Steddie Song Fics

This is what he gets for imagining the guy in a wet T-shirt. Sure, now an Iron Maiden logo clings to Eddie’s chest, and his nipple ring is fully visible through the gray fabric as he climbs out of the pool, chuckling about being a total klutz. But instead of enjoying the show, Steve is left standing there, soaked in guilt and embarrassment, wondering whether hosting a poolside cookout was really a good idea.

The fact is, this isn’t the first time Steve’s powers have gone haywire when Eddie was around. It’s just like the situation with the lifeguard; things move when they shouldn’t, usually causing some kind of trouble for Eddie. Items will disappear completely, only to show up in the most obvious place—something that’s caused Eddie to linger at Steve’s house more than once, searching for his keys or his wallet.

And then there are the dreams. Beautiful, vivid dreams that have been haunting Steve for weeks. Dreams of himself and Eddie, always with very little plot or substance. They can be sweet, mundane, or sexy—dancing in some misty forest or making out on a twilit balcony. The unifying feature is that he wakes up from each one levitating a couple feet over the mattress, only to come crashing down when he realizes he’s alone in his bedroom instead of doing something like spooning Eddie in an oceanside bungalow.

He can take the dreams. They’re fine, involuntary floating and all. At least they don’t inconvenience his friend. Or, as in this case, drench him in pool water right as they’re about to eat.

Oblivious to the hand Steve played in it, Eddie approaches him for a solution to his water problem. “You got any clothes I can borrow?”

Steve swallows the lump in his throat and manages, “Uh, yeah. Help yourself, man.” He gestures toward the house, thankful Eddie knows where to find his room. It means he won’t have to show him the way and end up magicking the wet clothes away as soon as they make it inside.

No! Don’t think about that. Steve squeezes his eyes shut, desperate to clear the image from his mind. Don’t think don’t think don’t think—

He lets out a relieved sigh when he hears the back door open and close without anybody shrieking in surprise at any sudden nudity.

“Are you alright?” Robin asks. She hovers nearby, holding a bag of chips and eyeing him suspiciously.

“Yeah. I’m fine,” he lies.

She shakes her head, disbelieving, but lets it rest for the time being. Steve knows he’s in for it later, though.

Over the course of the next hour, he might have been able to put the incident from his mind if it weren’t for the fact that Eddie is wearing his clothes.

No, it’s worse than that. When he’d told Eddie to help himself to his wardrobe, he hadn’t considered the possibility of him returning to the party in the tiniest pair of running shorts he owns. If he didn’t know any better, Steve would think he did it on purpose.

The one blessing is that Eddie’s ass isn’t quite as round as Steve’s, so he doesn’t fill out the shorts the same way—at least, not in the back. But that’s more than made up for by the top he chose: an old cutoff T-shirt, the sleeves and sides butchered long ago for the sake of not overheating on a midsummer run. It was a more logical choice than the shorts, sure; Eddie owns a few cutoffs of his own, though they seem to serve a more aesthetic purpose than a functional one. That doesn’t change the way every summer breeze or wild gesticulation teases Steve with a glimpse of inked skin or the silver flash of that godforsaken nipple ring.

He has to know what he’s doing, right?

Regardless of any conscious choice on Eddie’s part, Steve has found it impossible to focus on anything else. He can feel Robin’s eyes on him in turn, either teasing him about ogling their friend or begging him to do something about it. He can’t tell which it is without acknowledging her, which he patently refuses to do.

As sunset approaches, someone suggests they start up a fire. It may be his house, but Steve lets his guests handle it. The last thing he should be doing right now is messing with an open flame.

He should know by now that his powers aren’t that easy to evade.

Around the fire pit, he sits as far from Eddie as he can, not realizing his mistake until he lifts his head and sees Eddie directly across from him in the circle. He feels his eyes go wide, and he knows he must look like he just saw a ghost, because Eddie’s grin fades, and he cocks his head.

“You okay?” He mouths it silently, so as not to interrupt Dustin and Lucas’s animated argument over whose chosen nerd character would win in a hypothetical fight.

Steve isn’t sure how to answer. He purses his lips and nods slightly, praying it comes across as casual.

Eddie’s grin returns, and he nods back.

With a steadying breath, Steve risks a glance at Robin. Sure enough, her gaze is fixed on him, equal parts knowing and frustrated.

It’s not that simple, Rob, he tells her in his mind. Hypocritical, given his harping on her pining after Vickie—but it’s the truth. There’s no telling what might happen if he worked up the nerve to tell Eddie how he feels, only for him to say they’re better as friends. He has a hard enough time controlling his magic’s emotional responses without outright rejection.

He looks past the fire again. Eddie has joined in the discussion, pointing out the holes in Dustin’s logic. He’s smiling wide and throwing his head back to laugh, putting his neck on display. Steve wishes he could leap across their circle and kiss it. He wants to wrap his arms around him and hold him close, just like in those gravity-defying dreams. The borrowed outfit is one thing, but there’s something extra attractive about Eddie’s laughter.

He’s too hot for his own good, Steve thinks.

Which is a dangerous thought to have while they’re sitting around a fucking campfire.

Suddenly, the flames between them start to shudder and lean unnaturally toward Eddie. At first, he’s too engrossed in the conversation to notice. He doesn’t seem to register what’s happening.

It’s not until Max shouts, “Dude, you’re on fire!” that he even stops talking.

He opens his mouth to shoot a snarky reply her way, but it snaps shut again as his nose twitches—no doubt picking up the subtle shift from wood smoke to burning cotton.

The panic starts a moment later. Eddie’s shirt smolders at the neckline, like someone held a match to it. He slaps at it fruitlessly while everyone scrambles for something to douse it. Dustin and Mike both toss their drinks at him and miss spectacularly. Robin runs off for a bucket, but she and Steve both know the closest one is in the garage.

None of it matters. Before Robin is more than a few steps away, there’s a wild splash as Eddie ends up in the goddamn pool again.

Steve rushes to the edge and looks down just as he did earlier, with eyes wide and cheeks aglow with chagrin. As much as he wants to play the hero for putting out the fire, he didn’t know what he was doing this time any more than he did before. In the same fog of terror as everyone else, he just happened to remember they were standing next to the pool, and his unconscious mind happened to be able to do something about it from several feet away.

His unconscious mind also happened to cause the terror in the first place, but at least it corrected itself.

Everyone falls silent. They stare at Eddie while he spits and coughs, a blue ghost in the glow of the pool lights. Worry rolls off of everyone in suffocating waves.

Finally, Eddie sweeps curtains of wet hair out of his face and quips, “Well, Stevie…you got any more threads I can borrow?”

Steve can’t take it. Eddie is looking up at him in the aftermath of being tossed into the pool by phantom hands again—not to mention being set on fire—and he’s giggling. There’s an easy smile on his face, like this is exactly where he expected to end up tonight.

The whole situation is too absurd for Steve to handle, so he does the only thing he can think to do. Without a word, he walks past his friends, around the edge of the pool, and into the woods behind his house.

The trees are hatefully gorgeous tonight, with fireflies flashing among the branches. Normally, it’s Steve’s favorite thing to witness in the early summer—dark boughs glittering with little yellow pinpricks of light—but right now it feels more like a crowd of rabid paparazzi, there to snap a picture of him at his lowest.

His legs carry him down the familiar path he used to take when he was little, after his dad pissed him off and he would threaten to run away. He isn’t sure how long he’s been walking, but he recognizes his surroundings when he stops and looks around, so he can’t have gone too far.

He leans against the trunk of a sturdy beech and puts his head in his hands. Things have gotten so far out of hand. It only took three months of friendship for Steve to start pining so hard that he can’t go more than a couple hours without causing some kind of ruckus.

