mars

“Yeah! Your head is precious cargo, Dingus, can’t have the living embodiment of the hairball you pull out of your tub drain every week giving you any more concussions.”

Steve blinks at her, still sorting tapes, but with a defined crease in her forehead, “You’re descriptive today.”

“I’m irked.”

He huffs another laugh, but they lapse into their usual routine. Rewinding tapes, Steve stacking them on the return cart only for Robin to come back through and re-stack them to her liking..

About an hour into this, though, Steve drops a bombshell. 

“I think I have a crush on him.”

The neat stack Robin was adding a 20th tape to, tumbles under her hands. She flails her arms around uselessly trying to catch even a single tape (she fails), and when the final tape has settled onto the floor, she looks at him.

“You… what?”

Steve feels his face burn with embarrassment as he rubs the back of his neck. “I know, I know, ‘Soggy rat’, ‘Disgusting hairball’ and all that but…um,” He looks up at her, “You’re gonna catch flies.”

Robin snaps her jaw shut, Steve can hear her teeth clack together.

“I’m new to the whole,” he continues, waving his hand around at her.

“Liking boys thing.”

“The whole liking boys thing, and until now it’s just been…pretend, right? Like, Maybe I could be but didn’t know for sure.. It wasn’t…real?”

“Right. It was only in theory; You and Tommy H.’s weird-ass friendship and crushes on celebrities.”

“Exactly.”

“Sooo…. Eddie Munson..?”

Steve gulps, looks down at the tapes in his hands. They’re shaking. When did he pick these up?

“Yeah.” he croaks. “Eddie Munson.”

“Eddie Munson punches you in the face.. And you get a crush on him.” She says, disbelieving, then, to herself mostly, adds on, “Maybe that’s why also maybe Tomm— Hang on! Did you also have a crush on Billy and Jonathan?!”

“It wasn’t the punch!” He’s almost laughing at the thought of having a crush on Byers or Billy. “It was the– ugh, this somehow seems worse.”

“Well now you have to tell me.”

“It was the… the manhandling part..” the tapes in his hands are shaking even more. He puts them down.

“The manhandling?”

“Yeah, he lifted me clean off the ground, then shoved me against my car and— oh my god.”

“Oh my god is right,” Robin grimaces

“No, no, Tommy— Rude.” he says, flashing a glare at her. “Tommy did the same shit to me once, after Jonathan bashed my face in… can you believe I actually thought about kissing that freckled asshole about it?”

“Oh my god,” Robin repeats, fake gagging over the returns cart.

“I guess it was also the punch too..” He says after a little bit.

“I knew it!”

“Not in a weird way, or anything, not the punch, but.. why the punch?” he says, not sure if he’s communicating this right. “Like, yes. He punched me. But it was only because he was trying to protect the shitheads, you know? Sucks that he was trying to protect them from me, but still. He literally put himself between them and me.”

“So the guy with the hero complex has the hots for the guy with the hero complex.”

“Shut up, you’re the worst.” She throws an empty tape case at her while she cackles like a witch, but laughs with her, feeling something ease off his chest

Over the next five months, the stupid little crush he had on Eddie simmers and kind of dies off on its own. Aside from Robin, Steve doesn’t hear another person mention Eddie. The kids don’t talk about what happened back in October, Eddie never finds Steve to apologize, nothing. It’s as good as dead by the time spring break rolls around.

Until.

“C’mon Steve, Pleaeeeeease?”

“What, hang out with you and Eddie “The Freak” Munson? Yeah, I’ll pass.” Whew, yep, crush is basically non-existent. Only a single bubble of something stirs at the mention of him.

“Is this about him punching you? ‘Cause he’s totally sorry for doing it.”

Yeah, he doubts that. “Yeah, I doubt it.”

“Steve pleeaseee!”

“No dude, I’ve got a date tonight! And shouldn’t you guys be going to Sinclair’s game? It’s the championship, dude.”

“Eddie doesn’t–”

Before Steve can give Dustin a piece of his mind about his revered Dork Master, the bell chimes above the door. 

