trans headcanons keep me up at night (affectionate)

“Are you okay, man?” Eddie asks heavily. He can’t help it, he’s tired; he’s had his own shitty time since pulling away, miserable that he’d attained his unattainable crush only to realize that he can’t possibly maintain, could never live up to or keep up with. It’s shitty, getting exactly what you want and then realizing that continuing to have it just isn’t realistic. And now he has to watch Steve sniffle again and put on a painfully forced facade of I’m Fine What Are You Talking About, brick by shitty brick in real time.

“Why, uh. Why wouldn’t I be?” Steve puts on a smile that looks like it physically hurts. “I’m. Cool. Right? Totally casual. Super chill. Did I say casual? And, like, obviously you know this, but you don’t have to call. Because. We’re casual, right? It’s all good! Just. Whenever. If you want to reach out. Or not! Could be never. I’m cool with it. Staying the other night was just, just a glitch. I was just super tired. Not a big deal. I get like that after practicing a lot and then finally, you know, doing the thing. Like a big game! Not, not that you’re a game. More like, studying for a big test. Except, uh, not big! I-I mean, you’re not small, but, um. Casual. Like a pop quiz? We’re totally casual. If you don’t want me—I mean, don’t want to again that’s… totally fine, no harm no foul. Test drives to take this guy for a spin and decide if you wanna keep him are totally allowed, that’s what dating is for, people do it all the time, it’s fine. We can go back to being friends, it’s fine!”

Eddie had never seen a more pathetic coverup for hurt—nay, utterly devastated—feelings in his life, which is… confusing. Why does Steve get to be the one who's hurt, here? But the bricks in the facade have gaps Eddie could fit his entire body through, and he’s almost too weary himself to actually do it, except—

“You practiced for me?”

If possible, Steve goes even redder. “No! Well—yeah, but. Just because it was my first time. With you. Or a guy. Any guy. And I wanted to be… not bad at it? But I guess I got carried away and forgot that not everyone wants—I mean, I’m sorry for being a lot. After. If you ever wanted to go for a second round I swear I don’t have to stay after, I can get out of your hair, it’s not a big deal. But no pressure! Like I said, I’m cool with just going back to being friends.”

It’s so obviously a big deal that Eddie wants to throw up a little, and at the same time he’s baffled by what Steve seems to be saying. Eddie knows he’s not enough—so why does Steve seem to think that he is too much?

“How,” he asks instead, “was that possibly your first time? Steve, you—” And, okay, they’re in a public parking lot in fucking Hawkins, he can’t just say ‘you took my dick in your throat and ass like you do that sort of thing every day’ out loud in a normal voice without getting them both run out of town. They’re already pushing it, and just lucky that no one is particularly in earshot. “… How the hell do you practice all that by yourself?”

It’s not jealousy. Eddie’s totally not imagining Steve practicing the same way he gained his own rudimentary skills, driving out to Indy over long weekends and trying his luck at whatever gay bar he could fake ID his way into. He’s not hurt by listing in his head all the stuff they could’ve figured out together instead of… whatever the hell Steve actually did. That would be stupid. And he has his high school diploma now, finally, which means he is officially Not Stupid. Or something.

Steve’s eyes are darting around the parking lot now, like he’s finally realized they’re in public and could potentially be overheard. Which—okay, it’s good he’s not just going to announce to Eddie, god, and the entire town how he self-trained to take cock like a pro, but Eddie kinda needs to know this now, so, like. Fuck. Fuck.

“Fine, not here,” Eddie concedes, and his irritation is audible enough to make Steve cringe. “Your place?”

“Uh, yeah. Do you… You could follow me there, or…?”

Eddie sighs and flaps his hands around at the empty parking lot. “I’m on foot today, so yeah, I could use a ride.”

“I can give you one,” Steve blurts out immediately, perhaps realizing he hadn’t actually offered yet. Or maybe that’s what he’d been dancing around with all that trailing off.

The thing is—the thing that pains Eddie so much as he circles the truck and climbs in the passenger side, is—their date before tumbling into bed together had been fantastic. All the ease and comfort and familiarity of being friends first, laced through with the excitement of new beginnings and the thrill of mutual attraction finally acted upon. Now it’s all awkward and pained and ruined, and Eddie isn’t sure if he’s mad at himself or at Steve for that, or just ticked off in general that something so good had crumpled in on itself so quickly.

The short drive to Loch Nora happens in complete silence, no radio and the windows all rolled back up tight for privacy except they’re not talking, are they? Steve is even trying to sniffle as quietly as possible, as though Eddie hasn’t noticed he’s all snotted up, which is just—Fuck.

Steve, for his part, is trying so hard not to lean towards Eddie like a sunflower following the sun and wilting in the painfully awkward silence. He’d put the radio in except he doesn’t think Eddie would like any of the stations he usually listens to, and he’d play a tape except the one in the player is the mix tape Eddie had given him a few days before their date that he’s been listening to on repeat the fast few days, and… that’s it for options, so. Silence it is. But at least that gives affords him the bucket-of-ice-water clarity necessary to pull his shit together. Knit the cracks back together and tuck his raw, heartbroken feelings back down deep inside, letting the tear tracks dry and his face congeal back into a smooth mask that he hasn’t tried to use since his King Steve days.

Once parked he practically throws himself out of the truck towards the house—still living with his parents, because the plan had been to save up for a trailer in Forest Hills but he can’t move into Eddie’s neck of the woods neighborhood now so… new plan pending—and leads the way through the sterile entryway and up the stairs. Yes, it still hurts that Eddie doesn’t want him, but it is what it is. The important thing now is that Eddie, for some reason, wants to know how Steve prepared himself for losing his gay virginity. He doesn’t have to understand the motivation behind it to give the guy an answer, and maybe doing this will prove that they can still at least be friends. That he doesn’t have to lose Eddie entirely and disrupt the greater Party just because things didn’t work out.