“This is ridiculous,” he mutters.

“I’ll say,” a familiar voice chirps, and Steve’s lungs stop working.

“What are you doing here?” he demands.

Eddie becomes more visible as he approaches on the path, holding up his hands and raising his eyebrows. “Just looking for you, man. Figured you probably shouldn’t be out in the woods by yourself.”

Steve scoffs. If anything, he’s probably the safest creature out here.

Eddie frowns. He hasn’t changed out of his soaked clothes; they cling to his frame like a second skin.

Steve looks away before his mind can betray him and mumbles, “I can take care of myself.”

“Sure you can. Am I not allowed to be worried about you anyway?” Eddie’s attempt at levity is transparent. It also happens to be exactly what Steve loves about him.

“Of course you are,” he snaps, unable to contain his frustration.

“Damn. And here I was thinking I was breaking the rules. What’s this gonna do to my reputation?”

Steve’s jaw twitches. He stares at the forest floor.

It must tip Eddie off to a deeper hurt, one he won’t be able to fix by joking around. Because after a silent moment, his voice is too serious when he asks, “Stevie, you’ve been weird all day. I need you to tell me what’s wrong.”

Through clenched teeth, Steve says, “I can’t.”

“You can’t, or you don’t want to?”

“Oh, I want to. You can believe that.” He still stares at the ground. It’s hardly visible in the dark, but he swears he sees the dry dirt in front of him swirling like a little tornado.

“Then can you at least tell me why you can’t tell me?”

“Because you wouldn’t believe me!” he explodes. At the same time, the ground shakes beneath their feet.

It startles him enough to meet Eddie’s gaze, which he finds just as shocked. Though he’d raised his voice, it hadn’t been near loud enough to cause a tremor like that.

There’s a heavy pause between the outburst and Eddie’s pointed reply: “Try me.”

Steve swallows. “I, uh…okay. It’s gonna sound nuts, so just…promise you’ll let me finish before you say anything.”

“I promise,” Eddie says with a solemn nod.

“Okay,” Steve repeats. He takes a deep breath, then launches into the spiel his mom gave him after the first incident at Hawkins pool. “There’s this…thing in my family. Not the Harringtons, but my mom’s family. Apparently for every generation there’s a kid who ends up with magical powers.” He stops to add, “It’s a lot like how El can move things with her mind and remote travel, but…different.”

“Different how?” Eddie asks, then, remembering his promise, mutters, “Sorry, sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Steve says. “It’s hard to say. I guess it’s more like magic than the shit they were doing at Hawkins Lab.” With a grimace, he goes on, “Whatever. Maybe it’s the same. The point is, I got these powers from my mom, and I can’t control ’em, and that’s why I’m acting weird.”

Eddie lets the words settle for a moment before tilting his head expectantly. “That’s all?”

Steve bites his lip and nods.

“Hm.” Eddie stares at him with narrowed eyes for an uncomfortably long time. Then he purses his lips and declares, “I don’t believe you.”

“I swear it’s true,” Steve protests. “When I was in middle school, my mom told me—”

“No, not that,” Eddie interrupts, impatient. “I mean I don’t believe that’s the whole story.”

Steve feels his face get hot. “Oh.”

“So?” Eddie’s voice is soft, and he takes a step into Steve’s space, not letting him look away. “What’re you leaving out?”

“Nothing,” he fibs.

“So it’s a total coincidence,” Eddie continues, moving even closer, “that you always act the strangest right after something strange happens to me?”

“Maybe.”

“And that those strange things seem to only happen to me?”

Steve blinks as the truth dawns on him. He should’ve known Eddie would figure it out on his own—he’s never been very subtle with his crushes, even when they don’t have him throwing anyone in the pool. And yet…Eddie’s not backing off. He’s not running away.

In a moment of either weakness or faith (he can’t decide which), Steve closes the short distance between them and presses his lips to Eddie’s. He’s so delighted to feel him kissing back that he barely notices his feet leaving the ground. He’s not surprised they do; this is just like one of his dreams.

Eddie lets out a small, startled laugh when he notices they’re in the air. He breaks away from the kiss to glance at the ground, then smiles at Steve. “If you like me that much, you should’ve just said so.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Sure. Just like your old man.”

“No, he only knows a lot of stuff about doin’ business.” Steve straightens up to his full height and squares his shoulders. “He doesn’t know anything about clovers.”

Eddie doesn’t like it when Steve stands like that. It reminds him of Mr. Harrington, and that guy is, as Wayne would say, a piece of work.

Luckily, Steve relaxes back into his normal, hunched posture after a moment. He raises his clover—the third one he’s found, to Eddie’s increasingly frustrating zero—and studies it carefully. Without taking his eyes away from it, he tilts his head and asks, “Did your mama know a lot about clovers?”

It takes Eddie a second to answer. Not because he doesn’t want to talk about her, but because he doesn’t want to cry. Steve is used to it, and he’s good at being patient. That’s something else his mama told him, when he had to go to the hair salon with her last week. So instead of asking again, he silently begins to search for a fourth lucky clover while he waits for Eddie to gather his thoughts.

“She didn’t know a lot about plants,” Eddie finally says, “but she knew everything about birds.”

Steve stands up straight again, but this time it’s less like his dad. He looks like Steve now, grinning wide and looking like he’s about to start jumping up and down. “Birds?”

The reaction is exactly what Eddie expected. He smiles to himself, both at the memory of sitting on the back porch with his mom and at the knowledge that his new friend would have happily sat out there with them, absorbing everything he could about her beloved songbirds. “She could tell you what kind were close ’cause she knew what they all sounded like.”

“Whoa,” Steve says, awestruck.

“I might be able to find her binoculars. They must be with her stuff.” In truth, Eddie knows exactly where to find them. There’s a shoebox under his bed, the sneakers it once held replaced with his mother’s most important treasures: a diary he’ll eventually work up the nerve to read, a photo of her outside Granny Munson’s house with a huge belly (“That’s my first picture of you,” she once said, to make him giggle), her favorite yellow scarf…and of course, her birdwatching gear.

Steve patiently watches Eddie think for a while. But he’s six years old; there’s only so patient he can be. “You miss her?”

“Yeah,” Eddie sighs.

There’s a moment of gentle silence between them. Then Steve says, “You wanna tell me more about her? She sounds nice.”

   "We're really doing this, huh?" Eddie asks, his voice a quiet whisper against the top of his hair, Steve's head resting on his shoulder in the calm aftermath of a violent storm of emotions.

   "Yeah, I guess so,” Steve sighs, still in disbelief that this is where they are now.

   "Do you think you’ll ever regret it?" He asks and can hear Eddie smile when he answers, "I could never. What about you?"

Steve thinks about it for a moment, thinks about all the lonely days, all the tears, and all the stupid fights they had. Thinks about how it almost broke him and how it almost broke them up. But then he lifts his head and finds Eddie's loving eyes looking back, and doesn’t need any more reason to know it was all worth it.

   "I love you," he finally says. "And I'd do it all again with you."

Yes, it was hard, unbearable at times, but they both know it was the right decision not to compromise their own dreams for the other out of fear of losing what they had. And in the end, they came out even stronger and deeper in love than before.

Steve fresh out of college with a hard earned degree that gives him the freedom to walk away from the clutches of his family name.

Eddie with one foot set in the music industry like he'd always hoped – not as a signed artist, not yet, but steadily working his way up towards his goal.

They're finally together again. New state, new apartment, new start. Back in each other's arms where they always belonged.

Steve Harrington's between his thighs, and his dick is acting like it's too good for it. Old Eddie, Before Eddie, would have accidentally shot his load in Steve Harrington's eye before he even touched him if Steve got as close to his dick as he is right now. He was that easily overstimulated.

