#Eddie munson needs a hug

[imfinereallyy]

“What are your nightmares about?” Eddie asked Steve as they both stared at the ceiling in the darkness of Eddie’s room.

It was colder than his last place. Sure, Steve had only truly been in the trailer the one time, and there had been a literal portal to hell in the middle of but still. It was warmer there. The new place was bigger for sure. A whole two bedrooms in an apartment building where the loudest thing you could hear was the floorboards creek or Eddie’s metal music at a respectable 5 pm. That was thing though, Steve thought. It was quiet here. Cold and closed off. There was no sense of home in the new Munson house. The trailer had character and depth. It had a story to tell. It welcomed you and asked you to stick around.

This place was just empty.

Steve knew it all too intimately how more doesn’t always mean comfort. It’s why he didn’t spend time at his own house very often anymore. It wasn’t much of a home.

“Everything. You name it, I’ve probably nightmared it.”

“That’s not a real word.”

“Munson, I think out of all people you do not get to comment on things being made up.” Steve turned his head to face Eddie in his bed. Steve couldn’t help but trace Eddie’s face with his eyes. Even in the moonlight that peeked through the blinds of the Munson’s third-floor wall up, Eddie was undeniably pretty.

Eddie kept his eyes trained on the ceiling. “First off, rude. Second, you’re avoiding the question.”

“Well, why do you want to know?” Steve whispered, matching the same tone Eddie broke the silence with. He wasn’t sure why they were talking in such hushed tones. No one else was home.

Eddie sighed, “You’re a pain Harrington you know that? I’m not sure who gets it from who when it comes to you and Henderson. It’s just—“

Eddie shifted around to his side to face Steve's head. Steve noticed the bags had worsened since he last spent the night here. Steve had thought Eddie’s nightmares were getting better over the last few weeks. Steve had been staying with him at night but hadn't been there recently.

Initially, Steve had told Eddie after Vecna that he should contact any of them if the nightmares got bad. Told him it would be good to have someone anchor him when he woke up. Steve had been Robin’s anchor for over a year. Robin had even told him once that he grounded her, and kept her sane on the bad nights.

Eddie had waved him off at the time. It had taken months before he fessed up to having trouble sleeping. Steve’s heart had warmed a little at the idea Eddie had reached out to him of all people. Steve knew he shouldn’t have been surprised but even though they had built a slow easy friendship, it was hard for Steve to believe that people needed him for more than rides.

It was nice.

Steve had thought Eddie was doing better though and wouldn’t want him around as much anymore. That Eddie wouldn’t want to deal with Steve’s own nightmares. So he hadn’t been to Eddie’s in a week. It was when Steve had another nightmare about Lovers Lake that he caved and called Eddie.

Eddie didn’t hesitate before saying a rushed “Come over.”

Maybe they both needed each other.

Eddie blew a breath across Steve’s face, he couldn’t help but smile at the man's antics.

“It’s just, I feel like my nightmares should be of Chrissy and the bats. Ya know? Like, I do get those. They make sure to have their reruns right on schedule. But the nightmares I get the most are either me waiting in the van while you all are in Warzone or me in Dustin’s arms after the bats. Not during but after.”

Steve stayed silent, careful not to interrupt Eddie.

“And every time I’m in that stupid trailer waiting and waiting and waiting. Sometimes nothing happens and I’m left to rot. Other times Jason Carver comes busting through to door with a gun pointed at my face. The worst one is when one of you guys comes in and tells me to get out, I’m not worth the trouble.” Eddie sucked his lip between his teeth and bit hard. “And when I’m laying in Dustin’s arms, I can never get words out. I’m struggling. But not even like I’m fighting to stay alive, it’s almost as if I’m trying everything but that. And I can’t get the words for Dustin. Everything is wrong. And sometimes…sometimes Dustin will tell me that I’ve “done something useful for once.” Eddie finished with a shameful grimace.

Steve thought about this new place. How it was cold. How it hadn’t become a home yet. As if Eddie was anticipating being ripped from it once again. Like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Eddie, Steve realized, didn’t feel like he was permanent anymore.

Steve decided to be bold for once in his life about a good thing and pulled out Eddie's lip from his teeth. Steve let his fingers linger for a moment on the worried flesh before reaching out to gently comb his hand through Eddie’s hair. “Lover’s Lake.”

“What?” Eddie questioned, a little breathless.

“Lovers lake is what I have nightmares about the most. Not the bats. Not the Russians. That stupid lake.”

“I mean you were pulled into another dimension by a bat tail, I would call that pretty traumatizing.” Eddie leaned his head into Steve's soft movements.

“Here’s the thing: that’s not the part that scares me Ed’s.” Steve took a deep breath before he gives Eddie a piece of himself he thought would be his own forever. “It was the drowning that gets me. It’s the being able to break the surface to only be back pulled under again. The loss of control. It’s because this very thing is so mundane, even if the circumstances weren’t, it was something that could happen to me at anytime. There didn’t need to be an Upside Down or a Vecna. I could be pulled under the surface at any moment. I could be forced to leave you all behind, lose myself in something I should know how to do. My limited knowledge on even the things I should be good at isn’t enough sometimes. I am just vulnerable and disposable."

Steve pushed out a shaky breath. Eddie scooched forward into Steve's space. It was as if Eddie knew that the warmth of his body alone would comfort him.

"I'm not sure if I am making much sense. I'm not very good at describing things."

Steve could feel Eddie nod up and down with the light brush of his bangs against Steve's forehead. "No, no I get it. Don't do that. Don't put yourself down just cause your vulnerable."

"You noticed that, huh?" Steve looked into Eddie's doe eyes.

"Kinda hard not to notice things about ya Stevie."

Steve melted.

"Please continue," Eddie asked in a rare form of politeness. The metalhead was used to demanding things. Not when it came to Steve though, Steve had observed lately.

"Right. Well, I guess my subconscious picks up on like my deep fears and like mixes them with my trauma. Do not give me that look yes I learned those words from Dustin and Robin."

Eddie let out a snort. Steve couldn't help but smile. Even at his own expense, he was just happy to make Eddie feel a little bit better. "I guess what I'm saying is, I felt useless in that moment. Or even I had given the last useful thing about me to the Upside Down, to this evil awful thing, and no one would really care or know. That moment just took on every fear I've had and pulled me under. My gravestone would say: Here lies Steve Harrington. Never had control, useless thing that no one ever really knew."

"Sweetheart..."

Steve cleared his throat. "My nightmares have a funny way of bringing up my very human fears. The things I still can't get away from. There are some days that I even wake up gasping for air like there is still water in my lungs. And all I can think is no one is coming for me, no one cares. And I just sit there, staring at the phone on my desk, still gasping for air not bothering to call anyone. Because what if no one picks up? It is better to avoid than know the truth sometimes. That I was born alone, lived alone, and will most likely die alone."

The heaviness was back in the air once again. Eddie grabbed Steve's hand between them and gripped tight. When Eddie squeezed it said I'm right here, I'm always right here.

"Until tonight. You called tonight."

"I guess I did. I guess I felt...I felt like even if you couldn't help me, didn't want me, you would still pick up."

Eddie's eyes filled with tears. "Always."

"Thank you, Eds. But now it's your turn."

They stared into each other's eyes as Eddie spoke, "I feel like I am drifting sometimes... like I am not really here. I know that I am wanted. By Wayne, by the kids, by you." Eddie said hopefully. Steve nodded. "Just... I don't have much purpose anymore. That maybe my life was supposed to end in the Upside Down. I'm not like suicidal or anything. But what if like I wasn't meant to be here. And that I am just bothering everyone. I don't—I don't feel like I am giving much. I don't play guitar anymore. Can't get through a solo without cringing. D&D has become too real. I'm not sure I can do it, at least not right now. I'm done with high school, the reasons why Higgin's gave me my degree doesn't really matter, I have my diploma. I'm not going back. No one will hire me, and I'm not even sure I want to work. I'm just here, wasting."

It was Steve's turn to squeeze Eddie back. His squeeze said in my space you are never wasted.

"Eds, I know I don't have much ground to stand on but I don't think there is a big difference between wanting to die and feeling like it's okay if you do. I should know, I spent years throwing myself in front of others. I think you should talk to someone, professionally."

Eddie gave Steve a look that said a bit hypocritical ya think?

"Okay yea, maybe I'm being unfair. It's just, Eddie, I need you to know something and I need you to listen close, okay?" Steve unclasped his hand from Eddie's and moved it to the right side of his face. Then, Steve removed his fingers from Eddie's hair a moved it down to the left side. Steve brushed his thumbs back and forth on Eddie's cheeks. "You are so much more than your hobbies. Then the things you do to fill up your time. Those things can change. They can switch, and turn back around. You're magnificent because you are you. You are Eddie Munson. A man who is much more a lover than a fighter. Who heals people with laughter and affection. He's the guy who steals the room with his "hello" alone. You are bright, you are beautiful and you are everything, even when you are wasting time. Because any of us, especially me, would be lucky to waste time with you."

Eddie's tears were now rolling down his face. "Really?"

"Yea Eds. Really. I don't want to speak for the rest of the party, but I can tell you that they think the world of you. I know you know you're wanted, but Eds you're needed. You are the lungs of this group. You help us breathe. Relief, laughter, life. All because of you."

Eddie released a wet laugh. "Not the heart?"

Steve giggled against Eddie. "No. Not the heart. According to the kids Mike has that role. Personally I think that's ridiculous but that may be because of my own problems with the little shit, so I'll let it slide."

Eddie fully chuckled this time. "Okay Stevie I'll make you a deal."

Steve continued to brush his thumbs on Eddie's face, this time he got to dig his thumbs into the dimples of Eddi'es cheeks. "Listening."

"I'm going to try more. Not try to make myself feel purposeful, but to just try. Try to be there, be present. Even if it's just so I can see that dopey smile of yours." Steve threw his head back and laughed. Eddie's smile grew wide. "And on the bad days, I'll try to talk. To Wayne. To Robin. To you. I don't want to hide anymore. I think I've spent enough time doing that. But you got to promise me something back. I need you to talk too. I need you to believe in yourself a little more. Because you Steve Harrington are extraordinary, and you are not alone. I am always here. And I will remind you every day if I have to for you to get that no one in this world compares to you. Deal?"

Eddie put his head against Steve's head, finally closing some of the space between them. Not all the way. Maybe someday.

Steve thought about how cold it was here. How he wanted to Eddie feel at home again, make him radiate that warmth he once held. He thought about how he would do anything to get it.

Steve brushed his nose against Eddie's, "Deal."

———

as usual i write a small thing that turns into a BIG thing. I am incapable of creating teeny works. I will try better lol. Anyway this came from me not being able to sleep and having massive anxiety so I decided to create it into something. Enjoy :)

[steddieassheg0es]

Eddie is very used to being someone’s dirty little secret.

People want him in dark alleyways or bathroom stalls, hidden away from prying eyes. Self hating gays and straight boys who insist ‘getting your dick sucked isn’t gay’. Or, on a few memorable occasions, confused boys needing aid in self discovery. Those ones had been sweet, at least.

No one wants to hold his hand. To give him flowers or wake up next to him the morning after.

