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kedreeva · 6 hours

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pick up the pieces also on ao3 // gift fic for malikat22 on ao3

They said his scars would hurt sometimes.

But this is ridiculous.

Steve is sick of it, of the persistent, never-ending ache in his skin, on his sides and his back. The backs of his arms. The bottoms of his feet. Around his neck. The palms of his hands.

They’re everywhere, like they’ve infected him, like they’re spreading. Like mold or fungus or something else that’s sickening, something people get rid of without even considering letting it stay, because they have no reason to.

He hides them as best he can. Under sweaters that are too big for him, that drape over his body and don’t ride up when he stretches so no one sees his skin. He’s bought shirts with higher necklines, not quite turtlenecks but not not turtlenecks, and he adjusts how the fabric lays constantly, tugging it up over his scars and holding it there before letting go, even in the middle of conversation.

He can’t hide the ones on his hands. He supposes he could just wear gloves, but he’s always hated gloves. They make him feel suffocated somehow, like if his hands are covered he might stop breathing.

The others don’t say anything about any of them. They don’t stare, don’t let their eyes linger on the rare occasion that his scars are revealed somehow.. And he’s grateful for it, for the way they leave them alone. He doesn’t know what he would do if they did bring attention to them. How he would deal with it. If he even could deal with it.

Robin is the only one that’s said anything about them. And it was only because Steve brought it up first, because he couldn’t stop crying. She came over while he was in the shower, and she’d just come in when she heard him. Sobbing. Gasping for breath. Suffocating on the steam in the air around him.

She hadn’t even undressed. Just stepped into the stream of water with him, wrapped her arms around him, scars and all. Lowered him to the ground when his knees gave out, buried her face in his neck and smoothed his hair down, whispering to him, her voice hushed and murmuring over the spray of the water, like far-off thunder during a rainstorm. And Steve clung to her. Sobbed into her shoulder. Let her clean the rest of the soap off his skin, let her reach to turn the water off, reach for his towel. Let her dry him off as tenderly and gently as possible, as though the scars on his skin were cracks in glass, like he could shatter.

She told him that he’s beautiful.

He hadn’t believed her, and she knew it. But they didn’t argue.

Neither of them has the energy to argue anymore, not beyond bickering about movies or teasing each other about stupid things like music taste or dumb nicknames. (Steve’s personal favorite for her is “Robert,” while she likes to call him “Stephen,” but only ever with a German accent for some reason.)

He hadn’t believed her, but he still let her see him. Let her look at his scars and pat them dry with his towel. She found the cream from the hospital in the drawer without him even saying anything about where it was, and she softly instructed him on how to turn around so she could spread it over his back and his arms.

Steve fell in love with her all over again.

He knows it’s not the kind of love people usually think about when they hear fall in love. But he doesn’t care.

Robin is the best.

They match somehow. They don’t look alike at all, which he knows, and they’re entirely different people. (Robin is better at reading and languages than he is, and he’s better at math than her. They struggle to find common ground in movies and have to take turns picking them for sleepovers, and he motivates her to learn to drive by telling her she can pick the music when she sits behind the wheel. So far she’s been content subjecting herself to Duran Duran.)

But when they sing together, their voices harmonize perfectly. When they dance, they don’t even have to speak to know what to do, like they’re following choreography only they know somehow. When one falls asleep, they find their way onto the other, nuzzling into their chest and drifting peacefully, like the other takes away all their nightmares. Their hands are different sizes but still fit perfectly together, like they were made to hold each other. Like they were created for one another.

Robin makes everything better. She makes it all feel a little bit lighter.

She gets Steve outside in the days following the end of the world. At first she gets him out of his room, down the hall to the kitchen, to the living room. Just to eat or watch a movie or listen to music while laying on the floor. (They both like laying on the floor.) Then it’s out to the grocery store, just to pick up a few things and then head home to rest. The grocery store has always been particularly draining for Steve. When they get home the first time, he collapses onto the sofa with a groan, and she puts away the groceries before climbing on top of him with a sigh. It’s nice.

Then it’s out to see Nancy and Jonathan and Argyle. A few times they invite the three over to Steve’s house just to get him used to being around people again. Then the kids come over. Then Steve goes out to see them.

And then Steve is almost normal again.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever be like he was before, when existing was simpler, and he wasn’t scared of the dark and his swimming pool. But this is better than nothing.

—————

They’re all okay, more or less.

Max has a wheelchair, and she can’t really see without glasses so thick they make her eyes look smaller, but she’s learning how to do wheelies, and she’s always threatening to run over the boys’ toes. And then saying they can’t complain about her because it’s discrimination against disabled people, which always makes them groan. El always finds it funny, and she’s the only one Max lets sit on her lap.

The boys are okay. Will’s voice is getting louder, and Mike’s is getting softer, and something makes Steve think that’s good. Lucas is falling in love with Max. Steve can tell by the way he looks at her, all sparkly eyes and soft smiles, sometimes even resting his chin in the palm of his hand. Sometimes he sees them holding hands. Max traces the lines of his palm like she’s reading them, and he lays his head on her shoulder. They’re cute.

Dustin has a cane. He keeps pestering Will to paint it for him. Will tells him he charges for commissions.

Jonathan and Argyle are staying in town for a while. At first Argyle stays in the little apartment the Byers’ are staying in, and then he moves to the Wheelers’ basement. (Not that Ted and Karen are any the wiser; Steve wonders what they think goes on in the basement other than hours-long D&D campaigns and sleepovers.)

Nancy is okay. Robin is okay. Everyone’s fine.

But it’s only two weeks into Steve’s desensitization process (as Robin calls it) that he realizes he hasn’t seen Eddie since… everything.

Since the hospital. Since he watched Eddie’s body wheeled into the emergency room, bloody and lifeless. But breathing.

Steve made sure of that.

“Where’s Eddie?” he asks Nancy as they’re sitting on the sofa in the basement, watching the kids bicker about something stupid. She looks at him over her mug, the steam from it wafting into her face. It’s been grey and dreary lately, rain drizzling over Hawkins like the sky is crying as they try to stitch the town back together.

Nancy pauses, sipping her coffee before she speaks.

“He doesn’t wanna see anyone,” she says softly, looking at the kids again. Lucas is holding Mike down as Mike struggles against his hold, and Dustin and Will are both cackling. “Just… It was all a lot for him, you know. He needs some time to…”

She doesn’t finish the sentence, and even though Steve doesn’t know what words she was going to use, he gets it. He needed time too. And he didn’t even die.

He nods, watching the kids, but he isn’t smiling anymore. He doesn’t think he can, as he wonders where Eddie is. If his scars look like Steve’s. If they hurt too.

“He responds to check-ins,” Nancy says, noticing the look on his face. “Says he’s alright. And I called Wayne a little while ago, he said Eddie’s doing alright, but…” She hesitates again. “He thinks maybe going out in public is hard for him. Since the… witch hunt. And all that. It’s scary.”

Steve just nods again.

“We’re just giving him time,” Nancy says. “I’d say we could go over to their new place, but…” She gestures at the kids roughhousing on the ground with a jerk of her chin, smiling softly, fondly. “Don’t wanna give Wayne a migraine.”

“Yeah,” Steve scoffs. “He’d kick us all out.”

“Maybe not all of us,” Nancy says, giving him a look, and he looks back confusedly before she says, “I’m his favorite.”

“That’s only ‘cause he hasn’t actually met me.”

“You can tell yourself that.”

They’re distracted by Argyle flopping onto the sofa between them with a heavy, content sigh, letting his arms fall around their shoulders and pulling them both in lazily. They fall against his chest, their faces close, and they just laugh.

—————

Then it’s three weeks.

Then four.

Then five.

And then it’s summer.

And then it isn’t anymore.

Steve hears Eddie’s name almost every day. Little things the kids say. When Eddie comes back… Eddie’s gonna be so pissed… Eddie would love that…

And he wonders where he is. Thinking about him puts a pit in his stomach, a lump in his throat. He knows Eddie responds to check-ins, but he knows that his voice is rougher. Like he doesn’t speak at all other than the brief Yeah, I’m okays.