Now, he can't get stimulated at all.

Eddie slings his arm over his eyes. 

Steve is nuzzling his soft cock. Kissing it. Fingertips trailing up Eddie's scarred thigh, before holding Eddie's dick in his mouth. Tongue flattened, pressing against him, nose buried in Eddie's pubes. His soft balls cradled in Steve's hand.

All the tricks being pulled out, for no goddamn reason.

"It ain't happening," Eddie finally says. It's never happening.

Steve pulls off, and his eyes are hooded, pupils blown wide. He looks horny as fuck, and Eddie doesn't understand why. Eddie's dick is soft. That shouldn't exactly make Steve feel good.

"You want me to stop?" Steve asks. His lips are red and slick. He's curling his fingertips against Eddie's thighs, like he's desperate to get back to it. He looks like a wet fucking dream but Eddie can't get wet to save his soul. It's tragic.

"Yeah," Eddie says, but he doesn't want him to stop at all. There's just no point in continuing.

Steve pulls away, resting back on his heels. Steve's big dick is hard, and leaking like a faucet. Steve reaches for it, and squeezes, trying to get it to go down. Eddie can see his thigh muscles are tense, flexed. He's trying to redirect all that blood. 

Eddie doesn't want that. Erections shouldn't be wasted. They feel like a precious commodity these days.

"No, let me see you," Eddie says, and Eddie watches as Steve's thighs relax, as Steve strokes himself leisurely. Like he's in no hurry. No rush.

"Go ahead, touch yourself," Steve directs, and Eddie isn't sure he sees the point. If Steve Harrington couldn't get him hard, he's definitely not gonna be able to do it for himself. 

"This is stupid," Eddie says, cupping his soft dick. He doesn't know if it's all in his head, or if something actually got fucked up down there. Blood vessels or nerves, whatever the bats gnawed on while trying to eat him alive.

None of the doctors warned him about this, and well, he's kind of pissed off. He's lost enough.

"It's not stupid," Steve says, "does it still feel good? Does it hurt?"

It doesn't hurt. 

It feels good. Just not as good as he remembers.

"No, it feels good," Eddie answers.

"Good, then it'll happen. Or it won't. We can do other stuff. I could eat you out. Finger you," Steve says, like these are normal, everyday suggestions.

Eddie feels like his dick hardens a smidgen. It's probably in his goddamn head, but he'll pretend, and take it.

"Fuck you," Steve continues, and Eddie arches his head back against the pillows. "That's it," Steve coaches, and Eddie rubs his soft dick. "You just gotta keep your head up. I'm having fun, and you should be having fun, too."

Eddie nods, squeezing his eyes shut. He's having fun. 

Steve Harrington is in his bed. If that's not fun, nothing could be.

It’s still a problem, though, this habitual abuse of adrenaline rushes and pain as catalysts for momentary satisfaction, where he’s less likely to overdose but just as much at risk of sustaining lasting damage.

Steve knows that. Doesn’t deny how utterly stupid it is to play Russian Roulette with fate and naively accept the potential consequences of his actions if things go sideways for one reason or another, even if the possibilities are endless.

And the thing is, Steve doesn’t even like to fight. He is not an aggressive person, not deep down in his core. But he needs it to feel, to counter the numbness, would otherwise drown in the grey sludge of his dull, unfulfilled life. Needs the physical reminder that he’s more than just an empty shell. That his body can bend and break and bleed because he’s alive, not just the ghost of someone who climbed too high and didn’t learn how to fly before the inevitable fall.

Steve is most content when he’s aching. When he can look in the mirror and finds that his exterior matches the inside, looking just as broken as he feels deep down.

That’s why he seeks out violence, causes trouble where needs to be none, always ready to throw the first punch just to get what he wants. A black eye, a throbbing lip, a pounding head – whatever he’s offered, he takes it with pleasure, gets high on the pain for as long as it lasts.

That’s why he goes out and drinks and picks fights with strangers, easy targets that fall all too willingly for his stupid game. Washed-up nobodies like him, with nothing to lose. Guys who will clash over nothing just to experience a feeling of superiority, claiming that tiny bit of fake ‘respect’ they’re so desperate for. Boosting their own broken egos with impacting fists, giving them the illusion of being in control for once in their life.

Steve gladly lets them have it. He doesn’t care about winning, he just wants to hurt.

Therapy would be the better choice than whatever fucked up shit he’s drawn to. But the thought of having to open up about everything that is wrong with him is so much scarier than the idea of ending up with another concussion or a broken nose. Or worse.

So he takes the risk. Because it’s the only way he knows how to cope.

-----

“Nothing. Just an asshole,” Eddie barely opens his mouth to talk, afraid to reopen the cut on his bottom lip that only just stopped bleeding a few minutes ago. “I didn’t even say anything this time.”

Steve gives him a knowing look. He almost definitely said something.

“I can’t always have your back, man,” Steve sighs. “You said you weren’t going out tonight, anyway.”

“I know.”

“So why—“

“Just forget it, Steve. I should’ve shut up and taken it, like everyone expects me to. I shouldn’t ever stick up for myself because it’ll just draw attention. I’ll just stay in my room and never come out and no one will ever have to look at me again.” Eddie groans when his lip starts bleeding as he talks. “This might need stitches.”

Steve’s heart breaks at his words. He knows it’s hard for Eddie. It’s hard for all of them sometimes. The government made a huge spectacle of thanking them for their efforts in saving Hawkins and now everyone is weird around them. But with Eddie, everyone still looks at him like he’s a murderer, a drug addict, a criminal, an idiot who couldn’t graduate high school. And they aren’t quiet about it, either.

It helps if he isn’t alone, especially if Steve is with him. People are at least quieter and don’t stare as long. But Steve had to work late tonight and Eddie apparently insisted on going to the bar alone.

“No one wants you to not defend yourself,” Steve starts. They’ve had this conversation before. It can’t hurt to have it again. “We just want you to be safe.”

“I get beat to shit if I say something, I get beat to shit if I don’t. I still don’t know why I need to stay in this shithole town when I’m suffering alone all the time.”

“You’re not alone. You’ve got all of us. You’ve got me,” Steve emphasizes, hopes that the words will finally fucking stick.

“Do I though?” Eddie huffs an unamused laugh. “You insist on me living here, gave me my own bedroom, said I don’t even need to pay rent because your parents paid off the house. You do this shit for me when I’m broken. You invite me to hang out with you and Robin all the time. But it’s because you pity me, right? You don’t want a guilty conscience so you help me. You don’t want the little sheep to be disappointed if you go back to your King Steve ways so you make sure to include me.”

“Eddie, no! You’re my friend.”

Eddie takes the bag from Steve’s hand and stands from the couch. “Right. I’ll be in my room trying to get my lip to stop bleeding.”

“Wait,” Steve stands and tries to stop him, but he’s already halfway through the doorway to the hall. “Can you at least let me do the stitches?”

“Since when do you know how to stitch someone up?”

“I technically don’t. But I can sew. Gotta be pretty similar,” Steve says with a half-smile. He doesn’t like this tension. It’s never like this with Eddie.

He’s always so laidback and funny and charming and flirty and—

“You’re comparing stitching my skin together to sewing a hole in your shirt?” Eddie faces him, blood dripping down his chin. “I don’t think that’s the same.”

“I guess we’ll find out together,” Steve shrugs.

“You’re impossible.”

“So are you.”

They’re both laughing as Eddie walks up to him again, one good eye big and round in apology.

