Cas

That’s not too bad. Eddie’s twenty-three; if he’s fooling around with someone, it’s not Wayne’s place to intrude even if he wanted to.

The second time he sees it, it’s parked outside Claudia Henderson’s place. That still isn’t odd—Eddie and her Dustin run in the same circles. What Wayne isn’t counting on is who’ll walk out the front door just as he’s passing the house.

Steve Harrington waves over his shoulder to Claudia, who laughs at something he said while he climbs into the driver’s seat.

Since when does Harrington’s boy drive a truck? Wayne thinks, followed by, My Eddie is fooling around with Harrington’s boy?!

Wayne isn’t going to butt in, but this is one of those instances that reminds him despite how loud and uninhibited Eddie is, he’s far from a great communicator. Steve’s never been anything but polite to Wayne in passing, but he can’t help worrying about the implications of the two of them sneaking around.

The third time Wayne sees the Chevy, it’s back in his driveway. He steels himself to enter the house.

Eddie greets him with an enthusiastic, “Wayne!” Steve stands beside him.

“How’s it going, Ed?” Wayne tries.

“Great. Listen, I…want you to meet my boyfriend. Steve.”

Boyfriend. The word fills him with relief. It’s serious enough; it means something. 

Steve smiles and offers a handshake. “Sorry it took so long. I’ve been begging Eddie to introduce us for weeks.”

She brings over a bowl of soup and a grilled cheese sandwich, setting it down right on the colorful metal surface. The sandwich is only a little burnt, and is cut into four little squares, with cheese oozing out.

He's happy to see both of them. Steve is running a tight ship on who gets to help take care of him. Hell, Gareth only got clearance a couple weeks ago. So two more new faces is nice. He thinks that must mean he's doing better. 

That, or Henderson just annoyed the fuck out of Steve until he relented.

"Thank you for sharing your toys with me, m'lady," Eddie says, picking up the spoon Dustin had brought him. It's harder than he'd like it to be. It still shimmies in his hand, shaking as he tries to guide towards the bowl of what he assumes is Campbell's tomato soup.

He grips his wrist with his other hand, his better hand, and tries to steady it. He could just try to learn to eat with his left hand, but he wants to play guitar again, so his fucking right hand has to cooperate. That's just how it's gonna be.

It's gotta learn how to work again.

Eddie would be embarrassed, but he's been poked and prodded, and seen at his weakest ever since the bats gnawed the shit out of him. This is nothing in comparison. Showing a little weakness to two kids that love him, for some insane reason, is barely a blimp of embarrassment.

Nothing like Wayne and Steve bathing him after bringing him home from the hospital. That had to be the last true embarrassment he had. Steve Harrington carefully wrestling him onto a bath chair, and then holding him steady in the tub while Wayne scrubbed his back was just the final straw of privacy. Even if Steve had laid a wet washrag over his crotch. Like that was gonna make it all better, and more normal.

It certainly was not.

Steve clucking about Eddie's wounds, still not healed, even after being released from the hospital. Bandages were changed. Creams and lotions applied. Medications carefully administered.

A watchful eye that hardly ever left his sight. 

It was weird, until it wasn't. Now, Steve's just part of his daily routine. And Steve can bathe him all by himself, trusting that Eddie will be able to hold onto the chair while Steve scrubs and rinses his hair.

Tomorrow is bath day again, and Eddie knows he's getting a little ripe. All the deodorant in the world just won't cover it up. Not totally.

Maybe soon he'll graduate to standing in the shower all by himself, but that day just isn't here. Not quite yet.

Today, he eats while Henderson and Erica argue just to hear their heads rattle.

"You little shits had better have taken good care of him," Steve snaps, breezing into the room, dropping his jacket on Eddie's desk. Well, in theory it's Eddie's desk. He's never sat there, not for a minute. It's Steve domain right now. Hell. Most of the room is Steve's domain.

In the early days, while Wayne was working overnights, Steve would lay out a sleeping bag on the floor, staying close, for when Eddie was bound to wake up from the nightmares. These days, he's graduated to his own bedroom. Mostly. 

This house has three of them, and it didn't take long for Eddie to realize Steve had just moved on in.

"Jeez, way to have faith in us," Dustin whines, and Steve ruffles his hair, pulling him close.

"Lunch was edible?" Steve inquires. 

Erica has her hands on her hips, and Eddie is absolutely certain there's only one answer to that question:

"Fantastic. Erica made pie," Eddie says, and she nods, as if he's passed the test she was administering. 

Steve nods, and sits on the edge of Eddie's bed, hand curling around Eddie's blanket-covered shin, squeezing.

It's nothing. And everything.

There's been no moves made. But Eddie feels like maybe there might be whenever Eddie's back on his feet again.

It's a good motivation to keep getting stronger. 

"I rented some movies—"

"—yes!" Dustin interrupts.

Steve ignores him.

"Adult movies."

"Ew," Dustin adds, and Steve is clearly getting frustrated, waving his hands.

"Jesus. Not like that. Just not for children," he clarifies, and Eddie tries to bite back his smile, just letting Steve continue to dig this hole for himself.

Steve sighs.

"I brought your own tapes. Take them and go," Steve finally says, defeated. He always gives into them, and honestly, Eddie loves that he does. They're good kids.

"You're not gonna give us a ride?" Henderson whines. Eddie knows how this ends. Of course Steve's gonna shuttle them around.

Steve looks at Eddie, tilting his head, then squeezes his leg once more, before grabbing his jacket, herding the two kids away, towards his car.

"I'll be right here awaiting your imminent return!" Eddie shouts.

"Hey," Eddie says, greeting Steve as he holds open the back exit to the theater. Steve looks annoyed, but Eddie's learned that's kind of just his face. 