The seasons change faster than Steve thinks they ever have in his life. The trees go from vibrant and lush to bare seemingly overnight. The ground is covered by a layer of wet, reddish brown leaves and then a thin layer of ice. He’s wearing a loose long sleeve shirt and then two sweaters and a jacket and a scarf. His hair is longer the next time he looks in the mirror, almost touching his shoulders, and wavy somehow. He hadn’t noticed it.

His scars fade just the slightest bit. They turn reddish pink, the color just a little softened. He keeps putting the cream on the ones he can reach. When Robin stays over, she does his back.

He doesn’t see Eddie.

The kids go back to school as sophomores; Steve drives them some days, stopping by their houses like his car is a school bus. He takes Max to her physical therapy appointments when her mom is working. She clings to his back when he takes her up the stairs to her new apartment, tucking her face into his neck and humming some song he doesn’t recognize. Sometimes Argyle tags along to help with her wheelchair.

Steve doesn’t see Eddie.

Movie nights happen in his living room sometimes now that his parents have left. (Nothing really changes when they go. The house doesn’t seem any quieter, any emptier, any lonelier than it’s always been.) Argyle’s favorite place is the middle of the biggest sofa, because whenever he sits there, whoever is on either side of him ends up leaning into him, resting against his shoulders or his chest. Nancy tosses her legs over his lap and hugs his arm to herself, and he always has this absent smile on his face that Steve kind of loves. Robin likes to sit on the floor. Steve plays with her hair, which is shorter than it used to be, like they’ve traded hair lengths.

Steve doesn’t see Eddie.

He goes to work at the video store. Tries to ignore the lingering eyes on the palms of his hands as he gives customers their change and receipts. He watches movies when it’s slow, leaning against the counter and ignoring the way the edge presses into the scars on his back. The feeling is muffled, like the scar tissue is layered tape covering his skin. He and Robin pass Red Vines and 7-Ups back and forth, repeating lines from whatever movie is on to make fun of the characters.

And he doesn’t see Eddie.

He can tell that the others are worried, too. They all keep it under wraps for the kids, tell them that Eddie just needs more time. It was all so traumatic for him, he just needs space. He’s got Wayne, Wayne takes care of him, Wayne would tell them if something was wrong, if Eddie needed them. Eddie’s a grown-up, he can take care of himself, he knows they’re there for him.

But somehow Steve thinks they might be wrong.

Had Robin not taken over, looked after him, Steve might be like that, too. Tucked away and hidden from the world, silent except quiet affirmations that he’s okay, which is to say that he’s alive. Steve doesn’t care how many times Eddie says he’s fine. He knows he’s not.

He isn’t either, usually.

It’s a Tuesday when he goes to the Munsons’.

It’s an impromptu decision. He drops the kids off at home, and it’s only a little past four, but the sun is going down, and he’s driving out past the line of Hawkins before he realizes what he’s doing. They live outside town now, close enough for Wayne to get to work but far enough that they’re left alone. Far enough that Steve has to look for their house.

It’s small, but there are two bedrooms now. Two beds, two bathrooms. It’s kind of like the Byers’ old place. Secluded and quiet and small, the windows glowing golden in the dark, welcoming and warm looking.

Wayne’s car isn’t in the driveway, and as Steve pulls the key out of the ignition he sees the curtain in the living room shift. He pauses, looking, biting his lip, and it’s like he can feel Eddie here, closer than he’s been in months.

There’s no answer when Steve knocks. But he sees movement in one of the windows. It’s cracked open, the end of the curtain fluttering in the breeze.

“Eddie,” Steve calls lightly. “Come on, man. I know you’re there.”

It’s quiet, but Steve somehow can feel him here, just on the other side of the door. So fucking close.

“Eddie,” he says again.

“Go away.”

His voice is rough. But it’s still Eddie.

“Eddie,” Steve says, and his voice breaks now, because his throat is tight, and his eyes are burning. “Please.”

“Go,” Eddie says. His voice wavers, like he’s crying too. “I don’t— I don’t want you to see, Steve, please, just…”

“Eddie, baby. Please.”

Eddie is quiet. There’s a soft thud against the other side of the door like he’s let his head fall against it, and Steve wipes a tear as it falls down his cheek.

Steve holds his breath. Looks at the door. It’s a plain door, wooden with a rusted knocker, a window that’s covered from the inside. He doesn’t know how long he waits, staring at the door, listening like he can hear Eddie breathing.

And the door opens.

It just cracks open at first, like Eddie is still contemplating, considering, making up his mind, and then it opens all the way, but Eddie is standing back, out of the way. And Steve has to come inside to see him, has to step through the doorway, into the soft lamplight, into the living room.

The door closes behind him, and he has to turn to see him.

To see Eddie.

It takes a few moments for him to realize that it is, in fact, Eddie that he’s looking at. He doesn’t look like Eddie. Steve freezes.

His curls are gone. His head is shaved, his hair short enough that Steve can see his pale skin beneath it, can see the shape of his skull. Steve stares, like he’s searching for his curls, like they’re going to appear if he looks long enough.

And then Eddie is crying, his eyes squeezing shut, his breath catching, his head falling in a way that would make his hair fall to hide his face if it was still there. But it isn’t. And instead Steve can see a scar on the top of his head, a rough, jagged one a deep shade of red, like it’s still matted with blood, and Steve thinks he might be dying.

“Eddie,” he says softly, hesitating before he reaches out to touch him, his hand landing on his shoulder lightly. “Eds, it’s— It’s not bad, I’m sorry, it just… Baby, it just took me back a second, it…”

Eddie sobs weakly, covering his mouth, and his sleeve falls from where it’s been covering his hand, exposing his fingers, and his knuckles, and he looks so fucking delicate, like he’s an injured bird. His knuckles are reddened like he’s been punching something, and his fingernails are chewed short, almost bleeding, and Steve can’t fucking stand it.

“Eddie,” he breathes. Eddie lifts his head, and his eyes are…

Dark. Oddly dark, almost black, and wide, like they’re bigger than they used to be. His eyelashes are wet with years, and his cheeks are red like his knuckles, but not from the crying, like it’s just him, like he’s so pale Steve can see his blood under his skin. His lips are red too, just at the center, like he’s been eating a cherry popsicle. There’s a scar on his cheek, and it’s like the scar at the top of his head, red where Steve’s scars are pink, and he’s like that all over, grey where Steve is gold. And he doesn’t look like used to, like he’s someone that resembles Eddie, like he’s almost Eddie—

But he’s trembling under Steve’s hand, and Steve can hear him breathing, and he’s know that sound fucking anywhere, the best sound in the fucking universe.

He remembers hearing it again in the Upside Down. The awful silence as Steve fell to the ground next to Eddie, pulling him from Dustin’s arms, as he pressed his hands into his sternum over and over and over and over and over again. He remembers the muffled sound of Dustin’s sobs, remembers seeing Nancy in his periphery, wrapped her arms around Dustin tightly, whispering to him. He remembers the sickening crack of Eddie’s ribs under his hands, the slick cold of his lips against Steve’s as Steve tried to give him his own breath. The way his voice broke and scraped against the inside of his throat as he sobbed.

Come on, Eddie, you’re fine.

Come on, Eddie.

Come on, baby. And the ragged gasp Eddie took as his eyes opened. The sob Steve let out as Eddie was sick, as he rolled over and groaned in pain, the delirious laugh he let out as Steve grabbed him, pulled him into his arms and held him before he lifted him up and carried him out of hell.

Steve’s mouth briefly tastes like Eddie’s blood.

“Eds,” he whispers. Eddie just stares at him, and it’s a little unnerving, the way he isn’t blinking, like he’s looking through Steve, like he’s seeing into his soul. “…It suits you,” Steve tries.

“No, it doesn’t,” Eddie says, unblinking, unmoving. “Don’t lie to me.”

He’s right. It doesn’t. It doesn’t look like him, like he’s missing a whole part of himself, and Steve knows he feels it missing.

