#steveandeddie
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steve: how do you feel about children?
eddie: uh, they’re okay, I guess. I mean, if I saw one on the street I wouldn’t throw a rock at them.
steve: why would you throw a rock at a child.
eddie: I just said I wouldn’t.
#strangerthings#stranger things#stranger things incorrect quotes#incorrect quotes stranger things#incorrectquotes#incorrect quotes#steddie#stranger things incorrect quotes steddie#incorrect quotes stranger things steddie#stranger things steddie incorrect quotes#incorrect quotes steddie stranger things#steddie stranger things incorrect quotes#steddie incorrect quotes stranger things#steveandeddie#steve and eddie#steve harrington#steveharrington#joe keery#joekeery#eddiemunson#eddie munson#joseh quinn#josephquinn#steveharringtonandeddiemunson#steve harrington and eddie munson#eddiemunsonandsteveharrington#eddie munson and steve harrington#steve x eddie#eddie x steve#steve harrington x eddie munson
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joyce throwing a dinner party and eddie having texture problems with some of the food!!
Joyce watches happily as everyone eats the food she had spent all day preparing. The younger ones were deep in a conversation about the arcade’s new game, while the older ones were focused more on the food than conversation…
Well, all except one.
Joyce frowns. Eddie is staring at his plate, eyebrows knit together in worry. Joyce had fixed everybody’s plate the same- pork chops, mashed potatoes, green beans, and dinner rolls. She’d asked beforehand about dietary restrictions, hadn’t she?
“Eddie, honey, could you help me with something in the kitchen?”
Eddie looks worriedly at her, then at Steve, then back at her. “Oh- um, sure.”
Eddie follows Joyce into the kitchen. She looks at him, her face worried. “Is everything okay? Why aren’t you eating?”
His face goes bright red. God, why couldn’t he have just choked down a dinner roll? “I-I’m sure the food’s great, I just can’t eat any of it.” Joyce goes to speak, but Eddie beats her there. “Will told you I have autism, didn’t he?”
“What? No, he never even mentioned it.”
“Oh… I have problems with most foods. The textures of them, the tastes, the smells. I can’t eat much of anything.” Eddie sighs sadly, “I’m sorry, Joyce. I know you worked so hard.”
“Honey,” Joyce says, “It’s okay. Hopper will eat your plate- we need to fatten him back up anyway. What do you eat, hun? Is there anything here that would work?”
Sheepishly, Eddie shakes his head. “No… don’t- don’t cook something extra for me.”
“I’m not sitting back down until you tell me what you want to eat.”
A few moments later, Eddie and Joyce come back into the dining room- Eddie with a plate in hand. He returns to his seat next to Steve before he passes his old plate over to Hopper. Steve smiles a little, noticing Eddie’s new dinner. “Peanut butter sandwich?”
“With the crusts cut off,” Eddie says.
From then on, there is always a crust-free peanut butter sandwich waiting for Eddie at his spot at the dinner table.
#eddie munson#stranger things#autistic eddie munson#steddie#angst#eddie munson autism#steve harrington#fluff#joyce byers#sensoryissues!eddie#steveandeddie#adamwrites
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eddie isn't sure when steve becomes a synonym for safe. isn't sure how someone he actively avoided in crowded hallways morphs into a pair of eyes he seeks out when things are too much. isn't sure what it is about steve harrington that has him gravitating towards a once was king. it just suddenly is.
steve's a steady hand on his shoulder, a gentle nudge with the toe of his shoe to get him up and moving. he's a barely there smile reassuring him that things are okay, will be okay, could be okay if they keep trying to get to whatever okay could be.
steve's there for all of them, he always has been. he's the one that every single one of their ragtag bunch runs to in their own ways because steve's strong in his own way and can take away bits of their pain and fear and hide it behind his armor so it can't hurt them anymore.
but he's different for eddie. he's more quiet, more sturdy. what would be smiles for el and a crass joke for dustin and a carefully crafted hug for robin is soft silence for eddie. maybe it's because he's the tiniest bit younger than eddie, maybe it's because he's newer, maybe it's because he put eddie back together with strong hands and an even stronger will and saw the quivering underbelly that he hides away from everyone with wide grins and overwhelming flair.
everyone except steve, apparently.
whatever it is, eddie searches for it with every chance he can. he slides closer to steve when crowds get too loud looking between their feet to make sure he isn't too close but can still feel the heat radiating off of his bare arms. he looks up to see steve's eyes on him when eddie's gone quiet, throwing him a small smile and hoping it catches. he holds onto steve's quiet acceptance of a shitty mixtape in the car when eddie needs loud, needs angry, because he feels loud, feels angry.
but then it changes.
whatever they used to be isn't a factor anymore. whatever they used to be starts to bleed into steve's fingertips against bare skin, feeling his heartbeat through paper thin veins like he's trying to remind himself that eddie made it. that he himself made sure that eddie made it.
eddie does know when that change happens, though. knows when they go from never touching to always touching. knows when it changes from the steve and eddie that are two separate thoughts to the steveandeddie that can only ever be said within the same breath.
it's just that he was so tired and steve was sitting on his ratty little twin bed in his ratty big city apartment and steve was safe. steve meant safe. steve was the hands that held him together in a nightmare world and the air in his lungs when he couldn't breathe on his own.
so it all seemed to make sense for him to crawl onto the bed, rucking up the well worn quilt that he stole from wayne under his bony knees, and settle his head onto the legs that carried him out of the upside down into a world where steve was a security blanket in and of himself.
and as eddie stared up at the ceiling with his curls draped over steve's lap, he felt when it all clicked. felt the thighs he was laying on tense and then fall, felt the hand holding crumpled magazine pages come to rest gently on his chest, palm covering his racing heart. but most of all he felt when steve looked at him, gaze landing on his face and covering him like a balm over a burn.
he looked back, because eddie always looks when steve needs him, and quickly realized he was steve's safe, too. eddie might not be sure when steve becomes a synonym for safe, but that doesn't matter. not anymore. not when eddie can be that for him, too. not when he can learn what steve needs and when he needs it. he's a joke when steve's mind starts spiraling. he's the loud of a shitty mixtape to make him smile as he sings off key when they drive. he's a hand in his hair, pulling him in to rest against his chest when there's bats and russian doctors and max's broken body clouding his vision.
eddie still crawls into his lap when he feels that bone tiredness pulling at his limbs. steve still shoves his face into eddie's chest when he has to clear away the ghosts hiding in his eyes. they still let their fingertips brush over pulse points when they need little reminders. and when they need to be wrapped up by each other, held together with hands that are gentle and unspoken promises, eddie knows they'll both go with open arms.
because they make each other feel loved, make each other feel real, make each other feel safe.
#been feeling an insane amount of anxiety recently and hoped that writing would help#fun fact: it didn't#my writing#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#steddie drabble#steddie fluff#steddie fic#really hope there aren't any glaring typos in this cause im not going back to reread it l o l
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The thing about drinking at 31 years old is that it's different from drinking at 18 years old– or 21 years old, or even 25 years old. Each shot, each drink, is one sip away from a terrible night’s sleep and an equally terrible morning.
Eddie Munson’s figured this out. Steve Harrington though? Steve Harrington has not.
That’s how Eddie finds himself corralling his husband onto the couch after stumbling into the house, the front door slamming loud enough to jolt their cat out of her otherwise peaceful slumber. She glares for a moment before stretching her paws and curling back into a neat little ball.
“Okay, okay, okay,” Steve repeats, an immediate tell that he’s definitely not making it any further than the couch anyways. “I’m good, I’m fine, this– this is a nice couch.” He punctuates his thought by slapping the cushion and laughing.
Eddie shakes his head and grins. “Yep, it sure is. You picked it out, remember?”
Steve gasps and laughs some more, falling back into the corner of the sectional. “I don’t but it’s comfy so if I did, I did a good fucking job.”
He watches with fond comfortability as Steve squirms around on the couch and lays back, arms over his head and dopey laugh still on his lips. It takes a lot of willpower and frankly, respect, not to climb on top of this giggly, flushed, disheveled man he loves so goddamn much and kiss him until he’s flushed for other reasons, but he digs deep and focuses on doing the next best thing: taking care of him. Eddie’s a little worse for the wear in his own right but a sliver of his iron constitution remains from his wild youth and he hangs on by a thread.
Eddie gets Steve situated into a comfortable position, his back against one side of the cushions and his head propped up on a few pillows to make sure he doesn’t end up with his face smushed into the corner somehow.
“I’m good, I’m fine– hey, hey, what are you doing?” Steve slurs and Eddie looks up from his position at the end of the couch, his fingers moving quickly as he unties Steve’s sneakers.
“Taking your shoes off? You can’t sleep in your jeans, Stevie. You’ll thank me tomorrow.”
Steve hums from somewhere high in his throat but doesn’t say anything else Eddie moves to unhook his belt.
“Stop–stop it, hey, I’m married!” Steve smacks Eddie’s hand and Eddie barely suppresses a cackle. “You’re hot and all but I’m married and my husband’s hotter than you anyways.”
With that, Eddie can’t stop himself. Warmth spreads through his chest as he laughs, from his heart all the way down to the tingling in his toes. Even drunk, even with his eyes closed, Steve would still choose him without a thought and sure, after all these years, it shouldn’t come as a surprise but it does. Because Steve is Steve, and Eddie is Eddie, and Eddie still hasn’t figured out what huge karmic debt he must’ve paid for them to have become SteveAndEddie.
He stares at Steve who’s nearly asleep but feebly muttering words like “hot,” and “perfect,” and “lucky.”
“Hey, hey, Stevie, open your eyes for a second?” Eddie brushes the hair back from his forehead, gently shifting it away from his bloodshot, glossy eyes. He’s beautiful, even like this, what the fuck?
“Oh,” Steve’s eyebrow unfurrow and the right side of his mouth turns up into a small grin. “It’s you. Hi, Ed.”
“Hi, Steve.” Eddie chuckles and kisses his forehead. “Gonna get your jeans off so you can sleep, okay?”
“Mhm, yeah, that’s– thanks.”
Eddie coaxes them off, tossing them onto a chair where they’ll remain until the next morning, and sets a glass of water down on the coffee table for when Steve inevitably wakes up with cottonmouth. One more soft kiss and an even softer blanket later, Steve is out and Eddie tip toes up the stairs to bed.
The next morning, Eddie wakes to see Steve next to him. At some point, he must’ve woken up and gotten himself to bed which gives Eddie the opportunity to stare uninterrupted in the silence of their bedroom. It stands in stark contrast to the boisterous night before– the loud music and jumping bodies and Chrissy popping a bottle of champagne in celebration of Robin saying yes, as if there’d ever been a doubt.
Steve’s on his back, the sun just starting to intrude on their tranquility. He takes in Steve’s features, the same ones he’s memorized time and time again but that never fail to stun him just the same. The moles, the freckles, the scars that make him ache and feel thankful simultaneously. The strong line of his jaw, the eyelashes that flutter as he sleeps, that one tendril of hair that insists on curling until Steve forces it into place. Eddie’s seen a lot of the world now, having traveled a bit with his band, and there’s nothing that compares to the man sleeping next to him.
Even if he’s snoring.
When Steve does eventually wake up, trudging downstairs with one eye open and asking why Long Island Iced Tea’s even exist, Eddie’s ready with the necessities– a black iced coffee, two sausage, egg, and cheese sandwiches delivered to their doorstep, and a Gatorade for himself.
“You’re the fucking best, you know that?” Steve smiles through the pounding headache as he sips his coffee and tears into the sandwich.
“Eh, I try,” Eddie grins with a mouthful of egg and leans over to bump their shoulders together.
Comfortable quiet drapes over them like the blanket from last night still over the back of the couch, and like the jeans hanging off the recliner– little reminders of the night before and of the domesticity of the life they’ve built together.
Once Steve finishes his sandwich, their cat, Florence, hops up on the table and starts batting at the rolled up wrappers.
“Think she wants to play,” Steve grumbles, sliding off the couch and laying on the carpet. “Listen, Florence, you know I love you but kid, I cannot play right now. I’m barely alive.”
Eddie doubles over and nearly spits Gatorade all over the coffee table. Even their terrible, hungover, washed up mornings aren't all that bad.
#steddie#steddie fic#steddie fanfic#steddie fanfiction#steve harrington#eddie munson#steve harrington x eddie munson#eddie munson x steve harrington#stranger things#stranger things fic#stranger things fanfic#stranger things fanfiction#stfic#very small buckingham reference#myblurbs#alcohol tw#this is is not at all a nearly 1:1 blurb based on me and my fiance last night and this morning#(he's steve)
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I'm thinking of leaving town.
The words bounce around Steve's head endlessly. Eddie had said them so casually. Like it wasn't going to be a big deal to anyone that he leaves.
And logically, it's not. It shouldn't be. Eddie's a high school graduate and no longer a wanted criminal, thanks to the shady government that fucked everything up to begin with. The logical next step is getting out of the town that still hates him, even if they're no longer actively hostile, and make something of himself.
And he's not even the first to go. Robin, Nancy, and Jonathan are all off to their chosen colleges and
And Steve doesn't want to stop him from going. He thinks it'll be great for Eddie. He plans to leave town, too, once the kids graduate.
He just thought he'd have more time. To figure out himself. And Eddie. And if they could be SteveandEddie someday.
So, the words continue to bounce around Steve's head for the next three days, until Robin calls him for their weekly catch-up. He asks about college, and her new crush, a girl named Michelle, and if she's still planning to come back for Christmas break. She asks after him, too, what's going on in his life, how he's liking working at hardware store and is it better or worse than Family Video (it's better), and of course asks after everyone left in town.
"Eddie's thinking of leaving," Steve says.
"Oh. Really?" She sounds confused more than surprised.
"Just thinking. He didn't say for sure, but it's on his mind."
"And how are you taking that?"
"I thought we'd have more time."
"How much more time do you need?" Robin's voice is filled with laughter and he can just imagine the playful eyeroll. "It's been eight months. It took you like five seconds to ask out any girl that flirted with you at Family Video."
"Eddie's different."
"I'm just... it's not like you, to not go after what you want."
"Eddie's important."
There's silence on the other line before, "Important enough to love out loud?"
Oh. Oh.
Robin always knows what to say to get Steve to see the obvious thing in front of him in a way that doesn't make him feel like an idiot. "Yeah. Important enough to love out loud. I'm telling him tomorrow."
"Tomorrow? Quick turn around, Steve."
"Yeah, well, you're right. I always go after what I want, and I have to tell him before he goes. Even if he decides to still go, at least he'll know."
"Brave."
"No. Brave would have been doing this six months ago when I first looked at him and thought he looked kissable."
"No, that would have been stupid. You had a gay panic to get through and it was better that Eddie wasn't involved. Trust me."
And he does. Vickie was going through the same panic and had Robin and that... well, there's a reason he asks after Michelle and not Vickie.
"Right. Of course. Five months ago, then."
Robin laughs through the line and Steve feels resolve settle in his stomach.
-
Steve goes to the Munson house directly after his shift. Eddie's van is gone but Wayne's pickup is there, so Steve lets himself in, calling a greeting to Wayne.
"In the kitchen," Wayne calls back.
Steve wanders into the kitchen to see him with a rolling pin in hand and an empty pie plate nearby. "Baking?"
"Sometimes you just want a homemade apple pie," Wayne shrugs, "and there are two ways to do that. Woo somebody who will make it for you, or do it yourself. I'm picking the easier option."
Steve laughs, "alright. Need any help?"
"Recipes over there. Apples need peelin'."
Steve washes his hands and gets to work.
The pie is cooked and cooling, and Wayne has migrated to the couch with a beer since Steve offered to whip up supper. Wayne was going to make lasagna, so Steve starts pulling things from cupboards and the fridge and gets to work.
Eddie returns home as Steve is layering the lasagna in the dish.
"Wayne, I see you hired a chef!" Eddie shouts in the general direction of the living room before hopping up to sit on the counter opposite Steve.
Wayne laughs but doesn't say anything in response.
"Hey Eds," Steve flashes him a smile before getting back to dinner. He tops it off with more cheese and then shoves it into the oven. He grabs the dial timer from its spot in the cupboard and sets it before turning to give his full attention to Eddie.
"What brings you over tonight?" Eddie asks.
"I wanted to talk to you. Ask you something, really."
"Moi?" Eddie places a hand on his own chest, fingers spread and voice filled with fake surprise.
"Mmm, the one and only," Steve says, stepping into Eddie's space. Not close enough to touch him, but enough that he doesn't have room to hop back off the counter.
"And what could be so important that you had to make me dinner about it?"
"Would you go on a date with me?"
Eddie's eyes go wide and his mouth opens and closes a few times before snapping closed. He blinks down at Steve, but Steve's patient. He can wait for Eddie to process. "I- what, you're serious?"
"As a bat bite," Steve says, reaching a hand to rest it on Eddie's side, atop where he knows Eddie is scarred in the same way he is. "I thought I'd have all the time in the world to get there. To the asking. We'd get to know each other better. Deeper, I guess. But then. Well, you said you were thinking of leaving. And I realized I don't have all the time in the world."
Eddie's eyes roam Steve's face. Whatever he's looking for he must find because his legs fall open and he reaches for Steve even as he's already stepping into the space Eddie's created for him. "We can have all the time you want, Stevie."
Steve grins. "I don't want to stop you leaving, if that's what you really want. But, maybe we can postpone that? I want to stay close, until the kids graduate, but after that I'd follow you anywhere."
Eddie brings a hand up to Steve's face and before he's even made contact, Steve's shoving his cheek into Eddie's palm, nuzzling at him like a cat. "No need to be following. I'd rather you walk beside me."
"I can do that, too."
"Jesus, Stevie, I can't believe- I mean, I'd hoped, when you came out, but like," Eddie giggles and it's the sweetest sound Steve's ever heard, "like, it's hard to believe you want me back."
"Take it to the bedroom!" Wayne's shout from the living room startles both of them and they burst out laughing when they make eye contact again.