“Remember the unit in gym class on weight training?” Steve asks evenly as he leads Eddie into his bedroom. “You start with the smallest ones and work your way up. Robin helped me find the, uh, reading material so I could figure out what to expect, but I did this part… separately. Figured she didn’t need all the details.”

“What,” Eddie starts, baffled, but then Steve has the storage bin out from under his bed frame and dumps it out over the plaid duvet in a thumping rain of butt plugs, dildos, and lube bottles in various states along the full-to-empty spectrum. There’s also a legal-sized notepad that he fishes out of the pile and thrusts in the other man’s direction without looking.

It’s got all his notes: some hastily jotted down quotes or paraphrases from Robin’s zines about shit like fingering your own asshole, breathing techniques, how to find the prostate on yourself and others, what not to do while blowing a dude; other pages are filled with slightly crooked columns of numbers indicating date, duration, and size of certain toys he’d used while… working his way up. Eddie starts flipping through it—not that Steve looks, but he can hear the pages rustling.

“You seriously made yourself a training schedule for this?” Eddie asks after a moment, his tone unreadable.

Resolutely not looking up from the now cluttered bed, Steve nods.

“Going back weeks before we even made the date?”

Steve shrugs defensively. “I figured out what I wanted and I wanted to be prepared. I mean, you’ve known you’re gay for way longer than I’ve known I’m bi, I needed to… catch up, I guess.” His eyes are fixed on his biggest dildo in the pile, the size he had guessed Eddie to be—and he’d been pretty much spot on, something he’d taken a great deal of secret pride in that night.

It was kind of expensive, but he might throw it out. Hasn’t decided yet. Closes his eyes briefly against another wave of sadunlovabletoomuch to keep it from actually leaking out again.

He wishes suddenly that Eddie weren’t here right now. Why had he thought this would be a good idea? Proving they could still be friends or something, but—why?

“What are these squiggles?” Eddie asks, still sounding oddly blank.

Sighing, Steve looks over and squints at where he’s pointing to the rightmost column on the page. “That’s where I marked off that I cleaned them. W for washed, S for sanitized.”

Eddie taps the next column to the left. “The S’s all have an A here, and the other ones all have an… M? Is that an M?“ He blinks, his whole face twitching. “Jesus H. Christ, Steve, is that A for ass and M for mouth?”

Steve’s cheeks are starting to burn, but he refuses to be embarrassed for wanting to make sure he could make it good for Eddie. And for not wanting to be gross while practicing for it. “Sue me for being thorough, I guess,” he grumbles, crossing his arms and finally lifting his gaze to meet Eddie’s head on. “Is there anything else you wanted to know, or are we good here?”

Both corners of Eddie’s mouth are twitching, the dimples that Steve likes so much threatening to pop, which is just—That’s not fair. Eddie is clearly surpassing a smile, maybe even a laugh.

“Your W’s look like sideways S’s sometimes, you know.”

Something in Steve’s chest crumples and his crossed arms tighten. “Don’t.”

“Steve,” Eddie says, and his tone is suddenly readable again. Soft. Quiet and earnest and familiar, the way he’d sounded when Steve had still been full of hope that they could be a them. “Look, all of this is… surprisingly, endearingly nerdy, to be honest. And I’m about to admit to being kind of an idiot about something, so, please, just hear me out?”

“I… Okay?”

Eddie bites his bottom lip and rocks a bit on his heels. “So, the thing is… Sure, maybe I had a bit of a head start in the whole, uh, liking dicks in a sexy way… arena, but. All this?” He waves the notepad to indicate everything on the bed, and possibly all of Steve as well. “You managed to level up way past me. Incredibly efficiently, I might add. This is screaming ‘would be good at DnD actually’ to me, by the way, but that’s beside the point.”

Steve tilts his head, biting the inside of his cheek as he tries to follow through the babble to whatever conclusion Eddie is aiming for here.

“You psyched me out,” Eddie admits, glancing away. Shoulders straight, knees locked, honest but vulnerable. “I mean, I’ve done stuff, but you were pulling out moves I’ve never seen outside of pornos. You made it look totally effortless, but this…” He holds up the notepad again. “This is effort, man. This is the craziest thing anyone’s ever done for me—in a good way,” he adds quickly, seeing Steve’s face twitch again. “You’re already totally out of my league, and after the other night I figured I’d never measure up in a million years. So.” Deep, hiccuping breath, and Steve can’t help but ache and let his crossed arms start to loosen as Eddie stares at him imploringly with those big, expressive Bambi eyes. “This is me saying, officially and like a real adult who’s good at using my words and shit, that I’m really, really sorry for avoiding you afterwards. If you can forgive me for that… can we maybe have a do-over? Sometime? My treat?”

Steve feels shaky, his stomach dipping at this second sudden pull of the rug when he’d thought he’d figured out the lay of the land. Part of him just doesn’t understand this hot-cold-hot of whether Eddie wants him or not. Shouldn’t… shouldn’t it be easier to tell if they fit together? Shouldn’t Eddie have just been able to tell, without all this hurt getting in the way? Hurt for both of them, because he’s not blind to the bruise-like dark crescents under Eddie’s eyes or the way he’s worrying his bottom lip waiting for an answer.

“Are you sure?” Steve checks, and he hates how small his voice comes out but apparently that’s what’s happening. “I thought—Staying the night wasn’t too much?”

