steve’s heart lurched into his throat. “What? No! Why would you—”
“Because you’re acting exactly like you did when you were trying to woo back Nancy. All spacey and weird.”
“I’m not—” Steve ran a hand through his hair. “It’s really nothing. Drop it, Henderson.”
Dustin looked like he wanted to push, but Lucas called him over to look at something, and Steve escaped to restock the horror section.
His hands shook as he shelved copies of Children of the Corn.
This was getting dangerous. The more time he spent with Eddie, the harder it got to pretend. To act normal, to remember no one could know.
Halloween 1985 – Eddie’s Trailer
Steve finished a grueling Halloween shift at Family Video, unsure of how he’d even made it out alive. The entire store had been bustling for the six straight hours— teenagers trying to buy R-rated movies for their parties, parents buying discounted candy to hand out. The second he closed shop for the night, he got in his car and headed for Eddie’s.
Steve showed up with no warning, just knocked on the door and waited.
Eddie answered in boxers and a worn Black Sabbath shirt, hair loose around his shoulders. Steve pushed inside and kissed him before either of them could say hello.
They stumbled to Eddie’s room, mouths never breaking apart, and fell onto Eddie’s bed in a tangle of limbs. They’d nearly knocked over Eddie’s untouched bowl of candy on the way, which had been sitting on a small end table near the front door.
Steve had been thinking about this all day— hell, all week. Now that he had Eddie where he wanted him, he couldn’t hold back. Eddie’s hands were everywhere— tangling in Steve’s hair, sliding down to grip his neck, thumbs pressing against his pulse point in a way that made Steve’s breath stutter. Then lower, tracing the line of Steve’s spine through his shirt, fingernails scraping lightly enough to make Steve arch into the touch.
“Missed you,” Steve murmured against Eddie’s lips between kisses.
“Saw you yesterday,” Eddie laughed, breathless. His hands found Steve’s hips, fingers hooking into his belt loops and tugging him closer until there wasn’t an inch of space between them.
“Still missed you.”
Eddie made another sound that was half laugh, half groan, and rolled them over so he was on top. He kissed down Steve’s jaw, teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below his ear that he’d discovered weeks ago. Steve’s hands slid under Eddie’s shirt, palms flat against warm skin, feeling the shift of muscle as Eddie moved above him. Eddie shivered at the touch— he always did when Steve’s hands were on his bare skin, like he couldn’t quite believe it was real.
“Can I?” Steve asked, tugging at the hem of Eddie’s shirt.
“Yeah. Yeah, please.”
Steve pulled the shirt over Eddie’s head and tossed it somewhere on the floor. Eddie’s hair fell around his face in a dark curtain and Steve reached up to push it back, threading his fingers through his frizzed curls. Eddie leaned into the touch, eyes going half-lidded, mouth fallen open slightly. Steve knew that look— knew what it meant when Eddie went soft and pliant like this.
Steve pulled him down for another kiss, deeper this time. Eddie’s tongue traced the seam of Steve’s lips and Steve opened for him immediately, letting Eddie lick into his mouth. One of Eddie’s hands cradled the back of Steve’s head while the other slid down his side, fingertips dragging over ribs, like he was counting each one.
They’d done all this before— made out for hours in Eddie’s bed or the back of the van, hands roaming but always stopping before it went too far. But today felt different. More urgent. Steve’s hands mapped Eddie’s back, fingers tracing the bumps of his spine, the sharp angles of his shoulder blades, the softer skin at the small of his back where Eddie was ticklish. Every touch pulled small sounds from Eddie’s throat— gasps and sighs and broken syllables of Steve’s name.
Eddie trailed his kisses down his jaw, his neck, tongue darting out to taste the salt on Steve’s skin. Steve tilted his head back to give him more access, one hand fisted in Eddie’s hair while the other clutched at his shoulder. Eddie’s teeth scraped lightly over his Adam’s apple, and Steve’s hips jerked up automatically, seeking friction.
“Fuck,” Steve breathed.
Eddie pulled back to look at him, his pupils blown so wide there was barely any brown left. His lips were red and swollen, his hair a mess from Steve’s hands. “You okay?”
“More than okay.” Steve’s voice came out rougher than intended.
Steve pulled him back down, kissing him hard enough that their teeth clicked together his hands slid to Eddie’s waist, fingertips tracing the edge of his sweatpants, dipping just beneath the waistband to touch the heated skin there. Eddie’s breath hitched, his hips rolling down against Steve’s in a slow, deliberate grind that made Steve see stars.
They kissed until Steve’s lips felt bruised, until his hair was spread out on the pillow from all of Eddie’s tugging and stroking. They were both hard, panting, and blushing. Eddie ground down against him again, and Steve made a sound he’d probably be embarrassed about later— high, desperate, and needy. He rolled his hips back up, and he felt Eddie twitch against him through too many layers of fabric. Oh god, he couldn’t handle this. He was going to die. This was his last moment on Earth.
“Steve,” Eddie whispered, his voice gravelly. “Steve, wait.”
The thoughts in Steve’s head paused like an ugly record scratch. He blinked up at Eddie, trying to focus through the haze of want. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. I just—” Eddie sat up a little, still straddling Steve’s hips. His chest was heaving, skin flushed from his cheeks down to his collarbones. His hair was everywhere, and Steve wanted to pin him back down and never let him back up for air. “How far do you wanna take this?”
Steve’s brain was clouded with lust, his body thrumming with need. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…” Eddie’s cheeks were a deep red, his ears tipped pink. “We keep doing this, and every time it gets harder to stop. So I need to know what you’re comfortable with. What you want.”
No one had ever asked him that before. His heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t used to using his words like this. “I want—” He swallowed hard. “I want whatever you’ll give me. I just want you.”
Eddie’s eyes darkened, if that was even possible. They went from a delightful chocolate brown to almost black. “You’re sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” Steve pushed him back down by the small of his back, rolling firm and slow with his hips. “I trust you.”
Eddie let out a choked whine at the movement. His hands shook slightly as he pulled Steve’s shirt over his head, fingers catching on the fabric in his eagerness. Once it was off, Eddie’s hands were back on him immediately— palms sliding over Steve’s chest, thumbs brushing over his nipples and making Steve gasp. Eddie leaned down and replaced his thumb with his mouth, tongue flicking over the sensitive bud.
“You have to tell me if you want to stop,” Eddie murmured against Steve’s skin.
“Okay.”
Eddie worked at Steve’s belt, fumbling with the buckle. “This okay?” He checked in, lips grazing Steve’s other nipple, now.
Steve nodded, beyond words. His hands found their place back in Eddie’s hair, holding onto those curls like he was a ship and Eddie was his anchor.
Eddie kissed down his chest, tongue tracing the line of hair below Steve’s navel. He worked Steve’s jeans open, dragging them down along with his boxers. The cool air hit Steve’s exposed skin and he shivered. Eddie’s hands were on his thighs, spreading them wider, thumbs pressing into the sensitive skin on the inside. His mouth followed the path his hands had traced, kissing and biting and sucking marks into Steve’s skin where only they would see.
Eddie’s breath ghosted over Steve where he was hard and aching, and Steve’s hips jerked involuntarily. Eddie looked up at him, eyes hungry, and Steve had never felt so seen, so known, so completely undone.
“Please,” Steve whispered, not even sure what he was asking for.
Eddie smiled, soft and sweet and devastating, and then his mouth was on Steve’s cock. Steve’s back arched off the bed, a broken moan tearing from his throat. Eddie’s hands gripped his hips, holding him down as he worked. He took Steve apart with his lips and tongue, and the gentle scrape of teeth that had Steve gasping Eddie’s name like a prayer.
One of Eddie’s hands left Steve’s hip, fingers wrapping around the base of his cock as his mouth worked the rest. The other hand slid higher, palm flat against Steve’s stomach. He felt the way Steve’s muscles jumped and trembled under his touch. Steve was babbling now— nonsense words mixed with Eddie’s name, with “please” and “fuck” and “don’t stop”. His hands were tangled so tight in Eddie’s hair that it had to hurt.
Steve was close, so close, when Eddie suddenly pulled off. Steve made a sound of protest, hips lifting off the bed in search for that wet heat; the hands on his hips kept him still.
“Wait,” Eddie whispered, uncertain. Like he was gaining courage.
“What—” Steve blinked up at him, dazed and desperate. “Eddie, I was—”
“I know. I know, baby, I just—” Eddie crawled back up Steve’s body, settling between his legs. He pressed a kiss to Steve’s mouth, soft and sweet, but Steve could feel him trembling slightly. “Can I ask you something?”
Steve nodded, not trusting his voice.
Eddie’s hand came up to cup Steve’s face, thumb stroking over his cheekbone. His eyes were dark but vulnerable, scared in a way Steve had never seen. “Steve, have you ever…gone all the way with someone?”
Steve’s brow furrowed slightly. “I mean, yeah. I’ve been with girls before, Eds, you know that.” He laughed a bit, tilting his head not unlike a curious puppy.
“No, I mean…” Eddie’s cheeks flushed deeper. “I mean…with someone else on top. With someone inside you?”
Steve’s breath got stuck in his throat. His whole body went hot, then cold, then hot again. “No,” he whispered. “Never.”
“Okay. Okay.” Eddie’s hand was shaking slightly against Steve’s face. “Do you want— I mean, would you want to? With me?” The words came out faster now. “Because I want to. I’ve been thinking about it and I— but we don’t have to. We can keep doing what we’re doing, or stop, whatever you want. I just don’t wanna fuck this up by asking for too much.”
“Eddie.” Steve wrapped his fingers around Eddie’s wrist. “You’re not fucking anything up.”
Steve’s heart was racing so fast he thought it might rocket launch out of his chest. He’d thought about this, late at night when he couldn’t sleep. When he had his hand on himself and Eddie’s name on his lips. But thinking about it and doing it were very different things.
“I—” Steve hesitated. He cleared his throat. “Would it hurt?”
“A little, at first.” Eddie said honestly. “But I’ll go slow. We’ll use plenty of lube, and I’ll prep you first. Make sure you’re ready. And if at any point you need to stop, we’ll stop. No questions asked.”
Steve watched Eddie, the want clearly written on his face, but also the patience. The care. Eddie would wait. He’d be happy with whatever Steve wanted to give him.
“Okay,” Steve agreed.
Eddie’s eyes almost popped out of his skull. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Steve pulled him down for a kiss. “I want to. Want you inside me,” He whispered, lips brushing Eddie’s.
“Jesus, Steve.” Eddie rested his forehead against Steve’s, breathing hard. “You’re gonna kill me.”
“Don’t die yet,” Steve said, trying for humor although his hands were shaking. “You haven’t even started.”
Eddie laughed, soft and fond, and kissed him again. “Okay. Shit, just— give me a second.” He rolled off the bed and went to his nightstand, rummaging through the drawer. He came back with a bottle and a condom, setting them on the bed beside Steve.
“You keep lube in your nightstand?” Steve asked, eyebrow raised.
“I’m a nineteen-year-old guy, Steve. Of course I keep lube in my nightstand.” Eddie settled back between his legs, running his hands up Steve’s thighs. “Now stop distracting me. I’m trying to concentrate here.”
Eddie kissed him long and slow, waiting for Steve to relax back into the mattress. Then his mouth moved lower again, following the trail of marks he’d left for himself. This time when he took Steve in his mouth, it was brief— just enough to make Steve whimper and arch— before he pulled off again.
Steve felt Eddie’s hand, slick now, sliding between his legs. “Still okay?” Eddie murmured.
“Yeah,” Steve breathed. “I’m okay.”
“And you’ll tell me if anything hurts too much, or if you don’t like it, right?”
“Eddie, I already said I would. Stop freaking out,” He laughed sweetly, kissing Eddie to calm his nerves.
“Okay,” Eddie whispered, drunk off his kiss. He started with one finger, working it through the tight muscle with a terrified look on his face. The last thing he wanted was to hurt Steve. He watched his boyfriend’s face for any sign of discomfort.
It felt strange at first, foreign and a bit like he had to shit. Steve wouldn’t be found dead saying that though, found it far too unsexy. He attempted to say something, but only found himself groaning from the pressure. Eddie breathed out a laugh and started talking to fill the silence, low and soothing.
“You’re doing so good, baby,” Eddie assured, pressing chaste kisses to his lips. “So good for me. Just breathe.”
“Feels weird,” Steve admitted, his voice shaky.
“I know. It’ll get better, I promise.” Eddie’s free hand stroked down Steve’s hip, grounding him. “Just relax, let me take care of you.”
Steve focused on Eddie’s voice, on the warmth of his hand, how Eddie kept checking his face to make sure he was okay. Gradually, the strangeness faded into something more tolerable.
“There you go,” Eddie said softly, noticing his brows unfurrowing. “See? Not so bad.”
“Not so bad,” Steve agreed, breathless.
Eddie started to press in a second finger, and Steve tensed immediately. The stretch was more, it scared him—
“Hey, hey.” Eddie promptly stilled, his other hand coming up to cup Steve’s face. “Breathe, baby. I’ve got you.”
“Eddie—”
“I know. I know it’s a lot.” Eddie pressed light little kisses over his face, then on the tip of his nose. “But you’re doing such a good job. So perfect. Just need you to stay calm, okay?”
Steve forced himself to take a deep breath, then another. Eddie stayed perfectly still, giving him time to adjust, murmuring soft reassurances.
“That’s it,” Eddie encouraged. “Good. So good, Stevie.”
“Okay,” Steve managed. “Okay, you can—”
Eddie moved his fingers carefully, slowly searching.
“Oh, fuck!” Steve gasped, hips rolling down onto Eddie’s hand. “What— holy shit!”
“There it is,” Eddie grinned at him. “That’s your prostate, baby. Feels good, right?”
“Feels— Jesus, Eddie, do that again.”
Eddie did, stroking over that spot again and again until Steve was writhing on the bed, one hand fisted in the sheets, the other tangled in Eddie’s hair.
“Eddie, please—”
“Please what?” Eddie’s voice was teasing but warm.
“More. Need more. Need you.”
“Not yet,” Eddie mused, his voice singing the words out so sweetly it could have rotted Steve’s teeth. Eddie pressed a third finger in, watching him carefully. “Need to make sure you’re ready. Don’t wanna hurt you.”
“You won’t,” Steve insisted, even as he tensed at the additional stretch.
“Steve.” Eddie’s voice went serious. He stilled his hand again. “Look at me.”
Steve did, swallowing a lump in his throat.
“I need you to trust me on this, okay? I know what I’m doing. And I’m not gonna rush this.” Eddie’s eyes were soft, earnest. “I want this to be good for you. Want you to feel good. But you need to be good first. Can you be a good boy?” Eddie’s eyes shifted, and he whispered those words as he pressed another kiss to Steve’s lips.
Steve’s chest tightened with something that felt dangerously close to cardiac arrest.
“Yeah. I can.” Steve practically whimpered, his eyes shiny with the threat of tears.
“Good.” Eddie moved to kiss his temple. “I thought you’d say that.”
Eddie worked him open slowly, patiently, spreading out his fingers and kneading into that spot inside until Steve was a squirming mess and pleading for him.
“Eddie, please, I’m ready.”
“Almost,” Eddie promised. “Just a little more, baby. You’re so perfect.”
“Eddie…”
“I know. I know you want it.” Eddie’s voice was strained now, his own control clearly fraying. He thrusted them a few more times, testing, pressing a fourth just in case. It went easily, and Steve rolled his eyes back and let out a punched-out whine. “Oh,” Eddie whispered, a grin spreading across his cheeks. “There. Okay.” He pulled his fingers out carefully and wiped them on the sheets below them.
He reached over and grabbed the condom, ripping it open with his teeth only for it to rip just above the seal. “Fuck,” Eddie laughed, shaking his head. He grabbed the edges of the package and pulled them apart like a bag of chips, chuckling to himself as he pulled the condom out with his finger. “Sorry, sweetheart.” He gave Steve an apologetic look, only to get an unamused grunt in response.
“Last chance,” Eddie said, even though his hands were shaking as he rolled it on. “We can still stop.”
