I've got brainrot about 2 idiots from the 80s

The phlebotomist is giggling at something he just said, and she turns one of the little portable fans to face him. His hair starts billowing in the breeze, and he looks like he belongs on the cover of one of those bodice ripper novels Eddie rags on but secretly loves

The person doing Eddie's intake procedure says his pulse is a little high, so they need to wait a couple minutes and check again.

"Who is that?" Eddie asks, pointing at the other man.

"Oh, Steve? He's one of our regulars. Him and his girlfriend always come in and donate together every chance they get. Real sweet guy, everyone here loves him. Super funny, too."

It's then that Steve seems to notice Eddie staring, because he smiles and waves with the arm that doesn't currently have a needle stuck in it. Damn. Even his smile is perfect.

"So it looks like you can't donate today." Eddie turns once he realizes he's being spoken to. "Your pulse rate actually got higher; it was 109 and now it's 116."

"What? But isn't that a good thing? My body is pumping more blood, right? That means more for you guys to take?"

"Well we can only take a pint at a time, but even so, you're not supposed to donate if your heart rate is above 100 BPM because you might faint or get sick. Your blood pressure is fine, only slightly elevated, so it's probably nothing, but you should still go see a doctor anyway to get checked for a heart condition."

Eddie is shocked. He doesn't know what to say. For the first time in his life, he is rendered speechless. Munson men don't have heart problems. Liver damage, sure, but that's from all the booze, and he hasn't had a drop since he moved out of Hawkins.

Not like he could afford to, anyway. Shit's expensive.

"Does this mean I won't get the gift card?" he asks.

"Sorry, sweetie. Maybe next month."

He walks away, too stunned to respond, drifting over to the snack table. He grabs one of everything: pretzels, cookies, cheese crackers, a juice box. If he can't get that money, at least he can get some food.

He glances one last look at the beautiful boy before he goes. Maybe he'll get to talk to him next time.

Oh, well. He can get the cash somewhere else. There's always Onlyfans.

bonus: me explaining what happened to my Ma (except in this case pretend it's Eddie and Wayne lol)

He's currently busy staring off into space and trying to come up with an excuse to stay home on Sunday when his phone buzzes on the nightstand. He picks it up, expecting it to be Gareth texting about the specifics of next week’s birthday party, or maybe Wayne with another fishing meme (some days, Eddie regrets introducing him to Instagram), but is instead greeted by a message from an unfamiliar number.

Hi, is this Eddie?

Eddie’s soul departs his body. For a few seconds, he just stares at the screen.

Maybe it's not who he thinks it is. Maybe it's someone from Craigslist, texting about that leftover yarn stash he put up. Maybe it's someone who got the wrong number and is looking for a different Eddie. There's plenty of Eddies out there, right?

His phone buzzes again.

This is Steve. Claudia gave me your number.

The statistical likelihood of this being a misunderstanding shrivels and dies.

“Shit,” he whispers, opening the messaging app with shaking fingers. Sure enough, the profile picture that greets him is devastatingly familiar. Same guy. Same smile. The same ridiculously voluminous mane of shampoo commercial-worthy hair.

eddie’s stomach does a backflip. he fights the urge to kick his feet and twirl his hair. instead, he just rolls over, buries his face in his pillow, and yells at the idea of his boyfriend wearing his shirt in public.

then he gets up and gets dressed.

sure, he has plenty of other shirts in his closet, all probably more appropriate for his shift at work and band practice later in the day. but steve’s shirt is on the floor, and it smells like steve—like his expensive shampoo and conditioner and his sweat and his cologne—and steve is wearing eddie’s shirt, so it’s only fair that eddie wear steve’s. totally. that’s logical, right? absolutely.

plus, the shirt is just a little too big for eddie, and when he looks in the mirror he likes the way the collar gaps and shows off his necklace and collarbones. he likes the slight looseness in the shoulders and the sleeves, because he it reminds him that steve is just that much broader than him. he pairs it with his standard black jeans—a clean pair, thank you very much—and silver accessories and heads out the door with a bounce in his step that he would never, even under interrogation, admit to.

at work, no one really comments on the shirt. it’s navy blue and close enough to black that it looks reasonably like his own clothes. it’s his attitude that people notice. they’re used to eddie being friendly when approached, perhaps a little distractible, often lost in his thoughts and tapping out rhythms on the countertop. they are not used to eddie standing there with his chin propped in his hand, totally spaced out, smiling vaguely like he’s high off his ass. (he’s not.) (not at the moment.)

his boss comes in to check on the shop and sees eddie behind the counter, wearing a shirt he’s definitely never seen him wearing before, staring off into space.