“Sorry man, can’t, won’t, and don’t. And I better see you at Lucas’ game.” He drops the handset onto the receiver and immediately picks it back up.

“Brenda, hey, it’s Steve. Listen, I’ve got a change of plans.”

--

He doesn’t see any of the shitheads in the stands when he gets to the school. 

All throughout Tammy Thompson’s spot-on muppet impression, he’s scanning the bleachers for any sight of them.

As soon as the crowds start to cheer again, Steve excuses himself and slips out into the hall.

He remembers Dustin saying something about the theater when he’d talked about Hellfire before, so he heads in that direction, not slowing his pace until he reaches the three doors that lead into the theater wing.

One, the Theater teacher’s office. Dark.

Next, the extra large door to the stage itself. Quiet.

Last one, the one to the set storage. Warm light and yells flow from the other side.

Bingo.

Steve shoves the door open, wincing minutely when it crashes into something behind it.

“Are you guys serious?”

“Steve?!”

“Damn it Dustin, I told you on the phone that you shitheads had better be at Lucas’ game toni— Erica? You too?”

“What does Lucas’ game have to do with me?”

“He’s your brother—” Steve presses his fingers into his eyes, “Look. All three of you. Gym. Now.”

None of them move.

“C’mon assholes, you know as well as I do that this is important to him.”

“This is important to us. It’s the final campaign against Vecna, we’ve gotta—”

“You don't think this stupid game is important to Lucas too?”

“If it were, he’d be here of his own free will, your majesty.” Aw shit, how’d he forget about Eddie? “And yet, he isn’t. Sounds to me like Sinclair’s gone over to the Dark Side.”

“Yep. He’s gone to the Dark Side, I’ve lulled him there with the promise of popularity,”

“So you admit it, Darth Shitass.” Eddie’s goons laugh, Mike too.

“Yep, that’s me, Darth Shitass, and you shitasses aren’t as dumb as he or I are,” Steve says gesturing between Eddie and himself, the former of whom starts to splutter defensively, “You know that your Party sticks together.” he emphasis the last bit, leveling them all with a look.

They at least start to look sheepish.

“Damn it, he’s right.” Erica says, starting to grab up some of the papers in front of her. 

The rest of the table start to argue over and around her, the older Hellfire boys louder than the other two. Steve’s still just stunned that she’d agreed with him. 

“You leave, we don’t have enough players.” the biggest guy says

“If any of you leave, your characters are dead.” Eddie says, still glaring at Steve. Damn it, why does he have to be so hot? Stupid fucking crush has been stupidly fucking reignited.

“Lady Applejack doesn’t belong to you, you long-haired freak. She’s mine.”

Eddie bristles, Dustin and Mike look at her, shocked.

Erica grabs the last of her things and marches to Steve. “You’ll have to show me where to go.”

“Sure thing, kiddo.” He says, still surprised, but he snaps a glare over to Dustin and Mike. “You two know where the gym is.” and walks out the door behind Erica.

His brain is fighting with itself over how damn hot that asshole nerd is and how much of an asshole that asshole nerd is when he and Erica arrive back to the game.

She veers off to where her parents are seated, and Steve climbs back up to Brenda. 

He’s just gotten back into the swing of the game when the gym doors open again, and the rest of the Hellfire club slinks in and onto an open section of the bleachers. 

Even Eddie, who lopes in last, partially obscured by his bigger friends.

–

After that night, time seems to speed along at triple it’s regular pace.

Chrissy is missing, Eddie is missing.

Chrissy is dead, Eddie is still missing.

Dustin and Max barge into Family Video, Eddie may be at Reefer Rick’s

“Seeing as how majority of the people in this room have almost died before, I don’t find it all that funny—”

Solid, warm, panicked, beautiful, sharp, gripping… Steve’s brain is running on adjectives.

“This is Steve..” Dustin says, as if trying to calm a wild animal.. And as if Steve being himself is any less threatening to Eddie at this moment.

The broken bottle is pressed closer to his neck, Steve can feel the cold glass warm to the temperature of his skin, can feel it twitch and shake in brief kisses to his throat.