“I’m gonna fucking kill you,” Steve was laughing now, too, pulling him down for a bruising kiss. “Need you. Please.”
Eddie bumped their foreheads together as he lined himself up, one hand braced beside Steve’s head and the other guiding himself. “Look at me,” he whispered. “I want to see you.”
Steve met his eyes as Eddie pushed in, slow and careful. The stretch burned, more than fingers, more than he expected. He couldn’t help the pitiful sound that escaped his throat.
Eddie halted instantly. “Okay?”
“Yeah,” Steve huffed. “Just— gimme a second.”
Eddie held still, pressing more kisses to his face— his cheeks, his eyelids, his forehead— murmuring soft reassurances. When Steve finally nodded, Eddie pushed in further, inch by inch, until he bottomed out.
“Fuck,” Eddie whined against Steve’s neck. “You feel— Steve, you feel so good.”
Steve wrapped his arms around Eddie’s back, holding him close. The burn was fading now, replaced by a feeling of fullness that made his heart skip a beat. “You can move.” He was practically begging rather than telling.
Eddie started slow, pulling out and pushing back in with careful, measured thrusts. His hand found Steve’s fingers lacing together and pinning it to the mattress beside Steve’s head. Each movement sent sparks of pleasure up Steve’s spine.
“That’s it,” Eddie grunted, picking up his pace slightly. “God, Steve, you’re so beautiful. So perfect for me.”
Steve’s free hand slid into Eddie’s hair, pulling it as he leaned up for a messy kiss. Their rhythm built together, Eddie’s thrusts getting deeper, faster, and Steve meeting each one. The room filled with the sound of skin on skin and breathless gasps. Every movement sent jolts of pleasure through Steve’s body, the intensity building with each thrust. Steve’s cock dripped against his stomach and twitched in neglect, causing Steve to hiccup and arch his back off the bed. Eddie adjusted his grip on Steve’s thigh, holding him steady as he drove into him again and again, relentless. Perfect.
“Just like that.” Eddie panted into Steve’s mouth. “Oh god, you look so good like this. Taking me so well. Made for this, huh? You like taking my cock, honey?” He asked, trying to sound domineering but mostly just sounding like he ran up three flights of stairs.
Steve couldn’t form words anymore, could only hold on as pleasure built low in his spine, spreading through his limbs like fire. Every nerve ending was alight, every thrust like fireworks behind his eyes. Eddie’s hand was sweating against his, squeezing tight, grounding him even as he felt like he was about to fly away.
He didn’t think it could get any better, didn’t think that Eddie could possibly do anything else to raise the stakes. He was wrong. Eddie’s free hand slid down Steve’s side, over his hip, his thighs, then back up to grip his waist. He started pulling him into each thrust, thoroughly knocking the wind out of Steve’s body.
“Eddie,” Steve gasped. “Eddie, I’m close.”
“Me too,” Eddie groaned. His rhythm was getting erratic, his breathing ragged. “So close, baby. You feel so— fuck—”
Eddie wrapped his hand around Steve’s cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation was too much— the fullness of Eddie inside him, the pressure of his hand on him, the way Eddie was looking at him like he held his heart in his hand.
Steve came with a stream of sounds, spilling onto his stomach and chest. “Ah, ah, ah!” His whole body tensed and shuddered, clenching around Eddie.
Eddie followed moments later, burying his face in Steve’s neck as he came, Steve’s name falling from his lips like a mantra. His hips stuttered, pressing deep and holding there as his come pooled into the tip of the condom.
They lay there for a moment, both breathing hard, hearts racing against each other. Eddie pressed a kiss to Steve’s shoulder before carefully pulling out. Steve winced at the feeling, suddenly empty.
“Sorry,” Eddie mumbled, pulling the condom off and tying it. He tossed it in the trashcan by his bed before settling back beside Steve and pulling him close. “You okay?”
“I’m great.” Steve turned to look at him. “You?”
Eddie’s expression went melty, looking like he could cry. “Yeah,” He strained, snuggling in tighter.
They stayed tangled together in the mess of sheets for a while after. Eddie’s head nestled on Steve’s chest, listening to his heartbeat slow. Steve braided a section of his hair delicately, both of them feeling boneless. Wrung out, completely satisfied.
“That was intense.” Steve snickered weakly, barely able to come up with anything else.
“Yeah.” Eddie pressed a kiss to Steve’s pec. He caught a whiff while he was there. He smelled sweet still, somehow, even through the stench of sweat and sex. Like vanilla, and a hint of lemon. “It was.”
Steve leaned down to kiss his face, right between his eyebrows. “Have you ever done this before? With another guy?”
“Once. With a guy from Indy that I met at some dive bar. It was…fine. Not like this.” Eddie’s voice was open in a way that made Steve ache. He traced patterns on Steve’s skin, hearts and stars and words Steve couldn’t quite make out. “Nothing’s ever been like this.”
Steve tilted his head up to look at him. “What makes this different?”
“You.” Eddie cupped his face, thumb stroking his cheekbone. “It’s always been you.”
Steve wanted to say it back, wanted to tell Eddie exactly how he felt, but the words stuck in his throat. “Eddie…”
“It’s okay if you don’t feel the same.” Eddie added, rushed and a bit worried.
But Steve did feel the same. The words were right there, pressing against his teeth, fighting his tongue, wanting to escape. “I do. You’re it for me, Eds. I’ve never been with anyone that makes me feel so…”
Eddie cut him off by pressing their lips together, slow and sweet and full of promise. Steve felt peace settle in his bones— it felt like home.
November 1985
“I’m telling you, it’s not that hard,” Steve said, tying an apron around his waist. Eddie’s kitchen was a disaster waiting to happen, but Steve was determined.
“Harrington, I’ve literally set water on fire before. This is a bad idea.” Eddie leaned against the counter, arms crossed, looking amused.
“You can’t set water on fire. That’s physically impossible.”
“You underestimate my ability to fuck up basic tasks, sweetheart.”
Steve rolled his eyes and pulled out the ingredients he’d brought— pasta, sauce, hamburger. “We’re making spaghetti. Even you can’t mess up spaghetti.”
“Challenge accepted.”
It turns out Eddie could, in fact, mess up spaghetti. He put the pasta in before the water was boiling, didn’t stir it enough so it stuck to the bottom of the pan, and somehow managed to splatter tomato sauce all over his shirt.
“How did you even—” Steve stared at the sauce currently on the ceiling. “That’s impressive, actually.”
“Told you.” Eddie looked completely unrepentant, sauce on his cheek and in his hair.
Steve couldn’t help it, he laughed. Really laughed, the kind that made his stomach hurt. Eddie joined in, and soon they were both doubled over, tears streaming down their faces.
“Okay, new plan,” Steve said when he could breathe again. “I cook. You sit there and look pretty.”
“I can do that.” Eddie hopped up on the counter, swinging his legs. “I’m very good at looking pretty.”
“You really are,” Steve said without thinking, then felt his face heat when Eddie’s own went tender.
Steve cooked while Eddie sat on the counter and talked— rambling about Hellfire, the new Metallica album coming out in March, about how Wayne actually smiled the other day when Eddie told him he was thinking about going to community college. Steve listened and stirred and felt absurdly happy doing something as mundane as making dinner.
When the pasta was done, they ate sitting on the floor of Eddie’s room with the plates balanced on their laps, some metal album playing quietly in the background. Eddie declared it the best spaghetti he’d ever had, and Steve was pretty sure he was exaggerating, but it didn’t matter.
“We should do this more,” Eddie said, twirling noodles around his fork. “The cooking thing. Or, you cooking while I provide moral support.”
“Moral support, huh? Is that what we’re calling it?”
“Hey! I’ll have you know, my commentary was extremely useful.”
Steve bumped their shoulders together. “Sure it was.”
They did the dishes together after, Steve washing and Eddie drying. It felt so easy. Like they’d been doing this for years rather than months. Eddie kept flicking soap bubbles at him, and Steve retaliated by splashing him with water. By the end they were both soaked and laughing.
Mid-November
“This is a terrible movie,” Eddie complained, throwing popcorn at the TV.
“It’s a classic!” Steve protested. They were sprawled on the couch, Wayne at work, a horror movie playing on their tiny television.
“It’s terrible. The acting is bad, the effects are worse, and the plot makes no sense!”
“That’s what makes it good.”
Eddie threw more popcorn, this time at Steve. “Your taste in movies is just as bad as your taste in music before I got my hands on it.”
Steve tackled him, pinning him to the cushions. Eddie’s breath huffed out in a surprised laugh, jis hands coming up to grip Steve’s shoulders.
“Take that back!” Steve demanded.
“Never.” Eddie was grinning up at him, hair spread across the pillow, and Steve forgot what they were arguing about.
He leaned down and kissed him instead.
Eddie’s response was immediate— his mouth opening under Steve’s, welcoming him in. Steve could taste the butter from the popcorn on Eddie’s lips, could feel the way Eddie’s pulse jumped under his fingertips where they pressed against his throat. The kiss started playful but quickly turned heated, Eddie’s hands sliding down Steve’s back to grab his ass and pull him closer.
They made out through the rest of the movie, the screaming on screen becoming white noise. Steve’s shirt disappeared first, Eddie yanking it over his head impatiently, followed quickly by Eddie’s own. Skin met skin and Steve groaned into Eddie’s mouth at the contact. Eddie’s chest was warm beneath him, already a little damp with sweat. Steve couldn’t resist dragging his lips down to taste the salt there.
Eddie’s hands roamed everywhere— threading through Steve’s hair, gripping his shoulders, sliding down to squeeze his ass through his jeans. When Steve bit down gently on Eddie’s collarbone, Eddie’s whole body jerked beneath him.
“Fuck, Steve,” Eddie panted. “Get up here.”
Steve kissed his way back up to Eddie’s mouth, but Eddie was already shifting, rolling them so he straddled Steve’s waist. He looked down at Steve with hooded eyes, hair framing his face. Steve couldn’t believe his life; he’d never seen anything hotter than the man on top of him.
Eddie ground down deliberately, the friction of denim on denim making Steve’s eyes roll back. “Feel what you do to me?” Eddie asked, his voice low and rough.
“Yeah,” Steve managed, his hands gripping Eddie’s thighs hard enough to bruise. “Yeah, I feel it.”
Eddie started moving in earnest then, a slow rolling grind that had Steve panting. But it wasn’t enough— too many layers between them. (There were always too many layers, in Steve’s opinion). Steve fumbled with Eddie’s belt buckle, cursing when his fingers wouldn’t cooperate.
“Let me,” Eddie said, amused. He made quick work of both their pants, shoving them down just enough to free themselves. When Eddie’s hand wrapped around both of them together, Steve nearly came off the couch.
“Jesus Christ—”
“Shh,” Eddie murmured, his free hand coming up to cover Steve’s mouth. “Wayne’s neighbors are nosy.”
Which, bullshit. If they didn’t know what Eddie was up to in here by now, they were full of it. Steve bit gently at Eddie’s palm in retort, making him laugh. Then Eddie started stroking them both together and all coherent thought fled Steve’s brain. The slide was perfect, hot and slick. Eddie’s hand was practiced, confident, finding the rhythm that made Steve’s toes curl.
Steve’s hips jerked up involuntarily, a choked sound escaping his throat. Eddie’s fingers squeezed tighter, his grip firm as he stroked up from the base, slow and deliberate. When he reached the top, he twisted his wrist slightly, his palm rolling over both their heads before sliding back down.
“Ah, fuck,” Steve gasped out, the curse breaking into a moan halfway through. The technique felt punishing.
“Fuck, you’re so hard,” Eddie muttered, his voice trembling. He adjusted his hold, fingers repositioning to get a better grip on both of them. His thumb pressed along the underside as he stroked upward again, finding that sensitive spot that made Steve’s thighs snap shut.
“Ah-ah-ah,” Eddie tsked, forcing his thigh open with a slide of his knee between his legs.
“Oh God, oh God,” Steve whimpered, his head tipping back at the restraint. The sound was embarrassing, needy, but he couldn’t stop it.
Eddie’s free hand moved to trail down Steve’s chest, fingers splaying wide before drifting lower. He braced himself against Steve’s hip, using the leverage to pump them both faster. Each stroke was purposeful— base to tip and back again, maintaining steady pressure that had Steve leaking his pre all over Eddie’s hand.
“Look at you,” Eddie breathed against his ear, infatuated. “So fucking perfect like this.” His hand moved faster, the rhythm becoming more urgent. He swiped his thumb across their tips again, gathering the wetness there and spreading it down with the next stroke, making everything slicker, easier.
Steve made a noise that was half-sob, half-moan, his breath coming in short little gasps now. “Eddie— unh, Eddie, please—”
Eddie shifted his weight, getting his whole body into the motion now. His forearm flexed with each movement, tendons standing out. He grunted with the effort, letting out quiet little noises into Steve’s ear. He could barely handle it— that was almost enough to make him come in itself.
“Yes— fuck, yes,” Steve whined, the words tumbling out uncontrolled. His voice had gone high and breathy, desperate.
“You gonna come for me, Stevie?” Eddie teased, breath hot against Steve’s neck. “Probably have to think about it, mm? Can you use your brain, sweetie?”
Which…no. No, he could not.
“Uh,” Steve huffed out, unsure if that was a moan or an attempt at an answer.
Eddie’s stroked became more deliberate, tighter on the upstroke, loosening slightly on the way down before tightening again. The variation in pressure was maddening.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck, Eddie—” Steve’s words dissolved into incoherent noises, broken words, and gasps. His fingers dug into Eddie’s hip hard enough to leave little crescent moons from his nails in the skin.
Eddie groaned at the sweet bite of pain, hips jerking forward into his own fist, adding momentum. “That’s it, ah, just like that,” he panted, working them both tighter now, his grip almost too tight, almost too much, but exactly what Steve needed.
“Can’t— I can’t—” Steve struggled, his voice wet from emotion. “Too much, it’s— hah!” The last word came out as a sharp cry when Eddie twisted his hand just right to rub around his tip.
Eddie’s hand focused there now, the palm curved around their heads and rolling there. His wrist flicked at the top of each motion. “Come on, baby, let go,” he urged, his other hand coming up to cup the base of Steve’s neck, holding him close.
Steve let out a long, drawn-out moan that he barely managed to muffle against Eddie’s shoulder. He watched Eddie’s face as he worked them both— the concentration there, the flush spreading down his neck, the way his lips parted with each exhale. Beautiful. Eddie was so fucking beautiful it made his chest ache.
“Come on, baby,” Eddie coaxed, his thumb swiping over the head of Steve’s cock. “Let me see you.”
Steve came with a strangled gasp, his release spilling over Eddie’s hand. Eddie followed moments after, his head falling forward to rest against Steve’s shoulder as he quivered through it.
They stayed like that for a moment, catching their breath. Eddie lifted his head and kissed Steve— soft and sweet, so different from moments before.
“Couch is a mess,” Steve observed eventually.
“Future problem,” Eddie decided, already moving off Steve and tugging him toward the bedroom. “Come on.”
Once in Eddie’s room, they cleaned up quickly— Eddie with a damp washcloth, efficient and gentle. They collapsed onto the bed, Steve on his back and Eddie immediately plastering himself to Steve’s side.
“Hi,” Eddie murmured, pressing a soft kiss to Steve’s shoulder.
“Hi yourself.” Steve’s fingers carded through Eddie’s hair, careful and soothing.
Eddie hummed contentedly, nuzzling closer. “You know, I had a whole different plan for tonight.”
“Oh yeah? What kind of plan?”
“Was gonna take my time with you.” Eddie’s hand splayed across Steve’s chest, right over his heart. “Get my mouth on you properly. Make you fall apart so slow you wouldn’t know which way was up. Wanted to hear you say my name again, all desperate and needy.”
Steve almost choked on his breath. “That so?”
“Mm-hmm. Had it all mapped out.” Eddie pressed a kiss to Steve’s collarbone. “Was gonna worship every inch of you until you couldn’t remember anyone else who’d ever touched you. But then you had to go and tackle me on the couch like some kind of animal.”
“You threw popcorn at me!”