Eddie's other hand joins his first on Steve's face, and he pulls him into a kiss before they're even finished laughing.
#steddie#my fic#just a short and sweet thing inspired by the fact i might be moving#and thats terrifying to me#but would be very good for these boys
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For the prompt game, 32. "I think I'm in love with you and I'm terrified" for Steddie? (Totally fine to pick another pairing though if you feel like it!)
Murray rolled his eyes and let out a sigh as he watched Steve and Eddie wash the dishes, flirting and hips bumping and tossing suds at each other. It had been like this all night. What was supposed to be a nice dinner had been laden with sexual tension like you wouldn't believe.
And honestly, Murray had to say something before the kiddos saw something they shouldn't and asked questions they didn't need to know the answers to.
"Are we going to do this all night or are you two finally gonna stop dancing around each other?"
Steve turned, completely confused. Eddie turned too, brow furrowed as well. Then they shared a look that said 'what the hell is he talking about?' Murray adjusted in his seat, looking at them expectantly. And when they didn't respond, he rolled his eyes.
"It's obvious you're both coocoo for each other. I'm telling you, that you just went through the end of the world twice together. So take the plunge. You're probably afraid, I get it", that statement was more pointed towards Eddie. "You think he's just in it for a pump and dump and that'll leave you hanging. But I know love when I see it."
"What the hell are you talking about?", Dustin blurted out.
Jonathan and Nancy refused to meet anyone's eyes. Murray just continued on.
"Look kid, you need to broaden your horizons if you want to keep your friends comfortable around you. I can already tell they're not the only queers here."
Steve started drying off his hands. "Hey, listen-"
"No Steve, he's right!", Eddie exclaimed suddenly. "We need to stop dancing around each other and be straight about our feelings, so to speak."
Steve rolled his eyes and put his hands on his hips. "Eddie-"
"Don't interrupt! This has clearly been a long time coming. Yes Steve Harrington, it's true. I think I'm in love with you and I'm terrified, nay absolutely frozen in fear at the thought that you might reject my feelings!"
There was an air of resignation in the room as Eddie carried on. Literally in the middle of defeating Vecna, Steve confessed to Eddie (long story) but, everyone heard it. Everyone saw their first kiss. It was a bloody one. And since then, they'd all been subjected to Steve and Eddie turning into SteveandEddie.
To say their courtship and relationship had been subtle was like calling a marching band subtle. But somehow, in his limited experience with them, Murray had missed how not-in-the-closet they were.
Eddie grasped Steve's hands, giving him the biggest puppy dog eyes as he waited for an 'answer.' Steve sighed.
"Eddie, you had me when you called Vecna a bastard and spit in his face."
Eddie smacked a big kiss on Steve's cheek. "Huzzah! Our wedding will be on the morrow!"
#apo writes#stranger things#steddie#murray bauman#i am 2 for 2#with murray thinking he's helping steve and eddie get together#only for them to already be dating
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omg I love this by @steddieas-shegoes, but for some reason that scene from Ted Lasso immediately popped into my head when I was reading it? Thus, this:
It's not long after Steve and Eddie finally slept together for the first time that Eddie walks into the house to Steve holding a baby, a baby with curls and big amber eyes.
And he doesn't want to assume, but it is dressed in a pink onesie, so he's gonna go ahead and say she's a girl baby. And Eddie definitely knows there's normal things to ask about a surprise baby, like what's her name or who's is she or, even, where'd she come from, but nope.
"Is- Is she mine?" he says, eyes widening and a hand drifting up to his chest.
Steve just looks at him, a bemused smile spreading across his face,
"Eddie, we had sex, like, a week ago."
"Riiiight right right, sorry, yeah bad math" Eddie says, huffing out a laugh. 'Cause yeah, it's the math that's the issue.
Steve turns to head back into the kitchen, blithely adding as he goes,
"And if memory serves, you finished on my-"
"Woooah nonono!. Steve! You can't- That's not-" Eddie says rushing after him, stopping in front of Steve and the baby.
The baby who looks up at him with giant eyes and fingers in her mouth and looks so much like SteveandEddie that Eddie's brain is still trying to work out some sort of science or magic that would explain this situation because he suddenly wants it to be-
And Steve's just looking at him with the most gentle half smile and crinkly eyes, but Eddie just shakes his head to clear his thoughts, gently covers the baby's ears, and says in the most scandalized tone he didn't even know he had in him,
"There's no reason to get into the science of it all in front of the baby, Steve!"
Steve smiles wide at that and he heads to the sink, patting Eddie on the shoulder as he goes,
"Well, why don't we get her a bottle and then we can discuss the science of it all while she naps, hm?"
#steddie#ok I'm not sure what happened here as I've never written steddie fanfiction before#but I guess that's exactly what I said about ted x trent just a couple months ago so idk lol#(neverminding the whole 'never wrote fanfic before in all my 20 years in fandom until ted lasso' thing)#but the scene popped into my head and I had to get it out#ficlet#stranger things#my writing#I guess I have a writing tag now
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it’s late. neither sure what time it is.
they’re laying on eddie’s bed, passing a joint between them. wayne’s at work so they don’t have to hide their snorts and giggles behind hurried hushes, or have to worry about being too loud.
while everyone else is sound asleep in their beds, eddie and steve are free to exist, in their own little bubble and share warm kisses and laugh until their bellies hurt. or try to wrestle each other off the bed in a show of dumb boy-ness.
they can make up magical worlds and go on endless adventures in that room, in the dead of night. steve can be a knight and eddie the bard, or eddie can be the detective who has to solve steve’s murder, using various items strewn about the bedroom.
in that room, they just be the boys they never got to be, fate driving its wedge between them before they even got a chance to meet, to become steveandeddie. before government top secrets and little girls with superpowers brought them together years later.
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part 2 of this post
more autistic steve <3 now w autistic mike <3
also on ao3
Not much changes after it all.
Nobody notices when they’re all together.
Nobody notices the way Eddie’s eyes seem to get stuck on Steve’s face, on his hair and his neck and his hands, and it kind of makes sense when Eddie remembers that nobody notices the way Steve’s mood shifts when it gets too loud. They also don’t notice the way Eddie’s fingers linger on Steve’s when they greet each other, or the way Steve traces a teasing line over Eddie’s back when no one is looking.
Eddie doesn’t really know why they haven’t told anyone. He knows they wouldn’t have a problem with it, with SteveandEddie. Hell, he’s pretty sure Robin has a crush on Nancy, and he’s fairly positive Argyle isn’t 100% straight. (And he’s starting to wonder about Mike. He hasn’t said anything, of course, but he’s a little too much like Eddie was when he was his age for him to not think anything of it.)
But they keep quiet about it. Act like friends, buddies, pals, while everyone is around, then kiss each other against the closest wall or piece of furniture when they’re gone. Call each other late at night when one of them doesn’t sleep over. During movie nights, they sit side by side with a blanket over their laps, and their legs press under it, and their fingers tangle, and Eddie traces lines over his palms or runs his thumb back and forth over his skin. Steve squeezes at his fingers, fidgeting happily with them. Once, Steve falls asleep on Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie has to actively suppress a grin.
They don’t mind.
It doesn’t feel like much has changed between them, either. Even though before that day they were barely even friends. Eddie supposes it’s always been easy between them, every casual interaction; the quiet banter between them while complaining about Dustin, the bored looks while the kids bicker. It’s always come like second nature, like they were on the same wavelength without even a word.
Like they were both following a script they both had memorized. And then the script was flipped, painted so it was blank, but they still…
They still knew what to do. Where to go. What to say.
How to touch each other.
They barely even have to try. It’s oddly beautiful to Eddie, how quickly they found their way together, how nicely they fit together. It’s like they’re fucking puzzle pieces or something, and Eddie really realized after everything with Steve that he really is just as (if not more) cheesy as those romcoms Nancy loves so much. He thinks shit like he and Steve are fucking puzzle pieces, the way they fit together. But it's true; Steve’s arm fits right over Eddie’s waist, the other under his neck as Eddie snuggles up close because he can’t stand even a centimeter of distance between them. Their legs twist together naturally like they’ve been doing this for years, the same with their fingers.
And it feels the same even when Steve doesn’t want to be touched.
That happens sometimes, like that day. Steve gets too overwhelmed, too overstimulated, to handle being touched, sometimes just by someone else like Eddie or Robin, sometimes by anything all, like his shirt or his socks or his pillows. He lays on the floor sometimes, looks up at the ceiling and focuses on the feeling of the floor against his back, the way his spine stretches. Eddie joins him sometimes, lays next to him in silence, listens to him breathe. And when Steve is ready, he reaches for him, twists their fingers together, tugs Eddie closer when he wants it.
Wordless, most of the time. Eddie doesn’t mind. Steve does just fine communicating what he needs when he needs it. Soft hums or grunts when Eddie asks him questions. If he wants a hug, if he wants something cold, if he wants Eddie’s hand to squeeze.
And when he can speak again…
Thank you, Eddie.
Eddie always kisses his forehead. Mumbles a soft love you, because they say that now.
Which wasn’t a big thing either. Easy. Quiet.
It was late at night the first time they said it. Eddie hadn’t even realized they’d said it until the next morning, when he woke up to Wayne walking past his room to the bathroom, when his eyes found the phone on his nightstand, a little blurry because of how tired he was.
G’night, Stevie, love you.
Mm. Love you too, baby.
He’d fallen back asleep with Steve’s voice in his head.
They never said anything about it. Never had a big moment, a conversation, a confession. It was just that. Soft love yous when they parted, mumbled between kisses. Sweet kisses. Soft kisses. Good morning kisses, good night kisses. Sloppy kisses, with whispers and giggles as their hands wander.
So fucking easy.
— — — — —
The phone rings as Eddie is turning the page of his comic book. He reaches for it without looking away from the book, quickly picking it up so the hallway phone doesn’t wake Wayne up, though it doesn’t usually. The man sleeps like a log.
“Munsons.”
“…Eddie?”
Eddie drops the comic book when hears Steve’s voice, soft and weak and breathless and so vulnerable Eddie aches a little.
“Hey, baby, what’s up?”
“I, uhm…”
“You okay?”
“Not— Not really.”
“What’s going on?” Eddie asks, moving to sit up, tossing the comic book away.
“I just— I just got back from work, and I— I’m, like…”
“Deep breath, honey, you’re okay,” Eddie says reassuringly, closing his eyes as Steve inhales deeply, exhales slowly.
“It’s too much,” Steve chokes, and he’s crying now, his voice wobbling. “You said— you said to call you if— if—“
“‘S right, Stevie,” Eddie says softly. “Good job, baby, I’m right here. What do you need?”
He feels a little sick, anxious with how heavy Steve’s voice sounds when he says, “I don’t know.”
“What would make you feel better, honey?”
“I… You, I— I want you here.”
Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, warmth flooding his chest.
“I’ll head over soon, baby, I’m not gonna hang up on you right now, though.”
Steve lets out a wet giggle.
“‘Preciate it.”
“What else?”
“I…” Steve exhales. Takes a deep breath. “I need to hit something, I’m…”
Eddie hears a muffled thud, the sickening sound of Steve hitting his thigh with a fist.
“Get a pillow, Steve,” he says quickly. “Go get one to hit and come back to me, okay?”
Steve lets out a soft whine and then it goes quiet for a few moments before there’s a rustle and the sound of Steve’s hand picking up the phone again.
“I got it,” he says breathlessly.
“Good boy,” Eddie says softly. “I’m gonna head over, alright? Use the pillow, don’t hurt yourself.”
Steve lets out a breathy hum.
“M’kay. Dri— Drive safe.”
Eddie smiles into the phone, already standing.
“I will, baby, I love you.”
“Love you.”
He hangs up and scrambles to find his shoes, scribbles a note for Wayne (gone to steve’s love you) and leaves it in the kitchen. Tries not to let the door slam shut.
Steve is in his room when Eddie gets there, sitting on his bedroom floor and hitting the pillow, tugging the pillowcase like he’s trying to rip the fabric.
“Hey, baby,” Eddie says softly, alerting Steve of his presence quietly, and Steve hums, turning his head toward him, but his eyes are closed. He doesn’t stop with the pillow, and Eddie moves onto the floor, kicking off his shoes.
He seems fairly calm right now, rocking back and forth as he pulls at the pillow case, breathing heavily. He isn’t hyperventilating, Steve notes, just breathing hard. Loud. But steady.
“What do you need?” he whispers.
Steve’s lips part, and he takes a breath.
“I…”
His brows furrow, and he exhales sharply, frustrated with himself.
“Take your time, sweet boy, I’m not going anywhere,” Eddie says softly, and he wants to caress his face, to kiss his forehead so the wrinkle from his furrowed eyebrows fades, but he refrains.
It takes a few moment for Steve to speak, still rocking back and forth, and Eddie waits.
“Can you— Can you squeeze me?”
“Squeeze you?”
Steve hums weakly, almost whimpering, and he gesturing with a hand, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Sit— Sit behind me, and…”
“Yeah,” Eddie says quickly, moving to crawl across the floor. “Of course.”
He sits behind him, leaning to check his expression as he wraps his legs around his hips, and he hugs him gently, pulling him against his chest.
“That okay?”
“Harder, I need— I need pressure—“
“I got you,” Eddie murmurs, tightening his arms, squeezing, and Steve stops moving, freezing for a moment before he relaxes against Eddie with an exhale. “Okay?”
Steve whimpers affirmatively.
His hands find Eddie’s forearms after a few moments, and his breathing becomes slower, shallower, returning to normal. His hands relax on Eddie’s arms, and Eddie carefully loosens his arms.
“Okay?”
“Don’t let go,” Steve says weakly.
“I won’t let go unless you want me to, baby, I’m not going anywhere.”
Steve takes a shuddering breath, and his head falls back to Eddie’s shoulder, exposing his neck. Eddie starts to sway with him in his arms, squeezing him once.
“Thank you,” Steve whispers after another while. His voice is soft, weak, and he’s crying again. Eddie squeezes again, refraining from kissing his neck just in case he’s too sensitive right now.
“I love you, baby,” he murmurs instead. “You need me, I’m right here, always.”
Steve cries quietly, holding Eddie’s forearms, and when he stops crying, he curls into a ball, tucking his face into Eddie’s neck as he sighs, wiping his face with the back of his hand.
“Hard day?” Eddie whispers.
“Mhmm.”
“Wanna talk or take a nap?”
“Mm. Dunno.”
“We can talk later if you want,” Eddie whispers. “Let yourself be tired.”
Steve sighs, his breath tickling Eddie’s neck, and he presses closer.
“Squeeze?”
Eddie tightens his arms, and Steve groans softly, nuzzling closer. Eddie smiles as Steve becomes heavier, as he melts into Eddie’s arms, as he falls asleep.
They talk when he wakes up, when they move to his bed. Their voices are soft and quiet as Steve makes his way back into Eddie’s arms, pressing to his chest, face tucked into his throat.
A customer yelled at him today. Steve hates being yelled at. It makes him think of his father.
The customer called him stupid.
Steve really, really hates that.
He held himself together until he got home.
Eddie kisses his forehead, sliding a hand over his waist gently.
“You’re not stupid, Steve,” he murmurs. Steve sighs, buzzing into Eddie’s neck, and when he speaks, his voice is muffled.
“‘M not stupid.”
“‘S right.”
Steve is quiet for so long Eddie thinks he’s fallen asleep, until he shifts and says Eddie’s name softly.
“Yeah, baby?”
“Can I have a kiss?”
Eddie smiles, shifting down so they’re face to face, and Steve’s arm reaches up to drape over his neck as his other arm tucks between them. Eddie touches his face tenderly, brushing his thumb over his cheek before he leans in and kisses him softly. Steve kisses him back, leaning forward to capture his lips again when he pulls away, shifting to touch his face. His fingers press into Eddie’s cheek gently, touching his scar. He doesn’t really like the scar all that much, but he can’t complain about it. He’s alive after all. And if Steve heard him complain or talk negatively about it, Steve would be pissed, so…
Steve likes the scar. He kisses it a lot, his lips always soft and careful and loving, like the scar is something beautiful. It’s nice. Especially on days that Eddie can’t stand to see himself, to look at himself in a mirror. Steve always seems to somehow know.
Steve sucks on Eddie’s lower lip, his teeth digging into it gently, and Eddie lets him, relaxing into the mattress, exhaling. It always feels so nice when Steve does this, kisses him like he’s fidgeting, like there’s nothing else in the world but their mouths. Steve likes doing this, Eddie’s realized. Sucking on Eddie’s lips, his tongue, sometimes his fingers. It’s never sexual (or at least too sexual), just something for Steve to do.
Steve hums low in his throat, licking Eddie’s lips, and Eddie grins, letting Steve lick across his teeth. He doesn’t think he can ever get used to this: the weird, oddly soft grossness of Steve’s tongue sliding across his mouth, between his lips, slick and wet. But they both love it, always smiling absently, dopily, when there are strings of spit connecting their mouths, when their chins are wet with each other’s spit, sloppy and filthy and beautiful.
Steve falls asleep with his lips pressed to Eddie’s, and Eddie can barely even move, smiling to himself. He’s so sweet.
Eddie traces his face for a while, gazes at the moles spotting his skin like he’s stargazing, until it’s too dark for him to see them clearly. He can still see them when he closes his eyes. He has them memorized.
— — — — —
It’s a Wednesday. Eddie doesn’t have anything to do.
Wayne falls asleep on the sofa, and Eddie makes him lunch. Leaves it on the kitchen counter with a note that just has a little devil doodle on it with a heart. And he goes to Steve’s.
He almost expects Robin to be there when he arrives, but when she is there, they’re usually downstairs, tangled on the sofa while they bicker and watch a movie, or both at the same time, or in the kitchen, bantering or singing while they make lunch together. The house is dark when he gets there, all the lights off, and he hears music from upstairs, muffled and pulsing through the walls. He recognizes the song as he goes up the stairs, some Fleetwood Mac song that Robin’s been listening to nonstop lately, and then he expects to see her again as he pushes Steve’s door open, but he stops when he sees Steve.