“They were saying shitty stuff about Robin and I told them they don’t know what they’re talking about. Then they said…” Eddie sighs. “They said that of course another fairy would stick up for her and that they feel bad for you being dragged into this lifestyle. Apparently a few of the community college girls are trying to figure out how to get you to stop being friends with us so you can be who you ‘used to be.’”

“Well, who I used to be kinda sucked,” Steve starts. His heart beats fast as he thinks about Eddie sticking up for Robin. About how he’s gotten into trouble sticking up for all of them, not just himself. About how he stands between Steve and a crowd of people even though he’s the one at risk. About how there’s nothing he wouldn’t do to protect the ones he cares about, who have done everything to protect him in return. “And I kind of really like the company I keep.”

Eddie frowns. “You don’t have to say that about me.”

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it. You and Robin are my best friends,” Steve shrugs. “That won’t change just because some people want me to be an asshole.”

“Yeah, okay,” Eddie says like he doesn’t believe it.

“Eddie.” Steve steps closer, so close he can see the small dimple on his nose from where his sunglasses are too tight and have left a near-permanent mark on his skin. “I’m right here. I want you here and I want to be here. Okay?”

Eddie nods once and lets out a shaky breath. “Okay.”

“Can I get you cleaned up now?”

“Were you serious about stitching my lip? Because I think I’d rather call someone else,” Eddie jokes nervously.

Steve leans in, makes sure he’s close enough for Eddie to feel his breath against his lips.

"Steve?" Robin asks, and she sounds like an echo, like she's a million miles away. He's focused in on the door to somewhere that's been left open. He tilts his head to the side. That guy pacing back and forth looks like him. Older, rougher, dirtier, but him. 

Wearing a baseball cap backwards, and fatigues like he's going to war. Like he's been in war for a long, long time.

Then, he pauses in the doorway, and puts his hands on his hips.

I know you.

It's definitely him. Then, the other version of him shifts, and another person crosses into the light. 

The glass slips from Steve's hand, shattering on the concrete pavers under his feet. Wine seeping into his socks, into his tux pant legs. Everyone is shouting his name, but he's not here. Not now.

Long, dark hair tied up. A spear of some sort clutched in his hand, shaking it towards Older Steve. Like they're arguing, in a very familiar way.

I swear I've seen your face before. Déjà vu.

Robin is pulling on his sleeve, but he's locked-in. Frozen. Staring. 

That's Eddie. He doesn't exactly know who Eddie is, but that's definitely him.

And that terrifies him.

Finally, he can move, and he takes off running. Shedding his expensive jacket as he goes, running as fast as the brand new dress shoes pinching his toes allow for, as if the door might slam closed before he gets there. He puts his hand on the edge of the open door, and up close, the light is blinding. It's warm against his palm, his fingers, as he tries to pry it open further.

It feels real. Like everything behind him has been a dream. Like, now he knows.

He tugs, pulls, trying to get it to open wide enough to go through. Because he suddenly feels that he needs to be over there. In the light. Wherever that is. That's where he belongs. Not here. 

When it finally gives way, Steve careens inside, slamming into Older Steve and he's suddenly, somehow, inside him. A passenger, along for the ride. But he settles, and tries to get his bearings.

Hawkins.

The Upside Down.

Eddie.

Eddie.

A different version of Robin is off to the side, organizing a table of weapons with Nancy. No fancy dresses here. No engagement rings. No, this looks like a war zone, and like it's been that way for a long, long time.

"Steve. Are you even listening to me?" Eddie snaps.

Older Steve is still, and Steve can feel his hand clutching the bat handle in his hand. Like he's just sitting right under Older Steve's skin. A second Steve in different Steve wrapping.

His body hurts. He's never felt like this in his life. These kinds of aches and pains. Throbbing reminders of things Steve can't remember, because he didn't experience them. No, this Steve did.

"I feel weird," Older Steve says, and then they're both on the ground. Lights out.

When Steve comes to, he feels weird. Like his head is fuzzy, and swimming. Too full. His head is resting on Eddie's thigh, Eddie's hand cradling his head carefully.

Steve blinks his eyes, and Eddie's hand moves to his forehead.

"Hey, you with me?" Eddie asks, and when Steve opens his eyes, all he sees is a pair of very concerned brown eyes hovering. Eddie. Eddie's here.

Steve nods. He's okay. 

Eddie makes him sit up, urging him to drink some water from a canteen. It tastes better than anything he's ever drank in his entire life.

"That was weird," Steve says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

And Eddie laughs, so Steve thinks that everything will be okay. It's just like he was hit with an overwhelming wall of information. A hallucination. A different life. One without the Upside Down. One that seemed like it should have been a perfect life, but it was one without Eddie.

Fuck that.

He'll take this one.

Probably sensing his distress, Robin appears at his elbow, muttering, “That guy’s a piece of work, huh?”

Steve hums in response. He takes a swig from his bottle—the label halfway peeled off by his restless fingers.

She clinks her own bottle against his in an obvious attempt to draw his eye. He hadn’t even realized he was staring daggers at Eddie and Johnny/Jimmy/Joey until that moment.

“It’s not just you,” Robin reassures him. “Everybody else is skeeved out by him, too.”

“That so?” he mutters. “Then why doesn’t somebody kick him out?”

“Because Eddie would lose his shit,” she laughs. “Unless…”

He glares at her now. “Unless?”

She feigns nonchalance with a shrug. “I don’t know. I mean…I think you could probably get away with it.”

“Seriously?”

“I’m just saying, you’ve got some sway with our favorite freak. And seeing as you’ve been trying to murder the guy with your mind all night—”

“I’m not jealous.” Steve insists.

“Right. Sure.”

“I’m not!”

“You mean to tell me somebody else brought that little green monster that’s running around?”

He refuses to answer, taking another drink and resuming his attempts at emulating Jane’s ability to snap a man’s neck from across the room.

Robin sighs. “Look. I’m not gonna make you face your own feelings, dingus. But can you at least admit he’s an asshole and he doesn’t deserve Eddie?”

Steve snorts. “Okay. Fine. He’s an asshole and he doesn’t deserve Eddie.”

“Good. I’m glad you agree.” She elbows him. “So what are we gonna do about it?”

He rolls his eyes. “What can we do, Rob? Eddie’s a grown man. He can take care of himself.”

“Sure, but he might not see what we see. Or hear what we hear,” she adds, her voice soft.

Steve turns back to her. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Well…okay,” she says, sighing again. “I overheard Jeremy on the phone with his friend.” She pauses, then admits, “Via the extension in your room.”

“You eavesdropped on Eddie’s boyfriend? Jesus Christ, this is why I said you weren’t allowed to have the room with the phone jack.”

“Will you just listen to me? They were talking about him.”

Steve freezes with his beer halfway to his mouth again. “What?”

“Jeremy and his friend were talking about Eddie. Laughing at him. Apparently they’re getting a steep discount on their pot as long as Eddie’s his, um…well, I think the word they used was ‘cocksleeve’?”

The edges of Steve’s vision start to go fuzzy and red. “What?” he repeats, fainter.

“I knew you’d be pissed,” Robin mutters.

“Uh, yeah. I’m pissed.” Steve glances back toward where Eddie and Jeremy are feeling each other up on the other side of the living room, and he swears he actually hears something in his mind snap. It’s the last thing he remembers when he’s suddenly next to them, yanking Jeremy away by the collar of his leather jacket.

Eddie’s startled voice calls out, “Stevie, what the hell?”

But he doesn’t have time to reply. He’s too busy wrestling with an indignant Jeremy and grumbling, “Get the fuck out of my apartment, you selfish prick.” As soon as the door is shut and bolted behind him, Steve turns and comes face-to-face with Eddie, anyway.

“What the fuck is going on, man? Why did you—?”