“And you retaliated with violence.” Eddie grinned against his skin, teeth grazing lightly. “I like it when you get aggressive, though. When you forget to be all smooth and charming and take what you want.”
Steve laughed, his hand sliding down to squeeze Eddie’s hip hard enough to make him gasp. “Like that?”
“Exactly like that,” Eddie breathed. “See? You’re learning.”
“Learning what?”
“That you don’t have to be gentle with me. I won’t break.” Eddie nipped at his jaw. “In fact, I’m pretty sturdy. You could throw me around a little, I’d be into it.”
“Jesus, Eddie.” Steve’s face heated.
“What? It’s true.” Eddie propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at Steve with mischief in his eyes. “You’re so careful with me sometimes. Like I’m made of glass. But I’m not, Steve. I’m made of much tougher stuff than that.”
“I know you are,” Steve said sweetly, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind Eddie’s ear. “But I like being careful with you. I like making you feel good.”
Eddie’s expression softened. “You do. You always do.” Then, with a wicked grin: “But you know what would make me feel really good? You using some of that jock strength on me once in a while. Really manhandling me. Maybe pinning me down as you ride me? Hm?”
“Oh my God, you’re ridiculous.”
“You love it,” Eddie said, utterly confident. “I love making you feel good too, y’know. Any way I can.”
Steve’s chest tightened with affection. He pulled Eddie up for a slow, sweet kiss. “You always make me feel good. Even just being here with you like this.”
“Yeah?” Eddie’s smile was warm, unguarded.
“Yeah.” Steve kissed him again. “You’re everything, remember?”
Eddie’s eyes went soft. “Sap.”
“Your sap.”
“Yeah,” Eddie agreed quietly. “Mine. And I’m yours. Which means, I get to tell you all the filthy things I want to do to you, and you have to listen.”
“Oh, I have to, do I?”
“It’s in the boyfriend rules,” Eddie said matter-of-factly. “I checked.”
“There are boyfriend rules?”
“Absolutely. Rule one: you have to let me tell you how gorgeous you are when you come. Rule two: you have to let me kiss you whenever I want. Rule three—”
Steve kissed him, cutting off the list. When they pulled apart, both smiling, Eddie settled back against his side with a satisfied hum.
They lay quiet for a moment, foreheads pressed together, just breathing each other in. Eddie’s thumb traced gentle circles over Steve’s ribs.
“Your turn,” Steve decided eventually, his hand trailing down Eddie’s stomach.
Eddie caught his hand, brought it to his lips. “Already took care of that, if you didn’t notice.”
“I mean properly,” He teased, mocking the word Eddie used prior. Steve pushed Eddie onto his back and settled between his legs. “Let me.”
Eddie’s eyes went wide. “Steve you don’t have to—”
“I want to,” Steve interrupted. He pressed a kiss to Eddie’s hip, then looked up at him.
Eddie’s breath stuttered. “You sure?”
“Positive.” Steve kissed lower, his hands running up Eddie’s thighs. “Tell me what you like. I wanna know what makes you crazy.”
“I— fuck.” Eddie’s head fell back against the pillow. “Everything. Anything you do, I like. You could probably just breathe on me and I’d lose it.”
“That’s not helpful, Eds.”
“You want helpful? I’m supposed to be coherent when you’re between my legs looking at me like that? Like you wanna devour me?”
“Maybe I do,” Steve said, surprising himself with his own boldness. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to Eddie’s inner thigh, high enough to tickle. “Maybe I want to make you as desperate as you make me.”
“Oh, God,” Eddie whined, swallowing a lump in his throat.
“Yeah?” Steve grinned up at him. “You like when I talk like that?”
“You know I do, asshole.” Eddie’s fingers tangled in the sheets. “You can’t just— you can’t say things like that and expect me to—” His words cut off with a gasp as Steve wrapped his hand around him.
Steve hadn’t done this before, not to anyone but himself. Eddie’d done this enough times now to give him some idea of what to do, though. He started with his hand first, slow strokes to get Eddie fully hard again— which didn’t take long at all. Eddie was responsive, his hips lifting into Steve’s touch, soft sounds escaping his throat that made Steve’s own body respond in kind.
“Doing good?” Steve asked, cataloguing every reaction.
“So good,” Eddie wrangled out. “You have no idea— your hands…”
“What about them?”
“They’re— big, and strong. Perfect.” Eddie’s fingers flexed against the sheets. “Can’t believe I get to have this. Have you.”
The words made warmth bloom in Steve’s body. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Eddie’s hip bone, then lower, his breath ghosting over sensitive skin.
Eddie’s hand immediately flew to Steve’s hair, fingers tangling but not pushing. “Steve—”
“This okay?” Steve asked, glancing up through his lashes in a way he knew would drive Eddie crazy— it always made Steve come a little faster when girls had done it to him.
“Yeah. God, yes. Just—” Eddie swallowed, gathering himself. “Go slow? I want to remember every second of this. Want to remember exactly how you look right now.”
“How do I look?” Steve questioned, genuinely curious.
“Like sin.” Eddie was delighted as he spoke the words. “Like every fantasy I’ve ever had come to life. Like you’re mine.”
“I am yours,” Steve said simply, then took Eddie in his mouth.
Steve went slowly, focusing on what made Eddie react. His breathing changed, he noticed, when Steve hollowed his cheeks. His fingers tightened when Steve flicked his tongue against his tip just right. His thighs trembled when Steve took him to the hilt, testing his own limits.
“Jesus, Steve,” Eddie panted. “You’re— that’s so good— you’re so good at this, baby. How are you so good already?”
Steve pulled off briefly, his hand continuing the work. “Tell me what to do. What you want.”
“You’re already doing it, baby. You’re doing everything right.” Eddie’s voice was wrecked already. Steve gave him a look, unamused with his answer. Eddie laughed, the sound deliciously crackling. “Just… a little more pressure with your…” Steve dove back in, tongue rubbing firmly at his cock as he bobbed his head. “Oh, fuck. Yes, like that.”
Steve found a rhythm, encouraged by every gasp and moan falling from Eddie’s lips. Eddie’s hands stayed in his hair, a constant and guiding pressure, occasionally pulling when Steve did something particularly good. The weight of it grounded Steve, made him feel connected to every reaction he was pulling from Eddie’s body.
“God, Steve, your mouth—” Eddie’s hips jerked slightly. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to.”
Steve pulled off again, looking up at him. “You can move. I want you to move. Want you to fuck my throat.”
“You’re trying to kill me,” Eddie accused. “You’re actually trying to kill me— ohhh, God!”
Steve took him deep, sucking nice and tight, and Eddie’s control visibly frayed. Steve watched, fascinated, as Eddie started to lose the ability to form coherent sentence. The dirty talk dissolved into broken sounds, half-formed words that didn’t quite connect.
“Steve, fuck— I can’t— ahh, hah—” Eddie’s head thrashed against the pillow, his free hand squeezing the sheets so hard his knuckles went white. “Please— I need…”
Steve pulled back slightly, using his tongue in the way that had made Eddie curse earlier, then took him deeper again. Eddie’s thighs were trembling on either side of Steve’s shoulder now, his whole body taut as a bowstring.
“Look at me,” Steve said, pulling off just enough to speak.
Eddie’s eyes opened, hazy and unfocused, and the look on his face— that was enough to nearly make Steve bust in his pants.
“That’s it. Wanna see you.”
He took Eddie back in his mouth, and watched the metalhead completely fall apart above him. The fingers in his hair went slack, then tightened again, then slack, like Eddie couldn’t remember how to control his own body. His mouth hung open, small whimpers and gasps escaping with each breath.
“Steve—” It came out barely a sound, broken and pleading. “Steve, please, I’m— I can’t—”
Steve doubled his efforts, using everything he’d learned. He hollowed his cheeks, swirled his tongue, took him as deep as he could manage. Eddie’s hips started moving in small, aborted thrusts, like he was trying to hold back but couldn’t anymore.
“Let go,” Steve said, pulling off again for just a second. It got him a perturbed noise. “I know. Want you to let go, Eds.”
Eddie made a sound that was almost a sob. “Steve— oh, fuck— I’m gonna—”
His whole body went rigid, every muscle locked tight. His hand in Steve’s hair clenched, almost painful now, but still not pushing or pulling— just holding on like Steve was the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground. His other hand had abandoned the sheets entirely to press against his own mouth, trying and failing to muffle the sounds tearing from his throat. Steve was impressed that he had lasted this long, hadn’t shot down his throat all hot and heavy. Gathered, Steve had interrupted the process multiple times.
“Steve, I’m close,” Eddie warned, his voice tight and desperate and higher than Steve had ever heard it. “You don’t have to— if you wanna stop— I won’t be offended, ah! Please, I can’t hold—”
Steve didn’t stop this time. He wanted this. Wanted to give Eddie everything, wanted to be the reason Eddie lost his mind— wanted to taste him, to reduce him to this— pliant, desperate, and pathetic.
Eddie came with a groan, his whole body shaking. His fingers flexed in Steve’s hair, gentle even now, even in this. His hips jerked once, twice, then he went completely limp, melting into the mattress like a puppet with cut strings.
Steve worked him through it carefully, holding his cock in his hand after taking the bulk of the load down his throat. He rubbed slow circles at his tip, enamored by how it just kept oozing out of him, sticky and begging to be licked away.
Steve pulled back when Eddie whimpered just on the wrong side of overstimulated. Eddie’s eyes were closed, his chest heaving, and there were actual tear tracks on his cheeks.
“Eddie?” Steve asked, suddenly worried. “You okay?”
Eddie’s eyes fluttered open, unfocused and glassy. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a broken groan. He tried again. “I— you— fuck.” He was clearly frustrated.
Steve sat back, coughing slightly and wiping the excess of Eddie’s release from his mouth. Before he could say anything, Eddie was pulling at him with shaking hands, kissing him desperately despite— or maybe because of the mess.
When they broke apart, Eddie’s eyes were wet, his face flushed. He looked completely wrecked in the best way. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again.
“I love you,” Eddie whispered, his voice raw and broken and more honest than Steve had ever heard it.
Steve’s whole world stopped. He felt like he was going to see white, see an angel descend to take him now. “Eddie—”
“I know it’s— I know we haven’t said it yet, but I…” Eddie’s hands came up to cup Steve’s face, thumbs stroking over his cheekbones. “I love you. I had to tell you. Had to— you make me feel—” He couldn’t seem to finish the sentence, eyes searching Steve’s face desperately for some kind of answer.
“I love you, too,” Steve said, and watched Eddie’s entire expression transform. “God, Eddie, I love you so much.”
Eddie kissed him again, slower this time, pouring everything into it. When they pulled apart, he was smiling through the tears still tracking down his face.
“Yeah?” Eddie’s voice was so small, so fragile.
“Yeah.” Steve kissed his forehead, his cheeks, the tip of his nose. “I love you. I’m in love with you.”
Eddie pulled Steve down on top of him, arms wrapping tight around his back. They lay in silence, just holding each other, hearts racing in tandem.
“Say it again,” Eddie whispered into Steve’s hair.
“I love you.”
“Again.”
“Mmm,” Steve hummed, pressing a kiss to his lips for every next word. “I love you,” kiss, “I love you,” kiss, “I love you.” Kiss.
Eddie’s arms tightened around him. “I love you, too. So much it scares me sometimes.”
“Me too,” Steve admitted quietly.
They stayed tangled together, exchanging soft kisses and softer words, until Eddie’s breathing finally evened out and his grip loosened. Steve shifted to look at him— relaxed and content, a small smile still playing at his lips even as his eyes drifted closed.
“Still think the movie was terrible?” Steve asked a little while later.
“What movie?” Eddie mumbled, already half-asleep, then yelped in protest when Steve pinched his side gently.
They fell asleep like that— Eddie on his back, Steve half on top of him, legs slotted together. In the living room, the TV had gone to static hours ago, but neither of them noticed or cared.
Early December 1985
Steve had met Wayne a few times in passing— quick hellos when he was dropping Eddie off or picking him up. But he’d never actually talked to him. Not really. Not as Eddie’s…whatever he was.
“He’s gonna be home in like, twenty minutes,” Eddie fretted, pacing his room. “You should probably go.”
“Or I could stay?” Steve offered. “I mean, I’m here all the time anyway. He’s gotta be suspicious.”
“Yeah, that you’re here to buy weed.”
“Eddie.” Steve caught his hand, stopping his pacing. “I want to meet him. Properly.”
Eddie looked terrified. “Steve, we can’t— he can’t know about…”
“I know. I’m not saying we tell him. I’m just saying…I could stay for dinner. As your friend. Let him get to know me.”
Eddie searched his face for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “Okay. Yeah. Okay.”
Wayne came home to find them playing cards at the kitchen table, deep in some complicated game Steve was definitely losing on purpose. He paused in the doorway, surprised.
“Wayne, you know Steve Harrington, right?” Eddie said, trying for casual and almost pulling it off.
“Course I do.” Wayne set down his lunch box and shook Steve’s hand. His grip was firm, his eyes assessing. “You’re here a lot.”
“Yes, sir. Eddie was just— we were just hanging out.” Steve tried not to sound nervous. Way to go, Harrington. He was usually so cool with parents. Why couldn’t he do this now?
Wayne looked between them, and Steve was certain he could see right though them. But all he said was, “You boys hungry? I was gonna make some sandwiches.”
“I should probably go—” Steve started, but Wayne waved him off.
“Stay. You’re already here.”
They ate at the tiny kitchen table, Wayne asking Steve about work and school and life. Steve answered carefully, aware of Eddie radiating anxiety beside him. But Wayne was kind— gruff and quiet, but there was a warmth in his eyes when he looked at Eddie.
Eddie disappeared into the bathroom as Steve and Wayne started to clean up. That was when Wayne chose to strike, turning to Steve and speaking lowly.
“You’re good for him,” He admitted. “Haven’t seen him this happy in a long time.”
Steve’s throat nearly closed. “Sir, I—”
“Don’t gotta explain anything to me, son.” Wayne grabbed a beer from the fridge. “Just keep making him happy. That’s all I care about.”
Steve nodded, not trusting his voice.
When Eddie came back, Wayne announced that he was going to bed— early shift tomorrow. He paused in the doorway, looking back at them.
“Steve, you’re welcome here anytime. Door’s always open.”
“Thank you, sir.”
After Wayne left, Eddie collapsed into a chair. “I think I just had a heart attack.”
“He knows.”
“What?” Eddie raised his eyebrows, fear flashing over his eyes.
“He knows. About us. He pretty much said so.”
Eddie stared at him, eyes wide. “And he’s…okay with it?”
“I think so.” Steve reached across the table and took Eddie’s hand. “He said to keep making you happy.”
Eddie’s eyes were wet now. “Shit. Really?”
“Really.”
Eddie laughed, slightly hysterical, and Steve came around the table to pull him into a hug. They stood there in the kitchen for a long time, just holding each other, and Steve felt the weight in his chest finally ease.
Maybe they could do this. Maybe it would all be okay.
New Year’s Eve 1985
Winter hit Hawkins hard that year, snow piling up on the streets and ice making everything treacherous. Still, Steve showed up at Eddie’s trailer at nine o'clock, a six-pack under one arm and a bag of takeout Chinese food in the other. Wayne was working the overnight shift at the plant, which meant they had the place to themselves— a luxury they’d learned not to take for granted.
Eddie answered the door in sweatpants and an old Judas Priest shirt, his hair pulled up in a messy bun. Steve’s heart did that stupid fluttering thing it always did when Eddie looked soft like this.
“You brought food,” Eddie noted, taking the bag and peering inside. “You sure know the way to my heart, Harrington.”
“Pretty sure I already have your heart,” Steve teased, following him inside and toeing off his shoes.
“Cocky.” But Eddie was smiling as he started unpacking the containers. “You’re not wrong, but still. Cocky.”
They ate sitting on the floor rather than on the couch, Eddie’s tiny TV playing Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve with the volume low. Eddie had retrieved every blanket and pillow he owned, creating a nest of softness that they settled into after dinner. It kind of reminded Steve of Thanksgiving and Christmas with his cousins as a kid. They’d always grab every blanket in the house and make a fort out of them around the bunk beds in their room.
