Coldflash Ship

In barely any time at all the Harrington place has become a safe haven for children with superpowers and he's doing increasingly suspicious shopping hauls to make sure he has all of their comfort items as well as the essentials or falling asleep in class and tripping over his own feet in gym because he was up comforting some of the kids after they had night terrors the night before.

Countless expensive items of furniture belonging to his parents, grandparents and great grandparents have been accidentally destroyed but he doesn't care because it's all ugly anyway. He does wish some of them would stop accidentally broadcasting top secret phone calls over the kitchen radio though because he's not entirely certain it won't be traced back to them somehow.

Hopper drops by one day because the neighbours called about suspicious activity only to find the very kids he's discovered military personnel snooping around their town in search of all under the Harringtons' roof. All fiercely protective of Steve Harrington and vice versa if Steve wielding a metal coat stand at him like a weapon the second he answered the door was anything to go by.

"Kid, put that thing down and get inside!" he whispers sharply in way of a greeting. Later, when they're in the kitchen talking, Hopper tells him off for being too quick to attack. "What were you even thinking, Steve? I'm the chief of police. You're lucky I didn't just shoot you on the spot for attempting to assault an officer."

"No," El says, from the doorway where she was listening in. She levitates Hopper's gun out of the holster and turning it mid air to point straight at his face. "You're the lucky one. Steve protects us."

"Okay, it's okay. I'm fine see?" Steve shows her. "Let's not threaten to shoot people at the kitchen table because my parents will go nuclear if blood stains get on anything in here."

Hopper looks at him with wide eyes and says. "Steve, you're clearly in over your head here."

"Tell me about it," Steve sighs, but then his head snaps up like he immediately regrets admitting to that. "Please don't take them away though. And please don't tell those scientist people where they are. I can take care of it, I promise. I just need more time to adjust. I- They're just kids and those people are hurting them in that lab Hopper, please."

Hopper calms him down and tells him it's alright and he's not going to do any of that. He wants to keep the kids safe too, but they need to be smarter about it and find a more secure location and a way to get supplies and let the kids use their powers in a safe way without drawing attention of anyone who might want to hurt them.

They end up running a secret home for children with supernatural powers who were freed from experimentation and pretty much any outcasts who would protect them. El cannot be cooped up for too long and wanders off a lot so that definitely includes the party once she bumps into them by chance one day.

Once they've established roles and a plan, they start to go back to the lab in small groups/pairs to try and rescue more kids. They also check out locations where it's rumoured there may be more of these labs. Sometimes they only manage to find files but recently Steve and Dustin found someone.

He's in his late teens, a little older than Steve. He's clearly been there a long time and is clearly terrified, although they aren't sure if it's of the scientists or his own powers. When Steve first reaches out to help him stand, it's like he's shocked Steve is offering for him to take his hand. He quickly backs further into the wall with these big wild frightened brown eyes like an animal being cornered and Steve feels helpless for a brief moment, but he reminds himself how long it took some of the others to trust anyone.

In a hoarse whisper from a voice that sounds like it doesn't get used a lot, the other boy simply says, "Don't."

Steve stops immediately, offers what he hopes is a kind, reassuring smile and backs up a little to give him space. “Okay. I won’t touch you. I just... what should I call you?”

The boy’s eyes are observant, calculating.

“…Eddie,” he says finally.

"Alright, Eddie. We're here to get you out." Steve says as calmly as possible.

Eddie shakes his head firmly.

"I can't leave," he says, "and you have to go before they come back."

"We can't do that," Dustin argues. "Stop being a stubborn idiot and get up so we can rescue you."

Steve rubs his temples and sighs as he thinks about how Dustin really needs to learn even just the tiniest bit of tact.

"It's safer for everyone if I'm in here," the boy explains, defeated.

"Bullshit," Dustin replies. "They're trying to turn you into a weapon. How is that safe for anyone?"

"Just go," Eddie snaps. His eyes flicker orange for a millisecond, barely there, but Steve catches it.

It's a test, he's trying to prove to himself that he doesn't deserve to be rescued, that the people who've been torturing him in this place for God knows how long were right about him. It hurts less to believe it's safer for everyone if he stays locked away than it would to try to fight back, try to challenge that idea and fail.

Steve holds a hand up to stop Dustin from saying whatever he has prepared to say next.

"You aren't going to hurt us," he says, his voice firm with the confidence of someone who has zero doubt that what they're saying is true. "Whatever they've told you about who you are, it's all lies. You're not the monster here. They are."

Eddie laughs. It’s sharp and broken, like the sound surprises him as much as anyone else.

“You don’t know that,” he says. His hands curl into fists, knuckles white. “You don’t know what happens. What they've made me do in here."

"Try us," Dustin challenges, his arms folded across his chest.

The air shifts.

Eddie’s breath stutters.

The heat comes first rolling off him in waves. Fire crawls along his arms, blooming from his skin in uneven bursts. He hisses through clenched teeth, shoulders curling inward.

Steve sees the skin of his arms flush immediately. Angry pink, spreading fast.

“Hey,” Steve says, sharp now. “Stop, you're hurting yourself.”

Eddie laughs, brittle. The fire snaps out.

For half a second, there’s nothing. Then a metal filing cabinet in the corner begins to glow, crimson bleeding through grey and slowly growing brighter. Heat radiates from it and turns the air in the cramped room thicker.

That explains why there's barely anything in the way of furniture, Steve thinks.

"They figured I was no use if it was hurting me so they trained me to harm other things with it instead." Eddie explains.

Steve swallows. He's not scared, he’s furious.

“They did the same thing to some of the others,” he says quietly.

Eddie’s head snaps up.

“Others?”

“Yeah.” Steve nods. “Kids. Younger than you. Some can move things. Some can hear stuff they shouldn’t. We’ve lost three lamps and a microwave just this week.”

Dustin snorts. “Four lamps.”

"Okay. Four," Steve says.

"My friend El flipped a van once just by nodding her head," Dustin chimes in with a bright, proud smile. "She's awesome."

Steve slowly turns to give Dustin a look that says 'you're not helping'. Eddie looks at him like he's spoken in an alien language.

“The point is,” Steve says gently, “you’re not alone. We've got this place, somewhere peaceful and well hidden. It's safe there."

Eddie stares at him like he’s trying to see through the words.

“Safe,” he repeats, flat. Skeptical.

“Safe,” Steve says again, softer this time. “Messy. Loud. Kind of falling apart at the seams, honestly. But safe.”

The faint glow in the room dims further, heat bleeding out of the air until Steve can breathe normally again. Eddie’s shoulders sag, just a little, like he’s been holding himself rigid for so long he’s forgotten what it feels like to loosen.

“I can't always control it.” Eddie says quietly.

“That's okay,” Steve replies, no hesitation. “We'll figure it out together.”

He takes a careful step closer, slow enough that Eddie can tell he’s doing it on purpose. Not crowding. Just present.

“You don’t have to decide anything right now,” Steve says. “We’re not dragging you out. If you say no, we leave. That’s it.”

Dustin frowns but doesn’t argue.

“But,” Steve continues, “if you want to come with us? There’s a room waiting. You can lock the door. You can stay up all night. You can not talk for weeks if you want. Nobody’s going to make you prove anything.”

Eddie’s hands tremble. He presses them together, fingers digging into his palms like he’s afraid of what they might do on their own.

“They’ll come looking for me,” he says.

“We know,” Steve answers. “If they want you, they'll have to get through all of us first.”

Silence stretches between them, thick and heavy.

Finally, Eddie pushes himself up from the wall. His knees wobble, but he stays standing. The lights flicker once, just once, then steady.

He takes a step toward Steve.

Stops.

Steve doesn’t move.

Eddie swallows hard. His eyes flick to Steve’s hand, hanging loose at his side, and then back to his face.

“You said,” Eddie murmurs, voice barely there, “you wouldn’t touch me.”

“I won’t,” Steve says immediately. “Not unless you want me to.”

Another breath. Shaky. Determined.

Eddie reaches out.

His fingers hover for a second, like he’s bracing for something; pain, fire, rejection, and when none of it comes, he closes his hand around Steve’s.

Steve’s grip is warm. Solid. Steady.

Eddie exhales, something breaking loose in his chest as he does.

“…Okay,” he whispers. "Let's get the Hell out of here."

Steve nods once, squeezes his hand softly.

Steve opens the door for the girl with a soft, “After you,” and she brushes past him without a word. When she stumbles on the stairs, he catches her gently by the elbow, murmurs an apology for touching her without warning, and offers his arm for balance the rest of the way.

Eddie blinks. Huh.

They settle into their seats two rows down and directly in front of Eddie.

Of course they do.

The movie doesn’t start for another thirty minutes, not even trailers yet, but Eddie’s already more interested in the Steve Harrington Show than whatever’s going to be on screen. He feels like he’s getting a sneak peek behind the scenes into Steve’s world and it’s nothing like he imagined.

They sit. She shivers under the AC, and Steve immediately shrugs off his jacket and offers it to her. Then he offers to switch seats so she’s not directly under the vent.

Surprisingly, Steve’s the perfect gentleman. He asks about her day, offers her popcorn, and laughs at a joke that leans more mean than funny—though Eddie catches the subtle flicker of discomfort in his posture when she’s not looking.

He compliments her hair and outfit, asks what kind of music she’s into, and even admits to liking '70s rock. It’s something Eddie never expected to hear from him but can’t help respecting. It’s the kind of detail that makes Eddie pause, realizing with a jolt that they might have a few songs in common. And that’s unexpectedly disarming.

Steve even double-checks if she’s sure she’s okay with horror movies, offering to see something else if she’s not.

“Why? Are you scared?” she teases.

“Terrified,” Steve replies with a grin. “But I figured if I screamed, you’d protect me.”

Eddie nearly chokes on a kernel of popcorn.

That was smooth. Like, actually smooth. It wasn’t cocky or rehearsed. It was playful and self-aware. The line showed Steve didn’t take himself too seriously, a refreshing contrast to the image-obsessed popular kids Eddie had grown up resenting. He leans forward slightly, eyes narrowing like he’s trying to solve a tricky riff. That line might’ve even worked on him. He’s always been a sucker for someone who knows how to be a little silly without losing sincerity.

“Huh,” he mutters, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He shifts in his seat, suddenly more invested in this pre-show than the actual movie he’s paid to see.

But then the girl leans in, voice low and suggestive. “I didn’t expect you to take me on a date like this. When I said we should watch a movie, I thought we’d grab one from the rental store and watch it at your place. Or, you know… somewhere more private.”

She walks her fingers up his chest in a way that makes Eddie want to gag.

Eddie rolls his eyes. Here we go.

He braces for the shift; the moment Steve drops the nice guy act and becomes the player everyone says he is. The moment he starts acting like the stereotypical meathead jock who only cares about getting girls into bed and out again before they get too attached. God forbid a straight guy have actual emotions or care about someone beyond the surface.

But it doesn’t come.

“Oh,” Steve says, shoulders going stiff. He takes hold of her hand and moves it away from his chest but holds onto it gently. “I thought we could spend some time together. Get to know each other. This is just our first date, after all, right?”

“I guess.” The girl shrugs. “I just thought you were supposed to be into showing girls a good time. I’ve heard the rumors.”

Steve laughs, but it’s nervous. Hollow. His eyes flick toward the fire exit like he’s considering a tactical retreat.

“Yeah, uh… you don’t need to worry about that,” he says. “I was kind of a mess in junior year. I’ve learned a lot since then. Hookups were fun, sure, but they never really felt good after. I’d rather have something real now.”