Laying on his bed sideways, his head hanging off the edge upside down, his arms crossed over his midsection, tapping in time with the music. His eyes are closed peacefully.
“Hey, baby,” Eddie says softly, smiling when Steve smiles without opening his eyes. “Mind if I join you?”
“Mm-mm. No touching, though.”
“M’kay.”
Eddie sits on the floor next to where his head is hanging, looking at the way his hair hangs down, looking soft and smooth and shiny in the sunlight.
“You stood in the doorway a long time,” Steve says, his hands still tapping.
“Did I? Didn’t notice, I was distracted.”
Steve suppresses a smile.
“How’d you know I was there before I said anything?”
“Heard you on the stairs,” Steve says lightly. “I know what your walking sounds like. ‘Nd I could smell you.”
He’s already smiling like he knows what Eddie is going to say.
“You could smell me?”
“Mhmm. I got the nose of a bloodhound, Robin says.”
“Okay, weird.”
Steve giggles.
“You smell good.”
“What do I smell like?”
“Mm. Cigarettes. But, like, in a good way. ‘Nd your shampoo. ‘Nd your apartment. You and Wayne smell mostly the same. He uses different soap.”
Eddie smiles at him, listening to the sound of his hands tapping his sides in time with the song, watching him smile.
“...You do have the nose of a bloodhound, my god.”
Steve giggles.
He falls quiet, still smiling as he listens to the song, and Eddie looks at him.
He always looks so golden, glowing warmly all the time, but it’s different when the sunlight is right on him. Eddie knows Steve doesn’t really like himself, but he thinks Steve is the sun’s favorite person. He looks like he should have a halo. Like it’s missing.
There are moles on his neck, right where Eddie likes to kiss and lick and suck to hear the way Steve whines like he’s throwing a temper tantrum, like he’s upset. The first time it happened, Eddie thought he hated it. He thought Steve was too sensitive for it, thought it wasn’t good for him the way it is for Eddie. But when he tried to raise his head, Steve’s hand tightened in his hair, pulling him back down to bury his face in his neck, and Eddie had laughed, opening his mouth to slide his tongue over the skin, and he relished the way Steve hissed a soft Fuck, yes.
Eddie looks at the spots, smiling softly, and then his eyes move to look at Steve’s Adam’s apple, pronounced because his head is tilted back over the edge of the bed, his neck arched. Eddie wants to lick it.
Steve’s hands are still tapping his sides, one hand tapping four beats, the other one, and as Eddie watches, they switch smoothly. Eddie blinks, watching.
He smiles. Steve is wearing one of Eddie’s rings. It’s one he’s never worn all that often, a little small for his ring finger but fitting perfectly on Steve’s. No one’s questioned it because they haven’t seen Eddie wear it. It’s a silver band, scratched and tarnished with age, and Eddie doesn’t even remember when or where he got it. Just that it’s a good ring, won’t turn Steve’s finger green, and that it looks nice against Steve’s skin. Neither of them said anything when Eddie put it on his finger.
It was late at night, and they were smoking a joint together, trading it back and forth until Steve opted to just lean in and blow the smoke into Eddie’s mouth. Eddie had gazed at him the way he is now, smiling softly as he traced the angle of his nose, the part of his lips as smoke drifted from between them, curling into the air toward the ceiling. Eddie had barely thought, shifting to reach into his bedside table to find the ring, reaching for Steve’s hand to slide it on carefully, slowly. Steve had watched, smiling as he took a drag, and he held the smoke in his lungs as Eddie pressed a kiss to the ring like Steve was royalty. He tugged at Eddie’s hand to make him lift his head so he could lean in and kiss him deeply, exhaling the smoke into his mouth.
Steve’s hands switch again, alternating beats, the ring flashing in the sunlight.
“I think I’m falling in love with you.”
Eddie’s face flushes with heat, and he looks at Steve’s face when his hands don’t stop. Steve is quiet, and his eyes blink open, his eyelashes fluttering for a moment before he looks at Eddie, shifting to see him.
“Yeah?” he asks lightly, softly.
“...Yeah.”
“What tipped you off?”
“I just…”
And how the fuck is Eddie supposed to say it? That everything Steve does lights his insides on fire, even if he’s just itching his nose, that Steve makes Eddie want to live life more than anything. That Eddie looks forward to seeing him every time he wakes up in the morning, that even on days that they can’t see each other, the idea of seeing Steve keeps him going. And maybe that’s not healthy, to be so fucking obsessed with someone, but Eddie can’t bring himself to care. He almost died. He was inches from it, almost in the fucking light or whatever. What does it matter if he’s obsessed with his boyfriend?
“You’re just so perfect,” Eddie says finally. Steve scoffs.
“I’m not perfect, Eddie.”
“Closest thing to perfect I’ve ever known.”
Steve is quiet again.
He looks at Eddie again.
For a while.
Eddie thinks he’s processing it, absorbing it.
He knows Steve doesn’t hear things like that often. His parents are pieces of shit, were always mean to him regardless of how hard he tried to make them proud, and the kids tease relentlessly, even in love. Steve isn’t told often enough how much he is. How he’s fucking everything.
“Can I have a kiss?” Steve asks softly.
“Touching okay?”
“God, yeah, please.”
Eddie grins and moves to sit cross-legged across from where his head is hanging. Steve looks at him, smiling, and Eddie finally drags his fingers through his hair, undoing the small knots in it as he leans in and kisses him. It’s a little awkward with the upside-down angle, Eddie’s nose mashing against Steve’s chin, and vice versa. But it’s perfect.
Steve hums, reaching to touch Eddie, his hand drifting in the air for a moment as he gets situated until his fingers push into Eddie’s hair a little too hard. Eddie smiles, sucking for a moment on Steve’s lower lip before he pulls back to look at him. Steve tugs his hair, lips parted, chin lifting to prompt Eddie to kiss again, and Eddie leans back in, kicking into his mouth gently.
His hand finds Steve’s neck, fingertips trailing over his warm skin until he finds his throat, where they dance over his Adam’s apple lightly, making him shiver. Eddie smiles, pressing his hand over his throat, holding it carefully, listening to Steve choke weakly, a hum catching in his throat.
“Fuck,” Steve breathes, holding Eddie’s face between his hands now. “I think I’m falling in love with you too.”
“Mm.” Eddie kisses him slowly before mumbling against his lips. “‘S cool.”
Steve smiles.
— — — — —
The music is different the next time Eddie goes over. Loud, heavy, and… screaming?
Eddie makes his way upstairs, raising an eyebrow as he heads to Steve’s room, the music getting louder and louder. He can practically feel it in the ground, vibrating through his bones, and he can’t even understand the lyrics, the words growled and hissed and screamed.
Steve is pacing in his room when Eddie pushes the door open, hands flapping in the air in time with the music as his head bobs, making his hair swing in the air around it. Eddie pauses to watch, glancing at the record player on his dresser. There are records on the ground, set against the dresser, the covers of them black with spikey, illegible writing. One is just white with something written on it in black marker.
“Hello?” Eddie says loud enough to be heard over the music, and Steve looks at him excitedly, running at him before jumping so Eddie can catch him, arms around his waist. Steve’s arms wrap around his neck.
“Hi,” he says brightly.
“What’s going on?” Eddie asks, arms tightening when Steve doesn’t let go.
“I am desperately understimulated.”
“Oh, understimulated, huh?” Eddie says suggestively, grinning when Steve giggles into his neck, arms tightening, and he sways.“What are we listening to?”
“Mm, they’re called Damage Control,” Steve mumbles, up on his tiptoes to hold Eddie tighter. “They’re one of my favorites right now.”
“Favorite… what?”
“Bands,” Steve says, his voice on the verge of laughter. “They’re from Indy,” he continues when Eddie remains speechless. “They sell to that one music store in Bloomington— You know the Rock Shop?”
“Yeah,” Eddie says slowly. That’s where he gets most of his tapes. God knows the music store in Hawkins doesn’t have shit he likes.
“There,” Steve says. “The owner suggested them to me because I liked Autopsy, and Damage was kind of new— They still are, I guess, they’ve only released three albums and they’re kinda underground or whatever, but the guy at the Rock Shop said they’re working on another album and I’m really excited about it.”
Eddie is grinning, and when Steve pulls away, he is too.
Steve looks at him with that glowing grin, and he starts bobbing his head with the music again, mouthing the words at Eddie.
You’ve been holding your breath for far too long, babyI’ll give you mine straight from my lungs
I’ll give you it all, baby, anything you needGut me, Gut me, Gut me
Eddie’s smile widens, and he pulls at Steve’s back, crashing their mouths together so hard it hurts a little, but Steve giggles, hugging his neck and tilting his head. Eddie kisses him desperately, listening as Steve moans softly into his mouth, their teeth clashing and tongues sliding, and it’s sloppy and messy and seemingly just what Steve needed. He pushes Eddie against the door as the instruments cut short in the song to emphasize the long, scratchy scream before the drums come crashing back in.
One of Steve’s legs hitches up on Eddie’s hip, and Eddie grabs his thigh, squeezing tightly, smiling when Steve grunts, one of his hands grabbing at the side of Eddie’s thigh.
“Baby,” Eddie gasps when they part for breath, glancing down at Steve’s spit-slick lips.
“Mm.”
“I got a very serious question for you.”
Steve giggles, smiling lazily, tracing the scars on Eddie’s neck.
“What?”
“...Do you want me to touch your butt?” Eddie asks seriously, eyes wide and earnest, and Steve giggles again, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment.
“Sure.”
“Sure? You don’t sound like you want it—”
“Eddie,” Steve says firmly, grabbing his face and pulling so their eyes meet. “Touch my butt.”
Eddie snickers, licking his bottom lip as he slides his hand over Steve’s thigh and hip to grab his ass, his stomach flipping when Steve’s eyes flutter shut for a moment.
“Yeah,” Steve says softly, his voice almost lost to the music. “Fuck, yeah.”
Eddie squeezes again, digging his fingers in until Steve winces and exhales sharply.
“That okay?” Eddie checks softly, and Steve nods.
“Touch me,” he says, breathing hard suddenly, eyes closing as he kisses Eddie messily for a moment. “Please, Eddie baby, I need more.”
Eddie reaches down to tug at his other thigh, picking him up and holding him as his legs wrap around his hips, sliding his hands to hold his ass, spreading his fingers to take up as much space as possible, squeezing as he turns to press Steve into the door.
He kisses him again, licking into his mouth messily, and Steve’s mouth falls open, his tongue sliding against Eddie’s as he holds his shoulders, his breath fast and hot.
“What do you want?” Eddie asks breathlessly, his face warm as Steve licks his mouth again.
“Want it to hurt a little,” Steve breathes. “Just, like… squeeze tight. ‘Nd… Fuckin’ bite me and shit.”
Eddie laughs, kissing him quickly before he tightens his hands on his ass, digging his fingers into his flesh. The fabric of his sweatpants is thin and soft, and he can feel the heat of Steve’s skin on his hands. He watches Steve’s face carefully, watches his eyebrows furrow as his eyes squeeze shut, watches his mouth fall open silently as he holds his breath, and when his shoulders tighten, Eddie relaxes his grip. He watches as relief floods Steve’s expression, as he relaxes against the door with an exhale and a Fuck yeah.
“That okay?”
“Mm,” Steve hums, nodding, breathing hard. “Yeah, that was… That was perfect.”
“M’kay,” Eddie mumbles, kissing him again desperately. “Lemme know if it’s too much.”
“Okay.”
Eddie does it again, kissing Steve and letting his mouth hang open for him to lick into it, squeezing hard until Steve whines before he releases, listening to Steve exhale.
Steve’s mouth is warm, and Eddie presses him into the doorway harder, practically massaging his ass as Steve’s tongue slides over his teeth like he’s trying to feel the texture of them, like he’s trying to memorize the bumps and divots between them. His tongue lingers at one of Eddie’s canines, pressing into the sharp point of it, and Eddie bites down gently, carefully. Steve moans happily, his hips jerking up. Eddie grins.
He slides his hands to his hips, squeezing hard for a few seconds as Steve finally pulls his mouth away to catch his breath, panting. Eddie lowers his head, pressing his face into Steve’s neck and sliding his tongue over his skin as Steve giggles lightly. He’s ticklish here.
He hears Steve inhale deeply when Steve��s face presses to his head, his nose in his hair, and he smiles, licking him again before he lingers at a spot under his jawline, biting down as he squeezes again.
“Fuck, Eddie,” Steve chokes. “Harder.”
Eddie soothes the spot with a swipe of his tongue before moving a hand to tug at Steve’s shirt, pulling the collar out of the way so Eddie can mouth at the spot between his shoulder and his neck. He bites down again, harder, listening as Steve lets out that petulant fucking whine, like he’s mad, like he hates it, but his hand reaches to hold the back of Eddie’s head, holding him in place, his fist tight in his curls.
“Shit,” Steve gasps when Eddie lets up, looking at the bite mark on his skin, a perfect print of his teeth. “I wanna come, I…”
“Fuck,” Eddie breathes, squeezing his ass again before he pulls him away from the doorway, stepping back into the room to drop Steve on the bed, but Steve pulls him down with him, crashing their mouths together messily. Their lips don’t land square on each other, and Eddie grins as he crawls over him, letting him lower onto his back as Eddie hovers over him, his hand on the bed next to his head.
And it’s so much, the feeling of Steve’s tongue sliding hot over his lips, over his teeth and the roof of his mouth, the feeling of his hands in his hair, pulling hard without even thinking, the feeling of his legs wrapping around his waist and pulling so their hips press. The music, the screaming and rapid drums and loud, scratchy guitar.
“More,” Steve chokes, almost demanding, but he looks so helpless here, under Eddie, his cheeks red, his hair messy. “I need— Fuck, Eddie, please, I need more—”
Eddie swears under his breath, sitting up quickly, kneeling between his legs, and he tears off his t-shirt, throwing it across the room before he reaches for the hem of Steve’s, which is already lifting up over his torso as Steve wriggles to get it off.
Eddie throws it across the room, shifting to lean down, kissing and licking and sucking and biting to his heart’s content, relishing the sounds Steve makes that are just audible over the loud music. Eddie bites down on his chest, humming in satisfaction (because Christ, this is fun), and he reaches up with a hand, pinching one of Steve’s nipples harder than he really has to, but Steve lets out a sharp Ah, fuck— and his hips jerk up against Eddie’s. So he does it again, making it hurt the way Steve likes it.
They’re having sex. This isn’t how Eddie saw today going, in all honesty. He thought they’d make out a while, make dinner with enough to bring home for Wayne, watch a movie. Make stupid commentary, bad puns and immature jokes. Cuddle on the sofa until they fall asleep with their hands in each other’s hair. He never would have seen this coming, not when they’ve never talked about it or anything. They haven’t even gotten close, unless Eddie counts the few times Steve needed sensations, the times he was seeking feelings and asked Eddie to touch him, but it was all over clothes, barely sexual. Just rubbing and squeezing his muscles, massaging his ass in an almost silly way because it felt good and because it made Steve smile, which felt good in its own way.
But they’re both achingly hard, and when Eddie lifts his head enough to glance down, there’s a wet spot on Steve’s sweatpants that makes Eddie’s heart fucking soar. Steve’s arms wrap around his neck desperately, grappling and clutching and pulling him down to kiss him sloppily, and Eddie reaches to the small of his back, tugging so it arches, so their hips press again, and he grinds down, hearing Steve’s moan that slips right between his lips.
Eddie giggles, doing it again, sliding his hand farther down to grab his ass, squeezing hard. Understimulated. This probably wasn’t what Steve had in mind when he told Eddie how he was feeling. But it seems to be working for him if Eddie had to guess based on the loud, frantic sounds escaping his mouth, based on how desperately he’s grinding back against Eddie, jerking his hips up again and again, over and over.
And Eddie is practically fucking him, reaching to tug one of his legs up so it’s over his arm, grinding his hips down harder, rocking back and forth as Steve lets out a loud groan, as his fingers tighten in his curls. Eddie kisses him, licking across his mouth, and he bites down on his lip so hard he almost expects to taste blood.
He doesn’t, luckily, but he licks it anyway, soothing it gently.
He buries his face in Steve’s neck as the music gets louder, faster, as Steve moves against him desperately, frantically, and their skin is slick with sweat now, tacky and sticking to each other, but it doesn’t fucking matter, before Eddie is getting a little lightheaded as he mouths at Steve’s neck, his skin salty. He bites.
The music draws to a climax as Steve lets out a loud moan, as his body tenses and freezes, and Eddie whimpers, gasping for breath.
And then it’s almost silent, the record spinning, staticky and quiet, and they’re both breathing hard, holding each other tightly. Steve’s arms are around his neck, his chest rising and falling against Eddie’s, and Eddie can’t see, his face in Steve’s neck. They’re both trembling.
Eddie’s never come that hard in his life. And it was in his pants, but he can’t even be embarrassed about it, because Steve did too, because Steve came just as hard as he did. Because Steve is still making soft noises, whimpers and weak moans as his hips roll helplessly like he’s still riding it out.
“Holy shit,” Steve says after a few silent moments.
“Yeah,” Eddie agrees.
“That was…”
“Fuck.”
“Mm.”
Eddie lingers there, kissing his neck gently, nibbling gently, and he sits up slowly, unsticking their skin. He looks down when Steve’s arms fall away, landing on the bed like he can’t control them, down at the wet patches on their pants, wishing he had Steve’s Polaroid camera close. Maybe next time.
“Stimulated enough?” he asks after staring for a little while longer, and Steve giggles almost deliriously, his eyes closed.
“Fuck you.”
Eddie snickers, his eyes wandering to the bite marks on Steve’s chest and collarbones and neck. They’re already bruising, and he bites his lip, tracing one lightly. Steve hums.
“That music was something,” Eddie says absently, tracing a line down the center of his chest, down to his belly button and the waistband of his sweatpants.
“That was fucking incredible,” Steve says, back arching, chin tilting up. “Fuckin’ heaven, Eddie, holy shit.”