“I can’t believe the year’s almost over,” Steve sighed, leaning back against the couch with Eddie tucked into his side.
“Good riddance to it, honestly.” Eddie played with Steve’s fingers, tracing the lines of his palm. “Started out pretty shit.”
“Yeah, but it got better.”
“Yeah.” Eddie tilted his head up to look at him. “It did.”
Steve pressed a kiss to his forehead. They’d been together for almost four full months now— still secret, careful, but somehow more real than anything Steve had ever had. Four months of stolen moments and late-night phone calls and learning how to love without the whole world knowing about it.
“What are you thinking about?” Eddie asked.
“Mm, you,” Steve said honestly, which made Eddie quirk the corner of his mouth up and start to work kisses on his neck. “Hey, no, not like that,” Steve laughed out, shaking his head as Eddie whined and thunked his head into his shoulder. “I was thinking about us, mostly. Everything’s so different than last New Year’s.”
“Different how?”
Steve thought back. “I think I went to some party at Tommy H.’s house. Got drunk, made out with some girl whose name I don’t remember, probably. Woke up hungover on their bathroom floor.”
Eddie snorted. “Glamorous.”
“Yeah,” Steve grimaced. “What about you?”
“Spent it with the band. We played this basement show that like, twelve people came to? Got paid in beer and pizza.” Eddie grinned. “Actually, that was a pretty good night.”
“Better than this?”
“Are you kidding?” Eddie shifted so he could face Steve. “This is perfect. This is the best New Year’s I’ve ever had.”
“It’s not even midnight yet,” Steve pointed out.
“Don’t care. Already the best, because I have you.” Eddie pressed a sweet kiss to his lips before settling back into his side.
They sat in comfortable silence, watching the performances on TV. Eddie got up at some point to grab more beer and came back with a stack of magazines.
“What are those?” Steve asked.
“City guides! Travel magazines. I’ve been collecting them.” Eddie spread them out on the floor— glossy pages featuring San Francisco, Seattle, Chicago, New York. “Figured we could…do some research. I was serious when I said I wanted to get out of here someday. And I want you to come with me.”
Steve found himself grinning ear to ear as he picked one up about San Francisco, flipping through pages of Victorian houses and cable cars and crowds of people. “You really think about this a lot, don’t you?”
“All the time.” Eddie leaned over his shoulder, pointing at a photo of the Castro district. “Look at that. People just being themselves? Walking down the street holding hands. Can you imagine?”
Steve couldn’t, really. It seemed too impossible, too far from the reality of Hawkins. But the hope in Eddie’s voice, the light in his eyes, made him want to believe. “Which city do you want the most?”
“Honestly? I don’t care as long as you’re there.” Eddie pulled out another magazine, this one dog-eared and well-worn. “But San Francisco seems good. Big music scene. Lots of weirdos like me. And it’s about as far from Indiana as we can get without leaving the country.”
They spent the next hour poring over the magazines, Eddie pointing out venues where his band could play, Steve finding listings for jobs and apartments. It was fantasy, mostly— they had no money saved, no real plan— but it felt good to dream out loud together.
“Look at this,” Steve said, showing Eddie a photo of a tiny studio apartment with huge windows. “It says it’s affordable.”
Eddie guffawed. “That’s what they all say. We’ll probably end up in some shithole with a degraded bathroom down the hall. No toilet— we’ll actually be shitting into a hole.” Eddie tilted his head in amusement as Steve didn’t even bat an eye.
“I don’t care,” Steve said honestly. “As long as its ours.”
Eddie looked at him for a long moment, something vulnerable in his eyes. “Yeah. As long as it’s ours.”
Steve kissed him, pressing him down on the floor now. “It’s perfect,” he said against Eddie’s lips. “You’re perfect.”
“You really think so?”
“I know so.”
Eddie looked over to the TV, raising his eyebrows as he noticed the 20 second countdown. “Shit!!” He scrambled up to grab his beer, Steve doing the same. They watched it go down, Eddie sprawled half on top of Steve, both of them warm and comfortable and happy. When Dick Clark appeared on screen to start the final countdown, Eddie stood up and grabbed Steve’s hand.
“Ten! Nine! Eight!” The crowd on TV chanted.
“This is it, Stevie,” Eddie said, grinning.
“Seven! Six! Five!”
“86, baby!” Eddie shouted at four, and Steve laughed, pressing in close as Eddie kept him attached at the hip.
“Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!”
Eddie kissed him the second the clock struck midnight— soft and sweet and full of passion. When they pulled apart, Eddie was still beaming.
“Happy New Year, Steve.”
“Happy New Year, Eds.”
Eddie cupped Steve’s face in his hands, thumbs stroking over his cheekbones. His eyes were bright, hopeful in a way that made Steve’s chest ache. “This is gonna be our year,” Eddie said with absolute certainty. “I can feel it. This is gonna be the year everything changes.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I’m gonna graduate, and then we’re getting the hell out of Hawkins.” Eddie pressed their foreheads together. “You, me, and whatever future we want. No more hiding. No more sneaking around. Just us, living our lives wherever we land.”
Steve wanted it so badly it hurt. “Promise?”
“Promise.” Eddie kissed him again.
Steve pulled him close, holding him tight at the hips. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” Eddie settled back against him, head on Steve’s shoulder. “So much.”
They stayed up even later talking about their plans. Eddie painted pictures with his words, making it all seem so real, so possible. And wrapped up in blankets in Eddie’s trailer with the new year stretching out before them, Steve let himself believe in all of it.
At some point, they fell asleep there on the floor, tangled together in their makeshift fort. Steve woke briefly around three AM to Eddie snoring softly against his chest, and he carefully reached up to turn off the TV. He lifted him into his arms bridal style, stilling his movements only for a moment when Eddie stirred.
He carried him back to bed, setting him down and cuddling up beside him.
“Happy New Year, Eddie,” He whispered into the darkness, pressing a kiss to Eddie’s hair.
Eddie mumbled something incoherent and burrowed closer.
Steve closed his eyes and let himself drift back to sleep, thinking about the year ahead. Watching Eddie cross the stage and flip off Principal Higgins. Packing everything they could fit into suitcases and duffel bags and stuffing them window to window in the van, driving cross country to their new home. Finally being free.
He fell asleep smiling, Eddie’s heartbeat steady under his palm.
Steve woke up on New Year’s Day to Eddie drawing patterns on his back with one finger. Light letters, shapes, things Steve couldn’t quite make out but felt nice anyway.
“What are you doing, Eds?” Steve mumbled into the pillow.
“Writing love letters on your skin,” Eddie whispered, voice still gravely from sleep. “You’re my favorite canvas.”
Steve smiled despite himself. “You’re so weird.”
“You love it.”
“I love you.”
“There it is,” Eddie murmured, leaning down and kissing his shoulder blade. “Never gets old hearing you say it.
It was Wednesday, and neither of them had anywhere to be. Wayne had the day off work, Steve’s parents were out of town (again), and the world outside Eddie’s bedroom didn’t exist. They stayed in bed until almost noon, dozing and talking and kissing lazily.
“I’m hungry,” Steve finally said.
“I’d offer to cook, but we both know how that would end.”
“Death and destruction?”
“Death and destruction,” Eddie agreed with a chuckle.
They eventually dragged themselves out of bed. Steve put on one of Eddie’s shirts— it was becoming a habit— and they shuffled to the kitchen. Steve made eggs and toast while Eddie sat on the counter and read him snippets from the new book he was working through.
“The dragon spread its wings before the knight, blocking out the sun,” Eddie read, voice deep and wise beyond his years. Likely the voice he used when he DMed for Hellfire. Steve loved him so much it hurt.
After breakfast, they ended up back in Eddie’s room. Eddie played guitar while Steve lay on the bed and listened, eyes closed. Not the metal he usually played, but softer things. Pretty melodies that made Steve’s chest ache.
“Play that one again,” Steve said when Eddie finished one he particularly loved.
“Yeah?” Eddie’s smile was wide. “You like this one?”
“I love it.”
“Good. I wrote it for you.” Eddie played it again, and then once more when Steve asked. Eventually Steve sat up and watched his hands move across the strings, the way his fingers knew exactly where to go, the way his whole face was peaceful and focused.
“Teach me something,” Steve proposed.
“Guitar?” Eddie looked surprised. “I thought you said you’d be terrible at it.”
“I probably will be. But I want to try.”
Eddie’s expression went impossibly softer. He patted the space between his legs and Steve settled there, back against Eddie’s chest. Eddie positioned Steve’s hands on the guitar, his own hands covering Steve’s, guiding his fingers to the right strings.
“Okay, so this is a G chord,” Eddie murmured, his breath warm against Steve’s ear. “Press here, here, and here.”
Steve tried, but his fingers felt clumsy and wrong. The sound that came out was terrible.
“That was awful,” Steve said.
“That was perfect,” Eddie contradicted, pressing a chaste kiss to his neck. “Try again.”
They spent an hour like that, Eddie patient and encouraging while Steve fumbled through basic chords. Steve was terrible at it, he was right about that, but he didn’t care. Eddie’s arms were around him, his voice was soft in his ear, and Steve felt safe and loved and home.
“You’re a terrible student,” Eddie teased eventually. “Worst I’ve ever had.”
“You’re a terrible teacher. Very distracting.”
“Me? Distracting?” Eddie nipped at his ear, making Steve shiver. “I have no idea what you mean.”
Steve twisted around and kissed him, the guitar getting in the way but neither of them caring. They ended up tangled together on Eddie’s bed again, the guitar abandoned on the floor, and Steve thought about how he wanted every Sunday to be like this. Just him and Eddie and nothing else.
February 1986
They were getting sloppy.
Steve knew it, but he couldn’t seem to help it. Eddie had become magnetic— every spare moment Steve had, he spent at the trailer, in the van, or his own place when his parents weren’t home. It was intoxicating yet dangerous in equal measure.
The first close call came at the grocery store. Steve was picking up ingredients for dinner when he ran into Eddie in the cereal aisle. Without thinking, Steve smiled— not his polite, people-pleasing smile, but his real one. The one he saved for Eddie.
Eddie smiled back, automatic and warm, and took a step closer before catching himself.
“Harrington,” Eddie greeted, too loud, too performative. Back in character. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“Munson.” Steve’s voice came out strained.
They stood there for a beat too long, the air between them tense. Then Eddie grabbed a box of Lucky Charms and walked away, but not before Steve saw the frustrated heave of his shoulders.
Steve’s hands shook as he loaded pasta into his cart.
The second time was worse.
Steve had picked Eddie up from Hellfire— something he started doing the past few weeks when Eddie’s van was acting up. Eddie slid into the passenger seat with his usual dramatic flair, but the second the door closed, his hand found Steve’s thigh.
“Missed you,” Eddie whispered as he leaned over the center console.
Steve let out a breathy laugh, leaning over in response. Their lips were so close, inches away when bike lights swept across them. Dustin, leaving the school with Mike and Lucas.
Eddie snapped backward like he’d been scalded. They both stared straight ahead as Dustin waved, oblivious, then pedaled away.
“That was close,” Eddie breathed once the kids were gone.
Too close.
“Maybe we should cool it,” Steve said, even though the words tasted like ash. “Just for a while. Until—”
“Until what, Steve? Until it’s safe?” Eddie laughed, bitter. Steve hated that sound. “It’s never going to be safe. Not here.”
“I know. I just—” Steve’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I don’t want to lose you.”
Eddie waited a moment, heart stabling its petrified rhythm, before reaching over. He squeezed Steve’s hand, quick and furtive. “You won’t. We just have to be smarter.”
But being smarter meant pulling away, and neither of them was very good at that.
March 1986
The last normal day they had was a Tuesday.
Steve came over after his shift at Family Video, and they ordered pizza and watched a movie Steve had copped from the store. Some action thing with explosions that neither of them really paid attention to. Eddie kept making commentary throughout, his hand in Steve’s under the blanket, and Steve felt so content he could have stayed in that moment forever.
“I love you,” Steve murmured as Eddie rambled on about how “This plotline is stupid,” just because he could. Just because it was true and he wanted Steve to know it.
Eddie turned to him, his smile faint and real. He kissed him, slow and thorough, and Steve memorized the taste of him, the feel of him. He didn’t know why he felt like he needed to. They had all the time in the world.
Later, snuggled together in Eddie’s bed, Eddie played guitar quietly while Steve dozed.
“Tell me about this place we’re going to,” Steve whispered, half-asleep. “When we get outta here.”
Eddie’s fingers never stopped moving on the strings. “Mm, I’m thinking we get one of those places with the big windows. The kind where, uh, the sun comes in during the morning and wakes you up?” His voice was light, dreamy. “And we’ll get real furniture eventually, but at first it’ll probably just be a mattress on the floor and milk crates for everything. Very bohemian.”
“Eddie, that sounds terrible.”
“Didn’t you just say a few months ago that you didn’t care if we had to shit in a hole in the floor?” He laughed, leaning down and kissing Steve’s forehead. “It’ll be perfect. And on Sundays, we’ll sleep in late, and I’ll make you terrible coffee, and we’ll read the paper and argue over the crossword.”
“Can we get a cat?”
Eddie chuckled shortly. “Yeah, baby. We can get a cat.”
“What else?”
“We’ll find a diner we like and become regulars. The waitress will know our orders by heart.” Eddie’s voice was warm, painting the picture. “We’ll go to shows together. I’ll teach you how to play guitar properly. We’ll have friends like us, who don’t care that we’re together. We’ll live.”
“Now it sounds perfect,” Steve conceded, his eyes drifting closed.
“It will be,” Eddie said, and this time he sounded so certain. “Just gotta get through this last bit, and then we’re home free.”
If Steve had known— if he’d have any idea what was coming— he would have stayed awake. Would have held on tighter. Would have told Eddie every single thing he loved about him instead of assuming they’d have forever to figure it out.
He would have printed the way Eddie’s hands moved on the guitar strings permanently into his brain. The way he hummed under his breath when he played. The way his hair fell around his face in the lamplight. The way he looked at Steve like he hung the moon.
But Steve didn’t know. So he just drifted off to sleep with Eddie’s music washing over him and dreamed about their future.
Two weeks later, Chrissy Cunningham died in Eddie’s trailer, and everything fell apart.
Eddie ran. Went into hiding. And Steve couldn’t find him, couldn’t protect him, couldn’t do anything but watch as the town turned Eddie into a monster. As a witch hunt began for the boy Steve loved more than breathing.
Steve drove past the trailer park three times that first day, heart in his throat every time he saw the police tape. He wanted to pull over, to demand answers, to do something. But he couldn’t. Because no one could know. No one could have any idea that Steve Harrington had a reason to care about Eddie Munson beyond casual acquaintance.
So, he went back to work. He tried his best to avoid thinking about where Eddie had gone. About what the hell had even happened in that trailer. He was sure he’d find him again somehow, but right now? That just wasn’t possible. Not with the new curfew put in place, not with Jason and his goons after anyone who so much as breathed a word about the “freak”.
Dustin and Max burst into Family Video during his and Robin’s shift, the bell above the door shocking Steve out of their conversation with its sound.
“Steve!” Dustin called, seemingly out of breath.
“Are you guys seeing this?” Steve asked, pointing at the TV.
“How many phones do you have?” Dustin wasn’t listening, only focused on his own question. Typical.
“Someone was murdered—”
“How many phones do you have?” Dustin repeated, desperation in his voice.
“Uh, two. Why?” Steve caved, leaning against the counter.
“Technically three, if you count Keith’s in the back,” Robin chimed in.
Dustin and Max turned to each other, and suddenly Dustin was shucking off his backpack.
“Yeah, three works,” Max agreed. Dustin set his backpack on the counter.
“What are you doing?” With Steve’s question, Dustin slid his backpack across the counter and launched himself over it as well, Dukes of Hazzard style. “Woah, what are you—”
“My pile!” Robin complained.
“No, no, no— my tapes! Dude! What are you doing, man?” Steve yelled as Dustin manhandled his way to their computer and started typing away.
“Setting up base of operations here.” Dustin explained, like it was obvious.