“Hmm,” she says, unimpressed and takes her hand back, turning back to the screen.

Eddie frowns. Something about her tone grates on him. Dismissive. Like Steve just offered her a piece of himself and she tossed it aside without looking.

He shifts again, but this time it’s not out of amusement. His smirk is gone, replaced by a furrowed brow and a faint scowl. He watches Steve fumble through the conversation, trying to be honest and vulnerable and getting nothing but attitude in return.

And it bugs him. More than it should.

Maybe it’s because he’s seen too many guys like Steve get away with being jerks. But here’s Steve, trying to be better, trying to be real, and this girl’s treating him like he’s a joke.

Eddie knows what that feels like. To be misunderstood. To have people assume the worst of you based on old stories and high school gossip. And it sits right on his last nerve to watch it happen to someone else.

The conversation shifts.

Not in a dramatic way. There are no raised voices, no sudden outbursts, just a slow, steady unraveling. It’s like watching a thread being pulled loose from a sweater.

The girl starts interrupting Steve. Not just once, but over and over. She talks over him, cuts him off mid-sentence, contradicts him just to do it. When he mentions liking a certain band, she scoffs and says they’re overrated. When he shares a memory about a summer job, she calls it boring.

Eddie watches it all unfold like a car crash in slow motion.

Steve doesn’t snap. Doesn’t even push back. He just absorbs the impact of it. Smiles tightly. Tries to steer the conversation back to neutral ground. He’s patient, too patient. Like he’s used to this and he’s trying not to make a scene.

Eddie’s scowl deepens.

He doesn’t know why it’s bothering him so much. Maybe it’s because he expected Steve to be the problem. Expected him to be the shallow one. But instead, he’s watching Steve try—really try—to be kind, to connect and make something work. And this girl is steamrolling him like he’s not even there.

It’s uncomfortable. And not in the way Eddie usually enjoys.

The lights dim. A hush falls over the theatre. The trailers are about to start.

And then she speaks again.

“Oh wow, look at that,” she says, pointing down toward one of the lower rows. Her voice is just loud enough to carry. “I bet they think no one can see them because the lights are off.”

Eddie follows her gaze.

Two men. Sitting close. Hands intertwined.

Something drops in his stomach.

“Gross, right?” she laughs, looking at Steve for agreement.

The sound is sharp. Ugly. It cuts through the quiet like a knife.

Eddie freezes.

He doesn’t know those guys. Doesn’t need to. Because he knows that feeling. The one where you let yourself believe, just for a second, that you’re safe. That you can be like the people who are allowed to love their partner openly. That you can feel normal, just for one precious moment.

And then someone like her reminds you of exactly what the world thinks of you.

His jaw clenches. His grip tightens on the armrest. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath through his nose and braces himself for the inevitable crushing blow of hearing his straight boy high school crush agree that men who like men are gross.

It doesn’t come.

Eddie cautiously opens his eyes.

Steve doesn’t say anything at first. But Eddie sees the way his shoulders have gone rigid, the way his head has dipped slightly, like he’s trying to disappear into the seat. And that’s when Eddie knows.

This isn’t just secondhand embarrassment. Her comment hit him somewhere deep.

The girl leans in again, not picking up on Steve’s body language silently screaming at her to stop, voice low but still audible. “I mean, it’s just weird, right? Why do they have to do that in public? It’s not like anyone wants to see it.”

Eddie’s blood runs cold.

Steve shifts. His hands curl into fists on his knees. Then, quietly but firmly, he says, “Shut up.”

The girl turns, startled. “Excuse me?”

“I said shut up,” Steve repeats, louder this time. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He watches the girl recoil, stunned, and then scoff like she’s the one who’s been wronged. “What crawled up your ass all of a sudden?”

“They’re just two people who like each other,” Steve says. “They’re trying to enjoy a date. How is that any of your business?”

Eddie’s breath catches.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just stares at the back of Steve Harrington’s head like it’s suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world.

Steve had said something. Not just something, he had stood up - loud and clear and without hesitation - for two strangers. For people like Eddie. Eddie’s heart is pounding, but not from fear this time. It’s something else. Something warmer. Fiercer.

“Because it’s weird.” The girl doubles down,

“You wouldn’t think it was weird if it was those two people over there who were holding hands.” He gestures toward a man and woman sitting together near the front of the theatre.

“That’s different.”

Steve turns to her fully now, eyes sharp. “How?”

“Because it’s two men. It’s wrong. It’s disgusting,” she says. “I’d say the same if it were two women.”

Steve flinches hard, like he’s been physically hit.

There’s a beat of silence. Heavy. Final.

“I’m very close to someone who’s gay. And they’re smarter, kinder, funnier, and better than you’ll ever be,” Steve says, voice low and steady. “This date is over. Don’t bother calling me.” He goes to stand, but the girl shoves him back down and rises from her seat instead.

“You don’t get to walk out on me, I’m walking out on you,” she snaps. “I only came on this stupid date because I was bored, and I thought you’d wanna fool around like you supposedly do with all the other girls anyway. Turns out you’re a disappointment.”

She grabs her purse, mutters something under her breath, and storms out, heels clicking angrily against the floor.

Steve doesn’t watch her go. He just stares straight ahead, jaw tight, hands still clenched on his knees.

Eddie swallows hard.

He wants to say something. ‘Thank you for saying that,’ maybe. Or ‘that was brave’. Or even just ‘hey’. But all he can do is stare, stunned and a little breathless, because Steve Harrington just shattered every expectation Eddie ever had of him. And now Eddie’s sitting here while a laundry detergent commercial plays loudly in the background, heart in his throat, wondering how the hell he ever thought he had this guy figured out.

Steve puts his face in his hands and exhales deeply, like he’s trying to calm himself down. He seems tired now, defeated. Something about that doesn’t sit right with Eddie after what he just witnessed. It spurs him into action. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He just knows he can’t keep sitting there without saying something.

So, he stands. Walks down the steps. And stops at Steve’s row.

Steve hears the footsteps and looks up, startled. His expression flickers—confusion, then recognition, then something like wariness.

“Hey,” Eddie says, voice low. “Mind if I sit?”

His heart is hammering out a beat that would rival the work of the drummers in his favourite metal bands. He’s still mentally preparing himself for this Steve to disappear and be replaced by the jerk that had existed in his brain for the past few years.

Instead, Steve blinks at him, surprised. “Uh… sure? Eddie, right?”

“That’s what all the legends call me,” Eddie confirms, dropping into the seat beside him. There’s a beat of silence. Then he turns to look at Steve and “You okay?”

Steve lets out a breath, a small smile appearing on his face. “Yeah. I mean, not really. But I will be.”

Eddie nods. He doesn’t push. Just lets the quiet settle for a moment. Then he says, “So that was a lot.”

Steve huffs a laugh. “Yeah. Not exactly how I pictured the night going. I assume you heard everything?”

“Yep. She sucked,” Eddie says bluntly.

Steve snorts. “Yeah. She really did.”

Another pause. Eddie shifts, glancing sideways at him. “You didn’t have to say anything,” he says. “But you did.”

Steve shrugs, but there’s tension in his shoulders. “Didn’t feel like a choice.”

“That’s kind of the point, though,” Eddie says. “Most people would’ve just let it slide. Pretended they didn’t hear it. You didn’t.”

Steve’s quiet for a second. Then he says, “I’ve let too much slide before. I’m not doing that anymore.”

Eddie studies him. There’s something in Steve’s voice, something tired, but solid. Like a line’s been drawn and he’s not stepping back from it. And Eddie feels that twist in his chest again. That strange, warm ache.

“I meant every word I said,” Steve adds, softer now. “I have a close friend, more like a platonic soulmate really, who’s gay and the best person I know." He looks wounded. “And hearing someone I put enough trust in to consider dating basically call that person gross and disgusting and wrong... I couldn’t just sit here and listen to that crap.” His fists clench. “It’s one thing if it’s me she’s saying those things about but-”

He turns to face Eddie, his eyes wide and hands shaking as he realises the implications of what he said.

And Eddie knows that feeling.

He’s worn that same expression before. In locker rooms. In hallways. In classrooms where someone said something cruel under their breath and everyone else just laughed. But Steve Harrington? King Steve? He’s not supposed to know what that feels like.

Except he does.

Eddie nods slowly. “It’s okay. I figured.” He admits as casually as possible to try and ease Steve’s panic, although he’s still reeling over the events of the past few minutes. “You’re safe with me,” he promises.

Steve’s tense shoulders deflate, and glances at him curiously. “You?”

Eddie meets his eyes. “Yeah. Me.”

There’s no shock in Steve’s face. No judgment. Just a quiet kind of understanding.

“Cool,” Steve says. And he means it.

Eddie lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Then he grins, crooked and a little shy.

“You know,” he says, “you’re not what I expected.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re kind of a dork from the bits of conversation I overheard before things went bad.”

Steve laughs, and it’s real this time. “Takes one to know one.”

They sit in silence for a moment longer, their eyes lingering on each other, then Steve fully relaxes into his seat and turns to face the screen. “Well, no sense in wasting my ticket,” he says, then he holds his popcorn bucket out to Eddie, who’s only just realised he left his behind. “Wanna share?”

Eddie grins and grabs a handful. “Thought you’d never ask.”

—————————

It’s the most fun Eddie’s had in a while.

Steve leans into his space every now and then, whispering snarky commentary about the characters’ terrible decisions and even worse fashion choices. He especially tears into the asshole jock character, which catches Eddie off guard in the best way.

Eddie starts leaning in too, throwing in his own jabs, and before long, they’re trading quips like they’ve done this a hundred times before. At one point, one of them says something so ridiculous that they both dissolve into laughter. It’s the kind that’s breathless and uncontrollable.

Someone turns around and shushes them, loud and annoyed.

They immediately straighten, whispering apologies like guilty schoolkids. But the second the person turns back around, they catch each other’s eyes and grin, barely holding back another round of hysterics.

Steve nudges Eddie’s shoulder with his own, playful and warm.

Eddie nudges back.

If the small, friendly gesture sends goosebumps up his arms, well—that’s for Eddie to know and nobody else to find out.

Then, near the end of the film, the tension ramps up. The music swells. Eddie’s leaning forward slightly, eyes narrowed, when a sudden jumpscare hits and Steve gasps. Before Eddie can even register what’s happening, a larger, warmer hand grabs his.

Eddie freezes.

Not because he’s scared of the movie—though the jumpscare was decent—but because Steve Harrington is holding his hand.

Tightly.

Warm fingers wrapped around his own, palm pressed flush against his. It’s instinctive, a reflex, but Steve doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t even seem to realize he’s doing it at first.

Eddie doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. He’s not sure if it’s the shock or the fact that his heart is currently trying to beat its way out of his chest, but he’s rooted to the spot.

Then Steve seems to realize what he’s done. His grip loosens slightly, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he glances sideways, eyes wide, a little sheepish.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “Didn’t mean to grab you like that.”

Eddie turns his head slowly, meets his gaze. Steve’s face is flushed, his expression somewhere between embarrassed and apologetic. Eddie could make a joke. He could laugh it off, tease him.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he gives Steve’s hand a gentle squeeze.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “You can hold on if you want.”

Steve blinks. His eyes search Eddie’s face for a moment, like he’s trying to figure out if he’s serious. Then he smiles, small, grateful and a little shy. It warms Eddie to his very core.

He doesn’t let go.

