#the one where steve says eddie

[hairmetal666]

Early Summer 1987

Steve's hosting a going away party. For everyone. Nancy going to Emerson, Jonathan and Argyle back to California, Steve and Robin moving to Indy, Eddie going off to find his fortune, wherever it may lie.

They've been at it all day, drinking and smoking and loving each other in the way you do when you've subverted several apocalypses together. And Steve is happy. He is. Truly. They're getting out of Hawkins, starting their lives, and he'll be with Robin, his other half, his sister, the platonic love of his life.

But as the night continues and Steve looks around his living room, at all these people he loves--at half of the family they built out of tragedy and fear--his joy turns to melancholy. They're spreading in the wind, chasing the dreams they put on hold to save the world. It's a bittersweet end, and suddenly Steve can't be in the house anymore.

He slips out the sliding door, fully expecting to be alone, but Eddie stands at the edge of the pool, glow of a cigarette illuminating his face. Steve's stomach flips, skitters with butterfly wings, like it always does when he and Eddie are together.

Eddie turns at the sound of the door thumping softly shut, face creasing into a brilliant smile when he spots Steve. It's a smile so beautiful, so genuine, that it makes Steve hurt when it's directed at him. Hasn't been able to help noticing that usually it is, that Eddie--even in full theatrical Eddie-mode--only smiles like this, all dimples and affection, for Steve.

"Okay, Stevie?" Eddie asks.

"Just needed some air."

Eddie offers the cigarette, so Steve sidles up next to him, lining his toes up with the pool edge so they match.

With a nudge, Eddie settles closer, wrapping his arm around Steve's waist. It's not the first time they've embraced like this, not the first time the proximity makes Steve think he'll burst into flame, but it is the first time Steve leans in, rests his head at the join of Eddie's neck and shoulder. They're of a height, and it's just enough that the position is comfortable, easy. Though, everything with Eddie is now.

They smoke in silence for a few minutes, both lost in their own thoughts before Steve speaks, not even sure if he means to, but the words are tumbling out. "Everything's changing."

"It's a good thing," Eddie says. "Right?"

"Yeah, yeah, totally." Steve runs his hands through his hair, pushing it back. "It's just. Thinking about how nothing will ever be the same after this, you know?"

"Maybe," Eddie agrees. "But--I don't know--You think Dustin isn't going to demand visits to all of us? Cross-country roadtrips every summer?"

Eddie offers the cigarette back to Steve, only this time, he moves to place it between his lips and Steve adjusts to let him. Maybe it's an accident, maybe not, but Eddie's thumb strokes the corner of Steve's mouth. Their eyes meet, something hot, wanting passes between them.

"I'm going to do something," Eddie whispers. His eyes drop to Steve's lips. "Don't kill me, okay? Please."

Steve doesn't get a chance to say he'd never hurt Eddie, not in a million years, because the other man is stomping out the cigarette, slotting their mouths together.

There's no hesitation, no questioning, Steve kisses back and it's so soft, so sweet, gentle in a way that he's never been kissed, not even once. And when Eddie licks at the seam of Steve's lips, he opens without thought, because of course he wants Eddie to taste his mouth, to nip at his lips, to slide their tongues together. He fists his hand into the fabric of Eddie's shirt, pulling them closer together. They moan and sigh, swallowing each other's noises, reveling in sensation.

The sliding door pops open, runners scraping, and Robin's voice singsongs, "Steeeve, we're loooooking for you."

Eddie breaks the kiss, turning away, and Steve stumbles towards the door. Doesn't wonder what Robin knows because he sees it in her face, but she's yanking him into the house and everyone is shouting, Argyle hands him a joint, and he lets himself be pulled along, lets himself forget, doesn't notice when Eddie doesn't come back right away.

And the next morning, when they say their goodbyes and Eddie pulls him into a tight, bone-crushing hug, neither of them mentions it. Eddie says, "don't be a stranger," throws him a smile, and he's gone.

Steve can't explain why it hurts so much.

Winter 1991

The invitation--cream and gold, embossed lettering--sits on Eddie's kitchen counter. He knew it was coming, of course, of course, but it hadn't really prepared him to see it. "The families of Steve Harrington and Rebecca Alsworthy cordially invite you to celebrate their nuptials..." burns itself into his brain.

He's in the wedding. Steve asked months ago if Eddie would be a groomsmen, and he said yes; yes because Steve is his best friend, yes because in the moment it didn't hurt so bad, yes because Steve could ask him for anything and he'd give no other answer.

They never talked about what happened the night before they both left Hawkins. It's fine. Truly. Better this way. Steve is straight. So straight he's getting married, and that's good. What he's always wanted, six little nuggets, etc. Eddie is happy for him. He's happy for Steve, but it eats him up inside; the kiss, the love he harbors for his best friend. He should end it, he knows, but ending it is so final and Steve is--everything.

Before he can talk himself out of it, he picks up the phone, makes the call. Tells Steve he can't make it, book deadline, and Steve is disappointed. He is. But they're best friends, saved the world together, so he understands.

When the call is done, his heart hanging together by a thread, he balls up the invite and throws it in the trash.

Summer 1991

Steve's wedding is in 12 hours and Eddie has to go. Can't believe he ever thought he could miss it. He can't not be there when Steve, his Steve, gets married. It doesn't matter how much it'll hurt to watch, because it will make Steve happy and Eddie will always default to making his best friend happy.

Somehow, through the grace of clear summer weather and light Indiana traffic, he makes it to the church with ten minutes to spare. He practically trips through the carved wood front doors, which would be embarrassing, except his eyes fall immediately to Steve standing at the alter and he forgets everything else. He's wearing a navy blue suit, silver accenting, and he's gorgeous. Will never not be. Their eyes meet, and Eddie's heart stops, because it always does. Steve smiles, gives a little wave, but he's pulled away by the minister, and Eddie makes his feet move down the aisle.

He spots Nancy, El, Max, and Erica in a pew, makes his way towards them. They all hug, scream about being back together, but it's Nancy whose eyes are soft, whose smile doesn't quite manage to be happy.

"You okay?" she asks. She wraps her little fingers around his.

His smile doesn't manage to be happy either. "I will be."

The ceremony starts, and he's fine, really, until Rebecca starts walking out to Steve, and he watches his best friend's face light up brighter than a cloudless day. He lets his attention go, then. In the moment where it truly counts, he can't stand to witness the man he loves marry someone else.

And Rebecca is fine, she is, but it's not about her. It's about a kiss in the middle of the night after they saved the world for the last time, and hope, and a love so sweet Eddie's entire chest is rotten with it.

He's out of it until Steve's voice manages to pull him back. He's saying, "I, Steve," and his eyes are locked to Rebecca's, and he's in the middle of repeating after the minister, who's saying "take thee, Rebecca."

Steve smiles, soft and gentle and fond, and he says--the words that come out of his mouth are, "take thee, Eddie--"

His loving smile evaporates, face going rigid with shock.

It's a punch, a kick to the groin, a knife in the gut, all the air in Eddie's lungs snaps out of his body. Nancy squeezes his hand, her nails digging into his skin, and he can't look at anyone else, can't see the reaction, because he's looking at Steve, and Steve is looking at him, abject panic on his handsome face.

Steve stumbles back, Rebecca's hands fallen from his, and Robin grabs him around the shoulders. She bends forward, whispering something in his ear, but it's too late. Steve's eyes are glassy, his body trembling.

"S-sorry, I need to--I have to--Sorry," the man says. He runs.

Eddie makes to stand, but Nancy, El, Max, and Erica force him to stay seated, and Robin's already running after her platonic soulmate, anyway.

"It didn't mean anything," Eddie says. "It was just--he was just. He's marrying Rebecca. It didn't mean anything."

It means everything.

Post inspired by @antithetical-dream-girl 's coney island au, except this is when Ross says Rachel

[stevebabey]

part one here. ze part two to touch-starved stevie that absolutely no one requested hehe <3 but i gots to let my boys have a wee kiss :")

So, hugs with Eddie become… well, a thing.

Not a thing. They’re not a thing, Steve and Eddie. It’s totally the same as when he gets hugs from Robin. Eddie’s doing him a favour as a friend. It’s got the 100% platonic energy of getting a hug from a friend — a hug that usually melts into some form of a cuddle, limbs all tangled together until they can’t tell whose are whose.

Except, Steve doesn’t really do that second part with Robin. Like he hasn’t done it ever with Robin.

So, it’s an Eddie thing.

But they’re not a thing. Not matter how much Steve would actually very much like for that happen. Okay, maybe Steve’s overthinking the whole thing a bit, but he just can’t tell.

Where’s the line? It’s infuriating not being able to discern between platonic and more, just because Steve wasn’t held enough as a fucking baby. Out of all the things he resents his parents for, Steve’s surprised that this is so near the top.

Because, sure, Steve’s had more than his fair share of hookups. He knows that sort of touch. He knows the shape of lust; the scrapes of fingernails down backs, the tight grips over skin, the push and pull of the heat of the moment.

And this thing with Eddie… is not that.

So, really, Steve knows that it’s all friendly. Eddie is just being nice. He’s being a decent dude and helping his friend out — by catapulting himself into Steve’s arms at every opportune moment.

