Steve trims his split-ends in the bathroom one day and Eddie finds the trimmings in the garbage.
“What the hell is this?” Eddie barks the question, holding the trash can in front of Steve’s face. The crime has turned Eddie into some sort of Hair Lawyer, showcasing the evidence to the defendant.
Steve peers over top the magazine that he’s skimming through, examines the inside of the garbage can, and then returns back to reading.
“Baby, don’t do this.”
Which - wow - what a fucking outrageous response. Like who responds to their prosecutor with pet names and zero justification? Who does that?
“I didn’t do shit - you did this!” Eddie stares into the garbage can. Wiping imaginary tears from the corners of his eyes and staring longingly at the stray brown hairs. No longer attached to Steve’s gorgeous, perfect head.
“This is a travesty.”
“It’s just dead hair.”
“No, it was very much alive.” Eddie drops to his knees, pointing directly to Steve as he speaks. “You murdered it, Steve Harrington.”
“Whatever, I’ll play along.” Steve tosses his magazine to the side of the couch, rolling his eyes.
“What do you mean play al-” Eddie gets cut off by Steve’s finger over his lips.
He strokes Eddie’s cheek with the pad of his thumb, and the block of anger in Eddie’s chest goes all melty at the contact.
“How can I make this bizarro grieving process better?” Steve asks sweetly. His words are cushions to soften this devastating blow.
Like seriously, Aphrodite fucking molded Steve Harrington from god-like love and leftover cosmic dust. Why would he cut his hair knowing how ethereal he is? Okay sure, this is just Eddie’s Theory, but he’s goddamn convinced there’s pieces of Steve that are otherworldly - his infamous hair being one of them for sure.
“Eddie?”
“Sorry. Distracted.”
Distracted by his pretty boyfriend is a common occurrence in Eddie’s life now, but whatever.
"How do we fix this so I can avoid a guilty verdict by the jury of one?" Steve boops his finger onto Eddie's nose as he says 'one.' It makes Eddie all giggly, the anger is practically a puddle at this point. But if Eddie Munson is anything, it's consistent. If he starts a comedy bit, you bet your ass he's gonna fully commit.
"We're gonna bury it." Eddie acts solemn, regaining his silly little charade.
"My hair?"
"Uh huh."
"Eds..."
"It deserves a proper place of rest."
Steve exhales loudly. For a moment, he just looks over Eddie's features. Probably thinking, what the hell have I gotten myself into with this walking freakshow?
And before Eddie can allow that toxic thought to take occupancy in his mind, Steve puffs out his shiny pink lips and kisses Eddie. Nothing too rough, nothing too gentle (cause Eddie despises feathery-lipped kisses). It's the Goldilocks Effect of Kisses: just the right amount of everything. Just enough pressure, movement, tongue, all of it. Steve Harrington's lips can sweep away negative mindsets and replace them with shimmering constellations of positivity.
"Okay, baby." Steve says, eyes still closed post-kissing his boyfriend thoughtless. "I'll get the shoebox, you call the rest of the gang."
"Why?"
"Cause if we're doing this your way, we've gotta go all out."
"Which means?"
Steve pecks Eddie's cheek and gives him a quick wink:
"We're gonna have a whole damn funeral for my hair."
And that's when it hits him: the only thing Eddie is more committed to than his comedy bits, is Steve Harrington.
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