They sit like that for the rest of the movie. Their shoulders brushing, hands clasped between them and fingers intertwined, the flickering light from the screen casting soft shadows across their faces. Eddie doesn’t even remember how the movie ends, but he remembers the way Steve’s thumb brushed lightly over his when the final girl shared a kiss with her love interest.

And he knows, without a doubt, that something’s changed and shifted between them. It’s something small, but at the same time monumental.

As the lights come up, Steve sighs. He gives Eddie’s hand one last squeeze before letting go and standing to stretch. Eddie’s hand falls to his lap, suddenly cold, and he stares at it for a second like it might still remember the shape of Steve’s fingers.

He already misses the warmth. The weight. The quiet reassurance of it.

“Did you drive here?” Steve asks suddenly.

Eddie blinks, caught off guard. He expected this to be the end. He expected they would just awkwardly part ways in silence after this, try to lose each other in the small crowd exiting the theatre and then avoid each other for the most part. Maybe they would share a nod or a half-smile the next time he wandered into Family Video, but that’s all Eddie had hoped for.

He hadn’t hoped for this, for Steve waiting for Eddie to stand too, still looking at him like he wants to keep talking.

“Uh, yeah,” Eddie says. “My van’s out back.”

Steve nods. “Cool. I parked a few rows over. You wanna walk out together?”

Eddie’s heart stutters. He stands slowly, trying to play it cool. “Yeah. Sure. Why not?”

They fall into step as they exit the theatre, the buzz of the credits still echoing faintly behind them. The lobby is mostly empty now, just a few stragglers and the hum of vending machines. Outside, the night air is cool and quiet, the parking lot bathed in soft yellow light.

For a moment, neither of them says anything.

Then Steve glances over, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. “Thanks for sitting with me. I didn’t expect… well, any of this.”

Eddie shrugs, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, me neither. But I’m glad I did.”

Steve smiles back, and it’s that same small, shy one from earlier. It makes Eddie feel like he’s standing too close to a bonfire, especially now with the glow of the streetlights illuminating Steve’s features. They reach the edge of the lot where their cars are parked a few rows apart. Eddie slows, not quite ready to say goodbye.

Steve hesitates too. Then, almost nervously, he says, “Hey, uh… are you hungry?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, slower this time, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, I could eat.”

Steve’s face lights up, just a little. “There’s a diner a few blocks from here. It’s not fancy, but they’ve got decent fries and terrible coffee.”

“Sounds perfect. Lead the way, sweetheart.”

The pet name's out before Eddie can stop it.

His brain short-circuits the second it leaves his mouth. His eyes go wide, and he immediately wants to rewind time, shove the word back down his throat, and pretend it never happened.

Shit.

He curses himself silently. Nicknames have always slipped out like second nature around his friends, bandmates, even the occasional stranger. But this? This is Steve. And this moment feels different. More fragile. More real.

He risks a glance at Steve, fully expecting confusion, maybe discomfort.

But Steve’s just looking at him with that same soft smile. A little surprised, sure, but not upset. If anything, he looks… pleased?

“Sweetheart, huh?” Steve says, raising an eyebrow, but there’s a teasing lilt in his voice.

Eddie lets out a breathy, nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s a reflex. I swear. I’ve called random people on the street ‘darlin’ and the guy working the counter at the gas station ‘babe’ before now.”

Steve hums, clearly amused. “Didn’t say I minded. But now I’m a little jealous of the guy at the gas station.”

Eddie blinks. “You didn’t? …You are?”

“Nope, not at all. And yeah, I am.” Steve starts walking, hands in his pockets, glancing back over his shoulder with an exaggerated pout. “Thought I might’ve been special for a second there.”

Eddie wants to kiss that look right off his face, but he reels that thought in fast. Steve’s probably just joking. Just sharing friendly banter with a guy he knows won’t hurt him for it. Who is Eddie to deny him that experience or make it awkward by assigning a deeper meaning to it?

“What can I say, Steve?” he shrugs. “The man sometimes gives me discounts on my favourite brand of cigarette. How can you compete with that?”

Steve bites his lip, clearly trying to stifle a smile. Eddie’s eyes lock on his mouth.

“I can think of a few ways,” Steve says, voice low, suggestive and just a little nervous as he sways into Eddie’s space. He gets close, so close Eddie’s stomach swoops.

Then a devilish grin curls at the corner of Steve’s lips.

“Last one to the diner pays.”

“Wha—” Eddie starts, dazed.

But Steve’s already taken off running, his laughter echoing behind him.

“Hey! That’s no fucking fair! You’re rich!” Eddie shouts, already breaking into a sprint.

Steve turns, running backward for a second just to flash him a grin. “Better catch up to me then!”

Eddie cackles, wild and breathless, as he chases after him. He sees the moment Steve realizes he’s gaining fast and the flicker of panic that crosses his face. Steve hadn’t counted on the fact that Eddie Munson has years of experience running from trouble.

Trying to push his legs to work faster turns out to be a fruitless effort for Steve because Eddie manages to catch him around the waist and spin him away from the front door of the diner just as he’s about to reach for the handle. They almost end up sprawled on the ground together from the momentum of it, but Steve manages to grasp Eddie’s forearms and fix their footing as the metalhead leans against his back and laughs uncontrollably.

They stand there for a second, tangled up in each other, catching their breath. Eddie leans into him, still chuckling, and Steve can’t help but laugh too, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep and giddy.

“You’re fast,” Steve says, glancing over his shoulder.

“You’re slow,” Eddie counters, grinning like he’s won the lottery.

Steve rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling too. “You tackled me.”

“I redirected you,” Eddie says, mock-offended. “With grace.”

Steve turns in his grip, still holding onto Eddie’s arms, and they’re suddenly face to face. Close. Closer than they’ve been all night. The laughter fades into something quieter, softer.

Eddie’s eyes flick to Steve’s mouth for just a second. Steve notices.

For a heartbeat, neither of them moves.

Then the diner door swings open behind them with a loud ding, and a couple walks out, chatting loudly and breaking the moment. Eddie steps back, clearing his throat. “Guess we should, uh… go inside before they run out of terrible coffee.”

Steve nods, still smiling. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

————————

“So, what you’re telling me is that you’re basically a single parent to six?”

They’re sat in a booth in the back corner, chatting animatedly and occasionally stealing each other’s fries even though they got exactly the same thing. They’d foregone the crappy coffee for milkshakes though, Steve’s strawberry and Eddie’s chocolate.

“Seven if you count Erica, Lucas’ little sister,” Steve corrects him. “But jury’s still out on whether she’s actually a child or whether Lucas is just living with the consequences of feeding a mogwai after midnight.”

“God you are such a nerd,” Eddie laughs, delighted. “’Mogwai’? You didn’t even use the incorrect term - ‘gremlin’ - like most people would. You just went straight in there with ‘mogwai’.”

Steve grins, clearly pleased with himself. “What can I say? I take my pop culture references seriously.”

Eddie leans back in the booth, shaking his head with a smile. “You’re a walking contradiction, Steve. You look like you should be quarterbacking some all-American football team, but you talk like you’ve got the entire catalogue of Family Video memorised.”

Steve sips his milkshake, eyes twinkling. “Maybe I do.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Do you?”

Steve shrugs, all faux-casual. “You’ll have to hang out with me again to find out.”

Eddie’s caught off guard for a second, not by the words, but by the way Steve says them. Like it’s not a joke. Like he means it. Eddie, who’s spent most of his life waiting for the other shoe to drop, finds himself hoping just a little that maybe this time it won’t.

He smiles, softer now. “So, if you don’t mind me asking, how does King of the jocks and certified lady-killer Steve Harrington become an actually decent and interesting guy with a brood of little lost ducklings?”

Steve leans back in the booth, fingers idly tracing the condensation on his milkshake glass.

“It’s a long story, but I guess I just got tired of pretending I wanted the same things I used to,” he says. “Back in high school, it was all about the image. The parties, the girls, the reputation. I thought that was what I was supposed to want. What everyone expected from me.”

Eddie watches him, the teasing gone from his expression.

“But somewhere along the way, I realized I didn’t want to keep chasing something that never really made me feel good. I started figuring out that what I actually want is something that feels real. Something that lasts.”

He glances up, meets Eddie’s eyes. There’s something open in his expression. It’s unguarded, but cautious. Eddie’s heart does something strange in his chest, tightens and softens all at once. He reminds himself that shouldn’t be reading into things; Steve might just be getting used to having someone he can talk to about all this.

He nods slowly, voice quiet. “Yeah. I get that.”

They share a soft, secret smile.

“So,” Steve says. “You like metal, right? I don’t think I’ve ever listened to that before. What do you like about it?”

It’s a hard pivot in the topic of conversation, but Eddie allows it. Mostly because the fact that Steve seems to realise how important music is to Eddie and makes a point to ask him about it. Eddie’s eyes light up at the question, and he sits up a little straighter.

“Oh man, where do I even start?” he says, grinning. “Okay, so it’s loud, it’s chaotic. But it’s also honest. It doesn’t pretend to be something it’s not. It’s raw and messy and emotional, and it doesn’t apologise for any of it.”

Steve watches him, chin propped on one hand, milkshake forgotten for the moment.

Eddie continues, more animated now. “And a lot of the songs are about overcoming adversity. About going through hell and somehow still fighting and persevering. It’s about taking back power when the world is trying to crush you. It makes me feel confident for a change, like I could take on anything. And people complain that it’s just noise but that’s so far from the truth. It takes so much talent and years of dedication and-”

He pauses, his eyes flicking to Steve’s, suddenly self-conscious. “Sorry. I’m rambling.”

Steve shakes his head, smiling. “No, I like it. You talk about it like it’s more than just music.”

“It is,” Eddie shrugs, a little sheepish. “It kind of saved my life, y’know? When everything else felt like it was falling apart and I had nowhere I belonged, metal was the one place I could just be and feel accepted. No masks. No pretending.”

Steve’s expression softens. “That makes sense.”

There’s a beat of quiet between them, not awkward, just full. Like the air’s thick with things unsaid but understood. Then Steve leans forward, a playful glint in his eye. “So, if I wanted to dip my toe into the world of metal, where would I start? What’s, like, the gateway drug?”

“Really? You want to give up your metal virginity?”

“Didn’t have to put it like that,” Steve says, his face scrunching up in a way that’s far too cute to do anything good for Eddie’s heart.

“Okay, you’re coming over to my trailer as soon as possible and I’m going to play you some songs. I’m already mentally writing a list. This is gonna be so good.” Eddie laughs ecstatically and rubs his hands together deviously. “We’ll make a metalhead out of you yet, Steve.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Steve replies, his expression so open and honest that it gives Eddie pause.

Eddie’s demeanor turns softer. “You don’t have to like it though, y’know. I won’t be offended.”

“I know,” Steve meets his gaze, steady. “I want to understand the things that matter to you.”

Eddie’s caught off guard again. His heart does that weird fluttery thing, and he has to look away before he says something stupid.

“Cool,” he says, voice a little rough. “Yeah. Cool.”

They go back to their fries, the silence between them now warm and companionable. Outside, the neon sign of the diner flickers softly, casting pink and blue shadows across the table.

——————————

The bell chimes above their heads and a nice, middle-aged lady calls out a, “Thank you for coming, be sure to get home safe,” as Eddie holds the door open for Steve and they step back out into the cold night air.

Steve sidles up next to him. “Thank you for getting the door for me, Sweetheart,” he says, teasing.

Eddie groans loudly. “You are not going to let me forget about that, are you?"