“Yeah?”
“Mm.”
Eddie leans down to kiss his throat gently.
“How do you feel?” he murmurs.
“So fucking good.”
“Yeah?” Eddie says again, grinning, looking at him. He looks asleep already, relaxed and sated and fucked happy.
“C’mere.”
“We should change.”
“Don’t wanna move.”
“Want me to change you?”
Steve snorts, his head rolling on the bed so half his face is buried in one of the blankets.
“Just don’t make it weird.”
His legs fall as Eddie moves to get up, standing shakily.
“Me?” he says dramatically, a hand to his chest even though Steve isn’t looking at him. “Make something weird? How dare you?”
Steve is still giggling.
And somehow this is just as nice as the sex, Eddie gently tugging Steve’s pants and boxers down, smiling when Steve lifts his hips to help him, wiping him clean and helping Steve into clean clothes. Feeling Steve’s eyes on him as he changes too.
It’s quiet. Steve is still fidgeting, but it’s sleepy now, like his orgasm took all the energy out of him, and Eddie climbs into bed next to him, smiling when he feels the way Steve is sliding his feet back and forth over the sheets. He keeps doing it even as he wraps an arm around Eddie tightly, his skin warm on Eddie’s, even as Eddie plays with his hair, twisting and tugging and pulling the way he knows Steve likes. He only stops when he drifts off to sleep, after a quiet, mumbled love you.
— — — — —
Mike had forgotten how cramped Steve’s car is when he’s picking them all up.
Usually Eddie drives them around, but he has errands to run for Wayne, and now Mike is squished against the door in the backseat. He should be riding shotgun, but Dustin called it as they were all headed out the door. Unfair, in Mike’s opinion (he is the tallest, after all, and his legs are not meant to be cramped like this), but he doesn’t complain, because Will is next to him, their shoulders mashed together as Lucas and Erica climb into the car somewhat unsafely.
Mike looks out the window, tuning out Steve’s voice as he tells them all to buckle up. (Mike did before the others got in.) It feels warm, and Mike pretends it’s just the sunlight coming through the windows, hot on his face, and he ignores the way Will’s knee is pressing into his.
He’s tired after today’s campaign, and he relaxes as much as he can into his seat, letting his head fall to the window, the glass warm on his forehead, and he drifts off, zoning out, but he’s startled out of it when Steve starts the car a loud shriek omits from the speakers before it cuts off quickly.
“What the fuck was that?” Dustin says adamantly as they all catch their breaths, their eyes wide as Steve slowly starts to drive, fingers still on the volume dial that’s turned all the way down.
“That was— music,” Steve says choppily, checking the rearview mirrors. “Sorry.”
“That was not music,” Erica says from where she’s squished between Will and Lucas. “That was the sound of someone being murdered.”
“Jesus,” Dustin says, exhaling and slumping in his seat (must be nice).
“Yeah, Steve,” Lucas says, also squished against the door. “What the hell?”
“Sorry,” Steve says again, making a face. “I didn’t realize the volume was all the way up, geez.”
“Why was it all the way up?” Will asks, and Mike finally tears his eyes away from Steve in the rearview mirror, looking at the way Will’s brows are furrowed, his eyes wide, almost glowing in the sunlight. “What’s wrong with you?”
“It was Ed— Okay, first of all, watch yourself,” Steve says sassily. “I’ll drop you off right here and you can walk home.”
“Yeah, because my mother would love it if you did that,” Will shoots back. “You wouldn’t, you want her to like you.”
“That’s the only thing stopping me, so watch it or I’ll decide silence is worth not getting a Joyce Byers hug.”
“God, you’re annoying.”
Mike rolls his eyes at the bickering, watching as Erica kicks at the back of Dustin’s seat, telling him to move it forward only for him to turn and swat at her leg. Steve swats at him, telling him to fix his seatbelt.
Mike looks back at Steve in the rearview mirror, at the way his hair is a little smoothed back, shiny in the sunlight. And he huffs, looking back out the mirror.
He leaves with Will, waves half-heartedly to Steve as he blows them sarcastic kisses. (Will pretends to catch one and throw it back at him, and Steve pretends it smacks him across the face. Mike rolls his eyes.)
It rains the next day. It’s not a downpour, but enough that Mike probably should have brough an umbrella, his hair wet across his face when he finally gets to Steve’s house. He gets off his bike, kicking the stand to make it stay in place, and he exhales slowly, shaking his head and muttering Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid to himself as he goes to the front door and knocks.
He opens the door before he gets a respose, stepping in and out of the rain. It’s not weird. They all do it, just come inside before Steve can answer the door. Mike once overheard Robin saying that Steve loves it, his friends coming inside without invitation, like they live here too.
Steve comes into the hall from the kitchen as Mike is pushing his bangs out of his face and pulling his hood down.
“Hi,” Mike says awkwardly.
“Hey?” Steve says, drying his hands with a towel. He glances at the door, realizing that Mike is alone, and God, this is so stupid. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I just… Uhm.” He pauses, toeing at the ground.
“Did something happen?”
Mike can hear the worry in Steve’s voice, and it makes him feel bad.
“No, nothing— nothing happened, just… Can I borrow some tapes?”
“...What?”
Mike looks up at him, his face flushing with embarrassment, and he fucking hates feeling like this.
“Just— Eddie lets me borrow tapes sometimes when he thinks I might like, like, a certain band or album or whatever, and I…” He pauses, seeing the blankness in Steve’s eyes. He exhales sharply, frustrated. “I’m, like… curious. About the— the song that you played in the car yesterday— accidentally played in the car. Yesterday.”
He finishes awkwardly, looking at Steve as Steve processes it, watches as Steve’s lips twitch into a smile.
“Oh.”
Mike blinks at him.
“Yeah,” Steve says, beckoning as he heads to the stairs. “Sure.”
Mike kicks his shoes off, exhaling in relief, as though he was worried Steve was going to tell him off or something, and he follows him up to his room. Steve kicks some laundry aside as they go in, and he grabs something off his dresser and hides it in a drawer before Eddie can see what it is. Mike doesn’t ask.
Steve pulls out a box, pushing it toward Mike as he leans against his desk, and Mike looks at it curiously.
“You only heard, like, a second from the song but that was Target Practice,” Steve says, rummaging through another drawer as Mike’s eyes scan the tapes. “They’re from Seattle; the genre’s kind of small right now, kinda like— starting out, I guess, but it’s getting bigger.”
“What’s the genre?” Mike asks absently, leaning to look. Some of the tapes are labelled by hand, Steve’s handwriting distinct and loopy, some others printed and colorful, professionally done. The one reading Damage Control looks well-loved, worn and used.
“Uh, death metal?” Steve says like he isn’t entirely sure. He lifts up another box of tapes. “This one’s got some Fleetwood Mac and stuff in it, but you should be able to, like, see the difference.”
Mike can.
He looks through them curiously, lifting them to look at the labels and song lists, furrowing his brows at a few of them. He lifts one up, analyzing the black and red lettering that reads Possessed, the upside-down cross, and he skims the list of songs, lifting an eyebrow. Burning in Hell, Satan’s Curse, Pentagram…
“Where do you get these?” Mike asks, his thumb running over the words. He feels almost guilty looking at them, knowing his father would have a fucking conniption if he saw Mike looking at it. His dad hates Eddie, and his whole… thing. He thinks it’s blasphemous, un-American. Mike feels kind of exhilarated here, looking at the tapes.
“Mostly a music store in Bloomington,” Steve says, leaning against the desk and watching him. “A few are from Indy, but those are like, the international ones. Uh…” He looks over at the tapes, searching, and he points at one reading Sodom. “They’re German. Not available in smaller stores, you know.”
Mike nods, looking again.
“Which one’s your favorite?” he asks after a few moments.
“Damage Control is my favorite right now,” Steve says. “They’re from Indy, sell to some stores around the state. But Killjoys are local too, they’re really good. They do shows in Indy and Fort Wayne.”
“Have you been?” Mike asks, struggling to tamp down his excitement at the thought of a live show. He’s never seen any live music, aside from the talent shows at his middle school and the choirs at church.
“Twice,” Steve says, smiling like he just knows. “Yeah. It was fun.”
Mike looks through the tapes again, but his hand lingers on Possessed, his mouth twisting as he looks at it again. He’d have to hide it. He doesn’t even know what his dad would do if he found it. Probably send him to some church camp. Take away all his D&D stuff.
“Can I?” he asks anyway.
“Yeah, ‘course. Take as many as you want. Long as I get ‘em back.”
Mike grins.
He takes Possessed, Sodom out of curiosity, and one from Damage Control. (There are three by them, each labelled with numbers. He takes the first one.)
“Yeah?” Steve asks when Mike stacks the three of them in his hands. “You set?”
“Yeah,” Mike says, hesitating again. “Uh.”
“What’s up?”
Mike stalls, sorting the tapes again, biting his lip nervously before he speaks.
“You know how I like… I like Eddie’s whole… look?” he says finally, looking up at Steve, who’s looking at him, leaning against the desk next to the boxes, arms crossed over his chest.
“Yeah,” Steve says slowly.
“Uh. I wanna grow my hair out like— like him, or— I wanna grow my hair out more,” he says, remembering that his hair is almost past his shoulders. “But, uhm.”
Steve waits patiently while he finds his words.
“How do you keep your hair so soft?” Mike asks finally, the words bursting out of him, and he flushes with embarrassment again. Steve blinks.
“...What?”
“Just—” Mike huffs. “I like Eddie’s hair length, it’s just, like… crispy.”
There’s a moment of silence.
And then Steve turns away with a laugh that he tries to stifle. It doesn’t work.
“You are not allowed to tell him I said that,” Mike snaps, but he’s suppressing a smile too, because he doesn’t see Steve laugh all that often, but he has a great laugh. His eyes squint shut and he smiles like he’s at the fucking dentist, showing all his teeth, and his nose wrinkles like he’s a little kid. It’s cute. Not that Mike fucking notices.
“I won’t,” Steve says, still laughing, and he gestures a cross over his heart. “I won’t, I swear.”
“How do you keep your hair so soft?” Mike asks again. Steve shrugs.
“‘S just… taking care of it. Trimming dead ends, using good shampoo and stuff. Also depends on your hair texture, Eddie’s is different from mine.”
Mike hesitates.
“I have to cut it to grow it out?”
“Just the dead ends,” Steve says lightly. “For it to grow out healthy.” He hesitates, eyeing Mike’s hair before he gestures to it. “Can I?”
Mike nods, and Steve sits up off the desk, reaching out and gently touching a piece of Mike’s hair, analyzing the ends.
“Just this,” he says, holding the hair up, pinching it to show where Mike should cut it. “‘S not too bad, but these ends are a little split, so you should trim them off, keep the length.”
Mike exhales.
“How do you know all this?”
Steve’s hands drop.
“Magazines,” he says, leaning back against his desk. “But if you wanna know about, like, your hair specifically, you could go into a hair salon and ask for advice.”
Mike blinks, and his stomach twists at the very thought. At the thought of going into a place like that, all fucking prim and proper and expensive, white floor tiles and women with curls piled on top of their heads. Red lipstick and judging eyes. He imagines his mom’s friends. He knows how they look at him.
“I can’t do that,” he says like he’s arguing, like he’s cornered. Steve blinks.
“They’d give you some actual professional advice,” he says. “They know better than I do.”
“Steve,” Mike says firmly. “I can’t do that.” He’s practically shaking. He doesn’t know why.
“It’s what I did—”
“It’s different for you,” he snaps.
“...How?”
It’s a stupid fucking question. Like Steve can’t see the difference between them. Mike stares for a moment, taking a breath that comes out too fast.
“You go into a hair salon and ask for— for advice, and you go into gas stations and get magazines about it and you… you care about your appearance or whatever, and it’s fine,” Mike says, clutching at the tapes. “It becomes your fucking name, and people think it’s fine, that you— you’re presentable and fucking cool, but— but if I do that, then they know I’m a faggot,” he says, and he isn’t even thinking anymore. “I don’t want them to make fun of me, not about that.”
And it’s quiet, the rain outside tapping on the window quietly. Steve’s eyes widen a little, and his expression relaxes as the realization sets in, and Mike’s chest feels tight suddenly, like there’s something squeezing him so tightly he can’t breathe.
“Mike…”
“Don’t tell anyone,” Mike chokes, his eyes stinging. “Please.”
“Hey,” Steve says softly, standing up off the desk again, reaching for the tapes in Mike’s hands, and Mike’s heart feels like it splits open, because Steve doesn’t want to share with him anymore, and God, he’s so childish. But Steve just takes them gently and sets them on the desk, holding one of Mike’s trembling hands.
Steve’s hands are so warm. It feels weird that that’s what stands out to Mike right now, but his brain latches onto it, and his fingers wrap around Steve’s, holding his hand tightly as he gasps for breath like his throat is closing.
“Mike,” Steve says softly. “I need you to breathe.”
“I ca—”
He gasps, feeling lightheaded, and his hand tightens on Steve’s. Steve squeezes, reaching for Mike’s other hand, and he pulls it toward himself, pressing Mike’s palm to his chest.
Mike’s eyes flutter open as he feels his chest rise slowly, and Steve whispers softly.
“In.”
Mike’s breath stutters in his chest, and he grips Steve’s hand so hard it must hurt, but his vision dims. He tries to breathe in, looking into Steve’s eyes as Steve nods.
“Good job,” he says softly, murmuring. “And out, slowly.”
They exhale together, carefully.
“I’m not gonna tell anyone,” Steve says softly when Mike catches his breath. “Alright?”
“Promise?”
And Mike kind of hates himself, because he’s acting like such a child, but Steve just smiles softly at him. It’s kind of a sad smile.
“Mike,” Steve says gently. “I’m… Me too.”
Mike blinks. His breath stills in his chest, and he freezes, looking into the earnest shine of Steve’s eyes, feeling his heart pound against Mike’s palm. They’re both shaking now, but Steve is still smiling weakly.
“You too?” Mikes says softly, almost to himself.
But Steve doesn’t take it back. He just keeps smiling.
“Yeah.”
Mike’s hand somehow tightens even more on Steve’s.
“You’re… You’re gay?” he whispers, like there’s someone in the hallway or under the bed, listening to them.
“I’m– I’m bisexual,” he says, but Mike blinks in confusion, and he smiles again. “It means I like men and women.”
“Oh,” Mike breathes. He feels a little dizzy. “You’re like me.”
“Yeah,” Steve whispers. “I’m like you.”
“I need to lay down,” Mike says after a moment, blinking hard, and Steve nods, letting him go as Mike lowers to the ground, laying on his back and covering his eyes with the heels of his hands.
“You okay?”
“Mhmm.”
He hears Steve leave and go downstairs, and he squeezes his eyes shut so tightly he sees colors bloom on his eyelids, bright like fireworks. His back stretches out on the floor and he lets his legs extend until his knees pop, and he takes a slow, deep breath, focusing on the way his chest rises and then falls.
He doesn’t know how long it is until Steve comes back, and he lowers his hands when he hears his footsteps make the floorboards creak. He looks up, blinking his eyes open, and Steve is looking down at him, holding two cans of 7-Up. Mike wants to cry a little. It’s his favorite.
He sits up as Steve joins him on the floor, and they’re silent as they crack the sodas open.
“Who else knows?” Steve asks finally.
“Uh,” Mike hesitates, looking at the soda that’s gathered on the lip of the can. “Eddie.”
Steve blinks.
“Eddie?”
“Yeah, he… he knew before I did,” Mike says, and he gives a weak laugh even though it isn’t really funny. “He…”
Steve waits for him again.
“It was the day we introduced Will to the rest of Hellfire,” Mike says quietly, his cheeks flushing. “Eddie pulled me aside while everyone was hanging out and he… He just kind of told me? That I— I like Will.”
Steve’s lips curve into a smile, and his eyebrows raise.
“Will, huh?”
Mike looks down shyly, nodding and suppressing a smile.
“He… Yeah. I guess Eddie could… see how I looked at him or something.”
“Eddie’s pretty good at that,” Steve says after a moment. “Noticing things about people.”
“Yeah.”
Steve is quiet for a moment as Mike sips his soda. It’s sweet, even more so because Mike hasn’t eaten anything in a while, and he slides his free hand over his leg to stop himself from shaking it out. It feels like this should be awkward, sitting with Steve Harrington on his bedroom floor and drinking soda together, but it isn’t.
“Can you give me a minute?” Steve asks after a little while, and Mike nods, watching curiously as he leaves again. The door stays open when he’s gone, and Mike leans against his bed, looking around the room. The wallpaper is hideous, but he doesn’t know if Steve picked it or if his parents did. His eyes scan Steve’s desk. There are some books stacked on it, and one is open, another book holding it open so the pages don’t close, and Mike is curious about what the book is, but he doesn’t get up.
His room is messy, but Mike can’t complain. It’s clean compared to his own.
There’s a t-shirt on the floor next to where he’s sitting, and he nudges it aside as he takes another sip, raising an eyebrow at the black fabric. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Steve wear black.
When Steve comes back, he’s smiling to himself, and he sits on the ground again, sipping his soda.
“So.”
Mike looks at him.
“So?”
“Uh.” Steve laughs lightly, almost scoffing. “Can’t believe you’re the first person I’m telling about this, but…”
Mike blinks, raising an eyebrow at him.
“Telling me what?”
“Uh,” Steve says again. He sets his soda can down, sitting with his legs crossed. “So. I think one of the reasons that Eddie noticed how you, uhm, how you feel about Will, is that he’s— he’s also gay.”
Mike blinks.
“He’s my boyfriend.”
Mike blinks again.
Steve is smiling a little bit, and Mike’s hands start shaking again. He puts his soda down, staring at him.
“He’s your boyfriend?” Mike says weakly.
“Yeah,” Steve says. “We’re dating, we’ve— we’ve been together for a few weeks.”
