They say youâre not supposed to keep your eyes open when you kiss. Itâs like, rude or whatever. Youâre supposed to be in the moment. Youâre supposed to let the world fall away and focus on the feeling of someoneâs lips against yours.
Or at least, thatâs what Steve had been told when his middle school girlfriend had opened her eyes and freaked out when she saw his were already open. They did not have a repeat performance after that. He made sure not to make the same mistake next time, or the time after that, or the time after that, and at some point, the idea had completely left his brain all together.
If he leaned in for a kiss, he closed his eyes. Automatic.
But Steve didnât really get it. Closing your eyes made it easy to ignore, to think about something else, to just slip into the motions and let your mind wander to stupid things like âwhat the fuck was Dustin talking about the other day?â and âshit, did I clean the bathroom yesterday? Dadâs flight gets in tonightâ and âwhatâs Robin doing right now?â
It was detached, made him forget who he was even kissing sometimes unless a girl was particularly good or bad, and that didnât happen that often. Everyone kind of felt the same after a while.
And then, instead of random thoughts or missed chores or what to have for dinner, something else started to pop into his head whenever he closed his eyes.
Or, less something, and more someone. And once that started happening, he began to think things like âhis hair isnât this soft, itâs rougherâ and âheâd probably tilt his head more than thisâ or âwould his rings pinch my hair if he grabs it?â
The first time he kisses Eddie Munson, he squeezes his eyes shut like a reflex. He can feel the rough calloused fingers as they glide along his cheek and wrap around the back of his head, fingers digging into his hair and squeezing, tugging just a little as the strands get tangled between his rings.Â
He can feel the rough scratch of Eddieâs chapped lips, feels like maybe theyâre drifting up at the corners into a little smile but he wants to know, he wants to see what Eddie looks like while he kisses him.
Before he even knows it, his eyes are open and heâs taking it all in.
Steve was right, Eddieâs lips are curling up at the corners ever so slightly, and his cheeks are flushed red â so red itâs climbing all the way up to his ears. Thereâs a strand of hair falling over his forehead, escaping from the rest of the mess of hair curling over his shoulders and he looks so happy it kind of takes Steveâs breath away more than the kissing.
Gently, he reaches out with his own hand and curls it around the back of Eddieâs neck. The bright red flush bleeds even deeper, drifting up the bridge of his nose and he follows it, tucking the stray strand of hair behind his ear and settling once again on the back of his neck. Heâs warm under Steveâs fingers and it makes his mouth water to imagine following the blotchy red blush all the way down his chest, just to see how far it spread.
Eddieâs lashes flutter as he keeps his eyes closed softly, sweetly, not clenched tight like Steveâs had been. He looks relaxed, despite the tremor under his skin that Steve can feel against his chest, the hummingbird pattering of his heart under his threadbare band t-shirt. He kind of wants to climb inside, to tuck himself right next to the warm, thundering organ and stay there â camped out forever, absorbed into one person.
That was crazy, though.
Theyâd only been hanging out, watching a movie in the Harrington living room as everyone else ditched them for the thousandth time to go to the arcade or the park or the diner. Steve doesnât even know how it happened, it just had. One moment heâs looking into Eddieâs dark brown eyes as they sparkle with laughter, tears at the corners as he struggles to breath, and the next heâs leaning in.
Eddie kisses like heâs hungry for it, starving for the taste of Steve on his tongue like no one else ever has. The desperation flows into Steveâs head, his bones, his fucking bloodstream and he wonders if his cheeks are just as flushed as Eddieâs. Itâs a rush, in the way that three beers in the span of an hour are, but heâs stone cold sober aside from the intoxicating feeling of Eddieâs grip on the back of his head tightening again and tugging, drawing a gasp from his lips that Eddie swallows down greedily.
His eyebrows turn up, scrunched at the center like two hands pressed tightly in prayer. Whatâs Eddie thinking now? Steve muses. Is he drifting off with his eyes closed, the way Steve always did, or is he concentrating on the feeling of Steveâs hands, his lips, his tongue?
Dark brown eyes meet his as Eddie opens them and for a moment, Steveâs heart stutters in his chest as he thinks, ah, this is it. Heâs gonna get mad, heâs gonna freak out, it was nice while it lasted.
But he doesnât.
Instead his hand tightens and he pulls Steve even closer, slips his tongue in like heâs trying to swallow the breath right from his lungs. His eyes are dark, molten almost as they hold his gaze and something electric zips right down Steveâs spine, all the way down to his toes like a lightning strike and for a moment Steve wonders if there will be a smoldering circle of smoke at his feet once they part.
He doesnât want to blink, doesnât want to pull away to find his breath again, doesnât want to separate even a little bit to find necessary comfort. Who needs things like breathing, anyway, when Eddieâs lips are twisting at the corners into an even bigger smile, and he knows the kiss will come to an end soon, just because his own smile is starting to make it difficult. Just a little longer, just a few more seconds, just one more moment until heâd lightheaded.
Maybe then heâll pull away, maybe then heâll catch his breath, maybe theyâll talk about what just happened and where they go from here. But even then, Steve knows heâll never look away again.
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The first bit of art for @helpimstuckposting , amazing @steveharringtonbigbang story.
loved every bit of working on the two bits I've done for it, and I highly recommend devouring this entire fic.
Steve Harrington didnât know what love was. He thought he did, a few times. He thought he loved his nanny the way his mother didnât love him. He thought he loved Nancy the way he hadnât loved someone else before her. He was wrong about that, though, so how would he really know? He didnât think heâd know what love was if it shoved itself in his face, called him an idiot, and bit him. He knew what love wasnât, and that didnât seem good enough. But when he was surrounded by club lights and the alcohol swam through his head, he felt like maybe he could learn, or at least pretend for the night until he didnât feel alone anymore; until he drove himself home in the early morning and felt the ache in his bones that said someone had been there with him, if only for a moment.
Steve was seven when he found out that Santa did not exist. He tried, once, the whole âSantaâ thing. After hearing the stories from kids at school, he ran over to Melvaldâs and bought a tin of cookies with his allowance before skipping excitedly home. Some of the kids mentioned feeding the magic deer, because flying took a lot out of them obviously, and Steve wasnât quite sure what magic deer ate, but he left out a few carrots in the yard just in case.
He was so excited, setting out the cookies in front of the big tree in the living room and hoping heâd wake up to find a present underneath, just for him. Maybe it would be a cool Hess Truck like Tommy wanted, or maybe it would be an action figure, or comic books, or maybe his parents would come home. The other kids said Santa was magic, that he could do anything, so Steve wasnât picky.
He went to bed excited and could barely close his eyes to sleep, but the other kids said Santa didnât come if you were awake so Steve tried his very best. He finally fell asleep with the taste of ginger snaps on his tongue (there was a whole tin, and Santa had hundreds, maybe thousands of cookies every night, so he didnât think Santa would mind one less).
He woke up to a spotless and quiet house, no puddles from snow on Santaâs boots, no bites out of the cookies, and no present under the tree. No parents either. Steve didnât have any more cookies that day. He couldnât bear it.
When his parents arrived a week later, Steve was greeted not by hugs and exclamations of how much his parents missed him, but by his mother loudly and forcefully demanding answers to why her yard was scattered with gross old carrots, drying and cracking and covered in mud from the melted snow. So he told her. He told her about Santa and how he wanted him to come, how he went to bed early like a good boy, and waited all night. How he didnât show up.
She laughed.
It was cold and icy, like the shards still hanging from the gutters on their roof. She told him he shouldnât be impatient for his presents â they were in the car like always â and really, Steven, it doesnât look good for a boy to be so demanding, and the presents certainly werenât from Santa because the man did not exist.
Santa didnât exist.
So yes, Steve knew from a young age that the jolly man in the coat and hat was simply a lie â told to children to excite them and give them something to look forward to. He didnât really get it at first; were the presents not enough? Was the week off from school not exciting? Did they not look forward to Christmas morning without the story of a man sneaking down the chimney? But heâd also fallen for it. He was so excited, he liked the idea of feeding the magic deer, and leaving a treat out for someone delivering gifts out of kindness. He liked the story, that a man with so much power wanted to use it to make children happy. He liked being thought of, liked being remembered by someone he didnât even know, liked that it was a reward for being nice throughout the year.
But it wasnât true. And that was fine, Steve tried to convince himself. He still got the presents, and he still got his parents, even if they were a week late. He still got a hug from his nanny, and his mom let him have the rest of the ginger snaps, and he didnât even have to clean up the carrots from the yard.
His parents left again, and school started again, and it was fine.
It was fine, until Tommy came barreling through the door with his Hess Truck held high and the praise of Santa spewing from his lips, and Steve noticed that not everyone shared in Tommyâs delight. Most of them did, and a lot of them brought their favorite toy to school just like Tommy, but a few kids (maybe three) sat still in their chairs â like they could avoid any questions if they blended into the background. They ducked their heads and they sank in their seats, and Steve wondered if they also found out Santa wasnât real.
But Tommy singled one kid out at recess. He dragged him out, to the center of the playground, and told everyone that Santa didnât go to trailer parks, that the kids in Forest Hills didnât get presents from Santa, because only good kids got presents, and how could they be good if they lived in a junk yard. Those words didnât sound like Tommy, but he was always repeating things his dad said, copying him and taking his word as gospel.
The kid, scrawny with a shaved head and angry brown eyes, sank into his shoes. Not in retreat, not in a cowering way. He sank into his shoes like he was grounding himself, like he was making sure his footing was firm and steady, and he shoved Tommy right into the ground.
Of course, only then did a teacher interject, and only the boy Steve didnât know the name of was dragged away to the office. Tommy angrily scrambled to his feet and spat at the ground where the kid had stood, remarking that he was right and the Forrest Hills kids were definitely on the naughty list, Steve, wasnât he right? Did he see that? What a freak that kids was.
Steve rolled his eyes and didnât say anything. He knew interrupting Tommy was just more hassle than it was worth, and Tommy was wrong anyway because Santa wasnât real. Heâd figure it out eventually, Steve supposed, but he wasnât going to be the one to tell him.
It was his walk home that gave him an idea. He saw the bus pass by as he trudged along, down the road and off in the direction of Forrest Hills trailer park. He wondered if that kid from recess was there, if he saw Steve out the window as he passed, if he really didnât get any presents. He thought about all the gifts his parents gave him that were still packaged up in his closet because he had too many and he didnât really like them all. And he thought about how much he wanted someone to think about him on Christmas, with no other purpose or desire but to make him happy.
So, with an inkling of an idea creeping its way through his head, he ran the rest of the way home and pulled out the phone book from the hallway table, as well as his yearbook from the previous year. There werenât many numbers from Forrest Hills, but he did find the three kids from his class and a couple from the year above. He picked out which of his unopened presents he thought theyâd like the most, and he wrapped them crudely in leftover paper he found in the study. He ripped off a few pages from the note pad by the phone, and wrote out in his best writing:
From Santa, sorry I was late
And then:
P.S. my elf wrote this
Because his best writing was still pretty bad.
It took him a couple days to plan and gather things, but in the dead of night â after his neighbors clicked off their porch lights â he piled all five presents into a little red wagon and tied the wagon to the end of his bike. He took off toward Forrest Hills, a little list of names and addresses crinkled in his pocket. He tip-toed around the dirt paths, freezing in fear every time his little wagonâs wheels squeaked, and placed the presents and the notes from âSantaâ on the doorsteps that matched his little list. He checked it twice, just for fun.
He felt lighter on the ride back home, and not just because his wagon was empty.
Steve was seven when he decided to become Santa himself.
It wasnât obvious, the next day at school, and Steve didnât do it just to listen to kids whisper about Santa visiting Forrest Hills a week late, but he did notice something. The three kids who had sunk low in their seats the first day back, who avoided talking to the others to brag about their presents, were no longer trying to blend into the background. They sat comfortably in their seats, and whispered among themselves, eyes twinkling a little more than they had a few days ago. Steve was ecstatic. He sat, buzzing silently with excitement as he tried to keep his face blank and neutral. Santa had to be kept secret, after all.
He did it again the next year, adding the newest kids to his list from the years below him, and saved up his allowance to get some cuter presents for the girls; some nail polish and art supplies, some coloring books and beads. This time he wasnât late, and his handwriting had improved a lot from the year before (though he still blamed the elves for his wonky letters).
He had fun, learning how to wrap the paper around each gift, saving up his money to pick out presents he hoped the other kids would like, wondering what their faces looked like when they opened the door to find a present on their front step.
He was a little worried that the kids would be concerned Santa hadnât made it inside, being magic and all, but he also noticed that none of the trailers had chimneys so maybe that was okay. He also learned that most of the kids in Forrest Hills did get presents, and he felt a little stupid for assuming they didnât just from Tommyâs dumb comments, but he also knew they werenât the fancy presents other kids got like bikes and new games.
He tried making his Santa presents a little more extravagant. After all, why would Santa give Tommy a brand new Lego set, but give Willie across town a pack of baseball cards? Steve just wanted to even the playing field a bit, knock Tommy down a peg or two when he tried humiliating another kid on the playground and that kid said Actually Tommy, I got the new Hess Truck from Santa, too! And Steve remembered wrapping it up, much neater this time, and almost getting caught on the stoop when a dog started barking at him. He muffled a giggle into his hand when Tommy floundered for something to say, coming up empty handed.
As the years passed and the kids in his grade stopped believing in Santa, he scratched their names off his list. He kept adding to it as well, though. He paid attention to the new kids in each grade, noticed if they had a little less than those around them, noticed if they were on the outskirts or if they looked a little nervous as the holidays drew nearer and nearer. He left presents for the Byers one year when he heard that Jonâs mom lost her job after his dad left. He left presents almost all over town, had the phone book highlighted with every address he wrote down in his notebook â a much needed upgrade from the crumpled piece of paper in his pocket. He wrote a list, he checked it twice, and he made sure to slip through the dark like a shadow, avoiding anything that might give him away.