“Never,” Steve beams.

They settle into a comfortable silence as they walk. Their shoulders touch once, then again, and neither of them moves away. Their hands are so close that they constantly brush against each other and it’s driving Eddie mad. All he would have to do is reach out a little and he could be holding Steve’s hand again. He isn’t able to summon the courage for that because he’s still not quite sure if Steve feels anything more than a budding sense of friendship toward him.

They walk in step down the quiet street, the night air crisp and laced with the scent of damp pavement and distant woodsmoke. The town is mostly asleep, windows glowing softly in the distance, the occasional car humming by like a lullaby.

Their hands brush again. This time, Steve doesn’t pull away. In fact, he lets his fingers linger just a second longer than before. Eddie’s heart stutters.

He swallows. “Hey, uh… you don’t have to say yes or anything, but would you ever want to come to a show sometime, like one of the local gigs I play or even just hang out while I practice? Hear some live music.”

Steve looks over at him, eyes warm. “I’d love that.”

Eddie blinks. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “I want to see you in your element. I bet you look cool as hell on stage.”

Eddie laughs, a little breathless. “I mean, I do, obviously. But I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

They stop next to Eddie’s van. Neither of them moves to leave just yet.

Steve rocks on his heels. “Thanks for tonight. I had more fun than I probably had in years if I’m being honest.”

Eddie nods, his voice soft. “Yeah. Me too.”

There’s a pause. Neither of them moves.

Then Steve clears his throat and pulls one hand free, fishing around in his back pocket. “Before I forget,” He pulls out a pen and the crumpled diner receipt, scribbles something down, and hands it to Eddie. “My number. For whenever you want to hang out or just talk.”

Eddie takes it, fingers brushing Steve’s. He looks down at the messy scrawl of digits, then back up, heart thudding. “Thank you. I’ll definitely call you to set something up soon, and let you know as soon as I know when the next gig’s going to be.”

“Cool, I can’t wait,” Steve smiles.

He hesitates for a second, then steps a little closer, his gaze drifting to Eddie’s lips. “Also, I’ve been thinking about doing this all night.”

Eddie barely has time to process that before Steve leans in and kisses him.

The kiss is soft and tentative at first, like a question asked in a language neither of them is fluent in yet. Steve’s lips brush against Eddie’s with a kind of reverence, like he’s afraid to push too far, too fast. But Eddie’s breath catches, and instinct takes over. He leans in, closing the distance, answering the question with a quiet certainty.

His hands find their way to Steve’s waist, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket like they’ve always belonged there. Steve’s hands hover for a moment before settling gently on Eddie’s shoulders, grounding them both.

The world fades. The cold night air, the hum of a distant streetlamp, the faint creak of the van’s metal frame, all of it disappears. It’s just them. Just this.

Steve tilts his head slightly, deepening the kiss, and Eddie feels it like a spark down his spine. It’s still gentle, still careful, but there’s something more now. It’s something that says ‘I see you’ and ‘I want this’. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

When they finally part, it’s slow, reluctant. Steve’s eyes flutter open, and he looks at Eddie like he’s trying to memorize every detail of his face.

“Was that okay?” Steve asks, voice barely above a whisper.

Eddie blinks, dazed, lips tingling, heart pounding. Then he grins, wide and a little breathless. “Yeah. Yeah, that was more than okay.”

Steve lets out a soft laugh, relief blooming across his face. “Good.”

They linger there, close enough to feel each other’s breath in the space between them. Steve leans in again, slower this time, and kisses him once more. It’s just as soft and just as sure. It’s the kind of kiss that says this isn’t a one-time thing.

“I’ll call you,” Eddie says, still smiling as they hesitantly move away from each other. “God, it might even be as soon as I get home after a kiss like that.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Steve replies, stepping back slowly, like he’s reluctant to go.

Eddie watches him walk away, heart pounding, fingers still curled around the scrap of paper like it’s something precious.

Steve turns back to face him and, he’s smiling, nervous, but genuine. “Goodnight, Eddie.”

Eddie’s frozen for a second, then grins, wide and a little dazed. “Goodnight, Sweetheart.”

Eddie’s lips press into a thin line. He’s known his uncle is a good man since he took him in. He loves him for it. He just wishes it didn’t mean he has to spend Christmas with a stranger.

“Fine, but I’m not dressing up just because someone is coming over!”

“Suit yourself, son, but I think you might wanna.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows. “Why?” Wayne just shrugs and leaves. “Why?” He repeats but gets no response.

Thirty minutes later there’s a knock on the door, and after whining about how this is Wayne’s guest so he should be the one to get the door, Eddie sighs and opens it to reveal–

“Steve Harrington?” Eddie shakes off the shock and flashes him a mocking grin. “Well, well, well, what are you doing on the wrong side of town, Your Highness? Did you get lost?”

The title makes Steve’s nose wrinkle but he lets it slide. “Actually, your uncle invited me.”

Eddie’s jaw drops. “You’re our guest?”

With a shrug, Steve makes a ta-da! gesture. Eddie stares blankly at him.

“Um, are you gonna let me in, Munson, or–” he trails off, hanging a hand from his neck.

“Ed? Is that the Harrington boy?” Wayne asks, snapping Eddie out of it.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry, come in, man.”

Steve gives him an awkward smile and steps inside.

After shaking Wayne’s hand, he politely asks if he can help and Wayne instructs him to fill three glasses with water. The sight of King Steve with his fancy green sweater and his perfect hair rummaging around their kitchen is so shocking that Eddie wonders if he fell into some alternate dimension. He’s glad that, despite his claim, he put on a red flannel and decent jeans instead of just sweatpants and a shirt with holes in it like he planned.

Still, Wayne could’ve done a better job warning him.

Not that Eddie wants to look good for Harrington or anything.

“Ed, get a chair for Steve,” Wayne says and Eddie dutifully brings the chair they almost never use to the table.

“Thanks,” Steve says, smiling softly.

Eddie isn’t used to pretty boys being nice to him so that’s the only reason why he falters, mumbling a you’re welcome and grabbing the seat furthest from Steve. Considering their table is small, it’s not far enough.

Dinner goes- surprisingly well, actually. Steve and Wayne talk about sports while Eddie rolls his eyes and makes comments about sport culture and conformity. He expects Steve to act annoyed like jocks do when he starts ranting, but he smiles amusedly instead.

And no, that doesn’t make Eddie’s stomach flutter.

After the sports talk, Wayne asks Eddie about his band. He expects Steve to tune him out since he probably doesn’t care what a freak like him does in his free time but he perks up, eyes going wide.

“A band? That’s cool, man!” He says and then starts throwing questions at him about the band’s name and the type of music they play. He even says he’d love to see them play someday.

Wayne’s knowing smile when Eddie blushes thankfully goes unnoticed by Steve.

When they’re done eating, Steve goes to his car to grab something while Wayne and Eddie clean up.

“Really? You couldn’t mention that our guest was Steve?”

“So you could lock yourself in your room? You’re the reason I invited him, boy.”

Eddie gasps. “This was a set up!”

“About time you brought a boy home.”

“Except I didn’t!” Eddie sputters. “You did.”

“You’re welcome.”

Steve comes back then, clearing his throat. “I know you do presents in the morning, but I still wanted to bring something.”

He gives Wayne a bottle of whiskey that probably costs more than his van and a small bag to Eddie. Inside, there’s a Beholder miniature.

“How did you–”

Steve starts rambling. “I know that you run that nerd club and this kid I know is obsessed with that game so I asked him what would be a nice gift for someone like you. He probably thought I was getting it for him and might be disappointed but–”

“Thanks, Steve,” Eddie interrupts once he finally finds his words.

Steve gives him a shy smile. And maybe this one makes his heart stutter.

When all they do is stare at each other, Wayne clears his throat.

Flustered, Steve announces he’s heading out. “Thanks for inviting me. I haven’t had a Christmas dinner in years.”

“You’re welcome, kid,” Wayne says. “Ed, will you see him out? Gotta get ready for my shift.”

“Sure, old man.”

At the door, Steve hesitates. “Sorry I crashed your Christmas dinner. Your uncle wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

Eddie snorts, fiddling with the figurine. “He’s a stubborn old man.”

“Not that I didn’t have fun,” he quickly adds, “I did.”

“Yeah, uh, me too.”

Steve’s pink tongue darts out along his bottom lip.

“Like, enough fun that I could do it again.”

Eddie stops fidgeting and blinks at him. “Hang out with me and my uncle?”

“Or just you,” Steve says and he looks– almost nervous.

Oh.

The thing is, he does. He’s always liked Chrissy, even back when she was all sunshine and rainbows, but even more so now that there’s some grit to her.

“Shut up.”

Chrissy beams, all sunshine again as she plunks her stack of books onto the table and shuffles her letter-drafting notebook to the top. Only once she’s opened to a blank page does she bite her lip, looking up at Steve through her lashes.

“Are you sure you want to keep doing this?” she asks, voice hesitant.

“What do you mean?”

She breaks eye contact, fiddling with her pen anxiously. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

Steve doesn’t tell her that he already is, that a part of him, the small, squirming part he keeps hidden in his heart, wishes he’d never done this. That watching Eddie kiss Chrissy’s hand and knowing without being told that she’s the kind of girl Eddie might want had broken something inside him. That Steve knows he could never be Eddie’s choice, and knowing that burns.

But, since the flirting started, Steve hasn’t written a word, and that’s worse, somehow. He only has the one tether to Eddie, and he wants to keep it, even if it’s through Chrissy’s handwriting, and Chrissy’s words, and Chrissy’s face.

He just wants.

Instead of saying all that, he reaches out, putting his hand gently on Chrissy’s hand and replies, “I’m sure,” even as the fluttering of his heart makes a liar of him.

Chrissy’s still biting her lip, not looking reassured at all. Steve’s gut churns with worry. ”Are you, though? You didn’t sign up for this, and if you don’t want to do it anymore, that’s okay.”

She smiles, her bottom lip blanched white from her teeth, as she replies, “We’re in this together, right?”

Even with the smile, she still looks worried, but Chissy puts her pen to paper and dutifully writes out the words Steve speaks, editing and revising each thought until it’s something someone might want to hear.

They keep their voices quiet because there are more people sitting in the library than usual today: a big group working on a project, a couple of freshman scowling down at what looks like a Geometry textbook, and closest of all, a girl he recognizes as a band nerd, flipping through a magazine too fast to really be reading it.

It doesn’t take them long—they’ve done this enough times that it’s become almost an art form. Chrissy pushes the completed letter across the table for his final review before it’s signed and sealed.

“It’s good,” Steve says, pushing the letter back across to her to be dropped off in Eddie’s locker.

His heart aches; Steve wants to slap himself.

Instead, he parts ways with Chrissy at their cars, Jeff already waiting beside hers to be driven home, and goes back to his house, bereft of the noise Chrissy had brought only that morning.

*** 

Eddie had worried when there wasn’t another letter after he’d started talking to Chrissy. Did she not like him anymore? Was she done writing them entirely now that she can talk to him face to face?

He worries incessantly for days about it, even as Chrissy keeps saying hi to him in the halls, keeps smiling back when they catch eyes across the cafeteria, keeps being her usual, friendly self.

It’s just, the letters are different. They’re more raw, somehow, more real. And, no matter how this thing goes with Chrissy, if they stop coming, he’ll miss them.