And Mike feels like he’s spinning, because it isn’t just Steve’s voice saying it, but Mike is hearing a man’s voice say my boyfriend, and Mike didn’t even know that was possible. He didn’t know it could happen, that a man could say something like that with a smile on his face, that it could be something so… light.
“We haven’t told anyone just… just because it’s kind of new,” Steve continues. “But also just, like… I don’t know, we didn’t really feel like we had to, I guess. Nothing’s really changed, except that we, like, make out now.”
Mike laughs weakly, almost deliriously, and he reaches out and pulls at Steve’s arm. Steve lets him.
“Can you say it again?” he asks, almost pleading, and Steve’s hand touches his, big and warm and grounding, holding him gently.
“Eddie is my boyfriend,” he says softly, slowly. “I’m Eddie’s boyfriend. We’re in love with each other.”
And Mike is crying.
He squeezes his eyes shut, ducking his head to hide his face, but Steve doesn’t let him, pulling at his hand until Mike is falling against him, sobs wracking his shoulders as Steve hugs him tightly, rocking back and forth. Mike lets him.
It feels weird, to cry in someone’s arms after hiding it for so long. He’s cried alone for years now, ever since he’s felt like he’s too old to cry. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen his father cry.
But even though it’s weird, it’s nice. He doesn’t feel like he has to hide his face, doesn’t feel like there’s anything wrong with crying, and then he doesn’t feel like there’s anything wrong with him.
Steve rubs his back gently, rocking back and forth with him like he’s a baby, but even that is nice because Mike always ends up rocking back and forth when he cries anyway, and Mike closes his eyes, letting himself like it. Letting himself like Steve holding him, letting himself cry.
When he finally stops crying, he pulls back enough to wipe his cheek with the sleeve of his hoodie, and Steve looks at him.
“Are you guys happy?” Mike asks before he can say anything. Steve blinks.
“Yeah,” he says. “We’re really happy.”
Mike closes his eyes.
Steve pulls him into another hug, and he kisses the top of his head in a way only his mother ever has, but it’s oddly comforting, and Mike melts against him, feeling him tuck his hair back.
They separate after a while, and Mike moves back, taking a deep breath.
“Alright?” Steve asks gently. Mike nods. “Can I tell you something?”
“Sure,” Mike says, sniffling, drawing his knees to his chest. Steve is quiet for a few moments, thinking.
“People… People are gonna give you a lot of shit,” Steve says slowly. “Regardless of if they know. But it… It doesn’t matter.”
Mike blinks at him.
“They don’t matter,” Steve says almost adamantly. “Do whatever the fuck you want, what— whatever makes you happy.”
Mike looks at the ground. The carpet is worn thin, almost flat even though it looks like it’s supposed to be fuzzy and soft.
“My dad hates everything I like,” he mumbles. He’s tried to not let it bother him for years. He’s pretended it doesn’t bother him for years. But it does.
It fucking sucks. To watch all the other kids with their parents, smiling and laughing after school and at birthday parties and baseball games. To hear the boys at school talk about how their dads surprised them with tickets to see their favorite team play, about how their dads bring them books from the library, watch movies with them, help them with their homework.
To wonder what it’s like.
He’s tried to stop thinking about it, about what it would be like if his dad were to come into the living room and not immediately say something like Mike, change the channel. If his dad were to look at the books stacked in Mike’s room without wrinkling his nose at them like they smelled. If his dad were to help Mike with his homework without telling Mike to just figure it out or that he needs to pay better attention in class if he doesn’t get it.
His dad doesn’t like him very much. Mike is used to it. He’s kind of stopped caring. He’s growing his hair out even though his dad comments on it every time they’re in the same room, telling him he looks like a girl from behind (which Mike doesn’t mind as much as he thinks he probably should), telling him he looks ridiculous. He wears the shirts he steals from Eddie (and the one Eddie gives him) even though his dad stares at them like they’re about to spontaneously combust. He’s even been thinking about painting his nails black just for the hell of it. Just to piss him off.
But it sucks, too. Knowing that his dad doesn’t like him. He loves him, Mike thinks. He hasn’t heard it from him in a long time, not since he was a kid. But his mom tells him he does. Your father loves you, Mike, she’d said one night when Mike told her his dad had snidely told him he needs new friends. He just doesn’t know how to show you.
He shouldn’t have to show me, Mike had wanted to say. But he just rolled his eyes. He does that a lot.
His father loves him. But he doesn’t like him.
If he were to see Mike on a sidewalk, and Mike wasn’t his son, he would stare. And look away. And grumble something about people like him.
Mike knows it.
And it especially sucks because Mike kind of likes himself.
Not a lot. In fact, he also kind of hates himself. He wonders if it’s normal for boys his age to hate themselves. To think they’re the worst person in existence as they do their algebra homework and ride their bikes down the empty roads so they aren’t late for dinner.
He thinks he sucks. He’s annoying, and mean, and almost everything the world expects a fifteen-year-old boy to be. He’s lonely and sad most of the time. He was a bad boyfriend, and he is a bad friend, and he’s a terrible fucking son.
But lately it’s been getting easier to look at himself in the mirror. He doesn’t mind the way he looks as much as he used to. He still doesn’t particularly like looking at himself, but it’s not as hard.
And he has fun with D&D, and he has fun reading his books and learning things and listening to music, and lately it’s been getting easier to be by himself, too. He doesn’t know when exactly it happened, when it started to shift. He supposes it might have been around the time that he and El broke up. (Which had been shockingly easy. Entirely mutual. And now it’s easier to be around her too. Like there aren’t any expectations.) But it’s quieter in his head now. He can finally focus on what he’s doing instead of getting distracted in a spiral of self-hatred. Which is nice.
So yeah. He kind of likes himself.
But it fucking sucks that as he grows to like himself, his dad’s gaze seems to get colder.
Because his dad loves him.
But he doesn’t love him.
“Your dad’s a bitch,” Steve says dryly, and it startles a laugh out of Mike. “I’m serious, I’ve heard what he says about Eddie, about your campaigns and your books and shit. He’s an asshole, Mike.”
It’s oddly cathartic to hear it out loud.
He’s an asshole instead of He loves you.
Mike looks at him.
“He doesn’t matter,” Steve says, softening his voice. “None of them do.” He’s quiet for a moment, and in that moment, he looks like he’s in pain. Like the scars on his sides are aching the way they sometimes do, like the ground has turned to gravel. His voice is gentle when he speaks again, almost whispering.
“Do whatever the fuck you want.”
Mike looks at his own hands, twisting his fingers together, thinking about the bottle of nail polish that’s sitting in the drawer of his bedside table.
“People are mean,” he says quietly.
“Yeah,” Steve says. “I know.”
Mike glances at him, remembering. Steve used to be a dick. He knows it. Steve knows it. Everyone fucking knows it. But now Mike sitting on his bedroom floor, telling him he’s queer, his cheeks tacky with drying tears, and Steve is just looking at him, listening, gentle and kind.
“Can I tell you something about them?” Steve asks, and Mike nods. “...A lot of them are just as fucking weird as us.”
A laugh bursts out of Mike again, and he furrows his brows.
“They’re scared of being treated the way they treat other people,” Steve says.
“That’s stupid.”
“Yeah. It is.”
“...And kinda sad.”
“...Yeah.”
There’s a pause before Steve speaks again.
“Don’t listen to anything they say to you. About you. They don’t matter, okay?”
But it’s kind of hard for Mike to think that someone doesn’t matter. He knows he shouldn’t care about people’s opinions. But their opinions have always mattered to him. Even if he hated them.
Opinions.
The stuff of nightmares, even after everything Mike’s been through.
They haunt his dreams, along with flashing lights and the whites of Will’s eyes.
Frog face.
Fairy.
Faggot.
He doesn’t know why it cuts so deep, if people don’t like him. Maybe it hurts more because he doesn’t even like himself.
“Mike,” Steve says gently, leaning closer when Mike doesn’t say anything. Mike looks up at him, and his eyes are burning again, his vision swimming with tears, but he can still see the kindness in Steve’s eyes, the gentle expression on his face. “...The only people that really matter are the people that love you.”
Mike looks away again, blinking tears out of his eyes.
“Alright?” Steve murmurs, touching him, pushing his hair out of the way. “Nancy, and Will, and— and the Party, they… They love you. No matter what.”
Mike sniffles, taking a shaky breath as he wipes a tear away from his cheek with the side of his hand.
Steve moves forward, looking into Mike’s eyes, and he looks set on telling him this, on making Mike hear him, on making Mike believe him.
“They love you,” he says slowly, like he knows Mike doesn’t believe it. “They love everything about you, okay? They love your dorky interests and your shitty jokes and your weird Addams Family vibe—”
“Fuck you,” Mike laughs, wiping his face again as Steve laughs.
“Alright?” Steve says, still smiling. “Those assholes from school don’t fuckin’ matter. In twenty years you’re gonna be a wildly successful fantasy author and nothing those fuckers say to you will be relevant.”
Mike blinks, taking it in. He doesn’t even remember telling Steve he wants to be a fantasy author. His father teased him the first and only time he told him. That’ll definitely put food on the table, Mike. But Steve says it like it’s a sure thing. Like it’s obvious.
Mike starts to smile, somehow exhilarated by Steve calling them fuckers.
“Okay,” he says quietly.
“Okay,” Steve says. “And if they give you too much shit, come get me. I’m not above threatening some fifteen-year-olds with my bat. Neither is Eddie.”
A laugh bursts out of Mike, and he thinks he kind of loves Steve.
“Okay,” he says again, wiping his cheek again.
They finish their sodas.
Mike decides he likes the worn carpet. Steve seems comfortable on the floor even though Mike knows how odd it is, the way he laid on the floor to calm down, the way he hasn’t gotten up since, and Mike wonders if he does the same. If that’s why the carpet is so worn.
“Where do you get your hair cut?” Mike asks after a while as they sit with their backs to Steve’s bed. It’s still raining outside, the sky rumbling with quiet thunder.
“Uh, I do it myself.”
Mike makes a face across the room, and he hears Steve snort next to him.
“Damn.”
“You want me to do yours?”
“...Will you?” Mike asks, half-hopeful.
“Yeah,” Steve says lightly, and he’s already moving to get up. “Come on. Rain’s not letting up anytime soon.”
He has Mike pick a record out while he gets the scissors, sets up his desk chair, and gets the vacuum from down the hall. Mike looks through them before picking one by Morbid Angel.
Steve sets it up, laughing to himself and shaking his head as Mike sits in the desk chair, grinning. The music drowns out the sound of the rain and thunder.
Mike takes off his hoodie. The towel Steve drapes around his shoulders smells like laundry detergent, clean and fluffy and warm, and Steve’s hands are gentle as he sprays Mike’s hair with water, dampening it and combing it out. There isn’t a mirror for Mike to watch, so he closes his eyes.
It feels nice, Steve’s comb running through his hair that’s damp with tap water instead of rain. He hears the quiet snip of the scissors in his hair over the loud music, and he suppresses a smile. He hasn’t wanted to cut his hair in ages. The mere thought of it made him feel sick. Especially the thought of getting it cut the way his father wanted him to get it cut, short and masculine and proper.
But he knows Steve is keeping the length.
Cutting off the dead ends.
He stays still as Steve works, combing and snipping and trimming, tapping his feet on the ground in time with the music. Steve puts some kind of expensive-smelling product in his hair that makes it curl nicely, and he dries it with a blow-drier, scrunching and bunching it up in his hand. Mike didn’t realize his hair was so curly. It looks kind of pretty when he looks in the mirror.
He helps Steve vacuum the hair off the ground after, and he holds the towel in place so Steve can vacuum that too. He throws away the soda cans while Steve puts the vacuum away, and he feels lighter now. Like the dead ends of his hair weighted a ton, like he can lift his head all the way up for the first time.
The rain finally lets up.
He hesitates on his way out, the tapes stuffed in the pocket of his hoodie, and Steve seems to sense the hesitation, quietly waiting.
It’s drizzling now, still grey and dreary despite the sunlight peering through the clouds that make the leaves in the trees glow green. His bike is next to Steve’s car, and he looks at it for a moment.
“Do, uhm…” He pauses again, turning back to Steve, who’s lingering in the doorway. “Do you and Eddie… tell each other that you— you love each other?”
He looks into Steve’s eyes, and Steve is almost smiling now, his eyes shining like he knows.
It’s never been easy for Mike to say.
He’s never heard his parents say it to each other. It sounded like a foreign language the first time he heard Mr Sinclair say it to Mrs Sinclair. He’d looked at Lucas, but Lucas hadn’t reacted. Like it was normal.
And he’d wanted to say it to El. But he just couldn’t, not until the world was ending and he had to. It was weird.
He does love her. He knows he does. But it was hard to get out when he knew he couldn’t say it the way he meant it.
He wants to say it to Will. Even if Will hears it in a way he doesn’t mean it. It doesn’t matter. Mike loves him in every way. But it’s like the words get caught in his throat every time he wants to say it out loud.
“Yeah,” Steve says softly. “All the time.”
All the time.
Mike nods, glancing at the ground, at the line between where the rain hit and where it didn’t.
“Is it… Is it hard?”
He looks back up at Steve, who’s looking at him softly somehow.
“No,” he breathes, and he pauses, shifting on his feet. “Loving Eddie…” He looks at the ground, smiling so softly it’s almost absent. “‘S the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”
Mike’s chest tightens.
He nods.
And then he’s moving forward and wrapping his arms around Steve tightly, and Steve is hugging him back like he saw it coming. His arms are strong around Mike, holding him close while Mike shakes.
“...Thank you,” he says finally, his voice weak. That’s all he can say.
“Love you, man,” Steve says softly. He doesn’t sound like he’s expecting to hear it back. He squeezes Mike, and when they part, he ruffles his curls, grinning. “Get outta here.”
Mike swats his hand away, giggling. He feels like a kid again. It’s nice.
He goes home.
Holly is in the living room when he gets there, coloring on the floor while their dad watches the news, and she looks up when he shuts the door, pulling his hood down and shaking his hair out. It feels nice to shake, even if he kind of feels like a wet dog doing it.
“Will is in your room,” she says brightly, looking back down at the unicorn she’s coloring.
He blinks, pausing by the door, reaching into his pocket to hold the tapes. His dad is still looking at the television, brows furrowed. He doesn’t look at Mike, but it feels like he knows about the tapes.
“Will?”
“He came over,” she says plainly.
“Wh— When?”
Jesus, he’s been gone for ages.
“Not too long.”
Vague.
“Thanks, Holly,” he says dryly, heading toward the stairs.
He shakes his curls out again as he reaches for his door handle, smiling, and he opens it. Will is on his bed, curled up in a hoodie and sweatpants, and he looks up when the door opens. He’s already smiling, but the smile falters when he sees Mike, and his eyes widen.
“What?” Mike says, closing his door, his cheeks flushing. He kicks his shoes off to join Will’s and moves toward his dresser, setting the tapes on it next to his Walkman.
“I like your hair.”
Mike falters, looking at him, his stomach flipping over.
“What?”
Will is smiling again, his eyes watching Mike as he tries to casually change into some sweatpants. His jeans are damp from the rain on his bike.
“Your hair,” he says lightly. “It looks good. I didn’t realize it was so curly.”
“Me either,” Mike mumbles, tugging his sweatpants on. They’re a relief from the jeans, soft and warm. It’s raining harder now, the sky darkening again, and he glances outside, thinking he got lucky.
“Where’d you get it done?”
“Uh, Steve did it for me.”
“Steve Harrington?”
“How many Steves do we know, dumbass?”
Will flips him off and laughs, moving toward the edge of the bed to make space for Mike, and he gestures. His hair flops in his face. It’s gotten longer, always more ruffled and messy. It looks good. Mike kind of wants to tell him, but randomly telling him he likes his hair when he hasn’t done anything with it would be awkward, wouldn’t it?
“C’mere, you gotta see this panel, it’s fucking gorgeous.”
Mike pulls off his hoodie, tossing it to his desk before he climbs onto the bed next to him, leaning against the pillows that are stacked against the headboard, and he looks at where Will is pointing. The panel is nice, colorful and detailed, but when Will speaks, it looks even nicer.
Will tends to do that. Make things look more beautiful. Brighter.
Mike looks at him as he talks, as he explains the context and the symbolism of the colors or whatever, and wow, Mike really isn’t listening at all. He’s distracted. Will’s eyes are bright and shiny, his eyelashes fluttering when he blinks, and he’s smiling as he speaks. Mike’s eyes trail over his face, tracing the bridge of his nose, over his smile lines, over the moles spotting his skin.
He’s beautiful.
Curled up in Mike’s bed, wearing a hoodie that Mike is pretty sure is his, talking about the art in some comic book. Happy. Healthy. Safe.
Will trails off when he realizes Mike is just looking at him.
“...What?” he asks shyly, his eyes flickering across Mike’s face.
And they’re close enough that Mike could kiss him if he just leaned in. He kind of wants to. But that wouldn’t be right, he doesn’t think.
His mouth opens, and he tries to speak, stammering silently. Trying to say it.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
It doesn’t come out.
“Will you paint my nails for me?”
Will blinks, and Mike’s face flushes with heat, and he shouldn’t have said that, why the fuck would he say that—
“Yeah,” Will says lightly. Smiling. “Sure.”
Mike opens the window a little and gets the nail polish, the sound of rain and thunder filling the room as Will gets situated on the bed. He clears away the blankets and pillows (which Mike has an abundance of; it’s a little ridiculous, but it’s cozy), sorting them around the bed. They sit cross-legged, facing each other.
Will bites his lip when he’s focussed, and he hunches over their hands. His hands are warm, especially because Mike’s are still a little cold from the rain, and he holds Mike so fucking gently Mike kind of wants to cry.
The polish is cold too. It’s an odd sensation, but it’t not awful. The smell isn’t great, but Will doesn’t seem to mind it, holding Mike’s hand so close to his face Mike can feel his breath.
They’re quiet as Will paints his nails, but it’s not a weird silence, not awkward or tense or anything. It never is, with Will. It’s always like this. Comfortable and warm, like climbing into your own bed after travelling for a while.