He was always surprised when no adults tried to stop him. Surely, the stoop presents were well known throughout town by the time Steve reached high school, but maybe they didnât want to know who was behind it. Maybe they wanted to keep the magic alive, too. Either way, Steve played a successful Santa for nearly two decades before anyone found out.
It was Eddie.
It was always Eddie.
Eddie, the boy who knocked Tommy clear to the ground that first winter. Eddie, the boy who made Steve want to help. Eddie, the boy who received the first ever gift from Hawkinâs own Santa, though Steve kind of hoped that was a secret he could keep.
They were putting up the tree in their apartment, the first Christmas they were spending together. Eddie had brought several old ornaments from the trailer, ones that he stole from right under Wayneâs nose because lord knows the man wouldnât want to part with them if he didnât have to â a collector, that man was. Steve picked up one that, at first, had been unassuming, a clear bauble filled with glitter. Hanging it on the sad twiggy branch of their Charlie Brown tree, however, he noticed a little piece of paper inside. It was aged and a bit crumpled, but not too shabby for how old it was.
From Santa, sorry I was late, it read in squiggled, messy handwriting, the wonky letters leaning to one side more than the other.
P.S. my elf wrote this
Steve stared at it for entirely too long, catching Eddieâs attention as he hung the last ornament.
âWayne made that one, if you can believe it,â Eddie said, tapping the plastic bauble with the nail of his pointer finger. âI mean, not the note,â he clarified, âthat was Santa.â He whispered the last part conspiratorially, as if letting Steve in on a huge secret. Steve felt like he was going to cry, suddenly, the tears pricking behind his eyes. With a start he realized, selfishly, that he didnât want Eddie to know. He wanted to keep this mystery alive for just a little longer, like a parent too sad to let their child grow out of the world of magic and wonder, like it was too soon though the secret had been brewing for nearly twenty years.
Eddie wrapped a cautious arm around Steveâs shoulders, unsure of where his sudden teary-eyed expression came from. Instead of facing his questioning look, Steve tucked his head into the crook of Eddieâs neck and listened as the man regaled him with the story of his first ever gift from the Santa Claus.
That year, Wayne had lost his job as a trucker because Eddie had fallen into his lap. He couldnât leave the kid all alone, had to stay and take care of him, and he was between jobs until the holiday snuck right up on them both. They had a tree, just as shabby and sparse as the one they currently stood in front of, but there was no money to spare for gifts. Wayne had apologized, and Eddie had been very understanding for an eight year old â after all, he had been learning not to rely on adults, anyway.
Heâd gotten in trouble when the school year resumed, however, for shoving an insufferable Tommy Hagan to the ground during recess. Of course Tommy hadnât gotten in trouble, since vigilantism was an under appreciated form of justice, Eddie declared. Steve snorted into Eddieâs neck, just imagining the ranting tirade the skinny boy with a shaved head must have gone on, trying to defend himself to the principal.
Eddie was furious as he got back home, pissed off at Hagan, pissed off at his parents, pissed off at the world. And then â what to his wondering eyes did appear â two days later, Wayne had opened the door to the shittiest wrapped present heâd ever seen. Steve bit his tongue. It was for Eddie, according to the name scribbled onto the wrapping paper, and the little note declared it was a lost gift from Santa.
âLike magic,â Eddie smiled.
Steve had no idea that was his first Christmas at Wayneâs, and he had no clue what that first shove on the playground could lead to. He could still picture Eddieâs scrunched brow as he glared daggers at Tommy, could still remember the way he sank into his shoes and grounded himself for a fight, like he was used to it, like he knew what was coming. He wished he could picture Eddieâs face as he realized Santa hadnât forgotten about him.
âAnyway,â he said, startling Steve from his thoughts, still tucked away in Eddieâs neck, âWayne kept that note, and I think heâs got the one from the next year, too. Heâd saved enough money for a couple presents that year, but I think he was grateful for a little extra help.â
Steve pictured himself, a tiny little thing, curled up in the living room, all alone on Christmas Eve as he wrapped up presents and wrote out his Santa letters. He remembered feeling less alone for the first Christmas in forever, because he was too busy sticking too much tape onto glittery wrapping paper and worrying about not getting caught to care that his parents werenât home again.
He thought about the bag full of presents, tucked away in the back of the closet so Eddie wouldnât find them, and his list of kids he collected from the libraryâs giving tree. He had planned on sneaking out, planned to slip away from Eddieâs prone form and deliver the gifts alone, like always, but Eddie squeezed his shoulder and kissed the top of his head and he realized that he didnât have to be alone anymore. Maybe this year there could be two Santas, delivering gifts to the children of Hawkins in the dead of night. Maybe this year he could have some help. Maybe this year, there could be twice as much magic as the year before.
It's been a busy week, but I'm so excited to share my Steddie BB project! It's cute, it's silly, and it's completely in line with my current Fake Dating obsession. I hope you like it!
Rating: E(?) | Wordcount: ~20-25K
Tags: Fake Dating, No Upside Down AU, Modern-ish AU, Co-conspirators to Lovers, Past Tommy/Eddie, Petty Revenge, RomCom
Summary:
Eddie made the stupidest decision in his life and followed his boyfriend, Tommy, to a different state and a different city and a different job, only to find himself unceremoniously kicked to the curb. All because of Tommyâs obsession with his high school crush that got away. Now he was jobless, homeless, and brainless apparently, since his only plan for revenge was to contact Tommyâs high school crush, Steve Harrington, and beg him for help with something just petty enough to work. It wasnât like he wanted Tommy back, absolutely not, he just wanted Tommy to taste a little bit of his own Instagram-curated medicine. And what better way to drive his ex crazy than setting up a fake relationship with the man heâd been obsessively stalking on social media since he was eighteen? Was it petty? Yes. Was it dumb as hell? Absolutely. Would it drive Tommy completely insane and probably lead to a massive crash out that would taste sweeter than any dessert Eddie had ever tasted? No doubt about it. So Eddie sucked it up, opened his DMs, and rattled off an unhinged request to a total stranger.
âł Snip below the cut
Eddie wasnât stupid, contrary to popular belief. Sure, his teachers may have thought so, and maybe his father did too, but he wasnât. Or at least, he hadnât been. He hadnât been, until he decided to follow his stupid boyfriend to Chicago, even with the pit of unease that creeped into his gut and didnât leave.
He hadnât been, until he ignored everything that told him this was a bad idea because Tommy was so good at talking him out of his own thoughts.
Youâre overthinking, heâd say.
You need to relax, heâd say.
Youâre seriously going to stay in your podunk town just because you âfeel weirdâ? Câmon, Eddie.
And he sounded right, at the time. An apartment he didnât have to pay for, a job already lined up at the same company Tommyâs dad ran, someone there so he wasnât alone in a new city.
It seemed right. It seemed stupid to refuse.
That was until he found himself unceremoniously kicked to the curb after one fucking fight. A fight that Eddie refused to settle on, and kept poking the bear until Tommy reported him to his father for harassment, got him fired, and tossed his bags out the fourth floor window of their apartment.
Tommyâs apartment. Because Eddie wasnât on the lease.
Eddie didnât think he was stupid, but he sure felt like he was as he sat on the curb of an unfamiliar city, two shitty duffle bags of his clothes and not much else sitting beside him as he smoked through his last pack of cigarettes. It had only been three months. Three months, until he was suddenly homeless, jobless, and apparently fucking brainless to boot.
It wasnât even like it was a new fight, it was a fight that had been shoved aside so many times, he kind of expected it to keep being pushed off until it was irrelevant. It wasnât even like Tommy was cheating, or pursuing other people; he wasnât looking elsewhere, he didnât have wandering eyes, and he wasnât afraid of claiming Eddie in public whenever they went out â which was new for Eddie. Maybe that skewed his idea of a healthy relationship, just a little.
No, instead it was like there was a third man in the relationship that was never actually there.
A ghost.
A remnant of a life that didnât even exist. One that Tommy just couldnât get out of his head.
Eddieâd never even met the guy.
Steve Harrington.
Apparently he and Tommy had gone to high school together, before either of them even realized they were gay. Which would mean nothing, as far as Eddie was concerned. Heâd had plenty of gay awakenings in high school that went absolutely nowhere, and they fizzled out fairly quickly.
The problem was that it wasnât flizzling. Every time Eddie did something slightly wrong, it was âSteve did it this wayâ or âSteve did it that wayâ or âSteveâs dinner tasted better, but yours is good too, Eds.â
For once Eddie just wanted to have a nice night in with his boyfriend, without having Steve Harrington hanging over the conversation. He was overthinking, Tommy said; he was paranoid, he insisted; it wasnât like Steve was even in the state, Eddie, they were just high school friends, get over it.
So Eddie told him he wasnât the one who needed to get over it. It was Tommy that kept bringing him up, it was Tommy that kept inserting some random guy into their relationship, it was Tommy who compared every little thing Eddie did to Steve, when â News Flash! â Steve clearly didnât want him, it was Eddie who had moved states to be with him, it was Eddie heâd begged to follow him, it was Eddie whoâd made them dinner every fucking night to several back-handed compliments and critique disguised as praise.
Apparently that wasnât the correct thing to say, he scoffed to himself as he flipped through the contacts in his phone and debated whether or not calling Wayne for a ride or walking to the nearest bus station was better. Wayne would have to drive for a few hours to reach him, and that would definitely result in âI told you soâs and âI hated that boy from the beginningâs that Eddie didnât want to deal with right now.
On the other hand, the Greyhound station was a couple miles away, and heâd have to call Wayne for a ride once he got to Hawkins anyway.
Eddie groaned, poking around through his social media just to delay his choice for a few more minutes. He didnât think heâd be this annoyed by the end of a two-year relationship. He figured heâd be sadder, maybe a little depressed, maybe heâd feel all his emotions congeal into a blob of despair that would clog up his lungs and his throat and choke him from the inside out.
At least, thatâs what the movies and books would claim.
Instead, he felt righteous indignation burn a hole through him as he looked at Tommyâs latest instagram post â a picture of their dinner from a couple days ago, Eddieâs ring-clad hand loosely resting around the stem of a wine glass (one heâd kind of wished he threw at Tommyâs head) that was taken right before their fight started and ended with their relationship up in flames.
Sometimes itâs all worth itÂ
The caption stared at him mockingly. Eddie wasnât even tagged in it or anything, it was just Tommyâs smug little way of looking perfect online â he didnât need Eddie for that, he just needed a prop, another body to show the world that Tommy wasnât pathetic and alone, to pretend that he wasnât hung up on some high school nobody like the loser he was. God, Eddie was so mad.
The timestamp was even minutes ago, as if he hadnât already told Eddie he was fired and his stuff was on the curb by then. He could strangle that little weasel, he could march right back up the stairs and pound on the door and demand he delete the stupid picture.
But what would that do?
Tommy wouldnât even open the door, let alone delete his stupid post. He probably had a stockpile of their pictures just to keep up the relationship on Instagram for appearances. He scoffed, the sound ripping from his throat sharp with anger that had nowhere to go.
Posting some angry rant online calling him out would just make Eddie look like a lunatic, and give him proof to hand over to HR to justify his firing. Was slinking back to Hawkins with his tail between his legs really the only thing he could do about this? Tommy deserved to feel like shit, he deserved to get a relationship thrown into his face over and over again, Eddie wasnât just a prop, he was a person.
He was angrily scrolling through past pictures, his last cigarette hanging from his lips when a username caught his eye.
StevietheHairington had liked one of their early pictures, one with Eddieâs hand clasped in Tommyâs over a fancy tablecloth with candles and mood lighting, and suddenly he had an idea.
A petty one, for sure, but Eddie had never exactly been known as level-headed. He was a big fan of petty, a huge fan of petty â call him Tom Petty he was so ready to not back down.
So he went to Steveâs profile, just for a peek. Just a look â not even a look, a glance, just a little one.
The guy was gorgeous, heâd give Tommy that. All tan and happy, pretty mole-dotted skin that could absolutely stick in someoneâs head for years. He looked sweet, nice even, which he hadnât quite expected from someone who was friends with Tommy in school. He had several pictures with some girl, declarations of best friends and platonic soulmates that said Steve was probably single, which worked perfectly for the little plan that was vaguely forming in Eddieâs head.
It wasnât even a plan, yet, just the whispers of a plan, really. It was kind of crazy, even for Eddie, but he figured it couldnât hurt to try.
So he opened his DMs and sent probably the most unhinged message to a stranger that heâd ever sent in his life. He started with a simple âHey man. You donât know me, but I think you know my boyââ he deleted the last few letters and shook his head, clearing his throat from the anger that suddenly climbed up to choke him, âex-boyfriend,â he amended.
âWeâd been dating for a few years and he dragged me to a new city just to throw me to the curb because he was too obsessed with you. I know thatâs not your fault, and Iâm not mad, but I was wondering if youâd maybe be interested in helping me get a little revenge?â
âIk this is weird and a lil fucked up and everything but he seriously left me stranded and got me fired and this is the only thing I can think of to get back at himâŠâ
He didnât exactly expect a reply, to be honest. He kind of figured that would be that, and heâd just have to suck it up and deal with getting his life back in order â starting with the trek to the train station with his stupid bags weighing him down like cement blocks.
He was sweaty and tired by the time he got a ticket and a seat, a vague text to Wayne about coming to visit for a few days⊠or weeks, that he then ignored. He had two hours to gear up for the âI told you soâs, he didnât need them before he and his uncle were even face-to-face.