So, it’s a relief when he opens his locker the Monday after Chrissy’s eventful Hellfire induction to find a letter. He can’t wait to read it, the anticipation has built up over too many days of not receiving any. So, he rushes to the same, familiar bathroom and opens it in the stall he’s starting to think of as his.

       Eddie —

       How did your show go? I bet you’ve got a couple groupies already, you’ve already got the look for it. Did you figure out the riff for the song you were working on?

       I tried playing the piano again, and I’m a little rusty, but it’s like riding a bike, you know? (Do you know how to ride a bike?) It’s nice, playing music, even if it’s all songs someone else has written, and they’re still not coming out right.

       I’m sorry it’s been so long since my last letter. I just didn’t know what to say. You’re so patient, and nice, and I got caught up in my head you know? But I missed you.

       I slept with your letter beneath my pillow last night, hoping for dreams of you.

       Yours, Always

       Your Secret Admirer

       P.S. I haven’t read it, but maybe I will. Just to keep with the theme, put this letter in The Lord of the Rings.

He devours the words, slumping onto the toilet seat the longer he reads. It’s perfect—just what he was missing. He reads it once, twice, thrice, the same way he had when he’d received the first two, disbelieving that such lovely words were meant for him.

Eddie skips his second period, first already long gone by the time he’d trundled into the school’s parking lot, and pens a response, then and there.

He goes to the library immediately, nervous that if he doesn’t drop it off right away, she’ll assume Eddie isn’t going to write back at all. 

He waffles over which book to put it in before finally tucking it into The Fellowship of the ring–it’s the first in the trilogy, and Chrissy’s probably too cool to even know it’s a trilogy. 

There’s no response in his locker before Hellfire on Thursday, but that’s okay because true to her word, Chrissy shows up again. She’s smiling as she bounces through the doorway, all springy curls and happy cheer.

“Hi!” Chrissy says, waving as she beams her blinding smile around the room,  all that cheerleader enthusiasm on display.

Doug looks struck dumb, staring at her with his mouth open. Gareth’s gaze is darting back and forth from the door to Eddie, eyes growing wider and wider with each pass. Only Jeff smiles and waves back.

“I hope we’re not intruding,” Chrissy says, elbowing Harrington in the side until he finally looks up and gives his own half-hearted wave.

Because Harrington is slumped in the doorway behind her, looking like he’s trying to hide the entire bulk of his body behind Chrissy’s petite frame.

“Uh, hey,” he says, ears strangely pink as his eyes dart around the room.

He never looks Eddie’s way at all.

“Hey, man,” Jeff replies, the only person aside from Chrissy that is currently functioning.

“Steve, can come, right?” Chrissy asks, like he’s not already in the doorway behind her.

Eddie’s gut sinks then swoops. Harrington’s a jock—what will he do locked in a room with a bunch of nerds? But, the chipped nail polish.

Eddie’s mind is full of screaming, thoughts flip flopping over each other as he tries to articulate all the things wrong with Harrington coming to Hellfire, but all that comes out of his mouth is a chipper, “sure!”

Chrissy’s smile grows teeth—is she going to bite him?

Eddie resists the urge to take a step back.

Jeff pulls out the vacant seat beside him, still looking cool as a cucumber while the rest of them scramble. “Come sit down.”

And that’s how he finds himself with a jock in Hellfire. Should they call an exterminator?

It’s Chrissy who takes the seat beside Jeff which leaves the only other empty chair next to Eddie’s throne. Eddie glares at Gareth, gesturing wildly for his friend to move up a seat, but Gareth’s too busy staring at Harrington like he’s a cobra about to strike.

Harrington is looking at the only empty seat with the exact same expression.

“Steve,” Chrissy hisses, and Harrington jumps. “Go sit down.

The pink on his ears travels down to his cheeks—it’s unfair, really, how pretty and even his blush is. When Eddie blushes, he blotches bright red from forehead to chest.

Steve’s embarrassment suits him.

Eddie waits until he’s seated before clapping loud enough that everyone startles as they turn to him. “Now!” he starts in the grand voice he uses when he’s performing his Dungeon Master duties. “Are you two playing?”

“No,” Harrington rushes out, the pink of his blush deepening to a red as he finally meets Eddie’s eyes. “I mean, Chrissy said she just watched last time?”

“We didn’t want to slow you down,” Chrissy cuts in.

Eddie nods, looking between the couple as awkwardness stews in the stilted silence.

“Alright,” he replies. “Gird your loins, lords and lady.”

Knowing a cue when they hear one, the Hellfire boys scramble to pull out character sheets and dice.

And they’re off!

It takes a minute to fall into the familiar minutiae of telling a story with not one but two interlopers, but Eddie manages it. This is where he thrives: a captive audience and all the power to fuck with them in the palm of his hand.

He only stumbles once, words jumbling together when he looks up and catches Harrington staring at him, eyes wide, cheeks still flushed from his earlier embarrassment as he bites his lip, ass literally on the edge of his seat as Eddie cobbles together the climactic finish to their latest encounter.

Harrington looks away quickly, but Eddie knows what he saw: Harrington is into this nerd shit. He’d tease him if he wasn’t worried that it would end in a swirlie.

Still, Eddie can feel his head puffing up like an overfilled balloon. He’s on the top of his game, painting grand adventures with grander words, all gestures and enthusiasm. He feels electric, the way he always does when there’s a new sheep in his flock to impress. His skin’s almost buzzing with it.

After all, even if his audience member is a jock, Eddie’s always been great at putting on a show. 

Neither of the interlopers say anything until they’re busy packing up. Eddie lounges back in his throne, watching Chrissy help Jeff with his dice. She’s smiling up at him, clearly just as interested in their nerd shit as Harrington.

Eddie turns his eyes back to Harrington to see how he’s taking his girl talking to a guy that isn’t him only to find Harrington staring at him again.  When Eddie meets his eyes, he ducks his head, cheeks tinting that familiar pink.

Is Steve Harrington fucking awkward?

“You’re good at that,” Harrington says quietly.

Eddie hums, confused. He’s shuffling his papers back together, not looking down at what he’s doing. What’s happening in front of him is far more interesting.

“At what, big boy?”

“Uh,” Harrington starts, darting his eyes back up to Eddie’s for a second before looking back down at his fiddling hands. “Telling a story.”

Eddie smiles, something warm and amorphous filling his stomach. “Thanks,” he says, lightly kicking Harrington’s ankle.

Harrington twitches, lets out a quick, “mmhmm,” and then turns away from Eddie to go find his girlfriend, dismissing Eddie without another word.

“Ready to go, babe?” Steve asks, settling his arm around her waist and damn-near frog marching her out of the room.

“Bye, Jeff! Bye, Eddie!” Chrissy calls, still cheerful even as her boyfriend controls her every move. Maybe she’s used to it—first Carver and now Harrington. “See you next week?”

Neither of them wait for a reply.

The silence is stifling in their wake. Only Jeff seems unbothered as he stuffs all of his supplies into his backpack. Doug hasn’t even touched his dice.

“What the hell was that?” Gareth asks, whipping around to Eddie.

“How the hell should I know?”

Jeff snorts. “You invited them,” he says.

“I invited Chrissy,” Eddie whines. “She invited Harrington.”

That catches Jeff’s attention. He glares at Eddie like he’s the one that had invaded their sacred space. “You’re not this stupid,” he says, swinging his backpack onto his back and striding toward the door. “I’ve got a ride home, don’t wait for me.”

“What does that mean?” Eddie demands.

The only answer is the door swinging shut.

*** 

Once he’s walked Chrissy to her car and watched her pull out of the parking lot safe from Carver’s creepy hands, Steve collapses into his own car. He presses his face into the steering wheel and groans, long and loud, assured in his safe isolation. 

When the passenger door opens, he jumps, neck cracking with the speed at which he turns his head, ready to fight off the trespasser.

“Oh, it’s you,” Steve says, dropping his head back to the steering wheel.

“He knows,” Jeff says, voice serious enough that Steve raises his head back up immediately, heartbeat ratcheting up.

It takes a second for the words to connect, and when they do, his heartbeat quickens further, sweat pooling on the back of his neck, hands clenched hard enough on the steering wheel to hurt as fight or flight hits him.

“What?” he asks, the word cracking around his suddenly parched throat.

“Shit,” Jeff mutters, reaching out to pat Steve’s shoulder. “Not about you!”

Steve’s shoulders slump, breath shuddering out of him as Jeff continues to pat his shoulder, too awkward to be all that comforting. “Then, what—”

“He knows Chrissy is putting the notes in his locker.”

Steve sighs, slumping into his seat, uncaring of the way it crushes Jeff’s hand against the backrest. “Yeah, we figured,” he says, suddenly exhausted. “Do you know how?”

Jeff’s biting his lip when Steve looks his way. “He didn’t tell me,” he mutters. “But I know my best friend.”

It’s Steve’s turn to reach across the car and clasp Jeff’s shoulder. “I’m sure he has a reason for not telling you,” Steve replies, trying to smile past all that exhaustion.

Jeff snorts. “A stupid one, maybe.”

Steve hums, squeezing once more before dropping his hold on Jeff, suddenly realizing how stupid they must look, leaning toward each other, hands on each other’s shoulders like they’re having some sort of bro moment.

Steve turns back to the front of his car, cranks the engine, and smiles across at Jeff as the other boy takes the hint and drops his own hold. “Want a ride home?”

Instead of answering, Jeff puts on his seatbelt.

Jeff’s house is surprisingly close to Steve’s own. It’s a bit smaller than his, but there’s already a car in the driveway, and the shadows of silhouettes moving behind the pulled curtains, warm yellow light filtering through the fabric and onto the street.

Steve wishes he could go in with a fierce sort of longing that surprises him.

Jeff’s already got his seatbelt off and the passenger door open when he sighs, turning back around and settling back in his seat.

“You should come next week,” he says, all earnest in that way that seems to come so naturally to him and must have gotten him eaten alive in middle school.

“You can’t be serious,” Steve replies. There’s a tension headache growing, exasperated by the incredulous scrunching of his eyebrows. “That was a disaster.”

“Aw, it wasn’t that bad,” Jeff says, but he’s grinning like he’s remembering something funny. Steve’s got a few guesses what.

“Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious, man.” Jeff clasps his shoulder again—maybe that’s just something he does?

Steve scoffs, the roll of his eyes making his head pound. He opens his mouth to retort, something about Eddie’s reaction to Steve sitting beside him, but Jeff beats him to the punch.

“I know Eddie. And that in there?” He points back the way they’d come, like if Steve just strains his eyes, he’ll be able to catch sight of Eddie’s stupid fancy chair, and the stupid musty drama room, and the stupid look on Eddie’s face. “—is him interested.”

Steve closes his mouth, swallowing all the spit in his mouth, hoping it’s not audible to Jeff no matter how quiet the car is. “In me?” he asks, voice cracking embarrassingly.

Jeff doesn’t break eye contact, but his mouth twists uncomfortably. “Like you’re interested in him?” Jeff asks, continuing before Steve can reply. “I don’t know, man.”

Steve droops, the hope blooming in his chest curdling and sinking down into his stomach like old milk. He wants, desperately, to go home, turn out all the lights, and curl up alone in his bed to sleep away the rest of the day. But, Jeff’s still in his car, so he clenches the wheel between his fingers and says, “okay.”

“But, he doesn’t get you,” Jeff continues, voice gentling further. “And that intrigues him.”

Jeff’s still smiling like that should be some sort of boon to Steve’s ego, but it’s not. It lands like a brick. No one ever gets him, and whether he intrigues them or not, it always ends the same: him, alone in his big, empty house, waiting for a phone call that will never come, a doorbell that will never ring, a window that will never be snuck through.