“Base of operations?” Robin questioned.
“Stop! Get off of that,” Steve scolded.
“No! I need it,” Dustin reasoned, fingers flying across the keyboard.
“Need it for what?”
“Looking up Eddie’s friends’ phone numbers.” Which, of course. Of course that’s what this was about.
“Oh, Eddie, your new best friend you think is so much cooler than me because he plays your nerdy game?” He snipped, getting an odd look from Robin.
“Eddie, yes! Wh— no, I never said that!” Dustin exclaimed.
“Seriously, you guys, maybe on a Monday you can play around in here like toddlers, but it’s Saturday. It’s our busiest day.” Robin busied herself on resetting up everything on the counter that Dustin had knocked down.
“Alright, look Robin, I totally empathize, but this cannot wait until Monday!”
“Calling all of Eddie’s friends is an emergency?” Robin stressed.
“Correct!” Dustin fired back.
“You want me to strangle him, or do you wanna do it?” Steve murmured to her, smirking to himself.
“We could take turns!” Robin teased back, a bright smile on her face.
Dustin huffed and turned to Max. “Could you just— fill them in while I do this?”
“Fill us in on what?”
Max spent the next hour explaining the whole thing to them.
“Wait— so let me get this straight.” Steve said, and he could have sworn Dustin rolled his eyes. Little shit. “Eddie Munson, the guy very well known for— literally everything that would make him suspicious in this context, is one hundred percent innocent? He invited this chick Chrissy over to, if I’m right, sell her drugs, and then she’s just…found dead. People say she was all warped when they found her. Crumpled up like a…Rice Krispie? Her bones all…snap, crackle, pop. You expect us to just believe she, what? Just broke her own bones? Gauged out her own eyes?”
“I know it sounds crazy,” Dustin said. “But trust me on this. Eddie did not do this. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. I don’t know what happened in there. Max just heard him scream and saw him take his van and leave. Right now, he’s probably— I don’t know where he is. But we need to find him before anyone else does.”
That was enough to convince them. Deep down, Steve knew Eddie was innocent. He just had to pretend that he didn’t.
They bustled around the store calling everyone he knew for hours. They hadn’t had any luck until: “Hey guys. I might have a lead.”
Dustin and Robin turned around instantly, exhausted from the day’s searching.
“Seriously?” Dustin was beaming.
“Yeah. Apparently Eddie gets his drugs from some guy named Reefer Rick? And sometimes Eddie crashes there,” Max supplied. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
Steve raised an eyebrow. He had never heard from Eddie about going there.
“That sounds promising!” Robin added, looking to Steve for agreement on instinct. “Uh, where does this Reefer Rick guy live?”
“See, that’s the thing. No one knows. He’s more of a…a legend than someone that people actually know.”
“What about a last name?” Dustin questioned.
“I don’t know that either.”
“But I bet the cops know a last name,” Steve chimed in, shrugging.
“What?” Max turned to look at him.
“Cops,” Steve repeated. “I mean, listen. If this Reefer Rick is actually a drug dealer, I guarantee you he’s been busted at some point.” He leaned against the counter. “Means he’s in the system.”
“The cops?” Dustin looked at him like he was stupid. “Really, Steve? That’s your suggestion?”
“I just think that at this point they should be filled in on what we know, what’s going on.”
“You think Eddie’s guilty, don’t you?” Dustin challenged, cross his arms.
“Woah! Of course n— I believe in innocent until proven guilty, all that…constitutional shit. I just…y’know. Just don’t think that we can rule it out.”
“That’s…precisely what we’re trying to do here, Steve,” Max argued.
“And maybe, we’d have a little bit more luck if you spent less time trying to find a girlfriend, and more time trying to find Eddie!” Dustin clapped back, laughing through it like he found it humorous.
“Well, somebody has to tend to the customers.” Okay, maybe he flirted with the girl who’d just left. A little. He wasn’t serious about it though, just wanted something to get his mind off of the fact that his boyfriend was in hiding, and he couldn’t show distress. It’d be more suspicious, in his mind, if he didn’t flirt with a girl or two.
“Especially if they’re babes, right?” Now Robin was attacking him? Damn. No one was on his side here.
“Hey! Not fair, okay?” He pointed at her. “I attend to all the customers equally, babes and non-babes alike. We’ve got a very big selection in here, okay? It can be super overwhelming for people.” He was over explaining himself, wasn’t he?
“Yeah, it can be.” Robin said, clearly in thought. And just like that, she had an idea. She spun around in her chair and wheeled in front of the computer.
“What are you doing?” Max asked.
“Maybe we don’t need a last name,” Robin suggested. She clacked on the keyboard, searching for something. Steve came around to peek over her shoulder. She pressed enter, and the computer beeped as it typed out results of her search.
“Twelve ‘Ricks’ have accounts here,” She said.
“That’s a lotta Ricks,” Max added.
“So…let’s narrow it down.” Robin clicked some more. “Rick Alderman’s latest rentals are Annie and Dumbo. What are the chances our drug dealer has a family?”
“Not likely,” Max reasoned.
“Alright,” Robin sighed as she clicked the next name. “Rick Conroy. Sixteen Candles, Teen Wolf, and Romancing the Stone.”
Everyone collectively supplied a “no.”
“Okay, Rick Joiner. Mask, Footloose, and Grease.”
Definitely not.
“Rick Kimbrough, The Blue Lagoon and Splash.”
Everyone let out various sounds of disgust and disagreement.
Then, they reached the next name. “Rick Lipton. Fast Times at Ridgemont High, Cheech & Chong’s Next Movie. Cheech & Chong’s Nice Dreams, Cheech & Chong’s Up in Smoke.”
Everyone started to laugh at their newfound progress.
“Bingo!” Dustin exclaimed.
“Lipton?”
“Spelled like the tea. 2121 Holland Road.” Robin read the address off the screen.
“That’s out by Lovers Lake,” Dustin said.
“Middle of nowhere,” Max shrugged.
“It’s the perfect place to hide.”
Steve felt a wave of relief wash over his body. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go find him.”
As suspected, they found Eddie in Reefer Rick’s boathouse, terrified and alone.
They all stood at the front door with flashlights in hand as Dustin rang the doorbell once, twice. Then three times, still no answer. He started rapidly pressing the button, like people who weren’t there were going to somehow come to the door.
“Okay. Well, that’s settled. I guess he’s not here,” Steve shrugged.
“Eddieee! It’s Dustin!” Dustin yelled in protest. “Look, we just wanna talk, okay?”
Robin went around to the window with her flashlight as Dustin rambled on, to no avail. Instead of giving up, Dustin just kept knocking. When he wasn’t getting anything from Eddie, he switched names.
“Riiick!!! Reefer Rick!”
“Don’t scream that.” Steve scolded, shaking his head and rolling his eyes.
As Robin, Steve, and Dustin verbally tussled over what they were going to do, Max went around the corner of the house. “Hey guys?” She yelled, and the group quickly went to her side.
She had her flashlight pointed at a boathouse, the light above the door still on. They went down to it, flashing their lights through the cracks in the walls and windows. They eventually found a door and Robin pushed herself inside first.
“Hello? Is anyone home?” She called. Everyone filed in one at a time. They all walked around slowly, not wanting to make any sudden moves.
“What a dump,” Steve complained. He grabbed an oar from the wall and started jabbing at tarp over the boats.
“What are you doing?” Dustin interrupted him, whacking his arm.
“He might be in here,” Steve whispered, resuming his boat-stabs.
“Take the tarp off!” Dustin snipped.
“If you’re so brave, you take the tarp off,” Steve retorted. As he kept hitting the tarps, Max and Robin kept searching.
“Hey, look over here,” Max said, lifting up candy wrappers on a nearby table. “Someone was here.”
“Maybe he heard us. Got spooked and ran,” Robin shrugged.
“Don’t worry! Steve will get him with his oar!” Dustin pointed at him, faux chipper.
“I know you think you’re being funny, Henderson, but considering the fact that everyone in this room has almost died about a hundred times, personally? I don’t find it funny in the slight—”
A crash. Movement from under the tarp.
Before Steve could react, someone slammed into him from the front, shoving him hard against the wall. A broken bottle pressed to his throat, and Steve found himself staring into Eddie’s wild, terrified eyes. Eddie didn’t seem to recognize him. Not at first. There was only fear there, primal and desperate. The bottle trembled against Steve’s skin.
“Woah, woah, woah, Eddie! Eddie! Stop!” Dustin stretched out his hand, and at the sound of his voice, Eddie turned his head. “Eddie! Eddie! It’s me. It’s Dustin. This is Steve. He’s not gonna hurt you. Right, Steve?”
Eddie turned back to him.
“Right, yeah.” Steve whispered.
Then— recognition. Eddie’s eyes focused, and Steve saw everything there— relief, terror, shame, longing. For a split second, Eddie’s expression crumbled. Steve saw him wanting to fall apart, wanting to collapse into Steve’s arms.
Steve wanted to hold him.
But there were people watching. Dustin, Robin, Max.
“Steve, why don’t you drop the oar?” Dustin asked, to which, he complied. The noise only scared Eddie more, making him press the bottle closer to his throat. If he weren’t genuinely fearing for his life, this would be a little bit sexy. Just a bit. He groaned, trying to keep himself from thinking about how Eddie’d had him in a similar position before back at his trailer, pressed against the wall with a hand around his throat instead. Okay, wow. Nope. This was not the time to be thinking about getting laid.
“He’s cool! He’s cool!” He heard Dustin shout as he came to.
“I’m cool, man, I’m cool.” He stumbled out, feeling a bead of sweat drip down his forehead. Since when had he started sweating?
“What are you doing here, man?” Eddie’s voice was strained, exhausted.
“We’re looking for you.” Dustin stressed.
“We’re here to help,” Robin tacked on.
“Eddie, these are my friends. You know Robin, from band.” Dustin gestured towards her, to which she added a little impression of playing the trumpet. “And this is my friend Max. The one who never wants to play D&D?” He pointed to her next. “Eddie. We’re on your side.”
Eddie still looked unconvinced.
“I swear on my mother. Right guys?”
“Yes, yeah. We swear,” Everyone followed suit with their own variation of that. “On Dustin’s mother.”
“Yeah- yeah. Dustin’s— Dustin’s mother.” Steve was a little afraid Eddie was actually going to kill him now. Surely he should have lowered the bottle by now, surely he realized he wasn’t going to hurt him. Wouldn’t even dream of it.
Then, after a few more tense moments of pants-pissing worthy fear, Eddie shoved off of Steve and lowered the bottle. The whole group deflated with relief, Dustin raising his arms and hooking them behind his head.
Eddie backed against a wall and slowly slid down it, his eyes distant. While Robin tended to Steve, Dustin slowly approached him.
“Eddie. We just…want…to talk.” Dustin spoke slowly, reaching out to take the bottle from his grip. His hand was still shaking, he was still unpredictable. He jolted when Dustin touched him. “Okay. Okay.” He pulled his hand back.
“We just want to know what happened.” Robin crouched down beside them now.
Eddie sniffed, looking away. “You wouldn’t believe me.” His voice was broken beyond belief.
“Try us.” Max shrugged.
Eddie’s face shuddered. He sat back, the bottle now falling away completely. He looked to Steve instead of answering Max. “Harrington,” he said. He was trying to sound casual, performative. It wasn’t entirely working, but he was doing a good job at sliding the mask back into place. “Sorry, man. I’m just— I’m freaking out here.”
“It’s okay.” Steve forced himself to stay back when everything in him screamed to move closer. To touch Eddie, to make sure he was real and whole and safe. “We’re telling the truth. We’re here to help.”
“You— you guys shouldn’t be here.” Eddie’s hands were still shaking. He looked at Dustin. “You shouldn’t have come looking for me.”
“Of course we came looking for you, you idiot,” Dustin said. “You’re in trouble. We want to know why you ran.”
“Well— she came to me during school. At first, she just wanted to buy weed. But…she was dealing with something else, man. She asked me if I had— anything stronger, so I…I told her to come to my house after. I just left her alone for a second, and when I came back… she was like, having some sort of seizure, I thought. Like, she was stiff and her eyes were rolled back, so. And then her body just, like, lifted into the air. And uh, she just, like, hung there. In the air. And her bones, uh, she…” Eddie had to stop, shutting his eyes tight and shaking his head with a pitiful whimper. “Her bones started to snap. Her eyes, man, it…it was like there was something, like, inside her head, pulling. I…I didn’t know what to do, so I…I ran away.” He said, his voice and eyes now blank. Numb. “I left her there.” The group just stood there, staring at him, horrified. He scoffed. “You all think I’m crazy, right?” He assumed, turning away from them.
To his surprise, “No.” Dustin said. “We don’t think you’re crazy.”
“Don’t— bullshit me, man.” Eddie snapped, covering his face with his hand and pinching his temples. “I know how this sounds.”
“We’re not bullshitting you.” Max looked honest. Eddie seemed to start trusting them a little more, finally.
“We believe you.” Robin assured.
Eddie let out a scoff of a breath, and Dustin spoke again.
“Look. What I’m about to tell you might…be…a little difficult to take.”
“Okay?” Eddie’s voice trembled.
“You know how people say Hawkins is…cursed?” Dustin asked. Eddie looked at him with weary eyes. “They’re not…way off. There’s another world. A world hidden beneath Hawkins. Sometimes it…bleeds into ours.”
Eddie started to shake a little more. “Like, ghosts and shit?”
“There are some things worse than ghosts,” Max said.
“These monsters from this other world,” Dustin started again, “we thought they were gone. But they’ve come back before. And that’s why we needed to find you.”
“If they’re back again, we need to know.” Max looked at him with pleading eyes.
“That night…did you…see anything?” Robin asked.
“Dark particles? Maybe?” Max added on. Eddie shook his head. He tried to remember, tried to think back on what was happening around him at the time, but all he could think of was what Chrissy was doing.
“It would almost look like dust. Swirling dust,” Dustin elaborated.
“No, man, there was nothing you could see, or, uh…” Eddie said, looking at Steve, “or touch.” He swallowed. “You know, I tried to wake her, man. She couldn’t move. It was like she was in a…trance, or something.”
“Under a spell.” Dustin nodded in understanding.
“Or a curse.” It started to click together in Eddie’s brain.
“Vecna’s curse!” Dustin sounded blown away. Steve was completely lost, now. As far as he knew, the Mind Flayer was the one controlling everything— it was the one who sent that creature to Hawkins for Dustin to keep as some weird pet until it ate his cat and disappeared through a tunnel in Dustin’s basement.
“Who’s Vecna?” He asked, hoping this wasn’t someone new— some new name for the Mind Flayer, perhaps.
Instead, Dustin confirmed his fears. “An undead creature with…great power.”
“A spell caster.”
“A dark wizard.”
Well, shit. This was just perfect, wasn’t it?
Eddie and Steve had looked at each other across the boat house, and Steve saw his own fear reflected in Eddie’s eyes. Fear that this was it. That their dream of leaving, of building a life together, was slipping through their fingers.
Steve didn’t say anything until they were outside, until the door was shut and the sound of arguing was muffled behind thin wooden walls.
The night was sharp with cold. Eddie stood with his arms crossed tight to his chest, shoulders hunched, breath fogging the air. Steve watched him shake and hated that he couldn’t tell if it was fear or the temperature— or if it even mattered.
“We’re going to fix this,” Steve said finally. He said it like an anchor, something solid he could throw between them. “We’ll clear your name and then—”
“And then what?” Eddie didn’t look at him. His voice was quiet, scraped raw. “Even if we survive this…”
“We will.”
Eddie let out a shaky breath, something close to a laugh. “Okay. Fine. Even if we do.” He turned then, eyes bright and wet in the moonlight. “The town already decided what I am, Steve. That doesn’t just go away.”
Steve felt it like a physical blow. He stepped forward without thinking, hands closing around Eddie’s jacket. He pulled him close, despite knowing that they were technically still visible from the boathouse window. “Then we don’t stay,” he said. “We leave.”
Eddie went still.
“Like we talked about. Just sooner. As soon as this is done. We get in the van and we don’t look back.”
