Actually, I love the thought of Steve seeing that Hopper is letting some things slide with him because he’s in the party and taking it to mean that he now has crime immunity. And then goes wild with it.
It’s a sight to see because Eddie kinda thinks he’s hallucinating when he skips out on some drug awareness rally just to walk out to the parking lot and see Steve Harrington breaking into the Chief of Police’s car.
Eddie, standing there like an idiot: Um…what are you doing?
Steve, pulling Hopper’s spare key out of the sunvisor: Wanna get a milkshake?
The next day, Eddie’s skipping class to smoke in his van when there’s a knock at his window and Steve’s standing there like, “Can you drive me somewhere? I’ll buy you lunch.”
And, look. Eddie has weaknesses. They include free food and pretty boys with bruises. That’s how he finds himself following Steve into The Hideout where he sits Hopper’s badge on the counter and says, “Chief Hopper told me to show this to you and wait here for him. He also said to get him a beer. He wrote me a note but I…”
Steve pats down his pockets apologetically but Frank, the bartender, waves him off and hands him the beer. Steve gestures back to Eddie like, “Uh, he’ll get lunch too. To go.”
So, Eddie’s sitting in his van in the parking lot with a bag of greasy food that he can’t even enjoy because two seconds into his first bite, there’s Steve Harrington getting into his passenger seat. Beer and all.
“That’s Hopper’s,” Eddie says with his mouth full as Steve takes a swig and then more importantly, “Are you allowed to do that with your face like that?”
“Alcohol is a blood thinner,” Steve says like that explains anything. “It’ll thin out the goddamn pressure in my head. It’s like drinking wine with dinner.”
Eddie doesn’t think that’s true but also doesn’t know enough about head injuries to really care. He shoves some fries in his mouth, “Why’d’ya have Hopper’s badge?”
“Stole it.”
“…”
“We’re gonna need to drive by the station before he notices it’s gone, by the way.”
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I guess you could say steve's realizing some things
this is from a while ago i just never posted it. I've never digitally drawn a comic and its been years since I've done it on paper so be gentle on the layout here. :^) btw this is where my profile pic is from! drew it in july i think
what if: high school steddie, where Eddie is all too aware of the social hierarchy of Hawkins High and his standing in it—the lowest of the low—versus a Steve who either doesn't know or doesn't care.
Eddie knows he's at the bottom of the food chain. Knows he's the first to eat shit when some jocks are hungering for some violence. Knows he's about as good as the dirt on their shoes, as far as they're concerned.
And at the top of that mountain, just about the other side of the world, really, is Steve Harrington. Steve "The Hair" Harrington. King Steve. Double Team Captain. Mister Harrington Charm.
They shouldn't EVER interact. It's against the laws of nature, or some shit, Eddie's sure.
Which is probably why it seems like the world's imploding when Steve "The Hair" Harrington—Mister Harrington Charm, Double Team Captain, whatever the fuck else Gareth has on his endless list—asks him to prom.
It's probably a good thing they're alone, in the middle of the woods, on opposite sides of Eddie's favorite deal-making table, so no one's around to hear him yell, "What the fuck?"
It echoes around the woods anyways, maybe louder than he meant to be, which is good, because it's definitely a 'what the fuck' moment.
They've literally never spoken before. Actually, they've done less than spoken—they could live on opposite poles of the Earth, for all the interaction they've had. They don't share any classes. Hell, they don't even see each other in the halls.
And now Steve Harrington is staring at him like he's actually waiting for an answer.
Again: What the fuck?
A record scratches in his brain and yup, there’s Harrington’s voice again, smarmy little smile on his face, asking: “Will you go to prom with me?”
As in, Steve Harrington just asked, in this existence, in this reality, on this planet, for Eddie Munson to go to Hawkins High Senior Prom with him. For real.
For real?
No. No way.
Harrington’s joking, Eddie knows. Figures the day’d come he decides torturing Eddie is just as much fun as the rest of his shit-jock cronies made it out to be.
And then, suddenly, Eddie knows what it is. Has seen enough of those terrible movies on early-morning TV with Wayne. Has seen the same damn plot enough times to smell it coming from a mile away.
“You know what,” he says, leaning into Harrington’s space, too close, brimming with irritation and a disgusting desire to one-up the smug, cocky bastard, “You get me a bouquet of roses as black as your twisted, festering soul, and I’ll wear a pretty little dress for you, too.”
Harrington’s frown makes anger tighten Eddie’s jaw. “Do roses… grow in black?”
“I guess that’s for you to find out and for me to know, Harrington,” Eddie sneers. He gets up, snatches his lunchbox, and stalks back through the trees to school.