He’d been through it before, with Donna in sixth grade, Nancy in tenth, hell, even Carol and Tommy for more years than he can count.

Intrigue has never gotten him anywhere. But, Jeff’s smiling, small and real, so Steve replies, “thanks, man,” smiling back until the other boy gets out of the car and he can safely drive away.

He’s got a dark house and a chilled bed waiting for him.

And then there’s the other guy: Jeff.

Before this whole cluster of a situation, she hadn’t known Jeff from Adam, but now he’s everywhere. It feels like every other day now he’s climbing into Chrissy’s passenger seat and they’re speeding away, not a Steve Harrington or Eddie Munson in sight.

Or they’re in the library doing the same mail pick-up that Chrissy and Steve do together. Once, Robin had even seen Jeff by her side as she’d dropped a note into Eddie’s locker, which might be the wildest part of the whole situation; Robin had been under the impression that he and Eddie were friends.

There’s some benefits to being invisible: no one notices her.

So, she’s got all these building blocks to the juiciest gossip in Hawkins High for probably decades, but, no matter how she stacks them together, she can’t make them into a picture she understands.

All she knows is this: Steve Harrington is up to something shady.

Robin’s got her eyes open and a mission of the heart. She’ll protect Chrissy with all she has, and if Steve gets caught in the crossfire? That’s fine with her.

*** 

Chrissy’s still all over Harrington. He doesn’t get it, can’t comprehend why someone who leaves him such lovely, lovely notes has stuck herself to that douche’s side.

Eddie doesn’t get it.

Is it the status bump? No, can’t be, even Eddie knows the guy’s fallen a few pegs down the ladder since whatever the hell had happened with Wheeler last year.

Maybe it’s the looks? He’s got that swoopy hair all the girls fawn over, and the features to back it up. But Chrissy’s never struck him as that shallow, no matter how hot the guy is.

Is it the money, the car, the nice clothes? What does Steve Harrington have that Eddie doesn’t?

Is it the way he leans up against lockers, smiling at every girl in his sight like they’re his whole world? The way he tucks a lock of hair behind their ears, eyes smoldering, touch gentle? Steve goddamn Harrington with his jockish good looks and sweeping charms. 

He just—doesn’t get it.

He also doesn’t get why he hasn’t received a note in his locker for a couple days now, not since Eddie’d come up to her table in the cafeteria and kissed her hand.

Her nails had been painted a perfect pink, and when Eddie looked away to stare Harrington down, he’d noticed the guy had nail polish on, too: a bright yellow that would have suited him if it wasn’t chipped to hell.

It was such a small, incongruous detail, but it niggles at Eddie late into the night. It doesn’t fit with who Eddie knows Harrington to be. 

It didn’t fit, and he’s tired of nothing fitting together the way it should, so he’s been avoiding Harrington like the plague.

So, when he catches Chrissy in a rare moment where Steve’s not loitering in her periphery, he approaches again, hands raised like, see here, I’m harmless!

She smiles at him, white teeth damn-near glinting where they peek out from behind her lips. Eddie’s reciting sonnets in his head.

“Miss Cunningham,” he says, bending over at the waist and bowing low as she laughs at him. “Would you give this lowly Dungeon Master the honor, nay the privilege, of accompanying him on his quest this Thursday?”

Chrissy’s head’s tilted to the side like an inquisitive dog as she asks, “in plain English?”

He bounces closer, pleased to have even gotten his foot in the door. “My Dungeons and Dragons club is starting a new campaign tomorrow,” he says. “Want to come play?” When she purses her lips instead of answering, he scrambles to continue. “Or even just watch?”

Chrissy’s lips are still pursed, but she’s nodding slowly, like she’s thinking about saying yes. “That might be fine,” she replies. “Where should I meet you?”

And that’s how he finds himself with Chrissy Cunningham sitting in at the next Hellfire session. Gareth’s awkward because he always is when there’s a pretty girl in his vicinity, but Jeff smiles and chats with her like they’re old friends. Doug doesn’t seem to care one way or another, too focused on getting the newest campaign started to care about an interloper.

It goes off without a hitch, Chrissy’s presence blending into the background. He forgets her entirely until the end of the session when she starts slinging questions at them, and Jeff starts patiently explaining what a modifier is, and how they know which dice to roll as Eddie packs up his supplies. 

He’s got grand ideas about taking Chrissy home, had even cleaned out his van for it, but Chrissy was always destined to pop his ego.

“That was great, Eddie!” Chrissy cuts in, barely waiting for the party to finish celebrating to speak. “But, I’m already late to meet Steve, so I’ve got to go.”

“Uh,” Eddie says, staring at her retreating back, “okay.”

She turns back around right before she’s through the drama room door, still smiling as she calls, “see you guys next week!”

She’s going to see Harrington, the bane of Eddie’s current existence, but she did say it was great. No, she’d said Eddie was great.

Truly a mixed bag.

Eddie takes his time wrangling the boys out of the room and into his van, determined to hold onto the high of Chrissy Cunningham watching him DM—no way would he let Harrington of all people ruin his night.

*** 

She damn-near runs out of the drama room, lie leaving a bitter taste on her tongue—she’s not late to meet Steve, isn’t planning to see him at all.

It’s just, she knows what that gleam in a boy’s eyes means; Eddie was about to do something stupid. Ask her out, or try to flirt, or do something else both embarrassing and heart-crushing for Steve.

So, she’d done what she’s best at in uncomfortable situations: she’d lied.

Now, she’s just gotta get out of the school before anyone can call her on it.

The school’s eerily empty, the fluorescent lights only on in patchy segments, luring all the lingering students into the poorly-lit parking lot where Chrissy’s car waits. She just wants to get into her bed and wait until she can debrief with Steve in the morning.

She’s just twisted the key in the lock and begun pulling it open when a hand reaches past her and slams it closed. Chrissy jumps, fear coiling through her stomach and rapidly churning into anger. She turns, back to her car, ready to curse out Eddie or one of his other club members, but the words die unsaid in her throat.

It’s not Eddie; it’s Jason. His hand’s still slapped onto her door, keeping it closed, and in the dim light of the parking lot, his eyes are almost glowing. She wants to take a step back, but he’s effectively boxed her into the side of her own car.

“Are you serious, Chris?” he asks. The nickname sounds wrong in his mouth, all toxic and chopped up. Not at all like when Steve says it. “You really are hanging out with freaks now?”

“Jason, I—” Chrissy starts, hating the way her voice trembles.

“Are you sleeping with that freak now, too?” he demands, crowding farther into her space. “Harrington was one thing, but Munson?”

He says Eddie’s name like it’s a curse. She’s scared, still, but suddenly she’s furious that she wasted years of her life with this douche, that she’s still wasting time being afraid of him.

“He’s better than you’ll ever be,” she snarls, unsure if she means Steve or Eddie. It doesn’t matter, it’s true for both.

Without wasting another word on the jackass who’s made it his mission in life to make her feel small, Chrissy yanks her door open. It hits him in the face, sending him stumbling to the asphalt with a groan.

Even still, she rushes to slide into her car, ramming the key in and backing out without even checking her blind spots for unsuspecting pedestrians.

Jason’s just making his way back to his feet when she glances into her rear-view mirror before turning out of the parking lot and onto the street.

Her hands shake on the steering wheel making the car jerk about.

She doesn’t go home.

All the lights are on in the Harrington house, and she worries for a second that his parents are home for once before she sees the solitary car in the driveway. She parks behind it, taking the extra minute to line her car up perfectly parallel to it, hoping her hands will stop shaking by the time she’s done.

Steve’s waiting on the stoop by the time she makes it out of her car and up the driveway, hands still shaking with aftershocks of flight or fight. His arms are crossed, and he’s scowling down at her from his casual lean against the closed door.

“Will you come to Hellfire with me next Thursday?” she asks, voice wobbling around the request.

“Was it that bad?” Steve asks, scowl shifting into a teasing smile before she steps into the halo of the porch’s light and he catches sight of the expression on her face. “Are you okay?”

His hands are on her shoulders, warm and grounding against the chill that’s seeped into her skin. She reaches one of her hands up to brush the wetness from beneath her eyes. “Will you come?” she asks again, question firming up and sharpening now that she’s here, safe.

Steve’s hands squeeze, warm, warm, warm. “Course, Chris,” he replies, and she was right—it is better coming from his mouth. “Want to come in?”

She follows him into the house, curling herself up small in the corner of his couch, relieved when he sits close. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t rush her at all, just waits, patient the way Jason never was.

“You’re a great fake boyfriend, you know,” she says, smiling when he laughs and knocks their shoulders together.

“Well, as your fake boyfriend, do I need to kill Eddie?” he asks, and when she looks up from her knees, his eyes are almost shining with sincerity. “Because I will, you know.”

“I know,” she says, cheeks warming, not because she likes a boy, but because she has a friend, a real one who would pick her even over his crush. “But, Eddie was nice.”

Steve hums, slumping into her further. “So, who am I killing?”

“No one!” Chrissy replies, laughing just a little. Steve’s just like a dog with a bone; she’s always been a dog person. “Or Jason, maybe?”

“What?” Steve barks, all playfulness gone from his voice. “What the hell did he—”

“He didn’t do anything!” she rushes out, making space between their bodies so she can meet his heated gaze. “He just freaked me out.”

“But, he can’t—”

“But, you’re a good friend, and will come to Hellfire next week to keep it from happening again, right?”

Steve groans, slumping back into her and hiding his face in her hair. “You’re the worst,” he grumbles, only continuing when she pinches him hard right beneath his ribs. “But, fine! I’ll go!”

“Thank you,” Chrissy replies, glad she hadn’t gone home to recover alone.

Steve rubs his face against her head like the freak he secretly is. “Anytime.”

They stay there, bathed in the quiet of their shared companionship and the frankly alarming number of lights Steve has lighting up his entire house.

She’s almost dozed off, slumped into his side when Steve asks, “but, like, how was it?”

Telling Tommy about anything and everything. What sort of calls they went on, how Eddie and Hen and Chimney are going, what his latest research deep dive is. What he’s planning to cook for dinner and how badly he wishes Tommy was there for it. He’d gotten used to cooking for two. Buck enjoys cooking for those he loves — and despite the fact that he and Tommy haven’t said that word to each other yet, love — he finds he enjoys cooking for Tommy most of all.

He tells Tommy how he misses cooking for him, misses him always, but even more so now. He misses spending time with him, whether they go out on a date or back to one of their places. Misses his crinkly smile and warm gaze as he looks at Buck, the way it takes over his whole face. His thick hands and calloused fingers, the way he holds his hand. Unabashed and unashamed as they walk together, gently squeezing Buck’s hand to show he’s listening. He misses being able to hold him, to kiss him, sweet and slow.

The recording ends up being a lot longer than Buck thought it would, having a lot to say once he opened the floodgates — but he’s not nervous as he sends it to Tommy. To his boyfriend, whom he knows misses him just as much. He likes it when Buck talks, likes listening to him — he’s told him as much — and encourages him with questions and thoughtful hums when Buck really gets going. Why would it be any different when it’s Tommy he’s talking about?

Buck’s in the middle of shift when he gets a response, feeling his phone vibrate in his uniform pocket.  It’s a voice message.