Which is fine. He likes sex, he enjoys pinning someone to one of those alley walls and having his way with them.

It’s just unfortunate that he’s so damn romantic.

He knows it’s foolish. Boys like him don’t get happily ever after. If they’re lucky they get to live a sad, lonely life. If they’re unlucky they die of disease or being hate crimed.

But the truth about Eddie is he’s…soft. He just wants to have someone to love, to take care of. He longs to plan a future with someone.

He dreams of a future with Steve.

It’s stupid and reckless to indulge in this infatuation but he can’t help it. Steve is just so….good. He’s brave, and caring, and despite what the others seem to think, he’s smart. Maybe not the way the little geniuses are, but hey neither is Eddie.

He’s almost grateful for that now though. If he hadn’t failed senior year twice, he never would have met this amazing group of people he can’t imagine living without now.

He could have done without the whole being blamed for murders committed by an interdimensional psychopath though.

Realistically he’s aware he’d never have known the difference if things hadn’t gone this way. It’s not like he was miserable before, he had great friends and the world's best uncle. But a sappy part of him thinks he’d feel the loss, know his life was missing something.

He really is too damn romantic.

Regardless, things did happen this way. Now he has a group of children he’s practically adopted. He has Robin who can relate to the painful experience of being queer in Indiana. Nancy who helped him finally graduate. Jonathan and Argyle who provide the most zen like company to get high with when he just needs to stop thinking.

He has Steve. The man who carried his broken, bleeding body out of hell even though everyone thought he was a goner. Who sat by his side for weeks at the hospital, helping Wayne feel less guilty about having to leave him to work.  Who held Eddie’s hand when he finally woke up screaming, not realizing time had passed and he was no longer in that awful place being eaten alive.

Steve had left his side once, after much reassurance from Robin and Dustin that they had things covered, to help Wayne move what he could salvage of their belongings into the new government gifted we’re sorry your trailer was destroyed while you save the world house. The additional hush money helped replace what couldn’t be recovered with a hefty chunk left over.

Then Steve was back, sitting diligently in the uncomfortable hospital chair until Eddie was cleared for release. Much to Eddie’s chagrin, cleared to go home did not mean cleared for much else. He’d been confined to his bed, then eventually the couch, for weeks after his discharge date. Steve hung around the entire time, patiently reminding him that the pain and the exhaustion meant he was still alive. That with time he would get better, and wasn’t that a miracle?

So really, it was inevitable that Eddie fell for him ass over elbows.

—

Summer was an exercise in restraint.

The new house wasn’t too fancy, they didn’t need much. Almost anything was an upgrade from a one bedroom trailer. But one of the delightful perks that came with it was a pool.

Wayne had insisted on it because the doctors had mentioned it would be a great tool for his physical therapy.

It wasn’t as big as Steve’s, but it had the benefit of never having someone they knew die in it so Steve and Nancy would actually swim for a little bit.

More often though Steve could be found lounging on one of the poolside chairs, golden in the sun. Eddie wants nothing more than to bask in his glow, kiss his pretty pink lips, dreams of carrying that warmth with him forever.

It also didn't help that Steve’s swim shorts were…short. Nothing scandalous, but certainly enough to draw Eddie’s eye to the perfect curve of his ass. He did his best not to stare.

He was a romantic, but he wasn’t asexual.

Eddie spends so much time watching, it takes him a while to realize he’s being watched in return. His heart drops to his stomach when he looks up to see Robin smirking at him. Her eyes flick back and forth between him and Steve, a knowing glint to them.

Surely she wouldn’t out him, right? To anyone else he’d be sure, but her and Steve are practically telepathic. The Party has basically accepted if you don’t want one to know something, you can’t tell the other.

The downside to hosting is he can’t make an excuse and run. He has to sit there with the worry building in his gut, trying desperately to keep the fear from showing in his face. He must manage, because no one says anything and they all seem in good spirits when they leave.

They already had plans to have a similar afternoon the following day, so there’s no avoiding Steve. But if he knows, he says nothing. Not that day, or the next, or the rest of the week.

Maybe Robin did keep his secret.

—

Eddie’s hackles are finally starting to lower when Steve shows up alone on a day they had no plans. He’s oddly shy when he asks if they can talk.

“I just…fuck I swear I used to be good at this. I'm no good with words though. That’s all you. Eddie, I…”

He sighs, frustration clear on his face and Eddie thinks this is it. Steve’s trying to find a way to gently let him down. He’ll be nice about it, but he won’t be comfortable with Eddie anymore. Slowly he’ll stop coming around, their friendship will quietly die. Eddie will die right along with it.

He’s so busy panicking in his head that it startles him when Steve speaks again.

“Fuck it.”

Suddenly there are lips on his and his mind goes blank. He lets himself get lost in this moment. This glorious, beautiful moment where everything is good.

But as fast as the thoughts left him, they come crashing back just as quick. Steve is kissing him. Steve…wants to hook up with him? But what category does he fall into?

Not the straight boy looking to get his dick sucked. They never kiss. Eddie’s pretty sure Steve isn’t a self hating queer. So he must be looking to test out a new side to himself, see if it fits.

The thought of being an experiment to Steve breaks his heart. But at least it’s the best option available. It would be way worse to be used for a blowjob. And he never wants Steve to feel that kind of self loathing.

Steve pulls away first. “Was that…are you okay?”

“Yeah. Shit, yeah, of course. More than okay.”

The bright smile he gets in return is worth all the pain that will come when it’s all over.

—

Eddie’s a bit confused when they just kind of…hang out like normal after. There’s kissing, which is certainly new, but that’s about it. Steve doesn’t push for more.

He tries to tamp down the happiness that blooms in his chest. So Steve isn’t the one and done kind. In the short term it’s amazing, but he knows the longer this goes on the more it will hurt when it’s inevitably taken away.

The confusion only grows when Steve shows up the next night with flowers and a pretty pink hue to his cheeks.

“Sorry, I just…I wanna do this right, you know? My only experience is with girls, but who doesn’t like flowers? You deserve flowers. Anyway I was wondering if you wanted to go see a movie with me? Maybe get something to eat after?”

“Oh, uh…yeah, no, flowers are great. They’re very pretty. No one’s ever…right. I’ll just put these in water. Did you have a movie in mind?”

Steve follows him into his kitchen, watching him search for anything even resembling a vase in the Munson home. Would a beer mug be tacky?

“Um…well Labyrinth looks like something you’d be into. Or I think Ferris Bueller is still playing? Whatever you want, I’m not like a film buff or anything.” Steve reaches around him and selects the pint glass he’d been staring at, filling it from the tap and arranging the flowers inside.

He can’t help but think it looks like a physical representation of them. Beautiful and elegant flowers clashing with the crass and low quality chipped cup. But Steve just hums in apparent satisfaction before turning those pretty hazel eyes on him.

“You’d see Labyrinth? Up my alley it may be, up yours I doubt.”

“Well, I mean…everyone likes Bowie, right? Besides, the movie itself isn’t the point. I just wanna spend time with you.”

His cheeks are once again that delightful shade of pink. Eddie is so fucked. This whole thing is just going to make him fall that much harder, leaving him with his heart that much more shattered.

But when a pretty boy asks you out, you don’t say no.

—

Things continue this way as the summer warmth fades into the chill of autumn.

Steve is charming, and he holds Eddie’s hand even when their friends are around. Everyone but Robin watches in bemusement but no one makes a comment. He “formally introduces himself” to Wayne, but to the older man’s bewilderment. Eddie just shrugs, not really sure what’s happening either.

Behind closed doors, Steve presses in close. He lets his hands wander, but only ever above the waist. Usually they can be found in Eddie’s hair. He lets his tongue slip into Eddie’s mouth, hot but sweet.

But he never pushes for more.

The only reason Eddie can come up with is things he remembers overhearing in locker rooms. Straight boys love to complain about how girls need to be wooed. Need to be romanced before they’re willing to “put out”.

But Eddie doesn’t need that. As nice as it is to delude himself with the things Steve is doing, he knows it can only end badly.

So he takes things into his own hands. So to speak.

They’re in Eddie’s room late one night. Wayne is gone, because house or no house he’s still got to put food on the table and he’s too used to the overnight shift to change it now. Eddie’s got Steve underneath him making such pretty sounds as he leaves a trail of bites down that pretty neck. He rolls his hips, groaning when he feels an answering hardness against his own. Lets his fingers wander lower, plucking at Steve’s belt when hands at his wrist stop him. He’s gently nudged into sitting up.

“Eddie…woah, slow down. Hey. We don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna. There’s no need to rush.”

Mortifyingly, the words make him burst into tears.

“Oh Eddie…baby, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know what’s going on anymore. What do you want from me Steve? What are you waiting for?”

“What do you mean waiting for? Hey hey hey, breathe. You’re okay. Just talk to me.” Steve’s thumbs stroke his wrists gently while he pulls himself together.

“Fuck, Steve, I just don’t know what this is. I thought I did but you don’t seem to wanna fuck so I don’t get what you’re looking for.”

“I’m not…oh. Shit. With how well things were going I thought…well, I guess I shouldn’t have assumed. Eddie, I like you, a lot. No that’s not true. Fuck it. All in, right? I’m so fucking in love with you, you have no idea. I want…god, I want so much. I want everything. But I…I get it, if that’s not what you want. We can go back to being friends.”

Eddie’s pretty sure his brain must have some remaining damage from the Upside Down, because there’s no way he heard that correctly.

“You’re…in love with me?”

Steve’s eyes dip down before they meet his again, that shyness from weeks ago making a reappearance. “Yeah. Yes. Embarrassingly so if Robin is to be believed.”

“Robin knew? Wait, no, forget that. Steve…Jesus Christ, this can’t be real. Of course I love you. I love you so much it’s driving me insane.”

A pleased little grin hesitatingly makes its way across Steve’s face.

“Yeah?”

“Yes, fuck.” Eddie leans in, pressing their smiling mouths together. His once aching heart now soars, granted wings by the angel in his arms.

“Eddie…um. Not to ruin the moment, but what you said…it’s not that I don’t wanna have sex. Shit I want you so bad, have you seen you? I just don’t want you to do anything you’re not ready for. I can wait. I can wait forever. You loving me back is…more than I ever hoped for. If you just wanna snuggle and occasionally kiss, I’d die a happy man. Anything else is just a bonus.”

“You…you really mean that? If I said no sex, ever,  that wouldn’t bother you?”

Steve shrugs easily. “I’d be a little bummed, sure, but it wouldn’t change anything. I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me to leave.” Fingers brushing against his cheek alert him to his fresh tears. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Fuck, you have no idea how amazing that is to hear. I’m used to being good for nothing but sex. Don’t get me wrong. I’m gonna fuck you so good you scream, pretty boy. But knowing that I don’t have to for you to stay? That’s kind of a miracle.”

“You’re kind of a miracle.”

“I love you Stevie.”

“I love you too Eds.”

—

They don’t have sex that night. Eddie’s not sure when they will. He knows for all of Steve’s talk, he’s never been with a man. Eddie’s never been with someone he loves, who loves him in return. They both need time to adjust, and there’s no need to rush. Wait until they’re both ready.