When his phone buzzed a few minutes later, he figured it would be the exact type of text he didnât want to read, but it was a DM instead.
From Steve.
Eddie scrambled to open the app, nearly dropping his phone in the process, heart skyrocketing into his throat like the king of rock himself had just messaged him instead of a stranger.
âweird lol whos ur ex?â
Thatâs all it said. Simple.
âTommy Hagan?â
âIâm in.â
The reply was instantaneous. It popped up like a liferaft, dragging Eddieâs drowning emotions to the surface with renewed clarity and hope. He didnât think itâd be that easy, he didnât think heâd get a reply at all, let alone an immediate one.
A bubble popped up, ellipses drifting in and out until Steve replied again.
Prompt: Sick Fic, Roommates, Idiots to Lovers | Rating: T | Wordcount: 13,765 | AO3 | @steddiebingo
Eddieâs an idiot. He knows heâs an idiot. He was an idiot when he asked Steve to move to Indy with him, despite his massive crush on the man. He was an idiot when he got used to Steve in his space, cooking dinner and being an all-around perfect man. He was an idiot when he started turning people down at the bar he went to on Saturdays, and he was an idiot when he stopped going all together, just so he could join Robin and Steveâs movie nights in her apartment.
He got used to Steve in his space, Steve in his plans, Steve in the kitchen in the mornings making coffee for them both; Steve taking naps on their shitty couch as the sun leaked through the window in the afternoon, bathing him in gold like some kind of coveted Greek statue; Steve laughing on the floor as Robin shoves her hand down his shirt to fetch the popcorn heâd dropped. He got used to Steve in every aspect of his life and he was an idiot for⊠forgetting.
Every time Steve touched his lower back when he dodged Eddie in the kitchen, every time they walked to get groceries and Steve wrapped an arm around his shoulder, every time Eddie lost himself in the jokes and the teasing and the flirting and Steve didnât push him away, he forgot that they werenât⊠well⊠together. That this was all just Eddie being caught up in his head.Â
Because heâs an idiot.
Of course his delusion couldnât last forever, he just⊠you know, hoped. But when Eddie came home from work early to a pair of high heels by the door that were decidedly not his and probably not Steveâs, and some less than savory sounds escaping from the muffled confines of Steveâs room, Eddie couldnât exactly shove reality away any longer, lest he want to end up in an asylum.
He found himself on Buckleyâs doorstep instead, pathetic brown eyes begging entrance.
âSteve brought a girl over?â She asked, rolling her eyes as she dragged him into the apartment.
He nodded miserably, heading straight for her couch and face planting into the cushions. It was a ratty old floral embroidered thing the three of them pulled off the side of the road, dragged up three flights of stairs, and did everything in their power to clean until it was presentable. Robin loved it. It had tears and loose threads and a slightly wobbly back leg and it was perfect. Perfect for catching Eddieâs tears at the moment, but good for other things, too.
Like movie nights where Robin laid her head in Steveâs lap, and Eddie sat on the floor between Steveâs legs as he carded his fingers through Eddieâs hair. He smushed his face further into the couch. Maybe if he suffocated, heâd forget Steve Harrington ever existed.
âAlright, whiny baby, spill,â she demanded, lifting his legs up so she could slip underneath them.
âThereâs nothing to spill,â he mumbled into the fabric, not even lifting his head.
âYou havenât told him how you feel yet, have you?â
âWhuh- no!â He shrieked, pulling his face free and almost kneeing her in the gut as he flailed onto his elbows.
âHey, watch it, Gumby, I have precious organs in there.â Robin shoved at his knobby knees, rubbing at her stomach like heâd stabbed her.
He rolled his eyes, kneeing her again on purpose until she nearly threw him off the couch, electing to sit on his lanky legs instead of risking bodily injury. Eddie grunted, newly immoble and tried to wiggle his way out from under her before giving up and flopping back down in surrender.
âItâs not fair,â he whined, wiggling his legs under her butt.
âItâs unfair because you literally havenât said anything to him, you moron.â
âAgh!â he clutched at his chest, wounded like heâd been shot through the heart and he was bleeding out over the faded floral fabric. âThatâs rich coming from someone whoâs never once told a crush how she feels!â
She squawked and squeezed his side, slapping back as he retaliated. There was something healing about a kindergarten slap fight between friends, at least enough to distract him from why he was on her couch in the first place; why heâd left his own apartment in a flurry and practically sprinted to hers, why heâd had a lump in his throat the size of indiana itself. It slowly dissipated as he dodged her hits and light slaps, the sting against his arms, and the creeping numbness in his legs as they remained squished tightly under Robin.
She gave up with a huff, flopping her entire body on top of his. They both breathed heavily, as if theyâd run a mile instead of just attacking each other out of nowhere. He revelled in it. Basked in the tightness of his lungs and the reddening skin of his arms. If he thought too much about why he was here, it would all creep back up his throat like an alien poised to burst through his chest.
But he did come here to talk, to vent, to fish for sympathy about his pathetic crush as it tore through him, the visions of what could be happening behind Steveâs closed door running through his head like a repetitive nightmare that wouldnât leave him alone. He thought about those pointed high heels that were sprawled where his shoes were supposed to be, and whatever gorgeous girl was previously attached to them before weaseling her way into their apartment.
He felt sick.
âHave you ever thought maybe heâs fooling around because he doesnât know how badly youâre pining over him?â Robin finally mumbled, face buried in his rumpled Metallica t-shirt. He focussed on the weight of her draped over him, grounding him like a layer of blankets, or a shiny shock blanket placed over his shoulders so he didnât spiral into nothingness as his life burned around him.
âNo,â he mumbled. âWhy would I think that? Itâs just wishful. Heâs straight, we both know that. Iâm not going to torture myself with âwhat ifsâ.â
âOh? But youâll torture yourself with bad âwhat ifsâ, like âwhat if he gets a girlfriendâ and âwhat if he moves outâ and âwhat if he discovers my big gay loser crush on himâ.â She dropped her voice low in imitation, mocking him with every shot to the heart.
He groaned, âThose are different! Those are realistic! Those wonât get my hopes up only to crush them into dust to scatter across the globe like the ashes of my lifeless corpse.â
âWow,â she said flatly, lifting her head and looking him in the eye with raised, judging eyebrows. âYouâre even gayer than I thought you were.â
Eddie squawked, using the last of his energy to lift himself into a sitting position and toss Robin aside. She grunted as she hit the ground, leaping back up to slap him in the chest one more time for good measure.
âThis is serious! This is important! This is heartbreak!â he shouted.
âThis is desperate,â Robin muttered to herself, plopping back down on the couch. âListen. I know he hasnât exactly said it, but Iâm not entirely sure Steve is straight in the first place. Sure, heâs only ever slept with women, butâŠâ she softened, sagging into her cushion, âIâve seen the way he looks at you, Eds.â
Eddie shook his head, unkempt hair tangling as he rubbed it roughly against the fabric beneath him. âNo. Nope. Donât say that.â
âBut itâs true!â she begged, clasping a hand around his ankle and shaking it enthusiastically, wishing she could just shake some sense into his whole body. âWhat straight boy acts like he does?!â
âI donât know, Buckley, a nice one?â he shrieked, hands twitching to cover his ears like a child and shout out âla, la, la,â to drown out her hopeful pleading.
âHe calls your uncle every week for check-ins! He knows your schedule by heart, and he makes dinner for you every single time your shift goes overtime. He knows your favorite foods, he gets you treats sometimes just because he thought about you. I mean, you literally fall asleep on the couch together all the time!â She was whining now, voice propelling into a shout the more she listed, mind scrambling to lay out every single thing that made Eddie fall in love with Steve in the first place, as if that wasnât entirely too torturous for Eddie to keep listening to.
âBuck, tell me right now he wouldnât do all of that for you, too, and Iâll concede,â he demanded, crossing his arms over his chest to appear collected, even if he just did it to keep himself from falling apart.
She was quiet. He could see all of her points running through her head, all the moments Steve was generous and kind to everyone he cared about, all the times he did those things for people who werenât Eddie. She seemed to deflate, just like him as she realized he was just that kind to everyone, and Eddie only got the brunt of it because they lived together. Of course Steve paid attention to him, they spent nearly every moment of the day orbiting each other, that didnât mean he was special.
âHe looks at you the way he used to look at Nancy,â she whispered. Her eyes were pleading, desperate for him to understand even though he couldnât, he didnât.
âBuck⊠I- I want to believe you, I swear I do. God, I want to believe you, but I just canât,â he pleaded right back, âWhat happens if I do believe you, and I get my hopes up, and I do what you tell me to and confess and he just⊠just looks at me. Like he doesnât know what to say, like he doesnât know how to turn me down, or he doesnât know how to talk to me anymore. Because I know he wouldnât be mean, I know that. But it would be worse to see him not want to turn me down, just because Iâm his friend and he feels sorry for me.â
He couldnât handle it if Steve just looked at him with those wide eyes, mouth agape with words he didnât know how to say. He didnât want to watch the conflict in Steveâs eyes as he debated how to let Eddie down gently, how to not hurt his feelings when every single thing he could say would. He didnât want to flit around the apartment and awkwardly pretend that it was okay, that he was fine, that Steve could be normal around him and everything would be fine, because Eddie didnât know how to do that.
âSo much for not torturing yourself with âwhat ifsâ.â
Eddie shook his head. He didnât understand why she kept pushing, she knew what it was like to pine after a straight person, or presumably straight person. She knew this, the feeling of desperation as she watched from afar, trying to stay sane as the other person dug themselves further and further into her heart like they were carving out a scar that would take years to heal, if at all. She sighed, patting his ankle one more time before she reached for the remote and conceded to ignoring the issue all together. She had tried her hand at persuasion, now it was time for distraction.
They watched a few reruns on TV in silence, until Robin kicked him in the shin, glancing at the clock. âHeâll probably be wondering where you are if you donât head home soon. Itâs been a few hours, Iâm sure itâs safe to go back.â She looked sympathetic, her eyes just as wide and sad as he imagined Steveâs would be if he confessed. He nodded, dragging himself from the safety of Robinâs living room. She followed him to the door, sad puppy eyes maintaining their place. He knew she was frustrated with him, too, but she didnât show that right now as she hugged him goodbye.
âJust think about it, okay?â she parted with and he nodded, if only to placate her. But he did think about it, he thought about nothing else the whole walk back to his apartment as he psyched himself up to see Steve. He knew Robin was right about some things, Steve was an anomaly of a straight man to Eddie. Sometimes, when they were cooking together or cleaning on a Sunday it felt painfully domestic as they shifted around, weaving in and out of each otherâs spaces like theyâd known nothing else. Sure, sometimes it felt like the smile he gave Eddie was different than the one he gave Robin or the kids, but he also knew that the tension he felt whenever they were close was one-sided, just Eddie unable to look away as Steve went about his own business like a magnet pulling his cheap metal rings toward him with every motion.
He kept thinking about Robinâs list of reasons, of the tug at his heart every time Steve came home with Eddieâs favorite snacks just because he was at the store and saw them â thought of Eddie when he wasnât there. He tried to tamp down the hope as he remembered the man doing the same exact thing for Robin, or stocking the fridge up with Dustinâs favorites every time the kid mentioned coming to visit. Steve was just like that, Eddie knew. He knew not to get his delusions confused with reality, no matter how much he wanted Robinâs world to be the right one.
When he opened the door to the apartment, he was greeted by the relieving absence of a certain pair of heels, no evidence that theyâd even existed in the first place. He chucked off his shoes, kicking them messily into a pile directly where the high heels had been, like some petty dog marking his territory. She wouldnât even know â neither would Steve â and yet it made him feel just a bit better to see his beat up work boots shedding dirt next to Steveâs keds, where they belonged. There wasnât a girl invading their space, no perfume floating around for Eddie to choke on as he pretended everything was okay.
Instead, the smell of a warm dinner wafted from the kitchen, the clanging of pots and pans telling him exactly where Steve was. As he rounded the corner, he could see the man flitting around from pot, to frying pan, to fridge, stirring and grilling up what smelled like Eddieâs favorite dinner.
He didnât look dishevelled, didnât have any hickies dappling the skin of his neck and Eddie chose to be thankful for that instead of wondering whether there were other marks in places he couldnât see. His hair was damp, fresh and fluffy, drying with a slight curl that he never left the house with and Eddie wanted to card his hands through it, drag his nails across his scalp and feel the soft strands against his palm.
Steve whistled as he stirred the sauce in the pot, and Eddie breathed in deep, trying to melt into the scent of Steve and chopped tomatoes and chicken, shoving away the talk with Robin and the sounds he heard as he fled the apartment. He cleared his throat, leaning against the arch of the kitchen doorway to appear casual and collected, like he hadnât just had a crisis of the heart. Steve startled, catching his eye with a smile and Jesus H. Christ, Eddie was doomed. He was like the sun, he was like beams of warmth shining through clouds after a storm, the sky parting to deliver him like god down to earth for Eddie to reach out and touch, only to brush fingers and be thankful.
Jesus, maybe he was gayer than Robin thought.
âHey, Eds,â Steve pulled Eddie from his thoughts. He could probably wax poetic about Steve Harrington for every hour of his life, though that kind of behavior would definitely make him run for the hills, leaving Eddie to wallow in his own obsessive tendencies.
âHey. Whatcha makinâ?â he asked, though he already knew.
How long could he lean against this doorway until it was weird? Had he already been standing here too long? Did it look obvious that he was trying to act natural, only for him to overthink his naturalness to a point of being unnatural? He cleared his throat and walked over to the kitchen table. He couldnât fuck up sitting, right?
