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The kid was relentless, and sometimes you just wanted to get it over with. 

So when Dustin kept grilling Steve about his relationship with Robin and how there was no way they didn't have sexual tension between them, Eddie already knew it would take a lot to convince the kid otherwise. 

And there was no way Steve would spill Robin's secret about her sexuality just to prove a point. He wasn't an asshole. 

"Dustin, I'm telling you. Robin and I are basically fraternal twins. There's nothing–"

"Steve Harrington, don't lie to me! You were the biggest womanizer ever, and you're telling me you have sleepovers with a girl and nothing happens? I'm not an idiot!"

Steve muttered under his breath, "sometimes that's exactly what you are," which got a snicker out of Eddie, reminding the two of them that he was still there. 

They were supposed to be watching a movie, but then Dustin just couldn't let it go. 

"I promise you, there isn't any kind of sexual tension between Robin and me. Never was and never will be." 

"I don't believe it!"

"You don't have to," Steve said exasperated, running a hand on his face in that cute way Eddie was secretly so fond of. "I probably have more sexual tension with Eddie than with Robin. Right, man?" 

Eddie felt his eyes almost bugging out of his face. 

"W-what?" 

Now, both Dustin and Steve were looking at him, but Steve had this mischievous expression on his face. 

"Yeah, say, if I were to do this," Steve said, moving on the couch. They were at the Harringtons', and their furniture was way too big for a family of three, which meant Eddie was always sprawled out on the couch, enjoying the free space.

But now Steve fucking Harrington was crawling up to him on all fours, and he was basically straddling Eddie's body so he could get really up close and personal with him. 

"You're an asshole," Dustin said, and just like that, Steve had won the argument. Because he had done something so ridiculous, Dustin didn't have a choice but to drop the whole thing. 

The problem was... Steve didn't look like he was dropping it. 

He was currently hovering over Eddie, his face mere inches from Eddie's face. 

And maybe Steve was just fucking with him. Doing a bit. Because one minute he was looking Eddie in the eye, and the next he glanced down, right at Eddie's mouth. 

The bastard even licked his lips before looking back up, and Eddie felt his whole face warming up. 

What the fuck.

"Gross. You've made your point, Steve. Let's just watch the movie," Dustin groaned from his side of the couch. 

Steve smiled, clearly pleased with himself, and leaned in to peck Eddie's cheek. Eddie couldn't contain a pathetic little whine, low enough that maybe Dustin hadn't heard, but from the look in Steve's eyes, he had. 

And much to Eddie's disappointment, Steve retreated, sitting back on the couch and leaving Eddie and his desperate reminder that he had been pining over Steve Harrington for an entire year by now.   

And now, even though Steve meant nothing by it, Eddie couldn't shake the feeling of having Steve on top of him, and how all he wanted to do was to kiss the fuck out of him. 

“Hollander, I have a very important question to ask.”

“What?”

“It’s the biggest question I could ever ask you.”

“Ilya, we’re already getting married.”

Ilya grinned, and wrapped his arms around Shane’s waist, pulling him close. “Will you…” he paused for effect. “My beautiful fiancé….” Another pause. “Move in with me?”

Shane shoved him, forcing Ilya to break into laughter and whining, “Nooo, come back, is very important question.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Is that a yes?”

One of Steve’s arms is tucked under Eddie in a way that makes it possible for him to scratch at Eddie’s hair through his hood. His fingers move rhythmically, sliding over the fabric covering Eddie's head. 

It’s cozy like this, tangled in a way where Eddie can't tell where he ends and Steve begins. It's not something friends do, especially not two guys, but neither one of them mention that.

Sometimes they just lay and talk, and sometimes, like today, they have a book in front of them, positioned in the hand Eddie has snaked beneath Steve’s neck. 

Eddie’s reading, soft and quiet into Steve’s ear, when it happens. Steve turns his head back and presses a kiss to Eddie’s chin. A quick little peck beneath his mouth. 

The words die in Eddie’s throat, choked off by a squeaky noise of surprise. He drops the book onto the bed, letting it fall shut because saving the page he’s on is the last thing on his mind right now. Steve just kissed him. A little kiss, not even on his lips, but still a kiss. From Steve. 