(Steve’s only dropped 3 mugs of coffee because of this so far. It’s only because Eddie says good catch, big boy with a devilish grin every time that Steve manages to catch Eddie that Steve hasn’t completely told him to knock it off. Just yet, at least.)

And he’s different in other areas. He’ll always seem to choose the seat next to Steve on movie-nights now, content to snuggle right up to him. They get thigh to thigh, arm to arm — and Eddie only needs to get about 20 minutes in for him to do a big sigh, like an old dog, and slump over, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder.

Steve notices though. He always notices.

It’s impossible not to— the skin, even if there’s 3 layers between them, burns blazing warm. Eddie’s hair drapes over his arm, a curl inevitably tickling along Steve’s collar. He can feel the rise and fall of Eddie’s breathing, the little shake of when he laughs.

It drives Steve a little insane— insane in the way that makes him think about burying his fingers in those curls again, about pressing his lips against Eddie’s pretty mouth just to feel the smile against his skin, about digging into his chest so he can climb into his chest and live there.

Yeah, it’s— well, it’s safe to say that the effect of Eddie’s touchiness has sent what was once a fleeting thought of a crush into mind-melting levels of affection.

But he can’t fucking tell.

-

To Steve’s credit, neither can Eddie.

Which is not surprisingly considering sometimes he catches himself wondering how the hell he ended up here; in a close-knit friendship with band-geek Robin Buckley, princess Nancy Wheeler, and King Steve Harrington.

Okay, the Robin one sort of makes sense. He thinks that if no matter when their paths crossed, he and Robin would’ve always even some sort of strange friends - her snark complimenting his bitchiness. Also, the whole super queer thing helps too. Even the friendship with Nancy works, in its own weird way.

Steve though? He’s the fucking curve ball.

It works though, the two of them. Surprisingly well, actually — the two of them get on like a house on fire, bitchy quips back and forth. Even better, is the quiet that they can share. Steve loves to come around and do… nothing. Do nothing with Eddie, though.

So, even though Eddie had noticed the tension in Steve with touch, little moments where he turned rigid when Eddie’s usual wandering hands got too comfortable — Eddie chalked it up to the usual. Guys bring too uncomfortable with him, too weird about another guy being touchy. It didn’t matter than Eddie wasn’t even out to Steve yet, he was still might be that type of guy.

Well, Eddie had certainly thought so. Sure, Steve might not be one of those jocks who smacked around boys who looked too long in the locker room, but if he knew a smidge of the truth, who really knows. It would explain the tenseness at least.

But then— ‘Can I… have a hug?’ There had been a dozen things Eddie was thinking that Steve could’ve asked for but that? Wasn’t even in the ballpark. It was so left-field it left Eddie speechless for a whole moment. And Steve had been staring at the ceiling, his hands curled up tight again like- like he thought Eddie might say no.

A ridiculous thought, honestly. Anyone who knew Eddie well enough knew he was touchy; loved giving it, loved getting it. Like an overly affectionate cat, Wayne had once called him, just 11 years old, because Eddie’s need for affection seem to never be sated.

After that night, Steve’s lack of touch became far more obvious. It’s always hair ruffles or high-fives, yet never hugs. Normally, Eddie would keep to that boundary; some people are less touchy other than others, he knows that.

But… “Sometimes I realise it’s been awhile, since I’ve had some touch.” That’s what Steve had said, his words. Eddie doesn’t even think he meant to say something so heartbreaking. In fact, the guy seemed embarrassed.

It had thrown Eddie for a loop— because Steve gets around. He’s nearly notorious for one-night stands and failed flings, as Robin loves to drone on about considering she’s subjected to all the flirting. What had originally been a point of envy for Eddie, just saturates the bleakness of Steve’s words. Sex but without a moment of intimacy.

So, while Eddie is miles away from being the person who gets into Steve’s pants — not for lack of want, mind you — he does try hike up the touchiness. Little things. Lingering when he taps him on the arm, hooking his chin over Steve’s shoulder to peer over it, leaning up against him when they’re side by side watching a film.

It’s good. It helps Eddie release the pressure of his stupid monumental god-awful crush he has. Yeah, yeah, it’s laughable, even to Eddie. It’s like Gay 101; don’t get crush on straight dudes, especially the ones you’re friends with. And yet…

Steve lets him. He lets Eddie give him touch, more than he lets anyone else. He still tenses; there’s still always a moment before he can remember to relax, like he’s trying to shake off bad thoughts but then he melts. He always melts into Eddie’s touch eventually — in a way Eddie knows Steve actually loves it, drinks it up as much as he can.

And maybe, Eddie is the biggest fool to grace the Earth to let that fact give him some hope. Sue his gooey heart, he’s a romantic. It’s a quiet hope but, it’s there.

Tonight, it seems relaxing for Steve is been harder than usual— several times has Eddie traced a quite long along Steve’s arms, a subtle point that they were far too tense for someone who was wrapped up in cuddles on the couch. ‘Cos that’s 100% what they are now. Eddie will still call them hugs, but usually, when it’s just the two of them, it becomes this.

Steve, tucked up into the corner of the couch, one leg flush along the back of the couch and one hanging off the edge. It’s the prime position for Eddie to crawl up, wind his arms around Steve’s middle and give him a good squeeze and then settle there. Head on Steve’s chest, lying in the cradle of his hips. Safe. Warm.

It makes him warm, oh very warm to know that he gets this. That Steve doesn’t give this amount of trust to many, if any, other people but Eddie — he trusts Eddie.

“Y’know,” Eddie says, cheeks smushed against the plain of Steve’s pec. It feels deliciously warm and Eddie’s fairly sure he can feel how toned it is just through his cheek. Hot bastard. “I’m actually real glad you asked for that hug all those weeks ago.”

He leaves it there ‘cos he knows Steve will ask. Eddie’s eyes stay on the buzzing tv-screen even as Steve’s head shifts, turning to peer down at the boy slumped on his chest. Eddie’s pretty sure he can see Steve’s mouth twitch up into a smile.

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” Eddie affirms, giving a nod and his eyes flick up to meet Steve’s for just a moment. “Think I’ve had some of the best hugs in the world.”

Okay, that was maybe more honest and sappy than Eddie was going for. He is just letting Steve know he isn’t just doing it for Steve — that he enjoys these moments just as much. He lays it on thick, tries for a smarmy angle.

“Swept up in these pillowy arms?” He croons, giving Steve’s bicep a quick squeeze, making the other chuckle softly. “Who wouldn’t think so? I’m a lucky guy.”

Despite the joking tone, there’s no quick comeback from Steve. That’s alright. Eddie’s quite happy if this is one of the times Steve just takes the compliment; let’s the word sink in and hopefully, believes them, even if it’s just a little bit. He watches the film and doesn’t read into the silence.

Not even when Steve says, “Eddie?” all soft. Nearly shy sounding. It doesn’t quite register to Eddie’s ears.

“Mm?”

“Eddie.” Steve says again, a little firmer and that catches Eddie’s attention. He turns his head and rests his chin on Steve’s chest, his brows drawn together in silent question.

But the moment he makes eye contact, Steve’s doing that scrunched up face again. Is studying the ceiling instead of facing Eddie. And just like all those weeks ago, his hands clench up tight. Twists up the fabric of Eddie’s sweater in between his fingers and uses it to ground himself.

Last time, he asked for a hug. Considering he’s currently just about squishing Steve beneath his body weight, Eddie can’t fathom what he might be worked up to ask for. Unless he was going to ask for something more than a hug— which, well, just wasn’t going to happen, even if Eddie really wanted it to.

“Can I-” Steve starts. He sucks in a breath, almost like he’s gathering courage. But he’s not, because he’s not about to ask for what Eddie hopes for, he’s not, he’s—

Unless…?

“Can I… have a kiss?” Steve asks, barely audible. The sentence is murmured, soft words that hit Eddie like a gentle kiss in itself — imprinting right onto his heart. Steve Harrington wants a kiss — from him!

“Oh.” Eddie says, in a breathy delightful way. He’s fairly certain the little monkey in his brain is clapping its cymbals at double-speed as the words process; or maybe it’s his heart, which feels like it’s leapt up his throat.

“Oh?” Steve echoes, a smile already playing at the edges of his mouth, because he can see Eddie’s want. Because he knows him.

“Yes.” Eddie says suddenly, with a frantic nod, pushing up closer so their faces are aligned. “Yes, absolutely, you can.” He affirms.

Steve huffs a quiet laugh at the eagerness and then his arm that had been slung around Eddie shifts. It moves up til his hand caresses along the line of Eddie’s jaw, tilting him just how he likes.

Eddie holds his breath. Counts the freckles he can see this close. Tries to feel Steve’s heartbeat through where they’re pressed so closely together; can Steve feel his? Thundering and hurried, beating so hard Eddie thinks he might bruise the inside of his ribs.

Then Steve kisses him. And shit, Steve’s lip are better by ten-fold than every daydream Eddie’s ever had about them. They’re warm and so soft — plush and pressing against his own and Eddie is freezing. Fuck, wait, how does this go again? Right, Eddie’s never… well, kissed anybody before.

Steve pulls back and Eddie screws his eyes up — not ready in the slightest for the disappointment of his own shoddy kissing skills. Fuck, did he really just freeze? Steve — Steve Harrington — asks for a kiss and Eddie decides to stab himself in the back by not figuring out how to fuck to kiss back.