“I… had a lot on my mind,” Eddie replies carefully, wincing when Steve does as if in apology for saying it at all. “It wasn’t about you being too much, Stevie, I swear. I was too… I got caught up in thinking I couldn’t possibly be enough before we even fell asleep, I didn’t—You staying didn’t, I mean it seemed like… maybe you were just tired or something, I don’t know. It didn’t really… register? I was still stuck on, y’know, how bad I choked when you tried to come in my mouth.” Eddie’s face is red, and he dips his head forward to hide behind his hair. “I mean, you told me it was okay and you were so sweet about it, and then you went down on me and I was like, in your throat like—seriously, that’s porn star level shit! And I couldn’t even last two seconds, and… just…”

Steve feels himself blushing in sympathy. He had done all of that. And he’s been on the other end of stuff like that—not for a long time, but when he’d first lost his virginity to an upperclassman girl who’d been kinda nice but kinda disappointed when he’d turned out to be a two-pump chump. At least Steve had been nicer than that, genuinely taking it as a compliment that Eddie had been too turned on to hold back because he’d thought—well.

He’d expected that since Eddie had more experience with guys… But maybe that’s a different category from having experience with sex in general. Because Steve has been with lots of girls—apparently he’d misjudged how that might, uh. Translate, in bed.

Not that they’d quite gotten to the actual bed before scrambling to get each other’s cocks in their mouths, but. Still.

“Um,” Steve says, suddenly aware that he’s been thinking too long and needs to say something. “I, uh, I. I never thought you weren’t—I mean, it was all great in my book, better than with girls because it… it’s you, and I really. Um.” Why is it so hard to say? (He knows why. The past few days, and Nancy calling him bullshit in a way that still rings in his ears, even years later, sometimes.) His voice drops to a whisper as he forces out, “I really like you, Eddie.”

Immediately, Eddie reaches out, and Steve finishes uncurling in answer to take the offered hand in his. He means to give a reassuring squeeze, but Eddie beats him to it.

“I really like you too, sweetheart,” Eddie says, matching his hushed tone. Drawing closer but hesitating at the last second, as though he’s not sure he’s allowed after being the one to instigate distance between them in the first place.

Steve’s mask—what was left of it by this point, anyway—breaks and he all but lunges forward, curling his arms around Eddie and holding tight. Tucking his face against Eddie’s neck, burrowing just under the leather collar of his jacket-and-vest combo and breathing him in. Melting into it as Eddie hugs him back just as hard, just as relieved.

“I’d say we should sit down,” Eddie mumbles—Steve loves how he can feel the rumble of it, with their chests tight together and his closed lips pressed aside the other man’s throat—“but there’s kind of a lot of stuff that’s been up your ass in the way.”

“It’s all clean,” Steve huffs into his skin, almost laughing.

“Still,” Eddie chuckles back, swaying him from side to side, “it’d be lumpy, you… sex toy shopping spree maniac.”

Steve pulls back slightly, straightening enough to nudge their noses together. Enough to confirm visually why the words sounded a little wet; that it’s happy tears. Jesus H. Christ, he thinks giddily, he’s made Eddie Munson cry happy tears. “I can put them away. Don’t need ‘em anymore.”

This time, Eddie does kiss him. And adds breathlessly, “Don’t you dare put them away for good, I wanna see you in action sometime baby,” before kissing him again, a lot more, clinging the way Steve is afraid to at first but soon enough matches.

Tagging everyone who seems like they wanted a fix-it, apologies if I missed anyone: @matchingbatbites @lost-andstill-lost @mollymawkwrites @tinytalkingtina @itsalmoststrange

@mundaneone @wildwildsoul @strangersteddierthings @yesdangerpls @apomaro-mellow

And also my usual victims I mean tag list: @iridescentrylandgrace @wheneverfeasible @steviewashere @motherofpirates @cosycryptid

@grtwdsmwhr @hamiltonswiftie @hiei-harringtonmunson @mascarponedaydreams @sofadofax

@th30ra3k3n @mrsjellymunson @hehimmommy @stevesscoops @a-drop-of-magic

"Oh, sweet," Steve said, picking up a piece of cardstock propped against the mantle above the fireplace. "Chrissy's got the itinary for the weekend." He scanned the contents, smiling. "Looks like it's gonna be a good time." He glanced up at Eddie, frowning when he saw Eddie still staring at the bed. "What's wrong?"

"There's uh… there's only one… bed," Eddie replied weakly.

Steve raised an eyebrow at him. "Yeah," he said slowly. "Is that… a problem?"

"No," Eddie said. "It's not a problem—"

"Everyone thinks we're boyfriends," Steve said. "Of course they're gonna assume we share a bed."

"I know," Eddie said, regretting that he'd pointed it out. It shouldn't be a problem. It wouldn't be.

"Look, if it's really that important to you, I can ask if there's a spare cot or something around," Steve said with a shrug. "It's really not a big deal, though. You never shared a bed before?"

Eddie snorted. "Of course I have," he said. He thought about getting a cot like Steve said, then worried what Steve's family might think if they found out his 'boyfriend' was sleeping on a cot in the room they were sharing. He took a breath, mentally shaking his anxiety off. "It's fine," he said, meeting Steve's eyes, decisive. "It's totally fine."

~◼️▪️◼️▪️◼️▪️◼️~

June ██, 1983.

"Listen, listen," Steve held both hands up to quiet him, "It's not carved in stone, it's not predestination, it's choices, weaves," he balled his hands into fists in a sign of mild frustration, "Look—" he unwrapped the scarf from his neck, holding the tasselled end up at Eddie, but… it was June… and Eddie could've sworn Steve didn't have a scarf, he'd have noticed, right? Especially one like that, thick and knitted, made of a soft looking, vibrant yellow wool. "—Fate is a tapestry, it's huge and all encompassing, and unlike this—" he pulled at the frayed edge of the scarf, unravelling a handful of threads, "—that tapestry has an almost infinite amount of threads."