“He’s a jackass, Eddie,” Steve fumes. “Everybody here thinks so. You can do better than him.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot upward. “Excuse me? You don’t think I can decide that for myself?”

“He’s not with you for the right reasons.”

“‘The right reasons’? And what might those be, oh wise and omnipotent expert in all things love?”

The sarcasm stings, but Steve ignores it. “Whatever they are, they’re sure as hell not what he was in it for.”

“‘Was’? Did you break up with him for me, too?” Eddie shoots back. Steve steps in front of the deadbolt when he makes a move for it, so he commands, “Get out of my way.”

Steve plants his feet. He crosses his arms over his chest. “Make me.”

“What is this, middle school? Move out of the fucking way so I can catch him and apologize for you acting like a lunatic,” Eddie says. “Some first impression you’re making, by the way. I mean, you’re supposed to be my friend, not some cockblocking asshole.”

“Sometimes a friend is a cockblocking asshole.”

“Oh, really?” It comes out on a dangerous, exasperated chuckle. “That’s what friends are for, huh? Acting like a dick and throwing my boyfriend out of parties?”

“When your boyfriend is just using you for sex and cheap drugs, then yes. That is what friends are for.”

Eddie takes a step back. He lets out a breathy, startled laugh. “What?”

Steve’s heart stops, threatening to shatter into a million pieces at the look on Eddie’s face. His features are frozen into a sort of disbelieving grimace, but there are tears welling up in those giant eyes of his.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

Steve purses his lips and glances at the floor between them. “Sorry. I, uh…” He swallows, unable to look Eddie in the eye. “I could’ve put that better. It’s just that Robin heard him talking, and—”

“You know what? Never mind. I need some fucking air.” Eddie manages to worm his way past to unlock the door. Momentum sweeps Steve aside as it jerks open, leaving a gap wide enough for Eddie to slip out of the apartment.

“Eddie—”

As soon as he’s through, Eddie slams the door shut. Steve can hear him stomping down the hallway to the stairwell, his footfalls practically shaking the whole building.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, and he turns to look for Robin, seeking some guidance for cleaning up the mess his temper made.

“Hey.” Steve’s voice is soft. It’s almost like he doesn’t want Eddie to hear him.

Eddie doesn’t turn around, nor does he answer. He leans on the parapet and takes a long pull from his cigarette.

“The roof, huh?” Steve goes on with an anxious chuckle. “Thought I might find you up here.”

Eddie snorts, and smoke curls around his nose like he's a dragon. “Yeah, well, I know how much Robin hates anybody smoking in the apartment.” He doesn’t acknowledge the fact that he stormed out of it five minutes ago.

He expects Steve to say something like “Is that all?” or accuse him of subconsciously waiting up here just for him, and he wouldn’t be off base if he did. Instead he just says, “Yeah.” He sidles up to the edge of the roof next to Eddie and produces his own pack of Newports. He pulls one out and seems to hesitate, but eventually asks, “Can I get a light? Left mine downstairs.”

Silently, Eddie pulls his lighter out of his pocket and tosses it in his direction.

Steve catches it easily and holds it out when he’s done. Through a cloud of fresh smoke, he mutters, “Thanks, Eds.”

Eds. Nobody else has ever really called him that, except for Wayne. But Steve picked it up so naturally, Eddie had hardly noticed. Apparently he’d been saying it for a long time before Dustin pointed it out, but from then on Eddie has clocked it every single time. He has a complicated relationship with that fact.

Almost as complicated as his relationship with the man himself.

It’s one he’s been desperately trying to parse for a year and a half, now. At first, he’d assumed they had a rapport a lot like the one Steve has with Robin. They hung out, talked shit, and went on little adventures whenever their friends could get a break from college life. Then he’d started to notice that more and more often, their “hanging out” meant cuddling while they watched a movie, or maybe getting high and talking about their deepest fears and wildest dreams—which still wasn’t far off from how Steve interacted with Robin, sans drugs.

The real problem came on an ordinary day of no real consequence, when Eddie turned to Steve and had the overwhelming urge to run his fingers through his hair and kiss him—the first real sign that he was falling for the guy.

That wouldn’t be so bad, if it weren’t for the fact that Steve is one of the best friends Eddie has ever had. Maybe the best, although he would never admit that to the band, or to Dustin. He wasn’t about to jeopardize the most important non-Wayne relationship, and he was terrified that if he didn’t do something to get over his crush on Steve, then he would do something stupid and it would all come crashing down around him.

So he found a boyfriend.

Eddie is painfully aware of his less-than-healthy romantic history. He’s never dated anyone who wanted more than mutually assured destruction, and he was under no real illusion that Jeremy was different. He was just there, and he wasn’t Steve.

Steve, whose smile lights up a room and all that cliché shit. Who laughs at Eddie’s dumbest jokes and genuinely tries to understand his interests, even when he doesn’t really get them. Who always knows when Eddie needs a night in, and who can see right through all his bullshit even when he’s built it up enough to fool even himself.

That was why he stormed out of the apartment. Not because he was mad about Steve insulting Jeremy, or even really because he’d kicked him out. He was upset that Steve was as perceptive as ever, and he was pissed at himself for putting that sad, disapproving look on Steve’s face.

Even now, the way Steve quietly stands there, smoking his cigarette and waiting for Eddie to initiate the conversation he knows they need to have…it’s like he has no idea how perfect he is.

Okay, Munson. Just bite the bullet and say something.

“Thanks,” he murmurs. He knows it’s barely audible over the wind, but he can’t make himself speak any louder. “For, uh…looking out for me.”

“If I’d known, I would’ve said something sooner.”

“I know.”

“Instead of, you know…causing a scene.”

“I know,” Eddie repeats softly. After another moment, he sighs and says, “If I’m being honest, I sort of had my suspicions. But, well, you know how these things go.”

“No, not really. How do they go?” Steve counters.

Without looking, Eddie knows the exact position of his eyebrow just by the tone of his voice. “Well, when a useless drug dealer and a selfish piece of shit like each other very much—”

“Useless?” Steve sounds livid, and Eddie thinks perhaps he shouldn’t find that as attractive as he does. “You’re not useless. Did he make you think that?”

“Fine. Not useless. Use whatever word you want: stupid, naive, cowardly…”

“I don’t want to use any of those words. Not for you.” Even his goddamn grumbling is cute when he adds, “That greedy, lowlife bastard, maybe. But never you.” His tone evens out, and he says, “I really am sorry, Eds. I should’ve just talked to you in private, or…or even just let you make your own decisions. I should’ve stayed out of it.”

Eddie grits his teeth, unable to take any more. “For fuck’s sake, Stevie. Why are you being so nice to me? I brought that asshole to your apartment, almost let him ruin Dustin’s birthday more than once, then acted like you weren’t totally justified in kicking him out for being a dick and a shitty boyfriend. Why the hell are you apologizing? I should be thanking you.”

“Thanking me? What—?”

“Man, I knew he was an ass. I knew it all along. Why do you think I was dating him in the first place?” He finally looks over at Steve and sees him absolutely bewildered. He looks like a golden retriever whose toy has just disappeared behind his handler’s back.

“Eds…why would you date someone who—?”

“Because I’m bad at dating, alright?” Eddie explodes, his voice echoing off the trees that surround the apartment complex. “Shitty relationships are all I know. And I needed a distraction. Something to do while I—”

When he cuts himself off, Steve tilts his head. “While you…what?”

Eddie swallows. He wants to look away, but he can’t find it in himself to break his gaze from Steve’s. Almost against his will, he says, “While I did my best to get over it.” Realizing his words didn’t make sense out loud, he shakes his head, finally squeezing his eyes shut, and clarifies, “I mean you. To get over you.”