Eddie’s happy to wait. He has all he’s ever wanted. Anything else is just a bonus.

First let me be transparent and say this hasn’t even had a second read through, never mind been beta’s. I just really wanted to post one last thing before the new year here in the east coast and I’m cutting it close. I’ll probably come back and fix it up later.

This isn’t a second part to Depollute Me Gentle Angel so much as the other side of the same coin. When I originally had the vague idea that became the first story, I wasn’t sure which way I’d write it. So I decided both.

Title once again from We’ll Never Have Sex by Leith Ross.

[infinite-orangepeel]

hi ! if you’re looking for young (pre-canon, freshman steve/sophomore eddie) slow burn steddie with lots of yearning & sexuality crisis—then i would love it if you’d read the excerpt down below :)

it’s one of my favorite things i’ve ever written (& happens to be ch. 1 of my ongoing ao3 fic that is currently sitting at 10 chapters)

fic title: i wore his jacket for the longest time (link to the full fic down below)

pairing: steve harrington x eddie munson (steddie)

ch. summary: steve harrington’s 15th birthday bash is the greatest night of everyone’s lives, except for the guest of honor himself (who is in the middle of a panic attack) & hawkins very own freak (who really wishes he didn’t need the extra money). as fate would have it, the two end up finding comfort in the most unexpected of places (each other) and spend the night hiding away from the rest of the world on steve’s rooftop. nothing is ever the same.

TW: panic attack, use of homophobic slurs to insult a character (brief), themes surrounding sexuality crisis

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Part 1, Chapter 1: the great abyss

July 28, 1982

Eddie Munson is playing God or The Devil. He can never be quite sure on nights like this. The longer he’s kept up the gig, the more the lines seem to blur. It’s an odd job, but one he takes a sweet, sadistic pleasure in. Okay, so maybe that does make him Satan’s understudy more than a devotee of the “big guy in the sky.” But, who can blame him for seizing the opportunity to supply forbidden fruit to the poor sinners down below? There is nothing more gratifying than watching his heartless classmates tear each other apart from the gorgeous view of his twisted throne. All the while, knowing that the ensuing madness is a direct result of the vice-inducing treasures he stashes away in his aluminum lunchbox. And, to think he gets paid for it? He’d be a fool to let his already gray tinged morals prevent his sole form of employment. Especially, when said employment puts food on the table and delays his uncle’s need to apply for food stamps.

Usually when he “caters” events like this, the time passes quickly. It passes really quickly if those he’s dealing to aren’t complete assholes and let him partake in the festivities. That being said, after two years of high school, it’s become increasingly rare that he interacts with anyone that doesn’t respond to his presence like he’s a gory creature that just slithered out of the sewer.

It’s nearly comical. The ones that torture him the most in the halls of Hawkins High are also the ones that plead to him late at night like he’s the Fairy Godfather of Teenage Substance Abuse. He didn’t sign up for it, but more often than not, one jock or another is on his knees begging Eddie for a better price and just a couple more ounces of his drug of choice.

Eddie would be lying if he claimed the switched power dynamic of those moments didn’t give him a head rush and a mouthful of sick satisfaction.

He discovered he could name pretty much any price. Hawkins had a limited number of dealers and even fewer that would risk dipping their toes into the murky waters of selling to such a young clientele.

In true Pavlovian manner, all it took was Eddie undoing the clasps on his lunchbox to lure his prey into the trap. Suddenly, they would be thrusting their hands desperately into the deep pockets of their letterman jackets, in search of Daddy’s money to offer up for the exchange. The high he got from it was better than any strain his pale fingers might have rolled into a sharp tipped joint. Pure heady intoxication.

He rides that feeling until he’s wrung it dry in a perfunctory attempt to make tonight bearable.

It might have even been an effective tactic if he hadn’t been knocked off his high horse by Tommy Hagan and his squad of goons.

Eddie had hardly stepped through the massive double doors of Steve Harrington’s Loch Nora manner before he found himself pinned to the wall of the entryway. Hagan primally leered over him like he was tomorrow’s mystery meat and spit directly into his left eye. Gross.

“We’ll take it from here, don’t want guests scared off by the town freak,” Hagan wrestled Eddie’s lunchbox free from his white knuckled grip and made a show of emptying out its plentiful contents onto the pristine floor.

Eddie should have been enraged, should have lunged forward and put up a fight. But, as Hagan sauntered off with the stolen loot in hand, he couldn’t lift his gaze from the dark wooden boards beneath his scuffed Reeboks. He had the half-complete thought of what it might be like to slip and slide across such floors in those fancy wool socks he was certain Harrington had drawers full of upstairs. Wondered further if Harrington had ever known the struggles of a shotty heater and the lack of circulation one got from wearing four pairs of cotton socks to cope. Doubtful, he had decided.

Hagan hadn’t actually paid Eddie yet. Based on his reaction to Eddie’s arrival, it was vastly unlikely that he would be doling out the cash any time soon, if at all .

In theory, Eddie could have strode right back out the doors from whence he came and retreated to his side of the tracks, but he was viciously stubborn and had a bad habit of letting it rule him. Plus, Hagan had stripped him of his entire stash, which was not going to bode well for Eddie when Rick eventually sought him out to reap his portion of the earnings.

So, Eddie stuck around in hopes that Hagan would draw upon the miniscule shred of goodness left gnarled within his frozen heart and listen to the little angel poised upon his freckled shoulder. Again, unlikely, but if DnD had taught him anything, it was that anyone’s luck was subject to change even in the eleventh hour.

As it turns out, Harrington’s party looks just as repulsive from a bird’s eye view as it did on the ground. Eddie’s rooftop throne is admittedly a bit uncomfortable, but it’ll have to suffice for the time being. He’s not going to wait for Hagan’s change of heart out in the open. Lurking down below would only heighten Eddie’s chances of a broken nose and empty pockets. Eddie may be hard headed at times, but he’s not an idiot. He’s smart enough to know the deck will only be stacked higher against him if he accidentally pokes one of Hagan’s overly sensitive buttons. It’s a tripwire he’s not willing to trifle with.

Guests are packed like sardines into every breathable corner of the house and somehow, a line is still queuing up near the entrance. Girls in neon mini-skirts and guys drenched in cologne elbow past each other, willing to do whatever it takes to solidify themselves as permanent members of King Steve’s guest list.

Ah, King Steve.

How a rising sophomore that looked like something straight out of a Gap catalog had become a local legend was still unclear to Eddie. Not only was the guy popular, he had earned himself a royal moniker that somehow wasn’t used to mock, ridicule, or disparage him. Rather, King Steve was widely respected, admired, and adored by his loyal subjects. People worshiped the squeaky clean ground he walked on. His peers would practically throw themselves at his feet just to get a closer glance at his golden-boy smile and a whiff of his signature hairspray. Eddie really didn’t see the appeal, but maybe that was because people like Steve Harrington weren’t trying to make people like Eddie Munson part of their target demographic.

Eddie’s trying not to burn his fingertips on his silver lighter, a birthday gift from Uncle Wayne that he has yet to master. He can roll identical sets of perfect joints that rival the uniform efficiency of factory machines, but struggles to not flinch at the sight of a blue lipped flame. The potential to burn makes his hands shake and forces his tongue to stick out between his front teeth in itchy concentration. He’d never have a great career as a surgeon, but that was obvious long before he started smoking a few years ago.

Head tipped skyward, Eddie exhales the remains of the first hit and his lungs warm with an earthy heat. The touch of mother nature is soothing and brings him out of the present moment enough that he can focus on internally whispering the names of the few constellations he can remember.

Orion, Cassiopeia, The Big Dipper, and its’ little counterpart.

The trash pop music dulls to a mindless artificial hum of drums and synth with each consecutive hit he takes. He slips off the protective armor of his leather jacket, feeling safe and hidden enough to reveal the bare expanse of his forearms. Goosebumps prickle to the surface of his skin in immediate response to the summer breeze, but Eddie finds it grounding and doesn’t jump to reverse the decision. It serves as a fresh reminder that he’s a real person and not an inanimate object that Hagan and his lackeys get to smack around like a punching bag.

The joint softens him around the edges, encourages him to lean back on his elbows, belly-up and unafraid of what exists out past the infinite blackness of the night sky.

He’s lost in thought. The voices in his head curving in snake-like switchbacks this way and that, so at first he thinks the quiet grumble of someone clearing their throat might be coming from him.

Then, it happens again. This time, it’s followed by unassuming footsteps that clamber down the slope of the roof until they pause somewhere over Eddie’s left shoulder. Like the person is desperate to fill in as Eddie’s shadow now that his actual one has disappeared with the fully set sun.

“Oh, shit. Sorry, man. Didn’t realize anyone else was out here,” his shadow says apologetically.

Eddie’s confused. He makes a mental note to ask Rick if this strain is laced with something else. He eyes the dying joint suspiciously from where it is pinched between his thumb and index fingers.

He must have accidentally taken a hallucinogen, because there’s no other explanation for the timid, anxious tone coming from Steve Harrington’s mouth. There’s no other explanation for the way Harrington cautiously lowers himself to a hunched seat. The way he chooses to sit beside Eddie, like they aren’t part of two entirely separate spheres of existence.

It feels forbidden, Eddie thinks, like wearing the patches of bands you don’t actually listen to.

“Unless I’m mistaken or this joint has me really fucked up, I’m pretty sure this is your house, Harrington,” Eddie remarks, keeping his gaze trained on an imaginary point beyond the treeline that surrounds the wealthy neighborhood.

They’ve never had any sort of verbal exchange, but Steve’s last name snaps from Eddie’s mouth like a biting insult. He won’t do him the favor of using his first name. Not when his henchmen were so eager to sharpen the blade of the guillotine for Eddie’s neck only a couple hours earlier. It’s too personal, reserved for those that get to bask in the King’s good graces. Eddie isn’t under the delusion that he could ever soak up such glory by association with the boy sitting beside him.

However, he’s only human, which means that he’s not immune to the magnetic pull of curiosity. It goes against every fiber of his carefully curated public persona to take any interest in what King Steve looks like up close, but he can’t stop his eyes from wandering. His peripheral vision working overtime to track Steve’s uncertain movements, to follow the shaking line of his body as he sinks further into himself. Seemingly weighed down by a crown that has become too heavy.

“Dude, I was trying to be polite. It looks like you’re having a private moment out here and I didn’t want to intrude on anything,” Steve’s sitting close enough that Eddie can smell the faint sour hint of alcohol lingering on his breath.

It’s no shocker that he’s had a few drinks. Eddie wasn’t exactly hired to supply gumdrops and candy hearts at this party. The buzz of alcohol must be clouding Steve’s mind enough that he doesn’t realize the implications of being seen in casual conversation with Eddie. Not that anyone else has thought to join them on the roof, but it would only take one or two guests looking upwards from the crowded backyard to see the odd pairing hiding in plain sight. How would Steve explain this away?

“Well, dude,” Eddie mimics Steve’s locker room-esque fraternal lingo, “Forgive me for being caught off guard, but you’ll have to fill in the blanks as to why the belle of the ball has chosen to grace me with his presence instead of holding court down below? No offense, Harrington, but you don’t seem like the type of guy to give his company to a lonely stoner like myself just because it’s the charitable thing to do.”