"Steve?" Eddie whispered, pointing at the scarf in confusion as Steve carefully draped the ends of the threads across the side of his left hand, gripping the bulk and presenting them to Eddie as an offering,

"Which gives you choices." Steve either didn't hear him or was ignoring him, too wrapped up in his explanation. Sluggishly, Eddie started to accept that maybe the scarf had been there the whole time—of course it had, a bright yellow scarf was hard to miss—he looked instead to the offered threads, uncurling his hand into a reaching grab before he hesitated and narrowed his eyes.

"What are they?" he asked, "my choices."

"Hmm…" there was a strange intensity in Steve's eyes as he leant forward, the iridescent hazel was lost to the swell of his pupils and all Eddie saw there was darkness, inky and infinite, even the reflection from the dome light had slipped away from them, unable to find purchase on once-glossy lenses. The thick fog of Eddie's high seemed to settle in his throat as Steve regarded him, a nervous swallow doing nothing to shift it as he was stripped bare under that peculiar gaze, raw and exposed, seen.

"Uegk—" it was an odd noise, but it was the one he made, shrinking back until he was slumped against the side of the van, breaths coming out short and uneasy until Steve lifted his hand and disrupted Eddie's line of sight with the dangling threads. His head fell back against the panelling and he sucked down a few deep breaths of weed laced air, closing his eyes against the too-bright dome light as he recuperated from high-induced paranoia—it wasn't the first time his high had veered off course, but it rarely did so with company. "Jesus…" he sighed, shaking his head to clear it before peeling himself from the panelling, feeling sticky and damp with sweat as he honed in on Steve, watching as he drew a few of the threads back over his hand, "shit's strong…"

"Sorry," Steve hummed distantly, lifting golden eyes from the red yarn dangling across his fingers and meeting Eddie's wide-eyed stare, smiling at him with soft reassurance, "Your choices?" he gestured with the yarn and Eddie nodded,

"Ready."

"Great," Steve's voice was barely above a whisper, but then he cleared his throat and spoke crisp words into the air between them. "There are six threads," he stated and Eddie dragged his eyes across them, counting each one with a deep nod of his head, "six paths you can take, six choices you could make,"—he wondered absently if Steve knew he was rhyming—"Freedom, Aspiration—"

"Freedom from what?" he asked, interrupting, Steve looked thoughtful for a moment before shrugging,

"I dunno," his voice pitched up as he spoke, curiosity piquing him briefly, "You're the one who knows," he offered helpfully, twisting his mouth to the side as Eddie gave him a bemused look. He shrugged again, then continued, "Duty, Conformity—" As if, Eddie would sooner die than conform, and his thoughts must've been written all over his face, because Steve hesitated, giving him a curious look before touching his thumb to the second thread along, pulling it back over his hand with a subtle caress. "—Stability, and, of course, Nothing."

'Nothing' was a curious one, "What do they mean?" he asked, rephrasing in the hopes of a real answer as he gestured at the five remaining threads, Conformity was gone at least, but the options he was given were abstract and confusing,

"I couldn't tell you." Steve answered, which was part of the game, Eddie supposed, it was his job to figure them out and pick the right one.

"Do I just go with my gut and guess?" he scratched his eyebrow, closing one eye and keeping the other on the strands, as if their meanings would become clear, Steve didn't answer, "they're not in order." he knew that much when Conformity got removed, they were shuffled,

"I suppose not." Steve was still watching him when he looked up, soft eyed and airy as he kept his arm outstretched.

"Is there a right choice?" his voice felt too quiet, child-like as the weight of this bizarre game sat heavy across his shoulders, like it might somehow affect the rest of his life,

"What do you mean?" Steve cocked his head to the side, "whatever choice you make is your decision, so it's the right one for you." that wasn't exactly the answer he was looking for,

"Do any of these choices—" he hesitated, he felt stupid and small, like his question was too simple, too naive, "—Will any of these choices make me happy?" the look on Steve's face was oddly reassuring, that weighty seriousness lifted with the slight raise of his brows, a sweet smile tugging at one corner of his mouth, baring teeth that glinted sharp in the dome light,

"Two of the six offer… fulfilment, what you do on the path you choose is where happiness is found." it was a strange way to phrase it, two of the six, had Eddie already discarded one of his chances? That didn't seem right, he'd discarded Conformity, there wasn't a single timeline in which conforming could end in Eddie being fulfilled, conformity would be a wife, a litter of kids, a house with a picket fence, a cushy job, that sounded like Hell, not the recipe for a fulfilled life.

"I take it you know which two." he huffed, regretting it when he chased that smile away and painted a frown across that painfully pretty face,

Not that Steve minded. He already had to stop by Forest Hills to pick up Max. What was one more? Eddie and Robin could make all the soccer mom, car pool jokes they liked, but he hadn’t exactly seen either of them turn down the offer to get driven around.  

Steve reached up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes…and a long, dark curl fell forward, tickling his skin as it brushed against his cheek. Now fully awake, he yanked his hand back, wide-eyed as he finally registered the silver rings on his fingers, the tattooed cluster of bats flying across his pale forearm. 

Realization hit him like a mack truck.

“Oh, God,” Steve groaned, collapsing back onto Eddie’s worn mattress and throwing an arm over his eyes, pressing that black inked skin close and flattening Eddie’s bangs to his forehead in the process. “Come on, seriously? It’s not over yet?”

He had totally been hoping he and Eddie would wake up this morning and everything would be back to normal. Like suffering through a–obviously pretty bizarre–24 hour head cold that ran its course, came and quickly went. 

So much for positive thinking. Steve should have known better, after dealing with whatever fresh hell the Upside Down had thrown their way year after year. 