“It’ll grow back,” Steve says, and he’s still holding Eddie’s shoulder, but he can’t make himself let go, like he can’t stand to not touch him now that he’s within reach.

“I’ve been growing it out since I was twelve, Steve,” Eddie says, finally blinking, his voice cracking. “That’s eight fucking years, and they— they cut it all off before I even woke up—”

“Who?” Steve asks, his hand tightening.

“The doctors,” Eddie says weakly. “They had to— they had to run tests and stuff, and they just…”

“Eddie.”

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut for a moment and then looks at him, and Steve wants to touch his face, to hold him close, but he doesn’t.

“You’re alive,” Steve whispers. “You have all the time you need to grow your hair back.”

Eddie’s eyes flutter as he blinks at him, and Steve wants to cry.

“Okay?” Steve says softly, but Eddie shakes his head.

“I…”

“What is it?” Steve says, finally touching his face. His skin is cold. Eddie leans into the touch a little bit, looking at him, hesitating.

“…There’s something wrong with me,” he whispers, like it’s a secret, and he pulls away, stepping back. His sweater sways in the air. Steve wonders if his head is cold.

“Come on, Eddie.”

“They said,” Eddie says brokenly, gesturing vaguely behind himself.

“Who—”

“The doctors, Steve.” Eddie’s eyes are glistening, and he’s trembling. “There— There’s something wrong with me, I…”

“Tell me,” Steve says gently. Eddie looks at him, his hands falling to his sides, and he looks so small suddenly, even though he’s taller than Steve.

“It stayed,” Eddie says quietly, hissing the words out, his voice breaking. “That place. It’s still in me.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asks softly. Eddie lets out a weak sob, and tears fall down his cheeks, leaving glistening tracks in their paths.

“I died down there,” Eddie says adamantly. “And it— it infected me. I’m fucked up, Steve, I’m wrong.”

Steve’s lip quivers.

And Eddie’s right. He is wrong. He almost doesn’t even look human, the way a doll face just looks… off. Eerie. Unsettling.

His skin is grey, even in the golden light of the lamp, and his scars are red, like open flesh, and his eyes are shining black, and just as the strings are coming together Eddie’s jaw clenches, and he makes a sound.

A chittering, clicking sound. A sound Steve recognizes from the hallways of the Byers house, from the dark, from his dreams.

Steve’s stomach falls, and his blood runs cold, but Eddie just looks scared, even more scared than Steve feels, like he’s scared of Steve.

“Eddie…”

“You shouldn’t have brought me back,” Eddie says quietly.

And Steve’s stomach falls again. He stares at Eddie.

“What?”

A tear falls down Eddie’s cheek.

“I’m wrong,” he says, gesturing to himself. “I’m fucking sick, Steve, I’m fucked up, I—” He cuts off sharply, his lip trembling. “You should have left me there.”

“Fuck you,” Steve says, his voice stronger than it’s been in months. Eddie blinks at him. “I worked to bring you back, I broke your fucking ribs to bring you back—”

“I didn’t ask you to—”

“I don’t fucking care!” Steve yells roughly. His eyes are burning, and his heart is pounding, beating against the inside of his chest like it wants to escape him. “I got back and I found you fucking bleeding out in my kid’s arms, I couldn’t just leave you there.”

Eddie stares at him, tears streaming down his face. Steve is shaking, his hands trembling, and somehow it’s even quieter here in the middle of nowhere.

“Dustin cried for three days,” Steve says, his voice wavering. “After you were alive, he cried when you were breathing.”

“I’m a fucking monster,” Eddie says, his voice ragged. “They were all right.”

Steve blinks.

“Wh—”

“My whole life,” Eddie says brokenly, gesturing at his chest again, “I have been a freak. Everything about me has been fucking judged, my— my parents, my clothes, my hair, fucking everything has made me a faggot, and a freak, and a monster, and they were right about all of it—”

“You’re you—”

“You don’t know me—”

“I gave you my fucking breath!” Steve yells, finally coming close to Eddie, pushing him back against the wall. Eddie makes the sound again, looking into his eyes, his jaw clenching, but it doesn’t scare Steve. Eddie doesn’t scare Steve. “I know you in a way no one else does.”

Eddie sniffles, biting his lip so hard it pales.

Steve’s eyes burn, and Eddie blurs in his vision. They fall quiet, like they’ve both lost the will to argue, like they’re both suddenly too tired.

“I don’t give a fuck,” Steve says quietly, “if you’re part demogorgon or fucking whatever.” He reaches to wipe a tear from Eddie’s cheek before it can reach his scar, brushing his thumb over his cold skin gently. “You’re alive. That’s all I care about.”

Eddie looks at him, and then he’s touching Steve, his hands tentative on his waist, reaching under his jacket to hold the fabric of his shirt. Steve holds his cheek carefully.

“Everyone’s worried about you,” Steve says softly. “The kids won’t shut up about you, it drives me crazy.”

Eddie cracks a smile, tilting his head, and he’s somehow looking up at Steve even though he’s taller.

“Even Argyle asks about you. You guys haven’t even met.”

Eddie looks away, eyes downcast, his hands tightening on Steve’s shirt.

“He sounds cool,” he says quietly, his voice hushed.

“He is. You’d like him.” He wants to say something about Argyle’s hair, but he doesn’t want to reopen that wound.

Eddie looks at him. His hands are holding the fabric of Steve’s shirt loosely, weakly, and he looks like he’s going to fall over.

He kind of does in a moment, leaning toward Steve, and Steve’s whole body hurts. He lifts his chin and presses his lips to Eddie’s forehead, and he kind of loves and equally hates that he doesn’t have to push any hair out of the way. Eddie exhales, and he falls forward more, tucking his face into Steve’s neck. He’s so cold.

Steve runs a hand over the top of Eddie’s head as Eddie’s arms wrap around his waist weakly. His hair is prickly against Steve’s palm, but Steve kind of likes it. He does it again, pressing his cheek against the top of his head, scratching his fingertips over his scalp gently. And Eddie makes a different noise this time, something like a purr, and Steve smiles, running his other hand over Eddie’s back. Eddie presses closer.

“Can I tell the others I saw you?” Steve asks softly, whispering. Eddie sighs, nuzzling into Steve’s neck, rubbing his nose against him.

“I don’t want them to see me,” he says quietly “Don’t want them to come over.”

“I can tell them not to,” Steve murmurs. “Just wanna let them know you’re okay.”

Eddie pauses, and then he nods.

“Okay.”

Steve exhales, scratching his scalp again because it makes him melt, holding the back of his neck with his other hand gently. Eddie’s hands slide over Steve’s waist and up his chest, where they linger, holding the fabric of his shirt loosely.

“…Can you stay here tonight?” he asks quietly, his voice a little muffled. Steve squeezes his eyes shut.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “I can stay here tonight.”

Eddie is soft. He wraps his arms around Steve’s neck and buries his face with a soft exhale, and Steve hugs his waist, holding him close and leaning forward, resting his hand against the door when they sway. And it’s like he can feel Eddie shrinking against him, melting into his chest.

“Can I pick you up?” Steve asks quietly. Eddie nods, making the soft purring sound again, and Steve smiles, pulling away just enough to pull his jacket off. Eddie lets him, blinking his eyes open and looking at him. Steve slides his hands down to his thighs after dropping the jacket to the ground, lifting him up carefully, like he’s worried he’ll snap. Eddie’s legs wrap around Steve’s hips, and Steve suppresses a smile as Eddie clings to him. “I got you.”

“Mm.”

Steve finds the living room, running his hand down Eddie’s back, feeling the oddly sharp bumps of his spine. When he sits on the sofa, Eddie raises onto his knees, hugging Steve’s neck tightly, his voice rumbling in his throat as he groans quietly, almost growling. Steve slides his hands over Eddie’s back again, and then he holds his hips, exhaling and pressing his face into Eddie’s neck. He can feel his heartbeat.

“You okay, baby?” Steve whispers. Eddie is quiet.

“…You keep calling me that.”

Steve’s face flushes with heat, and he stares across the room blankly.

“I can stop.”

“Don’t.”

Steve blinks, his hands tightening on him.