With Will focusing on his nails, Mike is free to look at him. He’s not staring, really. Maybe he is. Maybe gazing is a better word.
Sometimes he wishes he was an artist like Will. He would paint him. Draw him. Sculpt him. Anything. He’d want Will to be his muse.
Which is weird, probably. Oh well.
“What do you think?” Will asks, lifting his head. Their eyes meet. His eyes are so pretty. Mike blinks, hearing the question, and he looks down at his hand. His nails are black and shiny, and there isn’t any paint on the skin around his nails. He’s kind of impressed.
“I like it,” he saus softly.
Will beams proudly.
Mike lays down when Will finishes, and Will puts the polish away so Mike doesn’t have to use his hands. It’s pouring outside, loud on the rooftop outside his window. Mike moves to make room for him. He wonders if Eddie is over at Steve’s by now. He realizes the black shirt on the floor is probably his, and then he wonders if Eddie just left it behind or if Steve had borrowed it.
Will lays down next to him, sighing. They’re so close.
Mike holds his hands up above their heads, looking at his nails. The black looks even darker against his pale skin. (He’s really pale. His mom says he needs to go outside this summer. She’s been excited for his trip to California, telling him he’d finally get some sunlight.)
Will copies him, holding his hands up like he’s looking at his bare nails.
His hand touches Mike’s lightly, bumping it, and it’s so soft it could be an accident, but Mike knows it’s not.
He moves his hand closer, smiling when Will touches it again.
They’re quiet as Mike shifts closer, and he’s smiling as Will moves even closer, rolling against Mike and wrapping an arm around his waist. Mike lifts his arm for him to lay on him, resting his arm over him carefully so he doesn’t mess up his nails.
Will sighs. His head is on Mike’s chest, and Mike knows he can hear his heartbeat, but he doesn’t really mind. He hugs him gently, running his hand over his arm.
Their legs tangle.
Will’s arm reaches up and his fingers touch Mike’s hair, pushing into his curls. Mike closes his eyes, exhaling as Will runs his fingers through it, playing with it absently. It feels nice.
Mike can feel Will falling asleep. His breathing slows, becomes heavy, and his hand becomes heavy too, lingering in Mike’s hair before it shifts to touch his neck. His hand is so warm. Mike lets his cheek squish against Will’s head. His hair smells like citrus.
Will takes a breath, sighing and pressing closer, nuzzling against him, and he takes another breath before he speaks, his voice so soft and breathy Mike almost doesn’t hear him.
“Love you.”
Mike stops breathing.
His eyes open slowly, and he looks at the ceiling.
Will stiffens as he realizes what he’s said, but he doesn’t say anything, silent except for the beating of his heart, and Mike slides a hand down his arm, squeezing. His eyes sting.
Will relaxes after a moment when Mike squeezes again.
And it’s fine.
Mike squeezes again, and then he rubs his arm, palm running over the folds in the fabric, and Will somehow presses even closer, his leg lifting before it wraps around Mike’s hips. He turns his head and buries his face in Mike’s chest, groaning weakly, embarrassed. Mike laughs, closing his eyes again, arms tightening around Will to hug him, and he squishes his cheek on his head.
He wants to say it. But when he opens his mouth, his throat gets stuck. He squeezes his eyes shut in frustration, wanting to cry, but Will shifts so he’s almost on top of him, his hand burying itself in his hair again, and he tucks his face into Mike’s neck. It tickles a little, but he stays there, sighing, and Mike tilts his head into his hand, letting him. Will is heavy on him, pressing him into the bed, and it feels nice. Grounding. Especially as his frustration threatens to take over.
Mike squeezes him again. Will hums, like he gets it.
— — — — —
“Oh, my god, dingus, we’re running late.”
“We’re not even going anywhere on a schedule, Rob, there’s nothing to be late for.”
“We’re going on my schedule, and we’re running late.”
“Okay, well, it’s not my fault you took like two hours in the bathroom.”
“I literally take fifteen minute showers, you’re the diva.”
“A fifteen minute shower and then thirty minutes on your hair—”
“Fuck off, you’re the one with a whole shelf of hair supplies, you dick.”
“And you’re the one who uses them.”
“I do not.”
“Liar. You also steal my shirts, don’t act like you don’t.”
“They’re more comfortable, you can’t blame me, womens’ shirts are always fitted or have weird lace or have tighter sleeves and it all makes me want to rip off my skin. At least your shirts have room for tits.”
“Wouldn’t women’s shirts have more room for tits since they’re made for tit-having bodies?”
“Not the room I need. They’re so constricting, it’s like they wanna kill me. Your shirts are comfortable because they’re loose.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“You’re insufferable, you take hour-long showers and brush your teeth for like twenty minutes.”
“I literally don’t. Also you’re complaining, but I’m the one with my shoes on, and you’re the one pouring yourself orange juice.”
“Fuck off—”
Robin leaves her window all the way down when they leave town, and Steve lets her even though the wind fucks up his hair. She likes to leave her arm out of the window, moving her hand up and down to feel the wind around it. He glances at her as they cruise down the empty roads. The sun is bright today, and she’s grinning as she sings along with Stevie Nicks, her hair flying out of her face. One of her legs is pulled up on her seat, and she’s fiddling with her fraying shoelaces. She’s wearing one of Steve’s old shirts, the short sleeves rolled up to her shoulders to battle the summer heat, and her arms are freckled, sun-kissed.
He glances again when she pauses singing, watching her reach for the thermos she filled with orange juice before running after him when they left. The polish on her nails is chipped, purple and orange, painted by Erica and El, and she’s wearing an old ring that Eddie founds while packing out his ring. It fits perfectly around her right pinkie, tarnished silver that shines in the sunlight.
He’s a little in love with her, he thinks.
He glances at her again when she starts singing again. (She has a nice voice.) Her eyes are closed as the light shines on her, like she’s a cat in a sunbeam.
He’s a lot in love with her.
He sings with her when the next song comes on, turning up the volume.
When they get to Bloomington, they stop in a cafe to get coffee. Robin takes her coffee like Eddie takes his, unnecessarily sweet, more milk than coffee. Steve takes his black. Robin and Eddie also both make fun of Steve for it. (“You’re soulless, Harrington.”)
Robin swings their hands as they walk toward the music store, almost skipping. Steve is smiling as he sips the last dregs of his coffee. He loves it when she’s like this, all chipper and shiny.
“So what exactly are you looking for?” he asks as they head into the Rock Shop, the bell above the door dinging cheerfully as Steve opens it and steps aside for Robin to go inside.
“Uh, Siouxsie and the Banshees, the Stooges, Sex Pistols… Et cetera.” She starts down one of the aisles, eyes skimming the signs. Steve lets the door shut behind himself, the bell chiming again. It’s cooler inside, soft breezes from every corner of the shop coming from rotating fans. “Anything, really.”
“Bored of Fleetwood Mac?”
She scoffs, sending him a look over the records between them.
“Like I could get bored of my girl Stevie.”
Steve snorts, shaking his head as he looks down at the records. The metal section is down the aisle. He might get something from Eddie. Motörhead just released a new album, they might have it. Steve can’t quite remember the name of it. Orgasm something or other.
“Can I pick the music on the way home?” Robin asks, thumbing through some records.
“You literally always pick the music.”
“Untrue.”
“Why are you so argumentative today—”
“Hey, Steve!”
They both look up at the sound of the shop owner’s voice, deep and scratchy from years of cigarettes. Steve smiles brightly at him. They’ve known each other for ages, ever since Steve started wanting to just get out of Hawkins. He’d started coming here for music since he got his license, and the shop owner, Marty, has always been kind to him. He once offered to pay for Steve’s gas when he found out he was driving all the way up from Hawkins.
“Hi.”
But Robin stops short, looking back and forth between them, and Steve realizes she’s never been here before like he has.
“You guys know each other?”
Marty’s hands are full, holding heavy boxes as he carries them to the backroom, but he pauses long enough to say, “Oh, yeah, Steve’s been comin’ here for ages. He’d be a regular if he lived in town, huh?” with a little chuckle before he disappears behind the beaded doorway. Robin looks at Steve with a tilted head.
“Hello?”
“What?”
She juts her chin out, making a face, and he raises an eyebrow.
“They don’t have Toto here, Steve.”
He freezes, looking at her for a moment as it dawns on him that she really does always pick the music.
“Okay,” he says, setting a hand on the table between them, and he knows his hip is jutting out a little too, and he looks sassier than he should, but he doesn’t really care. “First of all, I would know that if I’ve been coming here for years. Second, have you ever seen, or heard, me listen to Toto?”
She blinks, her long mascaraed lashes fluttering at him, and he sees the gears turning in her head before she realizes.
“...No.”
“Right,” Steve says pointedly, tilting his head forward. Robin’s lips twitch into an amused smile. “I don’t know where that came from. I don’t listen to Toto.”
“What do you listen to?” she says, furrowing her brows, smile gone, and then her eyes widen. “Oh, my god, I don’t even know what music you listen to, I’m a terrible friend—”
“No, you’re not,” he says, laughing lightly, leaning forward over the records. “I like the same shit as you, so I let you pick the music because I know you would hate the other shit I like.”
She blinks again.
“What else do you like?”
He pauses, staring at her before,
“Like. Just. Death metal. ‘Nd stuff.”
And she blinks again.
Then her face contorts into an expression of pure confusion, and he laughs because he’s never seen her look this confused. That’s usually his role.
“What?”
“Yeah,” he laughs.
“Who are you?” she says, but she’s laughing too. “How did I not know this?”
“I don’t listen to it anyone around,” he says, shrugging, neglecting to add except Eddie.
He hasn’t told her. He doesn’t know why. It’s not like he’s trying to hide it from her, or like he feels like he has to hide it from her. She’d be supportive, he knows.
It’s not like he wants to keep it to himself. He kind of wants to scream it from the rooftops. That he’s in love with a man. It’s just hard to get out. Even when he told Mike, it almost got stuck in his throat. He almost changed his mind.
He just…
Needs the right moment.
And right now, in a public shop, with other people around, even if it isn’t many, isn’t a good place to tell her something like this. So he doesn’t.
“I’ll show you in the car.”
“You just said I could pick the music in the car—”
“Oh, my god, you’re so annoying—”
She goes off to search, and Steve looks in the metal section. The new Motörhead album is at the front, displayed with a little New! sign. Orgasmatron. He was close.
He leaves with that, carefully placed in a paper bag that’s stamped with the Rock Shop’s logo, a planet with lines around it, dotted with music notes. When they’re checking out, he smacks Robin’s hand away as she reaches to pass Marty her money, and he pays for it himself. She gets a Siouxsie and the Banshees record along with a Ramones cassette tape and one from Dead Kennedys. She places them carefully in the paper bag.
“Okay,” Robin says before they’re even buckled in the car, one of her legs drawn up onto her seat to make space on the floor for the paper bag (because for some reason she refuses to put it in the backseat). “Music. Show me.”
“I have tapes in the glove compartment,” he says, putting the key in the ignition, but he doesn’t start the car, leaning back to watch her. But he remembers too late.
“Hello?” she says, lifting one of the tapes up, her eyes wide, grinning, and his face flushes with heat when his eyes skim past the word written on the label.
sweetheart ♡
“Who the fuck is this for?” she asks excitedly, staring at him like she’s scandalized, and his face flushes even hotter as he sighs heavily, looking out across the parking lot.
“Uh,” he says, hesitating. And he sighs again. “It’s, uhm. Not for anyone.”
She’s quiet for a moment, and he glances at her. She blinks, still holding it up, and her smile falters as she processes it.
“...From?”
He nods hesitantly.
And then her grin is back.
“Who?” She reaches out and smacks him. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re seeing someone, you bitch?”
He giggles, swatting her hands away, and he shifts in his seat to face her, hesitating. His heart is beating faster than it should be, and this weirdly feels harder than it was to tell Mike. Which doesn’t make any sense.
But maybe it does. Maybe it’s because he’s kept it from her for so long.
“Uh,” he says again, his mouth dry. He crosses his arms over his chest almost defensively. “I just… I didn’t, like, uhm.” He swallows, avoiding her eyes as she moves to face him, still holding the tape. “I couldn’t think of, uhm. When was a good time. To tell you.”
“To tell me… that you’re seeing someone?”
He swallows again. Nods. Glances at her.
“Just… who I’m seeing.”
She leans forward, over the center console.
“Babe… Who the fuck are you fucking?”
It makes him laugh a little, but his hands are shaking again, and he hates himself for being so nervous. It’s stupid, he knows. But he looks away from her eyes again.
“Uhm.”
“Who else knows?” she asks softly, and she doesn’t sound upset. Just a soft prompt so he doesn’t have to tell her yet. So he can work up to it.
“Uh.” He winces. “Mike?”
“Mike?”
She bursts into laughter, not upset at all like he thought she’d be, and he finally smiles weakly.
“Why does Mike know?” She freezes, suppressing a laugh as she looks at him with wide eyes and a gasp. “Oh my god, did he fucking walk in on it—”
“No,” he says quickly. “God, no, it’s just— I can’t really tell you, it’s just a whole thing.” He gestures vaguely, swatting his hand in the air like he’s dismissing it.
“Okay,” she says, laughing, relieved. “Who is it?”
He looks at her.
His lips part, and he stammers silently for a moment, his voice stuck in his throat again before he finally manages to speak, his voice weak and thin and quiet.
“...Ed— Eddie?”
She blinks, expression blank, and then her shoulders slump, and she looks away, eyes wide as she thinks.
“...Oh.”
Oh. Okay. Not what he was anticipating.
“Oh?” he questions. She nods absently, eyes staring down at the emergency break, and she flips the tape over in her hand.
“Yeah,” she says thoughtfully. “That makes sense, actually.”
“It… It does?”
“Yeah, I mean…” She looks up at him, her eyes sparkling. “That one movie night we had. You fell asleep on his shoulder, and I swear he would have killed any of us if we tried to wake you up. So we left you guys there.”
He remembers it. He had tried to stay awake, but he’d had a long day, and with Eddie’s warmth next to him, he couldn’t help it. He’d drifted off with his head on the back of the sofa and was barely conscious as his head fell to Eddie’s shoulder, as he nuzzled closer, as Eddie’s arm slid across his lap under the blanket they were sharing. When he woke up, they were tangled together, legs entwined, arms tight around each other, and Eddie’s curls were in his face. They, luckily, woke up before anyone else, and got a few minutes to make out on the sofa before they got up to make breakfast and coffee.
“God, I’m so oblivious,” Robin says almost to herself. “You always share blankets during movie nights. You’re holding hands, aren’t you?” she asks, looking up at him, and he nods. “God.”
He doesn’t know what to say. So he stays quiet as she pieces it together.
“How long?” she asks after a few moments.
“Uh, a few weeks. It was after the, uhm, well— kind of during, the— the pool party with the kids.”
She blinks.
“You disappeared during that party, he— he said you weren’t feeling well.”
“It was… I was, like, whatever you call it. Overstimulated. The heat, and the noise and everything, and I just… I had, like, a… a meltdown. And Eddie just… I don’t know. Helped.” His cheeks flush with heat, embarrassed as he looks down. “He was really nice, and it just…”
Robin laughs, reaching out and poking one of his red cheeks. He glares, pushing her hand away.
“He’s nice to you?” she asks, leaning back to lean against the door, looking at him, curling up into a ball comfortably like they aren’t in a parking lot.
“Yeah,” Steve says, scoffing. “Jesus. Yeah. He’s…” He shakes his head, smiling absently, his fingers tangling in his lap. “He’s sweet to me. Treats me right. Real gentle.”
She leans forward in his peripheral, and he looks up at her. Her eyes are wide, and she’s smiling, and she gestures with a wave of her hand.
“What?”
“Details,” she says bluntly. “Come on.”
“I’m not giving you details—”
“Not those details, dingus, just… Tell me about it.”
He sighs heavily, letting his head fall back to the window. The sun is hot on his arm, and the car is warm, but he just relaxes into his seat, mirroring her.
“He, uhm.” He looks down again. “He’s… I don’t know Sweet. He’s, like… careful with me? When I’m feeling overwhelmed or— or when I can’t really talk, or when I’m upset about something. He always asks what I need, and he’s so fucking respectful, like he— he gives me as much space as I need, and he holds me just right when I need it, and he always just… reminds me that I’m okay ‘nd stuff. Tells me it’s not my fault.”
She listens intently, leaning forward over her knees, her chin squishing against her band-aided kneecap.
“It’s like he can read me,” Steve continues. “He comes over, and he— he just knows how I’m feeling, even if I don’t even know, he can always tell if I’m tired or if I’m overwhelmed with something or if I’m hungry, and I don’t even know how he does it, but he still asks what I want, and— and how I want him to touch me or if I wanna be left alone, or…”
He exhales, blinking as his eyes sting suddenly.
“He’s just so… good.”
Robin is quiet for a moment. And then—
“You’re in lo-o-ove…”
He scoffs, and he doesn’t look up, but she still sees the flash in his eyes, and she reaches out to smack his leg.
“You are,” she says excitedly, hitting him again as he giggles and tries to catch her hand. “You’re in love with him, oh my god.”
“Okay,” he says loudly. “Yeah.”
“Does he know?”
“Yeah,” he says shyly. “We… say it to each other.”
She lets out a sound, a high-pitched squeal, and he rolls his eyes, looking away and suppressing a grin.
“How did that go?” she asks, and he can tell that she’s full of curiosity. She’s never dated anyone, she’s told him. Never had anyone to talk to about crushes.
“Just… Very casually,” he says, laughing lightly. “We just said it one night. Love you. Before we hung up and went to bed. I didn’t even realize we’d said it until the next morning, but we just… kept saying it. And then one day he randomly said he was falling in love with me, and I was… like, Yeah. Same. So.”
“And they say romance is dead,” she says dryly, raising an eyebrow, but her eyes are sparkling excitedly. “Have you gone on dates?”