âGrilled chicken parm!â He seemed light, carefree, satiated if Eddie wanted to torture himself more than he already had tonight.
âMmm, my favorite.â
âI know,â Steve winked. He winked, and Eddie wanted to throw himself out of the window. He wanted to walk up to Steve and wrap his arms around him, he wanted to kiss his neck and trail his fingers down his arms, pretend that they lived together because they loved each other and not just because it was convenient to split rent.
He wanted a lot of things.
âOh!â Steve startled, turning to point his spatula at Eddie, âI got your favorite cereal and some Yoo-hoo, and we havenât had ice cream in a bit so I got a couple pints and I figured we could get high and watch a movie or something? Robin gave me a bag of tapes she wanted me to watch, because apparently Iâm uncultured,â he mocked, voice going high at the end as if mimicking Robinâs voice, though it sounded nothing like her.
Eddieâs giggle came out high and grating, ripping through the air just to torture him. He wished he could grab the sound and shove it back down his throat, erase it from existence. He just cleared his throat instead and hoped that Steve hadnât noticed how fucking weird he was being.
He just kept thinking of Robinâs insistence that Eddie should tell him the truth, should tell him that heâd been embarrassingly gone on the man since heâd dragged him out of hell itself. And it was embarrassing, just how much Eddie waited with bated breath every time Steve leaned in close, any time they shared air and he was close enough to count the other manâs moles and freckles, close enough to see the flecks of gold and green and whiskey-brown that call Steveâs eyes their home. If any of his friends gained the ability to read minds, he would be fucked. He got teased enough, he didnât need to add the nonsense poetry he waxed about Steve every moment he had a spare thought.
The other man didnât seem to notice his crush-induced spiral, turning back to the stove and humming as he continued to stir the sauce. Eddie should call Wayne. Itâd been a while â a week, maybe â and if anyone could handle his sad pining, it was his uncle.
Instead, he picked up the book he left on the table that morning and pretended to read, glancing ever so often at the man who seemed to be synonymous with favorites. Favorite foods, favorite snacks, favorite ice cream, favorite movies, favorite person.
The fact that Steve didnât already know how Eddie felt was kind of ridiculous, especially since Robin hounded him about his pining every time they were together. He knew Buckley wouldnât betray his trust like that, though. No matter how much she bitched and whined about him, she had his back â even against her other half.
When the food was ready, it was easier to fit back into their usual banter. If ever Eddie got too close to blurting out the truth, he just shoved more chicken and pasta into his mouth and chewed until the impulse went away. Steve talked about his day and his classes, how the students were always hard to reign in when the weather got nicer and no one wanted to learn about history. Eddie thought he'd probably have graduated the first time, if Steve Harrington was his teacher.
You havenât told him how you feel yet, have you?
He shoveled more food into his mouth.
Steve never mentioned the girl he brought home, or the shoes that were at the door, or the noises heâd heard from Steveâs room. He did mention the cafe he went to for lunch, the sandwich heâd ordered that âEddie youâd love it, it reminded me of that place we went to right after moving here, you remember?â and he mentioned the store heâd noticed near the grocery, one that just opened and had mini figures and card games and D&D stuff, âall that nerd shit you and the kids like, we should check it out some time.â
Eddie wanted to scream; he had no more food to shovel. So, instead, he collected the dishes and stacked them in the sink, and made his way to the living room â busying his hands with the task of rolling a few joints for their movie night.
Steve grabbed a plastic grocery bag full of tapes that heâd left by the door, and went through each movie one by one, holding them up for Eddie to see and judge. Robin was apparently on a John Waters kick, and while Eddie was down for Cry Baby, if Robin wanted Steve to watch Pink Flamingos, it was going to have to be on her terms, thank you.
He watched as Steve fed the tape into the player, and broke out the ice cream pints from the freezer â little spoon for Eddie because he preferred it for ice cream. It was calm, it was domestic, it was torture, and Eddie loved every moment with Steve. He took his glances where he could, when Steve was turned away, flicking his eyes back to the rolling papers whenever he was close to getting caught. He rolled two, figured that was enough to make him act normal again â to relax and get his shit together so he stopped acting like a twitchy little squirrel, hoarding anything Steve would give him.
He gave Steve the first hit, if only to be a creep and feel the dampness of Steveâs spit on the filter. He watched as the smoke left his lips, touching where Eddie wished he was allowed, before it cascaded out and filled the room. He took one more hit before passing to Eddie, fingers lazily brushing as the joint left his hands.
Eddie looked away as he drew in his breath, the dampness of the filter a thrill as well as a condemnation. Heâd always felt like a freak, always wore that label with pride, but heâd never felt more like a freak, than when he was around Steve Harrington.
He focussed on the red-hot burn of the cherry as he pulled in a breath, the smoke burning through his lungs as he held it longer than he needed to â holding it there just to feel the white hot cloying at his throat, and grounding him before he did something stupid like lean into Steveâs space and say something flirty.
You havenât told him how you feel yet, have you?
Buckley, if only it were that easy.
Just think about it, okay?
Actually, he should stop thinking about it. Before the words started spewing from his lips with no interference from his brain, before his heart stopped beating in his chest and came up his throat to speak the words itself, before he had those stilettos by the door wedged into his brain like a lobotomy.
âEddie?â
He looked over to Steve, who was holding out the joint again. He hadnât even remembered passing it back after his hit.Â
âYou good, man?â
âYeah.â He took the joint once more, and tried to stay in the moment. Drifting was for later, right now was for man and dude and buddy.
It was mid way through joint #2, when Steve got cuddly. He always drifted closer, leaned in more to talk about the movie, whispered commentary even though they were home and there was no one else to disturb in the theater.
Iâve seen the way he looks at you, Eds.
He looked at him like he looked at Robin, Eddie thought. He looked at him with warmth and kindness, with a deep affection that was reserved exclusively for those closest to Steve Harrington. He looked-Â
He looks at you the way he used to look at Nancy.
He was close, close enough to lean against if Eddie just let himself; close enough to brush his nose against Steveâs forehead, close enough toâ
Eddie took another hit before handing it back to Steve. He held on to this one, too, until the burn of it took his mind off those too close thoughts. Steveâs lips wrapped around the filter, and in Eddieâs hazy, floaty mind it looked like something he should pray to â the smoke drifting around them, caressing Steveâs skin as gently as it dared, just a whisper as it passed. It was like that, that, you know, the renaissance art style where everything is blended and smokey and otherworldly. Like the Mona Lisa. Steve was the Mona Lisa, and Eddie wanted to breathe in all the smoke that touched his skin.
Steve was giggly now, loose and light headed as Johnny Depp cried glycerin tears and his love interest pleaded âplease Mr. Jailer, won't you let my man go free?â
He giggled and sang along to the repetitive lyrics and shifted both legs onto the couch cushions, scooting himself closer again, leaving him resting against Eddieâs side. He was warm, so warm against the cotton of Eddieâs t-shirt and he thought maybe if he took another hit or two, heâd be able to blend into the warmth of Steveâs skin and melt together into one person.
The joint was in the ashtray on the coffee table; Eddie would need to lean over to grab it. He glanced at Steve, cuddled up nice and sweet into his side, and he didnât want to disturb him â like a cat in his lap when he desperately needed to use the bathroom. Steve stretched and snuggled closer, eyes focussed on the TV and not on Eddieâs dilemma.
He was never known as a problem solver, his three years as a senior in high school showed the entire town of Hawkins that he wasnât exactly the best scholar, but even Eddie didnât think he was stupid enough to miss what would happen next.
He wiggled his arm under the man, just to grab his attention and not to jostle him free. He thought, oh, Steve would definitely just know what he wanted, because sometimes he forgot that he wasnât a part of Steve and Robinâs creepy Shining Twins mind-meld. So instead of the man just reaching over to grab the half-smoked joint, he turned his head toward Eddie. Which, obviously that wouldnât be an issue if Steve hadnât been snuggled into his side, practically one leg in his lap, but â lo and behold â the movement brought his nose right to Eddieâs cheek.
He could feel his blood rush to the point of connection immediately, lighting his cheeks up like a bright red neon sign â like Eddie was some kind of brothel in the red light district signalling to the public just how horny he was for the man next to him.
He turned slowly â so slowly he wasnât sure if it was just the weed, or if the whole world was turning in slow motion â just enough to see Steveâs face out of the corner of his eye. He thought maybe Steve didnât realize how close he was until he turned, just like Eddie, but he still hadnât pulled away. He smiled lazily at him instead, eyes unfocused and hazy, squinting at the corners like he was still laughing without actually doing it.
âLittle close there, Sweetheart,â Eddie whispered, because anything louder than that felt blasphemous, to cut through the sleepy peace of the angel next to him.
Steve giggled, leaning back to actually focus his eyes on Eddie. He could feel the cool air in his absence, Steveâs nose no longer against his cheek.
âWhoops,â he laughed, voice just as small as Eddieâs.
âCould you grab the joint for me? I didnât want to move you.â
Steve did as he was asked, grabbing the joint and the lighter next to it, and lighting it up for Eddie without him having to even ask. He took one small pull before handing it over, and Eddie fought with himself to hold back a moan as he savoured Steveâs saliva as it once again touched his lips. If only there wasnât a barrier between the two, if only he could taste it from the source, feel it as he drank Steve in with the desperation of a man lost in the desert.
Steve settled himself back into Eddieâs side, and Eddie did his best not to jostle him as he finished off the joint, thankful that Steve had drifted off to sleep before he did it. At least with Steve asleep, he was safe from the confession that kept springing to the tip of Eddieâs tongue.
The taste in his mouth as Eddie woke up was stale. It felt like cotton on his tongue, dry throat clicking as he swallowed. His thoughts were soupy and his eyes were crusted, joints aching as he stumbled off the couch. He should have tried to fall asleep in his own bed, he wasnât 20 anymore and the crack of his neck as he stretched took the breath out of him for just a moment. He dragged himself into his room to tug off the jeans he was still wearing, keeping his Metallica shirt and his briefs on from the day before, but he hadnât bothered with pulling on a pair of sweats â his pale thighs out and about for the world to see.
Steve was in the kitchen, no doubt being the most desirable housewife in all of Indiana by making breakfast for them both. Eddie could smell the toast and butter, the thick scent of coffee drifting through the hallway to his room. He smacked his dry lips in anticipation.
They shared small smiles as Eddie made his way to the table, Steveâs hair sticking up wildly in the back. He looked soft and sleep-rumpled, a small yawn pulling itself from his lips, and Eddie looped his ankle around the leg of his chair to stop from draping himself across Steveâs back. Robinâs words were still floating around like an evil spell, compelling him against his will. If only he could ignore it, shove it into a lock-box and pretend theyâd never talked, that sheâd never told him to confess in the first placeâ
The phone rang.
Steve looked from his hand holding the spatula, to the one holding a cracked egg currently spilling into the pan.
âIâve got it,â Eddie chuckled, squeezing Steveâs shoulder as he passed because he was nothing if not self-indulgent.
It was one of Wayneâs neighbors on the other end.
The call didnât last more than five minutes.
Eddie hung up the phone, gripping tightly at the plastic handset. He didnât let go. Couldnât do much of anything except focus on the racing in his mind. He needed to leave, he needed to call off work, he needed to get back to Hawkins as fast as he could.
âEds?â Steve asked, voice hesitant and unsure. His eyebrows were drawn together and he had stopped his cooking, clicking the stove off, one hand still wrapped around a spatula and the other halfway to reaching out for Eddie, to touch, to help, to comfort.
âWayne had a heart attack,â he whispered.
Steve abandoned the breakfast, giving in to the want of reaching out, to cradle Eddieâs elbow in the most gentle touch, like that would help like that would make it better instead of feeling like barbed wire on his skin.
Eddie pulled away, slipping his arm from Steveâs reach and the other manâs hand remained in the air, stuck, like he didnât know what to do next. They were both still, unusual for them, and it felt suddenly like there were glass shards in the air between their bodies, just waiting to slice them open at any sudden move.
âIs he okay? Eds?â
Eddie nodded, thatâs what the neighbor said. Thatâs what he said. Wayne was okay, Wayne was fine, he went to the hospital on time, he was back home, he was okay.
But, Eddie wasnât there. He couldnât be sure, he didnât know.
âHeâs⊠heâs okay, heâs fine, heâs back home,â he repeated, like a mantra, like he needed to hear the words out loud in order for them to be real. Wayne was fine, Wayne was home.
âDo you want to go, to take care of him? We can stop by the grocery store and pick up some things, I can take a few days off and drive down with you,â Steve was rambling, creating plans and asking about Wayneâs favorite foods, talking about leafy greens and no red meat, about soups he could make and how much PTO he had left, and we, and us, and Eddie wanted to scream.Â
âStop.â
Steve did. He cut himself off, hand still raised to where Eddieâs elbow used to be, but he didnât step forward, didnât reach out again â kept himself silent. For Eddie. Because he asked.
âStop,â he said again, watching as Steveâs eyebrows pinched in confusion. He finally put his hand down, standing in the kitchen with his arms at his sides.
âStop⊠what?â He asked, and of course he didnât know, he didnât know why his desperate need to help, to comfort, to ease Eddieâs worries were just clawing at him with every word, digging into his skin like thorns and dragging, dragging, dragging until his insides were torn to ribbons.
You havenât told him how you feel yet, have you?
âStop acting like this, this perfect guy who outshines everyone else.â
A wobbly smile stretched over Steveâs face, mistaking Eddieâs distress for his typical dramatics. He looked like he wasnât sure whether he should laugh or roll his eyes, not understanding that Eddie was serious because he didnât know, he didnât know.