Eddie’s other hand, gripped around the shoulder of Steve’s jacket, shakes too.

Steve’s on his tiptoes against a wooden beam of Rick’s boathouse, one of Eddie’s legs is pressed along the length of his, pushing in and up, helping his arm lift Steve off the ground and hold him there.

Steve repeats Dustin’s words in a daze, watching Eddie’s face the whole time.

The creased twitch of his brow, the twitch of his left eye, the tears in his right, the wobble of his bottom lip.

He wants to kiss it. He wants to kiss it so bad.

He’s released onto shaky legs without any sort of preamble, Robin rushes to his side.

“It’s still the manhandling.” he says, breathless, still hunched forward.

She huffs a nervous laugh, but helps him stand…

The cemetery, the school, skull rock, the lake, dragging, pain, pain, pain…

Relief, running, skull rock (again), pain, groans, the button of a vest smacking him square on the forehead.

“For your modesty, dude.”

Robin looks like she’s about to say something about his new garment, “Whatever you’re about to say, don’t.” he mumbles over to her, hoping the look he gives her transmits the “Crush’s Jacket” of it all directly into her brain. He thinks it does.

The woods, The house, the lack of guns, the lack of.. Dustin?

Bikes, Eddie’s trailer, Nancy’s Vecna vision…

Time goes stupid fast after that.

Until.

Screaming. 

There’s screaming. 

Someone is screaming Eddie’s name, his name.

“Steve! Steve please!”

“Dustin!” There’s a stitch in his side from running all this way. He ignores it.

“Steve! Eddie, he– The bats– He–” Dustin sags forward over a motionless Eddie.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay Dustin, It’ll be–”

“Don’t tell me it’ll be okay!”

Steve pulls Dustin to him, away from whatever Nancy is checking, “It’s okay man, we’ll get him out of here, we will. Promise, promise.”

“Steve! I have a pulse!”

Dustin shoves Steve away, dropping down next to Eddie and Nancy.

They do it, somehow, they get Eddie up and out of the gate, the ceiling sealing up after them. El’s work?

Doesn’t matter. They’ve got to get to the hospital, they’ve got to check on the others at the Creel House…

Time slows to a crawl when Eddie and Max are in the hospital.

Every minute with the government suits is tedious. Every second their friends are unconscious is agonizing.

But they make it through.

Eddie wakes up first, but is out again not long after his Uncle gets there.

Max is gonna need one hell of a prescription for her new glasses and a set of crutches she’s sure to whack upon every shin that winds up in her path, but they’re alive.

Eddie has hospital visits and additional surgeries, Max’s cast eventually comes off, the last graft Eddie needed is finally cleared to go bandageless. 

“I’m as right as rain again, big boy.” Oh yeah, that hadn’t stopped either. Eddie’s incessant need to flirt with him.

Steve’s not complaining.

“Are you now?”

“Sure am.”

“So you’re finally all healed up? Off all your meds?”

“The very last of the good stuff is running through me as we speak.” He nods, tipping his head back to drain the last of his pop. The third one since they'd had pizza with the rest of the party earlier this afternoon. “Good thing too, because I could use a drink.” He says with a sigh, looking up at the stars above them.

Everyone else has gone home. Robin is upstairs, probably already drooling all over Steve's pillow.

They're the only ones still out here.

“Good thing.” Steve echoes, similarly draining his own can of pop. “Means I can finally do this.”

He flings the empty can over his shoulder, pulls his arm back, and punches a confused Eddie right in his perfect fucking face.

“Ow! What the fuck, Harrington?!”

“That’s for October.” he steps closer to him.

“I can’t believe you—” The rest of Eddie’s face goes pink in embarrassment as he rubs the red mark Steve made. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry about that, by the way.”

“And this,” Steve takes Eddie’s face in both his and leans forward, throwing all his doubts to the wind. For all his flirting before and after Spring Break, Steve’s 82% sure this is the right move.

He presses his lips to Eddie’s, who responds immediately, chasing after him when he pulls back. “Was for just now.”

