Cas

Which is fine, really, it is. They’d gotten close after Hell Break ‘86, squirrelled away together at Casa Harrington to keep Eddie safe from the righteous mob, and then the town had gone into military quarantine anyway. Eddie was fully recovered by then, but the arrangement was working for them, so they’d just continued on, until it was a random Thursday night and Eddie was laughing at one of Steve’s stupid dad jokes while he picked a record from Steve’s collection to play while they made dinner together, like they did every night, and being struck by the realisation that Steve Harrington was his best friend. 

There was always something underneath it though, a little zing of delicious tension. Maybe they’d have danced around it forever, if not for the pesky Upside Down problem, if not for the tower, if not for Steve nearly falling off the tower. If not for nearly flinging himself off it too, to catch Steve’s arm. If not for the oh realisation in that moment. 

They’d kept it secret because it was new and precious and fragile. Neither of them had ever felt that way about another boy before, and they didn’t need any external pressure on them while they figured it out, together. And now, suddenly, it’s like they’ve blinked and it’s 1990, a whole new decade, and they’ve been in a secret relationship for two years. It’s fine. Eddie doesn’t ever wake in cold sweat, unable to shake the notion that he’s not good enough for Steve, that he’s something bad and embarrassing, to be hidden away forever. Never. 

He doesn’t even want to tell that many people. Just Robin – maybe it’ll stop her unbelievable knack for calling them the literal moment Steve’s getting a welcome hand down Eddie’s jeans. And Jeff, who keeps looking at Eddie like he lost some brain cells in addition to his left nipple in the bat attack, whenever Eddie brushes off the attention of girls at their shows. Jeff’s asked a few times, all sly and teasing, when Eddie is going to introduce his secret girlfriend to the band.  

“Where are you?” Steve asks, the you wavering on the moan that punches out when Eddie slides a thigh between his legs. 

It’s summer, which means everyone is back in Hawkins, and subsequently have completely invaded Casa Harrington-Munson, abusing pool privileges and their pantry. It’s also meant almost zero alone time, for like three weeks now, and they’re both getting a little desperate and risky. They’re so used to it usually being just the two of them in the house. 

“Packing instruments,” Eddie murmurs, kissing along Steve’s jaw. “Have I told you I hate these shorts?” 

They’re all the rage, Eddie knows because Steve told him so, some bullshit gimmick where the fabric changes colour between hot and cold. Hypercolor, Steve called them. Whatever they are, Eddie’s eyeballs are offended by the violet, violent blue. 

“So many times,” Steve says, with a little chuckle. He makes a little noise of delight when Eddie’s hands drop to his asscheeks and stay there, holding firm handfuls. “I think they’re funky.” 

“Dork. Can’t believe how much I love you,” Eddie sighs, kissing Steve senseless instead of waiting for his undoubtedly bitchy retort. “We should stop,” he says, though it’s the last thing he wants. Unfortunately, common sense has to prevail when they’ve got a houseful of their nearest and dearest, all the screaming and laughing and splashing muffled only by the walls between them. He squeezes Steve’s cheeks again, kneading, revelling in his beloved’s laughter. “Okay, now we stop.” 

They tumble out of their hiding closet after a quick check that the coast is clear. When they reach the kitchen, Eddie only has half a second to process the sight before him – Jeff and Robin conspiratorially eating slices of the birthday cake Steve made for Lucas that has not yet been presented to the birthday boy – prior to the screech of “What the hell, Buckley?” that Steve lets out. 

“What the hell me?” Robin demands right back, around a mouthful of cake. “What the hell you, Steven!” 

“You wanna tell me why you’re ruining Sinclair’s cake?” Steve says, that flush Eddie so adores climbing his neck. He tries not to stare too long. 

November 1st, 1984 – 17:09

“Eddieeeeee, it’s Jeff, pick up dude. Pick up. Pick up–okay fine. Where’d you disappear to last night? We still on for band practice tomorrow night? Call me back.” 

November 6th, 1984 – 21:21

“Hey Eddie. It’s, uh, Steve. Harrington. Sorry it’s taken me so long to return your call, I’ve… I’ve had a few things going on. Thanks though, thanks for hanging out with me on Halloween and, like, taking care of me or whatever. I just… thanks again man. See you at school.” 

November 7th, 1984 – 15:55

“Harrington, holy shit dude, I really hope I’m not getting your machine because you’ve collapsed in a heap at home with, like, your brain melting out your ears or something? You looked like shit at school today, and I mean that with, like, concern, not as an insult. Um. Yeah. Just–if you need any, like, pain relief or something, I’ve got you covered, just say the word. It’s, uh, Eddie–Munson, Eddie Munson. Okay. Bye.” 

November 7th, 1984 – 15:57

“Hey dude, it’s Gareth, why is your line still engaged? I’ve tried you like three times. Did you see Harrington’s face today? Holyyyyyy sheeeeet, he looked like he’s been through a meat grinder. Call me back.” 

November 7th, 1984 – 15:59

“Edward. Yo. It’s Freak. You see the Kings’ shiner today? Heard it was Billy Hargrove. Bro is an animal.” 