“You call that a kiss?” Steve teases and Eddie’s well aware of the parallel — of the irony of Steve repeating his own words back at him. But he can’t make himself laugh even though it’s funny. Instead, a little groan wiggles out his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, earnest. He forces his eyes opens — he needs to see what’s Steve’s thinking. Where he’s expecting disappointment or perhaps regret, is only patience. Maybe a touch of concern. Eddie continues, despite the humiliation that makes his throat sticky.

“I haven’t- I don’t do this often.” He coughs awkwardly clearing his throat and hoping it hides the next word. “Ever.”

There’s a jump in Steve’s eyebrows, a moment of surprise in his eyes that lets him know he did, indeed, hear that final word. It makes Eddie feel… well, it’s nice that Steve had expected him to have been kissed by now. Even if he hasn’t. He tries to take it as a compliment.

“That’s okay,” Steve assures. Absentmindedly, his thumb rubs soothing along Eddie’s jaw. It makes Eddie shiver, some outrageous amount of joy clawing into every nerve. Steve likes Eddie. He wants to kiss Eddie.

“Do you want to try again?”

Eddie nods before the questions even out of his mouth. Steve smiles, all sunshine. This time when he draws Eddie in, he notices the way Eddie holds his breath — the rigidness in his body.

Steve kisses him again, another short and soft one and then whispers against his lips, “Relax.”

‘Cos isn’t tonight just full of the parallels, Eddie thinks. He listens, tries to focus on how sweet Steve’s kiss is than his panicky heart, forcing out a breath between the kisses. His hands along Steve’s sides find a grip, grounding and good, and by the fourth kiss, he begins to feel a bit melty.

It’s good. It’s really good. Kissing Steve is top 5– nay, the top moment of his life so far. Somehow, it’s made all that much better knowing the build-up behind it. Knowing that Steve knows he isn’t just kissing him for a heat of the moment — that Eddie wants kisses here, kisses before bed, in the morning, on dates. Eddie wants Steve.

And with the way he kisses, Eddie’s pretty sure Steve wants him just as bad.

It doesn’t take long for Steve to reach what Eddie decides is an ultra pretty fuckin’ state; lips swollen from kisses, cheeks flushed, hair a little mussed up. He bets he looks no better. The thought makes him grin, enough they have to break the kiss ‘cos Eddie can’t stop his stupid happy grin ‘cos shit— he actually gets to have this Steve.

“What?” Steve asks, somehow half heart-eyed and half suspicious at the mischief in Eddie’s eyes.

“Can I... have a hickie?”

now with a part three !

[unfinishedslurs]

gay bar (steddie)

“Well, well, well,” says a voice from behind. “Steeeeeeve Harrington. I must be dreaming.”

Steve turns around to see a guy, dressed in black and chains. Rings decorating his fingers, studs in his ears, curly hair pulled back in a ponytail. He’s hot, yeah, but something about him has Steve squinting, trying to figure out why he looks so familiar. 

“I know you from somewhere,” he says, pointing out the obvious. The guy knows his name.

The not-a-stranger snorts. “Of course you don’t remember me. Why would the likes of King Steve stoop to—“

As soon as the nickname leaves his mouth, Steve’s brain lights up. “Munson!” He exclaims, snapping his fingers. “You used to climb on the lunch tables to give speeches.”

It was so obnoxious, too. The kind of thing that had him and Robin reminiscing late at night, celebrating some of the weirder shit about Hawkins that didn’t come from monsters, or Russians, or government conspiracy. Remember that one asshole? Yeah, he stepped on my lunch one time!

Condolences to Robin’s pb&j. She never sat at that table again.

Munson’s whole face turns pink. “Seriously? That’s what you remember?”

“It was pretty fucking memorable, dude. Like, gross, doesn’t this guy know not to put his feet where people eat? Dustin thought you were so cool for it too. I had to nip that in the bud before he started imitating you or some shit.”

“Oh,” he says, voice gone flat. “Because God forbid some poor kid try to immolate the freak.”

Steve gives him his bitchiest, most deadpan stare. “Feet,” he says slowly. “Nasty, fifteen year old boy feet. On my kitchen table. He almost slipped and cracked his skull, and I would have sent you the hospital bill.”

He had to get creative to make him stop, too. Stood there, hands on his hips, and made Dustin tell him exactly how many germs he thought were on his shoes. Then when he tried to do it barefoot, decided the only course of action was to stuff Dustin’s abandoned sock in his mouth and ask if he wanted that shit with every meal. Erica still has the photos. 

Munson has the decency to look embarrassed, face flooding an even brighter red that wouldn’t be out of place in a tomato patch. “What are you even doing here, Harrington?”

What does he think Steve’s doing here? It’s a fucking gay bar, it’s pretty self explanatory. “My friend is here somewhere,” he says, waving out at the crowd of people. “She’s going through a dry spell, so…”

“Right,” Munson says. Steve squints at him. Does he look disappointed?

Eh. Doesn’t matter. 

“You gave my kids the best freshman year of their nerdy little lives,” he tells him, because he knows Dustin would want him to. Plus, the guy was Mike’s gay awakening. He should probably get some credit. “So thanks for that.”

He lights up. “Yeah! How was Hellfire in my absence?”

“I had to hear them bitch and moan for months about how it ‘wasn’t the same,’ but it’s doing pretty all right. Erica Sinclair is running it now.”

“Erica Sinclair…” Munson mutters, snapping his fingers. “Lucas Sinclair’s little sister? Lady Applejack?” He beams when Steve nods. “She kicked ass. Best finish to a campaign my entire high school career. How’s Lucas, anyway? And the rest of the runts.”

“He’s doing great,” Steve says. “College basketball at Yale. Pretty sure he’s dying under the workload, but that’s what you get for majoring in physics. Dustin’s at MIT, and Mike’s taking a gap year.”

He whistles lowly. “Yeesh, I don’t blame him. How about Byers?”

“Which one?”

“Zombie boy.” Steve’s hackles raise, but Munson just grins. “God, that nickname was badass.”

“How do you even know about that?”

Munson taps the side of his nose. “A magician never reveals his secrets. Besides, all it took for you to remember me was calling you by your high school nickname.”

“That wasn’t my nickname.” Steve rolls his eyes. “Literally three people ever actually called me that, and you were one of them.”

He has a feeling it was Tommy who started it, bitter and vicious. Told himself Steve was self possessed, high and mighty, above it all. That’s why he left his old friends behind. Not because he was in love, or because he wanted to be better. No, King Steve just sits alone in his castle, looking down on the peasants with contempt. 

Billy must have taken his angry ramblings and run with them. After all, what better way to get a start in a new town than declaring yourself royalty? Never mind that Steve hadn’t cared about anything like that for almost a year by then. 

Munson had just been a drama-loving asshole. 

“That can’t be right.”

“I stopped being popular in junior year. Why the hell would anyone call a sophomore King?” Steve points out. 

“You were Prom King.”

“Again, in junior year. Pickings were slim. Who else would it have been? Tommy?” He has to laugh. 

Luckily, Munson takes the hint and swerves the conversation into new territory. “You know, I always figured you’d be homophobic.”

Steve snorts. “What, and get kicked out for nothing?”

Munson stares at him, and Steve furrows his brow, looking into his glass like it will have the answer to why the hell he said that to this guy he barely knows. He just decided he wasn’t going to spill all his daddy issues to a near-stranger in a dingy bar, dammit. Is he already on his fifth drink?

Actually, this might be his sixth. That tracks. 

“What?”

“My dad caught me kissing a boy,” he says. If he’s going to give Munson his life story, he might as well commit. “Can you believe that boy ruined my life in three different ways? Two of them didn’t even have anything to do with the gay thing.” 

Maybe four ways, if you accounted for the way he broke his goddamn heart, but everyone and their mother saw that coming a mile away. Even Steve. Especially Steve. 

No offense to Jonathan. None of those things were really his fault. Or actually life ruining, but it sure fucking felt like it at the time. 

He should give him a call soon, actually, see how he and Argyle are doing. He misses the guy. Maybe he and Robin should save up for a visit to Cali. Get Nancy on it. They could see San Francisco while they were there, that’d be cool. Apparently it was the queer capital of the country. 

He’s thinking about asking the bartender for a napkin and a pen to write down the plans he’s forming when Munson speaks up again. Steve honestly forgot he was here. 

“I thought you said you were here for a friend.”

What?” Steve blinks, confused, and then catches on. “Yeah, to get her laid. I’m not in the mood right now.”

Munson cocks an eyebrow. “Wearing that? Could’ve fooled me.”

Steve looks down at his Springsteen T-Shirt that Robin cropped, and picks at the frayed hem of his shorts. Okay, yeah, they’re on the skimpy side, but in his defense it’s summer and even if he’s not cruising Steve likes being looked at. “Yeah, yeah. What about you? Here for anything in particular?”

“Just to talk to some pretty boys,” Munson says, leaning on the bar to flag down the bartender. Steve smirks, reaching out a hand to tug at the hanky in his back pocket. Pinned, damn. 

Munson whirls around, a flush starting to crawl onto his ears. 

“Wearing that?” Steve echos snarkily. “Could’ve fooled me.”

He swears that for a minute Munson’s eyes darken. 