-----

It still makes his chest hum, when he thinks about it too hard. Makes his lips twitch when he’s spacing out in class, when he’s eating dinner with his parents or when he’s driving to school: because his mind is on Eddie. He thinks about what Eddie might be doing. If his day has been okay and if anyone gave him any shit, if all of his deals went smoothly or if Mrs. O’Donnell still has it out for him.

He wonders if Eddie ever thinks the same about him.

Steve… likes to think he does, especially at times like this. At times when Eddie has Steve’s head pillowed on his chest, when Eddie’s fingers are in Steve’s hair and their legs are tangled together, when the movie they’d been watching is glowing blue on the screen, the tape over, and Steve can’t find it within himself to get up and turn it off.

Eddie’s fingers are scratching behind his ears, and the pattering of rain on the trailer’s tin roof is lulling Steve into a pleasant sort of doze. Sleep always comes easier with Eddie next to him.

“Sweetheart?” Eddie murmurs, and Steve likes this the most. Sweetheart and honey and baby, names that fall so easily from Eddie’s lips like Steve’s something sweet. Like he’s something worth savoring.

He hums and doesn’t move, Eddie’s fingers still in his hair.

“It’s getting late,” Eddie reminds him, “you spendin’ the night?”

Steve shouldn’t. His parents will ask questions he can’t answer and every night they spend with the Bimmer out front is another night of gossip they hand over to Eddie’s neighbors—

But Eddie is warm. His hairy legs are locked around Steve’s like he doesn’t want to let him go and his lips are so close to the crown of Steve’s head he can feel the breath of his words and Steve thinks maybe enduring a phone call with his parents is worth it. He could borrow Eddie’s boxers. He could wear one of Eddie’s more neutral shirts to school tomorrow and the two of them would be the only ones who knew.

“You gonna let me go if I say no?” Steve props himself up on his elbows, the question falling from his tongue because he can’t help but tease, because Eddie’s face always flushes like he’s in awe of it.

Eddie’s legs flex and lock, his arms wrapping possessively around Steve’s middle even as his cheeks darken. “If I had it my way,” he murmurs, tilting his head close, “I’d never let you go.” And Eddie kisses him. Steve parts his lips as Eddie’s tongue slips inside, warm and wet and coveting, licking behind his teeth—

The lights flicker. Steve can see the flash of the them through his closed eyelids and even as he tells himself it’s nothing the hairs on his arms stand on end, his ears begin to ring as his senses heighten, the only noise still the rain on the roof and the wet sounds of their mouths, until it happens again.

Steve breaks their kiss, dread pooling low in his belly as he hovers over Eddie, his gaze darting around the room as he searches for anything he could use to protect them both.

“Sorry,” Eddie exhales, “shoddy electrical in this thing.”

But Steve can barely hear him as the ringing in his ears grows, his skin beginning to tingle as that familiar surge of adrenaline begins to flood him.

“Sweetheart?”

The lights go out.

Steve scrambles off the couch, nearly taking himself out at the knees over Eddie’s coffee table, and lunges for the lamp on the side table. It wouldn’t be enough, but it would be something. It would, if Steve was lucky, be enough for Eddie to—

“Steve—?”

“Get behind me,” Steve interrupts, his palms slick as he wrenches the cord from the outlet, holding the heavy wooden base of the lamp high above his head.

“Stevie, baby, maybe the power doesn’t go out on your side of the tracks but over here it’s—”

“Please.” Steve’s voice cracks over the vowels, desperation flooding him: he can’t lose Eddie. He can’t. Just the thought of it—the thought of Eddie anywhere close to what lies beneath their feet makes his palms slicken, makes his heart jackrabbit in his chest and his blood thunder in his ears.

He can’t let it happen.

The couch creaks as Eddie rises, their backs to the wall as Steve holds up his lamp, unseeing, into the dark.

For long minutes that’s all they do: the only sounds are Steve’s uneven breaths and the pattering of rain on the roof, and Steve’s gaze flicks between every point of entry as his eyes adjust to the dark.