Resigned to another day of Hawkins’ weirdness, he sat up and started climbing out of bed. The sudden movement made Eddie’s abdomen twinge, clearly still agitated from yesterday’s basketball game. 

Steve gritted his teeth, that stinging pain stirring up visions dripping with the vivid, sticky red of Eddie’s exposed blood and bone and muscle, an aching souvenir for all the gaping wounds that the doctors had to stitch back together later.

Grimacing, he pressed a firm, soothing hand to his stomach, like he could make up for all the times he’d missed out on offering that kind of touch to Eddie himself. 

You're still here, Steve thought forcefully, patting Eddie’s side. The same words Steve had comforted himself with night after night sitting by Eddie's hospital bed, waiting for him to wake up. He felt a little strange thinking them when Eddie wasn't actually in the room with him…not exactly. The scars still felt like a reminder, though. 

You're still here.

That was one upside to this whole thing–Steve getting the chance to put up with the pain in Eddie’s place. It was the least he could do, really, after Eddie had sacrificed his body to protect them all. 

As he stepped up to the dresser, the ache beginning to ebb away, he found himself caught up by something else entirely–the reflection of Eddie’s bare chest in the mirror. Steve couldn’t quite keep himself from staring, lips parting involuntarily. 

Thanks to that shower at his place yesterday, it wasn’t like this was the first time he’d gotten up close and personal with his crush’s body since this whole thing started. Hell, before that even, given the weeks he’d spent helping Eddie out after the hospital released him. 

Still, there was a luxury in being able to just…look. More than the fleeting glances he did his best to avoid. Like back when he’d often found himself on shower duty, standing just outside to make sure Eddie didn’t slip before helping him wrestle into his favorite Black Sabbath shirt, lifting his arms over his head still a struggle. And way longer than the peeks Steve currently stole any time Eddie’s shirt rode up while they sprawled out together in his bed, the metalhead’s tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration as he rolled them a joint to share.

The truth was, Steve had always been into it, watching his crushes. Not in, like, a creepy way–he wasn’t out here peeking through girls’ bedroom windows or anything, thank you very much. Even if Nancy had teased him mercilessly back when they were together, just because one time he mentioned she looked cute when she was sleeping.

He just…really liked feeling close to the people he cared about. Girlfriends, teammates, the munchkins he babysat for, his platonic soulmate of a lesbian best friend. 

I mean, of course he did–who wouldn’t? 

But this…this was closeness on a whole other level. Like Eddie, however unknowingly, had opened up his ribcage and let Steve crawl inside, tucked him away safe and sound beneath his skin. And Steve had done the same.

As much as it might have annoyed him that they were still stuck in Hawkins’ latest whacky predicament, Steve could admit, at least here alone in Eddie’s bedroom…a part of him liked it, too. At least a little bit. 

So he let himself enjoy the opportunities their newfound intimacy opened up while he had the chance. Like being able to stare, uninterrupted, and map the dark lines of the tattoos on Eddie’s skin he’d only ever glimpsed before. 

Eddie was usually so covered up in his layers upon layers, getting to see that much bare skin? Well, that was a rare treat.

So first, Steve brushed a thumb over the creepy puppet guy on the inside of Eddie’s arm, before dragging his gaze up to the spider crawling along his chest. His eyes dipped lower, then, taking in the torn impressions of some kind of demon thing–Steve only recognized the shape for what it was because Eddie had mourned its loss in the aftermath. 

Eddie’s scars broke up everything, lighter than even the pale skin that surrounded, raised slightly to the touch. They matched the patches up Steve's own sides and back except tenfold, spreading across the entirety of Eddie’s stomach and chest. 

Steve knew the metalhead had been shy about letting him see them, but he’d meant what he said. All the sight did was remind him how brave Eddie had been–stupidly, stubbornly, painfully brave–and, just like the twinge in his side, how lucky they were he’d made it back to them in one piece. 

But Steve found himself soon distracted from the scars by the glittering nipple ring winking up at him. 

The fact that he could actually feel the weight of that silver piercing, the gravity of it, as it tugged on Eddie’s remaining nipple? Was seriously trippy. The sensation alone had Steve licking at his bottom lip, fingers itching to touch it all over again. 

He held off, though. It didn’t feel right, not without Eddie there. Even if they had agreed to…scratch all each other’s itches, Steve was pretty sure that wasn’t code for ‘go wild and fulfill all your secret dirty fantasies.’ 

But…man. He gave himself a mental pat on the back for not giving in when it was right there, tempting him like crazy. 

Steve shook his head, determined to stop checking Eddie out and finally focus. “Get it together, Harrington. Jesus.”

After all…he needed to get ready for school. How Steve felt about the idea of that was pretty obvious–his annoyance written all over Eddie’s face in the mirror, nose crinkled in disgust.

Letting out a long sigh, he squared his shoulders. 

As much as he dreaded sitting through another boring, endless day at Hawkins High–an experience Steve thought he had finally put in the rearview mirror for good–it was important.

Because Eddie was going to graduate this year, and there was no way in hell Steve would do anything to mess that up. 

So, he got to work.

First things first–hair. While a few long strands had already wriggled out of the loose bun Steve slept in overnight, he was careful as he freed the rest of Eddie’s usually unruly locks.

Steve couldn’t help but let out a pleased giggle at the dark curls that cascaded down around him, shaking his head and making them bounce. 

Apart from the face mask, the shower he’d taken at his own house yesterday had been (mostly) quick and routine. After all, with years playing sports under his belt, Steve was well-practiced at hopping in and out just long enough to get the grime and sweat off.