Eddie searched his face, like he was waiting for the punchline. “You don’t mean that.”
“I’ve never meant anything more.”
“For me? You’d really—”
“Yes.” Steve cupped his face, thumbs brushing cold skin, committing the feel of him to memory without knowing why his chest suddenly hurt so much. “I don’t care about this place. I care about you.”
Eddie’s breath hitched. Hope flickered there, fragile and terrified. “You’d leave everything.”
Steve pressed their foreheads together. “I already have.”
That was when Eddie kissed him— quick, desperate, unsteady. Steve kissed him back like it was something he could keep, like it was proof. He tasted salt and didn’t stop to figure out whose tears they were.
“I love you,” Eddie whispered, mouth still pressed against Steve’s. “I love you so much it scares me.”
“I know,” Steve said, because he did. “I love you too.”
For a second, the world narrowed to just this: the cold, Eddie’s breath, the way his hands twisted in Steve’s jacket like he was afraid to let go.
Robin’s voice called from inside. Reality rushed back in.
Eddie stepped away first, rubbing at his eyes, putting the mask back on. Steve let him go even though every instinct screamed not to.
“We survive this,” Steve reminded quietly. “Then we’re gone.” Eddie nodded in response, squeezing his hand one more time.
They went back inside separately.
Steve held onto that nod like a promise.
A Few Days Later
When they figured out the plan— going into the Upside Down, drawing the bats away, giving Nancy and Robin time to kill Vecna— Steve’s stomach dropped.
“Absolutely not!” He said it immediately when Dustin finished explaining his idea to distract the bats.
“Steve—” Dustin started.
“No! You’re not bait. Either of you. We’ll find another way.”
“There is no other way,” Eddie said quietly from where he sat on Rick’s couch. “You know that.”
Steve did know that. Which made it so much worse.
They argued about it— as much as they could with an audience. Steve tried every angle he could think of, every alternative plan, every reason why Eddie shouldn’t be the one putting himself in danger.
But Eddie was determined. And underneath the bravado, underneath the jokes and the performance, Steve could see the real reason.
Eddie wanted to prove he wasn’t a coward. Wanted to be a hero, just once.
And Steve couldn’t take that away from him, even if it killed him to agree.
The Upside Down, Eddie’s Trailer
The Upside Down was exactly as horrible as Steve remembered— red sky, floating particles, the smell of decay. They stood in the trailer, geared up and ready to split into their groups.
Nancy, Robin, and Steve would go after Vecna. Eddie and Dustin would stay behind to draw the bats away from the Creel house.
Steve pulled Eddie and Dustin aside before they separated, his hand gripping Eddie’s arm maybe a little too tight.
“Listen to me,” Steve said, looking between them both but his eyes lingering on Eddie. “You do your job and get out. That’s it. No heroics. No going rogue. You play the music, the bats come, and then you hide. You understand?”
“Aye aye, Captain,” Eddie said with a mock salute, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“I’m serious, Eddie.” Steve’s grip tightened. “Don’t try to be cute. Don’t be a hero. Just. Stay. Safe.”
Eddie’s expression softened. For a moment, the mask slipped and Steve saw the fear underneath.
“I’ll be careful.”
“You better be,” Steve said, his voice rough. He wanted to say more. Wanted to pull Eddie close and kiss him and tell him he loved him. Make him promise to come back. But Dustin was right there, and Nancy and Robin were waiting, and there was no time.
Eddie seemed to understand anyway. Something passed between them— a promise, a plea.
“Don’t be a hero,” Steve said again, quieter this time. He looked at Dustin. “That goes for you too, Henderson. You keep him out of trouble.”
“I will,” Dustin promised.
Steve forced himself to let go of Eddie’s arm and step back. “We’ll come back for you soon as Vecna’s dead. Just hold out until then.”
“We’ve got this,” Eddie said, with that familiar mischievous grin. After one last moment of eye contact, Steve turned his back.
“Hey Steve?”
Steve turned his head over his shoulder.
“Make him pay.”
He nodded. He took one last look at Eddie— memorizing his face, the way his hair fell around his shoulders, the determination in his eyes— and then turned to follow Nancy and Robin towards the house.
He didn’t look back. If he had, he might not have been able to leave.
They were halfway to the Creel house when Steve heard it.
The opening chord of Master of Puppets, electric and defiant, echoing through the dead landscape. Eddie’s guitar, unmistakable even from this distance.
Steve couldn’t help it— he laughed. A short, breathless sound that made Nancy glance back at him with a questioning look.
“You okay?” She asked.
“Yeah,” Steve said, shaking his head with a small smile. “Just— of course that asshole actually learned Master of Puppets. He’s been talking about it for weeks.”
Robin grinned. “Of course he has.”
Nancy furrowed her eyebrows. “How do you know that, Steve? I thought you two hated each other.”
Steve went wide eyed, looking caught. “Uh. No— uh, we’ve hung out a couple times, actually. I, uh. Stopped by Max’s to give her and her mom a casserole back in August? And he was working on his van and I started helping. We’ve been pretty good friends since, believe it or not. Eddie Munson, as it turns out, is a good dude.”
Steve listened for another moment as they walked, the sound of Eddie’s guitar getting fainter with distance but still audible. Eddie was shredding, absolutely killing it, and Steve felt an odd surge of pride mixed with affection.
That’s my boy, he thought. Such a show off.
“He’s good,” Nancy observed.
“He’s awesome,” Steve agreed. His chest felt tight, but the good kind of tight. Eddie was doing his part. Playing his heart out, drawing the bats away so they could get the job done.
Everything was going according to plan.
Steve let himself believe, just for a moment, that it was all going to be okay. They’d kill Vecna, Eddie and Dustin would be safe in the trailer when they returned, and they’d all make it out unscathed.
They had to.
Steve picked up his pace, grip tightening on his bat. The sooner they finished this, the sooner he could get back to Eddie.
It took longer than Steve expected to take down Vecna. The thing woudn’t die— kept regenerating, kept coming back. By the time Nancy finally landed the killing shot and the creature stopped moving, Steve’s arms were shaking and his ears were ringing. All he could think was Eddie. Dustin. We have to get back to them.
“Is it dead?” Robin panted.
Nancy peeked over the windowsill to see Vecna’s body motionless on the ground. “It’s dead.”
“We need to go,” Steve said immediately, already turning toward the door. “We need to get back to the trailer.”
They ran.
Steve’s lungs burned, his legs screaming in protest, but he pushed harder.
Something felt wrong. The air felt wrong. The silence felt wrong.
Eddie’s guitar had stopped playing a while ago, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Maybe they’d already gone through the gate. Maybe they were waiting on the other side, safe in the real Hawkins.
But Steve’s gut twisted with dread, anyway.
They reached the clearing where the trailer sat. Steve could see the gate glowing from inside, could see—
That’s when he heard it.
Screaming.
Not just screaming— sobbing. Dustin’s voice, broken and anguished and wrong in a way that made Steve’s blood turn to ice.
“No,” Steve whispered. His feet were moving before his brain caught up, sprinting towards the sound. “No, no, no—”
He saw a heap of bodies on the ground.
Dustin was on his knees in the dirt, just outside the trailer. His whole body was shaking with sobs, his voice raw and broken as he screamed— just screamed, wordless and agonized.
And in his arms—
“No,” Steve said again, but it came out soundless. His legs almost buckled.
Eddie.
Eddie was in Dustin’s arms, and he wasn’t moving.
Steve’s brain rejected it. Refused to process what he was seeing. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be real.
He stumbled forward, legs like lead, and dropped to his knees beside them.
Eddie’s eyes were open. Staring at nothing. His Hellfire shirt was dark with blood— so much blood. It soaked through the fabric, pooled beneath him, covered Dustin’s hands and arms. Eddie’s vest was torn, shredded. His skin was pale, gray, lifeless.
“No,” Steve whimpered, and his voice cracked. His hands hovered uselessly over Eddie’s chest, shaking so badly he could barely hold them steady. “No, Eddie, no—”
He pressed his palm to Eddie’s chest anyway.
Nothing.
No heartbeat. No rise and fall of breath. Just…stillness.
“I tried,” Dustin sobbed. “Steve, I tried— I tried to stop him but he— he slid back down and he went back out there and I couldn’t— I tried— I chased after him, but…”
Steve wasn’t listening. He coudn’t hear anything over the roaring in his ears, the way his whole world was narrowing down to Eddie’s face. Eddie’s empty eyes. Eddie’s blood on his hands.
“Eddie,” Steve whispered. His hand moved to Eddie’s face, cupping his cheek. Still warm. He was still warm, how was he still warm? “Eddie, please. Please don’t— you can’t—”
Eddie’s mouth was slightly open. There was blood at the corner of his lips, dried and dark. His hair was tangled with dirt and gore. His fingers— those fingers that had traced patterns on Steve’s skin, that had played guitar for him, held Steve’s hand and made him feel safe— were curled limply against the ground.
Steve’s vision blurred. He realized distantly that he was crying.
“You said you’d be careful,” Steve said, his voice breaking. “You promised—”
He cut himself off. Swallowed the rest of the words. You said we’d leave together. You said this was our year. You said—
But he couldn’t say any of that. Not here. Not with witnesses.
Behind him, he heard Robin’s sharp intake of breath. Heard Nancy’s quiet, “Oh my God.”
Steve couldn’t look away from Eddie’s face. From this eyes that would never look at him again, never light up when Steve walked into a room. That would never fill with laughter, go dark with lust, or soften with vulnerability that Eddie only showed when they were alone.
The future they had been building in their heads— the apartment, the life, the freedom— shattered like glass. The shoebox of cash hidden under the bed. The job listings he’d circled. The map of San Francisco with routes traced in pen. All of it, meaningless now.
Steve wanted to scream. He wanted to rage, and break things, and demand to know why Eddie had to die when Steve would have traded places in a heartbeat. He wanted to curl around Eddie’s body and die here with him.
But he couldn’t do that, even though the grief was tearing him up from the inside.
So instead, he pressed his forehead to Eddie’s, just for a moment. He let himself have that much.
“I’m sorry,” Steve whispered, so quietly only Eddie could have heard it. If Eddie could hear anything anymore. “I’m so sorry.”
A sound tore from his throat, gasping and full of physical pain. He felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest and crushed in front of his very eyes, reduced to ashes on the floor.
“Steve.” Robin’s hand landed on his shoulder, gentle. “Steve, we have to— we can’t stay here.”
Steve’s jaw clenched. He pulled back from Eddie, his hand sliding away from Eddie’s face. Every muscle in his body screamed at him to stay, but he forced himself to move.
“I know,” he said. His voice came out flat, empty.
“We can’t leave him here,” Dustin sobbed. “We can’t just—”
“We don’t have a choice,” Nancy said quietly. She was crying, too. “The gate could close. We have to go.”
Steve looked at Eddie one more time. Memorized the shape of him. Then, with shaking hands, he reached out and closed Eddie’s eyes.
It felt like a betrayal, like giving up. But he couldn’t leave Eddie staring at nothing.
His fingers lingered for just a second— a goodbye he couldn’t speak aloud— and then he pulled away.
Robin’s hands were on both shoulders now, carefully pulling him back. Steve didn’t resist. He let her pull him to his feet, let her turn him away from Eddie’s body.
Dustin was still on his knees, still holding Eddie, rocking slightly.
“Dustin,” Nancy urged, her voice cautious. “C’mon.”
“I can’t leave him alone,” Dustin said through tears. “I can’t— he’ll be alone.”
“I know,” Nancy whispered. She knelt beside Dustin and carefully, so carefully, helped lower Eddie all the way to the ground. “I know. I’m sorry.”
Dustin’s hands were shaking as he let go. He stood on trembling legs and took one step back, then another.
Steve looked down at Eddie one last time. The boy he loved, lying broken and bloodied in the dirt of a nightmare world. Every kiss, touch, whispered I love you would never happen again. Steve hated himself— hated that he’d even stopped in the first place. The fact that he’d brought Eddie into this— he knew he had— was a cross he was realizing he had to bear.
“I love you,” Steve whispered one more time. His voice was steady now, even though his heart was in shambles. “I’ll love you forever. I promise.”
Then Robin’s arm was around his waist, supporting his weight, and they were moving back to the trailer, to the gate. Steve’s legs felt like they belonged to someone else. Everything felt distant, unreal, like he was watching this happen to someone else from very far away.
They climbed through the gate one by one. Dustin went first, then Nancy, then Robin.
Steve went last. He stood under the red opening, looking back one final time at Eddie’s body lying in the red darkness.
Then he climbed through and left Eddie behind.
The real world felt wrong. It was too bright, too normal, too…real.
Steve’s legs gave out the second he was through the gate. He hit the mattress of the real trailer, hard, on his hands and knees, and couldn’t get back up.
Robin was beside him immediately, her arms around him, holding him as he shook apart. It was like he had a fever, he just couldn’t feel warm.
Dustin was sobbing somewhere to his left. Nancy put herself on the phone with someone, her voice shaky as she tried to explain what happened.
But Steve couldn’t hear any of it over the single thought screaming through his mind on repeat: Eddie’s dead. Eddie’s dead. Eddie’s dead.
He’d lost him. After everything— after finding each other, falling in love, promising each other they’d stay— he’d lost him.
And there was nothing Steve could do to bring him back.
He doubled over, his forehead pressed into the mattress they’d spent 8 months in, and let himself feel.
Hawkins Lab – March 1986
The government doctors worked in silence, setting up to mend Steve’s bat bites with the kind of efficiency that came from practice. They’d done this before— cleaned up messes from the Upside Down, patched up the people who’d miraculously survived.
Steve sat on the exam table and stared off, a distant look in his eyes.
Robin was next to him, her hand wrapped around his. She hadn’t let go since they’d climbed through the gate. She hadn’t stopped touching him— his hand, shoulder, arm— like she was afraid he’d disappear if she let go.
“Mr. Harrington, I need you to remove your shirt,” the doctor said.
Steve didn’t move.
“Steve,” Robin nudged him sweetly. “Your shirt.”
He looked down at himself like he’d forgotten he was wearing clothes. His shirt was torn, dirty, and spotted with blood. Some of it was his. Most of it was Eddie’s.
His hands moved mechanically, pulling the shirt over his head. A nurse took it from him before he could look at it too closely and shoved it in a biohazard bag.
The doctor catalogued his injuries with clinical detachment. Petal-shaped bites on his sides, arms, spread across his chest and stomach. Bruising on his ribs, minor lacerations. Nothing life-threatening, nothing that wouldn’t heal.
Steve barely felt the IV needle going in. He barely felt anything at all.
Across the room, Dustin was getting patched up, too. The kid hadn’t said a word since they came back, either. He just sat there with his hands in his lap, still covered in blood, staring at the floor.
Nancy was talking to the government people in low, urgent tones. How she was so calm, so collected in these moments, Steve didn’t know. But he was grateful for her— her ability to make sure they understood the truth. Eddie was a victim, not a perpetrator. The town couldn’t know the truth.
Eddie Munson would die a murderer in the eyes of Hawkins.
Steve’s jaw clenched so hard that his molars ached.
“All done,” the doctor said, stepping back and slipping off his gloves. “You’ll need to keep the wounds clean and dry. Come back in a week to have the stitches removed.”
Steve nodded. Or maybe he didn’t. He couldn’t tell.
Robin helped him into a clean shirt someone had provided. Her hands were gentle, careful to not touch the fresh stitches.
“Come on,” she said quietly. “Let’s get you home.”
Steve Harrington’s Home – The Days After
Steve didn’t get out of bed for three days. He heard Robin let herself in with the spare key on the second day. She moved around down stairs, opening cabinets and running water. Part of him knew he should go down there, should say something, should pretend to be okay at least.
He stayed in bed.
The jacket he was wearing when Eddie died— it was miraculous the government let him keep it— sat on his dresser, unwashed. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at it. He couldn’t touch Eddie’s things without falling apart.
His room was dark. He’d pulled the curtains closed and hadn’t opened them since he got home from pretending to be okay while helping box clothes at the school.