He throws a “fuck you” over his shoulder when Harrington calls out “Benny’s at six?” but doesn’t turn around because the last thing he needs is to eat shit tripping over a goddamn branch. As it is, he’s already waiting for any of Harrington’s little friends to appear out of the shadows and jump him. That’s how it goes, right?
Only, it doesn’t.
There’s no swirlies, no shoving into lockers, no missing clothes after gym, no brutal beatdown on late days after Hellfire. Eddie’s almost worried the meatheads have had too many concussions and forgot he was next on the hit list.
And then he realizes—oh. Oh no. They’re waiting for prom. Actual prom night to fucking flay him open on stage in front of the whole school or something equally psychotic. Drown him in the punch. Stomp him to death on the dance floor.
Clearly, they HAVE had too many concussions if they think Eddie would EVER show his face there. Fuck Harrington, and fuck his minions. Like Eddie’d make it that easy for them.
Except, in the days leading up to prom, weird things keep happening. And Eddie doesn’t know what to think about it.
There’s pudding at his spot at the head of the table. Once a week, because the cafeteria only has pudding once a week. Eddie loves cafeteria pudding.
Steve Harrington grins at him from across the goddamn cafeteria and Eddie’s gut curdles.
One of the Hellfire posters he puts up monthly (and is always shredded by first period’s end) is still up a week later. Sure, torn and taped back together, but it’s not slush in a toilet, either.
Steve Harrington tells him that he looks nice when he finds him smoking just outside the school, and Eddie’s skin itches like he needs to tear it off.
There’s a flower on the driver’s seat of his van the day he forgets to close the window all the way, a day-old daisy with the petals stained a dark blue, the yellow center dulled.
Steve Harrington says he’s got a nice voice and he’s really good at playing the guitar and Eddie wonders how the hell he knows that.
One day, Harrington drops down to sit on the curb next to him, in the parking lot of the shitty little convenience store that’s a five-minute walk from the trailer park. He passes over a pack of his fancy smokes and nabs one of Eddie’s cheap beers so they can drink and smoke together and neither of them say anything. Eddie wants to say it’s because he doesn’t want Harrington to realize exactly what he’s done and get his shit beer cans crushed over his head, but in truth, it’s because he can’t get a damn read on the guy.
Another, Harrington and Hargrove both come to school looking like they’ve been run over, then backed up over, and then run over again for good measure. Hargrove doesn’t haggle him for weed again, and Harrington still smiles at him from across the cafeteria like the pull of his cheek doesn’t make his broken nose and black eye smart.
Again: What the fuck?
He asks the guys. “What the hell is going on with Harrington?”
He doesn’t like how they look at him, mouths twisted and uncomfortable and unsure.
“Heard he and Hagan beat the shit out of each other a while ago. Haven’t talked since.”
Hagan. Not Hargrove. A while ago.
“Ditched Carol P. and Stacy C., too.”
…
What the fuck?
…
The day of prom comes. Vaguely, Eddie remembers: Benny’s at six. Yeah-fucking-right.
He doesn’t go. Doesn’t have a suit, anyway, and wouldn’t have gone even if he did. Obviously. He might be stupid, repeating senior year, but he’s not THAT stupid.
An hour later, the phone in the trailer rings. When he picks up, Gareth is on the other end of the line. Distantly, Eddie can hear the shitty pop that makes up the school’s prom mixtape.
“What’d Harrington’s face look like?” he asks. “Was he pissed?”
“He didn’t show,” Gareth admits. “I dunno, man, maybe he was being serious.”
Eddie’s laugh probably pisses off half the trailer park. He can’t hear Gareth’s through the phone. “Are you kidding me?”
“Don’t kill the messenger.”
“Messenger might get me killed,” Eddie bites back, and then he hangs up. He hopes the punch is spiked and Gareth gets so drunk he falls asleep in a bush.
He grabs his keys off his nightstand and the trailer door slams behind him when he leaves.
Outside Benny’s diner is dark, shadows over the parking lot, but Harrington’s beamer is still there, clear as day. Maroon and hideous. God-fucking-damnit.
Harrington is in the driver’s seat, arms crossed over his chest as his head lolls back against his seat, half-asleep and definitely getting there. He’s wearing a nice shirt and nice pants and his tie goes flying like a whip across his cheek when Eddie knocks his fist against the roof of the car.
“The hell’s your damage, Harrington?” He barks, before the guy can even get his bearings.
Harrington fumbles, flailing limbs punch a short blare out of his horn, and his tie ends up over his shoulder.