Steve makes a small sound, somewhere between a choked gasp and a whispered oh. “I don’t…”

Eddie shuts his eyes impossibly tighter. He mumbles, “I know, you probably don’t want me like that, but—”

“No, I just don’t understand,” Steve interrupts. “Eds, why didn’t you say something?”

He cracks his eyes open and searches Steve’s expression for something other than confusion or concern. When he doesn’t find it, he sighs and says, “Because I didn’t want to fuck anything up between us? I mean, you know my history.” Then, saying it slowly as the truth comes to him, Eddie admits, “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Steve laughs, startled and incredulous. “Hurt me?”

“Well…yeah.” Eddie says it like it’s obvious, complete with a shrug. “I’m a fuck-up, especially with guys. I didn’t want to risk things ending the same way with you as it always has.”

“Okay, but you’re forgetting something.”

“What?”

“I care about you?” Steve says, still chuckling a little. “I’ve met some of your exes, Eds, and trust me when I say you weren’t the problem with any of those relationships. To be honest, I’m a little insulted you think I’m enough like them that it wouldn’t work out. None of those guys were in it for the long haul, but I’d love being your boyfriend if you’d let me. And you shouldn’t be so worried about hurting me. I’m willing to risk it.”

Eddie sighs. “You can do better than me, Stevie.”

Steve smirks. “You don’t think I can make that decision for myself?” he parrots.

Eddie feels heat in his cheeks, though he can’t tell whether it’s from the implication that Steve wants to date him, or from the shame and embarrassment of being called out on his hypocrisy. He purses his lips, crushes his cigarette butt under his boot, and mutters, “Point made.”

“So, now that you’re not parading around some guy who makes me want to pull my fucking hair out,” Steve says, “you want to go back to the party?” He shivers, takes a final drag from his cigarette, then stomps it out, too. “Maybe we can finish this conversation somewhere warmer.”

Eddie forces himself to make eye contact, and he’s reminded of another beautiful thing about Steve: one look from him, and everything feels like it’s going to be alright.

Whatever the case, the thing shaped like Eddie comes into his room without a sound and waits until it sees Steve’s eyes shining in the dark. Only then does it speak in a gravelly tenor that mimics Eddie’s voice, but doesn’t quite hit the mark.

Tonight is no exception. Steve blinks at the figure, lit by the security lights that shine on the pool. They’re flickering, like they always do when this thing shows up.

“How’s it going, big boy?”

The words rattle around between Steve’s ears for a minute before he can process them, like his brain has to translate them from a language he barely knows.

As soon as his mind catches up, he sighs. “Well, you’re here,” he mumbles, letting his head fall back onto the pillow.

“Is that good or bad?”

“I don’t know. Are you really Eddie?”

“Sure I am.”

He snorts and closes his eyes. “No you’re not.”

“So it’s one of those nights, huh?” the Eddie-thing teases. “What makes you so sure I’m not him?”

“Pretty sure we’ve been over this before.”

“Oh, plenty of times,” it says with a dismissive wave. “But I always appreciate the opportunity to point out the flaws in your logic.”

Yep. It is Steve’s personal hell.

For some reason, he’s unable to resist whenever the thing compels him to do something. “Okay, well, first off,” he grumbles as he sits up in bed, “Eddie is dead. We tried to save him—”

“Me,” the thing interrupts.

“We tried to save him,” Steve insists. “But he lost too much blood.” He still has nightmares about the blood alone; Dustin was covered in it. “Second, I don’t remember him having glowing red eyes.”

“Well, you never saw me at the full moon.”

He shakes his head. “Third, you don’t sound like him.”

“You saw the state of me, man. Damn bats almost ripped my throat out.” The thing sounds bitter about that one. It’s a nice touch.

“Fourth—”

“There’s a fourth one now?”

“—it doesn’t make any sense for him to come to me. Why wouldn’t Eddie go to Dustin, or even Lucas or Mike?”

“Well, that’s an easy one,” the thing scoffs. “I don’t want to scare the shit out of ’em.”

“But scaring the shit out of me is par for the course?”

“Au contraire, mon cheri. Quite the opposite, really.” It smirks. “Steve Harrington doesn’t scare easily.”

“I screamed like a little girl the first time you showed up,” Steve points out.

“Yeah, but then the next time you just assumed you were having a nightmare. Which…woof. If this is what your nightmares are usually like, you should see a therapist.”

“Gee. Thanks for the advice.”

“Seriously! I worry about you, Steven.”

“Is that why you show up unannounced all the time?”

“Actually, yeah. It kind of is.” The Eddie-thing sounds serious. It’s never sounded that serious before. The tone gives Steve pause.

He narrows his eyes. “What does that mean?”

The thing sighs. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

“No. Really. What the fuck do you mean by that?”

It sighs again, staring at the bedspread. “Okay. Look. So…what did you do today?”

Steve’s brow furrows. Slowly, he recounts, “I worked at the radio station with Robin…”

“Where you almost electrocuted yourself trying to fix a loose power outlet.”

“Then we went to see Lucas at the hospital…”

“Didn’t Robin have to remind you to put on your seatbelt like three times?”

“And then after that I came home,” he finishes. “Spent all afternoon here.”

The thing raises its eyebrows and remarks, “You drank a fifth of straight bourbon by yourself.”

“So? Life sucks right now,” Steve counters. “Are you telling me you wouldn’t drink your troubles away if you could?”

“Did you even eat anything?”

He pauses. “No.”

“It’s a miracle you didn’t get alcohol poisoning, dude.”

“Okay, well, I didn’t,” Steve snaps.

“And then you chased it with fucking benzos.” The thing actually seems frustrated. “There’s a difference between drinking your troubles away and trying to kill yourself, Steve.”

“I’m not trying to kill myself.”

“Yes you fucking are! It’s the whole reason I’m here. The last time I showed up? That was the night you almost ‘fell’ off the radio tower. Remember that?”

Steve swallows. He does remember it. He’d been drinking that night, too, though he hadn’t been alone. It had been a rare occasion, with Murray showing up with some of his bootleg vodka and sharing it with the class. Then a tipsy Steve had bet everyone he could climb the tower in under a minute. In retrospect, nobody had really wanted him to try, but he’d insisted. He’d made it up without incident, but while he was at the top, looking out over the militarized zone that had once been his hometown, he found his clumsy sneakers on the railing. The thing that stopped him from clambering over it was Jonathan yelling up to him about showing off, because it reminded him that his friends were below, and it probably wouldn’t be great for them to see his brains splattered all over the ground.

“And the time before—that was the fucking Sweeney Todd incident.”

“What does that mean?” Steve asks, but even if he doesn’t get the reference, he’s pretty sure he knows.

The Eddie-thing’s eyes burn into his. Sure enough, it says, “The razor, Steve.”

It had started out as an accident. Steve had run out of disposable safety razors, and he couldn’t find any at Bradley’s or Melvald’s, so he’d resorted to using his dad’s old straight razor. It hadn’t been an easy adjustment; that was how he managed to dismiss the wound on his throat when Robin asked him about it. The reality was an especially deep nick that had brought a frightening thought into his mind in another moment of weakness. Now he’s got two thin, barely-healed scars, one longer than the other, intersecting the jagged one left by the same bats that killed Eddie.

“That’s not fair,” Steve says. “I stopped the bleeding on my own, and it hasn’t happened since. I’m not trying to kill myself. I saved myself.”

“It hasn’t happened since?” The Eddie-thing arches a skeptical eyebrow. “You wanna show me your wrist?”

Steve sets his jaw. “No.”

“How ’bout your leg?”

“No.”

“Why not? You worried about proving me right?”