The town had been told it was an earthquake that hit, split the earth into four and cracked their entire streets open. Many families were displaced, families torn apart by those who didn’t make it through the destruction. The Party got together to help any way they could— Robin making sandwiches alongside the girl she’d been pining for all school year; Steve sorting clothes to give to families in need.
Steve knew he barely had any place to be this upset, but pretending he felt nothing drained him more than anything.
The darkness felt right, though. It felt like where he belonged now. Felt like it could swallow him whole and he’d be finally at peace.
Robin appeared in his doorway sometime on the third day.
“Steve,” she greeted quietly.
He didn’t respond. Didn’t even look at her.
“Steve, you need to eat something.”
“Not hungry.”
“I don’t care.” Robin came in and sat on the edge of his bed. “You haven’t eaten in three days. You need to eat, or you’ll die.”
“I’m fine.”
“You aren’t fine.” Her voice was gentle but firm. “And that’s okay. You don’t have to be fine. But you do have to take care of yourself.”
Steve closed his eyes, tried to imagine the sweet bliss of drifting away into nothingness. Maybe Eddie was happy like that, too. Steve could try to be. “I don’t want to.”
“I know,” Robin said. “But you’re going to anyway. Because that’s what we do. We keep going even when it hurts.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.” Robin pulled the blankets back and Steve jolted in shock. “Come on. Shower first, then food.”
“Robin—”
“Nope. Not negotiable.” She grabbed his arm and tugged. “Up. Now. You reek.”
Steve didn’t have the energy to fight her. He let her pull him out of bed and guide him to the bathroom. She turned on the shower and pushed him toward it.
“I’ll be downstairs,” she said. “You have twenty minutes. If you’re not down by then, I’m coming back up here.”
She left, closing the door behind her.
Steve stood naked under the spray and let the water run over him, tilting his hips the most he could to keep them from getting wet. It was scalding hot, but he barely felt it. He watched the water circle the drain as he thought about nothing. Then everything. And finally, Eddie.
He didn’t wash his hair or his body. He just stood there until the water started to run cold, then got out and dried off.
When he came downstairs, Robin had made grilled cheese and tomato soup. Comfort food, like his mom used to make when he was sick as a kid.
“Eat,” Robin instructed, pushing the plate toward him.
Steve sat. He picked up the sandwich. It tasted like cardboard, but he ate it anyway because Robin was watching him with those worried eyes; he couldn’t stand to make her more worried than she already was.
“Better?” Robin asked when he’d finished.
“No.”
“Yeah.” Robin reached across the table and took his hand. “I didn’t think so.”
They sat in silence for a while. Then, Robin squeezed his hand.
“Do you wanna talk about it?”
“No.”
“Okay.” She stood and started clearing the dishes. “But when you do, I’m here.”
Steve watched her move around his kitchen like she belonged there. Washing dishes, putting things away, making herself useful. She’d been doing this for a while now, he realized. Taking care of him while he holed away upstairs, ignored her and the rest of the world.
“Rob?”
She turned. “Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
Her smile was sad. “That’s what best friends are for.”
One Week Later
Robin still came by every day to make sure Steve ate, showered, and got out of bed at least twice a day. She didn’t push him to talk or ask questions. She just stayed.
On day seven, she brought movies.
“We’re having a movie marathon,” she announced, dumping a bag of VHS tapes on his coffee table. “You, me, and whatever terrible movies I could salvage from Family Video.”
“I don’t wanna watch movies.”
“Too bad. You’re watching them anyway.” Robin popped one into the VCR. “Besides, Keith says if you don’t come back to work soon, he’s going to fire you and hire some kid who actually shows up.”
“Let him.”
Robin paused the tape and turned to look at him. “Steve. I know you’re hurting. I know this is— I can’t even imagine how hard this is for you. But you can’t just give up.”
“Why not?” Steve’s voice was cold. “What’s the point?”
“The point is that you’re still here. You’re still alive. And yeah, that sucks right now, but—” she sat down next to him. “Eddie wouldn’t want you to give up.”
Steve stiffened. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t tell me what Eddie would want!” His voice was sharper than he intended. “You didn’t know him. Not like—” He stopped himself.
Robin was quiet for a long moment, then: “You’re right. I didn’t know him like you did.”
The emphasis on the last two words hung in the air between them.
Steve’s throat tightened. He stared at the frozen television screen.
“Steve,” Robin said gently. “I know.”
“You don’t—”
“I know.” She repeated. “I’ve known for a while. Since— since last January. Probably before that, if I’m being honest.”
Steve’s hands fisted in his lap. “Robin—”
“And I know you felt like you couldn’t tell me. I know you had to keep it secret. I know—” Her voice splintered. “I know that you can’t grieve out loud, because no one could know what he really was to you. What you were— are, to him.”
Steve’s vision blurred. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Robin whispered. “I’m so sorry, Steve.”
“I loved him,” Steve said, and his voice broke completely. “I loved him so much and he’s gone and I— I don’t know to—”
Robin pulled him into a hug. Steve collapsed into her, sobbing into her shoulder. He could have melted into her, if that was an option. All the grief he’d been holding back, he released it on her. It poured out of him in ugly, shattered sounds.
It was hard enough to accept that you were queer in this town, let alone to even find someone who felt the same way. She couldn’t imagine finding that person, spending so much effort and time and energy on something so real, so raw and beautiful, only for it to get ripped away from you in the worst way possible.
She didn’t know what else to do, what else to say. So she just whispered apologies to him, pressed to his hair and kissing atop his head. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m so, so, sorry.”
They sat like that for a long time. Steve cried and Robin held him, until he had nothing left. Until he was empty and exhausted and wrung out.
“I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this,” Steve admitted quietly. “I don’t know how to keep going without him.”
“One day at a time,” Robin supplied. “That’s all you have to do. Just get through today. And then tomorrow. And then the day after that.”
“And if I can’t?”
“Then I’ll help you.” Robin pulled back to look at him. “I’m not going anywhere, Steve. You’re stuck with me, dingus.”
Despite everything, Steve felt something loosen in his chest. Not better, exactly. But less alone.
“Okay,” he whispered.
“Okay.” Robin wiped at her own eyes. “Now. We’re watching this terrible movie and eating our feelings. Got it?”
“Got it.”
Robin pressed play and settled in next to him. Steve leaned against her shoulder and tried to focus on the screen. He tried not to think about how Eddie would have commentary for every line. He’d have made Steve laugh even though the movie was objectively terrible.
But those thoughts came anyway. They always did.
Steve closed his eyes and let them wash over him. He let himself remember Eddie’s laugh, boisterous. It filled the whole room with sunshine. Eddie’s voice, always carefully placed. It pitched up when he really wanted something, low when he really wanted Steve. Eddie’s hands in his hair, how they always tugged just right before soothing and rubbing into his scalp.
And slowly, painfully, he learned how to carry it.
Hawkins Presbyterian Church
There was a funeral, months later when the town had been cleaned up.
Not a real one, not the kind Eddie deserved. But Wayne had insisted, even though half the town thought Eddie was a killer and the other half was too scared to show up.
It was small, quiet. Just Wayne, the Hellfire kids, Steve, Robin, Nancy, and a handful of people from the trailer park who’d known Eddie growing up.
No body. They’d told Wayne that Eddie’s remains were too damaged from earthquake to recover. It wasn’t entirely a lie.
Steve sat in the back of the church, as far from everyone else as he could get. He felt like he didn’t belong here. He wore sunglasses even though they were inside, even though it was gray and overcast outside. He couldn’t risk anyone meeting his eyes.
The service was brief. The pastor, who clearly hadn’t known Eddie at all— said generic things about loss and faith and God’s plan. Wayne sat in the front row, his shoulders rigid.
Steve wanted to go to him. Wanted to sit beside him and share the weight of his grief. But he couldn’t move. It felt like his body was anchored to the pew.
When it was over, people filtered out slowly. They offered Wayne their condolences, their empty gratitudes. Wayne accepted them with quiet grace, even though Steve could see the exhaustion in every line of his body.
Steve stood, intending to slip out unnoticed before he broke apart completely.
“Steve.”
Wayne’s voice cut across the room.
Steve froze. Slowly, he turned.
Wayne was looking right at him, and the expression on his face— raw heartbreak mixed with understanding— made Steve’s carefully constructed walls crack.
“C’mere, boy,” Wayne said, his voice rough. Steve’s feet moved before his brain understood what was happening. He walked down the aisle past the empty pews, until he was standing in front of Wayne.
Wayne didn’t say anything else. Just pulled Steve into a tight hug.
The floodgates opened, and there was no way of stopping it. He sobbed into Wayne’s shoulder, his whole body trembling, and Wayne just held him. One hand came up to the back of Steve’s head— the same way Eddie used to hold him— and that just made Steve cry harder.
“Oh, bud,” Wayne said quietly, his own voice thick. “I’m here, son. I gotcha.”
Steve couldn’t speak. He couldn’t do anything but hold on and let himself shake apart in front of the only person who understood what they’d really lost.
Around them, Steve was dimly aware of people still watching. Whispers, confusion about why Steve Harrington was so broken up about Eddie “the Freak” Munson. But Wayne didn’t let go of him, and Steve couldn’t bring himself to, either.
“He loved you somethin’ fierce,” Wayne murmured, low enough that only Steve could hear. “Talked about you all the damn time. Drove me half-crazy with it.” His hand tightened on the back of Steve’s neck. “I’m glad he had you. Glad he knew what that felt like before—”
His voice broke. Steve felt Wayne’s shoulders shake and realized the older man was crying now, too. They stood there together, holding each other up, grieving the same person for different reasons that were somehow exactly the same.
Eventually, Steve pulled back, wiping his face. His sunglasses had fallen off at some point. He didn’t bother looking for them.
“I’m sorry,” Steve said, his voice wrecked. “I should have—”
“Don’t.” Wayne’s voice was firm. “Don’t you dare apologize. Ain’t nothing you coulda done different.”
“I should have stopped him. Should have stayed with him instead of—”
“Boy.” Wayne gripped both of Steve’s shoulders, looking him dead in the eye. “Eddie was always gonna do what he thought was right. You couldn’t have stopped him no more’n I could’ve. That’s just who he was.” His eyes were red, his face drawn. “He died protectin’ people, his buddy said. Died a hero? I, uh. I know this town don’t see it that way, but he saved y’all. That’s gotta count for somethin’.”
Steve nodded, even though he wanted to scream that he’d trade everyone Eddie saved to have him back. That felt selfish. He knew it was.
“Come by the trailer,” Wayne said. “Got some of his things set aside for ya. Figure’d you’d want ‘em.”
“I— Wayne.” Steve’s throat closed up. “You don’t have to.”
“I want to,” Wayne said simply. “He was yours. His things should be, too.”
Forest Hills Trailer Park — The Munson Trailer
What was left of Eddie’s trailer was a shell. The government had cleared out the “contamination”, but the burn marks remained. The hole in the ceiling where the gate had been was covered with a tarp. Most of Eddie’s things were gone— destroyed or taken as evidence.
But Wayne had saved some things.
He led Steve inside and gestured to a box sitting on the couch. “Been goin’ through what was left. Thought you might want somethin’ to hold onto.”
Steve’s heart stuttered as he looked down at the box.
Eddie’s guitar pick collection. Some notebooks filled with campaign notes, song lyrics. A few cassette tapes. A flannel shirt that still smelled like cigarette smoke and cheap cologne.
Then, Wayne disappeared into Eddie’s bedroom and came back with both of his guitars. The leopard print electric one that he’d played that night, still perfectly intact in the real world. The acoustic one that Eddie attempted to teach him to play. Steve’s hands shook as he reached for them.
“He’da wanted you to have it,” Wayne said quietly. “All of it.”
“This is all you have left of him,” Steve whispered.
“Nah.” Wayne tapped his temple, then his chest. “Got him right here. Got twenty years ‘a memories. Got the sound of his laugh, y’know the one. And of him playin’ that damn guitar at two in the mornin’. And him…arguin’ with me about everythin’ under the sun just for the fun of it.” He smiled, sad and fond. “That boy was my whole world, but he was yours, too. You got a right to somethin’ to remember him by.”
Steve’s vision blurred. “He told me—” His voice quit on him for a moment. “He said this was going to be our year. That we were going to leave. Start over somewhere new.”
“I know,” Wayne said. “He told me about them plans. Was savin’ up money, lookin’ into apartments an’ all that. Boy had it all mapped out.” He paused, then stood. “Actually, come help me with somethin’, would ya?”
Steve followed Wayne into what was left of Eddie’s bedroom. Wayne knelt by the bed and pulled up a loose floorboard. Beneath it was a shoebox.
Steve’s breath caught. He knew what that was. He’d watched Eddie add to it every week, hiding away bills with the same care someone might use for precious jewels.
Wayne opened it. Inside were stacks of cash, crumpled bills of various amounts, carefully rubber-banded together. Their future, saved dollar by dollar.
“Found this yesterday,” Wayne said quietly. “Counted it, was curious. Don’t know how he managed it, but, it’s a little over two thousand dollars. Boy was serious about leavin’.”
Steve stared at the money. Two thousand dollars. Eddie had done that. He’d saved that much on a drug dealer’s income, squirreling away every spare dollar for their escape.
“He really loved ya, Steve. More’n I ever seen him love anything ‘cept maybe that guitar.”
“I loved him, too,” Steve said. For some reason, when he opened up to Wayne, it didn’t feel like much of a confession as it did with Robin. Just an acknowledgement of what was. He didn’t know if it was because he knew Wayne already understood and didn’t about Robin. Maybe it was just getting easier. “I love him. I don’t— I don’t know how to stop.”
“Don’t reckon you’re supposed to,” Wayne said gently. “Love like that don’t just go away ‘cause the person’s gone. You carry it with ya, let it be part of ya.” He put a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “But you gotta keep livin’, too. That’s what he’d want. You know that, right?”
Steve nodded, even though he still didn’t know how he was supposed to do that. How he was supposed to keep waking up every morning and keep going when Eddie was gone.
He looked down at the shoebox again. All that money, all those dreams.
“Wayne,” Steve said slowly. “The cemetery— they didn’t give Eddie a headstone. Just a plot marker.”
Wayne’s jaw tightened. “Yeah. I know. Can’t afford nothin’ fancy right now. Between the funeral costs and— relocatin’, mostly on the government’s dime, but it’s still…” he stopped, shook his head. “It is what it is.”
“What if we used this?” Steve gestured to the box. “This money. Eddie saved it for— for us to start over. But we could use it to give him a proper headstone. Something permanent, something that shows he mattered.”
Wayne looked at him, surprised. “Steve, that’s your money, too. That’s what he saved for you. I can’t take that away. It was for your future.”
“We don’t have a future anymore,” Steve said, refusing to meet his eyes. His lip quivered. “But we can…make sure he has a resting place. A real one. He deserves that much.”
“Boy, I can’t ask you to—”
“You’re not asking. I’m offering.” Steve’s hands tightened on the edge of the shoebox. “Please, Wayne. Let me do this. Let us do this. It’s what Eddie would’ve wanted— for the money to mean something. To help someone. And right now, the best way to help is to make sure people know he existed. That he was loved.”
Wayne’s eyes were wet. He looked at the money, then at Steve, then back at the money.
“You’re sure?” Wayne’s voice was rough.
“I’m sure,” Steve said firmly. “I’ve never been more sure of anything. Eddie deserves to be at peace. And this…is how we make sure he gets it.”
Wayne was silent for a long moment. Then he nodded slowly. “Alright. Yeah. Yeah, okay.” He wiped at his eyes. “We’ll get him somethin’ nice. Somethin’ that’ll last.”
“Something that matters,” Steve agreed.
Wayne closed the shoebox and set it aside. Then he pulled Steve into another brief, tight hug. “You’re a good man, Steve. Eddie knew what he was doin’ when he chose ya.”
Steve’s throat closed up completely.
“You’re welcome here anytime,” Wayne continued. “Don’t matter what time, don’t matter why. You need someone to talk to, you need a place to sit and remember him? You come to me. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Steve managed.
“You take care of yourself, son. And you take care of them things. He’d be…rollin’ in his grave if ya didn’t.” He chuckled weakly.