They’re both frozen there, so still Eddie doesn’t think either of them are even breathing, and then Steve’s disentangling himself, pulling away. The exact opposite of what Eddie wants to happen. 

He finds the front of Steve’s shirt clutched in his fist, holding him where he is. 

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Steve says, still attempting to pull away. “We’re friends — I don’t know what got into me, man. I didn’t mean to do that.”

One hand curls around his wrist, the other going to his fingers to try peeling them away from Steve’s shirt. Eddie closes his fist tighter, shaking his head. 

“Yes, you should have,” Eddie whispers, voice caught in his throat. “Done that, I mean.”

Eddie’s been kissed before. At bars and parties, by guys and girls alike, liquor on their lips or laughter on their tongues. The girls at parties in town were always dared — kiss the freak, see if he puts out (Eddie never did) — and the guys in bars were always drunk and too impersonal. It never went further than that, never felt quite right, especially not with the girls, but he’s been kissed before. 

Dealing with the, still kind of high, walk of shame would be bad enough, but to do it from the guy he's in the middle of saving the world with, who he's sharing living arrangements with at the radio station so the walk of shame is not as much of a walk as it's fifteen steps, now that. That he can't take.

Steve stirs before Eddie could panic his way out of the bed.

Eddie lies there, frozen, as he witnesses Steve come to the same realization as him as he wakes. Steve's arms freeze mid-stretch and his back (his back, holy shit) goes rigid. The back of Eddie's brain notes the tone of muscles for later use, because he's sure he'll never be seeing it again after this.

They got really high last night. Like, really, really high. And they don't like each other! Not like that! They're friendly 'cause they have to be, and because they're in the middle of the whole saving the world thing together, and there's Dustin - oh god. Dustin' s not gonna let them hear the end of it if this fucks anything up between them. How could Eddie have been so stupid?! How could he let himself -

Steve arm drops behind him and hits Eddie's hip, searching around for a beat and then gripping onto the covers over Eddie's waist. Eddie freezes, eyes wide. Steve's not moving either.

"Eddie? That you?", Steve's voice is low and scratchy with sleep. Eddie has to take a few moments to compose himself, blink, lick his lips and finally mutter a pathetic little: "Yeah."

"Oh thank god"

Steve flops over himself without letting go of Eddie, struggling for a beat and then they're nose to nose. Steve's smiling, a little crooked.

"Man, I felt someone behind me and got scared for a second there."

Eddie swallows like this is normal.

"Who'd you-uh. Who'd you think it was if not me?"

Steve's brows twitch.

"No one else really around here to be but you, man."

"Oh. Right"

Eddie's disappointed. This is the best possible outcome he could've hoped for - Steve was just letting out some steam and was cool enough with Eddie to use a guy for that - and he's still disappointed. He's not attacking you or pretending he doesn't remember, take the win.

"I didn't mean it like that!" Steve hurries to babble at his frown.

"Not in like, you're the only person available way - well I mean you kind of are, but not-", Eddie stares at him open mouthed, "It's not only that for me! I - I mean, I guess it looks like that but, I actually think you're really hot, and - not that I don't think you're also a good person, I do, I just think that - I'm kind of bad at explaining myself, but yeah, you're hot and we're here and I think that - hey could you say something and stop me from further embarrassing myself?", Steve pants.

"I like you."

Now Steve's the one gaping.

"Oh."

"Yeah." Eddie wasn't gonna blurt it out like that, but Steve's little speach must have activated his own brain to mouth filter to dissappear.

"... Sooo. What now?"

Eddie shrugs.

They stay quiet long enough to become awkward and then Steve jumps and grabs Eddie's shoulders: "Holy shit, I like you too! Sorry!"

Startled, Eddie stares at him like a fish.

"That was supposed to be the point of my little speach and I just realized I barely called you hot! Eddie, I like you. And I wanna see where we could take this", he takes Eddie's hand between his own (and his hands really are as big as he thought last night, hello). If you want that, too?"

Eddie looks him in the eyes and brushes away a strand of hair with his free hand.

"So you think I'm hot?"

Steve blinks at him, a little bitchy.

"Yeah. I do."

A grin spreads over Eddie's face and he cranes his neck to check the clock behind Steve.

"I wanna see where it goes, too. But for now, we have two hours before everyone else gets here. Show me how hot you think I am?"