“Look, what do you want from me?” he explodes. “Everything sucks right now. It sucks. If I really wanted to kill myself—and I don’t…why shouldn’t I? And why does some imaginary friend cooked up by a fucking mind-wizard care?”

The thing huffs. “Jesus Christ, what am I gonna have to do to get you to understand?! I. Am. Not. Imaginary.”

“Okay, then! Let’s pretend for a second you are real.” Steve crosses his arms over his chest. “Why the hell would Eddie care? He barely knows me.”

The expression on Eddie’s face is pure incredulity, with rage bubbling beneath the surface. “Barely know you? I fought monsters with you, asshole! I died for you!”

Steve glares, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“You wanna know why I would care whether you keep trying to hurt yourself? Because it hurts me. Every time you make yourself bleed or have to puke up whatever pharmacy you swallowed, it feels like I died for jack shit.”

“You did die for jack shit!” Steve shouts, and if it weren’t for his voice breaking, he might not have noticed he’s crying. “I told you not to be a hero, then you got yourself eaten by a bunch of mutant bats. And for what? So we could fail to kill Vecna. So Max could end up in a fucking coma. So Dustin could spend every day wishing it was him instead.”

“I did it for him, too,” the thing growls. 

“He didn’t need you to die for him, Eddie.”

“So I am Eddie now?”

Steve ignores the attempt to deflect. “He needed you to be here with him. With us.”

“Just like he needs you.”

“Fuck off.”

“I’m serious.” The growl has mellowed just enough to sound human again. “I did what I did to buy more time. If I didn’t do it, those bats would’ve gotten back to you and the girls, and god knows what would’ve happened then.”

Steve bites the inside of his cheek, unable to think of a suitable argument.

Jumping on his hesitation, the thing that’s seeming more and more like the real Eddie goes on, “Suicide isn’t the easy way out you think it is. It’s actually the shittiest thing you could possibly do to a kid who already lost one person he really cares about. I don’t know what you believe in, but I do know that if you put him through that again, I will personally make your afterlife Hell whether or not it really exists.”

“I thought I was already there,” Steve mutters. “What makes you think showing up here to threaten me is helping? Every time I see your face, it’s like pouring salt in the wound.”

“If you’re not gonna talk to someone else about what’s going on, the only solution I have is to force you to talk to me. Besides, I’d say metaphorical salt in a metaphorical wound is better than opening a new one.”

“What?”

“How long has it been since you saw me?”

He thinks. “A month, I guess.” Then he rolls his eyes. “Oh, okay. So let me get this straight: I’m suicidal, and you coming to see me in the middle of the night is curing me. That makes perfect sense.”

“A whole month without any real self-destructive behavior.” Eddie’s lips draw up in a self-satisfied smirk. “That sounds like results to me.”

“Except, you know, when I think about you it does make me want to die.”

“Admitting you have a problem is the first step.” The singsong way the Eddie-thing speaks is so close to the voice Steve remembers, he almost bursts into tears. “Problem is, you gotta keep walking after that.”

He lets out a humorless laugh. “Why don’t you just carry me?”

Eddie blinks rapidly. “Was that a joke?”

“I guess it was,” Steve sighs.

“You know…I would carry you if I could, Steve. But I don’t think you’d enjoy that very much.”

“Why not?”

“You like your independence. You’re self-reliant to a fault, sometimes.”

“You’re one to talk,” he counters with a soft smile. It falls slowly. “I don’t really think that’s true, anyway. I don’t like it. It’s just—”

“Necessity.”

“Exactly.” He cocks his head. “How did you—?”

“I grew up the same way, between my dad being a deadbeat and Wayne working all the time. I mean, he did what he could, but in my world, self-sufficiency meant survival.” Eddie’s head turns, seeming to take in the sterility that always manages to seep into Steve’s room from the rest of the house, no matter how hard he tries to stop it. “Something tells me you’re from the same planet. Maybe a different side of it. The rich side. I come from the anti-conformist freak side of Planet Lonely.”

The glowing coals where Eddie’s doe-eyes used to be stare into space for a second. They look like taillights on a deserted road. It should be unsettling, but Steve finds the image oddly comforting.

Eventually, Eddie goes on, “Anyway. Point is, I wish you’d learn to let people help you. That way I wouldn’t have to sneak into your house at night to be your secret undead therapist.”

“You don’t have to sneak in, you know,” Steve says quietly. “And you don’t have to wait for me to…”

“Almost die?”

“Yeah,” he breathes. “In fact it might…uh…”

He clears his throat. Eddie doesn’t say a word; he simply stares expectantly, waiting for Steve to finish.

“H-Having a reminder of how much it hurts my friends might help keep it from happening again.” With a small chuckle, he adds, “And aside from Dustin, you’re the only one bold enough to say it out loud.”

“That’s one word for it.” A genuine smile makes its way across Eddie’s face—sad, but real. “How’s he doing, by the way?” He sounds like he knows, but he wants Steve to lie to make him feel better.

Steve isn’t about to do that. “He misses you,” he sighs. Making cautious eye contact, he pointedly adds, “Could probably use a visit.”

“Nah. I can’t do that to him.”

“You wouldn’t scare him. Not even with your Terminator eyes.”

Eddie must be really bothered, because he doesn’t even smile at the joke. Instead he mutters, “I know.”

“Then why don’t you go see him?”

“I’m afraid of him being pissed at me for what I did.”

Steve starts to tear up again. He wipes impatiently at his eyes and says, “He might be. But he’ll mostly be glad to see you.”

Suddenly Eddie seems small. “Would you go with me?”

“Of course,” Steve says after a moment, offering a gentle grin. “You need somebody there to run interference. Somebody he trusts. How else are you gonna convince him you’re real?”

Any stranger wouldn’t know that Eddie isn’t dangerous, not if he doesn’t need to be. That his looks are deceiving because behind the monstrous visage, is a kind soul that wouldn’t hurt a fly.

Well. That’s not entirely true.

But when he does, it’s only means to an end. Something he has to do to stay alive. It’s not his choice, it’s a need he can’t ignore, a hunger he can’t suppress, a now natural instinct that came as an additional feature with his new form of existence.

When he hurts Steve, it’s never out of malice. He never attacks him, never just takes without asking for permission first, never forces Steve to do anything he doesn’t want. Eddie would never abuse his trust and his willingness to offer himself as a donor, would never take more than he needs. Is always so careful that it drives Steve mad sometimes.

Truth is, out of the two, Steve is probably the bigger liability. Because he’s weaker than Eddie, not as strong-willed as the half-human monster he keeps locked up in his basement for his own safety.

Maybe he should be the one locked away.

Because Steve is greedy in a way that Eddie isn’t. Has become addicted to the feeling of Eddie’s fangs piercing his skin, of lips sucking at his throat to drain him of the precious red the beast in Eddie needs to thrive.

Just thinking about it makes his heart pump faster, conditioned to send blood rushing through his veins, hot and ready for consumption. It makes him shiver, sending a prickling sensation all across his body. Makes his skin heat up, cheeks burning with the insatiable desire to be taken.

The memory of last time is still fresh on his mind. Not even an hour ago, he sat in Eddie’s lap, cradled in his arms, coming down from a high no drug could ever grant him.

It’s a sensation unlike anything Steve’s ever experienced before, a feeling he wishes he could chase more often, and hold onto much longer. Wishes, selfishly, Eddie would lose himself just once, take just a tiny sip too much, suck on him just a second too long. But he never does. Only ever takes what’s needed, never for pleasure alone.

And so all Steve can do is wait, impatient and begrudgingly obedient, for the next time hunger calls Eddie’s lips to his throat.

