A Stranger Things Fanzine

“Dingus,” Robin groaned, ushering him into her house.

“I just wanted to do right by him, Robin,” Steve explained, his words coming out in a rush. “I want him to be happy and I couldn’t take it if he felt trapped. But I also didn’t want to hear him say it. I’m not the kind of guy people stick around for, I know that, but I don’t-”

“No,” Robin interjected firmly. “This conversation started out much better. You acknowledging that you fucked up last night. That’s true. What is not true is that people- that Eddie- won’t stick around for you. Because if Eddie wouldn’t stick around for you, then you didn’t fuck up, right?”

Steve nodded, taking a steadying breath. “He loves me. Dustin said we love each other like… like lizards with frilly ascots, looking for a fight?”

Robin doubled over, snorting with laughter. “Oh- oh my god, he’s so right! That’s exactly what you are! But not as a display of flirting or anything, just genuinely!” Her words cut off, choked by another peal of laughter.

“Robin, this is serious!” Steve yelped, fighting back a smile. Robin’s joy was infectious- and she wouldn’t be laughing at him if she thought he had truly ruined things with Eddie. “Okay, fine, I’m a lizard! What do I do to make sure that Eddie and I get our lizard happily ever after?”

Robin stopped laughing, stood, and looked at Steve. With all the love and support of a platonic soulmate offering the best advice she could, she suggested, “Sunbathe together on some very warm rocks.”

Steve stared at her blankly for a long moment. “I’m doomed,” he said flatly. Again, Robin burst into laughter. “Okay, but seriously,” he pressed. “Robin I actually need help. I just ruined my relationship with my completely perfect boyfriend, and apparently for no reason.”

“You did,” Robin replied. “Because you’re a dingus and you didn’t talk to him.” She sighed, all traces of humor gone. “Honestly, Steve, just… say you’re sorry. Tell him it was a misunderstanding.”

“I dumped him! Bob, that’s not a misunderstanding; that’s awful! I literally said that we were just going to end up miserable so we should just end it now. He’s never going to talk to me again- and he shouldn’t!”

“Steve!” Robin interjected. “Stop. Of course he is.”

“How do you know?”

“He was here!”

Steve froze, halting his pacing around Robin’s living room. “He was? When? What did he say? Why didn’t you call me?”

“Because you were coming here already. He left less than half an hour ago. He wanted to know why I told you to break up with him. I told him that I definitely did not do that and also that you are a dingus. He figured out the rest.”

“Is he mad?” Steve asked softly, his voice breaking. “God, of course he’s mad. Does he hate me?”

“No,” Robin answered simply. “He loves you. He’s sad. I think he’s probably worried about you.”

“How do I fix this?”

“You go on a date to watch a meteor shower. He’s expecting you. Just get there a little early, yeah?”

Steve wrapped Robin into a tight hug. “Have I told you recently that you’re the best best friend a person could have?”

========================================

The lights were on and Eddie’s constantly-stalling van was in the driveway when Steve pulled up to the Munson’s new trailer. Wayne’s truck was thankfully gone. Over the past months, Steve had been warmly welcomed by Eddie’s uncle. As much as he felt that he deserved to be judged for the mess that he’d created over the past day, he knew that Wayne would be nothing but kind if he found out about it.

Still, he preferred not to have an audience for this conversation with Eddie.

He tried to exude the sort of flirty charm that he knew he excelled at as he knocked on the door, but he knew he was failing hopelessly.

Eddie opened the door with a nervous smile on his face. “Hey, Stevie. Robin said she thought you would come but I wasn’t sure…” He trailed off, looking down at the ground.

Steve had to say something, had to explain to Eddie that of course he would come- he would always be there as long as Eddie wanted him. But he didn’t know how to start; whether to apologize first or launch into a declaration of how much Eddie meant to him or- “Here,” he said abruptly, shoving the bouquet of flowers he’d bought into Eddie’s chest. “I got you these.”

Eddie’s smile was still small, but now it was lit with warmth and fondness. “Thanks. Do you want to come in?”

The moment the door closed behind them, Steve wanted to gather Eddie up into a hug. He knew he couldn’t just do that though. It wasn’t fair to Eddie. None of this had been fair to Eddie.

“Robin said you stopped by her house?”

“Yeah,” Eddie answered. He stared intently at the flowers he was holding, his free hand busy twisting itself in his curls. “I just wanted to know what I did wrong.”

“Nothing. Eds, you absolutely didn’t do anything wrong.”

“She said that. But I obviously didn’t do enough to show you how much you mean to me. You thought- did you really think that I would get tired of you?”

