Fanfic addict

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“Harrington, buddy, you’re so stoned.”

Steve looks a little like someone who got caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Like Eddie wasn’t supposed to know he was stoned. Like they didn’t just smoke up together.

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“Did...” Steve sounds so small. “Did I do something wrong?”

Eddie scrubs a hand over his eyes and looks up at him, face pinched. What does he say? Lord of the Rings and Earthsea? Like, okay, Eddie heard Covenant is a little derivative so he never read it, but he probably will now. Tolkien and Le Guin though? What the hell is he supposed to say?

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“Would the king like a throne?” Eddie points at the other chair with his cigarette.

“I, uh... Yeah, why not?” Steve settles into the other lawn chair, but not before dragging it from the opposite side of the motel door to the space directly across from Eddie. Eddie suddenly has the feeling that if the chair didn’t have arms, Steve would flip it around and sit on it backwards.

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It’s on the way to the checkout counter that Steve sees the rack of tee shirts, all 50 cents each. He probably would’ve walked right by it if someone hadn’t left the shirts pushed open on the Dio tee, the one Steve recognizes instantly, because he’d worn that image on his back through the very fires of hell.

He plucks it o the hanger. He can spare some change.

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“You, uh, you like these ones, right?”

Wayne comes home one morning from work with a poster rolled tight.

Metallica. The Master of Puppets album cover, no less.

Eddie smiles at him, eyes watery. “Yeah, Uncle Wayne, I like these ones.” He hugs him tight.

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“Did you want to?”

“Did I want to what?”

“To just stand there.”

Steve sucks in another hit, holds it, shakes his head. He exhales. “I didn’t, no. I grew up with Tommy. We used to build blanket forts in my living room. But we grew up, and he got cruel, and I knew it. Me? I was so afraid of losing him and not having any friends anymore that I didn’t walk away, didn’t say anything when he did shitty stu. I think I saw him as my only family and it scared me, still scares me, being alone. But it doesn’t matter what I wanted. It matters that I did it and it hurt people. It hurt you. Nancy.”

Eddie stares at his own hands, moves his fingers just to watch the tendons dance beneath his skin, to see the daylight shifting on his rings.

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“I, uh, I got you something,” Steve says. And then, as is customary, “It’s not a big deal.”

“What is it this time, Harrington? A fucking guitar?”

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“I mean, I can’t tell you that you have feelings for him or even that you really are bi. If you tell me you don’t and you aren't, okay. I can only tell you what it looks like, and it looks like you need to be saved from yourself because oh my God, Steve.”

And Steve, staring wide-eyed at the floor of his living room, just says, “I should buy Eddie a guitar.”

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“Still no job?”

“Waiting for the call,” Steve chokes out while holding in another hit. He exhales and gives Eddie his joint back, and Eddie has a strong urge to ask if Steve knows what shotgunning is, but he bites his tongue.

Fuck, the mental image is still there though, isn’t it? Helpfully supplied by Eddie’s imaginative little brain. Steve, looking up at Eddie while he softly cups his chin. Eddie, staring down at Steve, leaning over to blow smoke into his mouth, just close enough for their lips to almost, almost touch.

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“I make them all by hand,” the shop owner says. “Do you play, or are you just here with those kids?”

“No, I don’t play.” Steve can’t stop staring at one set. It’s red and black, the colors all swirled together like the body of Eddie’s old guitar. The numbers are gray–the tone muted, just light enough that they show up. The font style is, well, Steve doesn’t know how to categorize it but he’s pretty sure it’s ‘metal’.

Fifteen dollars. Fifteen is a lot more than three. That’s five hours of minimum wage work at a job Steve doesn’t have yet. Nearly two tanks of gas (and Steve spends a lot on gas with the damn kids.)

“I know someone who does though. Besides them.” Steve gestures in the general direction of the kids.

“You wanna see any? Get a closer look?”

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“Nerd store? Where?”

“All the way up in Plainfield. Practically Indy. The little buttheads are giving me gas money this time. I don’t even have a job right now.”

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“You wanna know something fun about DnD though?” “What?” “You can do a game with just two players.”

Steve sits up. “Really?” He looks interested, hopeful. And, fuck, Eddie wishes Steve would level that look at him for something other than Dungeons & Dragons. Though, admittedly, Steve playing Dungeons & Dragons with him isn’t exactly NOT on Eddie’s crush-ridden daydreams list.

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“Is this like the shirts and the books? Is this where you tell me it’s not a big deal?”

“It’s not a big deal. You’re my Eddie.” Steve shakes his head. “My friend ,” he corrects. “My friend, Eddie.”

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The man smirked, “You gotta stop looking at me like that if you want my boner to do down, dude.”

Eddie bit his lip to keep his smile at bay, “Don’t call me dude after nearly making me finish in my underwear, Harrington.”

“Okay, darling.” Steve purred with a smile. Heat curled in Eddie’s stomach.

“That’s worse.” He warned, digging his fingers into the meat of Steve’s thigh. The man leant forward slightly, eyes glinting.

“Love,” He teased, raising one eyebrow, “Sweetheart, angel,” Steve tilted Eddie’s head up with a finger under his chin, “Baby.”

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“So, that isn’t Steve’s favourite sweater you’re wearing?”

Eddie shot up to sitting, “It’s his favourite?”

He received a smug look in return, a raise of Dustin’s eyebrows. They stared each other down, Eddie glaring, schooling his face but knowing that the blush on his cheeks would be visible from space.

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“Good game?” Steve asked them all, but his eyes lingered on Eddie a second longer than the rest.

Dustin had already headed past him to get to the car, not before giving Eddie an encouraging and fond smile. Lucas gave Steve a nod and armative before he headed down too.

“I killed a man.” Erica said firmly before following.