He’s almost tempted to follow through, high school reputation be damned, when someone crashes into his side and nearly sends him careening. 

“Steeeeeve,” Robin yells happily into his ear. “This is Bernie, she’s gonna take me home, see you la—oh, hi!” She says, noticing Munson. “I know you from somewhere.”

“Eddie Munson,” Munson greets. “Steve and I went to high school together.”

“Munson! That’s it, you climbed on tables and had shit music. I’m Robin. Okay, I’ll call the apartment and leave a message when we get there. Bernie’s waiting on me, it’s-nice-to-meet-you-bye!” Just like that, she’s gone. 

Munson’s mouth has dropped open. “You told her I had shit music?” He demands. “Wait, you talked about me?”

“She went to school with us, dumbass,” he says, as if he can talk. He still barely remembers her as more than a vague, glowering figure in his peripheral. “It’s not my fault you blasted your screamy music for everyone in the parking lot. Such a fucking headache, God.”

Munson turns his nose up. “Sorry for having offended your jock sensibilities.”

“Oh, I don’t play anymore,” he says, and knocks on his head. “Concussions, yanno. Apparently brain damage will fuck you up. Who knew?”

“What, like the fight you had with Byers? He did you that bad?”

“He did me just fine,” Steve blurts out, before he can stop himself. Munson chokes. “Shit, sorry, I’m kind of a horny drunk.” Weird thing to say, Steve. “Also, I cannot stress enough how much I needed to be punched in the face. It was a monumental moment for me, you know. Started me on the path for changing my entire worldview. Plus, he was my first guy crush.” He swirls his empty glass, lost in thought, before brightening up. “I should call him!”

Munson is staring at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish. 

“What?”

“You’re drunk.”

“Well, yeah. Duh.”

“I should probably stop you from booty-calling the guy who punched you in the face.”

Steve wrinkles his nose. “It wouldn’t be a booty-call,” he says. “He and Argyle are happy together, man. I’m not gonna ruin that.”

“Oh, so you’d call him because…”

“I call him all the time,” Steve says, confused as to why this is such a big deal. “We’re friends.”

“Jonathan!” He yells happily into the pay phone. Munson is standing to the side, looking on in annoyance. Whatever, it’s not like Steve asked him to do this. “Jonathan, man, how are you?”

“…Steve?”

“Yeah!”

“It’s like…” he hears something clatter in the background, like Jonathan is looking for something, “two in the morning there. You okay?”

“I’m doing great!” He exclaims. “How about you? It’s been ages, man, I miss you.”

“This is so fucking weird,” Munson whispers behind him. Steve ignores him. 

“Are you drunk?”

“No,” he says. “Well, maybe a little. Do you not miss me too?” He pouts, and Jonathan sighs loud enough he hears it over the phone. 

“I just talked to you yesterday.”

Steve frowns. “Yesterday? That can’t be right, it’s been, like, forever. Oh, hey, have you heard from Nance lately? How’s your mom? I love your mom, she’s so fucking cool. Does she know I think she’s cool? How’s Will? It’s been so long, is he taller than me yet? How’s Argyle doing with his degree? I miss you guys.”

“We miss you too, Steve.”

“Awww, Byers, getting soppy on me? Gross, man.”

“You literally just—yeah, okay. Are you alone?”

“Nah, I’ve got this guy with me, he’s walking me home. Oh! Dude, do you remember Munson?”

“Munson?”

“Yeah, Eddie Munson! From high school! The one who used to climb on tables and shit, remember him?”

“Jesus Christ,” Munson groans. “Please let that die.”

“No one is dying,” Steve informs him seriously, and turns back to the phone. Munson sighs. 

“Wasn’t he a drug dealer?”

“Yes! Yeah, drug dealer Munson! Did you ever buy from him?” He turns to where Munson is looking around furtively. “Did Jonathan ever buy from you?”

“How about we not talk about this here,” Munson says through gritted teeth. Steve sighs and turns back to the phone. 

“Never mind, he says he doesn’t want to talk about that. Not like we can judge him, but whatever. Maybe the guy’s turned into a prude—“

“Okay, give me that.” Munson wrestles the phone out of his hand, and Steve whines at him. “Hey, Byers,” Munson says. “Yeah, it’s Eddie. Or Munson. Whatever. Listen, I’m getting kind of sick of standing here watching Harrington slobber all over the receiver, can he call you tomorrow? What? No, I don’t sell anymore—yeah, total bummer, whatever. Listen, I’ll get him home safe—no, I’m not going to serial murder him. He’s gonna be fine, he’ll call you tomorrow—Nancy Wheeler? Like that girl he dated? Didn’t you—shoot me? Jesus, okay! I’m not gonna kill the guy, Christ. He’s gonna be fine, oh my God. He’ll call you tomorrow. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Yeah, okay. Bye.” He slams the phone into its holder with more than a little contempt. 

“Hey!” Steve protests. “You didn’t let me say bye.”

“You can call him tomorrow and apologize,” Munson says. “Now c’mon, Harrington. I’ve been tasked with getting you home safe, and if I fail, apparently Nancy fucking Wheeler is going to shoot me in the balls.”

“Oh, yeah, she’s really hot when she does that,” Steve says fondly, and Munson splutters. 

“What, does Wheeler just go around shooting people? Does she even have a gun?”

“Of course Nancy has a gun.” Steve frowns. It was one of the sure things in the universe at this point. The sky is blue, Hawkins is fucked up, and Nancy Wheeler has a gun. “And she doesn’t shoot people, stupid. Well, she shot at Billy, but he deserved it.”

“Billy?” Munson mutters, starting to usher Steve in the direction of home. “Who the fuck is Billy?”

“He was trying to kill her first!” Steve defends. “I hit him with a car before he could, so she was okay.”

“Okay, yeah, sure. Why wouldn’t you hit some guy with a car? 

“It wasn’t some guy,” Steve says. “It was Billy. He was, like, possessed or some shit. Oh, and he beat me up. Total psycho.  And that was before the melted flesh monster.”

Munson stops and stares at him. “You know what, sure. Demonic possession. Yeah, okay. Some guy named Billy kicked your ass—wait, are you talking about Billy Hargrove?”

Steve lights up. “Yeah! You remember that? That’s one of the concussions I was talking about. I gotta wear glasses 'cuza that shit. Man, fuck that guy.”

“Didn’t he die?”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve frowns down at the ground. “Shit, I’m, like, speaking ill of the dead, aren’t I? Max wouldn't like that. Unfuck him, or whatever.”

“You wanna come up?” He asks. “For old times sake?”

Munson stares at him like it’s the craziest thing he’s said all evening. “‘Old times’ was your asshole friends calling me a satan worshiper and pushing me around in hallways, Harrington.”

“I know.” He grins. If he was sober he’d definitely feel worse about that, but as it is he’s pretty single minded. “Don't you kind of want to make me cry about it?”

Deer in headlights isn’t usually a good look, but Munson’s got the eyes to make it work. Or Steve is drunk. Either way, it’s kinda cute. 

“You’re drunk,” he finally says, stumbling over the words a little. If Steve pays close attention and ignores most of reality, it almost sounds like he’s trying to convince both of them. “You’re so incredibly drunk.”

“I’m not that drunk.” He totally is. 

“I just had to supervise you calling Jonathan Byers so you didn’t say something you’d regret in the morning.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Steve asks, offended. “I love Jonathan! I tell him all the time. Just because I said he ruined my life—“

“That was him?”

“Did I not say that? Huh. Whatever. Point is, I’m not that drunk.”

“You’re definitely drunk,” Munson says. “I’m not—yeah, no. I’m not coming up.”

“Damn.” Steve shrugs, not too put out about it. It’s a bummer, sure, but he handles rejection like a champ. Just ask Robin. “Worth a shot. See you ‘round, Munson.”

“Don’t kill me,” Steve says. 

“Oh, god, did you punch him?”

“No, I, uh.” Steve rubs the bridge of his nose. “I think I tried to fuck him.”

He has to hold the phone away from his face so Dustin’s screeching doesn’t break his eardrums. 

“Your exes are weirdly protective of you,” Munson says blandly. “Also, didn’t they date?”

“Yeah,” Steve shrugs, not exactly eager to start spilling his life story again now that he’s sober. Munson doesn’t need to know more about his dating history than he already does. “We’re all a little weird about each other, sorry.”

“Weird about your exes,” he hums. “No wonder you’re single.”

“Oh, fuck you. It’s not like that.”

He raises an eyebrow. “No?”

“Are you always this nosy?” Steve asks, a little waspish. 

“Absolutely,” Munson replies without hesitation. “I’d say sorry, but I’m not. When did you even date him?”

“Dude.”

Munson just cocks an expectant eyebrow, hip resting against the bar. He can’t imagine why someone would be so interested in the romantic lives of their old high school classmates. It’s not like Steve is about to ask what was going on between him and Chrissy Cunningham. 

“Well, Harrington?”

“First grade,” Steve answers, deadpan. He grins when Munson chokes. “Nah, it was actually after he and Nancy broke up. Fall of ‘86.”