Steve groans and slots their bodies together.

Steve did ballet seriously until he was fourteen , the kind with recitals and teachers who pushed his shoulders down until every muscle shook. He doesn’t talk about it now. It sits in his body instead, in the turnout of his feet when he’s barefoot, in the way his spine still remembers how to bend.

Eddie finds out on a Tuesday.

He misses Eddie like a limb, but he knows how to be on his own.

If, for any reason, Steve has to be gone while Eddie is home, it's another story. Eddie is a feral, wilted chihuahua. He's showing up at everyone's house, lamenting about being left alone. He sleeps on the couch just to be dramatic. He sends Steve postcards every day, even if most of the trips are too short for any of them to actually reach him.

Steve has learned to brace himself when he opens the door, ready for Eddie to leap into his arms and, more than likely, lick his face.

He's busy.

There's a grocery list folded in his pocket waiting to get crossed off.

But all of that can wait, because there's a guy carrying his dog walking right in front of him.

The guy's wearing bright red running shorts, and the muscles in his legs flex with every step. In his arms sits a…Eddie actually has no clue what breed of dog it is, but whatever it is, it looks completely content with its life, tucked securely against this man's chest, watching the traffic go by.

Eddie has never wanted to be a dog more.

Which is saying something, because he doesn't even like dogs that much. He's more of a cat person.

So why is a guy carrying his dog the hottest thing Eddie has seen in months?

Why is he carrying the dog, anyway?

Maybe he's waiting until they reach the park so it doesn't run into traffic.

Maybe the dog just wanted to be carried.

Eddie can relate.

He, too, would like to be carried around by this guy.

He reaches his turn.

Eddie slows.

Thinks about it.

Then promptly ignores it.

Groceries have to wait, for now he's following a random hot stranger whose face he hasn't even seen yet.

Totally normal behavior.

Eddie's eyes drift down to those legs again, then slightly higher.

Yep.

Thank you, running shorts.

He misses another turn.

Suddenly the guy stops.

He crouches down and carefully sets the dog on the ground.

The dog immediately holds one paw slightly off the pavement.

Oh.

Great.

The dog's injured.

And now Eddie feels like an asshole.

Here he is thirsting over some guy who's been carrying his hurt dog around.

Then again…Why does that somehow make him even hotter?

Eddie desperately tries to think of a reason to approach.

Maybe the dog stepped on a bee.

Maybe there's glass.

Maybe…What exactly is Eddie supposed to do?

He's not a vet or something.

He has nothing to offer here.

Then the guy finally looks up.

And Eddie catches his first glimpse of his face.

Of course.

Of fucking course.

He's gorgeous.

Like insultingly gorgeous.

Eddie's so busy staring that he doesn't realize he's stopped walking, too.

Not until the guy's eyes meet his.

Eddie immediately jerks his gaze away. He glances around, pretends he's hopelessly lost, then spins on his heel and starts walking in the opposite direction.

His head hangs low.

His ears burn.

But. Wayne's not getting any younger and he's still working despite Steve's attempts to get him to hang up the old toolbelt. He's probably right but Wayne isn't ready. Can't imagine all that empty time.

And his Harrington boy? He's there every weekend, checking fixtures and changing lightbulbs. Cooking meals to store in Wayne's freezer even though he insists he's got enough food in there to last him through the apocalypse. He mother hen's over Eddie too, making sure he sleeps enough, eats a vegetable or two. So it feels like the right choice to just switch over the name on all his forms.

When he asks Steve, though, the boy's face goes ashen. He has to sit down. He tears up and won't look at Wayne. Eddie sees him, sighs, and comes to the rescue, standing between Steve's legs and pulling his head against his chest. Embracing him hard, making soothing noises.

Wayne waits silently for a moment then apologizes. He's screwed up somewhere and he feels pretty bad about it.

"Oh, no," Eddie laughs when he sees Wayne's face. "This is a happy freak out. Steve's not used to having family. Sometimes it takes him a moment when he remembers."

And suddenly, Wayne has to stand up and take a moment outside. Smoke half a cigarette with his boot kicked up against the side of the trailer. Wouldn't do to make the boys see him cry, too.