âI want you to stop being nice to me.â
Steve squinted his eyes, âThis feels like a trap, is this a trap?â
âNo.â Eddie was shaking his head, clearing it out to make room for what he wanted to say, what he needed to say. He needed to put distance between him and Steve, he needed to go help Wayne and take that time to break this stupid crush and maybe, maybe, when he came back heâd be able to act normal around Steve again. âNo, this isnât a trap.â
âOkay⊠Well, Iâm not sure how to stop being nice to youââ
âWell you need to figure it out. You need toâ to be meaner, because I canât keep going out and meeting guys and comparing them to you because theyâre not you, theyâre nothing like you. And I canât keep going on dates and wishing they were over so I can just come home and hang out with you and Robin, and I canât keep coming home to some girl's shoes by the door and pretending that doesnât kill me just a little bit.â
Steve looked adrift in their kitchen, untethered and unsure. This wasnât Eddieâs normal dramatics, this wasnât Eddie throwing out a backhanded compliment to Steve, this wasnât a âgod, Harrington, youâre so perfect it must be exhaustingâ with a laugh and a wink. This was Eddie in genuine distress, like the call about Wayne had snapped some kind of barrier between him and everything heâd been holding back.
âWhat are you saying?â
You havenât told him how you feel yetâ
âI love you.â
He blinked.
It was out.
He said it.
âI love you, Iâm in love with you. Not like the way you love Robin or Dustin or how I love Wayne,â his voice cracked on his uncleâs name, the panic about hearing âhe had a heart attackâ still fresh in the air, still squeezing his lungs.Â
âI love you, soâ,â he chokes on his words, trying desperately to hold back the flood of tears that threaten to burst; he has to say it, he has to say it, and then he can leave, he can go to Wayne and he can take a few days to figure out what to do after he just crushed his whole life into pieces, ââso you gotta stop being nice to me, or you gotta fall in love with me, because I canât do this anymore.â
And Steve did exactly what Eddie expected him to do. He stood. He stared. He looked at Eddie like his brain had paused and he was being wholly rewired just to turn back on again, like he mentally needed to smack the connection back online or wiggle the antenna.
The kitchen felt like it was closing in as he watched Steve blink back to himself, and then glance around the room as he thought of what to say, as he thought of how to let Eddie down gently.
Eddie didnât want to be let down gently. He didnât want the pity or the shame or the guilt that was no doubt swimming in Steveâs head as he tried to think of a nice way, a sweet way to ease Eddieâs confession away because Eddie knew, he knew, that Steve wasnât going to reciprocate. The sad glint to his eyes and the pinched corners of his lips told Eddie all he needed to know.
âIâŠâ he sighed, still desperately avoiding Eddieâs eye contact. âI mean⊠Iâm not⊠Iâm sorââ
âI know,â Eddie whispered back. He didnât want to hear the stuttered, stilted apology. He had nothing to apologize for, this was all Eddieâs fault. âI know, you donât have to say anything, I just⊠I had to tell you.â
âItâs not that I donât like you, Eddie, Iâm just not⊠I donât⊠Iâm not into dudes that wayââ
âSteve, seriously, please donât say anything. Itâs not going to make this any better, and I just⊠I donât want to hear it right now, okay? So, just⊠Let me leave and take care of Wayne and Iâll come back in a few days and we can just forget about it.â
The other man looked like he wanted to argue, to say something else, to keep apologizing and explaining and assuring Eddie that it wasnât him, it was Steve and that was the absolute last thing he wanted to hear. So, he turned on his heel and walked back to his room to pack a small bag, leaving Steve in the center of the kitchen with his mouth agape, spatula still in hand.
He was still standing there when Eddie passed, grabbing his coat and shoving his feet into the work boots heâd left scattered next to Steveâs sneakers. The space would be empty again for any high heels that wanted to stop by, and Eddie wouldnât have to be here to see it. He knew that Steve would call Robin immediately, that sheâd know Eddie opened his big stupid mouth and took her advice and that it backfired exactly the way Eddie had told her it would. Sheâd probably call the trailer at some point, and heâd wallow with her then. Right now, though, he had an uncle to take care of.
The drive was shorter than heâd remembered â a couple hours south of their apartment â and Eddie was thankful there wasnât any solid traffic he had to wade through. He didnât think the drive would end well if he had to sit in his van and wallow in his own head. The music blasting through his speakers could only drown out his thoughts for so long.
All-in-all, he did make it to Forest Hills without bursting into tears on the way, so Eddie counted that as a win. Though, the second Wayne opened the door for him, looking tired and a bit more harried that he had the last time theyâd seen each other, the dam couldnât hold the water works back any longer. He felt a little bad, having his uncle console him even though it should have been the other way around â it was Eddieâs turn to take care of Wayne, that was the whole point of being here. Still, he was distraught enough that it overwrote his guilt, and he just sank into his uncleâs hold, instead. Wayne dealt with it the way he always did, patting Eddieâs back and mumbling soft and gruff that he was fine, Eddie was fine, everything would be okay.
When Wayne told him something would be okay, it always felt more real than when he said it to himself.
After the crying session, Eddie insisted that Wayne sit down in his recliner and take it easy, that Eddie was here to let him rest for a bit and take care of things. Heâd learned a lot by living with someone who cooked so frequently, graduated from someone who only knew how to boil hotdogs and follow directions on the back of a box, to someone who actually knew how to cobble together a respectable salad. Wayne scoffed at first. Eddie and salad had never really been paired in the same sentence, but he was an adult, and he could take care of his uncleâs diet for a few days, goddammit, he could. He would. Heâd be the best goddamn caretaker this side of the Mississippi River had ever seen, regardless of his own mental state.
And his mental state was rough. Taking care of someone was a good distraction, though. Heâd called the shop the second he got to Wayneâs and told them heâd need a few days off for family reasons. His boss, Tom, was always pretty understanding, probably the most understanding boss that Eddie had ever had, and he insisted that Eddie call back and take more days if he needed them.
âLord knows my nephew could use a few more days of responsibility to knock some screws into place,â heâd muttered over the line.
Wayne wasnât exactly thrilled to be waited on hand and foot, though. Heâd always been a laid back sort of guy, but only in the way that heâd take what life gave him and go with it, make the most of whatever it was, and let the rest wash off of him like water off a duckâs back.
âIâm not some helpless little princess, Eds, I can still make my own damn coffee.â
âActually you canât,â Eddie whistled from the kitchen, stirring some honey into the steaming mug on the counter. He held back a smile at Wayneâs put-out grimace as he rounded the kitchen counter and made his way to the recliner.
âWell what the hell is this, then?â
âTea!â he chirped, darting back to the kitchen before Wayne could do anything drastic like trip him in retaliation. âItâs good for you, your doctor said no caffeine and I havenât been able to go to the store for decaf yet.â
âPfft,â Wayne mumbled, âDecaf.â
Eddie could hear the eyeroll in his tone, but he wanted Wayne around for a long time, and he wasnât going to let the stubborn bastard take himself out of this world with a damn cup of coffee. He could drink the tea, and Eddie would go over the list of foods that Wayneâs doctor had left him with. He needed to grocery shop, because Wayne was supposed to relax as much as possible.
The trailer was nearly the same as heâd left it, the only difference being that Wayne had his room back. Eddie had taken all of his clothes and posters and knick-knacks when he moved to Indy with Steve and Robin, leaving Wayne in peace with his own space returned to him.
Though Wayne probably didnât think of it that way, it was hard for Eddie to see it any differently. It was Wayneâs trailer to begin with, and it was generous of him to give Eddie the only private room, but Wayne deserved his own comforts at this point in his life. And that included being waited on hand and foot when he was sick, despite his protests.
He called out to Wayne once he collected the doctorâs list of âheart healthy foodsâ, and made his way to the store. Of course, returning to the town that tried running you out of it came with a⊠not unnoticeable amount of stares and whispers. He tried ignoring it as he wandered down the isles, tried to look calm and collected as he grabbed shit like whole wheat bread, and plain cheerios. His cart looked like heâd stolen it from one of the mothers yelling about satanic panic by the time he was done. Eddie didnât think heâd bought this many vegetables in his life.
The teenage girl at the checkout counter paid him no mind as she scanned his items, bubblegum popping like she was hired straight from the background of a daytime sitcom. The line of three suburban moms behind him, however, were not as unconcerned. There was something absurd about hearing the continued accusations of satanism as he loaded bags of low-fat yogurt and kale back into his cart. At this point, it felt like he could be rescuing kittens from a tree and still catch dirty whispers about him putting them up there in the first place.
He couldnât wait to get the fuck back out of Hawkins.
Of course, thatâs when he remembered exactly what was waiting for him outside of Hawkins. And you know, maybe being the poster child for Satan himself wasnât that bad, maybe it was even a calling, maybe heâd find it endearing after a few days or weeks or months. Maybe Wayne would grow to like being a couch potato and Eddie could be his butler permanently, you know? Give back to the community that raised him, and all that.
Eddie shook his head as he unloaded the grocery bags from his van, piling up his arms with every bag so he wouldnât have to make two trips â even if that meant he was using every ounce of strength to make sure his arms didnât fall off.
Wayne was still in his recliner, cup of tea empty despite his earlier complaining. He was watching some basketball game on the TV, and Eddie listened passively as he emptied the bags one by one. It was all familiar, like he was back home with Steve and he hadnât shoved both his feet in his mouth before booking it out of the city. He didnât know anything about the terms being flung around, or the people attached to those terms, but he could almost smell the dinner Steve had cooked the day before, and feel his fingers against his elbow. If he listened to the announcers drift in from the living room, he could almost feel the breath against his neck as Steve squeezed past him to the fridge.
He opened his eyes, unaware that heâd even closed them as the fantasy washed over him. And it was a fantasy, now, since heâd just fucked it all up. He shook his head, taking out the last item from his grocery bags and balling them up to put under the sink. He wondered, absently, if the bags felt at home nestled together inside a bigger bag or if they felt suffocated being squashed in together like that. Did they feel cradled or stifled? Maybe Eddie would feel cradled if he was surrounded by more people like him, people who understood him in a way that Steve couldnât. Maybe they were just too different.
The ring of the phone on the wall pulled him from his thoughts. It drowned out the commentators on the TV as it rattled away, and for a second Eddie hesitated because what if it was Steve? What if he picked up the phone and it was Steveâs soft tenor voice that crackled through his ear, and made Eddie want to both drive the two hours back to Indianapolis and simultaneously dissolve into a puddle on his uncleâs floor?
âBoy, if you donât get that damn phone, I will,â Wayne called from his armchair, and Eddie unstuck himself from his spot.
âMunson residence,â Eddie drawled, trying desperately to push away the anxiety from his voice, âWe got felons, accused felons, or upstanding citizens, to whom may I direct your call?â
He could hear Wayneâs exasperated âah, Christâ as he tried to maintain his composure.
âSo, you told him, then,â a distinctly non-Harrington voice crackled through the line. He sighed with his whole body, slumping against the wall.
âRobin this is all your fault, youâve got some balls to call âround these parts, you hear?â
âOkay, can it, Houdini. I know youâre defaulting to humor because youâre stressed, but your little disappearing act has really freaked Steve out.â Eddie could practically hear her eyeroll through the phone, could picture her sprawled across her floral couch in her fuzzy ice-cream pyjamas as she pondered how else to ruin Eddieâs life.
âFreaked Steve out? Buck, I panicked! Iâm still panicked! He did exactly what I told you I didnât want to see. He tried apologizing, for Christ sake.â
Eddie slipped down the wall, tucking his feet underneath him on the cheap linoleum tiles. He pulled at the winding phone cord, twisting and twirling it around his finger as he waited for her to respond. He wondered how long Steve had waited until he called her, or if he just went straight to her apartment after Eddie left. Did he stand there in the kitchen for a while, at a loss for what to do? Did he think about following Eddie, or did he try to shove the confession completely from his mind?
Robinâs sigh crackled through the line. âNot that kind of freaked, Munson. I told him to think about itââ
âHave you considered maybe not telling people things from now on?â
ââAnd Iâm sure heâs having a gay little crisis in that big empty apartment, all by himself.â
âRobs, itâs barely 800 square feet, I wouldnât exactly call it big or empty.â
âThatâs what you focus on? Not the big gay crisis?â
âIf anyones having a crisis itâs me! Iâm gonna have to find a new apartment, a new job, change my name, maybe even flee the country!â
âOkay, thatâs a little much, even for you.â
âNothingâs too much for me, Buck, Iâm the definition of much.â
âThat didnât even make sense.â
He huffed out a breath, hitting his head against the wall behind him a couple times to try and knock some semblance of sense back into this conversation.
âAlright, listen. I know you think youâre some matchmaking messiah or whatever,â he could hear Robin scoff over the phone, âBut I really, really donât want to hear it right now. I have to focus on Wayne.â
Thankfully, after a small pause, Robin graced him with a change of topic. She clearly wanted to keep talking about Steve, though, and Eddie knew that she was just trying to be helpful, but heâd figure it out⊠eventually. Heâd figure it out eventually, and that was not today. Probably not tomorrow, either.
She sighed, âSo, how long are you gonna be back in Hawkins, then?â
âEh, right now Iâve got until Tuesday, but⊠I donât know Robs.â
He might take Tom up on his offer and call back requesting more days off. He just couldnât stop thinking about that face Steve had made, lost and confused in the middle of their kitchen, his arm raised like the confession had shut his brain off entirely. He could hear the stilted apology that heâd cut off, because that was the last thing he needed from Steve â an apology for just being who he was, an apology for something he couldnât control, something he didnât ever have to apologize for because it wasnât his fault. He could imagine the same face greeting him at the door once he finally gathered the courage to go back to their apartment, wide eyes looking for something to say to make it right. He didnât want to see it; he didnât want to hear it.