“…Baby.”

“I’m okay.”

“Okay.”

Eddie lowers to Steve’s lap after a few moments, relaxing against Steve’s chest, resting his cheek on his shoulder with a quiet sigh.

“Tell me,” Steve whispers.

Eddie’s breath is warm on Steve’s skin, and he slides his hand down Steve’s arm, squeezing his bicep gently, absently.

“…I’m all wrong,” he breathes. “I don’t wanna be wrong, I just wanna be me again.”

“You’re still you, Ed,” Steve whispers. “I still see you.”

Eddie pulls away, his eyebrows furrowed a little bit, his cheeks red, and his eyes flick across Steve’s face. His hand tightens on Steve’s arm, fingertips digging into his tricep, where it’s softest.

“Thank you.”

“What for?” Steve whispers, lifting his chin to look at him, scanning his face. There are red spots on his bottom lip, like he’s picked his skin away. Steve wants to kiss it better. And he dismisses the thought as quickly as he can.

“You brought me back.” Eddie squeezes his arm again, and then he puts his hands on Steve’s chest, tracing a crease in the fabric of his shirt. “Broke me apart to bring me back.”

“Eddie,” Steve whispers. “Baby.”

Eddie meets his eyes.

“I would walk through hell to bring you back,” Steve murmurs, sliding his hands up to Eddie’s waist, holding him gently. “I’d do it all over again to bring you back.”

Eddie closes his wide eyes. Steve can see his veins on his eyelids, colorful against his pale skin. And Steve’s chest aches like Eddie is reaching inside him, pressing his hands through his skin, into the cage of his ribs.

Eddie leans in, letting their foreheads press, and Steve closes his eyes. Eddie smells like cigarettes and weed, like something natural and smooth, and Steve kind of wants to cry. He presses his hand into the small of Eddie’s back, and he reaches his other hand to smooth over his head, scratching his scalp gently. Eddie purrs. Steve smiles.

Eddie clings to Steve when they go to bed, arms and legs wrapped around him tightly like he can’t stand to let go. Steve doesn’t want him to let go. He holds him, lays in bed with him pressed close to his chest, takes in the vagues cigarette smoke and soft rumbling in Eddie’s throat and the gentle beat of his heart. Eddie falls asleep first.

Steve gazes at him like a weirdo, but he can’t make himself stop. The lamp is on, and Steve’s shadow is over Eddie’s face. Eddie’s hands are curled on the bed between them, soft and gentle, and Steve thinks he looks like an art piece. Like something from the Renaissance, something that should be intricately painted, framed with ornate gold and admired for centuries. Steve is breathless. Awestruck.

He looks at Eddie’s hands, lifts his own hand and touches his fingertips delicately. The very ends are darker than the rest of his skin, and it looks beautiful. Eddie’s fingers move after a moment, absently grabbing Steve’s fingers and holding them in a loose fist, sighing. Steve bites his lip to suppress a smile, looking at Eddie’s peaceful, sleeping face as he makes soft noises under his breath, little chirps and squeaks that make Steve’s heart feel warm.

He doesn’t sleep. He looks at Eddie instead.

—————

“I saw Eddie on Tuesday.”

“What? What the hell?”

“Dustin.”

“How come you can see him?” Dustin asks accusatorily, pointing at Steve with his cane. “I wanna see Eddie!”

“Come on, Dusty-bun,” Nancy says from where she’s leaning against the sofa. “Steve brought him back to life, he’s allowed to be Eddie’s favorite.”

Steve’s cheek flush with heat, and he looks away from her.

“I wanna see him,” Dustin says adamantly, his eyes wide.

“He doesn’t wanna be seen,” Steve says gently, looking at him intently. “He just…”

“I…”

“Look,” Steve says, shifting, moving forward, and he looks at the ground, away from all the eyes on him. “I know you wanna see him, Dustin. Everyone wants to see him. But it’s not up to us.”

When he looks up Dustin’s eyes are glassy, and it makes his chest tighten.

“He doesn’t want anyone to see him yet.”

“How come you can?”

“Dustin.”

Dustin falls quiet, looking into Steve’s eyes, and Steve feels see-through. Like it’s all on his face, written in his skin.

”Look,” he says again, his voice softer. The others are silent, like they’re watching a tense movie. “It was… It was a lot for him. He just needs time, okay?”

Dustin’s shoulders fall. He looks at Steve, pleading, and Steve wants to cry.

“He’ll come around,” he says softly. “Just wait for him.”

El falls against Dustin’s shoulder in sympathy, looking at Steve like she read his mind. He kind of hates when she looks at him like that, but he knows she can’t help it.

—————

Steve goes to the Munsons’ more often than he thinks he should.

He likes Wayne. Wayne is nice, and they like the same teams, so on the common occurrence that Steve wakes up before Eddie, he and Wayne watch baseball together, trying to keep quiet. They take their coffee the same way, without milk or sugar, and Eddie is the opposite, so they both tease him that he might as well just have some chocolate milk with his breakfast.

Wayne always looks like he’s expecting Steve. He never looks surprised when he opens the door to find Steve standing there, sometimes holding containers of takeout or leftovers, or when he comes home to find him on the sofa with Eddie in his arms. Like he can fucking sense him there or something.

Eddie, on the other hand, always looks surprised. The second time Steve shows up, Eddie looks like he’s going to burst into tears. Like Steve was never going to come over again.

And Steve’s been trying to ignore the little flutter in his stomach, but as the weeks go by, it’s harder and harder to pretend it isn’t there. Every time Eddie meets his eyes, every time he looks away quickly, like he’s shy, even as he moves closer to Steve on the sofa or lets his head fall to his shoulder. He bites his nails as they watch movies, and when Steve finally reaches out to stop him, his cheek flush bright red, so Steve just laces their fingers together.

Eddie’s hands are cold. He’s shaking a little bit. He always is.

Steve never really pays any real attention to the movies they watch. He’s too distracted by Eddie next to him, breathing. He thinks he might be distracting to Eddie too. He keeps seeing him in his periphery, looking back at him and staring, like he’s analyzing him, like he’s curious.

“What?” he says one day, glancing at Eddie, who looks away. “Something on my face?”

“No,” Eddie says softly. He’s holding Steve’s hand, fidgeting absently with his fingers. “Just…”

”Just…” Steve repeats,squeezing his hand. Eddie glances at him.

“I like your face.” Steve snorts. Eddie elbows him, suppressing a smile. “Shut up.”

“You’re allowed to like my face,” Steve says, like it hasn’t set him on fire, like four words from Eddie’s mouth don’t have the power to turn his body inside out. “I like your face too.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Don’t be a dick,” Steve chides, elbowing him back. “You have a good face.”

“…’S fucked up,” Eddie says quietly, eyes on the television, but he doesn’t really look like he’s watching the movie. Like he’s looking through the screen instead of at it.

“And what?”

Eddie shrugs.

“Don’t look like me.”

Steve hums softly, and he turns, his hand pulling away from Eddie as he leans against the back of the sofa and facing Eddie. Eddie looks at him curiously, glancing first at his hand and then at his face. He turns to face him when their eyes meet.

Steve lifts his hand to touch his face. Eddie leans into it.

“You still look like you,” Steve says quietly. Eddie blinks. Steve brushes his thumb over his cheek, traces the line in his skin that deepens when he smiles, tracing his scar. “Pretty boy.”

Eddie’s cheeks flush with color. He looks away, pursing his lips to suppress a smile, and he leans against Steve, knocking his head against his shoulder lightly. Steve’s stomach does a somersault, and he bites his lip, his cheeks warm.

“You keep doing that,” Eddie mumbles, nestling against Steve, tucking into his side. Steve hums, letting him pull at his arm, and he looks down at him as he hugs Steve’s arm to himself.

“What am I doing?”

Eddie is quiet for a moment, pressing his face into Steve’s bicep, nuzzling.

“Givin’ me butterflies.”

Steve grins across the room.

“…You give me butterflies too.”

“…Lame.”

Steve snorts, shaking his head before he leans to rest it against Eddie’s. His hair is a little longer now, softer against Steve’s cheek than it used to be.