Arms squeeze him from behind, and Robin slides into view, leaving one hand wrapped pointedly around Steve’s waist. She gets clingy when she thinks someone is bothering him, or when she’s just on the side of drunk that she gets possessive. She told him, embarrassed and hungover, that it’s because she registers someone he’s getting along with as infringing on “her Steve time.” Steve thinks it’s hilarious and kind of sweet, an obvious lesbian trying to pretend he’s her date. Especially because he gets the same way when he’s tipsy and feels like he doesn’t have enough of her attention, so she can't yell at him for being a cockblock. Cuntblock. Whatever the lesbians call it.

He wonders what category she thinks Eddie is. Of guy, that is. Not block-anything.

He'd actually be pretty damn happy if the guy miraculously changed his mind and decided to sit on his cock instead.

“What’s going on here?” She asks, almost cattily. He loves when Robin gets bitchy. It brings him back to their Scoops days, except he gets to see it turned on someone else. 

“I’m telling Eddie my life story,” Steve says blithely.

“Ugh. Who would want that?”

Eddie grins. “I’m curious about the adventures of a former king.” He dips his head in a bow, waving his hand in a flourish. “I don’t know if you remember me from last time, I’m Eddie—“

“Munson, I know. You stepped on my lunch in junior year.”

Eddie turns beet red in record time. 

“Aww, Robbie,” Steve almost coos. “Leave him alone. I wanted to be the one who made him blush like that.”

“It’s not my fault your boy’s easy.”

“Not my boy, clearly,” he mutters under his breath. “And if he were easy, I’d have gotten fucked by now.”

Eddie’s mouth drops open with a choked little sound. Whoops. Steve forgot volume control again. 

Robin takes one look at Eddie’s face and bursts into cackles. 

“He was asking about,” he waved a hand in the air, “the whole Nancy-Jonathan thing.”

Her eyebrows jut up. “You told him about the threesome?”

“The what?”

Steve sighs. “No, Robin. I did not tell him about the threesome.”

“…oops.”

“When?” Eddie demands. 

Robin gives him the evil eye. “Why are you being weird about this? It’s not gonna make him fuck you.”

Steve wisely keeps his mouth shut. 

Eddie does not. “Your boy here already asked,” he smirks, leaning closer. “I said no.”

Then, as an added punch to his ego, he twirls a strand of Steve’s hair around his finger and tugs slightly. Steve’s too stunned to protest. 

Robin watches the exchange. “Oh, no thank you,” she says. “Nope. I’m out. I don’t want to see whatever this is. Ugh, stop making me hear about your sex life.”

Hypocrite. “We have thin walls, Buckley,” Steve reminds her. He turns to Eddie and stage whispers, “She likes her girls loud.”

“Steve!”

“You do!”

“Oh, because you’re so quiet,” she snaps, smacking him. “How many times have I had to bang on the wall because you couldn’t keep it down? You wanna talk about loud? I know more about you than I ever wanted to.”

His mouth drops open in mortification. “You know it’s rude to be mean to the man who told you how to eat out,” he hisses. 

“I’m not dying without fucking Eddie Munson,” he declares. “I mean, his high school nickname was literally ‘The Freak.’ He’s got to be good in bed, right?”

“I think that was mostly because everyone thought he was communing with the Devil or something.”

“Maybe the Devil gave him sex magic.”

“Of course he thinks I’m cute.”

“I do?”

“Do you not?” Steve turns to him, widening his eyes in the same pout that always has Robin throwing something at his face, or the kids reluctantly agreeing to do what he wants. He’s found it’s useful for guys too, especially if he ducks his head to seem smaller and looks through his eyelashes. Makes them imagine him looking like that on his knees. 

Munson is no exception. He melts faster than Steve can say gotcha. “You’re very cute, Harrington,” he purrs, and Robin snorts into her drink. 

“You’re a weak, weak man, Eddie Munson,” she tells a blushing Eddie. Then she kicks Steve. “Stop bringing out the ‘fuck me’ eyes when I’m around, I’ll gag.”

“You could leave.”

She gasps, affronted, and kicks him harder.

“So you would fuck me if I wasn’t drunk?”

“Uh…” he looks everywhere but Steve’s face, which is just rude. He has a very nice face. He’s been called dreamy before. 

Which made Robin laugh so hard she fell off the couch when he told her, but he’ll take the lesbian’s opinion with a grain of salt. 

He makes his way onto the dance floor. He’s not a particularly good dancer, but he shakes his ass like he means it. Gets up close with a guy, stares at Eddie the whole time. Keeping eye contact as the guy puts his hands on his hips. 

Look, he means to say. This could be you. You could lose your chance if you’re not careful. 

From the burning in Eddie’s eyes, he gets the message. 

The message is a bunch of bullshit. It’s been over four months, he’s in too deep to go fuck off with someone else now. Still, he enjoys the way Eddie’s hands flex on his thighs, like he had to stop himself from reaching out. 

The thing is, Steve’s not an asshole. He can take a hint. No means no, and all that jazz. If Eddie really didn’t want him, he’d fuck right off and find someone who did. He even started to.

Except Eddie pouted up a storm when he flirted with someone else. Got even clingier when Steve tried to back off. At this point, he’s accepted that Eddie does want to fuck him, and maybe even be more (no one flirts with someone as long as they’ve been doing without wanting something like a relationship out of it. At least, he hopes there’s something more on the horizon), but has some weird hang up about Steve being even a little bit buzzed when it happens. Even though they only ever see each other at this fucking bar.

The problem is Steve has no idea when Eddie will be at the bar. He’ll stay sober one night, hoping to see him, and then go home alone only for next time to be when he sees telltale curls and a wide smile. It’s driving him up the wall. 

Robin has been similarly affected.

“It’s been six months,” she growls as Steve looks eagerly around. “Six fucking months of you two dancing around in the worlds most annoying mating ritual. I’m going to kill both of you.”

“We’re not that bad,” he says absently. 

“You don’t even have his phone number. It’s pathetic. I swear to God, if you see him again and don’t get laid I’m reviving the scoops board. I will go out and buy a whiteboard to keep track of all the times you strike out with a man who used to walk on tables. He stepped on my lunch, Steve. Do I need to keep bringing up the fact he stepped on my delicious, nutritious PB&J? I can’t believe that’s the guy you decide to be obsessed with, that’s so fucking embarrassing for you.”

“Embarrassing? You mean like your crush on my ex girlfriend?”

She screeches wordlessly, pulling her keychain off her belt loop and attacking him with it. 

Naturally, that’s how Eddie finds them. 

“I swear you guys get weirder every time I see you.”

Steve grins guilelessly at him, holding a flailing Robin in a headlock. 

“Eddie! Hey! It’s been a minute.” He hasn’t been able to come in a month, and it’s been longer since he’s seen him. It’s honestly one of the deciding factors on whether it’s a passing fancy or a full blown crush. He still went to sleep every night thinking about Eddie. It didn’t even have to be about sex. 

Although maybe not sleeping with anyone else for half a year should have tipped him off sooner. 

“Sure has, big boy. I was starting to think you were getting sick of me.” It’s a joke, but Steve catches an undercurrent of insecurity. 

“That’d make my life easier,” Robin snorts. She finally wiggles her way out of his hold. “I saw Arty somewhere around here, I’m gonna see if I can crash at her place tonight.” She levels Eddie with a look. “He hasn’t had anything to drink. If you don’t put him out of his misery, I will. And it won’t be the good kind. It will be the bad kind. With bad screams. Lots of screaming, and someone will call the pigs, and I’ll be arrested and jailed for life. Do you want me to go to jail, Munson?”

Eddie shakes his head dumbly. 

“Good! Then do something about it.” She slaps Steve’s back, a mocking echo of his jock days. “Go get ‘em, slugger!” 

With that, she’s gone, disappearing into the crowd. 

“She is,” Steve remarks with amusement, “the worst wingman on planet Earth. Mars too, probably.”

“I dunno, I think it might be working.”

“I’m not doing anything without a condom,” he says, eyes narrowed like he’s waiting for an argument. 

“Me neither,” Steve agrees. “Robin has, like, this big fear of diseases. Totally got me with it. She pulled out the library books, those pictures were fucking disgusting. Shit showed up in my dreams, man. Neither of us do anything without protection.”

“I’m going to be totally honest with you, because I haven’t been and it’s starting to eat at me,” Eddie says, hovering above Steve. 

Steve wrinkles his nose. “What is it? Are you a spy or something? Are you Russian? Do you have superpowers? Is your name not actually Eddie?” He pauses. “Oh, God, you’re not even Eddie Munson, are you? I’m just some asshole who’s been calling you by my old classmates name and you were too embarrassed to correct me. Shit, we made so much fun of you for walking on tables too—“

“What?” Eddie covers his mouth, expression hovering between amused and baffled. “What the fuck, why would I go along with that? No, Jesus, I’m Eddie Munson. Moved to Hawkins when I was eleven, took senior year three times, walked on the fucking tables, could you let that go?” He moves the hand covering Steve’s mouth to play with his hair, looking annoyed for a minute before it smoothes to trepidation. “No, I, uh, I just felt like I needed to tell you that I used to have a hate-boner for you in high school. Like, I used to jack it to the thought of kicking your ass and making a mess outta you. In more ways than one.”

Steve stares. 

“Also, that’s kind of why I approached you in the bar in the first place,” Eddie blabbers on. “And then you said you were just there for a friend, and I was disappointed but it’s whatever, yanno? And then then you told me about your dad, and threw my expectations to the fucking wolves, and then you asked me to come up to your apartment except you were drunk and you probably didn’t mean it. But then the next time I saw you, you kept flirting with me, which you were not supposed to do, and I kept pretending that wasn’t the reason I even talked to you in the first place, and, uh, yeah.” He smiles nervously. “Surprise?”