He hesitates, blood thrumming in his veins, vibrating under his skin. He’s still not nervous. Buck just doesn’t know if he wants to sneak away, find a quiet corner to pull his phone out and listen right then and there — or if he wants to wait until he’s back at the loft. Alone, in the quiet, where no one can interrupt. Just him, and the sound of Tommy’s voice.

Tommy’s voice would be a balm on his aching heart, something to soothe just how much he misses him. He wants it now, wants it immediately, but he also wants to keep it to himself. Something just for the two of them. Buck’s complained about how much it sucks, to Eddie, and Hen, and to everyone around the station table as they eat. He just didn’t tell anyone about his sappy message.

So he waits. Finds himself almost shaking with anticipation the whole drive home, vibrating in the driver’s seat of the Jeep. Practically sprints the way up to his apartment. Shuts the front door behind him, drops his bag, and pulls out his phone. Puts it on full volume and presses play.

“Evan,” Tommy’s voice greets him, soft and sweet and Buck feels himself melt at the sound of his voice. At the sound of him saying his name. “What a surprise, although I can’t say I’m complaining hearing your voice like that. It’s been far too long.”

A pause, and Buck sits down on the couch as he listens to Tommy take a breath. Soften his voice even further, drop it down an octave and lower in volume. “I miss you too. So much.”

And Tommy talks. His own voice memo is shorter than Buck’s, but it doesn’t bother him any. He likes that about Tommy, how considerate he is with his words. The way he pauses before he speaks, really taking in his thoughts and the best way to get them out of his mouth. It’s another way he’s taking care of Buck.

Buck, who lays on the couch, horrifically smitten smile on his face, listening to the rest of Tommy’s message.

He asks questions about some of the things Buck told him in his previous message, makes comments and a couple of jokes. That achingly familiar dry humour. Buck’s heart squeezes at the proof that Tommy had in fact, listened to the whole thing. Focused enough to have questions to ask.

Tommy tells him about Harbour, about the work he’s been doing on the chopper and how he’s been thinking of refreshing his plane pilot training. How studying would be so much easier with him there, soaking up knowledge and fun facts up like a sponge.

Tommy goes quiet again, in the recording, and all he can hear is the sound of faint rustling. He takes a breath, and speaks again. A little nervous, a little unsure, voice soft as he speaks directly to Buck.

And so Buck listens to his boyfriend say how much he notices his absence, how his weeks just aren’t the same anymore, even after so little time dating. How his house feels so much emptier with just him in it. How his heart aches for him.

Tommy misses him.

How maybe, after his next shift, does he want to head over to Tommy’s house instead? If they can steal away an hour or two in the other’s arms, why wouldn’t they take it? If they both miss each other enough that their hearts are aching, why the hell are they keeping themselves apart?

He looks like he might protest, but after a careful moment where Tommy stares him down, he nods, stands - gives in and rubs his hands over his forearms as he books it back through the sliding glass door. Tommy spends the time waiting scrolling the same website he'd gotten what Evan has dubbed his "old-man robe" - he gets all the way through to choosing a cornflower blue one for his cart before Evan returns, snug as hell in one of the cardigans Tommy hasn't pulled from the back of his closet in at least a few years.

And there's something to that, actually. Tommy's dated around plenty - still remembers the way his first girlfriend had blushed beet red the first time he hooked her by her elbow to drop his letterman over her shoulders and how he'd wondered if there was something broken in him that seeing his name sprawled across her back didn't do shit for him. Still remembers the first guy who'd wrinkled his nose at Tommy's Carhartt and flannel, always half a step from dragging him into some high end shop for something Tommy absolutely knew they didn't carry with shoulders wide enough to fit him. Remembers the only other guy he'd dated who came close to matching him for size, and how he'd owned a grand total of three jackets that were tailored at the waist in a way that would have made it impossible for Tommy to close them.

So it's a first - Evan's style is changing, muteable, seems to hinge on his mood and his plans and the position of the stars in the night sky, but Tommy's never seen him in a cardigan. Give him some glasses and a collar under that shirt and...

Evan catches him staring and his grin goes wide, tongue pressing against the backs of his teeth in a way that promises at least one of them is getting a blowjob after breakfast.

---

Tommy winces against the sting as the tequila warms his throat and actually does a double take when Lucy wolf-whistles right in his ear. An hour ago, Tommy had been nursing his one beer and waiting for the text from Evan that he was leaving the firehouse, but a rollover on the 401 had run his shift long and somewhere between Evan's profuse apologies and Donato sidling up to him with a pool cue he'd agreed to shots. Date night was a wash, anyway, and Evan had seemed happy with the idea of meeting Tommy and his coworkers at the bar, and Donato was sneaky about her shots.

Tommy's - warm. Glad he'd ordered them both burgers once he got a text that Evan was on his way. Tommy is absolutely not going to make a fool of himself when he catches sight of Evan and feels the hinge of his jaw go loose.

Evan grins at him and waves at Lucy as he slides into Tommy's space. "Hi," he says, and Tommy knows he's a fucking dork but he's usually a smooth dork. Tommy's fingers drift over the pocket of his fucking flannel, dart over the rolled up shirtsleeves and the bulge of muscle stretching the seams at the shoulders and - "Nice shirts, Buckley," Donato snarks, already sliding a tequila shot past Tommy.

He's wearing one of Tommy's Henley's underneath, too. The fucker.

Evan looks a little bashful as he admits that he'd maybe gone a little too dressy for date night, and Tommy's place was closer.

Tommy knows for a fact Evan has a whole drawer of casual wear at Tommy's, but he doesn't call him on it, because this is doing something for him.

Their waitress is dropping off their burgers at the table in the corner, and Donato has already wandered off, so Tommy snags one of Evan's belt loops to tug him in, to press his lips to the bow of Evan's lip, to inhale Evan's pleased sigh. "If you catch up to me in drinks before we finish those burgers I might be convinced to let Donato mack on you again."

Evan swats his ass as he dances away, but Tommy can hear him adding a beer to Tommy's tab as he makes his way back to the pool tables.

---

Donato spends a month calling Evan "Tommy Too" around the station and Tommy's too smitten to care when half the crew picks it up.

It makes the next time Evan runs into the 217 on a call a little awkward, but Evan takes it in stride.

"No offense to the whole carpenter mechanic vibe you have going, but it's not even my style," Evan tells him, in the midst of explaining that he can't actually explain why he's constantly pilfering Tommy's shirts, jackets, and on one memorable occasion a pair of grey sweats that hadn't even made it past the bedroom door.

"It's - you can just say blue collar, Evan." The whole conversation had started when Tommy realized he was missing four different flannels and one of his tan jackets to boot. "It's fine, just - maybe stop hoarding them at your place, please? I'm running out of clothes to wear."

"We could go shopping," Evan says, with a gleam in his eye, and Tommy thinks of the party supplies debacle last month.

"No. Never again. You're a goddamn tyrant." He eases the words with a nudge of his shoulder against Evan's, and Evan grins back. He'd been mulish as hell about which balloons to get and what type of tape was allowed, and it had worked Tommy up so much they'd barely gotten through the door before Tommy was crowding him against a side table and reaching for his zipper.

One day they're gonna have an argument about trans fats in the freezer aisle of Ralph's and Tommy's gonna get a nationwide ban for public indecency.

Evan blinks away an expression before Tommy can parse it, but even though this is his first real foray into dating a clothes stealing fiend, he's heard the women in his life talk about the sentiment enough to sort of have an idea what it's all about. He takes a shot in the dark. "You can have one thing at your place at all times. Rotate them out if you want, but for the love of god don't make me go to work naked."

Evan's blink is a little less focused this time, which is absolutely Tommy's bad.

---

He doesn't really get it, is the thing. Until he does.

---

He's sulking. Tommy is absolutely sulking and he has no one to blame but himself.

"A whole wide world of fluke accidents and cursed injuries and you sprained your ankle on a basketball court," Eddie says, and they share a quick smirk between themselves at the memory of the last time they'd been to this particular urgent care.

He's got Evan's Jeep, and when Eddie gets him up into the back seat Tommy can feel the edges of his eyes getting heavy. It feels like barely a second has passed before Eddie's popping into the drivers seat

"These are good drugs," Tommy says, and then tosses the bag the pill bottle is in into the passenger seat. "Take them with you."

Eddie glances at him askance in the rearview, and Tommy's pretty sure he mumbles something vaguely coherent about addiction being a fucking genetic gift, but he's distracted by the shot of emerald green tucked into the back of the passenger seat pocket.

It smells like Evan, is the first thing he notices as he yanks it loose, and Eddie is most likely chuckling about Tommy pressing it to his face but there could also be a funny street sign. They'd gone to that brewery up in San Luis Obispo and when they'd left for the day trip it'd been chilly, but by the time they got there it'd been scorching.

Tommy spends a good ten minutes trying to figure out if he can separate the sandalwood body wash from the vanilla and vetiver cologne and then loses that train of thought when Eddie checks in. He's forced to remove the hoodie from his face with something vaguely approaching embarrassment, but Eddie just laughs. "You two are something else," he murmurs, and - it's a sentiment that's been repeated a million different times with a million different facial expressions but from Eddie, here in the quiet comfort of the Jeep, with NPR turned down low even though Eddie complains about it every fucking time he hops in to find Evan listening to it - here, it feels important.

That's probably the good drugs talking.

"I'm gonna marry that man," Tommy blurts, and Eddie doesn't do anything crazy like slam on the breaks or whip his head around. What he does do is catch Tommy's eye in the rearview and take stock of Tommy trying to stuff himself into the hoodie without unbuckling his seatbelt. He's probably gonna regret that, when the drugs wear off.

"He know that?" Eddie asks, and the edge he'd maybe expected is missing from Eddie's voice. He sounds - pleased, maybe. Knowing.

"I thought we had a hard rule about relationship talk."

Eddie hums. "You started it."

And he did, at that. Tommy isn't subtle at all about tipping his head to the side to nose at the hood of the sweatshirt. God, it's like rolling into Evan's pillow after he'd left for work.

"We've talked about it." He's aiming for casual, and it sucks that his vision isn't the best right now because he can't quite read the tilt of Eddie's brow.

Eddie makes it clear, though - a long, low whistle. "Kinda early for 'til death do us part."

"I woulda married him a month in, if he'd asked," Tommy admits, and - that's something he hadn't really planned to admit even if it's the truest thing he's ever said.

Eddie snorts. "A month after you ditched him halfway through a date?"

Tommy narrows his eyes. Tips his chin against the warming metal of the zipper where it rests against his chest. "There were extenuating circumstances."

"Like?"

"Like I was already way too invested and I didn't realize he didn't even know he was into men until I kissed him."

Eddie stews over that for the next however many blocks. Tommy tucks his thumbs into the sleeves of the hoodie and strokes them over the still downy-soft fleece lining the inside of the jacket.

"So what's the protocol with two dudes, anyway? You gotta ask each other's parents if they're cool with their sons no longer living in sin?"

Tommy snorts. "Your religious trauma is showing, jackass." He flicks a look at Eddie. "Besides, Phillip Buckley fucking loves me."

Evan had been more surprised by that than Tommy. Tommy's got a way - with fathers, with white collar men in their fifties and sixties, with - well he's got a way. They either secretly wanna fuck him or secretly wanna be him and Tommy knows how to lean into that. Without making it weird.

The rest of the drive is quiet. Eddie seems to be processing, though what, Tommy can only assume. He's got no clue what Evan tells Eddie about the two of them, unless Evan has mentioned it himself.