November 7th, 1984 – 16:15

“Hey, it’s Jeff. You picking me up at six? I got you Red Vines.” 

November 8th, 1984 – 11:36

“Hi Eddie, it’s Steve. I’m hoping getting your machine means you’re back at school. You shouldn’t miss any more class. But, uh, thanks for driving me home. I’m going to take tomorrow off too. Let me know when you’re free so I can buy you a six-pack as a thanks.” 

June 17th, 1985 – 19:43

“Edward, it’s Freak. I’ve got two words for you; Scoops Ahoy.” 

June 18th, 1985 – 10:06

“Hey, it’s Jeff. I was at Starcourt today getting a lamp and checking out the yoga chicks, as one does – did you know Steve Harrington is working at Scoops Ahoy? Oh Eddie boy, oh how the mighty have fallen. Hey, weren’t you two kinda hanging out there for a bit last year?” 

June 22nd, 1985 – 18:53

“Eddieeee, where are you man? It’s Gareth, I’ve got the best news! I’ve got us a gig at The Hideout! It’s for July 3rd. The manager I spoke to says if it goes well it could turn into a regular spot. We need to strategise – call me back!” 

June 30th, 1985 – 20:14

“Hey Eddie, it’s Steve. I checked my roster at work, and I can definitely make it to your first show! Gonna try and convince Buckley to come, because she’s cool and nerdy like you guys, and you’re all cool with each other, so cred points for me with your friends. Should I bring anything? Should I wear a Corroded Coffin shirt? I will, you know, zero shame. Call me when you get home, I wanna hear how rehearsal went.” 

July 2nd, 1985 – 17:03

“Yooooo, Edward. It’s Freak. I got that amp from my cousin, it’s much better than that one with the dodgy cable. Swing by after dinner and we can load it in the van? Buzz me back when you get this.” 

July 2nd, 1985 – 22:53

“Hey Steve-o, it’s Eddie. I thought you’d be home by now, but I’m guessing you have been overrun by the army of evil children demanding the SS Butterscotch. It is, after all, an ocean of flavour. Anyway, we’re going on at nine tomorrow night. I’m… I’m really glad you’re coming. I’ll tell you a secret, Stevie, just between you, me, and your answering machine. I’m nervous. Promise you’ll tell me your grandma rocks harder than me or something to keep my head on straight, yeah? I hope work wasn’t too shitty, see you tomorrow night.” 

July 3rd, 1985 – 23:27

“Hey Stevie, it’s Eddie. I didn’t see you at the show tonight, and the crowd was like twenty drunks, so I reckon I would have spotted you. You okay? Call me.” 

July 4th, 1985 – 13:04

“Howdy Ed, it’s Jeff. I heard from Gareth – The Hideout manager liked our set! He’s open to giving us a regular spot. How good, yeah?! Also, we’re having a barbecue later – mom said to come over, and bring Wayne. Okay, bye.” 

July 4th, 1985 – 21:18

“Hey Steve. Is everything okay? Call me back.” 

July 5th, 1985 – 22:20 

“Steve-o, you’re starting to worry me. Is this the shit you ‘can’t talk about’? Call me back, please.”

July 6th, 1985 – 23:45

“Harrington. It’s Eddie. I’m pretty sure I’ve filled your answering machine after this message. At this point, I’d really just love word you’re alive, but I can take a hint. I thought you wanted–that you–um. Anyway. See you round.” 

March 25th, 1986 – 16:56

“Um, hi. This is Jeff Best. Steve, if you get this…have you seen Eddie? He always says you guys don’t talk anymore, but I don’t know who else to call. Jason Carver has lost his mind, and–and I’m worried. I– Jesus, I don’t know why I bothered calling you, actually. You didn’t show up for him before, why would you now?”

April 3rd, 1986 – 14:31

“This is the second time you're doing this class, Eddie. At least pretend you're trying. Do you know what fungi and bacteria have in common?”

“No,” Eddie admits, neck burning with heat. “But I could tell you the difference between a teacher and a three-dollar hoo-”

Steve Harrington raises his hand. “Please, sir. May I?”

Hagan - far enough on the edge of his seat to challenge the laws of physics - hits him in the ribs. Harrington ignores him, smiling at Cooper as he turns towards him.

“Fair enough, Steve. At least some of us are applying themselves. What do you think?”

Harrington runs a hand through his stupid, shiny hair and licks his stupid, pretty lips.

“They're both, um… tiny life forms. Micro- … What’s the word? Microorgasms?”

The class roars. Hagan actually does fall off his chair.

“Microorgasms?” he wheezes. Harrington smiles sheepishly. His eyes dart across the room. Eddie ducks his head and starts sharpening his pencil. “Is that what the girls call it? Because if it is, you-”

“Silence,” Cooper yells. “Calm down, everybody, this will be on the test. Now, who can name another example of microorganisms?”

*

“He shouldn’t have done that.”

Eddie groans and slams his locker shut. He packed up extra slowly, giving the rest of the class plenty of time to leave. No such luck, apparently.

At least it’s just Harrington, without his entourage. He’s leaning against the wall on Eddie’s right, foot propped up, bag slung loosely over one shoulder. The epitome of cool and suave. No trace of the humilation that ought to still cling to him like tar.