“I mean, not really.”

“You’re such an asshole, fuck off. At least pretend to be shocked.”

“It’s not my fault you stare at my legs all the time,” Steve says, affronted. “I know I didn’t do too good in school, but I’m not dumb enough to miss that. Like, hello, my eyes are up here.”

Eddie lets his arms give out, flopping on top of Steve heavily. Steve wheezes. “Am I really that obvious?” He whines into his shoulder. 

“You got sad and pouty when I even looked at another guy.”

“You could’ve fucked him,” he mumbles. “The guy you were dancing with. It wasn’t any of my business. I’m a big boy, I can deal.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to fuck him,” Steve says. “I wanted to fuck you. Can we go back to that please?”

“Thought I was fucking you.”

“Someone’s getting fucked or Robin will kill both of us. I’d like to live tomorrow morning. And not have to deal with any more of her teasing for having no game.”

“You have unfortunate amounts of game,” Eddie sighs, tracing the side of Steve’s neck. It tickles. “It’s kind of embarrassing for me.”

“Yeah, yeah, are we using those condoms or not, Moodkiller?”

“Oh, I’m the mood killer?”

“Yes,” Steve says matter of factly, and pulls him in for a kiss before he can protest.

[brbsoulnomming]

Tell Me Sweet Little Lies Part 16

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | AO3

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Eddie wakes up screaming.

He doesn't even remember the nightmare he must have had, just the overwhelming feeling of terror mixed all in with aching grief. He closes his eyes and he can taste lake water, hear the echo of Patrick McKinney's screams and the crunch of breaking bones like they're right there in the room with him. He opens his eyes and he sees Chrissy smiling at him, sitting at that picnic table looking so scared that he couldn't do anything other than try to make her laugh, try to make her feel a little less alone. He told her that he'd help her and then he left her, and she died just as scared and alone as she thought she'd been when she came to him for help, all by herself in a stranger's living room, with only a boy who'd rather run and hide than stay by her side.

Part of him is aware that his breath is coming in huge, hiccuping sobs, can feel the pain from the way it aggravates his injuries, knows he must be crying because his pillows are wet, but he can't break himself out of it, can't - he breathes, deep and gasping, picks up the smell of Steve's shampoo. Remembers how Steve had helped him breathe last night and tries to replicate it in his head.

It doesn't work nearly as well.

Steve finds him like that, huddled in bed and folded in on himself as much as he can manage, head between his knees as he trembles and pants. At least he isn't fucking crying anymore, but he still hadn't heard any sign that Steve'd gotten back, and when he finally does manage to look up at him, the concern in Steve's eyes tells him he'd probably said his name more than once.

Eddie doesn't mean to, but he flinches when Steve reaches out, and then he has to bite off a noise of protest when Steve steps back.

Steve stays frozen where he is, his expression unreadable. "What is it?"

Eddie laughs at him. It comes out sharp and hysterical and fuck, he knows it's only because it's either laugh or break into sobs again. Jesus Christ, what isn't it? There's a creeping, poisonous feeling roiling low in his gut that he can't quite name, that he's too afraid to look closely at, like fucking everything he does these days, apparently.

"Did something new happen?" Steve asks, apparently changing tactics.

It works well enough for Eddie to shake his head, though that doesn't make him feel any better.

"Okay," Steve says, letting out a rush of air, and Eddie only realizes that Steve'd been holding so much tension when he watches most of it drain out of him.

Then Steve sits on the edge of the bed, seemingly more steady now that he knows some new kind of horror hadn't gotten to Eddie while he was gone - that Eddie's only freaking out again over the old horrors, the ones that are yesterday's news now that they're a few days old, and fuck, how does he live like this?

How is Steve so calm? How has he been so calm, how did he watch someone get lifted up into the air and almost die, how did he get nearly drowned and bitten to hell and march barefoot through hell and go back into hell and drag Eddie out of it and stay so fucking calm and collected and confident? The whole damn time, Eddie never once saw him break, not even when Eddie had a broken bottle against his neck and was questioning his own sanity enough that he might have actually used it, not even when it was all over and they were in the hospital.

Shit, Eddie knows what's flooding through his veins. Steve's steady hands and soothing voice might have been a comfort every time before, but now it just makes him furious - makes him wonder what the fuck is wrong with Eddie that he's reacting like this when Steve fucking Harrington has been as strong and sure as any hero Eddie's ever read about.

"How can you just be like this?" Eddie asks, and he can hear the despair in his own voice.

He guesses Steve can, too, because he opens his mouth, and Eddie snaps.

"Don't," he says. "Shut up, okay, just don't, don't say anything, don't answer me when I'm not done."

Steve's jaw shuts with a click, and Eddie almost wants to look away from him, but fuck he's all fired up now, and he feels like if he doesn't get this out he's going to explode.

"I knew who I was before this," Eddie says angrily. "I'm the freak, okay, I'm loud and obnoxious and I'm scary and I could always back it up if someone tried to mess with me or my flock. Then this happens, this shit that should be right up my alley, and I fucking run! And don't tell me how you ran too, all right, because you ran for about fifteen seconds before you turned right back around to save your girl and the guy who punched you in the face, and I ran and hid for days like a rat. And I ran again and again, and the one time I didn't run I almost died, and now I realize that all those other times I thought I had it in me to do what it takes were a giant, steaming pile of crap. How do you just - how am I supposed to come back from that, man? How am I supposed to just keep going on?"

There's a long, long silence, and then Steve raises a pointed eyebrow at him.

"I'm done," Eddie says belatedly. "Yeah, I'm done, I'd like an answer to that."

God, he'd like a fucking answer to that.

"You aren't," Steve says quietly. "You aren't supposed to come back from that. I don't think any of us really have, not the same as we were before."

"Fuck," Eddie swears, mostly just to swear, because he knows Steve is right. It makes him deflate, the anger draining out of him and leaving a bone deep exhaustion. Still, he asks, "Can I get a different answer?"

Steve quirks a little smile. "All right, I got a couple of them. First - it was way longer than fifteen seconds. I'm pretty sure I stood there surrounded by Christmas lights shouting this is crazy for at least a solid thirty, and that was before the physical running."

Despite himself, Eddie barks out a little laugh, wincing as it pulls at his stitches. "Fuck you, dude, don't make me laugh."

The look he gets is entirely unapologetic. "Second - you're right. We can't really compare yours to mine. Eddie - my first brush with this was a demogorgon crawling out of the walls of the Byers house. Yeah, it was terrifying, and it haunted my dreams for a little bit, but it was still just one monster that I could whale on with my bat. You got hit with clock obsessed evil wizard who kills people with his mind right off the bat. That's like taking an all star little leaguer and dropping him right into the World Series, man, and you still held your own."

Eddie groans. "Again, with the sports metaphors?"

"Yup," Steve replies, shooting him another look. "Isn't it annoying when someone gives what's probably a really apt metaphor for the situation that people who aren't up to date on a specific terminology can barely understand?"

Eddie's brows narrow, but mostly to hide his snort of amusement. "I feel like I'm unfairly getting the brunt of a bunch of decisions made by a bunch of freshmen."

"Look, my point is that this is the kind of shit that no one expects to happen to them, ever. And you're not going to come back from that the same guy that you were before it. You're going to have to look at yourself in a different light, and there's going to be some things that you'll see that you won't like. But the great thing is - shit, man, you get to change them. You get to look at yourself and go no, I don't want that to be who I am, and I'm not going to let it. And yeah - the people that you couldn't save before you changed are going to haunt you. Maybe you'll always feel responsible. But the best thing is, you've got people on your side to remind you that you don't have to do any of it alone."

It's not a surprise that Steve sounds like he's talking from experience. It is a surprise that it makes Eddie feel… better. Makes him feel like he's not the only one who's freaking out about this, like someone else has not only gone through the same thing, but felt something similar.

"For the record," Steve says, very quietly, like he's not quite sure how to say this or where he's going with it. "It wasn't facing down the demobats that made you brave. It wasn't - redemption, or whatever, all right?"

Eddie feels caught out, like Steve's looked too closely at him and seen what he usually keeps all wrapped up and safe, like he knows the kind of stories that Eddie tells himself about the world, and the place he's thought he occupied in it this last week. "No? Then what was my redemption?"

"You didn't have one," Steve replies, and fuck, ouch. Steve must read something in his face, because he hurries to add, "You didn't need one. Every time you ran, you did exactly what you should have done, and when it came down to it you went with us to Mordor without hesitation. None of us ever thought you were a coward, man, you had nothing to prove to us."

"I did," is what comes out of his mouth, and he didn't realize until he said it that it's true, that he knows what he needs to tell Steve. "Look, I - I know in the grand scheme of all of this, high school doesn't really feel like it matters all that much anymore, but I was still a jerk. The way I treated Lucas wasn't all that different from what I've always said I was protecting those guys from, you know? Tearing him down, excluding him because he liked something we didn't think was cool. Took a murder rep and almost getting eaten to realize it, but, you know, I got there. I'm getting there."