Eddie still hasn’t allowed himself to fully take in Steve’s image. The corner of his eye has provided a jumbled puzzle of how all the pieces fit together. Eddie can see that a picture will form there, but can’t yet imagine the final result, so he has to go off of the limited information he has gathered.

For now, that’s a dorky striped polo that calls to mind what a cartoon captain might wear aboard his ship. The nautical navy hues make Eddie feel a little nauseous as if he’s the one out at sea. The buttons are undone half-way, which makes it appear that Steve is trying to achieve some sort of Peter Parker effect. Like, revealing an inch or two more of his chest automatically transforms him into the version of himself that’s a known party animal. The guy that girls swoon over even though he offers no promise of calling them up in the morning.

Other than that, Eddie’s thrown off by the quivering lip and uneven breaths that are making Steve’s polo-clad chest rise and fall in an off-kilter pattern. He thinks he’s imagining it or projecting his own anxiety onto the boy, but Steve’s breaths get louder and less easy to ignore. It sounds like he’s choking on the warm July breeze, itself. The exact one that had made Eddie feel so at peace before Steve had interrupted his sanctitude.

He bites his tongue hard before he says it, but the words tumble out despite his efforts to threaten them with the stinging consequence of physical pain.

“Hey, I’m sorry if that came off harsher than it should have, I didn’t mean to make you all emotional,” Eddie awkwardly spews and hurriedly brings the joint back to his lips.

Mostly, so he can have something to do with his hands to distract from the growing tension between him and Steve. He’s never known what to do with them in instances like this. If he should keep them to himself or offer them up as comfort to the other person. Harrington would more than likely knock him off the roof if he tried to do something stupid like pat him on the back.

A few beats pass before Steve explains the catalyst behind the increasing volume of his strangled sounds. It’s what one might think would come out of a wounded woodland creature, not the guy who’s destined to win nine out of ten superlatives by the end of his senior year.

Luckily, someone has decided the already blaring music isn’t loud enough. The recent increase further lessening the chance that anyone else would hear Steve’s small cries.

“It’s not you, Munson,” Eddie jolts at the idea that Steve not only knows him by name, but has elected to use it instead of one of the jabbing insults the rest of his group has assigned.

“I’m being a little bitch because of this stupid party. I never wanted it in the first place. Would’ve much rather gone to dinner with my parents or something,” he finishes and Eddie hears a mumbling thought exit his lips, but can’t quite make out the sentiment.

The mention of wanting after his parents strikes a chord in Eddie. It rings out clearly in the space between his ribs, akin to the clarity that washes over him in the aftermath of nailing down a particularly tricky riff on his guitar.

“Hm, what do you mean? Thought parties were kind of your thing, certainly hear about them enough around school,” Eddie says, finding that he wants Steve to elaborate and open the door to his private trembling thoughts just a little more. Just so Eddie can get a glimpse inside and maybe locate the thing that’s unexpectedly drawing him into the conversation with sparking interest.

Steve wavers again before answering, like he has to sort through an unforeseen dilemma. Like he’s at war with himself over needing a shoulder to cry on and wanting to swallow it all down and run in the opposite direction.

“I’m, um, kind of panicking? I don’t know what to call it, man. It happens to me sometimes, like I just freak out and start breathing all weird. Uh, today’s actually my birthday and Tommy H. made me let him invite everyone over to my house, like we were all going to celebrate or whatever, but I don’t think a single person has even wished me a ‘Happy Birthday.’ My Mom and Dad are on one of his lame work trips, so she can make sure he doesn’t cheat on her like last time. They haven’t even called and it’s almost midnight, so it’s destined to be another year of late apology money stuffed in a card signed ‘from, Mom and Dad,’ not even ‘love, Mom and Dad.’”

Eddie pushes himself up from his reclined position and finally turns his head towards Steve. He looks at him, really looks at him for the first time.

Of course, he’s crossed paths with Steve many times before tonight. In the halls of Hawkins High and around town running errands. The closest look he’s gotten has been when he’s done a deal with Tommy H. and any combination of the nameless kingsmen that all blur together and flock to Steve like he’s their shepherd. Eddie doesn't try or care to tell them apart, has no reason to memorize the repetitive nature of their names when they’ll shuck out the cash regardless. All identified by a last initial or physical trait that sticks out to him.

Steve’s been in the background in some of those instances. Eddie’s watched him from afar as Steve has waited for his skeevy sidekick to finish up. He appears untouchable behind the manufactured cool of his Ray Bans. Even when the clouds wake from their months-long hibernation, it’s impossible to ever tell where Steve is looking or who he is looking at, because his overpriced shades never get a day off.

So, this is markedly the first time Eddie has ever made eye contact with Steve Harrington. He lets out a small gasp when they latch onto each other’s gaze. Hopes that Steve will assume he’s only exhaling another hit, regardless of the fact that there’s no telltale trail of smoke to elicit such a conclusion.

Steve’s eyes are honeyed. That’s the only way Eddie can think to describe them. They’re a warm amber color that pulls him in with a hypnotic sheen that may or may not be the result of leftover tears. Though, Eddie’s pretty sure, Steve would never claim them if they were.

The shape of Steve’s eyes is another thing entirely. They’re downturned just slightly and Eddie’s never come across someone that takes up so much space and also happens to be so soft beneath the mask of his commanding exterior. Without the shield of sunglasses and with his attention fully directed towards Eddie, Steve arrives at the destination of his own youth. He’s much younger than he often portrays himself as being. He’s not some larger than life thing of myths and fantasies. He’s just a freshly fifteen year-old boy who hasn’t yet learned to deny himself the dream of gaining his parents’ love and approval.

And, Eddie? He knows something about that. Much more than he’d like to share, but Steve has just put into words the feeling Eddie’s been trying and failing to kill off for quite some time.

“That’s super fucked up,” it’s all Eddie can say without dropping his hand of cards and revealing what he’s been keeping pressed hard against his chest.

A memory strikes him and he’s reminded of the few times in his life that he’s felt really taken care of. For some reason, he won’t allow himself to begin to investigate; he has the odd desire to make Steve feel that way.

“This might sound weird and if it does, just tell me. No need to punch me in the face or anything,” Eddie is well aware that it is going to sound weird and probably, come off as way too intimate of a proposition.

“Why would I punch you in the face? I’m not a total asshole, y’know,” Steve counters defensively, still gasping for air like a fish out of water.

“Because of them,” Eddie gestures generally in the direction of the ongoing festivities beneath the roof, “Because Tommy H. fucking hates me and he made that very clear when he stole all of my shit earlier without paying a dime for any of it.”

“He did what? Wait, did he do that here, like at my place?” Steve furrows his brow like the little people’s complaints could possibly matter to someone in his position.

He’s being political, Eddie thinks, he wants me to be fooled into thinking he’s so “different” than them, so I’ll stay on his side.

“Harrington, let’s not play games. It’s sweet of you, really, to put on a face like my problems mean something to you, but we both know they don’t. It’s not like I haven’t seen you laugh along with the rest at my misery,” Eddie points out bitterly.

Steve startles, but doesn’t break eye contact. He seems offended by Eddie’s suggestion that he could be so callous, when it’s clearly an undeniable fact. Some are predators, some are prey. Eddie has unfortunately fallen into the latter category for most of his young life. It’s just the way things are. He doesn’t see a reason to dance around and sing songs of unity like Steve’s never stomped on his toes. Maybe not deliberately, maybe not on his own accord, but Steve’s definitely never been one to stand up and stop it from happening.

Before Steve can jump to defend himself again and swear up and down that he’s “not like that,” Eddie backpedals to his initial goal, which was to play the hero to Steve’s damsel in distress.

“It doesn’t matter, dude. Shit like that happens all the time when you’re someone like me. I wouldn’t expect you to know much about it.”

Steve nods slowly like he’s accepting the fact that Eddie has caught him in the act of deceit.

“But, let bygones be bygones or whatever. I, um, I’ve had panic attacks, too. That’s what they’re called, by the way. Panic attacks,” he says it a second time, so it can sink into Steve’s brain for the inevitable next moment that he will have to face one.

Sometimes, Eddie has learned, labeling a scary thing with a name gives it less power over you. If you bring the thing into the light of day, it loses the cloak of mystery and obscurity. That’s why it hurts him so much that no one, except his uncle, calls him by his first name; as if it's more fun to keep him in the role of the unknowable monster.

“Panic attack. Okay, so this is a panic attack?” Steve tests out the term in his mouth like it’s a foreign dish from some place half-way across the globe. Like he’s trying to get his palate to adjust to the exotic flavor.

“As far as I can tell, that’s what you’re experiencing. The heavy breathing, the gasping for air, the racing thoughts, the shaky hands; all pretty common panic attack symptoms,” Eddie explains, reflecting upon the first time his mom had taught him about the psychology behind the inescapable anxiety he felt whenever his dad entered a room.

“It kind of feels like I’m dying. Is it-is it supposed to feel that way? Do you feel that way when you have them?” Steve’s eyes are blown wide and Eddie is suddenly convinced that none of the fear is fabricated.

This isn’t some elaborate prank or ruse to mess with the school freak and embarrass him in front of the entire student body. Or at least, the portion of it that has achieved a social status high enough to be here.

“Yeah, it sucks. It literally feels like I’m going to have a heart attack when it happens to me. Sometimes, I kind of wish I would have one, so I wouldn’t have to deal with them all the time,” Eddie admits and immediately pinches the inside of his elbow, because he knows he’s said too much about who he really is.

It’s more ammo than Steve should be allowed to have, but here Eddie is, willingly giving it up to the guy and practically begging him to utilize the information in future torture campaigns.

Then again, Steve has provided Eddie with an equal amount of weaponizable information. The only difference is that everyone takes Steve’s word as truth from a higher power. By comparison, Eddie’s word falls flat as mere sticks and stones that would only ricochet off Steve’s impalpable form and backfire against him.

“There’s this thing though that my mom taught me,” Eddie finds it unnecessary to add that the woman is no longer in the picture, would rather let Steve wonder.

“It’s called ‘The Great Abyss,’ which is a badass name considering what it actually is. It’s a pressure point,” Eddie explains and Steve cocks his head in a way that conveys he doesn’t quite understand yet.

“Pressure points. They’re these little places on your body that can be used to heal all sorts of things. The whole idea of it came from ancient China, I think. They discovered that certain points were associated with all this internal stuff. Like there’s ones for getting rid of headaches and sore throats and even hangovers.”

Steve laughs at the mention of a hangover cure and the lightness it carries encourages Eddie to keep talking. Makes him believe for a second that Steve Harrington isn’t as closed minded as he originally seemed.

“Anyways, ‘The Great Abyss’ is on the inside of your left wrist,” Eddie grinds the butt of the joint into the roof’s shingles and tosses it aside so he can properly demonstrate,“There’s this hollow part, right here,” he leans closer to Steve to show him the spot beneath his thumb, where his palm and bony wrist meet.