“You’re so annoying,” Steve says quietly.

“Stay anyway?” Eddie asks, arms tightening around Steve’s arm. Steve wants to cry. He leans against Eddie and kisses the top of his head.

“Yeah.”

Eddie hums softly, and he moves closer against Steve, his cheek pressing to his shoulder, and it’s only a few minutes later that Steve hears him snoring softly. He turns to look at him, tilting his head, and his heart swells in his chest. Eddie’s cheek is squished against his shoulder, and his lips are parted, his expression soft and relaxed, and Steve suddenly wants to fucking sob.

Because Eddie Munson is alive.

Laying on Steve’s shoulder and snoring. Holding his arm loosely like he doesn’t want to let Steve go.

Steve can’t move, can’t even pay any attention to the movie, listening to Eddie snoring, to his soft breaths, to his heartbeat, which Steve thinks he can feel under his own fucking skin. His eyes burn, and he blinks tears back, biting his lip as his throat tightens. And it’s like Eddie knows Steve is crying even in his sleep, because he nuzzles closer like he’s trying to comfort him, rubbing his cheek against Steve’s shoulder and tightening his arms around Steve’s.

Eddie seems shy in the morning, like he remembers it all. His cheeks are pink as they eat breakfast across from each other, avoiding Steve’s eyes as he pokes at his food, glancing at him occasionally.

“You sleep okay?” Steve asks, sitting cross-legged on his chair. Eddie sits with one of his knees up so he can rest his chin on it. He glances at Steve again, averting his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, but he sounds dejected.

“You okay?” Steve asks softly, gazing at him. His hair is fuzzier now, softer, and it makes him look a little softer around the edges too. Eddie nods and picks up his mug, holding it in front of his face so the steam warms his skin, and he stares into it like he’s trying to read tea leaves.

“I always sleep better when you’re here,” he says finally, his voice hushed. Steve blinks.

“Yeah?”

Eddie nods, glancing at him again before he takes a slow sip of his coffee.

“Why?” Steve says, shifting in his seat, and Eddie looks at him again, his eyes lingering, flickering across his face. They’re so dark, glassy and intense as he stares, unblinking. It’s a little unsettling, but Steve doesn’t mind. It’s just Eddie.

Eddie shrugs lightly.

“You’re…” He looks away. “I don’t know. You’re, like… safe.”

“…Safe?” Steve says weakly.

Eddie nods.

“I don’t… I don’t worry about stuff as much as I usually do when you’re here,” he says quietly, almost mumbling. “Feel like I don’t have to think as much. ‘S easier to just… let myself be tired.”

He looks at Steve again, and he kind of looks like he’s going to burst into tears, his head still lowered so he’s looking up at Steve through his eyelashes, like he’s shy, like he has a crush on him—

Oh.

Eddie is looking back and forth between Steve’s eyes, like he’s searching, looking for something, like he’s scared, and Steve’s entire body aches. Something in his chest shifts, falling into place. He hesitates, searching Eddie’s eyes right back, scanning the almost unreadable expression on his face. It’s not like his soft, sleeping expression, when his eyebrows were almost raised, and his eyes were closed peacefully.

His eyebrows are a little bit furrowed right now, his eyes a little bit wide. Tense. Waiting. Steve hesitates, his lips parting before he even knows what to do, what to say, how to react or respond. And then he speaks, his voice so soft it’s barely even a whisper, and his face flushes with warmth as Eddie’s expression softens.

“…My scars don’t hurt as much when I’m with you.”

Eddie’s eyes are glassy, unblinking.

“…Really?”

Steve nods with a light scoff.

“Yeah. I don’t… I don’t know why. I didn’t really, like, notice for a while,” he says, fidgeting with his fork, twisting it between his fingers. “But… ‘S like the pain fades. Or, like, I’m not focussed on it, I guess. I forget about it.”

He looks at Eddie again.

And something seems to dawn on Eddie too. His eyes somehow widen more, and his eyebrows quirk up like he’s seeing if Steve is serious. Steve nods, half-smiling.

Eddie’s lip curve into a small smile too. It’s beautiful.

“Okay?” Steve asks softly. Eddie nods again.

“Okay.”

Eddie looks away shyly, suppressing a smile as he pokes at his food, his cheeks pink, and Steve is falling apart, crumbling to dust in the Munsons’ living room. He sets an elbow on the table, resting his chin on his palm as he gazes at Eddie, watches the way he sways back and forth a little bit, smiling absently, contentedly.

And even though he doesn’t look like he used to, he’s still so fucking beautiful.

His hair is fuzzy now, his widow’s peak almost accentuated, and his face looks a little softer than it did when Steve first started coming over, like he’s been eating more. Like he’s rested. And Steve feels like a fucking child, like he’s in grade school, looking across the classroom to stare at his silly crush, to take up every second he can before the bell rings or something.

Eddie glances up at him after a moment.

“What?” he says. “Something on my face?”

Steve scoffs, and then he shakes his head with a light shrug.

“Wanna watch a movie?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says lightly. “Sure.”

They watch a movie.

Somehow it always feels so fucking normal. Weirdly normal.

And at first Steve expects it all to come crashing down, for something to break. For the door to bust down and reveal a monster. For Eddie to change his mind.

But Eddie doesn’t change his mind. He sits too close to Steve on the sofa, curls up beside him like he’s trying to hide away from the rest of the living room. Like he’s shrinking away from the windows, from the rest of the world. He leans toward Steve like he doesn’t even notice himself doing it, looking across the small room, his shoulder pressing to Steve’s. He’s almost warm, wearing two sweaters like he almost always is, and it makes Steve melt.

Eddie rests his head on Steve’s shoulder about halfway through the movie. Tentative and gentle, like Steve might push him away. (He’d rather walk off the cliff at the quarry.) And then he’s shifting a little bit closer, his knees drawn to his chest, hands tucked against himself.

And it feels different than it did before.

Easier. Softer.

Steve leans back against him. Rests his cheek against the top of his head. Eddie leans into him, and after a few moments his fingers start clicking. Steve looks over, watches the way Eddie is picking at the skin around his thumbnail, scratching it off, and he reaches over to slip his hand between his fingers, stopping him.

“You okay?” he asks softly as he laces their fingers. Eddie squeezes, holding his hand with both of his own, tugging it closer to himself.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Just thinking.”

“Stop.”

Eddie snorts, turning his face into Steve’s shoulder, rubbing his cheek against him harshly as he laughs softly.

“Okay,” he says lightly. “Done thinking.”

“Good.” Steve kisses the top of his head. “You don’t have to think right now. I got you.”

Eddie hums quietly, tucking himself into Steve’s side, pulling his hand so his arm is across him again, and he seems to really like sitting like this, hugging Steve’s arm to himself, face pressed against his shoulder. He falls asleep.

Steve likes it when he falls asleep.

—————

Eddie clings to Steve in his sleep. Wraps his arms around him tightly and holds on like he’s going to float away if he lets go. Squeezes the fabric of Steve’s shirt in his fists, lifts his leg to wrap around Steve’s hips. Presses his face into Steve’s chest, squishes his cheek against him and snores softly.

His breathing changes when he has nightmares. Becomes sharper, faster. It wakes Steve out of a dead sleep, and it takes a moment for him to realize why he’s awake. He stares at the ceiling for a few moments, taking in the weight of Eddie against him, the heat of his body. And then he hears it. The sharp in and out, panicked and desperate.

Steve blinks, looks down at him in the dim lamplight. They always leave the light on. They’re both scared of the dark.

Eddie’s eyebrows are furrowed. His breathing stutters in his chest, and his lip quivers, and his hands are shaking a little bit. Steve’s stomach twists.

He shifts down a little bit, letting Eddie’s hand drag his shirt up a little bit from how tightly he’s gripping it, until they’re face to face, and he reaches up to touch his cheek gently, brushing his thumb over his faint freckles.

Eddie lets out a weak sound, a distressed sound, and his expression tightens. Steve doesn’t really even want to know what he’s dreaming about. What’s happening in his head. He brushes his thumb over his cheek again, then smooths his fingers over it, pressing almost firmly. Eddie exhales more slowly.

