#also any excuse to mention that steve listens to wham and i will take it

[steddio]

Eddie finding Steve asleep sitting in the kitchen, waiting for the popcorn in the microwave, while the party are playing D&D. Eddie gently waking him up, accidentally letting some of his endearment show when he calls him angel and tells him to go get some sleep, that Eddie got it from here.

(I wrote a short little ficlet for this, I hope that's ok!)

“Alright! Enough!” Eddie tries and fails to be heard over the ruckus of seven teenagers each trying to get out of doing a task.

“Shut up!!!” he finally gets out at a register that demands attention. He is the DM after all, and a part of him preens at the way their startled, open-mouthed faces all turn toward him expectantly.

“I, your benevolent leader, will go refill the snacks,” he offers magnanimously. “While you all,” and this he punctuates with a sweeping gesture, “figure out how you’re going to get out of this dungeon without attracting the attention of Ezrog the Goblin King.”

There’s a new round of squabbling at that, Mike and Dustin convinced that they should take the west stairwell (a trap) while Gareth and Lucas arguing that they should swim out through the underground river (a good idea, Eddie begrudgingly admits).

He grabs the candy wrappers and empty soda cans within his reach and ascends the stairs from the Wheelers’ basement. He follows the scent of popcorn and a profoundly irritating beeping noise to the kitchen where he finds Steve perched on a barstool, slumped over the kitchen counter, fast asleep.

Eddie suddenly feels breathless. He’s never seen Steve so peaceful, so vulnerable. His hair is sticking up at all angles, he’s snoring slightly, and is that— it certainly is, there’s a bit of drool in the corner of his mouth. The permanent furrow between his brows is relaxed in sleep, although the dark circles under his eyes are still noticeable. Eddie knows Steve hasn’t been sleeping well. None of them have, still unable to feel truly safe.

Eddie tiptoes around Steve, careful not to wake him, and finds a cooling bag of popcorn in the microwave. Something clenches in Eddie’s chest. He hadn’t even heard Steve arrive, but here he is preparing snacks, taking care of them like always.

As quietly as possible, he takes the popcorn out of the microwave to stop that infernal beeping (how Steve is able to sleep through it is beyond him) and pours the popcorn into a bowl, grabs a few other things from the cabinet, and organizes them on the counter. He leans over toward Steve, as close as he dares, fingers ghosting over Steve’s hair, his cheek, admiring his long lashes and the freckles that dust his skin. He settles for gently grasping Steve’s shoulder.

“Steve, wake up,” he whispers. Steve mumbles something and then buries his face in the crook of his arm. Eddie can’t stop himself from reaching out and touching Steve’s hair, his heart bursting with fondness.

“Angel, you can’t sleep here, you’ll hurt your back,” he whispers slightly louder. Immediately he realizes what he let slip and waits, frozen, for Steve’s reaction. But Steve just grunts, and doesn’t move.

“Steve, man, c’mon,” Eddie tries again, and this time Steve lifts his head and looks at Eddie blearily.

“Wha-“ he gets out, looking adorably confused.

“You fell asleep in the kitchen,” Eddie can’t help but smile. “Come on, let’s get you over to the couch. You can nap there. The heathens and I still have quite a bit longer in the campaign, plenty of time for you to get some rest.”

Eddie helps (well, more like manhandles) Steve over to the living room couch, thrilling at the way Steve’s body is pressed to his side, loose-limbed and uncareful. Steve drops to the couch and is immediately asleep again, sprawled on his back, looking every bit the teenager he is. Eddie forgets that Steve is only 19, with how much he’s seen and done. But here, at rest, he is young, pure, holy. Eddie’s savior in more ways than one. He grabs a blanket off the armchair and spreads it over Steve, tucking it in on the sides. Stoops down in a semblance of a forehead kiss, just breathing in the scent of Steve’s hair, relishing a stolen moment of closeness.

“Sleep tight, angel.”

-

Three days later, Eddie finds himself in the passenger seat of Steve’s BMW, bickering, as usual, about music. He finds a sick sense of joy in being able to go toe-to-toe against Steve Harrington, King of Hawkins High, even if it’s about something innocuous, like the merits (or complete lack thereof) of Steve’s favorite band.

“Listen, Harrington, listen!” Eddie is getting into it now, feeling himself metaphorically jumping on top of his cafeteria table pedestal. “Wham! is the devil’s music! It’s demonic, only hellspawn can listen to that shit without their ears bleeding.”

Steve glares at him for a brief moment, before his expression fades into a cocky smirk. “Hellspawn?” He meets Eddie’s eyes. “I thought I was an angel.”