Steve’s listening intently, like Eddie’s teaching a seminar on all of his greatest interests. If he had a notepad and pen to spare, he’d hand them to Steve just so he could relieve the intense pursed focus that has taken over his face.

“It feels weird, at first, because you have to get the hang of pressing down hard enough that it works. It took me a while to figure it out, so don’t worry if it seems like it’s not working when you try it. You hold down for a few minutes, no longer than five or you might pass out and let’s be clear, I don’t have the money to pay for any medical damages you may inflict on yourself,” Eddie smirks, but simultaneously, presses down with a moderate amount of force on his own wrist.

“And, if I was having a panic attack, the healing magic of ‘The Great Abyss’ should kick in right about now. You’ll feel your breath slow down and go back to normal. Then, with it, your heart rate will chill out and your thoughts should get noticeably less catastrophic,” Eddie concludes and releases the hold, throwing his hands up in a “ta-da” motion like he’s a magician who just pulled off an awe-inspiring trick.

Steve doesn’t say anything, just sits there frozen, so Eddie takes this as his cue to leave. Figures Steve probably won’t want Eddie staring him down if he decides to give the ol’ Great Abyss a try. He knows he doesn’t have the world’s most calming effect on people, so he hops to his feet and faces the window that he had initially crawled out of.

But, as he begins to scale the sloped roof, Steve’s voice yanks him out of the thick concentration he’s in the middle of, not wanting to fall to his death in front of a crowd that would applaud such an occurrence.

“Where are you going? I can’t do this by myself. Can’t you show me?” Steve says in a frantic tone, shaking more than he had been when Eddie was beside him.

“You want me to do the pressure point on you ?” Eddie clarifies, shocked that Steve would suggest they touch in any capacity, when the rest of his peers avoid even brushing shoulders with him or passing him a pencil in the back of a classroom. Like they’ll catch a disease from simply breathing the same slice of air.

“That’s what I was getting at, yeah,” Steve confirms and is quick to amend his statement with, “Unless that makes you uncomfortable or you have somewhere else to be. I’ll be fine, really.”

The conundrum lies in that Steve doesn’t look fine, at all. He looks miles from it. Stuck out in the barren wasteland of conflated fear and self-loathing. Eddie hates that Steve’s looking at him like he’s an oasis in the desert, like he can wave a magic wand and cure him instantly.

He hates it even more that he finds himself under Steve’s own spell. The same one he seems to employ on a daily basis to woo the likes of peers, parents, and teachers. Eddie’s transfixed by his boy next door charm, struggles not to find his suburban helplessness endearing. Like this is the first real problem he’s ever faced.

“Okay, sure, I’ll do it. It’s not a big deal,” Eddie lies through his teeth. He knows before he’s even sat back down next to Steve that this moment will very much so be a big deal in the trajectory of his life. It carries an undeniable weight.

With feigned nonchalance and a grimace to hide his racing heart, Eddie settles back into the world he and Steve have created for the time being. Population of two, location unreachable by anyone not in their strange anxious little club.

“When do your parents get back?” Eddie asks, hoping small talk will prevent Steve from noticing the emotions that have to be incredibly obvious on his face. The heat rising up the line of his cheekbones tells him so and he can’t exactly blame it on the alcohol he hasn’t consumed a drop of.

“Don’t know,” Steve shrugs and his tense shoulders almost hit his ears, “They never really tell me. I just see the packed suitcases by the door and know that means I’ll have the house to myself for the next few days, sometimes a week or two.”

Eddie nods, imagines how empty the trailer would feel if Uncle Wayne left for more than a night or two at a time. How empty it would feel if it happened more than once or twice a year. Even more so, if he lived in a house with so many vacant rooms and no one to fill them but his selfish peers.

Eddie was starting to see why Steve was able to get away with having so many parties and more importantly, why Steve would want people over all the time in the first place.

“Can I see your left wrist?” Eddie implores, breaking away from his own thoughts and half- expecting Steve to laugh in his face, like the suggestion that they touch wasn’t his idea.

Steve obediently pushes up the sleeves of his heinous polo and presents Eddie with his right wrist.

“Your left one, dipshit,” Eddie laughs good-humoredly. It’s hearty and he finishes off with a goofy snort, but then, Steve’s cracking up alongside him, so he figures it’s okay.

“Wow, it’s my birthday and I’m in the middle of a panic attack,” Eddie takes pride in the fact that he taught Steve something new when he hears him use the term again, “And you’re making fun of me for not being able to tell my left from my right. Pretty dick move of you, Munson.”

He’s still laughing and clutching at his abdomen. When he leans back, an inch of his tan, well- defined stomach is revealed and Eddie tears his eyes away before he can begin to consider why he wants to touch the line of skin that sits below Steve’s navel. He shakes his head back and forth in hopes that the thought will fall right out of his ear and become a corpse beside him.

“Okay, sorry, sorry. I promise not to insult your less than optimal ability to follow directions. You have my word,” Eddie swears, theatrically waving an imaginary white flag in one hand, “Now, your left wrist, please.”

Steve calms his laughter and glows from the aftermath of their banter. His cheeks are flushed and pink near the apples, but Eddie knows the ruddy hue must have more to do with the beers he no doubt chugged earlier in the evening than it does with Eddie sitting so close to him.

The correct wrist is now within Eddie’s line of vision. He reaches down towards the place where Steve has it hovering over his criss-crossed lap. He tries to pay no attention to the smattering of moles and freckles that dot the inside of his arm like they belong somewhere up above next to Orion and Casseopia.

They’re not holding hands, but they might as well be as Eddie circles Steve’s wrist and begins to apply mild pressure to the hollow dent he had described before.

Steve lurches a little from the initial contact, but quickly self-corrects and lets his lids flutter closed after a second or two, providing Eddie with his trust. An innocence paints its way from his chin to his hairline, as if he’s never participated in even the slightest of sinful acts. As if the minute touch holding them together isn’t the very definition of sin, itself.

“Just keep breathing, slow and steady. Try not to think too much and just focus on the feeling of my hand on your wrist. I’m going to hold on for the next few minutes, but if it hurts or you want me to stop, just say so,” Eddie instructs, trying not to feel too foolish about the hippie dippy words coming out of his mouth.

Steve’s eyes remain shut, so Eddie helps himself to another lingering study at the enigma of the boy sitting only inches away from him. This time, he compares the open palm of Steve’s hand to his own.

Eddie’s fingers are longer and bonier, knuckles jutting up through the pale overlay of his skin. Yet, he still has trouble fully encircling Steve’s wrist in his hand despite the falsely perceived advantage of his lankiness.

Steve’s palms are wider. Flat, firm expanses covered with the rough spotty texture of calluses formed from years of playing a laundry list of sports. None of which Eddie knows or cares to know the rules of.

Eddie’s hands are made for stretching across the keys of a piano and skillfully painting the smallest details of the figurines that adorn his desk. Steve’s hands are made for exerting force on a grassy field and shoving his devoted followers into their assigned places in the pecking order.

“Okay, you can let go,” Steve says suddenly.

Eddie rips his hand away, worried that he had gotten too sidetracked by his analysis and hurt Steve in the process.

“Woah, man, it’s cool. You didn’t do anything wrong. Honestly, that really helped. I just told you to stop, because I feel much better now,” Steve explains kindly, but Eddie’s tuned him out, because now, Steve has his hand resting on the inside of Eddie’s nearest bicep.

He’s rubbing his palm back and forth like Eddie’s a spooked horse. He doesn’t move away, doesn’t rush out now that he’s gotten what he wanted out of their interaction. Not like Eddie’s used to people doing. No one ever sticks around on his account, certainly not to make sure he’s okay.

And,no one has touched him so gently since his mom died. He wants to cry, can feel tears prickling in the corners of his eyes, but can’t find the courage to let them out. Not here. Not when Steve’s just made the incomprehensible decision to give him the rare gifts of kindness and comfort. Not when he knows that this means much less to Steve than it does to him.

Eddie indulges in the feeling for a minute more and the two sit in a mutually agreed upon silence, like they’re old friends and don’t need to fill in the gaps all the time. Like they aren’t afraid of scaring the other off by not knowing how to put their thoughts into words.

He looks down at Steve’s hand on his arm one more time and commits it to memory. For what usage? He’s not sure, but it feels important.

Once it’s safely tucked away, Eddie shrugs out from under Steve’s hand and says, “If I had known this was technically your birthday party, I wouldn’t have shown up without a proper gift, but,” he digs around in the pocket of his discarded leather jacket, “I do have a few joints, rolled by yours truly, that I’d like to give you for keeping me company up here and not being a total dickhead to me.”

Steve breaks out into a huge lottery-winner’s grin and accepts the joints from Eddie’s hands, tucking them into the front of his light-washed Levi’s, “Thanks, dude. That, um, that’s really cool of you and probably the only birthday gift I’ll get until my parents get home with the apology money.”

“My pleasure. Happy Birthday, Harrington,” Eddie smiles genuinely at him and wants to say more, but can’t quite figure out how to escape the confines of needing to appear socially normal and at ease in front of Steve. He’s never been one to speak his mind without coming off as offensive or dramatic, so he keeps it simple.

Steve reaches across himself and looks like he’s considering drawing Eddie into a hug, but he lets his arm fall into his lap instead, having thought better of the idea. Halting himself from crossing into a territory that he can’t come back from.

“I don’t really know how to say this and I don’t want to make anything weird, but-” Steve hesitantly starts and Eddie feels his pulse lurch into the back of his throat. He thinks he might die from the way he’s hanging on Steve’s every word which is slowly knotting a noose around his neck.

What did Mrs. Douglas call it his freshman year when they were studying ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’? A dark comedy? Plays and stories defined by sharp ironic scenes and gutting satire.

That’s what this has to be, because the events that follow are nothing but a sick joke to Eddie and he never gets the chance to hear the end of Steve’s confession.

Because Tommy H. shows up leaning his head through Steve’s bedroom window, like he’s Rapunzel and Steve is the Prince on the verge of coming to his rescue. Eddie has to cough out a choked laugh. It’s humorless, awkward, and makes Tommy sneer in his direction, but he can’t hold himself back from the dark hilarity he finds in the unfolding scene. The tragic irony that has befallen him makes him sick and hopeless, anew and erases any progress he thought he had made in the last hour.

“Harrington, what the fuck are you doing hanging out with this fag ? I’ve been looking all over for you. Whaddya get too drunk and confused by the long hair? He’s a guy, at least I think, hard to be sure when no one would ever dare get in his pants,” Hagan spits out each word with increasing hatred, never taking his beady eyes off of Eddie. It’s vulturous, as if he might swoop down and tear into Eddie’s flesh any moment just to prove his loyalty to Steve.

For his part, Steve leans away from Eddie to scramble to his feet and it cuts him to the core.

Had he really thought their one interaction would change anything about their dynamic in the grand scheme of things? Had he really deluded himself into a hole so deep that he could imagine a world in which they waved hello to each other in the school hallways? A world in which they ate lunch together in the cafeteria and divulged petty secrets? A world in which they eventually dropped the act and attempted to master the commitment to each other’s first names?