But once Eddie had dropped him off at the trailer last night, Steve relished the opportunity afforded to him. He’d headed straight to the bathroom to give Eddie’s hair the time and attention it really deserved–treating it to the expensive conditioner and curl defining cream he’d smuggled out of his own stash, his touch delicate as he dried each lock with an old t-shirt and not a towel. 

Just that tiny bit of TLC had done the trick–Eddie’s curls were looking fuller and healthier already. 

And Steve wasn’t done there. 

Picking up the water bottle he’d stashed on Eddie’s dresser, he gave his hair a quick spritz. Next came the mousse, which Steve applied liberally. Honestly, it felt nice, working his fingers carefully through those long tresses, helping to shape it. 

For the finishing touch, he whipped out another can of his trusty Farrah Fawcett hairspray, a foolproof method to make sure Eddie’s bangs held. 

Finally flipping Eddie’s hair back into place, Steve turned his head back and forth, admiring every angle of those dark, shiny waves. Eddie would be shampoo commercial ready in no time, if Steve did say so himself. 

“All they needed was the Harrington magic touch–and I’ve still got it.” 

Congratulating himself on a job well done, Steve turned to the closet.

Although this was the first chance he’d had to actually dress Eddie, he still stuck pretty close to the metalhead’s signature style. Not that the messily folded stacks of concert t-shirts in various shades of black really left him that much of a choice. 

Still, the dark denim jeans he pulled on were a tiny bit tighter than Eddie usually wore them. Steve recognized the pair immediately, the same ones the metalhead threw on every laundry day. He had long ago noticed they perfectly clung to what little ass Eddie had.

The Iron Maiden shirt he’d picked out was so worn, it felt ridiculously soft between his fingertips. But the way it stretched across Eddie’s chest, plus the fact the sleeves had been ripped off at the shoulders, had way more to do with Steve’s choice than anything else. 

Steve pulled it over his head in a slow slide, careful not to wrench Eddie’s side or muss up his curls in the process. 

Once the makeshift muscle shirt was in place, he flexed impulsively, curiosity getting the better of him. The movement made the weird little dragon dude on Eddie’s upper arm ripple in the mirror. 

Steve gave Eddie’s bicep a squeeze. “Huh.”

For a guy who flailed around like such a noodle man most of the time, he was surprisingly toned. 

Now dressed the part, Steve grabbed Eddie’s leather jacket and battle vest. Despite the fact that the layers were going to cover up the gun show, he shrugged both on, committed to completing the look. 

The weight of the denim draped over him felt comfortingly familiar from Steve’s time tromping through the Upside Down in it, the vest his only shield. 

Steve had returned it–with a tinge of reluctance, not that he was ever gonna mention that part out loud to anyone but Robin–back when Eddie got out of his stint in the hospital. A homecoming present he handed over on the drive to Eddie and his uncle’s newly commissioned trailer. 

Slung over his shoulders now, the fabric still smelled so strongly of Eddie. Not that everything didn’t for Steve at the moment, what with their whole…situation. 

But the mixture of Old Spice and weed smoke wafting up to his nose was practically Pavelow–Paylo–that little guy with the dog and the bell that Dustin was always going on about. It helped, basically, having it wrapped around him again. Made Steve feel…safe, if he was being totally honest. 

So he kind of got it, the title it had earned, in that moment. 

Battle vest. 

Wearing it, Steve felt like maybe he could pull this off, get through a whole day of school as Eddie. 

After snapping the last of the metalhead’s accessories into place, Steve gave himself one final once over in the mirror, smoothing down some of Eddie’s errant flyaways. The conditioner and hairspray certainly helped, but hair care and maintenance wasn’t an overnight kinda thing. It took effort, not to mention patience. 

At least, Steve guessed, if they ended up stuck like this for a while, he’d have plenty of time to keep working on that. 

He tried to squelch the anxiety that flared in his chest at the thought. 

“Brace yourself, Harrington,” he muttered to himself, “it’s just like a big game. You just gotta…keep your head in it. At least until the clock counts down, and that final buzzer sounds.”

Steve could just imagine how annoyed his favorite metalhead would be if he could hear him. 

Tainting the sound of my very own voice with sports metaphors again, Harrington!

Steve shook his head, a peel of laughter bursting out of him at the image. The force of it was so strong, Eddie’s teeth briefly flashed at him in the mirror, his dimple peeking out. It wasn’t quite Eddie’s usual cackle, but close, and, even though he hadn’t managed to get it out of his actual crush this time, the sound was still enough to send warmth spreading through him.

He seriously needed to get ahold of Dustin’s camcorder before everything was said and done. Record some of this for leverage, to tease Eddie with after the fact. 

Shooting Eddie’s reflection one parting wink and a finger gun, Steve grabbed that famous lunchbox of his and went out into the hall. 

As he stepped into the living room, voices pulled his attention to the kitchen.

Eddie was there already, talking animatedly with Mr. Munson as they waited for his “nephew” to join them. The older man looked on in amusement while Eddie chattered away, his gestures broad and theatrical in a way Steve’s never were. 

…Well. Except for when he was majorly pissed about something, or trying his damnedest to get a point across to Robin or Dustin. 

Lucky for them, Mr. Munson didn’t know Steve that well. Sure, they were friendly enough when they ran into each other at the trailer, and the way Steve’d helped out during Eddie’s recovery seemed to shake off any suspicions the older man initially seemed to have about the Harrington name. But while Eddie’s uncle had never been anything but kind to him since, they weren’t exactly buddies or anything, not close enough for him to notice if something about “Steve” seemed slightly off. 

He did catch the sound of Eddie’s Reeboks, however, and turned to Steve as he crossed the small space towards them.

Mr. Munson gave him a nod, voice gruff but warm, “Mornin’, son.”