“Cooper,” Harrington explains, like Eddie asked for it. “I mean, he saw you weren’t paying attention, and he still decided to call you out. He’s an idiot. Don’t feel down about it.”

“I’m not,” Eddie lies. And then, because biting an offered hand is the only way he knows how to react to kindness, “Not like I made an ass of myself in front of everyone.”

Harrington shrugs.

“They’ll have forgotten about it by Monday. And besides, I was sort of thinking on my feet. Needed to find some way of getting them off your back.”

“Yeah, well, I didn't ask you to,” Eddie snaps. The guy has no damn right to be so unbothered. No damn right to have embarrassment just slide off him like water off an oil film. None at all to be this fucking nice about it. “I can take care of myself, no need for you to swoop in like some white knigh- … Hold on a damn second, did you do that on purpose?”

“No idea what you mean,” Harrington says, pushing off the wall. His hand squeezes Eddie's shoulder as he passes. “Anyway, lemme know if you need a study buddy. I feel like we could both brush up on our microorgasms.”

Eddie keeps staring at the empty corridor long after he's gone.

It takes Eddie an hour to make what should have been a fifteen minute drive, tops. He's sweaty, face red, when he comes into Steve's bedroom.

"Oh, naked, yes," Eddie says, and starts stripping off his own clothes, before flopping down on the bed next to Steve. He's radiating heat, and Steve leans over and switches the fan beside his bed up to high, even if that makes it rattle.

"Who are we gonna bite first?" Eddie asks, and Steve laughs.

They finally call Robin and demand that she take them to the hospital. Only, Robin still can't drive, so Nancy is the one that is fucking this monkey. Bossing them around, yelling at them for being naked as Robin keeps demanding answers to questions Steve doesn't fully understand. 

How long have they been doing what? 

Dying?

For a few days. Clearly.

But Nancy's still forcing them to get up out of bed while Robin screeches.

Everything hurts.

Steve can't do this. He can't walk. He'll just die in bed. It's fine. 

But no, she's being mean and making him get up.

She's making him put on clothes.

And the fabric feels suffocating against his skin, and he wants to give up and lay back down. Death is fine. He's ready to go. But she won't let him.

He's definitely biting her first.

Steve wakes up, and feels better. Not great. But better. He's hooked up to an IV and Eddie is in the hospital bed next to his. Hey, Eddie's here. His memory is fuzzy. He doesn't remember how he got here. He doesn't even remember being with Eddie. 

"Well, look who's finally awake," Robin says, and Steve searches the room for her. His throat feels dry. He needs a drink.

"Do I have rabies?" Steve asks, voice scratchy, and Robin gives him a look like he's an idiot, getting up and holding up the pink mug with the bendy straw. He slurps down the water, and it's the best thing he's ever tasted.

"You have the flu. The man flu. I know. So much worse than the regular flu," Robin chides, and Steve can't even fight with her. He's too sick.

"Not rabies?" Eddie asks, voice just as scratchy. He gets his own turn with the ice water.

"Not rabies," Robin confirms. "You dumbasses really thought you had rabies?"

"You said we did!" Eddie shouts, voice echoing in the hospital room.

"Under duress! In the Upside Down! Months ago!" Robin argues back, and Steve's head is pounding far too much for this. To listen to them fighting.

"Stop," Steve begs, holding his head. It's killing him.

"They gave you fluids, you idiots were both dehydrated," Robin says, and Steve nods. It has helped. He only feels like death warmed over instead of fully dead. It's an improvement, however slight.

"From all the fucking," she adds, lowering her voice, clearly disgusted.

Steve furrows his brow, "From all the what?"

Robin waves her hands around, exasperated. "The fucking!"

"What fucking?" Eddie asks, tracking her movement with his eyes.

"What fucking?" she mocks, then she sounds hurt, "I don't know why you didn't tell me."

Steve holds up his hands, "Rob. Tell you what?"

"That you'd gotten together," she says quietly, as if she has just realized again that they're in public. 

"Us?!" Eddie asks, waving his hand between himself and Steve.

She puts her hands on her hips, and Steve smiles. It's like looking in a mirror.

"Yes, you!"

"Why would you think that?" Steve asks.

"Why would I think that? You were both naked in bed together. I'm traumatized, by the way. I had to see two dicks, and one of them belonged to you!" she accuses, pointing at Steve.

"You'd rather see Eddie's dick?" 

"Yes!" she shouts, and then corrects, "No! I mean, I don't want to see either of them! But seeing his is better than yours—"

"—gee, thanks," Steve mutters.

"My dick is better than yours, Harrington," Eddie crows from the other bed. Not helping. He's never helping.

"You know what I mean!" she says, getting even more wound up.

Then she takes a deep breath, looking between them, "I just don't know why you didn't tell me. You're my best friend."

"Robin," Steve says, "there was nothing to tell. I swear."

"You were naked. Together," she repeats, and she can keep saying that all she wants, it doesn't mean he's gonna remember.

He glances over at Eddie, "Did we fuck?"

Eddie shrugs his shoulders up towards his ears, "I don't know." Then, after a pause: "You wanna?"