It is all he can think about, all the time. Has this constant itch under his skin, right there, beneath the marks Eddie left the first time he drank from him. Scars that magically heal every time he’s done using him. Just two little dots, hidden in plain sight, barely noticeable amongst the scatter of moles adorning his body.

But Steve knows they’re there, finds them blindly with the tips of his fingers when he touches the side of his neck. And when he thinks about it hard enough, he can even feel the phantom heat of Eddie’s mouth on his skin. Can feel the pressure of soft lips closing around the open wound, and how his tongue moves against the throbbing vein, almost soothing in contrast to the sharp pain of teeth breaking skin.

It shouldn’t feel as good as it does, and maybe Steve is insane for finding pleasure in it, but he never feels more at ease than when Eddie feeds on him. When his body becomes all loose and pliant, and his mind starts to drift. When he gives up control and Eddie takes it, cherishes it like a gift, handling him with so much care it feels almost loving.

Steve knows he’s only serving a purpose but Eddie always makes him feel so special, worshipped in a way he’s never felt before. Offers his gratitude in form of praise and gentle caress when he holds him through the come-down. Makes sure he drinks water and has a snack after, and doesn’t leave him out of sight until he’s sure Steve is fine.

Makes him wonder sometimes, if that’s the human part of him shining through. If that is who Eddie was before he got turned into who he is now. And it makes him feel stupidly jealous of any partner Eddie might’ve had in his past, who he’d showered with all this attention, sweet and caring, probably reading their wishes from their lips.

Steve never had that. Not with Nancy, and certainly not with any other failed attempt on a relationship after that. But now with Eddie, doing what they do, he’s gotten a taste of what it’s like.

And the problem is, that he wants more of it.

Wants it all to himself, wants no one else to come between them. That’s why he keeps it a secret, hasn’t told anyone about the monster living in his house. Not even their friends know, not yet. Steve knows that it’s wrong, knows that sooner or later, he’ll have to confess. Has to come clean about the fact that Eddie is back, changed but alive. That he’s been back for some time, three weeks to be precise. Slowly adjusting, still trying to figure out what to do and where to go from here.

There is just too much at stake, and despite the guilt he feels for lying, his possessiveness over Eddie wins.

For now, all that matters, is that Eddie is safe.

That he’s here, waiting for him to return.

-----

He was surprised again when he arrived, though for the opposite reason. Driving to the de facto home base at the Squawk, Eddie expected to find Steve in the throes of the restless misery that comes with being cooped up in Hawkins, or even curled up in the corner with one of his debilitating headaches. Instead, he found Steve a bit nervous, but otherwise unbothered.

Now, from his spot on the couch, Eddie watches him walk back and forth across the room and asks, “What’s wrong, Harrington?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Steve says slowly. His soft tone is in odd juxtaposition to the patter of his still-pacing feet. “I just wanted to talk. To you.”

“Yeah? What about?”

He meets Eddie’s eye for a moment, and in that short time, Eddie realizes just how strange he’s acting. Maybe it’s the way he only seems to grow more anxious the longer he holds Eddie’s gaze, or the way his eyes dart away. Regardless, it saddens Eddie as much as it alarms him.

“Steve. It doesn’t seem like nothing’s wrong.”

“I just haven’t ever done this,” Steve says, as if that explains anything. “I mean, I guess I have, but not for a long time. And it’s never been like this. It’s never felt so…important, I guess.”

Eddie blinks up at him, trying to pick through his words to parse any real information from them. Eventually, he sighs and says, “Man, I’m a little lost. Are you—?”

“Eddie, I really like you,” Steve interrupts.

A beat of silence passes. Then Eddie narrows his eyes and says, “I…like you, too? I mean, we see each other every goddamn day. We’re friends. I thought that much was obvious by now.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Steve huffs, frustrated, as he finally stops pacing. “I’m talking about, like, being into you.”

Eddie stares. “Y-You mean like, taking me out on dates and making out and shit?”

Despite still looking like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin, Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, all that shit,” he echoes. He looks at his shoes and mumbles, “I like being around you, and more and more I keep wanting to just…”

When he trails off, Eddie raises his eyebrows. “To just…?”

“I keep wanting to just lean in and kiss you, man,” Steve sighs. “Like…remember the other night, when I came over because you couldn’t sleep? There was this moment where we were just looking at each other. Or last week, when you came with me to that doctor’s appointment and you knew exactly how to distract me while they were drawing blood. There’s something here, between us. Don’t you feel it?”

Chewing on his lip, Eddie does his best to process the words. He must sit there in silence for far too long, because though Steve doesn’t resume his pacing, he crosses his arms and starts shifting his weight back and forth like he can’t stand still.

Eventually, he speaks up again, uttering a simple, “Eddie, please say something.”

Eddie opens his mouth to do so, then realizes his throat is drier than a fucking desert. He swallows, clears it, and mutters, “I, uh…I’m thinking. Gimme another second.”

To his credit, Steve doesn’t push any more. He stands there, the human embodiment of anticipation, but he doesn’t say another word to derail Eddie’s train of thought. It’s a good thing, too, because that fucker is speeding through every station like it’s got no brakes.

Of course Eddie feels it—the gravity between them. He’s felt it since the beginning. But never in a million years did he think Steve would notice, let alone acknowledge it. He sees now how ridiculous a notion that was, because Steve notices everything. It’s why Eddie is so fond of him; he notices the slight change in Eddie’s body language that signals an oncoming panic attack, the way Eddie eats around the tomato in any dish, and his habit of fiddling with his rings when he’s bored. It’s almost like Steve can read his mind.

Forgetting Steve can’t actually read his mind, Eddie says, “I underestimated you.”

Steve’s brows come together. “What?”

“Sorry.” Eddie shakes his head. “I mean, I didn’t think it was so obvious. But, um…I do. I definitely feel it. I just assumed I was the only one of us who did.”

“Why would you think that?”

He smiles sheepishly. “Low self-esteem?”

Steve mirrors his smile with a gentle one. “Fair enough. I think that might be why it took me so long to bring it up.”

“Why now? What made you take initiative?”

“The truth?” He purses his lips. “I’ve been looking for the right words since the crawl last night.”

Eddie bites the inside of his cheek as he recalls sitting in the passenger seat of the Squawk van. The signal from Hopper’s tracker was fainter than usual, resulting in Steve and Dustin—both of them already in a bad mood—sniping at each other over it. Eddie ended up yelling at them to stop fighting, because he couldn’t keep listening to two of his favorite people insulting each other just because they’d had a stressful day.

“I appreciated you calling us out,” Steve goes on, “and for reminding me how much we mean to you. How much I mean to you. And I couldn’t ignore my feelings anymore.”

“You mean the world to me, Stevie,” Eddie says, without hesitation.

In an instant, all the tension visibly drains from Steve’s shoulders. He sinks onto the couch beside Eddie, and the look in his eyes is so hopeful and precious that Eddie worries he might shatter it accidentally, even though he has no intention to. “Can I?”

“Can you…?”

“Can I kiss you?” Steve asks. His expression is sweet and open; it takes Eddie’s breath away.

Eddie realizes he’s already leaning into Steve’s space, caught in that ever-present gravity. It feels like enough of an answer, but that doesn’t stop him from whispering, “Yeah.”

The meaning of this conversation doesn’t fully dawn on Eddie until their lips meet—cautious at first, but quickly gaining confidence. It’s when Steve’s hand cradles his jaw that the hunger overtakes him, and he feels his own hands tangling in Steve’s hair without any conscious input from his brain.

Steve hums, and his lips part. It encourages Eddie to go deeper, to keep exploring. He experiments with his teeth grazing Steve’s lip, followed by the tip of his tongue, and he’s rewarded with a soft whimper.

“Mm…Eddie,” Steve mumbles into his mouth. “Eddie.”