Steve nods, and once again, Eddie feels like an annoyance. Steve Harrington never asked to be saddled with Eddie as a friend, it just sort of happened to him against his will. 

"Don't make a mess for Robin to clean up," Steve warns, and Eddie nods. He knows the drill. 

"You aren't staying? You weren't a He-Man guy? I dug Skeletor more myself." 

"Weren't you like eighteen when that came out?" Steve asks, brow furrowed, like he's questioning Eddie's sanity. Again.

"I mean, I'm not too good for some cartoons," Eddie says, but feels foolish. Of course Steve Harrington wasn't watching cartoons. He was already fighting monsters in 1983.

Eddie just has fond memories of Saturday Morning cartoons with Uncle Wayne, and if he still watched cartoons, Saturday Morning or otherwise, so fucking be it. He's already a freak. What's a little more weird added to the pile?

"Whatever floats your boat. I'm not staying. Robin is," Steve says, "I've got a date." 

"Lucky girl," Eddie says, and Steve just nods, looking away. Like he's just going through the motions as they walk to the front of the theater. It's pretty much deserted.

Gareth is soon haggling with Robin over the price of popcorn, as if they didn't already get a steep discount on their weekend entertainment. 

Eddie watches as Steve exits the theater, studies him crossing the parking lot, and keeps staring as he tosses his uniform shirt into the back seat of his car. 

When he jogs over and opens the passenger door of some pickup, climbing in, Eddie takes notice. Interesting that Steve's the one getting picked up by his girl—

—the pickup passes by the front of the theater, and, well, that's not a girl. 

Eddie swallows. 

Steve's on a date with a dude. A dude that's not Eddie, because Eddie didn't know asking out Steve was an option. 

"Eddie, you coming or what?" Goodie yells, and Eddie turns to look. They're all waiting on him. Popcorn and drinks in hand.

Eddie hurries over, like he hadn't been spying on Steve.

Jeff hands him his drink, and they make their way to the theater, where Eddie slumps into his red, probably not velvet, seat.

Eddie couldn't tell you anything that happened in that movie. He thinks it was bad. At least, he felt bad during the whole thing, that's for certain. All he could see was Steve Harrington riding off with some guy to do god knows what. 

The jealousy burns, and Eddie feels ashamed that he feels the way he does. Steve deserves to be happy, with anybody he wants. Just because he'll date a guy, it doesn't mean he'd want to date Eddie. 

So, Eddie knows he's just gonna have to get over this one. Take it on the chin, accept the loss. Whatever.

It's harder than he thought to let this go. So, he avoids Steve. He puts his head down, working, taking extra shifts. He doesn't think Steve's noticed he's fallen off the face of the earth until he comes home late one night, and Steve's sitting in front of his apartment door.

"You're avoiding me," Steve says, and Eddie doesn't deny it. He is avoiding Steve.

"Just been busy," Eddie says, sliding his key into the lock, as Steve stands. Arms crossed against his chest, looking defensive.

"Sure," Steve says, and it's biting. Sarcastic.

Eddie turns, glancing back his way, "A man can't be busy?"

"Sure, but I think you just think a man can't date another man," Steve snaps. Defiant. Mad. He's mad at Eddie, clearly.

"Did I say that?" Eddie asks, the sarcasm rolling off his tongue, "Be a bit against my own best interests, but okay. Sure. Think what you want, Harrington."

There's no comeback. No bitchy, biting retort. Steve's just staring at him with those big eyes.

"What?"

"You want to date men?" Steve asks, voice low. 

"Fucking duh," Eddie answers, "you seriously didn't know that? It's not a secret."

Steve hangs his head, hands clenched at his sides.

"I didn't know," Steve finally says, quietly.

"Now you do. We done here?" Eddie asks, turning to head into his apartment, but Steve is right there.

"No, we're not, dickhead," Steve says, snapping at him, pressing himself to Eddie's back, hands squeezing Eddie's hips, before spinning him, making him face Steve.

Eddie's head is pounding, blood rushing, face flush.

Are we really gonna? Eddie thinks, just before Steve's lips touch his.

Oh. They definitely are.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

Robin sighs. “Because three dollar bills don't exist.”

Steve scoffs. Hot curly-haired chick throws back her head and laughs at something her date said. A tiny strawberry blonde with a tooth gap.

“So? Queer people do exist.”

Robin honks. “I love you. Get us another drink?”

He probably shouldn't. But she's finally starting to loosen up, so he goes.

He places their order, then hops on a bar stool. He's just in time to see the strawberry blonde girl slide into the seat beside Robin.

“Thank Christ,” says a voice by his ear. A deep, rumbly one. “Chrissy has been ogling your friend all night. It's her first time, so she's a little nervous.”

Steve turns. Hot curly-haired chick grins back at him, eyes twinkling with mirth. Except that voice was decidedly un-female just now, and shit, he's an idiot.

“Eddie,” says hot, curly-haired dude. “Saw you checking me out.”

“Steve,” Steve croaks. “Sorry, I thought you were a girl. I'm not …”

Eddie watches him gesture at the bar, and something about his smile turns sad.

“Got it. You're the straight chaperone, huh?”

Steve cringes. “Yeah. No. I'm not completely against the idea, I've just never- … What I'm trying to say is that I'm not a full three dollar bill. More of a two-and-a-half.”

Eddie has been listening to his ramble with a confused frown, but now his face lights up.

“Well, big boy,” he purrs. “I wouldn't mind adding my fifty cents, if you catch my drift.”

“Don’t you mean your two-” Steve starts. Eddie winks. “Oh. I mean … yeah? I'd like that?”

Eddie's smile goes large and dimpled. Steve leaves the club with three fresh hickeys and a number tucked into his pocket.