"Eddie," Robin chastises. 

"Maybe," Steve says, "I heard your dick's so nice Robin wanted to see it."

"I did not!" she interjects. "I'm gonna have the doctor pull the plug on both of you if you don't stop."

"Robin," Steve says, "Do you think Eddie and I should fuck?"

She spins around, hands waving, "Well, duh! You've been dancing around it for months. I just didn't expect to be out of the loop when you figured it out!"

News to Steve.

Good news, definitely.

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! 🦇

"No, making soup," Eddie snarks dryly, folding his washcloth, placing it over his eyes. He just wanted an hour to relax. To maybe work some of the knots out. The tour is killing him. His whole body aches. He's stiff in places he didn't even know he could be.

Sure, he knew it'd be hard. He knew that he'd have limitations after the bats. He knew that. He did. And yet. He may have vastly overestimated his readiness for months on the road. It's harder than he ever expected it might be.

Their first album exploded. It was wholly unexpected, and happened by word of mouth, a snowball effect. They were nobodies. Unprepared for what was about to happen to them. Eddie's raw hurt and anger at what had happened to him somehow spoke to the masses in a way he couldn't have predicted.

It was supposed to be his catharsis. His letting go.

Instead, it was a rocketship he strapped himself to, unwittingly. 

Now, he's feeling the pressure. The label already wants a second album. Eddie doesn't have a second album. It took him five fucking years to write this one. They weren't even a band anymore. But Eddie called them, his friends, with all the songs already penned, just because he just wanted to get them on tape. 

Jeff suggested renting a studio for a few hours, and that wasn't a bad idea. Eddie had the money. The settlement was a nice little nest egg he'd squirreled away. So, they recorded them. All professional-like. In over their heads, but having fun, nonetheless.

And Eddie figured that was that. They shopped it around, just for fun, and found a taker willing to release it, promote it.

Willing to pay them.

Now, here they are.

The old saying that you have a lifetime to write your first album, but only have six months to write your second, is no fucking joke. But Eddie's not pushing himself, no matter what the label wants. Not right now. Eddie wrote the first one with raw fucking feelings, chronic pain, and a pen.

Until he has something else worthwhile to say, he's not saying shit. If they are one and done, so be it. This is already more than he could have ever dreamed, even in his wildest dreams.

His knee starts to shake, a familiar tremor going through his hamstring. Eddie reaches for it, but Gareth's hands beat him to the punch. 

Squeezing, working the indented skin, where muscle is missing underneath. At first, just living through the ordeal seemed like he'd won. It wasn't until long after that he realized what exactly he'd still lost.

And it was substantial.

"Thanks," Eddie says, and he hears the door open again. "Calgon, take me away," he mutters under his breath, but he's not annoyed. Not really.

He lifts an edge of the washcloth, peeking out. Goodie. Finding a spot on the other side of the tub.

"Taking a bath?" he asks, and Eddie laughs.

"Making soup," Gareth corrects. 

"I already ate," Goodie says, fingers skimming the water, flicking some in Gareth's direction, and it makes Eddie laugh.

"Where's—"

And the door opens and closes a third, and hopefully final, time.

"—Jeff."

"We're having Eddie soup," Goodie says, filling Jeff in as he adds to the crowd. Eddie hadn't realized bathing was a spectator sport.

"Are you okay?" Jeff asks, finally saying what they must all be thinking to have gathered in this way, "Do we need to adjust the schedule? We can. We can do anything we want."

They can't adjust the schedule. Tickets have been sold. But they can't keep going like this. No, Eddie can't keep going like this. The rest of them are fine. They're still young, and in one piece.

"Do you think Ozzy would sue us if we incorporated a throne into our stage show?" Gareth asks, and Eddie hadn't considered that as an option. He can't imagine sitting, but that honestly might help. Even if he only does it half of the show. 

If he only uses it when he really needs it.

"He doesn't own the concept of a chair," Goodie says dryly.

Eddie's been very open about his limitations. Obviously, he couldn't say he got attacked by bats from hell, but with his lyrics? There's no question that he's been through some shit. The scars are evident. Especially the ones on his face, his neck. 

The long, jagged one across his jaw. 

There's no running from those. 

He's scarred, inside and out.

But the guys are always ready to help him through it. He upturned their lives, even if he never intended to. He couldn't have predicted anybody would hear this album when he called them to help record it.

Partly, just wanting to see his friends. Partly, because he couldn't imagine anyone else knowing all these personal things about him.

Jokes on him. Now, the world knows.

They're on a tour, Eddie's heart wide open for consumption, while Eddie's body is revolting. All the physical therapy in the world can't replace muscle. Can't erase scars.

Can't roll back time, to before the bats.

Eddie rests his head against the cool porcelain.

"We can see about a chair," he relents, knowing that they will take care of it. Take care of him. Always.

Now they’re opening for Warrant, which is maybe not the exact thing they wanted, but it’s pretty damn close. They leave in two weeks. He found them a bus to rent, he found them a roadie who is willing to work for minimum wage as long as they buy him food. The driver is included with the bus rental, but they suggested tipping him at every stop so he has some extra. Steve will figure that out when they get paid.