No. Because, he wasn’t Eddie to Steve. He was never going to be Eddie to Steve. He was that other thing that lurked in the darkness, scared people’s children, and got maced in the face simply for walking down the sidewalk.

The Freak. The Fag. The Queer. The Monster.

“Let’s go, dude!” Tommy whines at Steve’s clear reluctance to return the weighty crown to his perfectly coiffed head of brown hair, “Tammy Thompson told me she’d give you a blowjob, if you came out of your hiding spot to take a shot with her. She’s waiting downstairs.”

“Gimme a second, I’ll be right there,” Steve swallows past a lump in his throat and doesn’t seem the slightest bit fazed by the opportunity Tommy has just thrown on the table. Doesn’t lunge at it like some of the more perverted guys they go to school with would. Treats it like Tommy just told him there’s a ham sandwich on the counter for when he’s hungry.

His demeanor shifts in the direction of apathy. Maybe, even disappointment. But, that’s likely, because he has to go back to socializing with the exact people he was trying to run away from, not because he has to leave Eddie’s side and abandon his confession to hang in the air of what could have been.

Tommy H. ducks his head back in through the window, leaving the boys with a translucent brand of privacy. He’s tapping his foot on the carpet just on the other side and has his freckled arms crossed so tight he could easily break apart a watermelon if it happened to tumble between his chest and forearms.

Steve makes up his mind, eventually. He’ll give in to his subjects' wishes, grant them the company of their beloved figurehead. He’ll put aside the gnawing feeling of his remaining anxiety and drown it in as much of his parents’ liquor as it takes. He’ll let Tammy Thompson have her way with him, let himself pretend any of her touches actually make him feel held.

So it will be, so it always has been.

This is what it takes to be the King, Eddie realizes, the throne is not always a comfortable place to sit.

Eddie’s ready to go home, no longer cares if Tommy H. pays him or not. He’ll bust his ass to scrounge up the money through other odd jobs, like mowing lawns and washing windows. He just can’t be in the vicinity of this mess for a minute more, because if he stays and watches Steve get drunker and sadder, he knows he might do something he’ll really regret.

As he slips on his leather jacket, he almost misses Steve’s final words, which might have prevented him from falling prey to Steve’s charm again and again in the coming months. Unfortunately, he hears him.

Steve clears his throat, like he did when he first came out here to alert Eddie of his arrival. It’s subtle, but just as effective as it originally was at grabbing his attention.

Eddie looks over from his crouched position and finds Steve with one foot through the window and the other still firmly planted on the gray shingles of the roof; divided between the two planes of being. The person he wants to be and the person he has to be.

“I, uh, I gotta go, but I’ll see you around?” Steve says with an awkward lilt at the end, solidifying the fact that it is very much a question and not an assured statement.

“Yeah, I’ll see you when we get back to school,” Eddie replies quickly, not wanting Steve to think that he had assumed their paths could cross anywhere but the halls of Hawkins High.

“Sounds good. Bye, Eddie,” Steve salutes him with an upward nod of his strong chin and disappears back into the world in which people like them never even think about touching beneath the moonlight of a warm, July night.

[walthina]

steve: robin, sometimes i feel like eddie flirts with me... What do you think??

robin:

robin:

robin: i don't know steve

eddie: I JUST ASKED YOU ON A DATE HARRINGTON

[moopshake]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Eddie Munson/You Characters: Eddie Munson, Reader Additional Tags: Hurt Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Needs a Hug, Angst, Break Up, Post-Break Up, Sad, Drug Use, Fights, Eddie Munson Angst, Everyone Needs A Hug, Angst and Feels, Hurt No Comfort, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence Summary:

After a nasty fight, the week before prom, Eddie finds himself dressing up just to apologize. Unfortunately, he's met with the sight of you in someone else's arms, breaking his heart all over again.

[leviartbelike]

For @batboysxprompts! I posted this on time on Twitter, I swear.

Left for Something

'With me, you will be something.’

Steddie | Rated M | Ch. 1 1.6k words

This fic follows the last moments of Eddie's life after Dustin is taken away by the older teens and they leave what they think is a dead body behind. But it's not. And now Eddie's going to have to decide if he's just left as fertilizer for the monsters around him, or if he's going to become a monster himself.

NOTE: This has heavy Vecna emotionally and mentally abusing Eddie's subconscious. Abusive and manipulative language is there so please be kind to yourself about reading!

[tartarusknight]

You know today's been a pretty good day. You'd think that meant when I sat down, writing because my brain was finally ready to write it would be happy. Nope... Eddie's background in The Fallen King and the King of the Freaks is getting sadder... I didn't even plan for it to get worse. But I guess that's what's happening 😕

[tired-butalive]

all i want is to see eddie munson happy T-T

[cinematik]

Kerosene Soaked Love

Eddie Munson loves the smell of kerosene. He loves the thought of fire following the bitter, oily smell. He loves the warmth of the fire and the sting of the smoke in his eyes. Eddie Munson could be a pyromaniac if he didn’t have that ounce of self preservation telling him to keep his ass out of jail.

When he met Steve Harrington for the first time after King Steve packed his shit and left, he found that he loved fire and kerosene more. The way the small campfire illuminated Steve’s jawline and puppy brown eyes made him melt. The way the flames danced on Steve's face was hypnotic and he slowly fell for the man in the fire.

Him and Steve bonded more through the events of spring break in 1986, between matching scars and shared trauma they grew very close. The nights spent by the campfires smoking, looking at Steve’s face being illuminated were always Eddie’s favourite. Their first kiss was shared by that same fire, it was slow and passionate. The kind of kiss that drowns out the world and the only thing you hear is the blood rushing in your ears. 

Steve learned to indulge Eddie in his love for fire. Whether that was letting him start the fire in the fireplace or letting him burn all the scraps of paper he could find in the house. Steve also grew to love fire because Eddie loved fire and he loved Eddie. The fire began to remind him of Eddie, how his loud, passionate boyfriend lit up the rooms he walked into and how his entire being seemed to glow. Steve also found more often than not Eddie's clothes buzzed with the smell of kerosene and smoke. He found comfort in that. Steve loved kerosene and fire, it reminded him of love.

Eddie loved Steve and Steve loved Eddie.

Hawkins did not love Steve and Eddie.

On December 15th, 1990 Steve and Eddie's small house on the edge Hawkins went up in flames. The roads were so icy that it took the firemen an hour to arrive, you could see the smoke from all the way across town. Eddie had felt his stomach drop when he got the call from work that the house had caught on fire. Steve was home that day, he had taken off to decorate for a Christmas party they were throwing for the kids. 

Eddie never drove faster than he had that day, he desperately hoped that he would see a disheveled Steve sitting wrapped in a blanket in front of the house with the firemen. 

All he saw were ashes of his house, an ambulence, several firefighters, and an adult sized body bag on the lawn. 

A week later the firemen and police determined that the house caught fire due to foul play. The house was doused in a mixture of kerosene and gasoline and then ignited with a match. 

Eddie cried for weeks, the thought of his poor Steve unaware of the horror that was about to happen, happily decorating for his favourite holiday. Eddie couldn’t get the thought of Steve crying and begging for Eddie to rescue him, or the thought of Steve choking on the smoke and his skin being eaten by the flames he so dearly loved out of his head. 

One of his most beloved things took away what he loved most.

Eddie Munson loves fire

Eddie Munson loves Steve Harrington.

Eddie Munson loved. 

[ace-for-eddie]

Part 1

July 5, 1986

Joyce Byers was quite concerned the second she picked up the phone. 

Somehow, Vecna was dead and everyone had made it out of the Upside Down alive in March. Max and Eddie almost didn’t. After a week in a medically induced coma, Eddie awoke to find he was stitched up but still in a tremendous amount of pain from the itching and burning bites. They’d had to perform surgery for a punctured lung and several blood transfusions.

Joyce wanted all of the kids to feel welcome calling her anything, or just dropping by the cabin where she and Hopper were now living with Will and El. Jonathan and Argyle found an apartment for rent in a part of town that wasn’t destroyed and were helping with the clean up/repair efforts. 

But Joyce just had a mother’s intuition about things and immediately recognizing the way Eddie Munson said her name, she just knew something big had happened. 

“Eddie, are you okay? You sound upset.” Her brow furrowed in concern. “Yes…no… I don’t know. But could you just…uh… come to my place… right now please?” He audibly gulped. 

“Okay honey, I’ll be right there…” Joyce wasn’t sure if he was having another flashback or if he was hurt, but she was on her way. She grabbed her keys.

“I’m coming to help.” El stated tying her shoe.

“Honey, I don’t know what he needs and I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.” “I have a good feeling.” El smiled. “I can help.” El insisted and Joyce couldn’t deny that El and Eddie were becoming good friends. They seemed to understand one another in a way the other kids didn’t always. 

The new home where Eddie and Wayne had been relocated, was only about a mile from the cabin, so it didn’t take long for them to drive. Not to mention that Joyce was driving like a… well, she was pushing the speed limit.

She hurried up the stairs with Eleven tailing close behind. 

She knocked on the door then tried the handle and cautiously opened the door.

“Eddie, hon? You okay sweetie?” She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but it wasn’t this. 

On the couch, Eddie sat with a very small child with dark curly hair and the most adorable huge brown eyes.

“Oh… who else is here?” Joyce asked, looking around.

Eddie gulped, “Just us two.” 

“Uh… I… “ Eddie smiled with tears in his eyes. “I’m gonna need help.” 

El stepped up to the couch and sat on the other side of the toddler smiling then looked at Eddie. 

“She has your eyes.” She grinned. “And your hair.” She nodded. 

The little one looked up and giggled at the girl. Eddie took a shuddered breath. “Yeah, uh… that’s what I need help with.” “Oh Eddie.” Joyce smiled and covered her mouth. “Sounds like you have a lot to fill us in on.” She came to stand beside him and he stood instantly knowing that Joyce would immediately wrap him in a tight hug. She’d been playing mom to more and more kids these days, what was one more?

[gay-little-bitch]

So I have a WIP that I prob won't post but it has a super sad and relatable part in it so I thought I would share it. Basically it's from a journal Eddie has and this is something he wrote.

TW: Descriptions of SH!! Suicidal thoughts! Don't read if you're sensitive or this could trigger you!!!!

The feeling of my skin ripping is calming in a fucked up way, but I couldn't care less.

Blood slowly trickles out of the line of split skin.

My heart is beating out of my chest, the feeling of burning, pulling me away from my thoughts.

I scratch the surface, pulling it open farther to make sure the sensation doesn't leave.

Blood follows my fingers, while it seeps into my nails.

I wish I wasn't sick, but at the same time, I wish I felt worse.

Nobody ever notices how bad things get, but sometimes I wish they did.

I hate that nobody cares enough to make sure I'm okay and well.

I want to fall asleep one night with no point in waking up.

I want to leave everyone behind, and never look back.

It's obvious nobody would care... so why not?

[stevebabey]

Steve hates to ask this of Eddie.

Really, it’s a last resort sort of thing. Robin’s gone for the week, some trip upstate with her family. And it’s fine, they’re close but Steve’s a big boy. He can handle a week without his best friend.