“Not really,” Steve says. “‘S not easy. I wanna take him to a diner for dinner and shit, but… this fuckin’ town. And even if we were in Bloomington,” he adds, glancing around outside. “Or— Or Indy, we just…”
“Yeah,” she says quietly.
“But he picks up takeout sometimes before he comes over,” Steve says, lightening. “And we watch movies or I help him with his new battle vest and stuff. We’ve gone out to the quarry twice.”
She has a little smile on her face as she listens intently.
“It’s…” Steve hesitates again, and he wants to cry. His eyes sting, and his chest feels tight, and his hands are trembling a little. “I’ve never felt like this before,” he says softly, almost whispering. “About— About anyone, he’s so fucking… perfect. I’m just…”
He wipes his cheeks quickly when a tear falls, and Robin moves forward, eyebrows furrowed like she’s going to cry too.
“And maybe it’s just the— the trauma bonding with the, I don’t know, the— the attraction or chemistry or whatever, but it feels so…” He thinks for a moment, wiping his cheek again. “Serious? Like… He’s fucking it for me.”
“Wow,” Robin breathes.
Steve smiles, and she’s grinning back at him, and he pauses again before he holds his left hand up, showing her the ring on his finger. Her eyes look at it, and then widen a little.
“Is that his?”
Steve nods.
“He didn’t even say anything when he gave it to me,” he says, letting her take his hand and touch the ring. “Just leaned over and put it on my finger and kissed me. And he— he didn’t even have to say anything.”
He looks at her and sees her wipe a tear from her cheek.
“That’s really cool,” she says softly. “That’s… really fucking cool.”
He laughs weakly, leaning forward, and she does the same, bumping their foreheads together.
“I’m so in love with him,” he whispers. “I’m so fucking in love with him I feel stupid with it.”
She laughs again, and then she’s hugging him, stretching over across the center console to wrap her arms around his neck, and he squeezes his eyes shut, hugging her back. It almost hurts, this hug, and a part of him realizes how Robin must have felt that night in the bathroom when they talked about Tammy. He feels like something’s been lifted off his shoulders, like something is missing that he won’t miss.
They part after a long few moments, sniffling and smiling, and Robin leans back in her seat, looking at the tape, at Eddie’s blocky handwriting and the uneven heart.
“Have you guys fucked yet?”
“Holy shit.”
Steve turns back toward the wheel and buckles up, starting the car as he shakes his head and Robin laughs.
Robin picks the music on the way home.
edit: i keep forgetting i have a permanent taglist sorry yall; @estrellami-1 @theplantscientist
♡ buy me a coffee ♡
#i fucking went through it during mikes scene good lord#also i just think they should let finn have his natural hair as mike i beg#so pretty#steddie#steddie fanfic#steve harrington#eddie munson#mike wheeler#robin buckley
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Every year Steve and Eddie and Chrissy and Robin get together to watch their favorite childhood Christmas movies. One pick each.
They started back in 1986, the first Christmas after they were all brought together. They were still just friends, then, and they wouldn’t be SteveandEddie and ChrissyandRobin for a while longer.
Chrissy had come into Family Video with Eddie to rent something for Christmas. She wanted White Christmas because it was her favorite as a kid and Robin tells her she always loved It’s A Wonderful Life. Chrissy is surprised it wasn’t The Apartment because it’s one of Robin’s top three movies and Robin is surprised Chrissy remembered.
And then someone says they should all rent their favorite Christmas movie from when they were a kid, make a big night of it, the four of them. So, they do. Chrissy and Robin already have theirs picked out, which leaves Steve and Eddie. Steve can’t decide between A Charlie Brown Christmas and Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, but neither are full length so they let him have both. And Eddie picks Black Christmas.
“This is your favorite childhood Christmas movie?” Robin asks holding up the case. “A horror movie?”
“Yeah, I was like nine when it came out. It was so cool.”
She shakes her head, but she doesn’t protest, and neither do Chrissy or Steve. They’ve all made their choices. That was the deal.
But Steve isn’t sure if he’s embarrassed about his. He’s the only one who picked an actual kid’s movie—well, two of them—but Eddie tells him, when it’s just the two of them, he was thinking of picking A Charlie Brown Christmas, too, and he feels…something else. The spark of something new.
They watch all the movies in Eddie’s trailer, and they don’t all love them, but it’s a really good night. So, they decide to do it the next year. And the year after. And then it becomes their thing.
From VHS to DVD to Blu-Ray, from each of their separate homes in Hawkins to the four of them in one tiny apartment to separate (but close) homes again, from singles to couples, from year to year, the tradition continues without fail.
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The Only Exception Pt 1
Happy Valentine's @riality-check !!!!! I was so psyched to be your Valentine committing Valencrimes and I hope you love it!!!
Read the first chapter on ao3 here!
There really wasn’t anything in the world that felt as good as kissing Eddie.
Steve prided himself on being a good kisser. He was attractive for a lot of reasons, and one of them was that he knew how to kiss. He had never had a problem getting girls to melt into his lap or quietly beg for more in soft breathy moans.
It was wild to be on the other side of that.
Eddie just had this way about him. It wasn’t that he was the most amazing kisser Steve had ever been with, but there was just this energy that he had that made Steve weak in the knees and fuzzy in the brain. It was like everything he did was electric, and all Steve could do was surrender.
But everything about Eddie was like that.
All of the mundane things that Steve liked about relationships just felt better. Holding hands was warmer, sharing a bucket of popcorn at the movies tasted better, even driving around in the middle of the night was more peaceful. Steve adored everything about Eddie, everything about the relationship they had built
In fact, Eddie Munson was probably the love of Steve’s life.
There was just one little problem…
“The boys are here!” Eddie immediately gasped when there was a knock at the door, breaking their kiss and practically throwing Steve off of him as he went flying out of the room. Steve hung back, lying down flat and staring up at the ceiling, trying to will away both his boner and his irrational disappointment.
The problem was that Eddie Munson didn’t seem to have a single romantic bone in his body.
It wasn’t that he didn’t love Steve. Eddie practically worshipped Steve, and he made sure his boyfriend knew it too. They were always together, always touching, always falling asleep in one bed tangled up in each other. There were times when Eddie would just hold his face in both hands and look at Steve like he was everything the world had to offer. Steve had never doubted that devotion.
But they didn’t have romance.
Part of that was probably the fact that they had fallen into a relationship almost purely by accident. Steve and Eddie hadn’t had some long drawn out courtship, or big confession in the pouring rain. At times it almost felt like one day they had gone from best friends to dating without ever really saying anything. One day they were Steve and Eddie, and the next they were SteveandEddie.
It just turned out that holding hands wasn’t a joke to mess with the kids anymore, but just the natural thing to do when they walked anywhere. It went from Wayne teasing Eddie for keeping Steve like a stray, to calling him son and saying that he can stay as long as he liked.
It was nice. Steve had always done things in a really formal routine way. When he decided that he liked a girl, he followed steps. Do stuff to get her to notice, make the first move, take her on dates, maybe sleep together, and break up eventually.
This was different. It was warm, easy, a slow unexpected slide into love that began with Eddie softly kissing him goodnight without any fear that Steve would reject that kiss. They went into it already knowing they were in love.
And because of that, there wasn’t really a need for over the top gestures or grand speeches about undying affection. They had done all that before dating, when Steve brought Eddie back from the dead, and then when Eddie taught Steve how to live. After all of the drama, it was nice to have something that was peaceful. Steve didn’t want anything insane or theatrical.
Okay, maybe he wanted it.
Just a teeny tiny version of it. He wanted pulled out chairs at a candlelit dinner and a dozen roses ‘anonymously’ delivered to his workplace. He wanted little gestures that would make his heart flutter, little ways he could flaunt how wonderful his partner was.
Steve was dating his best friend, and that was great, but sometimes he wanted to be dating his boyfriend, and he had no idea how to explain the difference to Eddie.
“Steeeeeeeve! Come save me from our children!” Eddie’s voice called from the living room, pulling Steve out of his funk and back into action. He hefted himself out of the bed and down the hallway, stopping in the doorway of the living room and looking down at the pile on the floor with far too much fondness.
Somehow all of the boys had ended up wrestling Eddie to the ground in the thirty seconds that they had been here, and now they were lying all over him, giggling like loons. It warmed Steve’s heart to see them just getting to be kids, and he loved the goofy smiles on all of their faces.
No one he had dated before had ever understood his relationship with the kids, and it had always been a point of contention. Eddie embraced his ‘single mother’ status with gusto, and even the kids he didn’t already know had quickly begun to consider Eddie another one of their ‘parents’.
See? Steve told himself, This is the kind of thing you never got with anyone else. Romance never gave you this.
He loved this. This was perfect. There was no need to want more.
……he still wanted more.
“Alright brats, let your other father go,” Steve said with a laugh, gently kicking the part of the pile he was closest to. The boys untangled themselves from Eddie, leaving him starfished out on the floor dramatically gasping for air.
“You’re not our dads,” Mike grumbled, just because he had to for appearances. Steve rolled his eyes and walked past them all, leaning down and holding out a hand to his boyfriend.
“What are you even still doing here?” Dustin demanded in that oh so bratty tone of his, “It’s Hellfire night,”
“Nice to see you too Dustybun,” Steve snarked back, helping Eddie up and giving him a soft kiss on the cheek, “Just saying goodbye.”
Eddie wound his arms around Steve’s middle, knocking their foreheads together and dipping Steve backwards till they were both stumbling to catch each other.
“I like it better when you guys aren’t romantic,” Dustin said with a groan, the other boys instantly agreeing. Steve sighed and pulled away from Eddie, trying to ignore the way the words dug in between his ribs.
Was that romantic? It was just a kiss on the cheek and a hug. That didn’t really feel like the pinnacle of romantic gestures, but maybe his standards were just too damn high. Maybe he was too lost in what romance was ‘supposed’ to look like. Maybe things were different when it was two guys.
Maybe he was overthinking things.
“Guess we’ll have to get used to it seeing as Valentine’s is around the corner,” Will said with a shrug, completely unaware of Steve’s inner struggles.
“Shoot. I gotta figure out what to get Max,” Lucas said, rubbing the top of his head in a slightly theatrical way.
“You don’t know yet?” Dustin asked incredulously, shaking his head, “Dude, you’re asking to get dumped. Again.”
Lucas flipped him off with ease, turning to Steve and Eddie with a frantic look.
“Eddie? Help?” He practically begged, clasping his hands together. Steve opened his mouth to say something snarky about Lucas choosing to ask Eddie instead of him, but Eddie managed to speak first.
“You’ll have to ask someone else. I hate Valentine's Day,” Eddie stated, stopping all thoughts in their tracks.
“What?” Steve blurted out, turning to Eddie with an affronted look, “How do you hate Valentine’s?”
“It’s a fake holiday!” Eddie said with a laugh, staring down at Steve like he was amazed Steve didn’t already know that.
“All holidays are fake holidays,” Steve argued back, unsure of why he was holding so tight to this. It wasn’t like Valentine’s was his favorite holiday in the world, but it felt significant now, important when combined with the already there problem in their relationship.
No romance and no Valentine’s? They were going to be glorified roommates by the end of the year at this rate.
“Other holidays have some reason for existing. Even April Fool’s has some history to it,” Eddie started, untangling from Steve and beginning to pace as he ranted, “Valentine’s is completely made up and totally cliche. There isn’t any reason it exists besides capitalism and societal pressure. Basically it’s just a stupid excuse for stores to jack up prices on chocolate and for couples to measure the worth of their partner in dollars and nickels.”
Normally Steve loved Eddie’s little speeches against society and conformity. Loved them, or tolerated them, at least. He liked how passionate his partner was, how much Eddie cared about everything.
This one just left him feeling kind of hollow.
“Didn’t know you hated it so much,” Steve muttered, hating how transparent he was about how upsetting his boyfriend’s words were.
“Hey you knew what you were signing on for. It’s my sworn duty to hate anything that the man supports,” Eddie said, coming back over and swooping down to press tons of tiny kisses to Steve’s cheeks till he was smiling again.
“Besides, who needs all that fake bull?” Eddie sighed, shifting and wrapping his arms around Steve from behind, resting his chin on Steve’s shoulder, “We get along just fine without having to pretend and do all that unnecessary crap, don’t we Sunshine?”
“Whatever you say,” Steve said, shaking his head. He didn’t really want to get into it when he already was so unsure of what was upsetting him. Besides, Eddie loved being able to say he was right.
Sure enough his boyfriend started to preen the second he heard Steve’s words, giving him another kiss and bouncing away towards the dining room of the new house.
“Goodbye, my darling prince! I hate to see you leave, but oh do I love to watch you go,” Eddie declared poking his head out from the doorway to the dining room and waggling his eyebrows as the boys groaned and declared that they were the ‘grossest’ couple ever.
“You’re such a goofball,” Steve chuckled, waving as he began to walk out, “Have fun,”
“See ya later, Babes!” Eddie called out behind him, making the cool night air just a little bit warmer as it hit Steve’s cheeks.
Eddie and Wayne’s new house was in a nice neighborhood. Not exactly Loch Nora, but not far from it. The government’s way of saying ‘sorry we let you take the blame for all of this and almost get killed by an angry mob’. It was a pretty little one story cottage with a treehouse and everything.
And the best part was, it was right across the street from Max’s new house.
“Sorry I’m late,” Steve said as he walked in the door, already hearing the sound of a movie playing on the TV and the smell of burnt popcorn hanging in the air.
“Let me guess…you were with Eddie,” Erica said as the girls came into the foyer, crossing her arms and giving Steve an up and down look. He opened his mouth and she clicked her tongue, “And don’t try and say you weren’t, cause we just watched you walk over from his house.”
Steve huffed out a soft laugh, toeing off his shoes and walking into the living room.
“I wasn’t planning to say I wasn’t,” Steve said, sitting down on the couch, “Just that I’m sorry I lost track of time,”
All three girls gave him scrutinizing looks, sharing glances with each other. Steve waited patiently for them to decide his fate, grabbing one of the less burned pieces of popcorn and tossing it into his mouth, checking out the movie they had chosen.
Desperately Seeking Susan.
He was really going to have to start talking to them about their Madonna obsession. It was getting concerning.
“We will forgive you if you do our hair” El finally said, jutting out her chin as if she was daring Steve to say no. He crossed his legs and pulled his ankles close, pushing the coffee table forward to give her enough room to scoot in between the two pieces.
“Get over here, Supergirl,” Steve said in lieu of agreeing. She eagerly flew down into the free space and Max scurried off to get her supplies.
The girls were good at making things up on the fly when they wanted to mess around with their hair, but they wanted to make their hair look like the pop idols they saw in the magazines. El had come to him with puppy eyes and a cut out picture of Madonna a week ago, begging without words for assistance.
So here he was with teasing combs, scrunchies, a full slew of hair care products, and a head full of advice from Mrs. Sinclair on how to do Erica’s hair. Mrs. Sinclair had been pretty unsure about Steve’s intentions when he first came to her to ask for help, but his eagerness had been enough to melt the icy wall around her, and he had won a full set of instructions on the best way to braid Erica’s hair, which he had studiously read over and over until he was sure he had it down.
But as much as Steve loved spending time with the girls, it was obvious to everyone in the room that he was still distracted. Eddie’s words from before were the only thing he could focus on, which meant his normally stellar hair styling skills were leaving something to be desired.
“Oh geez, sorry El,” Steve apologized as he pulled on her hair hard enough to make her yelp.
She floated the hairbrush out of his hand and gave him a low level glare. He held out his hand, and she smartly rapped him on his palm with it once before handing the brush back and settling back into place.
“Awww is your mind still stuck on Eddieeeeee?” Max teased, getting in Steve’s space and making the other two girls laugh and trade silly smirks. Steve’s barely recovered mood instantly soured.
“No,” He answered shortly, turning all his attention to the short curls in front of him, brushing through them with brusque efficiency
“What’s got your panties in a twist?” El muttered, once again making the brush float out of his reach.
“El!” Steve said scandalized. He turned to Max and shot her a look, practically wagging a finger at her.
“Don’t teach her phrases like that,” He ordered.
“Why? She’s right. They are twisted,” Erica pointed out.
“Erica,” Steve groaned. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes, praying for strength, before facing forward again and grabbing El’s hair to start pulling her curls back into a bun, “Nothing’s wrong you guys,”
The girls clearly weren’t buying it. El untangled herself from Steve’s grip, and now all three were right in front of him, staring at him with intense little looks.
“Oh Steve, you fool,” Max tutted, shaking her head, “You just told a lie. And what is the first rule of our party?”
“Don’t say it,” Steve shot back, fully prepared to get up and walk out of the house if he had to hear that damn little line one more time.
“Then tell us what is wrong,” El demanded.
There was no way he was getting out of this. This was only going to end when they knew, so he might as well just tell them.
They might even be able to help him.
“Eddie hates Valentine’s Day,” Steve admitted, watching Max and Erica both immediately explode.
“What?! No one hates Valentine’s Day. Not even me,” Max said, throwing up her hands in disgust.
“Apparently he does,” Steve said glumly, sighing and resting his chin on his fist. Now that he had said it out loud, it was even more of a bummer. It wasn’t like they could go out for a date or anything, but the prospect of not even celebrating was just a complete downer
“Valentine is the candy holiday? The one Mike calls Winter Halloween?” El asked hesitantly.
“It’s not exactly the same. It’s a holiday where you celebrate love,” Steve explained slowly, trying to pick the perfect words to convey the full concept. They learned quickly that El would fill in gaps with her own thoughts, and those thoughts were usually…not always the best, “Couples usually get each other chocolates or do something special to show how much they care about each other,”
“That sounds very nice. Why does Eddie not like it?” El wondered aloud, quirking her head to the side.
“He says that it’s cliche and fake. He doesn’t think we need romance,” Steve shrugged, hating the thorns that were digging deep into his chest, “I guess he’s right,”
“No he’s not!” Max snapped, giving Steve a disgusted look, “If you want romance, which you should, then make him give it to you or dump his ass,”
El nodded along sagely, and Steve chuckled softly, rolling his eyes. That was the problem with asking high schoolers for advice on your love life- inevitably their advice would be about forcing a situation to go the way they wanted. There was no explaining to them that in adult relationships, compromise was king.