âSo, if I donât hear from you in two days, can I send over a search party?â Robin cut through his thoughts, pulling him back to Wayneâs kitchen, and not the one back in Indy.
He knew the party were still in their senior year, he was planning on catching up with Dustin at some point while he was back. Heâd need to do that before Robin called any of them, though, just to prove he wasnât the sad sack she made him out to be.
He was. To be clear, he was the sad sack she made him out to be.
The party didnât need to know that, though.
âYeah, yeah, call in reinforcements. Iâm fine, I just need a few days to, like⊠think things through.â
âYouâve been thinking too long, Doofus. Just, donât go thinking yourself into any holes, okay?â
âWell, thereâs one hole I couldââ
âOkay, bye!â she shouted before he finished deflecting with a dirty joke. He always knew how to get under peopleâs skin, it was a talent heâd honed for decades.
He let the phone hang, resting it on his shoulder as he continued playing with the curling cord. He could hear the dial tone droning on faintly by his ear, and he sat on the tacky linoleum, listening and worrying the cord between his fingers until the dial tone had dug its way into his eardrum.
He sighed, planting his feet more firmly on the ground to pull himself back up. He put the phone back into its cradle with a soft plastic click, and made his way into the living room.
The couch sank underneath him, years of use wearing it down until it was both perfectly soft and lumpy with uncomfortable springs. It was like a hug from someone you love, with really boney elbows. If the rest of Hawkins wasnât waiting outside the door, heâd stay here indefinitely.
âYou done usinâ me as an excuse, now?â Wayneâs voice grumbled out next to him. He was reclined back in his chair, feet kicked up with a small hole on the heel of his sock. His eyes were still trained on the television, but Eddie knew he didnât imagine the question directed toward him.
âIâm not using you as an excuse, old man.â
Wayne chucked, though his face was blank, and reached out for his mug, setting it down once more when he remembered it was empty. Eddie made a move to get up, to refill it, but his uncle waved him back down.
âI know youâre here to help, but you donât gotta push away yer friends to do it, kid.â
He never really knew what to say when Wayne went into parent mode. It was nice, and Eddie knew he needed it sometimes, but he never really grew up with it. It wasnât until the start of high school that Eddie had moved in with Wayne, and by that time he was used to parents bailing at any opportunity, or just pretending he didnât exist. He was used to staying up late by himself, and pretending he owned the place just to make it feel a little less lonely that there was no one in the other room. He was used to the occasional call just to ask if he was up for helping on a âjobâ, and then the dial tone if he said no. He was used to Al Munson.
He wasnât used to the calculating eyes that were only calculating how to help. He wasnât used to the silence that preceded genuine understanding, and the desire to find out what Eddie needed to get off his chest. Wayne was always there to hold Eddieâs hand through his worries, to give advice about anything he didnât understand. Eddie wasnât used to that when he moved into the little trailer, and he didnât think heâd ever be used to it, even now.
âIâm not trying to push my friends away,â he answered, instead of saying the other things that were running through his head.
âJust Steve, then?â
Eddie rolled his eyes, sinking further into the faded couch. Were all parents this perceptive? Or was this just a Wayne specialty?
âI know somethinâ happened tâmake you drive all the way down hereââ
âUh, yeah, you had a heart attackââ
ââBut it shouldnât keep you down here, sâall Iâm sayinâ,â Wayne nodded his head, as if that was that. But it wasnât, because even without Steve, Eddie would have booked it to Hawkins. Even if everything was fine, and he hadnât made a fool of himself in that stupid little kitchen â even if he was dating Steve, for Christsâ sake, he would have dropped everything to drive down here, and if his van crapped out on him he would have hitchhiked to do it, too. Maybe he was paying special attention to the food lists and doctor instructions, and maybe he was focusing a little more on cleaning up and making Wayne comfortable, and holding himself back from ripping the nosey suburban moms a new one, maybe he was doing that to keep his mind off of Steve and his hovering hand and his sad eyes, but he was here because he loved Wayne.
âWayne, Iâm here for you, alright? Iâm here because⊠because youâre the only dad Iâve got sâfar as Iâm concerned, and I need you to be okay.â
If Wayne had heard the little crack in his voice, he didnât comment on it, but the misty haze in his eye that he blinked away told Eddie that he had. Yeah, he was distracting himself from Steve, but that had nothing to do with making sure Wayne was okay.
âWell, I, uhâŠâ he cleared his throat, turning back to the game on the screen, âI âpreciate you, kid.â
Eddie nodded, because that was that, and he got back to his feet to bring Wayneâs mug to the kitchen for a refill. Heâd bought decaf coffee at the store, and Wayne deserved it, even if it wasnât really what he wanted at the moment.
He spent the next two days doing much of the same. He cleaned Wayneâs room, cleaned the kitchen, used up the leafy greens for a few salads that Wayne insisted he hated, even though he cleared the plates. He wished he knew how to make the soups that Steve did when he was sick, but he wasnât about to call and ask. Robin didnât call again, though Eddie could practically feel her hovering by the phone two hours away.
He stared at the phone, sometimes, just imagining what it would be like to call their apartment and hear Steveâs voice. Heâd probably sound relieved, happy that Eddie had checked in, though once that excitement bled out of his system, he knew it would be awkward again. He didnât want to stand there and listen to the cracking electricity through the line, as Steve tried to figure out what to say. He hated not knowing how to talk to Steve. Heâd never once been speechless in his presence, never once looked into his eyes at a loss for what to say. He hated it.
He contemplated calling Tom back, too, and asking for Wednesday and Thursday off, just to delay the inevitable. That was closer to happening than him calling Steve.
The dishes in the sink were piled up from an attempt at the grilled chicken parmesan that Steve made, but heâd fucked it up in the end and burned the sauce. They still ate the chicken, but it made Eddie miss the before â before he opened his mouth, and halted everything in its tracks; before he obsessed over Robinâs words, and blurted everything out; before he cut Steve off, didnât let him finish talking, and fled from the whole city.
Whatever happened to not running anymore? When did Eddie throw that away again, just to disappear the second things got difficult?
He called Tom and asked for Wednesday off, too.
The next day, the dishes were still in the sink, and the groceries were down to just cereal and yogurt. He should have spent more time with Steve in the kitchen; he should have paid attention to recipes and figured out how to do things for himself without Steve around. Heâd been self-reliant for so long, he hadnât realized when he became dependent on another person again, until it was too late.
He sighed â he seemed to be doing that a lot lately â and handed Wayne a new mug.
âIâm gonna go back to the store, okay? Then I think Iâll stop by the Hendersonâs or Wheelerâs to say âhiâ, since itâs been a while.â
Wayne nodded, taking the tea without complaint. âThatâll be good for ya, see someone besides your old man.â
âIâll be back around five, probably, just so youâre not wondering.â
Wayne grumbled an affirmative, and Eddie took his leave. He had more of an idea what to buy this time, avoiding the things heâd already fucked up cooking and grabbing more simple snacks. The suburban moms still gave him a wide berth, though their whispered gossip still made its way to his ears. He knew they were aware of Wayneâs heart attack, it wasnât exactly a secret with high security clearance, and this was a small-as-fuck town â and yet somehow, Eddie coming to take care of his sick uncle wasnât worth any praise to the Stepford Wives. No, only scrutiny was reserved for the Munsons.
He missed Steve.
He didnât end up seeing any of the kids, either. Maybe Robin was right, though heâd never tell her that. Maybe he was a sad sack that needed saving. He drove to the park, instead of subjecting some poor kid to his shitty mood, leaving the bags of groceries in the car as he trudged his way to the swingset. It was surprisingly empty on a Wednesday, though he supposed it was just barely after school hours. There was also a playground at the elementary school, so maybe this one wasnât used as much in general.
Either way, he let the breeze pass him by as he scuffed his shoes into the dirt. He should probably call Robin back before she really did call in the party to drag him out of Hawkins. Maybe Steve had figured out what to say by now. Maybe five days was enough time to ignore the giant gay elephant in the room. Did he want to ignore it, though?
Kind of.
But he also didnât. Robin was right again (though heâd seriously never tell her). The confession was a long time coming, and Eddie should have done it months ago. He should have just sucked it up and said it the second he realized, just so he could squash it early and they could get back to normal. He wanted Steveâs hand in his hair again. He wanted to watch shitty movies on Robinâs trash couch again, all squished together on the two-seater as if they belonged to one body. He wanted to come home and smell Steveâs cooking.
Wayne had a check-up the next weekend, one heâd already insisted several times that he had a ride to, and Eddie didnât need to be there for. He kind of felt⊠untethered, in the middle of the playground with his feet swinging idly. It was nice out, the breeze was warmer than it had been for a while, and it didnât make him feel any better. He was glad Wayne was okay, obviously, but he kind of wished the old man would ask him to stay. Eddie didnât even want to stay in Hawkins, but he wanted to feel like he was needed somewhere.
Maybe this was how Wayne felt all those years Eddie yelled about ditching Hawkins at the first opportunity. Maybe this was payback.
He shook the stale thoughts from his head, remembering there were a few dairy products in his van and he should probably get back to the trailer to unload them. He was probably ready to go back to Indianapolis tomorrow, probably ready to face the music, as it were.
Wayne wasnât in his recliner when Eddie got back, but he did hear the tap running and dishes clacking in the kitchen sink.
âWhat did I tell you, old man? Leave the dishes to me,â he grumbled, kicking his sneakers off as he juggled the grocery bags. They rustled in his arms as he gracelessly fought his way to the kitchen, bags piled high to once again avoid a second trip.
They all nearly toppled to the floor when he saw Steve at the sink, a stack of dishes already in the drying rack as he scrubbed another.
He wanted to swear at god himself, if he believed in any of that crap. He said he was probably ready to go home, not be ambushed in Wayneâs kitchen with his arms full of groceries. He didnât even know what to do. He kind of felt like running again, feet itching to move and get him as far away as possible, but he couldnât exactly run to the car with all the bags in his arms. They called his attention, nearly cutting off the circulation at his wrists as they begged to be put down somewhere, anywhere.
Steve was just as frozen, though he must have heard Eddie come through the door. He still had a cup in his hand, suds dripping from his fingers as he paused to watch Eddie malfunction in his presence.
âHi,â he said eloquently, putting the cup back in the sink and wiping his hands on the towel hanging from the stove handle.Â
âUh,â Eddie added helpfully. He glanced at the empty kitchen table, feeling like his arms would break if he held onto the grocery bags any longer, and yet weirdly feeling like they were the only things between him and Steve, like the glass panel at a prison visiting center.
He swallowed around his pride and the lump in his throat, and carefully placed each bag on the table, one by one. Steve was still staring at him as he finished. Just an hour ago, he could have sworn he was ready to talk, to move past this weirdness between them, and yet faced with the man of the hour, his words all dried up on his tongue.
He was still fiddling with one of the plastic bag handles, tearing off the loose tags in the plastic to avoid looking at the man in front of him.
âWayneâs across the street,â he offered, gesturing to the door. Eddie nodded. âIâm⊠uh. I brought a couple different bowls of soup and a casserole. I wasnât really sure what things Wayne liked, but I tried to go for something more classic, just in case. And, uh, I figured I could wash some dishes while I waited for you. I mean, Wayne didnât seem to mind, soââ
âWhat are you doing here?â Eddie cut him off. He seemed nervous, shuffling from foot to foot, wringing his hands out now that they were empty of dishes. It was the awkward silence he was dreading, the stuttered responses and stilted words. Steve sighed, looking back at the sink longingly, like heâd rather be slaving away just to avoid Eddieâs eyes.
âIâve been thinkingâŠ,â Steve trailed off, shoe scuffing against the linoleum.
âSo Iâve heard.â
âRobin called?â He looked up, meeting Eddieâs eyes.
âOh, yeah,â he nodded, glancing at the phone like sheâd somehow know he was talking about her.
âWhat⊠uh⊠what did she say?â
âMostly just called us idiots,â he lied.
âYeah, sheâs⊠sheâs been doing a lot of that.â
Steve went quiet again, sneaker still scuffing along the kitchen floor. He cleared his throat, opened his mouth to say something, and then clicked it shut again. God, the silence made Eddie feel like he was full of ants, crawling up and down his legs and wiggling between his toes.
âSteve, you donât have to make any of this better, okay? It isnât something that needs to be fixed.â
âI didnât know,â Steve blurted out, suddenly still in the kitchen like he had been that day in their apartment. His hands were still clasped together, and his foot was still pointed like he wanted to keep grinding it into the tile, but he was still, unmoving. Just his eyes darted back and forth as he looked at Eddie.
âI know, that was kind of the point, Steve,â he sighed, crossing his arms. âI didnât want you to know.â
âNo, I mean, I didnât know you could like both,â Steve corrected, swallowing. Eddie could hear the click of his dry throat as he did it. âI didnât know.â
Eddie wasnât really sure what he meant by that. He glanced to the sink, a pesky water drop dripping into an empty pot, and then looked back down at the grocery bags on the table. He didnât really know what to ask to clarify, either.
Steve grumbled, like he was frustrated with himself for his choice of words. He was always mad he couldnât make the right ones come naturally, like Eddie could. But Eddie could only think of the right words when it didnât matter, when it wasnât important.
âI only ever liked girls, Eddie. I meanâŠâ
Was this it? Was this the start of the rejection Eddie knew was coming? Steve liked girls, Steve had always liked girls, Steve didnât like Eddie.
âI thought that liking girls meant that I couldnât like you, because I didnât know you could like both,â he emphasized again. Steve stepped forward, dropping his hands to his sides.
Eddie⊠thought he knew what he was saying. He thought he understood what those words meant, but it was so far out of left field that it didnât make sense, it was so far past what heâd ever hoped to hear that he was more convinced he was hallucinating than anything else.