Steve picked up both boxes and held them to his chest. “Thank you,” he whispered. “For— for everything. For not hating me. For understanding.”
“Ain’t nothin’ to hate ya for,” Wayne said. “You made my boy happy. That’s all I ever wanted for ‘im. ‘Sides, you’re family now, whether you like it or not.”
The word ‘family’ nearly broke Steve all over again. He nodded, unsure if his throat would allow him to say anything else, and carried the box and then the guitars to his car.
Inside the box, Eddie’s things waited— pieces of a life cut too short, pieces of the future they’d never have.
Steve drove home with the box in the passenger seat. It was the most he could do to make it seem like Eddie was there.
The Radio Station - One Year Later
Steve stood behind the counter at WSQK (or, The Squawk, as Robin called it), organizing request slips while Robin did the morning announcements in the booth. Through the glass, he could see her animated gestures as she talked about the upcoming charity drive.
This was better than Family Video. Sure, it was quieter, less interaction with the general public, but Steve found that he liked it. Robin had gotten them both hired six months ago when Keith finally made good on his threat to fire Steve for calling in too many times.
The radio station suited Steve. He could lose himself in the repetitive tasks— filing requests, updating playlists, manning the phone lines. He didn’t have to smile at customers or make small talk. He just had to exist and do his job.
That was about all he could manage these days.
The bell over the door chimed. Steve looked up and felt his stomach drop.
Dustin Henderson walked in wearing a new denim vest, covered in patches and pins. His hair had grown out, messier than usual. He was wearing rings on multiple fingers and a bandana hanging from his back pocket. The little shit, he didn’t even know what that meant.
He looked like Eddie.
“Hey, Steve!” Dustin said, grinning. He leaned against the counter in a way that was so painfully familiar it made Steve’s whole body hurt. “Got a request for Robin.”
“Sure.” Steve’s voice came out steady even though his hands wanted to shake. “What song?”
“Master of Puppets? Metallica?” Dustin’s grin widened. “For old times’ sake.”
Steve’s pen froze on the request slip. He couldn’t look up. He couldn’t let Dustin see his face right now.
“Steve?” Dustin’s voice shifted, concerned. “You okay?”
“Fine.” Steve finished writing. “I’ll pass it along to Robin.”
“Cool.” Dustin drummed his fingers on the counter, a restless, familiar rhythm. “Hey, so, uh. Hellfire’s doing a campaign marathon this weekend. You should come by. We could use an extra player.”
“I don’t know how to play D&D.”
“So? Neither did Erica at first, before Will got her into it. Eddie always said that anyone could learn if they—” Dustin stopped abruptly.
The name hung in the air between them.
Steve’s eye twitched a little. “I’ll think about it.”
“Yeah. Okay.” Dustin shifted his weight. “Well, I’ll see you around.”
“Yeah.”
Steve watched him leave, noting the way he walked. There was a little more swagger than Dustin used to have, a little more loose-limbed confidence. Like he was trying on a jacket that didn’t quite fit.
Robin emerged from the booth a few minutes later. “Was that Dustin?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s really leaning into the Eddie thing, huh?”
Steve didn’t answer.
Robin studied him for a moment. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Steve—”
“I said I’m fine,” He snapped, then flinched at himself and softened slightly. “Sorry. I just— I need a minute.”
Robin squeezed his shoulder and headed back to the booth. Steve stared down at the request slip in his hand.
Master of Puppets. For old times’ sake.
He crumpled it up and threw it in the trash.
That Evening
Steve sat in his car in the parking lot of his and Robin’s new apartment building and didn’t get out.
This happened sometimes. He’d finish work and drive home and then just…sit there. Unable to make himself go inside, to face the empty space and the box of Eddie’s things he still couldn’t bring himself to fully unpack. The silence that pressed in from all sides was suffocating.
Twelve months. It had been a whole year now since Eddie died, and Steve still hadn’t found a way to exist in a world without him.
He’d gotten better at pretending, of course. He’d been good at it his whole life. He went through the motions. He went to work, he ate meals, he showered regularly. He even smiled sometimes when Robin said something funny.
But underneath it all was just…nothing. A vast empty space where Eddie used to be. Where their future should have lied.
Steve had stopped making plans. He stopped thinking about tomorrow or next week or next year. He just focused on getting through today, and then the next day, and then the day after that. Just like Robin said. One day at a time. One foot in front of the other. Breathe in, breathe out. Survive.
Sometimes he wondered if this was all there was now. Would he spend the rest of his life like this— numb and hollow and living on autopilot? Would he ever feel anything real again?
The apartment door opened and Robin appeared, arms crossed. She must have beaten him home.
Steve sighed and finally got out of the car.
“You know it’s creepy when you just sit out here, right?” Robin said as she approached the bannister, leaning against it.
“I was listening to the radio.”
“The car’s off, Steve.”
He didn’t have a response to that.
Robin let them into their shared apartment. It made sense financially, when she suggested it. But Steve knew the real reason— she was worried about him being alone.
She was probably right to worry.
“So,” Robin said, pulling leftovers from the fridge. “Wanna talk about Dustin?”
“Not particularly.”
“Okay. Then I’ll talk and you can listen.” She started heating up the food. “I know it’s hard seeing him like that. Seeing him try to— to become Eddie? But you know that’s just how he’s dealing with it, right? He lost his hero. His mentor. He’s trying to keep Eddie alive in the only way he knows how.”
“I know that,” Steve said quietly.
“And I know it hurts to see pieces of Eddie in someone else. Hearing his phrases come out of Dustin’s mouth. Watching Dustin dress like him and act like him and—”
“Robin.” Steve’s voice cracked. “I know. Okay? I know all of that. And I’m trying. I’m trying so hard to be okay with it, to understand it, but—” He stopped, swallowing hard. “It’s like losing him all over again. Every time I see Dustin, it’s like— like the universe is reminding me that Eddie’s gone and all I have left is…an imitation.”
Robin set down the food and pulled him into a hug. “I’m sorry.”
Steve let himself lean into her. “I thought it would get easier. Everyone says it gets easier with time, but it’s been a year and I still—” He ran out of breath. “I still go to the phone to call him sometimes. I still wait to feel him slide up and wrap his arms around me from behind. I still wake up thinking he’s gonna be there.” His voice had pitched up as hot tears trailed down his cheeks.
“That’s grief,” Robin reminded gently. “It doesn’t go away. It just— it changes shape, is all. And you learn to carry it. You have learned, for the most part, right?”
“I don’t want to carry it anymore,” Steve admitted. “I’m tired, Rob. I’m so tired.”
“I know you are.” She pulled back to look at him. “But you’re still here. You’re still fighting. That counts for something.”
Did it? Steve wasn’t sure anymore.
They ate dinner in front of the TV, some sitcom neither of them were really paying attention to. Steve pushed food around on his plate and tried not to think about how Eddie used to steal food off his plate when they ate together, even if they had the same thing. He’d grin when Steve swatted his hand away. He’d kiss Steve after, tasting like whatever he’d just stolen.
“Steve?” Robin’s voice pulled him back.
“Yeah?”
“You’re doing it again. The thousand-yard stare thing.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” Robin turned off the TV. “Let’s do something. Go for a walk or— or we could go to that record store you like? The one that has the imports section.”
Steve felt a wave of nausea hit his body at the thought. That was Eddie’s record store. They used to go there together, and Eddie would spend an hour flipping through bins and explaining the history of every metal band. Steve would watch him light up as he talked about music, and fall in love with him all over again.
“I can’t,” Steve said, and Robin seemed to understand.
“Okay.” She didn’t push. “Different record store then. Or no record store. We could just drive around.”
“I think I just wanna go to bed.”
Robin’s face fell, but she nodded. “Okay. That’s okay.”
Steve stood and headed for his room. At the doorway, he paused.
“Sorry.” He mumbled.
“For what, babe?” Robin looked shattered at that, like she couldn’t possibly imagine why he’d be apologizing to her.
“For— for you having to put up with me. You don’t deserve this.”
“Steve.” Robin’s voice was fierce. He was a little scared. “You’re my best friend. My platonic soulmate. There’s no ‘putting up with’ anything. We’re in this together.”
Steve dumbly nodded, and disappeared into his room.
Eddie’s box was on his closet shelf. He’d moved it there after a few months because seeing it every day was too much. But he still couldn’t get rid of it, much less pack it away completely.
That night, he did something he hadn’t done since the funeral. He picked up the box and sat on his bed. He opened it up and went through the contents. He laughed to himself as he read through Eddie’s campaign notes. God, these were from forever ago. Before they were even together, from when Eddie called him a dog— no, a golden retriever, specifically, he heard Eddie’s voice clear as day. He looked up, and for a moment, he swore he could see a figure in the reflection of his mirror. As soon as he focused on it, it went away. He shuddered and sat the papers down, shaking his head as his throat closed in on itself. It was like he was developing an allergic reaction to Eddie these days. He lifted the flannel next, bringing the fabric to his nose. The moment his scent hit him, he buried his face in it, moaning an incoherent sound into the shirt. It still smelled so good.
He lied back and stared at the ceiling now, the flannel clutched to his chest.
Steve and Robin’s Apartment - Three Weeks Later
Steve woke up one morning and realized he’d slept through the night.
No nightmares. No waking up at three AM with Eddie’s name on his lips.
He just slept.
He lay there staring at his fan, waiting for the guilt to crash over him. It came, of course, but quieter than usual. Manageable. He actually kind of wanted to get up.
Robin noticed at breakfast.
“You seem different today,” she said over her cereal.
“I slept through the night.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s good, Steve.” Her smile was cautious, like she was afraid to hope too hard.
Steve understood. He felt the same way.
Over the next few months, small things changed.
He laughed at Robin’s jokes without forcing it. He ate without reminding himself to chew. He remembered his drives to work instead of arriving with no recollection of even getting in the car.
It wasn’t happiness. More like…the absence of crushing despair. It was like coughing up water after being held under for too long.
“You’re doing better,” Robin said one evening.
“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “I think I am.”
It should have felt like progress. But instead, it felt like betrayal.
Hawkins High School - Fall 1987
“Just one session,” Robin had pleaded. “Dustin really wants you there. Please?”
So Steve found himself in the basement of Hawkins High on a Friday night, watching a group of teenagers huddle around a table covered in dice, maps, and miniature figures.
Dustin sat at the head of the table in a throne— Eddie’d had one like it, decorated with fabric and foam to make it look like something out of a fantasy novel. Dustin had rebuilt it after the original one was lost.
Steve sat in the back, arms crossed, trying to be invisible.
“Alright, adventurers,” Dustin’s voice rang out, and Steve’s stomach coiled. That was Eddie’s cadence. His dramatic flair. “You stand at the entrance of a majestic castle. The smell of sulfur fills your nostrils. In the distance, you hear the scrape of scales against stone.”
The kids leaned forward, enraptured. Mike started to speak, but Dustin held up a hand— fingers spread, rings glinting.
Steve felt like he was going to throw up.
“Ah, ah, ah,” Dustin said, Eddie’s grin spread wide across his face. “I didn’t hear anyone roll for perception.”
The way he moved his hands while he painted the scene, leaned back in his chair, how he steepled his fingers. How he pitched his voice down low and wise beyond his years. Every gesture, every inflection— it was like watching Eddie’s ghost puppet Dustin’s body.
Gareth grabbed the dice and rolled, beaming wide. “Yes!! Eighteen!” He celebrated, arms up in the air.
“Ohhhh!” Dustin stood up, throwing his arms wide exactly like Eddie used to. “The dice gods smile upon you, Sir Hodash the Breaker! You notice—”
Steve couldn’t watch anymore. He stood abruptly and headed for the door.
“Steve?” Robin called after him, but he was already gone.
Steve made it outside before the panic set in. He leaned against the building and tried to remember how to breathe. Inside, he could hear Dustin’s voice— Eddie’s voice— continuing the campaign. The kids were shouting and slamming on the tables.
It was supposed to be Eddie in there. Eddie at that table, Eddie making those kids light up with joy, Eddie bringing magic into their mundane lives.
Instead it was Dustin, wearing Eddie like a costume, and Steve couldn’t—
“Hey.”
Robin had followed him out. She didn’t say anything else, just stood beside him.
“I thought I could do it,” Steve said. His voice was steady but hollow.
“I thought I was getting better. But watching him in there—” He paused to center himself. “It’s like Dustin’s disappearing. Like Eddie’s taking over and I’m losing them both in this evil, fucked up form of torture.”
“Dustin’s still in there,” Robin said gently.
“Is he?” Steve looked at her. “Because I don’t see him anymore. I just see Eddie. Everywhere. In everything. And I can’t— I can’t escape it. I can’t move on. He won’t let me!”
“Eddie’s not—”
“I know he’s not here,” Steve cut her off. “I know it isn’t him doing this. It’s just Dustin. I know this is his way of grieving. but it doesn’t make it any easier. It doesn’t make it hurt less.”
Robin took his hand. “What do you need?”
“I don’t know.” Steve closed his eyes. “I thought I was supposed to be getting better. But it feels like I’m backpedaling? Or I’m just— stuck. And watching Dustin in there, being Eddie better than I can even remember him anymore—”
He let out a gut-wrenching sob.
“You see a ghost,” Robin finished quietly.
“Yeah,” Steve breathed. She had all the answers, didn’t she? “For a split second, I forget. Then I remember.” His voice wouldn’t stop cracking. “It’s like I’m in a loop, and every fucking day is just me…watching him die again. And I—”
Robin sat beside him as he slid down the wall. “Have you talked to Dustin?”
“And say what? That he can’t dress and talk how he wants because, oh, hey! He reminds me of my dead boyfriend, who nobody knew about? No one even knows that I’m gay.” He swallowed, staring forward. “If that’s what it even is. I don’t— I’m just so confused, and I’m hurt, and I’m angry.”
“Your grief matters, too.”
“Does it?” Steve laughed bitterly. “I was Eddie’s secret. He didn’t even wanna tell his uncle about me. I can’t even go to his grave without raising questions, a grave I helped put a stone on, by the way. I have to pick and choose my words so carefully because Steve Harrington can’t be a qu—”
Robin pulled him into a hug before he could finish the sentence. A sound was ripped from his throat then, kind of like a bray of a donkey. It was ugly, he sounded almost possessed. She cradled him in her arms just like that day in his house when he’d confessed for the first time.
That day was full of sadness. Today? All he could feel was rage. Before he could even think about the words he was saying, he spat them.
“I hate him.”
Robin went still. She audibly swallowed, petting his hair. She waited for a moment, unsure if she wanted to know the answer to the question brewing in her mind.
“I’m sure you don’t mean that,” she whispered. Because whoever he was talking about, she meant it either way.
“I think I do, actually.” Steve laughed. A cold, horrible laugh. “I hate him. I hate him so much, Robin.” He couldn’t stop laughing now, the giggles leaving his body in gasps as he threw his head back. Tears streamed down his face, too.
He wasn’t expecting her to just sit there and let him.
“Why?” She asked, simple.
“He chose to leave.” Steve’s eyes were pitiful, like a kicked puppy. They weren’t angry anymore.
“Oh, Steve.” Robin’s voice was hushed. She sobbed now, too, cupping his red cheeks.
“The worst part is that I miss him.” Steve shrugged. “I’m always going to miss him. This sucks.”
“You’re allowed to miss him forever if that’s what it takes.”
Steve nodded against her shoulder.
Outside, the world kept turning. Dustin kept wearing Eddie’s clothes. The radio kept playing Eddie’s music. Hawkins kept believing Eddie was a murderer.
And Steve kept breathing.
It wasn’t San Francisco, or big windows, or a cat. It wasn’t gentle caresses of fingers on a thigh or a big t-shirt swallowing him whole.
But it was something. A different kind of survival.
“We should go back in there.”
“You sure you’re okay?”
“No,” Steve said honestly. “But I will be. Eventually. Maybe.”
Robin helped him up. They went back to the kids, who were groaning and knocking their heads on the tables as Dustin cackled with the glee of their misfortune.
One day at a time.
It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.
But it was all he had.
So Steve held onto it, and kept going.