“You’re so tense, baby,” Eddie rubs his shoulders and kisses his neck. It doesn’t help, but it feels nice, anyway. “You should relax.”

“I still have to make our packing lists and confirm the badges we need with the security teams at every venue and-”

“Okay.” Eddie bites his neck as he laughs. “Enough out of you. All of that can wait until tomorrow. I’m gonna draw you a bath with those fancy Calgon salts Jeff got you for your birthday.”

“I don’t have time,” Steve half-whines. He rarely complains, and he isn’t really now. It’s just that he really wants Eddie to understand that so much of their success falls on him. Yes, they’re talented, and yes, they’ve built a huge fan base because of their music and personalities. But Steve handles the bullshit they can’t, and usually never even find out about. “Maybe after the tour.”

“That’s six months away, Steve.” Eddie wraps his arm around Steve’s waist and tugs him towards the bathroom. “Get your clothes off. You’re taking a bath. One hour.”

Steve knows it’s not worth arguing. “Calgon, take me away, I guess.”

Eddie snorts and shoves him through the doorway. “You want me to stay with you or leave you alone?”

“Stay.”

He doesn’t really want to be alone. He’ll start to overthink and it won’t be relaxing. If Eddie insists on him not doing anything for an hour, then he should probably be there to actually make sure that nothing is what he does.

The bath is warm and the salts smell good. He doesn’t actually know what scent they are, but it’s nice.

He breathes in. He breathes out.

“Did Calgon save you?” Eddie asks after a few minutes. Steve turns to see him smiling over at him.

“I think so.” Steve smirks. “You really have me naked and you aren’t even making comments about my dick. Do you even love me anymore?”

“I’m giving you a peaceful hour!” Eddie laughs as he scoots closer to the bath. “Unless you wanna hear all my deranged thoughts about what I want to do with it.”

“It?” Steve shakes his head. “Not even me. Just it. Nice.”

“Well, it’s a part of you. And I could also tell you about the deranged thoughts about what I want to do to you.”

“Maybe when I’m done. I kinda liked the silence,” Steve leans his head back and closes his eyes, sighing dramatically.

He waits for Eddie to say something, but he doesn’t. It’s impressive how quiet he’s being.

It must be killing him.

Eventually, Steve opens one eye and looks towards where Eddie is sitting on his hands and biting his lip.

“You wanna suck my dick so bad.”

Eddie groans and covers his face as Steve laughs and leans forward so he can kiss Eddie’s cheek.

“I can’t even let you relax. You’re so hot,” Eddie explains. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I still have, what, 40 minutes of the hour? Plenty of time for you to do what you need to do so bad.”

It’s stupid that he feels more relaxed joking with Eddie than when he was sitting silently in the bath. Or maybe it’s not. Eddie’s always been his comfort, the person he goes to when shit hits the fan. That won’t change just because he’s been forced into a bath.

“Let me rinse off and I’ll be right out,” Steve pats his head. “You can do whatever you want to it.”

“I can?” Eddie’s voice pitches higher with so much hope. How could Steve turn him down?

Steve wraps his arms around him from behind, kissing his neck and then his shoulder, resting his nose against his pulse.

“You should come to bed, babe,” he whispers.

He’s right. He’s barely slept for days, and getting into bed and cuddling up to Steve will help his morose mood. It’s just that he’s twitching to grab his guitar and write something. He’s dying to get in his van and drive to Gareth’s house a mile up the road and come up with a new plan that’s doomed to fail. It’s a habit now, one that’s going to take a while to break now that they aren’t a band anymore. Not officially, anyway.

“Eddie? You okay?” Steve asks, voice louder now, laced with concern. He picks his head up, but Eddie quickly reaches back to tug him back into place.

“Don’t let go,” Eddie tells him. “Stay.”

And because Steve is an angel, and Eddie doesn’t deserve him, he does. He doesn’t ask any questions or try to say anything to make him feel better. He doesn’t push him towards the bed to try to make him sleep. He just holds him.

Eventually, Eddie turns in his arms and cups his face, kissing the corner of his mouth and giving him a small smile.

“Can I play you something?” Eddie asks.

Steve grins. “Always.”

He plays for a while. Too long, going off the yawns Steve tries to hide after a few songs. He’s slowly sinking down into the bed while Eddie strums and hums, occasionally pausing to write in his notebook.

Eddie plays until Steve’s asleep, light snores coming from where he has his face buried in the pillow. When he looks up, he finally notices Steve wearing his cropped Corroded Coffin shirt.

It makes him cry. He’s quiet about it, not wanting to wake Steve and see that worried look on his face again.

He wishes things turned out better for them. He wishes that Steve was visiting him on tour instead of sleeping in a trailer he promised he’d never come back to. He wishes he could say he accomplished what he set out to do, just one time.

—

He writes songs often, but the inspiration isn’t there. It’s harder without Gareth banging on his drums, trying to find any beat that works with the melody Eddie has in his head. They could try Gareth coming up with a beat first, but that’s just not how they do things.

How they did things.

Eddie looks around the record shop. He doesn’t mind this job. The owner’s pretty cool, knows a lot about every genre of music. He plays guitar and bass, too. Sometimes on payroll days, he sets aside some time to jam with Eddie after they lock up.