Steve's looking at him like he's proud of him again, even after his little outburst, and it hits him even harder this time around. "You apologize to him?"

Eddie opens his mouth to say that he had, then closes it, frowning. "Uh. I mean, I told him I should have moved Hellfire and it wasn't okay the way I treated him? I'm not actually sure the sorry part made it out. But I will!"

Steve makes some kind of gesture that Eddie's going to interpret to mean there you go, but he doesn't say anything.

"Sorry," Eddie mutters, fingers twisting in the sheets. "For snapping at you."

Steve tips his head in acknowledgement. Doesn't say it's okay, doesn't say it isn't okay, just holds Eddie's gaze for a moment before he moves on.

Eddie is sharply, ridiculously grateful.

"I told the others they couldn't come over yet," Steve says. "They're probably going to invade tomorrow, though."

Eddie pulls in a breath and lets it out, slow and shaky, and very carefully unfolds himself more, stretching out his legs and letting his arms fall to his side. "Yeah. That's fine, I can get it together by tomorrow."

Steve's looking at him with these big, sad eyes, something like resignation in them.

"What?" Eddie asks.

"That's how I do it," Steve says. "When all this is going on - I just get it together, because I have to."

"What about when it's not going on?" He hadn't meant to ask that, he doesn't think, but it just slips out.

"Kind of feels like it's always going on," Steve says with a rueful little quirk to his smile, then shrugs. "I don't know, man, I'll get back to you when I've figured that out. But as far as I'm concerned, there's no wrong way to try to handle all this, all right?"

Eddie thinks about that for a moment. Then, "Who couldn't you save that you feel responsible for?"

He's not sure what possessed him to ask - maybe because he wants to give Steve the opportunity to be comforted over something the way Steve did for Eddie, maybe because he's too fucking curious for his own good, maybe because he selfishly wants to know how much from his own experience Steve was talking about. Still, he watches Steve closely, ready to back off if the question makes him shut down.

It doesn't. If anything, Steve looks like he was kind of expecting that.

"Barbara Holland."

Eddie frowns. "The girl that was killed by a chemical leak from Hawkins Lab? Nancy's friend?"

"Wasn't a chemical leak." Steve pushes his fingers through his hair. "It was a demogorgon, the very first one. Nancy and Tommy and Carol and Barb were all over at my house, and we were drinking and horsing around and shit. Barb cut her hand trying to shotgun a beer. Nance told her that she should head home, that Nancy was going to stay over. We all thought Barb left, but… she didn't. While we were all inside, the demogorgon grabbed her from my backyard, dragged her off to who knows where."

"Goddamn. That was, what, 1983?"

Steve hums an affirmative. "November 83, yeah."

All the way back then, and Eddie didn't have any idea this was going on. "How'd you know it was from your backyard?"

"Jonathan was out in the woods looking for Will, and he snapped some pictures of all of us. He caught Barb sitting alone at the pool, bleeding, with the demogorgon coming out of the woods behind her."

Eddie's brows slam down before he can help it. "Wait, that actually happened? I mean, everyone heard the rumor that Jonathan was a perv, lurking in people's yards and taking pictures through their windows, I just kind of figured it was exaggerated."

Steve gives a little laugh, short and humorless. "It was exaggerated. I don't think he did it again, but, yeah. Nicole caught him developing the pictures at the school. A couple of them were of Nancy getting undressed when she and I were in my bedroom. Nancy forgave him, though, said it ended up being a good thing considering what they found out because of it."

Eddie - doesn't really know what to think about that. "What about you?"

Steve wrinkles his nose. "I called him a perv and broke his camera."

Eddie's eyebrows shoot up. "You broke his camera?"

"I told you I really was a douchebag." Steve glances away from him, and Eddie can see the line of his jaw tighten a little. "I felt bad about it after everything, got him a new one."

"No, I meant - did you forgive him?"

Steve looks back at him, brows furrowed like he wasn't expecting that question.

Eddie's stomach clenches a little. "Steve," he says softly. "Has no one asked you that before?"

Steve's frowning still, and for a moment Eddie thinks he won't answer, then he says, "I haven't really talked about it with anyone who didn't already know about it. It's not - it's not like I have anything to forgive, you know? Nancy was the one undressing in the picture."

"Sure," Eddie agrees, biting his lip for a moment as he tries to decide if he wants to let this drop or to keep going. "But - it was your house, Steve. Your window, your bedroom. You were there, too."

Steve's quiet for a very long moment.

"It's not-" Eddie starts, then stops, considering. "You didn't ask to have someone take pictures of you like that. It doesn't make it okay just because you're both guys."

"No, that's not-" Steve stops, too, and Eddie wonders if as he said it, he realized that he was thinking something like that. "I guess I've just never really thought about it like that before. I was pissed because of Nancy, and when she let it go, I kind of figured I should, too."

"And now?" Eddie prompts.

Steve shrugs. "I still don't know. I'll talk to Robin about it, I guess." There's a pause, and then he freezes, seeming to realize what he just said. "Uh, not that-"

"Dude, it's fine," Eddie cuts him off with a laugh. "I'm not offended that you'd rather process that with someone you've known a little longer."

Steve shoots him a grateful little smile. "I'm going to go down and make dinner," he says. "You wanna come with?"

Eddie considers that for a moment. He's not sure he wants to be alone again, but - he's more sure he doesn't feel up for tackling the stairs, not even with Steve's help.

Especially with Steve's help. He needs a breather away from being pressed all close to him, particularly since he knows he's going to have to ask Steve to stay in the room with him again tonight.

He shakes his head. "I'm good up here. Just, uh. Leave the door open?"

Steve leaves the door open, and a couple of minutes after he goes downstairs, Eddie can hear music playing. Queen. It makes Eddie smile, makes him wonder if he'd normally put music on while he was cooking or if he'd done it specifically for Eddie. Either way, it makes something fond and warm settle in his chest.

Damn, Eddie's got it bad. He should be embarrassed, should be feeling too vulnerable and caught out after all of that, but he doesn't. He feels…

Safe. It's fucking with his head, so he tries not to focus on it too much.

Dinner is tomato soup and mac and cheese, split between them as they sit across from each other on the bed. Eddie eats half of each of his and then mixes them together, just to get Steve to make faces at him as he happily digs in.

"It's just like dunking grilled cheese into tomato soup, Steve!" he insists.

"Grilled cheese has a crunch that makes sense, that's just mush on top of mush," Steve replies, pointing his spoon at him as if for emphasis.

He can't get Steve to try it, but it doesn't really matter. After everything, it feels good just to mess around like this.

Steve clears their dishes away when they're done, then comes back and says, "All right, let's go."

Eddie raises an eyebrow. "We're going where, exactly?"

"My room," Steve replies. "If we're sticking together again tonight, my bed's a lot better and it has my bat within reach."

For a moment, Eddie considers teasing him about calling it sticking together instead of what it is, but decides against it. For one, the first thing that'd came to his mind is to say what, trying to avoid making it sound like you're inviting Eddie The Freak Munson into your bed? which sounds perfectly light and teasing in his head, but would probably come out a little too serious, and he doesn't actually want an answer to that. For another, well. It just reminds him that sticking together is what it is.

Despite how chill Steve'd been this morning with Mike's reaction, despite that Eddie still can't seem to completely smash his hopes down, he knows what this is. The only reason that Steve Harrington slept in the same bed with him last night is because they're both beat to hell and can't sleep without someone there who understands what they've been through, and the only reason Steve's inviting him into his bed now is to try to ward off nightmares, or at least make any that crop up a little easier to deal with.

He hasn't even gotten up the courage yet to tell Steve that he thinks they might be soulmates, he can't let himself get too lost in believing it might be romantic.

So he just says, "Lead the way to your chambers, then, your Majesty."

Steve rolls his eyes at him, helps him out of bed and stays by his side as they head down the hall. Eddie only needs to lean on him a little, which makes him feel pretty damn good, and he's even up for heading into Steve's bathroom to get ready for bed first. There's a brand new toothbrush there, still in its packaging, and Eddie assumes it's for him, so he adds brushing his teeth to the list of activities he can manage on his own now.

They swap when Eddie's done, and he climbs into Steve's bed without waiting for him - mostly because he doesn't want to overexert himself, and because he knows which side of the bed Steve prefers to sleep on now, which. Is definitely not helping his hopes stay shoved down where they should be.

Steve leaves the bathroom door open a crack, just enough that he can hear him bustling around in there, can hear him humming to himself. It's pretty - Eddie can't place whatever it is, but Steve sounds good.

He shuts off the overhead light when he comes out of the bathroom, but leaves a lamp on.

"Sounds nice." Eddie yawns. "Didn't know you could sing."

"Humming isn't singing," Steve counters, but he gives him a soft little smile as he climbs into his side of the bed.

"What song is it?" Eddie asks, and feels his heart kick up a little when Steve scrunches his nose.

"You're gonna make fun of me."

"I won't!" Eddie insists.

Steve scratches his nose. "It's a kid's song, I think it's based on a poem. I learned it from Robin, and I'd sing it sometimes when they couldn't sleep after Starcourt."

Eddie should probably let it go so they can both get some sleep, but he's so eager to learn more about this world that was going on right under his nose that he can't help but ask, "After Starcourt?"