“You’re okay,” Steve breathes. “I got you.”

He runs a hand over the side of Eddie’s head, brushing over his short hair, dragging his fingers through it. It’s long enough for that now. It’s soft.

Eddie exhales. His expression softens a little bit. Steve’s lips quirk into a smile, and he drags his nails through Eddie’s hair again, scratching gently in the way that Eddie seems to like. He melts every time Steve does it as they watch movies, as they lounge on the sofa while Eddie reads or Wayne listens to the radio.

Eddie’s expression softens more. He lets out a sigh, and his grip on Steve’s shirt relaxes. Steve waits for a few moments, still scratching at his hair gently, until Eddie’s eyes open slowly. It takes a moment for his gaze to focus, his eyes absent and still lingering in his dream, and then he finds Steve.

“Hi,” Steve whispers. He touches Eddie’s face, caresses his cheek and nods when Eddie’s eyes flutter, gleaming. “‘S okay, I know.”

Eddie’s lip quivers, and his mouth twists to stop it, but Steve doesn’t want him to stop it. He touches the corner of his mouth gently, nodding again.

“‘S okay.”

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, biting his lip, and then his grip of Steve’s shirt is tightening, and he pulls at it, pulling Steve closer, burying his face in his chest as his shoulders shake. Steve runs his hand over his hair, hushing him gently, kissing the top of his head.

He stays there. Closes his eyes and holds Eddie as he shakes, until he falls still. Until his breathing steadies, and he falls asleep. Steve kisses the top of his head again, like he’s trying to kiss away his dreams.

The house is quiet when they get up in the morning. Wayne is on day shift now, and he’s left breakfast on the counter, two tortillas with eggs and vegetables and bacon. Eddie wraps the tortillas because Steve can’t do it for the life of him, and Steve sits on a counter as he watches Eddie heat them up on the stove. Eddie is quiet this morning, eyes downcast even as he hands Steve’s plate to him.

Steve catches him as he goes to pass him, grabbing the fabric of his hoodie, tugging him closer. Eddie glances at him, and he sighs, setting his plate on the counter.

“You okay?” Steve asks softly, still holding his sleeve.

“Yeah,” Eddie says quietly. He’s still looking away, his eyes trained on the front of Steve’s shirt. “Just…”

Steve sets aside his own plate, and he slides off the counter so they’re face to face. He touches Eddie’s hands, guides them to his own waist so they’re touching. Eddie’s hands tighten on him even though he still won’t look at him.

“Ed,” Steve whispers. Eddie takes a breath, and he finally looks at him. His hair is too short to really be tousled, but he has a little cowlick, and he’s precious. “Talk to me.”

Eddie’s eyes flicker back and forth between Steve’s, and his throat bobs as he swallows, like he’s nervous.

“In my dream you were gone.”

His voice is small, brittle, and it makes Steve ache, makes his heart fall to the bottom of his ribcage. Eddie’s eyes are glistening again.

“You left,” he says weakly, and Steve is already shaking his head. “You left me, and you— you weren’t there when I— I thought I was awake, and it was all dark, and I didn’t know where you went—”

“Baby,” Steve says softly, touching his face, holding it between his hands, wiping away the tear that falls. “I’m right here, Ed, I’m not going anywhere.”

“You…” Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, gripping Steve’s shirt before he holds his waist instead, squeezing gently. “You were right there when I woke up, when I really woke up, and I just—”

“I’ll always be right there, baby,” Steve breathes. “I fucking swear, I’m not going anywhere.”

Eddie presses his face into Steve’s shoulder. Steve holds him again, this time in the bright sunlight, in the soft morning solitude, the birds chirping outside. They sway, and Steve’s eyes burn as he presses his cheek against Eddie’s hair.

They’re both sniffling when they separate, and Steve leans to press their foreheads together, wiping Eddie’s tears from his cheeks.

“Okay?” Steve murmurs, lifting his chin so their noses nudge. Eddie nods, brushing the ends of their noses together, and he exhales slowly. His hands are holding Steve’s waist tightly, and Steve thinks he would be self-conscious of the softness his body has now, if it wasn’t for the way Eddie holds him.

He can feel Eddie’s breath on his face, warm and soft. His eyelashes flutter against Steve’s skin. His fingers squeeze, kneading Steve’s sides gently.

Steve tilts his head, pressing a little closer, letting their noses bump.

But Eddie turns his head, pulls away enough that their faces aren’t touching.

“…We can’t.”

Steve blinks. His heart falls as Eddie lets go of him, pulls his hands away from his waist.

“Ed?”

Eddie looks at him. Rubs his hands over his legs and looks like he’s going to burst into tears.

“We can’t,” he says again, his voice weak all over again, shaking his head a little bit.

“Why?” Steve asks, almost whispering, his chest tight.

Eddie just looks at him, his eyes glistening. His lip quivers. He pauses, looking at Steve with this sickening space between them, this gap, this chasm, and he stammers something silently as he searches Steve’s face, his eyes.

“I… They all hated me,” he says weakly. “Because I’m queer. I don’t… I don’t want that to happen to you.”

“Eddie,” Steve tries, his voice barely a whisper, but it doesn’t stop Eddie.

“Even if we—” He cuts off sharply, looking at Steve desperately, like he wants to use fucking telepathy or something. “Even if we don’t tell anyone, I… Wayne already knows I like you just because of how I look at you, Stevie, I… I won’t be able to hide it if we…”

He trails off, his eyes flooding, tears falling down his cheeks beautifully, leaving glistening paths behind them. He wipes them away roughly with the ends of his sleeves, forcing more redness into his skin, and Steve’s chest hurts. He wants to wipe his tears for him.

“I won’t be able to look at you like I don’t know what you taste like,” Eddie says softly, like he’s trying to be quiet, like he’s worried the world outside will hear, even though the house is in the middle of nowhere. “I won’t be able to fucking hide that I— I—”

“That you what?” Steve breathes. Eddie shakes his head.

“They’ll know,” he chokes. “Everyone will know.”

“I don’t care,” Steve says softly, shaking his head.

“I do,” Eddie says weakly. “I won’t put you through that, they— they made my life hell because of what I am, and I won’t put you through that.”

“You’re not putting me through anything, Eddie,” Steve says as strongly as he can, and he finally reaches out, grabs Eddie’s sleeve and tugs gently so he comes closer. Closes the chasm a little bit. “Baby. Listen.”

Eddie closes his eyes and he looks like he wants to argue, but he’s quiet. Sniffles, turns his face away until Steve touches his cheek and wipes his tears as gently as he can. He takes a shuddering breath that sounds like the wind outside, fluttering through leaves.

“No one has to know,” Steve says softly, leaning forward, keeping his voice from the outside world. “If Wayne knows, and he’s fine with it, I mean…”

“He is,” Eddie says quietly with a weak nod. “He’s cool.”

“Then we’re all good,” Steve says, smiling weakly as Eddie opens his eyes to look at him. “We don’t have to tell anyone else if you don’t want to.”

“It won’t matter if we tell them,” Eddie says, and his voice is just as quiet, as whispered, as Steve’s. And they’re so close, leaning toward each other like they’re at a party and don’t want anyone hearing them over the music. He’s close enough to kiss. “They’d be able to tell, Steve.”

“I won’t care if they can tell,” Steve insists, his voice thin. “I’ll fucking shout it from the rooftops, Eddie, I don’t care, I—”

He pauses.

Looks into Eddie’s eyes and sees how glassy they are, dark and shining at him, still filled with unshed tears.

“I want you,” Steve says weakly. “I want you more than anything.”

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, and his head falls forward. Steve touches his chin, lifts it as gently as he can, makes Eddie look at him again.

“I want you too,” Eddie chokes. He touches Steve’s waist with trembling hands, gripping the fabric of his shirt weakly.

“Nothing else matters,” Steve says softly. “Wayne doesn’t care, and our friends won’t care, and we don’t have to tell them if you don’t want to. But no one else matters, Eddie.”