It’s fun as far as minimum wage, unskilled labor goes.

Jeff comes by every Friday when he’s done with his classes, flips through the new releases, even if he doesn’t like the artists. He just likes shooting the shit with Eddie. They’ve always been like that. Even when they argued about band stuff, they’d find common ground with something else.

Gareth practically lives at the trailer on Sundays, a desperate attempt to escape his own house. His grandparents visit every Sunday and turn it into a miserable place. Eddie doesn’t mind. Steve gives them space for hours before he usually yells for them to come eat. He always gives Gareth a long hug before he leaves, like he knows that Gareth’s grieving, too.

Frankie mostly makes Eddie come to him, but he doesn’t mind. He knows it’s because he had a falling out with his parents and doesn’t want to step foot back in Hawkins if he can help it. He’ll go wherever he has to to see his friend.

But it’s tough not getting together anymore. He wishes they could all just hang out, not as a band, without the pressure, without the commitment. He wants them to be friends again, real friends.

He just doesn’t know how to make that happen.

—

“Cake is in the oven. Wayne will be here in ten to help me set up the tables and chairs. Robin’s got beer. Don’t ask me how,” Steve shakes his head as he runs down his checklist for Eddie’s birthday party. “Dustin might be late. Said he’s bringing his girlfriend and she takes forever to do her hair.”

“Sounds familiar,” Eddie teases, wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist and kissing his neck. “You want any help?”

“It’s your birthday, you’re not allowed to help.” Steve turns to kiss his cheek. “You should go get changed, though. Pretty sure Gareth said he was coming early to avoid his grandma asking if he’d found a wife yet.”

“But he doesn’t even have to lie anymore!” Eddie groans, throwing his hands up. “Fine, fine. I’ll go. You wanna help me?”

“You don’t need my help to get dressed,” Steve rolls his eyes.

“But I could use help with…other things…” Eddie wiggles his brows and winks. “You said for my birthday we could-“

“I know what I said. I meant after your party,” Steve’s face is bright red as he looks back down at his list. “Plus, I’m not wearing that under these clothes. I’ve got too much to do still.”

Eddie smacks a kiss to his lips and rushes off to get ready for his party.

Everyone’s coming.

Even Frankie.

It’s not the first time they’ve all been together since the band broke up, but it’s the first time it’s happening under Eddie’s roof. It feels like there’s more potential for something to go wrong here.

It’s the biggest party he’s ever had for himself, but 30 is a big number according to everyone who cares about him. There’s a cake that Steve made sitting on the table surrounded by cards and gifts from everyone who loves him.

Jeff, Gareth, and Frankie are all standing together on the porch. They’re not arguing as far as Eddie can tell.

He joins them hoping it stays that way.

“There’s the birthday guy!” Jeff slaps his shoulder, nearly spilling the soda in his cup when he does. “Heard we’re cutting the cake in a few minutes.”

“Yeah, Steve’s got a pretty strict schedule for that apparently,” Eddie rolls his eyes fondly. He’s never been much for a schedule, but it makes Steve happy and he’s a big fan of that. “Enjoying the party? Need anything?”

Gareth snorts. “It’s your party. We don’t need you to take care of us.”

“I know, but-“ Eddie freezes. He swallows back the sudden lump in his throat.

The final thing, the one thing out of the millions of things that ruined their band, was no doubt that Eddie could be a little overbearing and overprotective about them. He wanted things to work so badly. He pushed on things he shouldn’t have because he thought it was best for all of them. He turned down things that the others wanted to do because he thought it wouldn’t be right for their sound. He fought with Frankie to protect Gareth, he fought with Gareth to protect Jeff. He fought with Steve to protect all of them.

In the end, he tried to be too in control.

Happens to all the greats, right? It’s just not a good story when you aren’t great first.

“I know.” He says again. He gives them a smile before he rushes off to find Steve. They don’t stop him. He’s sure his realization was written all over his face.

When he finds Steve, he’s pacing the kitchen floor, Wayne trying to calm him down about something quietly. It’s a bit unnerving for a birthday party, especially when everyone’s outside.

“Steve?”

Steve’s head snaps up and over to Eddie, eyes widening comically. Wayne mumbles something about idiots and walks out the back door to rejoin the party.

“Hey. Everything okay? Cake in a few minutes,” Steve says, plastering on a fake smile. Eddie steps closer, watching the way Steve’s hands are shaking as he tries to shove them in his pockets.

“I’m good. Are you okay?” Eddie cups the side of his neck, searching his face for any other clues about what could possibly be wrong. Could he be sick? He mentioned a headache yesterday, but he seemed fine this morning.

“I’m good! I promise,” Steve reaches up to wrap his fingers around his wrist, smile changing to something more comforting and real. “Are you happy?”

The question isn’t entirely unusual, but it still makes Eddie worry again.

“Of course I am. You brought everyone I love together and made my favorite cake. And we’ve got naked plans tomorrow. How could I not be?” Eddie tries to push his worry away as Steve leans in to kiss the corner of his mouth.