Steve hums an affirmative. "Remember I said it wasn't my first time having someone stay over in the aftermath? We usually check on each other for a while. That first time, it was mostly me and Nance, and we'd check in on Jonathan sometimes. She made me talk to Mike a few times."

Oh, shit. Eddie practically vibrates with the urge to pounce on that with all the glee of a cat distracted by a laser pointer, but - no, no, he has to stay strong, he -

"How'd that work out for you?"

Damn it.

Steve snorts. "He was barely twelve, so not all that bad. It was when we all thought El was still gone, and he just - he really missed her, and Nancy didn't know how to talk to him. I told her to ask him how Will was doing. Mike's a little asshole, but he cares so much about his friends, you know? Asking about Will meant she wasn't asking him about his feelings, she was asking about his friend. She made me come with her, and it kind of worked. I dunno. We talked about what they might be feeling, what they used to do for fun, and how they should get back to it. Nancy reminded him how much they loved that game you guys are all obsessed with, so they started playing again."

Eddie looks up at him, remembering looking up at Steve Harrington in the comic and games shop, watching him try to figure out what to get Will Byers for a going away present, and thinking about what a jackass he was.

God, Eddie's never been more glad to have been so wrong.

Steve still takes the silence as a cue to keep going, though, and he runs his fingers through his hair. "The second time, Dustin just showed up at my house, and the rest of the little shitheads followed pretty quick. They had movie nights and invaded my pool and ate everything in my kitchen, and sometimes they'd sleep over. Dustin was here more often than he wasn't for a while."

Eddie tilts his head, glad to be back on more even ground. "What'd you guys even do?"

Steve shrugs one shoulder. "I dunno, stuff. I drove Dustin to his first school dance, helped him get ready, watched Star Wars, talked about girls and his science camp and my job searching. He was away at camp when I started working at Scoops, but I used the back entrance to get the rest of them into the movies. Lucas and I played ball, Max'd come over and we'd make dinner sometimes."

"You really are friends with them." It's soft and awed, but Eddie knows the moment it comes out that it doesn't sound like he meant it to. "I mean - being the babysitter and the paladin's one thing. It's obvious that you step up when shit's going down and they need you. But you're still there, even when the world's not ending."

Steve smiles at him, a little pleased, a little surprised. "I try, anyway. Hit or miss on it now that they're all in high school." Another shrug. "Anyway, it - after Starcourt, Robin and Dustin and Erica and I were in pretty close touch for a bit. Robin stayed over most nights, and Dustin when he could, and Erica'd say she was fine but she'd walkie us a lot, 'specially the first week or two. I got in the habit of singing it for them, and it seemed to work."

Eddie just watches him. He doesn't have nearly enough mental power to try to process the way Steve keeps getting to him, digging his way deeper and deeper under his skin - barely has enough to acknowledge the want that lingers on his tongue, sharp and bittersweet. They've built a family, this little rag-tag party, and Eddie wants to keep being folded into it so bad he can taste it - just as much as the very thought scares the shit out of him.

"Will you sing it for me?"

"You will a hundred percent make fun of me," Steve protests, but it isn't a no.

"I won't," Eddie promises softly.

Steve sighs, the same way Eddie's heard him do right before he gives into one of the others, and Eddie can't stop his wide smile.

"Close your eyes, at least," Steve insists, and Eddie obeys.

There's a few moments of silence, as if Steve is hyping himself up, and then his humming starts again.

"Lavender blue, dilly dilly, lavender green," Steve croons softly.

The absurdity of the situation hits him hard - he's in Steve Harrington's bed, while the man himself sings him a lullaby about lavender that includes the words dilly dilly. He manages not to let out a slightly hysterical giggle, but his face must do something, because Steve's singing cuts off.

"See?" Steve demands.

"I'm not!" Eddie protests. He lets his hand move, fingertips just barely pressing against Steve's arm. "I'm not, I promise. Please?"

There's a moment of silence, and Eddie struggles to keep his eyes closed and wait patiently, but then Steve starts humming again. It goes on a little longer this time, like he's either skipping past some things or making sure Eddie's face isn't going to do whatever it was doing before, but then he starts singing again.

"I told myself, dilly dilly, I told me so."

There's more lyrics, but Eddie stops paying attention to them, feeling himself relax more and more. It's not about the words, really, it's - it's about the melody, the repetitive flow. It's Steve's voice, lovely and soft, it's knowing someone's with you, someone who's been through the same things you have, someone who cares. After everything, knowing you're not alone.

"Let the birds sing, dilly dilly, and the lambs play," Steve sings, as Eddie's limbs grow heavy and sleep hovers so closely he could almost melt into it. "We shall be safe, dilly dilly, out of harm's way."

It's not about the words.

"Lavender's green, dilly dilly, lavender's blue. If you love me, dilly dilly, I will love you."

God, Eddie is so fucked.

The bit about Nancy making Steve talk to Mike after season one is from one of the Stranger Things free comic book day issues, because I saw it and immediately loved its dorkiness. The song/nursery rhyme Steve is referencing is this, for anyone curious!

-----

Part 17

I've got the next two parts mostly written up, and we'll be diving into the start of the soulmate reveals.

Tag list (always happy to add more, even if I'm still figuring these out!): @vampireinthesun @koibug @estrellami-1 @mentalcyborg @allbimyself26 @questionablequeeries @the-s-is-silent @whimsicalwitchm @a-gae-af-racoon @tinyplanet95 @n0-1-important @velocitytimes2 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @newtstabber @jcmadgirl @roblingoblin285 @lexyvey @paperbackribs @goodolefashionedloverboi @evix-syne666 @raisedbylibrarians @stxrcrossed186 @nightmareglitter @greekgeek24 @starman-jpg @crazyhatlady86 @imfinereallyy @manda-panda-monium @deleataecount @prideandsensibility @chaoticvictorianspirit @maydillydally @disrespectedgoatman @scarlet-malfoy @i-less-than-three-you @hbyrde36 @hallucinatedjosten @dragonsandgayships @arepaconchocolate @g4ys0n @novelnovella @bisexualdisastersworld @ghostofyourvampiregf @scarletyeager @pettrichore @nerd-and-nervous @hiimlevi @queenie-ofthe-void @cinnamon-mushroomabomination

[steddielations]

,

[eddywoww]

I feel like the world could use a good druglord Eddie Steddie fic

I’m so tempted to make omega steve sort of like that

Like very weird Steve and slightly older Eddie who maybe works for Steve’s dad but is also the bane of Steve’s existence. Steve is always on the cusp of getting cut off by his dad and Eddie and Steve fight constantly.

Im not sure if I want it to involve crime and drugs or not, haven’t decided yet. But definitely morally ambiguous versions of them who do bad things and aren’t very nice to each other

[shopcat]

my personal steve n eddie hc is that they sit on each other like not even sexually!! just in group hangs one of them is always in the other’s lap because they like to be close. also i don’t think they call each other pet names really or if they do they’re not often and they’re kind of lowkey but eddie likes to annoy the kids by calling steve dumb sappy things in front of them. like i think they’re obnoxious <3 just my thoughts…

this is very true i think they lay all over each other like they're sharing body heat to live but will also be in two different conversations whilst doing so .. i think so much is steeped in that they do obnoxious couple shit but pretend it's totally normal or even like benign to the point that it is. steve is always holding two cups at any party they go to eddie always smells like steves hairspray i also think well maybe i'm just not a nicknamey pet namey person i usually find them a bit too much but i also think steve would only use his last name so much that every time he uses his first name eddie acts like a lovestruck cartoon boy. i also think people don't go far ENOUGH with the bullshit eddie would say he'd be like HELLLOOO thundercat. and i think steve is probably prone to like dadism "what's up buttercup" type phrases but it's not like he's actually going around calling him his little buttercup. they're silly they're also like two 20 year old idiot men they call each other "dude" 90% of the time and they still kiss about it too

[zilodak]

Have u watched stranger things?

I have. All seasons. I watched season 4 the second it went up on Netflix (both parts) and I gotta say that I didn't like it that much 😭😭

[pizzaqueen]

Me: all right, time to get the second part to the fic I posted last week done!

My brain: sorry, did you mean this completely different idea I just came up with?

Me: *head desk*

[nero-neptune]

been reflecting on the fourth season and. again. in all fairness to jason carver, like. man. i really do feel bad for that boy. he had the worst fucking week of his life. and it does suck that how he responded to two terrible tragedies overshadows everything potentially good about him

[moderngirlmp3]

as a society i think we need to talk less about eddie munson

[intergalacticaquarium]

When Eddie says that Nancy diving in right after Steve was an unambiguous sign of true love Steve should've looked at him and been like

"This is a show about the power of friendship, dick. Ur too new to be commenting on our dyanmics."

[twpsyn-who]

Things Will Byles deserves based on the TikTok edits I have seen so far and their comments :

- a new haircut (gosh that kid had the same one since forever)

- better friends and crush

- to meet Eddie Munson and lowkey get him as a big brother figure

- to fucking play DnD with people who give a fuck about him

- a birthday party

[goodlittlerobot]

hey i just realized with being on tumblr again i finally have the right place to pitch my stranger things sitcom ideas who wants to hear it you don’t have a choice

[routetoroadkill]

eddie munson is autistic simply because i said so, dont worry about it, im a professional

[pixiatn]

Steddie is everything people wanted h*rringrove to be, but better