Eddie exhales. Leans forward to press his forehead to Steve’s.

“If people know,” he says weakly. “They’ll rip you apart.”

Steve holds his face between his hands. His fingers slip behind his ears, his thumbs brush over his cheeks, and their noses nudge together again. Which is a feeling Steve never thought he’d fall in love with. Eddie’s nose touching his.

“Promise you’ll be there to pick up the pieces,” he murmurs.

Eddie nods. His nose bumps against Steve’s.

“Promise,” he breathes.

Steve nods, lifting his chin to nudge their noses together again, and Eddie exhales.

“Okay?” Steve whispers, close enough that their lips brush.

“Okay.”

Steve kisses him.

It’s a chaste kiss, brief and soft and barely-there. When he pulls away, Eddie exhales again, his breath warm on Steve’s face, and his hands tighten on Steve’s waist, tugging at him a little bit. And Steve cradles his face, caresses him because he’s fucking precious.

Eddie kisses him clumsily, his lips landing just off-center, his head falling back like Steve is taller than he is. Like Eddie is small. Steve squeezes his eyes shut, furrows his eyebrows, holds Eddie in place as he adjusts the kiss, tilts his head just enough to align their mouths. Eddie leans against him, falls forward, and he releases his waist to reach up and wrap his arms around Steve’s neck, burying one of his hands in his hair.

Steve lets out a soft noise. No one has touched his hair in a long time. None of the girls he’s kissed ever touched it, never played with it or tugged it the way he does to himself when he’s getting off. But Eddie’s hand tightens, tugs Steve’s hair right at the roots, and it lights Steve up. He reaches to Eddie’s waist, presses a hand into the small of his back to hold him close as their lips part.

Eddie lifts onto his tiptoes, hugging Steve closer as he licks at his bottom lip. Steve pushes him against the counter with a soft groan, holding his waist tightly, tilting his head to kiss him deeper, to let his tongue slip past his lips. And Eddie lets out a soft noise, that precious purring sound that makes Steve smile. Steve grins against his mouth, biting at his bottom lip and tugging.

They’re both breathing hard when they part, lips slick with each other’s spit, and Eddie’s head falls forward so their foreheads press again.

“God,” Eddie breathes.

“Yeah.”

Eddie lets out a shuddering exhale, letting go of Steve’s hair and hugging his neck, relaxing against him.

“I want you,” he whispers. Steve’s eyes burn. He nods, holds Eddie’s frail waist between his hands and brushes the ends of their noses together.

“You have me,” he murmurs. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Eddie kisses him again, and it’s like he’s desperate suddenly, like he’s frantic, clutching at Steve as he licks into his mouth, one of his legs lifting like he wants to climb Steve. Steve lets him, reaching to grab his thigh, lifting it to his hip and squeezing. Eddie lets out a soft moan, pushing a hand into Steve’s hair again, and Steve gasps out a weak, almost inaudible, “Yeah.”

Eddie whines weakly, pulling him somehow closer, tugging his hair and lifting onto his tip toes again, and Steve needs him. He reaches for Eddie’s other leg and tugs, picks him up gently and nods when Eddie’s legs wrap around his hips. And with Eddie in his arms, he steps out of the kitchen, tears his mouth from Eddie’s so he can see as he finds his way down the hallway, tilting his head as Eddie tucks his face into his neck, kissing him so softly it kind of tickles, but really feels good.

“Fuck,” Steve breathes, forcing himself to keep his eyes open as he kicks the door to Eddie’s room open, holding Eddie to himself as he kicks it shut behind them before he crosses the room and sets Eddie on the bed. Eddie doesn’t let go of him, grabbing the fabric of his shirt and pulling so he falls on top of Eddie’s body.

Eddie mouths at his neck, his breath hot and teeth sharp, and Steve groans weakly, finally letting his eyes close, reaching to hold Eddie’s waist.

He feels so delicate. But his grip on the back of Steve’s shirt is strong, holding him down so Eddie can suck kisses into his skin.

And then Eddie is writhing under him, squirming against him as he makes weak noises, the chittering, clicking sound. The sound that used to scare Steve, to make his blood feel cold. It doesn’t scare him anymore. It makes him smile as he tilts his head back, lifts his chin so Eddie can bite his throat gently.

And Eddie is hard as he moves against him, and Steve groans, tightening his grip on Eddie’s waist and almost pinning him in place.

“Fuck,” he says again, his voice stronger. Eddie nods absently into his neck, tugging the fabric of his shirt.

“Off,” he gasps, pushing at Steve’s shoulders so he sits up, and Steve does, gasping for breath as he leans back, kneeling between Eddie’s spread legs and tugging his shirt up over his head. He tosses it aside, leaning back down to kiss Eddie again, reaching for the end of Eddie’s hoodie, pushing it up gently, carefully, just in case. Eddie nods again, his legs wrapping around Steve’s hips tightly, his back arching so Steve can push his hoodie up.

Neither of them pulls away from the kiss until they have to, so they can pull the hoodie off Eddie’s head, tossing it aside carelessly. And then their mouths are crashing back together, clumsy and desperate as Eddie moves against him again with a weak whine, his back arching perfectly. Steve slips his hand under him, holds him by the small of his back, and he moves back against Eddie, grinding against him slowly and gently.

“God, Steve,” Eddie breathes, holding one of Steve’s upper arms tightly, fingers pressing into his flesh, and he buries his face in Steve’s neck again, panting. They’re both moving in earnest now, desperate in spite of the fabric separating them.

And somehow in spite of the fabric separating them, Steve doesn’t think he’s ever felt so close to someone before.

He’s had sex. He’s been in love.

But never like this.

He thinks he might be crying. Clinging to Eddie as Eddie clings to him in turn, tucked against each other, as close as physically possible like they’re trying to merge, like they’re trying to melt into each other’s bodies, hidden away in a house in the middle of nowhere.

“Baby,” Steve says roughly, holding himself up on his forearms, caging Eddie’s head for a moment before he shifts, reaching for Eddie’s wrists, grabbing them and pulling them up to pin Eddie’s hands in place above his head. Eddie whines, tilting his head back, exposing his neck and the red scar around it. Steve ducks his head, licks a stripe over Eddie’s throat, and he can feel the vibration of his moan against his tongue.

“Harder,” Eddie gasps, and Steve nods into his neck, groaning weakly, moving faster against him, harder, and he’s practically fucking him through their clothes, desperate and fucking depraved. “Fuck, yeah—”

“God, Eddie,” Steve breathes, sucking on a spot on his neck, holding his wrists down on the bed above his head. He holds them both in one hand, reaching his other hand down to touch Eddie’s chest, rubbing his hand over his skin firmly, feeling the distinct difference between his bare, untouched skin and his scars. His skin is always cooler than Steve’s is, pale and smooth. There’s hair dusting his chest, and it’s soft.

“So good,” Eddie chokes. “You feel so fucking good, God, Stevie—”

He gasps, letting out a moan, writhing under Steve’s body, pushing back against Steve’s hand, shifting just enough to wrap his fingers around the side of Steve’s hand. Steve lets him, loosening his grip so Eddie can hold his hand with both of his own, and somehow, even as Steve’s heart is pounding and he feels like he might come at any fucking second, he glances at their hands and thinks about how cute Eddie is, how cute it is that his hands are so much smaller than Steve’s.

“Kiss me,” Eddie gasps, and he sounds like he’s crying too, his voice brittle and cracking. “Please, Stevie, kiss me—”

Steve lifts his head, licking Eddie’s neck one last time and groaning at the taste of his sweat and skin, and he kisses him messily, humming as Eddie opens his mouth desperately. One of his hands lets go of Steve’s as they kiss, and he reaches for Steve’s hair, pushing his fingers into it and twisting, tugging, pulling so hard Steve gasps. Eddie takes the opportunity to lick into his mouth with a whine.