It’s probably nothing. Steve’s a bit worried that the weather won’t hold up for them and he doesn’t want everyone in the house, so maybe that’s what he’s so riled up about. Wayne was probably just offering to help bring stuff inside if the storms start earlier than they’re supposed to.

“Good. That’s all I want,” Steve kisses him again before he leads Eddie back outside.

He brings him over to the cake and yells for everyone to come sing. He didn’t think people did that for adults, but he goes along with it because it’s entertaining watching a bunch of mostly tone deaf adults try to sing together. He’s beaming by the end, almost forgetting he needs to blow out the candles until Steve nudges his arm.

When he blows them out and turns, Steve’s not there.

Well, he is there.

He’s just not standing up.

He’s on one knee, holding a very simple silver band. Everyone around them is quiet.

“I knew you weren’t just throwing a birthday party!” Eddie laughs, leaning down to tug Steve up off his knee. It’s his bad knee, because he’s an idiot. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“I’m fine,” Steve rolls his eyes. “Let me say this.”

Eddie grins at him. “Carry on.”

“I know life’s been different than what you wanted. You hoped to be the next big rock star and it didn’t work out. You didn’t wanna stay in Hawkins. You probably didn’t even think you’d end up with me, but here we are,” everyone laughs as Steve smirks. “I think we’ve got a pretty great thing going here. Even when it’s not perfect, and when we still hope for more, we’re together. That’s enough for me. And I’m hoping that maybe that’ll be enough for you, too. We can’t file the papers to make it legal, but Wayne’s already got a speech ready for us to get married right here in this backyard someday if you say yes.”

Eddie wipes a stray tear from his cheek. “You have to ask me first.”

“What?” Steve’s brows raise before he realizes. “Oh. Right. Eddie, will you please spend forever with me? Wherever that may lead us?”

“Yes. Of course I will. I’d follow you anywhere.”

Everyone cheers. They kiss. It’s like a movie if movies ever showed the kind of love they have.

“Best birthday ever?” Gareth claps him on the back. His girlfriend is standing off to the side. She looks like she was crying. “Guess that puts more pressure on me, huh?”

“Guess so. Surprised you needed any,” Eddie jokes, turning to give him a hug. “Surprised she’s waited this long.”

“I’ve got a way with my hands, what can I say?”

Jeff playfully shoves him and fake gags. “Sure you do. Congrats, Eddie. Steve’s been stressed about this for months.”

Eddie turns to see Wayne hugging Steve close, patting his back.

“He should’ve known I’d say yes,” Eddie smiles fondly as he turns back to them.

“He’s just worried about tying you down for real,” Frankie says as he steps closer. “You’ve never been much for staying in one spot forever.”

“I don’t mind if it’s with him,” Eddie admits. He’s not even lying.

Saying yes doesn’t really change anything for them. They’ll wear rings, have a little ceremony in their backyard, maybe they’ll refer to each other as husbands with their friends. But they’ve already been living together for years, seen each other through so much. They make plans together, they pay bills together, they struggle and win together.

He doesn’t think he’d have that if he had become a rock star. Sure, Steve supported him while he tried. He probably would’ve stuck around for a while if they’d made it. But who knows what would’ve happened a year down the road. Two.

There’s a million reasons why things didn’t work out for the band.

"I didn't mean that serious", Diane said.

"Well all of this means nothing if we can't find anyone."

"Are you guys still talking about my love life? Which I remind you is none of your business?", Steve asked, chosen shorts in hand.

"Actually, we were talking about our love life", Jonas said before pulling his wife close and kissing her cheek.

It got the desired reaction from their son, a groan as he averted his eyes. After getting a couple of things to spruce up their wardrobe, Steve thought he could break free, but they truly planned to make a day of the trip.

His mom wanted some new sunglasses and his dad spent an inhuman amount of time searching for a new wallet. When he was younger, his parents rewarded his patience with an ice cream cone or something to that effect.

Now that he was older, he preferred other things. But his folks still knew his tells well, so it only took him glancing at the music store before Diane was leading them towards it.

"If we take a road trip, we need something to listen to. Pick something good."

She said this to both her husband and son, but Steve was the one moving, slowly towards a standee in the store.

"Holy...I can't believe it!"

"You like this guy?", Diane asked. The standee was of a man, with what must be their latest music in cassette form.

Steve looked at her like she was living under a rock. "Mom, you don't just 'like' Bon Jovi you...This", he picked up one of the cassette tapes, "Is something to be treasured."

"So you really like him."

"Not just him!", Steve said quickly, his face getting a little pink. "It's a whole band not just one guy."

While Steve was talking to his mother about what was apparently a well-liked music group, Jonas was having a moment of enlightenment. Because he saw the standee and then he saw the cashier. It was like the two of them were cut from the same cloth. Like they had the same mold.

Jonas wasn't crazy about the long hair and ripped jeans, but at least the t-shirt with the store's logo was clean. And he was wearing a nametag too. That showed some level of professionalism. He spent probably a little too long looking at him because the guy looked up as if he could feel eyes on him.

Jonas tried to meet his wife's gaze and bless her, she met his eyes right away. He sort of gave a nod towards the cashier and she looked, her lips widening into a smile as she regarded both the flesh and blood man and the one made out of cardboard. They were both thinking the same thing.