“y’alright, son?”

eddie jumps. he shifts, tugs conspicuously on the collar of his shirt—that shirt’s too big for him, but his boss won’t judge, he knows all about hand-me-downs.

he does notice the red mark on eddie’s neck, though. he snorts. damn kids. he always wondered if eddie had a girl somewhere, and it seems the answer is yes.

“uh, yeah, I’m fine. thanks,” eddie responds.

he catches eddie spacing out no fewer than three more times during the rest of his shift. eddie’s a good kid, a hard worker, so he doesn’t say anything about it.

after work, eddie heads to practice with his band. work was easy today, not too busy, giving him plenty of time to doodle campaign plans and song notes in his beat-up black composition book. and so what if he kept getting distracted by the thought of steve wearing his shirt all day? it’s not his fault. it’s really hard not to think about steve when he’s wearing steve’s polo and smelling steve on his skin all day. it’s silly, but wearing steve’s clothes makes eddie feel safe, like he’s wearing a piece of king steve’s armor all day. like steve is here with him, even when he’s not; like eddie is wearing a tag that says “property of steve harrington. don’t touch.”

that might be the least metal thought he’s ever had. sue him. he’s young and in love for the first time. he’s allowed to be corny.

he walks into band practice with all the confidence of a rockstar, which is immediately deflated after gareth takes a single look at him and raises an eyebrow.

“dude, did you get dressed in the dark?”

eddie looks up from where he’s unpacking his stuff. “huh?”

before gareth can answer, jeff comes bounding into the garage from inside the house with a can of coke in hand. he looks at eddie, then at gareth, then back at eddie, and laughs.

“woah, we got a gap model on our hands,” he snorts.

eddie’s face burns and he ducks his head to hide it. the fourth member of their cohort comes in from the house and eddie shoots him a look.

“don’t say anything,” he grumbles.

JD frowns. “what? I was gonna say I like the, uh…whatever you’re wearing. looks cool.”

“looks cool? JD, man, he looks like he got lost in a jcpenney.”

“or the sears catalogue.”

JD walks by eddie and wrinkles up his nose. “I take it back. dude, you smell weird. what is that, eau de douchebag?”

eddie slams his guitar case shut. “alright! I get it. can we actually play some goddamn music now? this isn’t stand-up. no offense, but don’t quit your day jobs.”

gareth snickers.

eddie glares at him. “actually, full offense.”

the guys chuckle a little more, but they eventually get out their instruments and start the rehearsal. eddie pauses to button up the stupid collar of this polo a little more—not because he’s ashamed, but because he doesn’t need the guys to start razzing him about having a super visible hickey, too. it’s not his fault steve got a little carried away last night.

after all of that, eddie drives over to family video, just to say hi to robin and see if there’s anything new to watch. steve’s already left—dinner with his parents, or some shit that made him grumpy when he talked about it—and eddie is surprised to find mike wheeler and dustin henderson behind the counter when he walks in.

“hey, rob? you’ve got a gremlin infestation,” eddie shouts, leaning into the back room.

robin sticks her head out from behind a shelving unit. she sees the kids behind the counter and emerges with a scowl. “out! I told you that you could take one pack of candy, and this is how you thank me?”

dustin and mike scamper out from behind the counter. eddie is honestly impressed at how easily robin gets them to obey. they seem to finally register eddie’s presence, and eddie knows he’s fucked from the moment dustin looks down from eddie’s face to his chest.

“what are you goblins doing here?” eddie says, hoping to distract them.

dustin plows right over the question. “that’s steve’s…hey, wait a second.”

“hey eddie,” mike says, and from the look on his face eddie is reminded that his adorable little sheep is also a massive fucking twit. “where’d you get that shirt? your mommy get it from the goddamn gap?”

dustin laughs so loud that you can probably hear it on the other side of the mississippi.

(later, when eddie comes home and finds steve already waiting for him in his room, he flops facedown on the mattress with a groan and asks steve if he also got teased all day for wearing eddie’s shirt.

“what? no, robin said that everybody who came in was flirting with me.”

“you didn’t notice?”

“that they were flirting with me? why would I notice who’s flirting with me when I’ve got you waiting for me at home?”

“…fucking sap.”)

☆