But, well, it’s just unfortunate for it to creep up on Steve when Robin’s gone. It being… shit, how did Robin explain it? She was so much better at keeping track of all those things than he was, all the terms filed away nicely in her head to be recalled as needed. Steve’s much messier— in his head, in his life.

Touch aversion, that’s what she called it. A by-product of the severe lack of touch in his childhood she had said; not enough hugs, hand holding, the works and now Steve’s grown to find it too strange. Something prickles under his skin, pulls in his gut all the wrong way, when someone’s too touchy-feely with him. Robin’s said it’s normal, and he believes her.

It just makes it harder when this comes by. That completely strange backward want that carves into his chest, creating a chasm that just aches. Suddenly, Steve wants to be touched, needs to be touched — like something behind his ribs is just begging for comfort in the form of touch, any way he can have it. Like some young part of him can still remember the hunger he had for it and it comes back in full force, a tender wound between his lungs.

It doesn’t happen that often — though, it’s more frequent than ever recently — but usually, Robin’s here. She can almost always tell before Steve works up the courage to ask. Twitchy fingers give him away. He hovers closer than normal, shoulders brushing more often.

She always gives him a smile, softer than her usual snark and says, “C’mere, dingus.” and stands on her tip-toes to envelope him in a hug. Steve can’t help but sink into it, gripping her close around the waist for as long as he needs until the hole in his chest feels a step closer to patching up.

Robin also tells him he can have as many hugs as he’d like but Steve is firm with himself; he only needs one, then he’ll be back to fine.

It what’s he needs now. One really fucking good hug. Still, he hates to ask, least of all from Eddie, because, well— okay, Steve has no reason to assume Eddie wouldn’t give him a hug.

He’s seen Eddie’s hugs before. Like everything he does, Eddie puts his everything into it- he hugs Robin til she wheezes, loves to lift Nancy off the ground, and the hug he gives Dustin is sweetest of all, a hand on the back of the littler’s head while he does some strange little sway. Dustin always laughs, playfully shoving him away by the end but Steve knows he loves them, that it helps in more than one way.

Steve is glad that Dustin has someone, besides his Mom of course, who can hug him, because Steve can’t give that to him. Maybe one day, but for now, hugs from Steve are a rarity — few and far in between. Maybe, he thinks, he doesn’t want to ask Eddie specifically because of that niggling feeling that comes up around Eddie, all gooey and soft. A feeling the swings too close to a crush that Steve has no fucking clue what to do about.

So, he hates to ask. Really. On the drive over to Eddie’s, a hangout organised before Steve started to feel the lack of touch creep in, he runs through any other options. Wait til Robin gets back? Steve’s not sure he’ll make it another 4 days. When left alone, it seems to consume him and make everything harder, everything heavier to deal with.

He’s still tossing it when he climbs the steps to Eddie’s trailer. Steve decides that he’ll see how it goes, see if there’s an opening to ask…semi-naturally or something. He’s not gonna spring it on the guy.

Eddie is wonderful company as always, devilish grins and god-awful comments about the film he picked. Steve feeds off it, drinking in the infectious energy. He tries to let it be enough; their shoulders pressed together, Eddie’s knee knocking his when he laughs, the way Eddie leans into his space to whisper even though it’s just them here tonight. Steve wants it to be enough. But even then, he can see the way his hands twitch in his lap, desperate for more.

Steve closes his eyes. Curls his hands up so tightly his nails bite into the skin. He tries to use it to wane off the feeling, the ache that sings out for Eddie beside him and it nearly works. Until—

“Steve? Y’okay?” Eddie’s voice pipes up, making Steve open his eyes in an instant.

“Hm?” Steve hums, hoping that his casualness will be enough for Eddie to skip over his peculiar behaviour. He blinks, tilting his head just a bit to show he was confused why Eddie was asking.

Eddie chuckles lightly, gesturing towards Steve’s lap, where his hands sit still clenched, white knuckled with his self-restraint. “You seem a bit stiff, that’s all.” Eddie rechecks. “You good?”

Steve opens his mouth and then closes it, forcing his hands to unclench in his lap. “I-“ he begins, then stops, unsure of what he was going to say. He did say he would look for an opening tonight. The way Eddie’s regarding him, open faced with his concern, is as good as he might get.

“This might sound a bit weird,” Steve starts, defensiveness already tingeing the words, his shoulders curling in just a bit. Eddie could say no. He’s allowed to say no. Steve really doesn’t want him to. “Like, if you think it’s weird, that’s totally fine and we can just, like, forget I said anything and—”

“Steve.” Eddie cuts him off, a linger of an amused smile on his lips. “I don’t think I’m going to find anything you say weird, sweetheart. Shoot. What’s on your mind? What troubles the great mind of Steve Harrington?”

God, it’s like a whole bunch of words designed to set Steve’s head spinning. ‘The great mind of Steve Harrington’ makes him want to scoff. ‘Sweetheart’ makes him want to swoon. He can’t decide which one he wants to do more.

“Can I-” Steve stammers, the words halting automatically. It’s too much of a habit to swallow them down. Coercing them out takes more work. He stares up at the ceiling as he grits his teeth, releases a harsh sigh, pulling himself together. “Can I… have a hug?”

There a moment of silence and Steve holds his breath.

“Oh,” Eddie breathes, and Steve takes his eyes off the ceiling to see just what that Oh means. Eddie’s smiling, a soft one gracing his pretty mouth, and Steve thinks, maybe, one day he’ll have the courage to ask for a kiss as well. Relief moves sluggishly through his veins— Eddie’s smiling, this is good.

“Well, of course,” Eddie grins widely and opens his arms, inviting Steve in. Steve hesitates for only a moment before he leans in gratefully, his arms tucking around Eddie’s midriff tightly. Eddie’s arms curl around Steve’s neck, pulling him in close. It’s the easiest thing in the world, sinking into it, so much that Steve tries his best not to immediately slump against Eddie. It feels a bit too pathetic, so Steve reels himself in. He can’t make his arms relax, trying too hard to take only what he needs and not a moment more.

“C’mon, Stevie.” Eddie’s voice teases beside his ear, his breath warm. “You call that a hug?”

He squeezes Steve a little tighter, pulling him even closer and Steve can’t help the way he melts into it— he slumps, leaning against Eddie properly and burying his quiet whine of relief into the juncture between Eddie's neck and shoulder.

“There we go,” Eddie murmurs comfortingly.

Eddie takes him wholly, gives a damn good Munson hug, all warmth and comfort. He smells like, well, Eddie — a lingering scent of weed, something musky, something Eddie. His arms around Steve’s neck shuffle and Steve worries he’s trying to pull away so soon, only for one of his hands to tangle in the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck. He combs through, light fingernails scratching at Steve’s scalp and shit, Steve really can’t control the noise of contentment that slips out his throat.

“Can’t believe you got so worked up just to ask for a hug,” Eddie tsks, tone coloured in disbelief. Steve makes a noise of protest, trying for a moment to wind it all back in but, like Eddie can sense it, he’s squeezing him tighter again. He begins to rock them, a soft sway side to side that lets Steve lean on him even more. He hums a tune Steve doesn’t know, low and soft.

“M’sorry,” Steve mumbles in reply, though he’s not entirely sure what he’s apologising for. For having to ask, for taking so much, for enjoying Eddie’s arms around him just a little too much.

“What the fuck for?” Eddie laughs lightly, one of his hands beginning to drum against the divots of Steve’s spin. It feels like he’s tapping pure delirium with each fingertip, shivers that make Steve’s chest glow terribly warm. It feels good, so good to be held and honestly, Steve could stay here all night if Eddie let him. Knowing Eddie, he would, because he’s that fucking nice.

That knowledge alone forces Steve to sit himself up, extracting him limbs even though so much of him mourns the warmth, the touch, that goes with it. He wants the touch but he’s had enough. Some scorned part of him burns bitterly to think Eddie would give him more just to be nice. Steve doesn’t want that— Steve wants Eddie to touch him because he wants to.

“Sorry, man, I just, uh, get like that sometimes.” Steve feels the need to explain, bringing a hand up to rub at one of his eyes. He does it half so can hide his embarrassed expression from Eddie— who’s looking at him so gently and still so so close.

“Just, aha—“ Christ, it wasn’t this awkward telling Robin. Steve’s hand moves to rub the back of his neck. “Sometimes I realise it’s been awhile since,” He gnaws on his bottom lip, something alike to humiliation curling in his gut. “Since I’ve had some touch. Usually, Robin’s around but y’know.”

He waves a hand, huffing another awkward laugh. Eddie hasn’t moved much, just listening intently, his brows ever so slightly inching closer together. He looks outright concerned at Steve’s next words.

“It’s okay, I’ve— I’ll be good now.” Steve nods along, like the motion will help him convince himself as well as Eddie. He’ll be okay now. Usually, one hug is all it takes. He ignores the surging tidal-wave want that is still going, still aching to be held by Eddie again. It would be selfish to ask for more. Eddie didn’t invite him around to hug— it’s weird, and Steve shouldn’t- can’t ask for more.

“Sooooo,” Eddie draws out the word, an impish smile beginning to play at the corners of his lips. He opens his arms wide again. “You don’t want another hug?”

In his lap, Steve’s fingers twitch. Eddie’s eyes dart to them for a second, before fixing back on Steve. He does, he really fucking does want another hug. He can’t. He’s had enough, really, it would greedy to have more.

Steve shakes his head, forces himself to huff another laugh that accidentally comes out as a strained sigh. He smiles weakly, “No, no, I’m good, dude. It’s… I’m okay, swear.”

For a moment, Steve thinks he’s convinced him. Eddie studies his face, his mischief slipping away as he deliberates Steve’s words. His eyes narrow, arms dropping just an inch before he smiles brightly and says, “Okay, can I have a hug then?”

Which, okay, right, Steve didn’t think of that. People don’t ask him for hugs. He blinks, a bit dumbly. Eddie is waiting, face eager and for a second there’s an expression of almost smugness on his face — like he’s about to get exactly what he wants. Because he knows Steve would never be rude and say no.

“I mean,” Steve breathes, voice a bit tighter than he’s expecting. He clears his throat. “Yeah, yeah, you can have a hug.”

“Great!” Eddie replies and he wastes no time. He’s all up in Steve’s space, arms around Steve’s waist this time. The motion takes Steve by surprise, enough that because he’s not expecting it Eddie’s weight pushes him back so he’s lying on the couch.

If Eddie cares, he pays no mind, his head curling up into the crook of Steve’s neck as he hugs him closer. His hair gets in Steve’s mouth, making him splutter for a second, but Eddie just grins, wriggling closer until they’re pressed firmly against each other. Steve would go as far as to say this is closer to cuddling than a hug, with Eddie squishing him from above, his arms around Steve’s middle.

“Just so you know,” Eddie’s voice rumbles from where their chests are touching, his breath sweeping across Steve’s neck. Steve shivers without meaning to, feels Eddie’s responding grin even as he continues. “All hugs requested by me are automatically 10 minutes long. Hope you’re okay with that, sweetheart.”