Steve shrugged. “People do. I’m kind of used to not being what people want long-term. And not just as a boyfriend. I’m not what my parents wanted in a son. My friends in high school only liked me as long as I played the part of some guy who wasn’t me.”

“Your parents don’t know what they’re missing out on. But Hop and Mrs. Henderson are both definitely up for the job. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed but Wayne’s had a lot of practice being an unexpected dad, and he’s pretty great at it. You have people, Steve. Lots of people who absolutely want you around long-term.” Eddie took a deep breath, as if steeling himself. “Including me.”

Steve marveled at this incredible man before him. Eddie, who said he wasn’t a hero, who worried that he was the sort of person who ran away. Eddie, who looked with understanding and love at the person who had stamped on his heart just the night before and handed his heart over to him again. Now it was Steve’s turn to be brave.

“Can I try again? That whole conversation, can I just redo it?”

“Sure,” Eddie answered. He sat down on the couch, motioning for Steve to join him.

“I love being with you so much. I like you and I like who I am when I’m with you. I know I can be a lot and I know I can be a disappointment, both at the same time. But I don’t think I can handle hearing you say that to me. And I also don’t want you to feel like you can’t say that to me if that’s how you feel. I don’t have career goals or a big plan and I don’t want to hold you back or mess up plans that you have. So I just thought… maybe we should stop this now before I let you down? But I should have said that. So I’m sorry.”

Eddie reached across the few inches of space between them on the couch and put his hand on Steve’s knee. Steve immediately reached out and grabbed hold, Eddie’s fingers a lifeline to a happy ending he thought he may have destroyed. “Yeah,” Eddie began softly, “you should have said that. Because then I would have said that you’re not going to let me down. That my plans involve taking my Finally Achieved high school diploma and getting the hell out of this town, never getting accused of a violent crime again, making music- and that doesn’t mean I have to hit the big time; just make music- and just be happy and make sure the people I love are happy. I’m in love with you, Steve Harrington, and I want to go on a great big lifelong adventure with you.”

There it was. Eddie saw him and Eddie loved him. And Steve loved him back- oh, how he loved him. He knew he loved too much and too hard. But Eddie had made space for Steve’s love. He had honored it as much as he honored Max’s sharp edges and Dustin’s rants about electronics and, now with the Party all back in Hawkins, Will’s passion for illustration. Eddie would never expect Steve to be anyone other than who he was- and he loved him for it.

“Okay,” Steve whispered, choked by the hope and joy blooming in his chest. “Okay, so… can we get back together?”

“How about this?” proposed Eddie. “Last night you gave me a sort of letter of resignation for our relationship. I did not accept. Instead of accepting your resignation, you and I both brought the problem to our Human Resources officer, Robin. After that, you rescinded your proposed resignation.”

“So it just… didn’t happen?”

“Exactly. Me and you, together for five months so far, going strong.”

“And you’re not mad?” Steve’s parents often held his mistakes over his head for weeks, insisting that he had to make up for his shortcomings. But even as he asked, Steve knew that Eddie wouldn’t have those sorts of expectations.

“No, I’m not mad. Gotta say, though, I’m a little scared. Please, Steve, all I ask is that you don’t do this again, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Steve agreed. He knew that a lifetime of insecurities wouldn’t just evaporate, knew that he would probably worry these exact same things again. But he could definitely promise that he would talk to Eddie about it instead of just assuming he wasn’t wanted. “Getting scolded by Dustin for shutting you out was an experience I’d love to not repeat.”

“Wait, what?” Eddie asked.

Steve laughed as he stood from the couch, pulling Eddie up with him. “I’ll tell you later. Right now, I think we’ve got a meteor shower to catch. Unless-” he faltered. “Do you still want to go?”

Mom was really into the whole fresh start thing—which Billy suspected was fueled by guilt and determination to be the kind of mother she hadn’t been before. And… he appreciated that. He did.

But—he wished she would stop? Put down the pen, step away from the extracurricular sign-up sheets.

Because if the outfit put a target on his back, swim team aimed the bow, and band fired the arrow. 

You’ll miss the water, honey. And you love music! 

She wasn’t wrong. He did love those things—but not enough to willingly wear a Speedo in public or blunder through some Beethoven on the flute. Also in public.

Oh—why the flute? Because she’d fed him a steady diet of hippie tunes from the cradle and knew how much he dug Jethro Tull. Perfectly reasonable explanation—his peers would definitely understand.

Here lies Billy Hargrove, innocent victim of social homicide. 

The bullying was relentless, but Billy figured he could take it. No middle school bully could come close to the one he’d lived with all his life. 