But as the rain patters on, as lightning flashes outside and as the adrenaline begins to wane from his blood, as the lamp he’s been holding over his head begins to feel like it weighs a ton, embarrassment begins to fill him instead.

It was just the storm. It was the rain, and the wind, and the trailer’s old electrical system, and Steve had forced Eddie into a corner over nothing.

Steve sets down the lamp, his arms trembling as the adrenaline surge leaves his muscles tired and shaking. He licks his lips, his mouth bone dry, and brings the heels of his palms to his eyes. Heavily, he sits back on the couch, unable to look Eddie in the eyes. “Sorry,” he croaks, “that was—” but he can’t explain. He can’t explain because that would open Eddie to a world Steve wants—needs—to protect him from.

His teeth begin to chatter, and his hands are trembling so badly he curls them up, pressing his fists into the sockets of his eyes just so he doesn’t look like he’s losing it completely.

The trailer floor creaks, and Eddie, slowly, sits beside him. Just the weight of him makes Steve’s nerves ease, his jaw unclenching.

“I don’t like heights,” Eddie murmurs into their quiet, and Steve has no idea why he’s bringing this up but at least he’s talking, at least he’s not throwing Steve out the door for losing his shit. “Jeff has to drive when we go over bridges.” His hand rests on the small of Steve’s back. “I’m gonna go get some candles, yeah? I’ll be right back.” Eddie rubs a soft circle against Steve’s spine before standing, his footsteps rapid before he clatters around a closet just a few feet away.

He’s quick, and within a minute there’s three mostly-burned candles flickering dimly on the coffee table, and Steve no longer feels like his heart’s going to beat out of his chest when he can finally meet Eddie’s gaze. “Sorry,” he says again, lamely, his voice still shaky, “it’s normally not that bad.”

Because it’s not. Because adding Eddie to the mix—the mere potential of it—had sent Steve into a panic.

“It’s okay if it’s that bad,” Eddie states, simply, like that’s all it boils down to, like what just happened isn’t completely and totally fucking insane. Eddie takes his hand, and Steve realizes how cold his own fingers are against the heat of Eddie’s palm. “It can be that bad around me.”

Tears, unbidden and unexpected flood Steve’s lower lids and he has to stop himself from blinking so they don’t spill. He sniffs hard, instead, and squeezes Eddie’s hand.

“Stevie?” Eddie murmurs, his voice gentle and probing, “this is why you have that nail bat under your bed, isn’t it?”

Too fucking smart. Eddie is too fucking smart for his own good and Steve is livid at himself for falling for someone who’s smart enough to connect any of the dots—but Steve is weak. He’s weak, and he nods instead of denying it, because as desperate as he is to keep Eddie away from it all, to be understood by him, even in this small amount, is a relief he can’t resist.

“Wayne always thought there was something wrong with this town,” Eddie mutters, and Steve can’t help his choked breath of a laugh because of course—of course—Wayne would know. “Always said the government was out here covering it all up.” Eddie nods, like without Steve having to validate any of it, he already knows. “He always says they’ve got ways of keeping people quiet.” Eddie mutters. He stares, and Steve realizes that, really, was a question.

He barely moves, but Eddie is watching, and his eyes widen when Steve tilts his head, just slightly, forwards.

And then Eddie’s scooting closer. He’s wrapping Steve up in his arms and the smell of cigarettes and cedar wraps around him, and his face is pressed into Eddie’s warm neck and Eddie’s fingers are back in his hair.

“You’re okay,” Eddie murmurs, and then, after a moment, like he was hesitating, adds, “and I’m okay, too, sweetheart. ’S just us, here.”

Steve clings back, his fingers pressing deep and desperate against Eddie’s back, like his very hold could be what keeps Eddie next to him, safe.

And Steve’s not letting go.

✨✨✨

And then they lived happily ever after and nothing bad happened to them ever again 🥰

Thank you for the prompt! It feels so good to be able to post these again!

Also, I’m so sorry, but it’s been so long since I’ve posted anything on here that I lost my permanent tag list. I think that’s just my sign that I’m not going to do it anymore 😅 apologies to anyone who is unhappy about that 🫶