âDo you know how many times I brought girls over wishing they were you?â
Eddie blinked. He shook his head. He wasnât sure he understood English anymore.
Steve took another step forward.
âI donât want to stop being nice to you.â
He said it with weight, like it meant something, like he was saying something else, and Eddie couldnât quite put his finger on it â couldnât read between the lines when he wasnât even sure he could read in the first place anymore.
He took another step forward, and Eddie had the irrational urge to throw one of the grocery bags at him to keep some distance. He wasnât prepared for this, he wasnât ready for this, he didnât even know what this was, really.
âYou said⊠you said I should either stop being nice to you, or fall in love with you,â he repeated, âand I donât want to stop being nice to you, Eddie.â
Steve took another step forward, reaching out for Eddieâs hand, and he couldnât help but compare it to the day he bolted. Instead of stunned and stuttering, frozen in place, Steve looked determined and sure of himself. His eyes werenât wide with confusion or darting around for a way out, or a way to turn Eddie down that wouldnât crush him. He stared at Eddie with a sharp focus, still reaching out to touch, but not afraid of the contact. He was so close, only a couple inches between them, and Eddie shook his head to dislodge the barrage of Steve, Steve, Steve running through his brain.
He took a step back, hip hitting the rounded corner of the kitchen table, but his hand didnât slip from the other manâs grip. He needed space to get his thoughts in order, because he didnât have any when he was standing this close to Steve.
âIâm not sure you really know what youâre agreeing to right now.â
Steve shook his head, still holding onto Eddieâs hand, grip tight like he was afraid Eddie would run again.
âI do, I know exactly whatââ
âI want to have sex with you,â he blurted, snapping back to himself at Steveâs confused blinking. He took a breath, trying to collect himself so he didnât fuck this up any further, so he could explain to Steve what being nice to him meant, so he didnât just take Steve at face value and grab onto him desperately, without him knowing the full picture.
âI donât just want you to be nice to me. I donât just want everything to go back to how it was, I donât want to freak you out when you realize how gone on you I am,â he said, begged. He took another breath, wrapping it around his lungs like a blanket and fortifying his resolve. He stepped back into Steveâs space. The hand around his slackened but didnât let go.
âI want to kiss you,â he whispered, flicking his eyes down to Steveâs lips and noticed with a thrill of satisfaction that Steve did the same. âI want to hold you,â he took another step forward, nearly chest to chest. He could feel Steveâs heartbeat though the soft cotton of his T-shirt, pounding away like it was trying to escape this time.
Steve was still staring at his lips, and with the beating of his frantic heart, Eddie started to believe maybe he did know what he was getting into. Maybe Robin was right, again â Jesus Christ â and Steve really had been freaking out through a sexuality crisis for the past few days. All by himself in their big, empty apartment.
That didnât sound like the start of a porno when Robin had said it, but now? With Steve looking at him like that? His eyes dark and eyelids drooping with unconcealed desire, still focused on Eddieâs lips like the thought to look away hadnât even crossed his mind. He licked his lips. Steve tracked the motion, and deliriously Eddie thought of a lion in a nature documentary, stalking its prey. What he wouldnât give to see Steve drooling over him.
âI want to touch you,â he continued to whisper, the air in the trailer dense and heavy, squeezing around them like the walls themselves were pushing them together. He couldnât quite tell which one was being trapped anymore, he or Steve. Steveâs palms were starting to sweat. Eddie swallowed.
âI want to hear you moan underneath me, like those girls you brought home.â
He was so close he could feel Steveâs knees nearly buckle, his hand gripping tighter against Eddieâs to keep his balance. He swallowed, blinking back to himself, eyes drifting sluggishly to Eddieâs and away from his mouth.
âCan I be nice to you, now?â Steve whispered, so quiet that Eddie wouldnât have heard him at all, if there was any space left between them.
The air was so heavy, dripping around them like molasses and he couldnât get the words back out of his throat. He barely dipped his head in a nod before Steve pushed forward, the screech of the cheap metal table legs only background noise as Eddie was crowded against the wall. His lips were warm, just like Eddie had imagined so many times, soft and sweet. Heâd pictured these lips taking him apart in their apartment, on his bed, on Robinâs old floral couch, in the grocery store every time Steve grabbed one of his favorites. Favorites, favorites, favorites; these lips were his favorite.
He could hear the soft breaths escaping Steveâs mouth, feel the hot air against his lips â another favorite. Steveâs hand let go of his, fitting against his hips like heâd already carved out a place for them in Eddieâs skin, perfectly molded to grab and hold and never let go. He could barely grasp onto any fleeting thought floating through his head, all so intangible and opaque, like a mirage drifting in and out of view. But Steveâs lips were an oasis, and Eddie was desperate to drink him in â catalogue every noise and feeling and taste like a new collection of favorites that only Steve could provide. This was infinitely better than chasing any last remnant of Steve on the filter of the joints they shared, better than the passing slide of Steveâs hand on his shoulder or his back as he passed.
He was so preoccupied by the feeling of Steveâs everything sliding and gripping and licking and sighing and clicking into place like a missing piece, he didnât hear the creak of the step outside, missed the rusted rasp of the handle as it turned just around the corner.
âWell, Iâm glad yaâllâve figured yourselves out, but itâs a small trailer and I was hopinâ for a beer if you donât mind.â
After sharing the same space, the two steps back that Steve rapidly took â a sheepish, panicked smile on his face â felt like an entire continent. Eddie gripped tightly onto his hand so he couldnât get far.
Wayne was standing to the side, face blank but Eddie could still see the twinkle in his eye â like interrupting was a form of entertainment â and he knew the excuse was a lie. The old fart probably just wanted to see their faces being caught red handed. Wayne couldnât even have beer right now.
âI do mind, actually,â Eddie said, gathering his wits faster than Steve, âThe doc said a month, old man, youâre not weaseling a beer outta me.â
Wayne shook his head, muttering about being treated like a flower, and snagged one of the trucker hats from the wall before heading back to the front door. Fucker didnât even need to get past them, Eddie knew what he was about, he could read that old man like the back of his hand.
âGoinâ for a walk with Fred, donât wait up,â he called out before making his way back to the neighbors.
âIs that alright?â Steve asked, pointing at where Wayne had just been.
âYeah, the doc said he should start doing light exercise and they mostly just gossip, anyway. Theyâre almost worse than the suburban moms.â
âNo I meanâŠ,â he stumbled over what to say, looking back and forth between the door and Eddie and their hands clasped together and oh, his eyes were still a little panicked.
âOh yeah, totally, Wayneâs known about me since middle school, heâs not gonna say anything.â Eddie paused, thinking back to the twinkle in his eye, âActually Iâm more than certain he set that up in the first place.â
Why else would he have let Steve do the dishes alone while he made himself scarce? Heâd probably seen Eddieâs van return, and waited a few minutes before checking on them like some fucked up puppeteer, pulling their strings behind the scenes. He was a sneak and a weasel and Eddie loved him more than anything.
He glanced up at Steve â hand still pointed to where Wayne was â and caught his eye once more. His cheeks were flushed, lips slightly parted, and it hit him all at once that he could have that, he could have Steve. The other man smiled at him, and Eddie could feel all the worry and anxiety crash to the ground like a wave, pulling away from him in the high tide of Steveâs happiness. And he did look happy, flushed and alive, and so relaxed in the trailer that Eddie had called home for so long.
He didnât have to keep his distance anymore, didnât have to pretend that Steveâs hand on his shoulder or brushing against his lower back was anything less than revolutionary, and he didnât have to stop himself from wrapping his arms around the man and holding on tight. He squeezed the hand still grasped in his, and revelled in the firm squeeze he received back.
âDo you want to help me make dinner, or do you have other plans?â Steve asked, no longer whispering, but no less intimate in the small space they shared. He wiggled his eyebrows like a dork and Eddie felt like he could burst.
âI can think of a few things to do,â he smirked, pulling on Steveâs hand to urge him forward, but only if he wanted, only if he took the step to do it himself.
Steve chuckled, looking down to Eddieâs hand like he couldnât believe what he was seeing and that would have made Eddie panic, before. Before heâd made a fool of himself, and before heâd run from the apartment, and before Steve came all the way to Hawkins just to get him back, and before Steve was his to tug and grip and hold onto. Now, he just felt the same. Like heâd wake up any second and be back on their couch, half-smoked joint in the ashtray and a campy John Waters movie dancing away on the TV screen.
He caught Steveâs eye again and the man relented, stepping forward to crowd Eddie back against the wall, leaning forward to claim his lips again, slower this time. It wasnât hurried and frantic like it had been just moments ago, it was sweet and gentle and indulgent and Eddie added another favorite to his list. He was sure there would be more favorites to come â favorite ways to hold, and favorite ways to spend time, and favorite ways to annoy Robin and make her regret ever pushing them together. He smiled against Steveâs lips.
They could go on lunch dates to the deli that Steve found, and take the kids to the game shop, and melt together like the ice cream Steve grabbed whenever he wanted to make Eddieâs day. They could cook without Eddie worrying about being too much, or too obvious, or too awkward, and heâd never have to see another shitty pair of high heels where his shoes were supposed to be, taking up space next to Steveâs.
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Prompt: Sugar Daddy, Argyle, Madonna | Rating: G | Wordcount: 3,929 | AO3 | @steddiebingo
âSo whatâs new from my sugar daddy?â
The door to the bakery burst open, one Eddie Munson strolling in like it wasnât just past eight in the goddamn morning. Robin rolled her eyes, half a step away from hitting her head against the counter so she didnât have to hear him speak.
âDo not call him that.â
Eddie laughed to himself and stepped up to the counter, reading the chalkboard menu hung up behind her as if heâd never seen it before. He only ever ordered the same cup of coffee, sat at the same table, came at the same exact time on the same exact day, it wasnât a surprise what he was going to order. He still liked to look, just in case something caught his fancy.
âSo?â he prompted again as she tapped his $2.99 coffee order into the register without him even giving the order.
Robin rolled her eyes as she took his money, and reached behind the counter for a clear plastic takeout box. Inside was a perfectly sliced square of brownie, topped with chocolate. It looked gooey and dense and perfectly fudgey as Eddieâs mouth watered just looking at it.Â
âHeâs calling it a chocolate bomb and he wants feedback in explicit detail.â
Eddie didnât even look at her as he grabbed the box, licking his lips and maintaining eye contact with the perfect chocolate specimen. âOh, donât worry, Buck, Iâll be explicit alright.â
âGross.â
He kept staring longingly at the brownie as she made his coffee, excited to taste whatever his sugar daddy made for him. And he was Eddieâs sugar daddy, no matter what Robin had to say about it. What else did you call the mysterious baker youâve never met who made you free treats every week just to hear your opinions on them? He wasnât quite a friend â Eddie had never met the man. He wasnât just the baker â he didnât appear to make everyone else scrumptious little treats for free, and really that would be a terrible business plan, if so. Eddie could call him the love of his life â but again, heâd never met the man, and though they did text most days of the week, heâd like to do that before getting down on one knee and begging for his hand in marriage.
The desserts were good. Sue him for wanting them to be a permanent fixture in his life and Eddie was only human. No mere mortal could deny the wiles of a perfectly baked brownie, and Eddie was nothing without his sweet tooth.
Once his coffee was placed in front of him, he snatched it up like a raccoon in the presence of something shiny. Robin scoffed at him, returning to her place at the register and letting him scramble to his usual table without another word. He opened the takeout box, immediately digging in with an obscene groan as the fudgy flavor hit his tongue.
âEw, Munson, I did not need to know what your sex sounds are like.â
âThen close your ears and plug your eyes, Buckley, because itâs about to get inappropriate in here.â
He ignored her groans of protest and pulled out his phone, bringing up the most recent text thread with his mystery baker as he scarfed down a few more bites of brownie.
Eddie [8:45AM]: bucks gonna kick me out if I keep moaning like this, you gotta cool it
Sugar Daddy đȘ[8:47AM]: You want me to stop?
Eddie [8:47AM]: no pls dont ever, just kick her out instead
Sugar Daddy đȘ[8:47AM]: No can do shes the light of my life
Eddie [8:48AM]: what about your precious taste tester? you want me to be BANNED? is that what you want??????
Sugar Daddy đȘ[8:48AM]: No, she knows youâre special and she canât kick you out
Eddie [8:51AM]: idk what you look like but Iâve been imagining a young mark hamill
Sugar Daddy đȘ[8:52AM]: Lmao ok
Sugar Daddy đȘ[8:52AM]: So hows the brownie
Eddie [8:52AM]: pornographic my dear prince
Eddie [8:52AM]: delectable
Eddie [8:53AM]: simply undeniable in both flavor and presentation
Sugar Daddy đȘ[8:53AM]: Details pls
Eddie [8:53AM]: oh ya buck said âexplicitâ but I think shes getting the more explicit end
Eddie [8:53AM]: thereâs one thing tho
Sugar Daddy đȘ[8:53AM]: Oh yeah?
Eddie [8:54AM]: chocolate bomb?
Sugar Daddy đȘ[8:54AM]: What about it?? Its chocolaty
Eddie [8:54AM]: ya but every granny in a ten foot radius puts frosting on a brownie, its not vry new and exciting an i kno ur more exciting than that
Sugar Daddy đȘ[8:54AM]: Ok so what would be better?
Eddie [8:54AM]: maybe adding chocolate chips or something to the batter? a gooey-er frosting? ooooorrrrrrr like some kind of fudge on the inside. just. to really go all in on the chocolate bomb
Eddie [8:54AM]: texture is great tho really dense and sticky and just begging me to buy another cup of coffee to wash it down
Eddie [8:55AM]: also
Eddie [8:55AM]: rip my dentist
He swallowed another spoonful as the conversation pattered off, groaning extra loud this time just to annoy Robin.