You know, the one he was glad was dead.

.🌱.💀.🌱.

Billy hadn’t wanted to attend the talent show, but Mom insisted it was important to support his friends. By which she meant her friends—women she’d been palling around with who had kids in said show.

Kids she’d been aggressively arranging playdates with like Billy was five. 

Patrick’s talent was making twenty free-throw shots in a row. Robin’s was singing “This Land is Your Land” in four different languages. His mom and Mrs. Buckley had laughed about keeping the less than patriotic lyrics, assuming the Spanish rendition would fly over people’s heads.

Billy felt bad even thinking it, but he did wonder if his mom pushing these particular friends at him was part of her fresh start campaign.

Pat was black. Robin was a girl. And his dad had a habit of muttering snide remarks about anyone who wasn’t a WASP packing a sizable stinger—who wasn’t a clone of Neil Hargrove, basically.

And look, Pat and Robin were—fine. But he knew and they knew that they were only hanging out because their moms wanted them to, which was awkward as hell. Made his palms sweat whenever they were together or whenever they said hi at school despite him being a fairy freak according to kids whose opinions mattered. 

They were nice, but it felt like pity. Embarrassing in a way that made him shrivel up inside.

So he wasn’t in the best mood, slumped in the auditorium between his mother and Doris, praying no one pelted him with shit from behind. Mom felt crappy enough about all those years with Neil—Billy didn’t need her kicking herself for scooping him out of the fire and into a frying pan.

Pat set a record—28 in a row—and Billy clapped. Robin sang her song wearing a daisy crown, and Billy clapped. Dully, he watched as stagehands set up the next act, hauling out a drum kit.

Gareth, this shrimpy sixth grader, sat at the drums. Then an eighth grader came out, followed by a couple kids in seventh, the former bearing an electric guitar, one of the latter a bass. The guitarist waved, leaned into the mic—skinny guy with a buzzcut, eyes big and dark as an alien. 

We are Corroded Coffin—paused as a contingent of the audience went nuts—and this song is called Paranoid.

In the next row, a kid whispered, excited: Think they’ll make Coleman pull the plug again?

Gareth banged his drumsticks, counting them off. 

The opening riffs were like nothing Billy had heard before—this grind of chords that rattled teeth, thrummed in the chest. He straightened, compelled forward, a fishing line hooked deep.

Buzzcut was bent over the strings so low that all you could see was the top of his head, a fuzzy cue ball. Then Gareth kicked in, and the front man wailed the first verse, this nasal staccato, sort of speak-singing.

Billy scrambled to decipher the rapidfire—caught bits of the first verses. Then the bridge begged for help, and the rest landed loud and clear.

I need someone to show me The things in life that I can't find I can't see the things that make       true happiness I must be blind

The words were meant for him—just for Billy. It’s me. The guitarist leapt, plunged into a driving solo. The song’s about me.

Make a joke and I will sigh And you will laugh and I will cry Happiness I cannot feel And love to me is so unreal

Helpless, Billy turned to his mom, who grinned, whispering they’re great, aren’t they? He could only nod, swinging back to the guitarist, riveted until the final blaring note.

For Christmas, Billy unwrapped the smallest package under the tree—a cassette. It was all he’d asked for: Black Sabbath’s greatest hits album.

Because that night of the talent show, he sold his soul for rock n’ roll.

More specifically, for heavy metal.

More secretly, for the boy with the big brown eyes.

Eddie, he’d found out at school the next day, gossip overheard at lunch. The boy was Eddie.

Eddie Munson.

And whenever Billy caught a glimpse of him, the rest of that year, he thrummed like an electric guitar.

.🌱.💀.🌱.

Unfortunately, his passion for headbanging and powerchords did not meaningfully improve the remainder of middle school, and by the time he walked the stage at eighth grade graduation, Billy resolved to make a change—give himself a fresh start on his terms.

First, he mowed endless lawns and bought a new wardrobe: bootcut jeans with matching boots, which lent him some height and a certain swagger; button downs in dark colors worn open to his sternum and white tees like the crew from Outsiders; a bitchin’ leather jacket.

His hair had progressed from Shirley Temple to Farrah Fawcett, so he trotted to the barber for a Bon Jovi bi-level. Almost chickened out at the mall when he got his ear pierced, but loved the way the earring swung from his left lobe… though the right would’ve been more accurate. 

He quit band and swim. Thought maybe he’d try basketball instead, and enlisted Pat to help him practice.

They were actual buddies by then.

Lastly, he took up smoking. Marlboro Reds, because they were badass. Soldiered through the pack all summer, suppressing a gag on every pull till he was puffing like a chimney.