When he pulls into the drive, Evan's already pushing out the front door with a hand on his hip. He stills when he catches sight of the no doubt haphazardly thrown on jacket Tommy's wearing, and - yeah. Yep. He gets it now.

"I'm staying for dinner," Eddie says, with a finger aimed at Evan's face. "You get that look off your face."

Evan gestures, splutters. He's doing absolutely nothing to help Eddie guide him up the walk.

Five minutes later, when Tommy's settled in the couch with his leg elevated, Evan sends Eddie to the kitchen and spends a ridiculous amount of time fluffing pillows and gentling his hands over Tommy's legs - the good and the bad one.

Tommy's expecting a kiss, but all he actually gets when Evan draws near is an annoyed groan and a punched out sigh. "After Eddie leaves I'm gonna spend an hour telling you all the different shades of green in your eyes I've never noticed before."

   “I told you, I’m fine. I just- I didn’t know where else to go! Robin’s not home and-”

Okay, ouch! Eddie feels slightly offended. Steve could’ve come to him instead of-

Nevermind. There are bigger problems at hand.

   “It was stupid, I’m sorry. I’ll be out of your hair.”

Steve makes an attempt to stand up but his body betrays him as soon as he’s on his feet, swaying slightly into Eddie’s direction, who catches him instinctively, steadies him with a hand on his arm.

   “Woah there, big boy! You’re gonna sit your ass back down for me, okay?”

Eddie can sense that Steve wants to put up a fight but thankfully, he doesn’t. Instead, he lets Eddie guide him back down.

   “Some assholes did this to him,” Dustin finally says. “I don’t know who but Steve said he got into a fight.”

   “I only came here because it was closer than my place,” Steve grumbles, obviously regretting his decision now.

   “You scared the shit out of me, Steve! So I called Eddie because- well, I don’t know. I thought maybe he could help talk some sense into you. You need to go to the hospital! Or a doctor, I don’t care but someone’s gotta take care of that.” Dustin says, pointing at the mess that is Steve’s face.

   “I don’t need a doctor. I’m fine, really. See, it already stopped bleeding.”

Steve retrieves the once-white-now-red tissue to prove that the bleeding has stopped, which it has. But Eddie can see in Dustin’s eyes that the boy is still not convinced enough to let him off the hook.

   “Let me have a look?” Eddie gently takes hold of Steve’s chin to tilt his head up, feels his courage falter for a split-second when Steve’s pupils suddenly dilate and he can see by the bob of his Adam’s apple, that he has to swallow down hard.

    God, even with his face bloody and bruised Steve is fucking gorgeous. It’s really not fair, if you asked Eddie. That guy is beyond anything he could ever wish to-

    No, no. Focus, Munson.

   “Let’s see if we gotta be worried about your pretty face being blemished by a broken nose, ey?” Eddie jokes just to cover his own nervousness.

   “How would you know if it’s broken? You’re not a doctor.” Dustin protests, rightfully sceptical about Eddie’s ability to come up with a valid diagnosis.

   “Ah, see, when you’ve had your nose broken several times, you kinda know what to look for,” Eddie replies nonchalantly as he examines the swelling around Steve’s nose, ignoring the sad, kind of pitying look in Steve’s eyes at his statement.

   “I think you’re good, Harrington. Still straight and beautiful as ever. It’ll hurt for a few days but you’ll live,” Eddie says with a wink, hesitating to let go of his face even if there’s no need to hold him still anymore.

For a moment, their eyes are locked in on each other, both staring wide-eyed and kind of lost in some spellbound haze that makes it impossible for either of them to look away.

Unfortunately – or rather, lucky for him – Dustin’s voice breaks through the static crackling in Eddie’s ears and brings him back to reality.

   “I don’t know Eddie. Are you sure it’s not broken?”

Eddie finally lets go of Steve, not without an instant feeling of regret at the loss of contact, and turns to the younger boy.

   “I’m sure, Dusty. Believe me, when you’ve been beat up as often as I have, you quickly learn to know the difference between injuries that’ll hurt like a bitch but are otherwise harmless, and injuries that need medical attention.”

It does look worse than it is, thankfully. And with a bit of ice and some rest, Steve will be back on his feet in no time.

This, however, brings Eddie back to wondering what even got Steve in the state he’s currently in.

   “Wanna tell me who did this? What happened?”

Steve looks down at his hands, fumbling with an invisible thread on his neat jeans.

   “I, uh- got into a fight with some guys because they were talking shit about, uh-“

His eyes dart up to Eddie, just for the flicker of a moment, looking almost ashamed with that light blush creeping up from his cheeks to his ears, before he finds his voice again.

“About someone I care a lot about. They were being mean, called them some disgusting shit, made assumptions about them without knowing them. They-“ Steve looks at Dustin, obviously contemplating whether to say out loud what’s on his mind.

   “They said these things like, how someone should teach them a lesson. To, uh, to set them straight.”

Steve swallows thickly, and the shuddering inhale tells Eddie that he’s trying his best not to break. That whatever it is he’s trying to say really gets to him.

Eddie is confused; he has a feeling that there’s more to Steve’s words. Like, maybe he doesn’t want to alert Dustin with the harsh reality of what they really meant.

    ‘Teach them a lesson’, the words echo in Eddie’s mind, ‘Set them straight.’

And suddenly, it dawns on him.

Suddenly, he understands what Steve is trying to say.

Did they- this is about Robin, right? Steve said they were talking shit about someone he cares a lot about.

Did these fuckers, whoever they might be, threaten to harm her for being... a lesbian? Is that it? It must be, right? It’s the only thing that makes sense, would explain why he’s all choked-up about it because everyone knows how deep their friendship is. How much Steve cares for Robin.

Fucking small-minded small-town dickheads and their outdated view on how things should be. God, Eddie hates it. Hates everything about them being stuck in a town where people still have to be afraid of openly showing who they are and who they love.

It’s why he never had a relationship. Why he flees to Indy and beyond on the weekends, whenever he’s desperate enough. He’ll never find love as long as he’s stuck here – for multiple reasons.

Robin is so much braver than him. Said fuck it a few weeks ago when she finally found the courage to ask out that girl she’s had a crush on forever. It was the talk of town the next day – ‘Did you hear that? Someone saw that Buckley girl kiss another girl! Can you believe that? What a disgrace. Displaying this filthy behaviour without any shame.’

Fucking assholes.

Thankfully, like with most gossip, people eventually lost interest and moved on to whatever next thing it was they found to deflect from their own miserable lives. But the damage had already been done. Ever since, Robin has been walking around with a big, fat, neon sign on her forehead, saying ‘I’m queer and proud’ – which should be liberating, a cause for celebration, but it’s not.

Not here, anyway.

   “Eddie?”

The warmth of Steve’s palm on his arm brings him back.

   “Huh? What? What is it?”

   “You, uh... kinda zoned out there for a moment. Are you okay?”

This startles a laugh out of him. Of course, Steve would ask him if he’s okay, when he’s the one with a swollen face. Typical.

   “Yeah, sorry. It’s just- tell me who.”

   “What?”

   “Who where those guys. I’m feeling petty and I haven’t been in a fight for a while.”

Eddie wiggles his brows at Steve and grins, makes it sound like a joke. But Steve must see the rage in his eyes, must sense that he means it because there’s suddenly so much worry in his eyes, the kind of honest concern that makes Eddie’s heart melt.

   “I don’t- No, Eddie. I won’t tell you. You need to stay away from those guys! That’s what they’d want and I don’t want anything to happen to you!”

Steve seems frantic, like the mere thought of Eddie getting into a fight with them is making him panic.

But why would he-

      “They’re a bunch of assholes! And I told them, if they ever dare to lay a hand on you, they’ll wish they’d finish what they started today. I will not let some intolerant bigots hurt you!”

    Oh.

This has never been about Robin, has it?

They’ve been talking shit about Eddie.

And Steve-

   “Why would you get into a fight over me?!”

Eddie jumps off the sofa, both hands in his hair, tugging roughly at his own curls.

   “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t I?” Steve replies sounding perplexed. “I care about you, Eddie! And it’s not okay that these- these fuckers think that only because you’re- only because you are who you are, it’s okay to treat you like that. Doesn’t matter if it’s behind your back or to your face!”

Steve takes a deep breath trying to calm his voice.

“To say shit like they’re going to do- bad things to you? How can I stand there and listen to that and do nothing?”

This is too much for Eddie. It’s too much for so many reasons, most of which he’s not ready to explain.

The worst and most important one, though, is that Steve’s face is covered in bruises because he was protecting Eddie. Steve got into a fight because someone threatened to hurt Eddie and in return, got hurt because of him.

   “Well, look where that got you! You don’t have to always be the hero, Steve.” It’s not meant as an insult, although it must sound like one.

“I’m used to people talking shit about me. I can live with that.”

Steve opens his mouth to say something but Eddie beats him to it.

   “What I can’t live with, is knowing that you could’ve gotten seriously injured because you were trying to defend me.”

Dustin stays uncharacteristically quiet the whole time, just alternates his gaze between Steve and Eddie, stunned into silence by whatever weird scene it is that’s unravelling before his eyes.

Eddie can’t blame him, can’t really wrap his head around any of it himself.

Why are they shouting? What are they even arguing about? And why the fuck is Steve suddenly so close? Why is he holding his hands? And why does he look at him like he-

   “Steve, I really appreciate you looking out for me, okay? But I can’t take it to see you get hurt. You’re face is too pretty to be covered in blood.”

Eddie huffs out a tentative laugh and to his relief, Steve does too, but not without rolling his eyes in fake annoyance at Eddie’s cheesy line.

   “Are you guys gonna make out now?”

They both turn around only to find Dustin standing there with a shit-eating grin on his face.

   “Because as much I love you, I think there are some things my innocent eyes do not have to see.”

   “Shut up you little shit!” Eddie scolds him but does so with a smile on his lips because-

Because Dustin might be onto something here. Or at least that’s what it feels like. Because Steve still hasn’t let go of his hands. And while Eddie is trying his best not to completely drown in Steve’s eyes by looking at Dustin instead, he can still feel Steve’s eyes on him.

And when he turns back, Steve has this fond, almost loving look on his face; an expression so soft not even the swollen nose or the dried blood can take away from the beauty of it.

Just for a moment, Eddie allows himself to dream. To wonder if maybe he can find love in this godforsaken town after all. Thinks, foolishly, that if Robin can have her happy ending, maybe he can, too.

   “For real, guys. The tension is killing me. Can you either speed this up or take it somewhere else because I can’t take it.”

   “Get used to it, shithead,” Steve says without looking at him, eyes still trained on Eddie.

   “Yeah, Dusty. Get used to it because I’m gonna be so annoying once your babysitter’s face is all healed up,” Eddie teasingly agrees, ignoring Dustin’s defeated sigh.

   “Does that mean you want to kiss me?” Steve asks a little breathless.

Eddie leans closer to him and whispers “Want nothing more. But I wouldn’t want our first kiss to hurt so it’s gotta wait. And you need to keep your pretty face out of trouble. Understood?”

He doesn’t know where this sudden rush of bravery is coming from but he takes it, needs it because-

   “I might be a little bit in love with you, Stevie. So I need you take better care of yourself, okay? I can’t let you get hurt.”

Somewhere in the room, Dustin is making fake gagging noises but Eddie’s focus is set on Steve who looks like he’s in trance, like he can’t believe what Eddie just told him.

   “I will, promise,” he finally says and sure, Eddie might have hoped for a little love confession in return for his own but he doesn’t need Steve to say it to know that this isn’t a one-sided crush.