And even though the words weren’t meant for him, not really, the open, fatherly affection in them was enough to throw Steve. He was struck by the simultaneous, conflicting need to straighten up proudly and duck his head, uncharacteristically embarrassed. 

That confused feeling only grew stronger when Steve saw the way Eddie’s expression faltered as his uncle’s gaze slipped away, something that had to be homesickness briefly crumpling his borrowed features. 

The look made Steve’s chest ache, like Eddie’s longing was echoing inside him. He felt a flash of guilt that he’d enjoyed how warm and parental Mr. Munson sounded, even for just a second.

“Uh, yeah. Hey, Uncle Wayne,” Steve greeted awkwardly, crowding into the cramped space with them. The smile he gave Eddie came way easier. “Stevie.”

With him now in arm’s reach, Mr. Munson gave Steve’s back a warm pat. Steve stiffened, shooting Eddie a pleading look he hoped screamed, Help me out here, man! For a second, he almost wished swapping bodies had come with a bonus side effect of being able to read each other’s minds.

…Almost. Robin would probably kill him if he “combined” like that with someone other than her. 

Fortunately, Eddie could read him well enough even without superpowers. 

Dropping into a bow, he loudly declared, “And my greetings to you, good sir!”

Steve suppressed the urge to shake his head. Now if Eddie could just work on being subtle, they might actually get somewhere.

Mr. Munson darted a narrow-eyed look at “Steve.” 

“You been hangin’ around here entirely too much.”

Steve felt as though Eddie’s heart had sunk into his stomach, choked by sudden fear. Maybe Mr. Munson hadn’t been as cool having a Harrington in his home as he’d thought.  

“Been spending so much time with Ed’s startin’ to rub off on you. Spittin’ image of him, just then.”

As Wayne went to refill his coffee mug, turning away from them, Steve shot Eddie a pointed look. 

Sheesh. I hope you’re happy with yourself. 

He could practically hear the, Lighten up, Harrington, no need to get your undies in a twist. The old man barely even noticed, that came along with the metalhead’s answering shrug. 

Maybe Steve hadn’t been that far off the mark with the whole mental link thing.

But he was quickly distracted from the thought as, now that he was closer, he fully registered what Eddie was wearing where he slouched against the Munsons’ counter.

A black polo–the darkest Steve owned, no contest, and one he had honestly completely forgotten about–with the leather bomber jacket he’d gotten at The War Zone slung over it, and a pair of dark wash jeans to tie it all together.

Steve gave Eddie a pointed once over, raising an eyebrow. “That’s…new. You, uh…definitely look a little bit different, Harrington.” 

Unable to help himself, he reached forward, curling his fingers into the collar of the dark polo. 

“Jesus, man, where’d you even find this?”

“Oh, what, this old thing? Ya like?” Eddie grinned, all teeth, clearly enjoying the fact that Steve couldn’t exactly call him out on it in front of his uncle. “Just a little something I dug out of the back of my closet. You know, there’s all kinds of interesting shit back there.” 

He’d already had to put up with Eddie finding that stupid ass Scoops uniform. God, Steve could only imagine what other embarrassing stuff he’d dig up, snooping around his room unsupervised.

What was next? His porn stash? 

Sure, he knew under his mattress wasn’t the most creative place to hide it. But Steve hadn’t exactly planned for the possibility his crush would wind up basically living in his house totally alone. 

All the leather and chains in those skin mags he’d picked up on his and Robin’s gay little excursion to Indie were bound to raise a couple questions. The tips of Steve’s ears burned just picturing it. 

And the devilish smirk Eddie was still sending his way? Didn’t exactly help, when it came to pumping the brakes on his runaway thoughts. 

“You know, just thought I’d, uh–take a page out of your book.” Cocking his head and rocking forward on his heels, the metalhead swayed close to Steve, shooting him a wink. “What, man, don’t tell me you don’t think tall, dark, and handsome works for me?” 

Steve really thought he should have been immune to Eddie invading his space, especially when he looked just like him–but the way he flustered automatically proved that wasn’t true. 

“Oh, is that what you’ve been doing, boy?” Mr. Munson directed the question to Steve, looking slyly amused–probably, Steve thought, at his “nephew’s” speechlessness. “Coulda fooled me.” 

Fortunately, before Steve was forced to respond–he didn’t think he had it in him to try and good-naturedly bicker with Eddie’s uncle the way the metalhead always did–Eddie offered a much needed distraction.

Because being up close and personal was clearly bringing certain things to his attention, too. In an abrupt, cartoonish show of shock, Eddie widened Steve’s eyes, the pair of them going big and round and so, so hazel in the early morning light. 

He still looks like a total Bambi, Steve thought affectionately. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Eddie flailed, arms pinwheeling through the air before he finally pointed an accusatory finger at the top of Steve’s head, “What the hell’d you do to m–to your hair?”

It was Steve’s turn to preen, his smile smug. Fluffing the curls with one hand, he tossed Eddie’s hair back and forth, biting back a giggle while the metalhead gaped at him in horror. 

Man, that really was as fun as girls always made it look. 

“What do you think? Cuz, I gotta say…personally, I think your advice worked like a charm. I mean,” his grin turned cocky, “you are the hair care master, after all.” 

Eddie spluttered in disbelief. “Christ alive, man! Like that, I–you look like some kind of uh, uh–well-groomed, yappy little lap dog!”

Mr. Munson snorted, covering up the sound quickly with a cough–although, given the coffee he’d been sipping, maybe it was only partially an act. 

This time, Steve was the one gasping in outrage. “Uh, I so do not! The curls totally look pretty like this!”

Eddie’s borrowed cheeks flushed a deep crimson–whether from anger, or embarrassment, or even bashfulness, it was hard to say. 

But, well…he always did say flattery worked on him. So, Steve bet on the latter and hoped for the best. 