“I’m gonna come,” Steve says between kisses, lacing his fingers with Eddie’s and pressing his hand into the mattress. “I’m so close—”

“Me too,” Eddie gasps. “Me too, me too, me—”

Steve slides his hand to Eddie’s neck and holds it as he kisses him, groaning when Eddie pulls his hair again. And Eddie is pulling him in with his legs, wrapping them around his hips and tightening until Steve can’t really even move, just rolling his body against Eddie’s, squeezing his hand and caressing his neck gently, careful not to hurt him. Eddie tugs his hair again before releasing it, and then his hand is sliding down Steve’s back to his ass, squeezing. Steve chokes out a laugh, and Eddie grins against his mouth.

They’re still smiling when they come, gasping into each other’s mouths and trembling. Steve groans, bumping his nose into Eddie’s, and Eddie makes a noise that’s somewhere between a whimper and the clicking sound, his hand tightening on Steve’s ass.

“Fuck,” Steve says roughly, slipping his hand to Eddie’s face, cradling his cheek. His scar is rough against Steve’s palm, but Steve kind of likes how it feels. “You okay?”

Eddie hums. His hands loosen on Steve, like he’s just fallen asleep.

“You broke me.”

Steve scoffs, lifting his head to look down at him, holding himself up by pressing Eddie’s hand into the mattress. He can feel Eddie’s heartbeat between his fingers.

He looks down at Eddie. His eyelashes are wet when his eyes flutter open to look up at him, and his cheeks are rosier than usual.

“You’re so beautiful,” Steve says softly, brushing his thumb over Eddie’s cheek. Eddie’s throat bobs as he swallows.

“You’re beautiful,” he says quietly, like it’s a comeback, and Steve fucking giggles. Eddie looks up at him as if in wonder, like he’s in awe. And then he reaches up, holds his face between his hands, and he tugs him down into a clumsy kiss. Steve smiles against his mouth, squeezing his hand.

He only lets go when he starts to sit up, reaching to hold his face gently, carefully, and Eddie follows, pushing himself up without detaching their mouths, tilting his head. And the kiss stays soft, stays tender, and Steve didn’t know he could have this.

This never seemed possible for Steve, for boys like Steve. It’s never seemed attainable, never seemed within reach. It never seemed like it could be meant for him.

But Eddie is cradling his face, his fingertips pressing into the soft flesh of his cheeks, sucking on his lip intently, his teeth digging into it. His legs are still wrapped around Steve’s hips even as they both soften, their pants damp. And Eddie’s skin is warmer than it usually is, from Steve’s hands sliding over his body.

And Eddie is smiling against his mouth, actually smiling. His smile is so fucking beautiful, Steve’s always thought so. It became a rare sight after everything, rare enough that the first time Steve saw it, Eddie smiling softly as they watched a movie, he froze in place, gazing at him in the dim blue glow of the television screen.

Steve exhales when they part, pressing their foreheads together, his eyes closed.

“God,” he breathes. “I love you.”

Eddie is quiet, but somehow Steve’s stomach doesn’t turn the way he expects it to. He doesn’t feel sick like he always thought he would, saying those words. They sound foreign, unfamiliar on his tongue, like he’s suddenly speaking a different language. But fine. Like he’s fluent.

Eddie exhales slowly, nuzzling their noses together, and he purrs quietly, his hands holding the sides of Steve’s neck.

“Is that cool?” Steve whispers. Eddie scoffs.

“God, yeah,” he says softly. “It’s cool. Jesus, Steve.”

Steve smiles. Kisses him gently, nudging their noses together. Eddie wraps his arms around his neck after a moment, hiding his face, and Steve hugs him back, wrapping his arms around his waist and holding him as he breathes, as he purrs.

“Oh,” Eddie says abruptly, lifting his head and looking into his eyes. “I love you too.”

Steve laughs almost deliriously,his eyes stinging, and Eddie smiles crookedly.

“I forgot to talk,” he says, watching Steve laugh. “Oops.”

“‘S okay,” Steve says breathlessly, tilting his head to let Eddie wipe his cheek gently. “I don’t mind.”

Eddie’s smile grows. He kisses the end of Steve’s nose. No one’s ever kissed Steve there. His cheeks flush with heat.

Eddie looks at him. His eyes flicker across his face, over his flushed cheeks and kissed-red lips, over the skin of his cheeks that’s still tacky with drying tears. Eddie’s smile falters, and he looks into Steve’s eyes. Looking into him. Like he can see Steve’s fucking soul.

“‘S okay,” Steve says quietly, his voice hushed. Eddie’s arms are still around his neck, his fingertips brushing lightly over his nape, over his spine. “We’re gonna be okay.”

Eddie nods, leaning in and resting his face on Steve’s carelessly, clumsily, his forehead against his nose, and he exhales.

“We’re gonna be okay.”

They get up after a little while, their limbs heavy as they stumble toward the bathroom. Eddie has his own now, in this new house, and it occurs to Steve that he never even realized how much he’s had his whole life. So many things he took for granted, he saw as a given. Little things like his own bathroom. But Eddie grinned when he first mentioned it to Steve. His own toilet, his own sink and shower and bathtub. His own counter space for his razor and mouthwash. His own mirror with his own toothpaste on it.

They let the water heat up as they undress, and Steve presses kisses over his face gently as he reaches for the waistband of Eddie’s sweatpants, pushing them down slowly as Eddie holds his arms. Eddie shivers when the fabric falls to the floor, squeezing, muttering a quiet, “God,” under his breath. Steve just kisses his cheek and pushes his own pants down.

Steve washes Eddie’s skin clean. Runs his hands over his hair and scrubs shampoo into his scalp while Eddie smiles, tilting his head back, melting into his hands. And Steve feels somehow powerful, watching Eddie relax, watching his eyes close, watching his smile soften into an absent one, barely there at all. Prettier than the Mona Lisa.

Eddie lets him take care of him. Pliant and tired, letting Steve dry him off with a towel, ruffling his hair with it playfully. He lets him spread vitamin E oil over his scars, lets Steve pick him up when they’re dry, skin on skin on skin, lets him carry him back to Eddie’s bedroom and dress him tenderly, sliding the fabric over his skin and patting his hips gently.

Eddie seems like he’s going to pass out, still smiling softly as he holds Steve’s hand, follows him sleepily back into the kitchen so Steve can re-heat their breakfast. (Though it’s more like lunch by this time.) Steve lifts him up onto a counter and kisses his nose before he steps away. They eat on the sofa. The television is on, playing some show neither of them are really too invested in. Eddie just lays against his chest when they’re done eating, sighing as he nuzzles against him with a quiet purr, his hand curled up just over his heart.

“Stevie,” Eddie mumbles after a while, half-asleep. Steve looks down at him, tilting his head to see his face. His eyes are closed.

“Yeah, baby,” Steve says softly, running his hand over his hair.

“Could you… Could you tell the others about me?”

“About you,” Steve repeats quietly, and Eddie hums affirmatively, rubbing his cheek against Steve’s chest as he makes the chittering noise. Steve smiles. “Yeah,” he says lightly. “If you want me to.”

“I wanna see them,” Eddie says, and he sounds sad suddenly, his hand tightening on the fabric of Steve’s shirt, gripping the fabric in a loose fist. Steve lifts a hand to Eddie’s and slips his fingers under his sleeve, brushes his fingertips over Eddie’s knuckles. Eddie loosens his fist and twists his hand so he can hold one of Steve’s fingers, and Steve is struck again with how fucking cute he is. “Don’t wanna scare them.”

“You won’t scare them, baby.”

“Still.”

“I’ll tell them. Explain everything.” He shifts slightly, running a hand over Eddie’s spine. “You want them to come over for a movie night or something?”

Eddie hums softly, tiredly.

“Might plan a campaign for the kids,” he mumbles. Steve smiles, his cheek squishing against Eddie’s head.

“They’d love that.”

“You think?”

“Mhmm.” He looks down at him again. His cheek is squished against Steve’s chest, his lips parted as his breathing slows. “Go to sleep, baby, we can talk about it later.”

“Mm.” He shifts, rubs his face against Steve and purrs. “Love you.”

“I love you too, baby,” Steve murmurs. Eddie pulls at his hand, draws it to his face and kisses his knuckles softly before he drifts off, holding Steve’s hand to his mouth. Steve smiles.

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