So, Steve came to the show. Early, earplugs in, and, just to shock Eddie’s system, in an outfit that was the opposite of his usual preppy polos.

He took the “metal show” description to heart, and must have really wanted to fit in—cut off jeans, an oversized band t-shirt, and, fuck, eyeliner. If he wanted to make himself even hotter, mission accomplished.

“Oh my god…what did you say?”

Ilya, who was on the phone with Svetlana while at Shane’s house, finished speaking to his boyfriend before turning his attention back to his friend.

“What, what is it?” he asked in English, trying to do Shane the courtesy of being allowed to listen in, if he wanted. He knew that Shane rarely got jealous of Svetlana anymore, not since they’d made things official, but still…he didn’t want to give the other man any reason to think he was hiding anything from him. 

“And speaking in English, too? Wow, so soft,” Svetlana crooned in Russian, humor laced in every word. “Who knew it would be Shane Hollander who melted you like butter, hm?”

Well…now he was set off. “I am not soft for Shane,” he hissed in Russian, ignoring Shane’s curious, contemplative gaze as he instantly tried to parse out the words he was starting to learn. 

“Really? You are a big, strong, scary man? Weird. Because I thought I just heard you call Hollander all sorts of disgusting names. ‘Yes, solnyshko, remote is on the table. No, sweetheart, I did not eat last apple.’ Or was that the other Russian hockey player Hollander is fucking?” Svetlana teased, imitating Ilya’s accent but making the words a whole lot more doting and breathless.

“Fuck off,” he snapped, feeling himself turn red even as he smiled a little.

“I cannot believe you call him Russian pet names. Do you also rub his feet if he asks?” Svetlana was giggling, obviously utterly thrilled with how gone Ilya was for Shane.

Ilya looked down to see Shane’s feet in his lap, his hand absentmindedly kneading one of the soles. He frowned. “No, I–”

“Wait, did you tell her you’re not soft for me?” Shane cut in, sounding amused, finally having discovered what Ilya had said. 

Ilya was going to die. “No, malysh, I–” he tried to explain softly, so Svetlana didn’t hear.

But it was too late.

Smirking, Shane snatched the phone from his hand and put it on speaker. “Svetlana, don’t let him lie to you!” Shane called, shooting Ilya a grin.

“Oh, do not worry, Shane,” Svetlana replied after a fit of laughter. “I know Ilya is a teddy bear. I was just happy to hear how soft he is for you. It’s very sweet, the things he calls you. You should know…he has not sounded this happy in a long time.”

Shane pinched his lips together, his pleased smile making Ilya’s body warm. “He makes me happy, too,” he murmured, flushing.

“It’s been like an hour, Harrington.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Shut up and give me something better to do.”

"what the hell are you doing Harrington?", Eddie asks- genuinley confused

steve stops in his tracks. "i just thought. since we're. yknow. you would sit with me?"

Eddie snorts, but then clarifies once he realizes steve is serious. "dude no offense but. your friends kind of suck"

"oh"

"yeah. oh" Eddie confirms, and turns towards his normal table, only to hear Steve following behind him.

"what are you doing steve?"

"going to sit with you and your friends...?" he trails off, suddenly realizing this was not what Eddie had expected. "if that's ok?"

Eddie blinks, dumbstruck and the two stare at eachother for a moment.

"uh, Eddie?" steve looks over at the hellfire table and back to Eddie, as thought he is trying to remind Eddie of the question

"I. yeah. yeah. as long as you dont mind the guys giving you shit"

"eh" steve shrugs as he begins to lead the way to the table "can't be worse than tommy and carol"

“I can’t shake him,” Eddie exasperated as he dropped his bookbag into the empty chair next to Jeff.

“Who?” Jeff asked quietly. There was at least four other tables full in the library’s study hall, but he knows the librarian has it out for Hellfire.

“Harrington,” Eddie hushed.

“Steve?” Jeff asked surprised. The librarian shushed in their direction. Jeff lowered his voice. “That Harrington?”

“Yes,” Eddie stressed. “I — uh —“ he physically lowered himself towards the table as he lowered his voice. “Hooked up with him this weekend and now he won’t leave me alone.”

“Hold up,” Jeff wrinkled his brow. “You’re telling me golden boy king Steve — with you? And now he’s following you around?”