Steve isn’t stupid — he knows Eddie is doing it for him, doing it because he could see right through Steve’s stupid facade, had peered his yawning hunger for touch right in the face and hadn’t blanched. Instead of feeling tricked or fooled, Steve just feels…warm. Comfortable. He works his arms around Eddie’s neck til their more comfortable and find the courage in him scrape his fingers through Eddie’s hair— like he had done to Steve. Eddie’s sighs sweetly and Steve thinks he could listen to that noise forever.

“I’m… I’m okay with that.” Steve murmurs lowly, yet he knows Eddie can hear him. Eddie noses closer, a borderline nuzzle against his neck, and further down, one his hands starts to stroke softly up and down Steve’s ribs.

Steve can’t help the way it makes him freeze, the breath in his lungs holding tight as he tries to relax, tries to ignore the prickly feeling under his skin. It’s a lot. A lot of touch that Steve just isn’t used to just yet, even if he desperately craves it.

“Relax,” Eddie whispers into his skin, a soft instruction paired with the motion, one soothing stroke up and down his ribs. Steve pushes the breath in his lungs out, forces the tension out of his body, trusts that Eddie wouldn’t be offering— wouldn’t tell him to relax if he wasn’t allowed to.

“That’s it.” Eddie praises, feeling the body beneath him settle and sink a little lower into the couch. “Now, watch the movie.” Eddie instructs, jutting at the still playing screen with his chin. Steve laughs a bit, but obeys, turning his head to see what part they’d gotten up to. They’d missed a big chunk in their hug. Steve nearly apologises for it, the words on the tip of his tongue, before he decides Eddie might smack him for it.

So, he doesn’t. He watches the film, let’s the gentle touch of Eddie on his skin relax him til sleepiness starts to fill each of his limbs, heavy like lead. Eddie’s hand stops moving eventually, when his breath gets heavier, lulled by Steve’s scratch in his hair. A snore starts up, loud and quite frankly, annoying, and yet, Steve finds that with Eddie’s arms around him, he has no trouble finding sleep.

It’s the first time in years Steve’s fallen asleep in someone else’s arms. And even if he doesn't know it yet, it’s certainly not the last.

now with a part two!

[springfaekohaku]

Warning Shot

It was only supposed to be a warning shot.

Steve Harrington found himself staring face first into the barrel of a gun, held by none other than Nancy Wheeler — his girlfriend.

Said girlfriend was shouting at him, while Jonathan Byers stood at her side with matching bandages on their hands, the boy looking just as shocked as Steve. His voice echoing around them and getting lost in Nancy’s booming voice, a side he never saw from the girl that he fell head over heels with. Steve could only hold his hands up in a surrendering gesture, he was officially freaking out.

It was chaos. Steve didn’t even know what to think, he arrived with the intent to figure out what was going on with the two of them, Tommy and Carols voices taunting him in his head that something was going on. But this? He was being screamed at, demanding he’d leave and get out of the Byers residence, while Christmas lights were flickering on the wall with an alphabet drawn into it; he felt like he was having a fever dream.

Until the walls started to tremble and shake, Nancy’s voice got desperate and in a panic at Steve’s insistence to know what the hell was going on, he just wouldn’t leave. Jonathan’s panic at the escalation and the added pressure of Steve being in the midst of their plan, making everything go astray. Nancy had to do something to get Steve to leave, she felt herself building in pressure and like a rubber band; she snapped.

Just as the roof was being sunken in and the lights bursting, a loud BANG! rung through the living room and it all went silent…

Steve felt like his ears burst and could only hear ringing as he stared at Nancy. It was like things were in slow motion and his brain didn’t catch up to what just happened until he felt a burning sharp pain in his right hand and turned his head to see a hole in the middle of his palm. That’s when it all set in and realised what the fuck just happened.

He hears both Nancy’s and Jonathan’s voices.

“It was only supposed to be a warning shot. I-It, I…I aimed above I swear. I didn’t mean to.”

“What did you just do?! You shot him! You actually shot him, whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck—”

Steve finally felt everything coming back and clear as the ringing subsided, the adrenaline wearing off and he truly feels the agony and pain in his hand. There is a hole in his hand. In the middle of his palm.

There is a fucking hole in his hand.

And Nancy Wheeler, his girlfriend was the cause of it. Pretty sure it was Ex-Girlfriend now.

He hears the two teenagers shouting in panic and stress, while Steve checked out, only feeling blood pooling out from his wound down his arms and off his elbow. So he releases his hands from the air and cradles his injured hand with his other one, it hurt but his mind was somewhere else and everything seemed to collapse on itself. In his mind and currently in the Byers living room. However, he had a rude awakening as he felt Jonathan call out his name like trying not to spook a wild animal that’s been injured. His name was soft and gentle on his lips. Steve could see the desperation and panic in his eyes, like they were running out of time.

And they were. They were given a moment of peace until hell broke loose again. Only this time, the roof does sink in on itself, with a monster phasing through it and Steve was right under it. He could only look up and see what appears to be a claw, almost puncturing through the roof like it was made out of flesh and stretched skin.

Jonathan didn’t waste a second, discarding the initial plan to coax Steve into safety, they ran out of time; so he lunges for Steve. Grabbing his uninjured arm, tugging him and both jumping over the bear trap and to the room with Nancy ahead, opening the door for both boys and her last, locking it and standing guard.

Steve was walked to the bed and Jonathan sat him down. He had to find something to bandage Steve’s wound, which felt fruitless because there was no medical supplies in this room. So he figured the next best thing is a thin layered shirt that he can tear up and use as a makeshift bandage. It seemed like luck was on his side because he found exactly that. It was a disposable shirt too, it wouldn’t be missed, so he got to work. He had to act fast, he could hear the monster finally break through and its heavy body hit the living room floor. He kneels down in front of Steve and sees the other boy holding his injured hand and trembling. He coaches Steve through it and tells him it’s going to be okay, that it’ll hurt but that he’s here. Maybe it was also to get himself together too. He’s not leaving. As scared as he is, Jonathan knew the monster smelt their blood and now Steve’s fresh flesh wound, he didn’t want it to get any worse than it already is.

They had a plan. It’s all gone to shit and haywire.

Now, they just need to figure out how to trap the bastard and keep it from the others. They can still do this, they need to do this.

Jonathan looks at his handy work and deems is satisfactory for now and turns towards Nancy, meeting her eyes, he sees her guarded, her eyes were stormy and face littered in a ripple of emotions. But it seems like she also has the same conclusion, get it together and focus on the plan; no matter if it’s skewed and ruined.

So, she meets Jonathan’s gaze. She doesn’t even have it in her to look at Steve. Her boyfriend. The boy she shot.

They can still execute in the next phase. They just need Steve to be hidden in a secure place, away from danger.

Away from Nancy and her gun. Which was unsaid but it was spoken in her mind.

Nancy nods, standing guard and Jonathan nods in return. Standing up to guide Steve to a wardrobe, taking everything out and placing him in. Jonathan didn’t feel any resistance, he can clearly tell Steve is still in shock and internally dissociating. He notices that far-away look and how pliant he was with being essentially manhandled into the wooden wardrobe. Sitting him down, Jonathan can only offer a few words of reassurance and telling the older boy they’ll be back for him when it’s over. He wasn’t able to wait for a response as Nancy signals Jonathan and Steve feels the sense of safety and warmth leave his space. A feeling he’d never thought associating with Jonathan, it was new but he couldn’t help but feel his lingering touches, gentle yet firm.

He doesn’t even notice the wardrobe doors close and all he knows next is darkness and being left alone with his thoughts. He can’t help but think back to his and Jonathan’s spat, how Steve taunted him and called him names, said awful things about his family and yet…the younger boy grabbed him and took his hand into safety and out of danger without a second thought. He can’t help but also think about how in their fight, or well, Steve’s beat-down, how Jonathan being on top of him sparked a feeling that felt dangerous and unknown, yet familiar. How he straddled his hips and felt his hands on him and like moments ago, instead of his touch hurting, he was gentle and kind. He felt butterflies in his stomach. It made Steve and his entire world go into turmoil and it seems like he’s come to two conclusions tonight:

Monsters are real.

He’s pretty sure he’s having a Queer awakening.

He didn’t have time to dwell more in the closet, haha, because the sound of gunshots, the sound of like a banshee screeching, Nancy’s voice and Jonathan’s grunts could be heard; Steve had to get out.

So he does.

Steve breaks out of his hiding spot and opens the door, he rushes to the scene of commotion and sees Jonathan pinned down by the monster, which looked to be made out of flesh, its mouth opens like a flower with petals that has razor sharp teeth inside — all wanting to bite into Jonathan’s face as the boy tries to fight against it. Nancy fired shots but it seems to not deterrent the monster, not even bothering it and she seemed frozen and unsure what to do next.

Enter Steve who spots the nailed bat, so he leaps over the bear trap again, grabbing the nail bat and as the adrenaline fills his entire being once again; he doesn’t even feel the pain as he grips the bat in a death grip. He gets close enough and shouts at the ugly bastard. He gains its attention and it screeches at him, now smelling the fresh blood from Steve’s hand and detached itself from Jonathan. It stood and towered over Steve but Steve didn’t feel anything but anger, rage, the instinct to protect and keep them safe.

He twirls the bat to get a better grip and positions himself into a stance to fully swing at the monster, using all his strength and power, he hoped playing baseball for a while payed off.

So he swung, the monster staggering and Steve was hitting blow after blow and that’s when Nancy and Jonathan recoup to see Steve backing the hideous creature into the bear trap. It was working.

Holy shit, it was working.

Steve knew it fell into the trap as it screeched in a guttural scream that he hasn’t heard before.

That’s when he hears Jonathan’s voice shouting at him to stand back and he sees the boy throw a lit lighter into the gasoline which Steve didn’t even notice until it was engulfing the floor and racing towards the trap. Eventually engulfing the creature and the three teens watch as the creature screamed, tried to break free of the trap and even tears off its leg to escape.

Nancy was caught off guard at the unexpected movement and backed away and tugged Jonathan back with her. Eyes trained on it as it advances towards them but then Steve, Steve being the reckless idiot he was, uses the last of his strength and takes only a few strides and twists his body, elbows up and shoulders squared; his feet planted and he swings.

The nails pierced the monsters head before the rest of the bat followed, connecting with the head ripping it clean off its shoulders. The screeching stopped at its decapitation and only the sound of fire burning its flesh remain and the flicker of the lights finally stop and the room stopped feeling like it was going through an earthquake. They stare at the monsters corpse and sees it disintegrating under the flames, taking the heat with it and only leaving scorch marks behind.

Everything was still.

It was over.

Or was it?

TBC…

Next chapter —>

[italiansteebie]

Steve has gone to bed with a lot of people.

he's poured his heart into loving them, holding them close, cuddling in, and willing them not to leave, and maybe that's where he went wrong.

because steve has gone to bed with a lot of people, but he's never woken up with them.

every time, they always find a way to sneak out, slide their way out of his bed, and untangle their fingers from his grasp. and he thinks the ones who leave don't notice that he always wakes up when they leave.

so when he curls into bed with Eddie, he prepares himself for a heartbreak in the morning. only it never comes, because Eddie stayed.

and when he woke up, Eddie's hand was still wrapped around his own.