August before ninth grade, Pat’s brother let them tag along to a party at the quarry; if Billy got in good with upperclassmen, it could pave the way to social acceptance—maybe even… popularity?

Total pipe dream, but then… it worked.

That night was one for the record books: first time smoking dope, shot-gunning a beer… first time a girl went down on him.

First time he’d seen Eddie in two years. Wouldn’t even have recognized him, except the eyes hadn’t changed. Eddie was a junior and looked it: taller, wild dark hair to his shoulders, tattoos peeking from his sleeves. He made a brief appearance and vanished—there to sell some supply, not socialize.

Billy wished he’d stayed. Admitted then what he was most excited about for high school: the chance to see Eddie Munson again.

.🌱.💀.🌱.

Ironically, the object of Billy’s obsession had suffered a fall from grace in the transition to the big leagues: swirling rumors swore he was a Satan-worshiping anarchist and a burnout to boot. A weirdo who played geeky games with his loser friends.

Except—unlike Billy, Eddie didn’t give a fuck. While Billy strutted around vaguely unsettled, ill at ease with his costume, this immersive performance for the foreseeable future, Eddie had unveiled his freak flag—reveled in it, let it fly.

Regret gnawed at him, grew in Billy’s gut—knew if he were a little braver, he could trash this cool kid stuff and… 

End of Eddie’s senior year, Billy was sick at heart. Knew he’d missed his shot.

.🌱.💀.🌱.

So imagine his confusion, surprise—his hidden euphoric delight—when Billy spotted that dark mop atop a wiry frame loping across the parking lot on the first day of eleventh grade.

Eddie should have graduated, but for whatever reason… hadn’t.

Thus, a new resolution: seize this chance. Be Eddie’s friend.

By second semester, Billy had worked his way up to casual chit chat and also, incidentally, was a raging pothead—so much so that his mother was worried, and she had spent the 60s stoned out of her gourd.

Let him experiment, Doris advised, winking at Billy over dinner. His grades are fine. What’s the harm?

The following evening, Doris showed him her special cookies stashed in the freezer, cautioning him to only ever take one bite and be patient. Billy asked if he could give one to his friend.

Top tier moment, right up there with Dad dying. Eddie’s eyes lit up all starry, demanded Billy come hang so they could make like Keebler—try the old elfin magic—and Billy was blessed to learn that Loaded Eddie = Handsy Eddie.

Blessed and cursed, because Eddie learned that Blazed Billy = Honest Billy. Tell me a secret, Eddie said, tickling. Tell me a secret.

Nothing happened. Eddie was just… affectionate. Bit of a snuggler. Who now knew he was the reason Billy was such a metalhead. 

And that Billy was glad—about his dad.

.🌱.💀.🌱.

Eddie was held back again, and suddenly math and history were Billy’s favorite classes because Eddie sat next to him in the back row. Seemed to do decently with Billy there egging him on.

Thus, his final resolution: graduate with Eddie. Drag him across the finish line if necessary. Billy held study sessions he didn’t need at the library after school, invited Eddie to join—and Eddie did.

Eddie invited Billy to come see his band play at a local bar on Tuesdays—and Billy did.

Tell me a secret, Eddie said one weekend, when they were sharing a bowl, and Billy snorted, gazed into bloodshot eyes. Glad you got held back. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be doing this. Eddie smirked, soft. Getting high? Billy laughed. Hanging out.

Billy turned eighteen that March, and the Buckleys and McKinneys came over to celebrate, as usual. Unusual was the doorbell as they were about to eat, Eddie and Wayne trooping in, sorry for being late.

Robin picked up on something that night—cornered him in the bathroom. Are you and Eddie…? Billy went tight, and she rushed to reassure. It’s okay if you are. I am, too. So Billy breathed, calmed. I am. I dunno if he is. Robin arched her brow. From where I’m sitting, odds are good.

Billy spent weeks yanking hope by the roots.

.🌱.💀.🌱.

Come May, they walked in green cap and gown—hugged in the milling crowd, Eddie cackling wet in his ear, a clinging koala. Didn’t think I could do it.

Billy brought him along to Robin’s graduation party. In the backyard, her old childhood treehouse beckoned, and they heeded the call.

Tell me a secret, Eddie said, sitting back against mossy boards. They weren’t even high. He flicked Billy’s earring—set his heart swinging. That should be on the other side, Billy said, and stared until Eddie flushed red, understood. I got a secret, he said, and Billy didn’t dare to know but did. 

Eddie said it: I’ve wanted to kiss you all year.

A click as Billy swallowed, bone dry. Then do it.

And Eddie did.