He's perfect.

Moving in sync, Diane kept Steve busy looking at other musical selections while Jonas stepped up to the counter.

"Sooo", Jonas started.

"Sooo, you ready to check out?", the cashier, Eddie said.

"I'm not actually purchasing just yet. But speaking of checking out...", Jonas turned slightly and to turn the attention to his son. "What do you think of him?"

"Umm..."

"He's a handsome fella, right?"

"Iiiis this entrapment?"

"Oh! Oh god no, don't worry, I'm his father."

"That doesn't make this any less awkward", Eddie said.

"Let me explain. My son...We want him to find someone special. And my wife and I think you might be a favorable suitor."

Eddie looked to Steve again, checking him out just a little. "And he's uh, you know, open to being courted? By someone like me?"

"Pretty open", Jonas nodded, keeping his voice low so their conversation remained as private as it could be in such a public place.

Eddie's hands were braced against the counter as he tilted his head and looked at Steve once again and Jonas could tell when someone was interested, even if they played for the other team.

"What the hell, I'll go for it."

"Perfect." Jonas beamed and moved away from the register.

After pretending to peruse for a bit more, Jonas sent Steve with some cash to buy the music they'd all picked out. He put an arm around his wife as they watched him approach Eddie.

"Well? Do I know how to pick 'em or what?"

"You got lucky", Diane said, annoyed but fond. "So, what's he like?"

"....I don't know."

"Jonas!", Diane hissed in a whisper and smacked his shoulder. "You sent our son to go flirt with a stranger and you don't even know what kind of man he is?"

"He looks like Steve's type. And he seemed nice. Has a stable job-"

"You're not a fan of the hair, are you?", Diane clocked her husband.

"It's a little lengthy. Not quite marriage material. But maybe he'll cut it before proposing."

"Who's talking about marriage?"

Jonas gave her a look. "He's a man now. And we said he needs to get serious."

"You'd let your son marry a bad boy?"

"You did", Jonas grinned.

Diane kissed his cheek. "You were barely a miscreant. And you mellowed out in your old age."

Jonas was about to say something back when Steve returned to them, music bought and bagged up.

"So uh, that cashier was somethin' huh?", Jonas said.

"What? Yeah, I guess."

While Steve was walking out of the store, Diane and Jonas shared a worried look. It had looked like he was having a fine talk with Eddie but maybe they had been mistaken. But even if they had miscalculated, they could still course correct.

Part 3

Tag Team

“Jesus, has all the feedback from your amps made you deaf? Or did the headbanging liquify your brain or something? No.” Steve stopped short when he noticed Eddie at the end of the aisle. “Cornering me won't change my answer. You have six overdue tapes between the four of you.” He put back a copy of Peggy Sue Got Married before barrelling down the aisle, stack of tapes in hand. “Move,” he snapped a foot short of Eddie.

“Where are your manners, Stevie?” Eddie asked, taking a step aside. 

“Out the window,” he said, knocking Eddie's shoulder with his own. “With my patience and my last nerve.” 

Four sets of footsteps followed him into the next aisle.

As he picked up the next tape, a copy of Sid and Nancy, the whole of Corroded Coffin surrounded him.

“Come on, Steve,” Gareth begged. “I'll bring back the other tapes I owe you tomorrow. Promise.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Freak pleaded.

Jeff shrugged when Steve eyed him. “I returned my tapes on time.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Drop box at the last possible minute-”

“Counts,” Jeff interrupted. “My record is clean.”

Eddie, Freak, and Gareth shared a look before grinning.

“Please, Steve?”

“Yeah! Jeff's a good boy.”

“We can check it out under him!”

“Jesus.” Steve set the pile on a half open shelf before turning to them. “Your four are worse than Henderson’s gaggle of shitheads!”

They all stared at him, wide eyed and hopeful.

After a moment to even his breathing, Steve caved. “Go get the goddamn tape.”

“Yes!”

“If Keith finds out about this-”

“We're dead,” they chorased, running off.

Though, Eddie stayed, smiling slyly. 

Rocky Horror had been missing from the shelves of Family Video for well over a month. Mostly because Eddie Munson was a hurricane who didn't understand due dates. Primarily because Steve Harrington had no backbone when it came to Eddie Munson. “I won't do it again.”

“Oh, come on.”

“I've already been through the ringer for their missing tapes. I told you last time, I need the physical copy to change the return date.” He gestured with his hands as he continued. “I check it in, then I check it out again. Simple mechanics, Munson.”

“Yes, but last time, you used that pretty computer of yours and overrode it anyway.”

Steve sighed, grabbing his stack of tapes. He walked off, not bothering to argue. He would have already done it by now if the four of them hadn't run in like bulls in a China shop.

“Is that a yes?”

Happy to be facing away from the aisle, Steve didn't bother to hide his grin. 

“Come on, Stevie! Please?”

“Go get a candy, Munson,” Steve mumbled, smiling to himself when Eddie cheered from behind him.

“Yes!”

“You need to bring it back eventually.”

“We’ll see,” Eddie said, voice lilting playfully as he raced by to the check out counter.