“Eddie, hi. Hi, Eddie.” There’s drool at the corner of his mouth. Eddie’s lips curl.
“What the hell are you doing?” he snaps again. Harrington’s window is half-down—he can definitely hear him.
“Um.” Harrington looks sheepish, now, doesn’t know what to do with his hands. “It was—Benny’s at seven. I was waiting for you. Didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
Eddie’s jaw tightens.
“It was Benny’s at seven, right? I thought it was Benny’s at six, at first, but I can’t really keep dates straight up here, anymore,” he knocks against his head with a knuckle, “All the pointless melon-splits of American sports, or whatever.”
Vaguely, Eddie remembers a long-winded rant on the top of a cafeteria table about the same subject.
“It was at six,” he acknowledges. “I didn’t bother showing up.”
“Oh.” Harrington’s eyes drop, take in his pajama pants and his threadbare tee. “But you did. Now.”
“Yeah, well.” Eddie turns the words over. “Call it a lapse of judgment.”
Harrington nods. He’s not looking at Eddie anymore. It sours something in his gut that he doesn’t acknowledge.
Eddie looks past him. In the passenger seat, a bouquet.
Of black roses.
Harrington’s fingertips are stained a shade darker, black stuck underneath his nails.
What the actual fuck.
“What the hell was your plan here, Harrington?”
Harrington blinks up at him with those stupid big eyes that Eddie definitely, absolutely hates.
“Dinner, and then, you know, prom? Isn’t that how is usually goes?” He asks, like Eddie would have any fucking clue.
Eddie grinds his teeth. “You realize you’ve wasted your only senior prom on this dumb joke, right? And I didn’t even fall for it? Way to have your priorities in order, King Steve.”
Harrington’s face scrunches. Eddie bites his tongue.
“I’ve had the misfortune of having two, and I didn’t subject myself to either. So you can cut the shit—”
“Wait, hold on,” Harrington cuts him off. “It wasn’t—what joke, Eddie?”
Oh. Oh no. If Gareth’s right, he’s gonna have to throw himself from the quarry cliffs.
“You know,” he spits, like it doesn’t affect him, that every last goddamn person in fucking Hawkins sees him as a freak, like a bug to torture and then squash, “Lure me to prom. Dump a bucket of pig’s blood over my head or however that movie goes.”
Harrington—Harrington looks horrified.
Well. The quarry’s always empty at seven in the evening.
“Even I’m not that dumb, man.” He ignores how the words come out, slower, an edge of uncertainty.
“That’s fucked up,” Harrington whispers, “There’s a movie like that? I wouldn’t—that’s not what I—”
“Yeah, I think I’m starting to get that.”
Harrington’s jaw shuts with a click, and they’re both quiet for a minute. And then, like a curse he doesn’t want to say aloud lest he bring it to life, Eddie asks, “That was you, wasn’t it? With the pudding and the posters and the flowers.”
“I broke Tommy’s nose when I caught him trying to let the air outta your tires, too,” he says, hollowly, like it doesn’t matter anymore.
Fuck.
There’s no one in the parking lot, and Eddie tells himself its the only reason he rounds the car and drops into the passenger side seat. The flowers are saved by Harrington’s quick reflexes, and Eddie kind of wants to curse him out for having his doors unlocked.
“Okay.” He hypes himself up like he’s seen Harrington do in PE, a quick breath in and out. “I didn’t know you were being serious. I thought it was just a dumb joke.”
“Yeah, I got that part.”
He twists his fingers together. “Those were for me, right?”
Harrington hums. Hands them over. “Kinda makes it worse, but sure. Yeah, they were for you.”
“Worse?”
Harrington laughs, scrubs a hand over his face. “I thought it’d be funny. You said you’d wear a dress if I got you black flowers, but I—I didn’t mean it that way. I just wanted to get you flowers you’d like.”
Fuck. Eddie does remember that, now.
The stems are still thorny and prick at his fingers when he hold them. He likes them better that way.
“You’ve been… practicing these,” he realizes. Remembers the little blue daisy.
“First ones came out a really gross kind of green,” Steve admits.
God fucking damn it.
“I don’t do prom,” Eddie says.
“Yeah, I figured that one out,” Steve replies. Dry. Still isn’t looking over at Eddie.
“No, I mean—I wouldn’t have gone even if I’d thought you were being honest from the get-go. I don’t DO prom. It’s the death of counter-culture and individuality.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“What I’m saying is,” he takes a deep breath, a little part of him still praying Steve won’t punch his damn lights out, “I’m not gonna go to prom. Ever. That’s an invitation to douchebags like Hargrove and Hagan to split my skull open on the gym floor. I don’t want my last breath to be weeks-old jock socks.”