“Come onnnnn, you know you like them,” he needled, sing-song. Then, Steve hit Eddie with a lethal combination–a pout and a heavy dose of those doe brown eyes of his, well aware how irresistible they were. 

Eddie barked out a disbelieving laugh. “Rest assured I know no such thing, man.”

“Seriously? You can’t pay me even one tiny little compliment after all my hard work?” He pinched his fingers together in demonstration. “I mean, I thought you, you know, gave up all that mean, high school shit and were working on being super nice now.”

Though he was partially teasing, saying the words still made Steve swallow hard. 

He knew he could be plenty bitchy when he wanted to be–Robin and the kids reminded him often enough. But the truth was, Steve really was trying to do better. And–however accidental it might be on Eddie’s part–he didn’t want to leave Mr. Munson with a bad impression, end up risking the older man’s hesitant tolerance of him.

In spite of Steve’s pleading, Eddie still looked seconds from throwing a bombastic Munson tantrum–flailing arms, stomping feet, the works. 

But instead, he shut his eyes tight for a brief moment, shook his head, and sucked in a deep breath. 

“Yeah, well, first of all–I wasn’t that much of a dick in high school. Absolutely not so much I’ve gotta run around, constantly trying to atone for my wicked ways,” Eddie insisted, eyes blinking open to catch Steve’s, hazel meeting brown. And, like the night before when he’d said Steve didn’t compare to the Billy Hargroves and Tommy H.’s of the world, some small part of Steve, grateful and relieved, gave a flutter. “And second–you can do whatever you want with your hair, Eddie boy. No need to consult little ole me.” 

Even Steve could read between those lines–Eddie’s words said one thing, but his emphasis spoke for him, loud and clear. 

Mr. Munson gave a contemplative hum, expression considering. “Definitely different, son. But, s’pose you gotta try new tricks every once in a blue moon.” 

The older man reached out, giving Eddie’s newly defined curls a fond ruffle. Steve managed not to dodge his hand, still feeling a swell of pride at such open, paternal support...even as his inner voice shrieked about Eddie’s uncle mussing up all his hard work. 

“See?” Steve shot Eddie a pointed look. “M-my Uncle Wayne likes it.” 

“So he says. But I’m pretty sure you once told me he complimented your sixth grade buzzcut, too, and we’ve all seen how that turned out. Yearbook photos tell no lies, Eds.”

“No way, it wasn’t that bad,” Steve argued, remembering the picture well. “I was a totally adorable kid, all big ears and chocolate button eyes.”

Eddie sputtered, actually rendered speechless this time. Steve watched him silently mouth chocolate button eyes, his current, far lighter eyes wide with disbelief. Mr. Munson looked between the pair of them, amusement plain on his face.

“But, uh, speaking of school…” Steve shoved up the sleeve of Eddie's leather jacket, letting out a frustrated huff when he registered that the Casio watch he’d thoughtlessly slapped on wasn’t working. Still busted, no doubt, from the involuntary dip Eddie had taken in Lover’s Lake. 

Reaching out, he tugged Eddie’s arm towards him instead and checked the time. 

“That’s what I thought.” Steve gave him a quick pat on the shoulder. “We better get a move on. Don’t wanna risk any of us being late.” 

Wayne let out an amused huff. “‘Spect that’s the first time you’ve worried ‘bout being punctual in your whole damn life, boy.” 

Finally recovered, Eddie simpered, looking like a cat who’d just caught the fattest, juiciest bird. 

“All my good influence, sir.” He laid a hand over his chest in mocking sincerity. “A regular Boy Scout, me.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve rolled his eyes, steering the smirking metalhead out of the kitchen. “Let’s go, Harrington!”

But that strong, now increasingly familiar hand clapped down on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. 

“Hold your horses there, boy,” Mr. Munson said, quiet but firm. “Lemme talk to ya for a second.” 

Steve shot Eddie a panicked look, but the expression Eddie sent back was equally as helpless. Still, he took his final, reluctant steps out onto the porch, having been plainly dismissed from whatever private father-son chat Eddie’s uncle had in mind. 

Only years of practice kept Steve from shifting on his feet uncomfortably under Mr. Munson’s careful, measured stare, the older man looking him over from head to toe. Countless memories washed over him, the many times he’d been called into his father’s office for a reprimanding just out of the sight of his friends playing through his mind on a loop. 

“Now, son, I’ve never said nothin’ about how you fix your hair, and I don’t intend to start. But…” Mr. Munson cast a quick glance toward the trailer’s closed front door, “don’t go changin’ to suit somebody else, ya hear? Just keep on bein’ you. For the right sorta person–that’ll be plenty enough.”

Steve got it, better than he ever had before. Why Eddie had always marched to the beat of his own drum–why he felt like he could. Having somebody else in your corner, ready to defend your choices, no matter what the outside world might say or think? It felt…really nice, even if he was just borrowing the feeling for a while. After all, Mr. Munson’s pep talk was for Eddie, not him.

“No, no way I will,” Steve hurriedly assured him. “I promise.” 

And that was a promise he felt sure of making, even if he was doing it on the other boy’s behalf. After all, who could Eddie even want to change for? Nobody came to mind.

“Good man.” With a nod, Mr. Munson gently herded Steve out onto the porch. “Now go on, git. And take care, boys. Try not to land in any hot water.”

Eddie threw an arm around Steve’s shoulders, grin shit-eating. “I’ll keep an eye on him for you, Mr. Munson. As the golden boy of Hawkins, I consider it my sworn duty to help a citizen in need.” 

“Oh my God, dude, shut up,” Steve complained, giving him a shove.

Shaking his head at their antics, Mr. Munson gave the pair a final wave, then let the door shut behind him.

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