“Why don’t you just show him?” Erica asked, clearly deep in thought, “Make him see why you like romantic stuff so much, then tell him you want more of that. Then he has an idea of what you’re looking for.”
That…actually wasn’t a bad plan.
Steve didn’t have to ask Eddie for more, he just had to show Eddie how much better things could be with a little bit of romance.
“You’re pretty smart, you know that?” Steve said rhetorically, giving Erica a warm smile.
“Yeah I do,” She replied. Her tone was biting as usual, but she was ducking her head and looked thoroughly pleased at helping him turn around his mood. She sat in El’s former spot and fluffed out her tight curls, “I also know that my hair is still not braided. El, Max, help Lover Boy come up with ideas while he makes another attempt at box braids.”
“Let’s see if I’ve gotten any better,” Steve mumbled to himself as the other girls began to grab magazines and leaf through them, throwing out suggestions left and right.
This idea was going to work, and the best part was that it wasn’t even that hard. He was the King of romance, a modern day Romeo. Eddie wasn’t going to know what hit him.
#Steve harrington#Eddie munson#steddie#steddie fic#steddie ficlet#stranger things#st#stranger things 4#st4#stranger things fic#max mayfield#el hopper#erica sinclair#Steve and the girls my fave#Ria!!!#I'm so psyched I got you#you're in for such a treat!!!!#steve harrington#eddie munson#Liam speaks up#Writing(withacapitalW)
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A lavender pin in his pocket
And the "mmm well, it never came up I guess" that Steve says to Eddie in the library is a coy call back to a few months ago, before Steve and Eddie become SteveandEddie.
He and Robin are at the Hideout to watch Corroded Coffin as they frequently do these days, to support their friend and give Steve an excuse to ogle Eddie without feeling as much of a creep like when they're just hanging out at home.
Robin knows her best friend's motivation and while she had been gentle in her teasing early on, the longer this crush keeps rolling on and Steve refuses to make a move the more the smirks and nudges become full eye rolls and loud exclamations of "yeah Eddie, it was a great show. Steve couldn't tear his eyes away from the stage!"
Steve's all glares behind Eddie's distractingly sweaty back while also drawing a thumb across his neck at an unimpressed and uncowed Robin.
Eddie turns those big Bambi eyes to Steve, fluttering his lashes to Stevie, thanking him for his precious patronage.
Steve's blushing because the dimples have also made an appearance and he reckons he's too young for heart palpitations, but the kids have told him enough times that he's an old man so maybe Eddie is just the way he's going to go. He silently sighs in acceptance, so be it.
Steve just says a simple "always" and knocks his shoulder against Eddie's. Raises his voice over the music to say he'll get them drinks before walking over to the bar. He knows the two are probably moving towards the nearest booth, but swears he feels the heat of being watched at the back of his neck.
Steve's at the bar, having given his order for a round of the piss-weak beer that is the Hideout's finest, when a tall and warm body slides in next to him. It's a guy Steve's seen when they've been here before. He's cute, wide eyes and long fingers though a little fair haired for his taste.
Because the thing is, between learning that it's okay to like the same sex in a grotty mall bathroom to an increasing desire to shove his hands down a certain metalhead's ridiculously tight pants, Steve has had his bisexual crisis and awakening. And if he could tell Robin--and truely believe--that it's okay for her to like girls. If he could encourage her to chase love ("53 minutes and 5 seconds, Robin!"), then why can't he do the same for himself.
So Steve has let himself look, he's let himself make eye contact and take up a little suggestive banter. Tonight won't be the first time he's engaged in some light-hearted flirting with a boy at the Hideout. Because, as it turns out, to dear Robin's shock -- there are gays in Hawkins, they are just very low-key and are more likely to visit clubs the town over or to outsider places -- like the Hideout.
Steve hasn't been hiding who he is and allowing himself to look and nearly touch for the first time ever has been freeing. Thrilling. Because Steve likes to flirt, like's the rush of his pulse speeding, the bashful turn of a profile, the bold stares back. It's fun.
But he hasn't taken it much further than that. And if he's truly honest, his heart hasn't really pounded or pulse truely sped up, but it's all still in good fun.
At the heart of the matter though, the reason he keeps it light with the blonde-haired boy at the bar is because of a little pin that he keeps on him at near all times. Burning in his pocket for another boy.
A metal pin of lavender for Eddie's new battle vest. Symbolising healing for a boy who faced down a hoard of demobats and devotation from a one-time jock and all-round babysitter hopelessly in love.
So the blond guy gets pretty close, but Steve eventually walks away, carefully carrying the glasses over to his friends. He dodges around one rowdy group to see Eddie's eyes trained on him in their u-shaped booth. Face straight, gaze heavy.
Steve raises his brows in confusion as he slides in across from him, pushing Robin away unceremoniously with his hip. She squawks, shooting him a dirty look because balance will never be her thing, but it doesn't compare to Eddie's face.
"What?" Steve asks, pushing Eddie's glass into his waiting palm.
"You and that guy were pretty close up there," Eddie's voice is so neutral as to be unnatural.
He's always humming, or hamming it up with a character's voice, calling out 'my leige' to a waiting Steve or 'my bodacious babe' to a snorting Robin. Even at the dead of night, the two of them lying in one of their beds, giving comfort in the face of the usual round of nightmares, his voice is low and soft. Careful like a delicate thing. But never neutral.
Eddie's gay so Steve is pretty sure this is not a homophobic moment. His heart starts that patter again at the thought that maybe, just maybe, Eddie might have been jealous.
While Steve may not have said it he has made his interest in men plain. And he's hinted as hard as he can to Eddie that he wants his interest to be confined to just the one. But Steve can't get a read on Eddie who is just as much of a flirt as he is and that little part of him who hears bullshit, you're bullshit doesn't know if he can risk blowing up their friendship.
So he simply shrugs, "he was cute."
"And you didn't mind that he was hitting on you," Eddie's eyes narrow.
Robin laughs, but her eyes are calculating. Their telepathy is at full power and he knows she's asking to out him, even though he's out already. But Eddie apparently still hasn't put together the clues Steve has left scattered about like blindingly gayconfetti. Steve rolls his eyes at her, permission given.
She leans a sharp elbow on Steve's shoulder, "well, that would be pretty hypocritical of him now, wouldn't it? What'd you say last week - nice ass?" She mimes sticking a finger down her throat, mock-gagging.
"You're gay?" Eddie looks like he's been hit by a demobat right in the face.
Steve shrugs carefully, keeping his gaze on Eddie. "I think you'd say, bi. But yeah, I like men."
"You never said," Eddie's voice is strangled. At least it's better than neutral.
"Mmm, well, it never came up I guess. It's not like I was keeping it a secret.” Steve smiles slightly into his beer, enjoying the emotions running riot over Eddie's expressive face. From amazement, to chagrin, to speculation.
"Oh look, there's that girl from that other night, I might just --" Robin's hand's conduct an invisible orchestra in the air before she clambers over Steve, elbowing him in the chest on the way out. He's mostly sure it was an accident.
It does take the wind out of his sails for a moment, but there's still that look on Eddie's face so he slides deeper into the booth until he's flush against his side.
They're the same height, but Steve's torso is a little longer, giving him the advantage. He moves closer, their noses nearly touching, those damn Bambi eyes looking up at him, making him stupid. He can feel the puff of Eddie's breath against his lips, slightly faster than sitting down warrants.
He licks his own as if to draw Eddie's breath into him and he'll be damned if the other boy doesn't follow the motion, eyes blowing out and lids a little heavier than before. Steve's a flirt so he knows the signs, knows when someone wants to kiss him. He's not making this up, Eddie wants to kiss him.
The thought makes his head that bit more fuzzier, quieting that insecure voice and giving rise to the want that is ever present in his life now. His want and need for this clever, brave, and beautiful man.
"Eddie," he whispers.
Eddie hums in response, questioning. One big question in those wide brown eyes.
And Steve wants to answer with a kiss, with a resounding motion of desire and love, but the Hideout is not the time or place. He's not that stupid.
Instead, he asks what's in his heart. What he wants to start them with, gently and with the knowledge that he can show Eddie his devotion.
"Will you go out with me?"
Eddie grins, swaying a little to him but not closing the distance. Eddie is not stupid either. Never stupid, Steve thinks. The smartest man he probably knows.
"I'd like that, big boy." He curls a length of hair around his finger, bringing it forward over his pretty dimples and beautiful smile. Steve grins in response, tugging the hair away to hook it gently behind his ear. He always wants to see Eddie, see all of him.
And right now won't be the time he kisses him, that will come. And maybe that pin stays in his pocket for a little longer, though not really as long as he tries. But this is that first honest moment in a long succession of many where Steve and Eddie are lost in each other.
This is in response to @hobbitharrington very cool post re Steve loving nature and flowers and gardening (which is why it starts referencing something else) ->
#flowers are steves love language#that pin sits above eddies heart#just think of a cute little flower pin amongst all the metal bands#steddie#stranger things
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Eddie happy stimming in public and Dustin being simply the coolest about it and thinking how he expresses his emotions are awesome
Post-Vecna, Steve and Eddie found themselves unable to see Dustin as much as they’d like.
So, they planned random things to do together. Sometimes they go grocery shopping, sometimes they get ice cream… sometimes they even go to the bookstore.
Eddie loves the bookstore.
“Keep flapping like that, you’re gonna fly away,” Steve laughs, following Dustin and Eddie to the DnD section of the store. Little figures are lined up one by one, ready to be bought. Beautiful dice sets are packaged right next to the maps. To Eddie, it’s mesmerizing.
“Dustin, Dustin, look!” Eddie exclaims, his fists now hitting his chest with vigor. The most beautiful set of dice he’s ever seen lay in front of him. Crimson red and black colors combined to make a color scheme just perfect for Eddie’s collection.
Dustin grabs Eddie’s arm and pulls it off his chest. “I’m looking, I’m looking, dude, but why the hell are you hitting yourself?”
And that’s why Eddie prefers Dustin to the others. No dancing around the question he actually wants to ask, no ill intentions behind his curiosity.
Eddie thinks for a moment. “You know I have autism, right?” Dustin nods. “Sometimes I get way too excited and I can’t hold in my feelings, so I start swinging or hitting or yelling.”
“And,” Steve interjects, “Sometimes that means hitting yourself way too hard.”
“So,” Dustin flaps his hand as Eddie had done earlier. “Like… Like that?”
“Yeah.”
Dustin smiles, and flaps both hands. “Hey, I guess this does feel pretty good.” Still stimming, he says, “You know, I think you do good at expressing emotions, Eddie. Different isn’t bad.”
Eddie and Steve smile. Eddie looks at the boy in front of him proudly. “Yeah… different isn’t bad.”
#stimming#eddie munson#autistic eddie munson#stranger things#steddie#angst#eddie munson autism#steve harrington#hurt/comfort#dustin stranger things#dustin henderson#steveandeddie#adamwrites
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something about eddie as the possessive one in the relationship is so fun to think about. we all assume steve, this guy with plenty of practice and charm and all that, is the one who wants it to be known that he's dating the eddie munson. and while that's of course true, just think about how possessive eddie would be that he bagged the steve harrington?
steve who can't walk around town without at least one fading hickey on his neck, always placed over that one mole that if you tilt your head a little bit, it kind of looks like a heart. steve who starts wearing band shirts of groups he couldn't pick out of a lineup after eddie slipped a clean one into his drawer one day when he did the laundry. steve who has a guitar pick against his chest on a chain and a bulky ring on his finger and a card of some dnd character that eddie made in his wallet and a hand in his back pocket to pull him closer to his boyfriend.
and then there's the whole... face thing. where everyone knows that there's a certain smile steve has for eddie. there's a certain softness behind his eyes that's for eddie. there's a certain flush that dots his cheeks and the tips of his ears that's for eddie. it fills him with a rush of something that burns bright and sears through his veins when he sees the love he has for steve reflected back at him where anyone could see. where he wants everyone to see.
eddie revels in the stares they get when he knows that they're wearing matching grins and have the same fluttering hearts because he hadn't exactly dated before, but he somehow got steve. this guy who's seemingly made of starlight and makes him feel alive and who could get anyone he could want, yet he chose eddie of all people. and he's obsessed with the fact that people see steve and see him, too. that steve's not just steve and he's not just eddie, but its a frankesteined steveandeddie that people think of in the same breath.
#idk just thinking thought on this lovely thursday don't mind me#steddie#steddie headcanon#my writing#eddie munson#steve harrington#stranger things
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STWG daily drabble - 03/10/23
Prompt: Rehab
cw: alcoholism, depression, mention of suicidal ideation (no specifics), mention of scars, mentions of rehab, cw infidelity
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Thirty days. He’d done thirty days.
They hadn’t been apart for that long… well, ever, now that he thought about it. While they weren’t really a thing when they left Hawkins, they were something. EddieandSteve, SteveandEddie, that weird coming together of two people so diametrically opposed that their friends and relatives still remarked on it now, twenty years later. The weirdest Ying and Yang ever, as Robin would say.
That they’d made it to twenty years, technically twenty years, four months and eighteen days, not that he’s counting, that they’d made it that long boggled even his mind. They always assumed that the scars, the ones people could see and the ones they couldn’t, would end up creating a fissure. That the fault line was there and the wrong comment, the wrong action would just tear it open and all the pain, all the emotional baggage would just gush out and drown them.
There were times, very occasional times, when the fault line cracked open a little and their feet got wet. The first time Eddie left, back in ninety three, so depressed and ground down by the world that they both thought he was going to do something stupid. Very nearly did something stupid. The depression was still there, they’d accepted it now, they just managed it as they went. They were a team. That’s how they coped.
Or when Steve, so exhausted by Eddie’s extreme moods, that he spent more and more time at work and less and less time at home. Spent more time with a work mate than he did with Eddie. Spent enough time with her that they ended up in her bed. That one nearly finished them off for good. But it’d been seven years since then, and they kept working at it, and it kept getting easier.
Scars were permanent reminders of an event. They both learned to deal with the physical ones a long time ago. Steve’s had faded enough that public swimming pools didn’t phase him anymore, but Eddie’s still looked angry on his pale skin even after all this time. So they rented private homes on vacation, places with pools so that Eddie could swim, skin to the air and water, without worrying about anyone looking.
But it had been the invisible ones that had cast the longest shadows over the last twenty years (and four months and eighteen days, not that he’s counting). The ones they’d both finally accepted they’d never truly be free from. The scars that made themselves known during the neighbourhood firework display. Or when a flock of birds flew across the sky, dark wings and caws as they swooped overhead.
The ones that left them wrung out and exhausted from nightmares so often that they took turns using the guest room so that at least one of them could get a good nights sleep. Not all the time, they wanted to be there for each other, needed to be there as much as they could. But they were barrelling into their forties (where did the time go?). They couldn’t operate the way they did when they first got together, they actually needed sleep to function now. And in Eddie’s case it wasn’t just about functioning, it was about keeping his mood somewhat on an even keel. It was about keeping him from places they couldn’t pull him back from. So yeah, a spare bed was a necessity in their home.
Sometimes the pain from those scars could be dulled, though. Weed. Prescription painkillers.
Alcohol.
It had been thirty one days since his last drink.
The first week was fucking horrific, but he got through it. Just had to remember what he had at home. And the fact that it was court ordered rehab and he didn’t have a choice. He got lucky after the first DUI. Technically he got lucky after the second one. It could have been jail.
He felt… good? It’d been a while since he’d been this sober this long. He looked better, less sallow. He’d been eating better, too. He was filling out his clothes in places he hadn’t even noticed got loose. There were lots of things he hadn’t noticed.
He signed the release paperwork and picked up his bag before heading outside to the horrible bright orange Ford Ranger. He’d suggest getting a new car, but he wasn’t going to be driving anywhere for a while.
“Hey you,” he said, all casual like he hadn’t been away detoxing, having therapy, and generally crying and moaning for the last thirty days.
“‘Hey you’? That’s what you’re going with? ‘Hey you’?”
He shrugged, a shy smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.
“Get your ass over here, Harrington.”
It hit him all at once, the shame and the realisation of what he risked, what he could have lost. The last twenty years (and four months and eighteen days, not that he’s counting) with this man, with Eddie. His Eddie. All the good days, all the bad ones, all the boring ones in between.
EddieandSteve. SteveandEddie.
“Oh, it’s Harrington, now?” Steve choked out, voice thick, eyes wet.
Eddie shook his head, “Come here.” They grabbed at each other like they were drowning, each of them a life raft for the other.
“Let’s go home,” said Eddie.
Steve could only nod, out of words, overwhelmed. It wasn’t over. It wasn’t done just because he spent thirty days in rehab. It would be forever, like Eddie’s depression. But they’d coped with that, and Eddie told him they’d cope with this and he believed him. They’ve got this.
They’re a team.
#stwgdailyprompt#steddie#steddie fanfic#eddie munson#steve harrington#stranger things fanfiction#Steddie fanfiction#cw alcoholism#cw rehab#cw depression#cw scars#cw suicidality#my writing#dreamy writes#cw infidelity
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AU where eddie gets sent off to boarding school because he’s causing trouble and steve gets sent off to boarding school because his parents thought it would be good for him. (read: didn’t want to deal with him)
they’re roommates and they spark a fast friendship and they’re absolutely inseparable the entire time they’re there.
steve and eddie become steveandeddie and spend their days terrorizing their teachers and classmates, and their nights thinking about how their lives might be different somewhere else.
it’s not until they graduate and move off to college somewhere that it clicks.
that out from under the structure and weight of expectations from going to a boys school they can be and do whatever they want.
turns out the sparks had been butterflies all along, and now free of their cocoons, they take flight in their rib cages and never land.
au august day 7: boarding school
#au august#steddie#don’t love this one and the inspiration was lacking#which is funny considering i literally went to boarding school#but anyway#shot of gin
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