He ducks, tries to catch Steve’s gaze. Doesn’t manage. He ends up pressed against the dashboard like a moron.
“But there’s this bar I go to,” he continues, “It doesn’t really check ID. I think they’d go out of business if they did. They let us play on Tuesdays.”
“I know.”
He knows? Jesus fucking Christ. Maybe Eddie needs to buy the flowers. About six dozen. Fuck him.
His leg jostles, knocks against Steve’s door. He finally looks up.
“That’s more my speed,” he admits, in a big rush. “It’s… probably better than prom as a first date, anyways.”
Steve’s eyebrows jump up into that famous hair, perfectly styled. Eddie’s is a mane of despair and hopelessness, wilder than a tornado.
“Really?” he asks, like Eddie didn’t just say he’d thought he was a piece of shit in seven different ways. “That’s—you’d—really?”
“I mean, not right now,” Eddie scoffs, and Steve’s face drops. He hurries to amend, “I’m not really dressed for the occasion. But maybe, like… tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow,” Steve repeats, and Eddie flushes. “That’s soon.”
“Or never,” he snaps, because he’s a goddamn moron, “That works too.”
Steve’s grin splits his face and Eddie has to look back at the flowers in his lap. “Tomorrow’s good,” he agrees, too easy.
“Yeah, well,” he mutters, kicks the door open, probably leaves a scuff, but Steve doesn’t say a word. “Better be.”
Steve’s still grinning as he gets out of the car, slams the door closed, rounds the side again. He’s not scared of a gaggle of dipshits ready to jump him because they’re not there. And he’s got a bouquet of black roses pressed to his chest.
“See you then, Eddie,” Steve chirps, as Eddie climbs back into his own van, and Eddie—Eddie has to hide his smile behind a curtain of hair as he throws the piece of shit into reverse and backs out of Benny’s diner.
…
He leaves the flowers on their tiny kitchen counter and the next morning, Wayne’s put them in a vase Eddie didn’t know they had, with water and that weird flower-food crap and everything.
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Eddie buying Steve a plush Ewok on valentine's day. Giving it a little rose to hold. And bringing Steve a box of chocolates to finalllyyyyyyy confess his feelings.
He shows up on Steve's doorstep around noon, so fucking nervous his knees are shaking. He rings the door bell and then walks in a circle twice, like an impatient cat, his hands shaking as they hold his gifts.
Steve answers the door with that cute little pout, not expecting anyone today. He hides at home on valentines now. But he smiles when he sees Eddie. His smile falteres for a tiny moment when his eyes fall on the Ewok and chocolates in his hands.
But then his face turns pink and he rubs the back of his neck and he's like,
"Are those for me?" All shy and Eddie has completely lost control of his speech so he opens and closes his mouth a few times before clamping his shut and just nodding.
As soon as he nods Steve lights up. He bolts out the door, the like, two steps between them and moves his hands over the Ewok and he's like,
"You got me one of the teddy bears!!! I love himmmm!" And takes it and hugs it. And then looks at Eddie and is like,
"You didn't correct me." All quiet as he pets at the Ewoks paw. And Eddie just shrugs and says,
"Do i ever?" And he know he looks besotted and gooey and love drunk. And Steve just looks at him for a minute and then nods slowly and is like,
"You wanna come in?" His hand falling to Eddie's wrist. He loses contol of his mouth again at the touch and nods again. Steve grabs the chocolates too, and then Eddie's hand.
He tugs him inside and they sit on the couch watching Star Wars, and then other stuff neither one of them pays attention to, for the rest of the day. Steve's little Ewok setting between them or on Steve's lap.
Steve names him Theodore. Eddie turns red to the tips of his ears.
(Steve's the only person besides Wayne that knows that's his real name. The only person Eddie himself has ever told. 🧡)
alpha4alpha steddie..... they have tension and flirt for months but eddie never wants to pursue it because he assumes King Steve would demand eddie to submit to him. meanwhile steve is literally dying to get bent in half and railed and dominated by eddie and just hoping and praying eddie will make a move soon
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and to the children in the notes saying we need this fucking baby talk to get around censorship online; there's been no credible evidence that any site other that YouTube (which will only demonetize your video, ftr) will actually censor or hide content that include words like rape, pedophile, gun, terrorist, etc. etc. and even if we take as a given they were (which, again, they are not), do not fucking comply in advance, you absolute fucking coward. and ESPECIALLY do not comply by altering your real life fucking vocabulary. don't let the technocrats dictate what words you say holy fucking shit dude!!!!!!!!!!!!