The first time Eddie had stepped into the bakery, Robin had been yelling at her phone â trying to explain over and over again that the lemon cupcake in her hands was fine, that she didnât really like lemon but she was sure it would sell to someone else. Sheâd caught Eddieâs eye like he was a life-line, her face lighting up as she shoved both a cupcake, and the phone into his hands to âreassure this Dingus that the cupcake is fineâ.
He didnât know either of them.
But the voice on the other end of the line sounded nice, and the cupcake was free and who was he to say no to free treats? He made sure to give the man on the other side of the phone a very detailed description of how tangy the icing was and how soft the cake, and how sweet it tasted to make up for not paying. Ever since then, at 8:30AM on Tuesdays, Eddie would walk into the bakery and there would be another new treat for him to critique.Â
Sometimes it was a bust, like the time he made a green tea matcha muffin with candied raisins and it tasted like actual dirt â but more times than not, he was handed the best dessert that Eddie had ever had (until the next week, when that was the best tasting dessert, and then the next week, and then the next week). He didnât know what kind of magic hands this man had, but the bakery had quickly become his favorite place to write his next novel, and he found himself here more days than not â even on days his critique services werenât needed.
It got him out of his apartment at least, which was necessary, because his shitty neighbor kept blasting the crappiest music Eddieâs unfortunate ears had ever heard. One week they went on a whole Brittany Spears binge and Eddie had contemplated moving entirely. The Bruce Springsteen deep dive wasnât terrible, but then they were back on their bullshit the next week with Katy Perry.
It was torture. Eddie couldnât do it anymore, he needed to be out of his apartment, and moving wasnât exactly an option when his bank account kept reminding him just how broke he was.
Writing didnât exactly pay as well as heâd hoped.
But hey, free food definitely helped, and cute banter helped, and even Robinâs irritated sighs and grumbles helped, too. Maybe one day heâd meet his future husband, but today he just tucked in and broke out his laptop to start the next chapter of his manuscript.
It was afternoon by the time he looked up again and registered where he was. There were three more empty cups of coffee surrounding him, which meant Robin had been sending over refills throughout the morning like some kind of pit crew keeping him fuelled up.
By this point in the day, the line was long and Robin was flitting about trying to keep up until her afternoon hire came to relieve some of the pressure. Eddie just caught her eye, saluted her with a mouthed âthank youâ and dropped a $10 bill into the tip jar before making his way out the door.
As he walked up the steps to his apartment, it was very clear exactly why he preferred to stay in the comfort of a nice and pleasantly silent bakery (or as silent as a busy public place could be). Some godawful pop was already ringing out through the old rickety stairwell, and Eddie was tempted to march right up to his neighborâs door and ring his neck.
He couldnât do that, though. The landlord probably wouldnât appreciate a crime scene very much, and sure Eddie canât fuckin stand even the concept of landlords, but he definitely needed to keep this apartment.
Despite the other inhabitants.
Instead of marching up to the door and introducing whoever to his fist, he shot off an angry rambling rant to his group chat and headed straight for his own door, where he could at least pretend to dampen the noise behind more walls.
He wanted to be a dick. He wanted to plug his phone into a speaker and blast the loudest, craziest, most fuckable metal song he knew, volume as high as it could go. And maybe he would have, maybe he would have leaned right into his baser petty instincts if he actually had a speaker with which to do so. But no, he was at the mercy of a twelve year old girl or some Taylor Swift wannabe, or some really really lame middle aged mom.
He couldnât even find his earbuds for christâs sake, and if he ever had a reason to curse the development of technology it would be whatever asshole decided wireless was the future. Eddie saw a migraine in his future, thank you very much.
All he could do was turn the TV on and pray his volume could drown out at least a little bit of the noise across the hall. Though, that made it a little hard to hear the knock on his door about a half an hour later, and he wasnât quite ready for an irritating conversation about the noise just yet. Maybe he shouldnât have stooped lower, maybe he should have just sucked it up and politely asked whoever it was to lower the sound a little bit.
But still. It was their fault to begin with, right?
Eddie opened the door cautiously, hoping and praying and begging whatever mysterious energy might be lurking about the world for some miracle. He really didnât want to meet his noisy neighbor for the first time over something petty like this. And maybe Eddie should look into churches or temples or something because he sucked in his breath and planted his feet, only to find Argyleâs blissful face on the other side of the threshold. They blinked back and forth, one more confused than the other.
âWhy are you here?â Eddie asked, looking the man up and down, waiting for him to declare his intentions.
âYou said someone was blasting marijuana, my dude, I thought it was an invitation,â he nodded, hair cascading like some drug fueled waterfall.
He couldnât help but laugh, music still drifting loudly through the hallway. Hearing the grating, crooning voice was somehow funnier now than it was two seconds ago when Eddie had been half a step away from calling the pigs on his own neighbor. Not that he ever would.
âDude, I said someone was blasting Madonna. It was a cry for help, not an invite.â
Argyle paused, blinked, then looked around as if he could see the music. He breathed out an âohhhâ as he nodded along to the irritating sound, smile still fixed firmly in place, as if Eddieâs ears werenât bleeding, as if his peace wasnât hanging by a very frayed thread.
âSo⊠No weed?â Argyle asked as he came back down to planet earth.
Eddie paused at the question, and thought about it. His friend was here, and smoking would probably make his growing headache disappear, or at least make it more tolerable. Maybe Madonna herself would even fade into the background.
âWell,â he caved, already cataloging his fresh stash in the back of his mind, âI didnât say that.â
He let the other man inside, despite the fact that he was still nodding along to the absolute monstrosity of noise that was blasting through the hallway. He darted out to kick the other door in retaliation before slamming his own. Eddie didnât know if heâd be heard over the noise, but it felt good to get a little bit of anger out before he tried to smoke it all away.
He opened the balcony door first (he wasnât a heathen) and broke into his stash while Argyle made himself comfortable on the couch. The smoke-filled living room certainly helped his irritation ebb away, even as the track seeping through the walls shifted from Material Girl to Crazy for You.
If he couldnât blast Metallica in retaliation, perhaps he could just break out his sweetheart and play live for Miss Priss or whatever mainstream airhead lived on the other side of the hallway. He didnât want to stoop to that level, though. He hated the music, but he didnât want the other neighbors to file complaints against him, too. He knew he was more likely to get tossed out on the street than whatever white-bread middle-America monster was across the hall.
âWhat do you got against Madonna, though, my man?â Argyle chimed in, flopping his whole body onto the couch as he waited for Eddie to break out the prerolls.
âI donât have anything against Madonna, I just cannot stand the prissy pop music 24/7, Iâm over it.â
Argyle nodded good-naturedly as Eddie lit up, pulling in a few breaths before handing the joint over.
âMaybe they hate it, too.â
âHuh?â
âYeah, like, maybe theyâre doing something they need to be really mad for and the music fuels them.â
He passed the joint back, blowing out a cloud of smoke that soon dissipated with the open window.
âArgy, baby, I donât think anyone is doing that but thank you for the perspective.â
âAny time, my man, any time.â
Eddie rolled his eyes and sank further into the couch, letting the weed and company filter through his bones and relax his body. The music didnât even register after a while, and really, Eddie must look into higher powers that be, because Argyle was like a guardian angel sent to make everything okay.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, the love of his life popping up on the screen.
Sugar Daddy đȘ [3:45PM]: Iâm gonna strangle my neighborÂ
Eddie [3:45PM]: omg me too
Eddie [3:45PM]: have you tried smoking weed abt it bc that works wonders
Sugar Daddy đȘ [3:45PM]: No thatâs the problem!!!!! The whole building stinks, itâs fucking w my migrainesÂ
Eddie [3:45PM]: nooooooo bb
Eddie [3:46PM]: do you want me to kill that guy for you
Eddie [3:46PM]: bc I can totally kill that guy for you
Eddie [3:46PM]: at least urs doesnt blast katy perryÂ
Sugar Daddy đȘ [3:46PM]: Ugh Iâd take KP over this any day
Eddie [3:46PM]: you CANNOT say that to me or were overrrr
Eddie [3:46PM]: blasphemy
Eddie [3:46PM]: taking the side of the oppressor
Eddie [3:47PM]: treason
Sugar Daddy đȘ [3:47PM]: Send me to the gallows then igÂ
Eddie [3:47PM]: đ„șđ„ș
Eddie [3:47PM]: ill forgive u once I have ur updated chocolate bomb, not a moment sooner
Sugar Daddy đȘ [3:47PM]: Lol working on it đ«Ą
He looked up as Argyle shifted, limbs loose and languid, and then stood. The pleasant little smile that seemed glued to his cheeks was still in place, and he nodded to Eddie with a salute.
âAlright, bother, itâs been my pleasure to share in the ganj with you, but I must leave you here.â
âYouâre leaving me? Abandoning me? Tossing me aside to whither and waste, alone?â Eddie sank so deep into the sofa he started to slide right off, clutching his heart and slapping the back of his hand to his forehead like a swooning maiden.
âSorry, my dude, but itâs my turn to pick up dinner, and I canât leave the Garden of Eden waiting.â
âDo what you must, keep the flowers of love watered.â
âAmen, brother.â
He walked Argyle to the door, the debacle with his neighbor almost forgotten as he waved the man through and watched him head for the stairs..
Just as he was about to turn and retreat back into his own apartment, the door opposite him opened. Inexplicably, unbelievably, incomprehensively, Eddie paused on the threshold as he locked eyes with Robin â Bakery Robin, just-saw-her-this-morning-Bakery-Robin â stepping out of the opposite apartment. She seemed just as caught off guard as he was until a wicked smile broke out across her face. She glanced behind her before shutting the door with more force than necessary and stepping right up to him.
âSo youâre the inconsiderate stoner Iâve been hearing so much about. Oh, this is perfect, this is rich, this is so, so funny.â
âIâm sorry, Iâm the what?â He blinked at her, still not caught up to the fact that she was here and last time he checked this was not the bakery. It was like seeing a teacher outside of school.
Eddie knew theoretically that she didnât live at the bakery, but it was still weird.
âThe inconsiderate stoner. Which, by the way, makes complete sense. Youâve got that whole,â she waved her hands around, gesturing wildly until she encompassed all of him, âyou know, that rockstar drug dealer thing going on.â
She looked two seconds away from laughing in his face, and Eddie was suddenly unsure if he liked Robin or not. If she was wandering out of the Prissy Pop House, did he even really know her at all? What kind of person was she really? She did call him a rockstar, though, and flattery worked on Eddie, so sue him (even if she didnât mean it that way).
âWell, if anyoneâs inconsiderate here itâs the pop princess who keeps blasting the shittiest music on the planet like theyâre the only person who lives here. Who you seem to know, Miss Buckley.â
As if she hadnât found the situation funny enough, she doubled over with a loud honk of a laugh, clutching at her stomach as she kept laughing and laughing and laughing at Eddieâs expense. Or, what he assumed was his expense, because he couldnât figure out what else she could find so funny. If she laughed any harder maybe sheâd fall down the stairs and put him out of this weird situation heâd found himself in.
âOkay Robs, this is getting to be a little much, dontcha think?â he said impatiently, crossing his arms to wait her out.
She gasped around her words, barely getting out much more than a âyou,â and a âhe,â and a âI canât breathe,â and Eddie was contemplating letting her suffocate on his doorstep when his neighborâs door opened and out walked the hottest person heâd ever had the pleasure of seeing in person. He was about the same height as Eddie, but tan as a Californian surfer and coiffed to the heavens. He had a sharp greek nose, and a square jaw, and you know, maybe Madonna wasnât that bad, actually. Maybe Madonna could play at their wedding, or their anniversary, or in the old-folks home.
Eddie was getting ahead of himself.
âWhat are you doing, Robs?â the Adonis asked, looking over Eddie from head to toe with barely disguised irritation. Jesus H. Christ, why did that work for him?Â
She didnât answer â too busy laughing and snorting around her words â nothing for them to do while they waited for her to catch her breath. Eddie couldnât help but stare, even as the irritation on the other manâs face grew and grew. It was just⊠There was something about the bitchy eye-roll and the crossed arms, and the cocked hip that made Eddie want to be a good boy. Like he wanted to prove himself worthy of a smile or a laugh (though, not the kind of laughter Robin was cooling down from). Was this how the teacherâs pet felt in school? It was wholly unfamiliar as it creeped up his spine the more those dead-pan eyes were trained on him.
Robin finally gasped out a âSugar daddyâ around another round of laughter, and the mystery manâs eyes widened just as Eddie figured out why she was laughing so hard in the first place.
âNo way,â he muttered just as the other man pointed an accusing finger at him.
âEddie?â
âStevie??â
âYouâre my stoner neighbor?â
âYouâre Miss Priss?â
Steve scoffed and crossed his arms again, frying Eddieâs brain in the process.
âMiss Priss?â he sneered, âWhat the hell is that supposed to mean?â
âIt means youâve been making my ears bleed for months now, donât you know how thin the walls are?!â
âNo. I donât, because my hearing is fucked!â
âWell, invest in some headphones, then!â
âThose are even worse for your hearing, asshole!â
âOh, and blasting the godawful shit you do is any better??â
âYouââ
âStop!â Robin shouted, cutting through their back-and-forth with a swipe of her hand between them. âAs funny as this is, the arguingâs not cute.â
Eddie stared at the pair in front of him for a few more seconds before deflating, slumping against his door frame with a huff. Steve was wound a bit tighter, only letting it go once he realized that Eddie wasnât going to attack or point fingers or retaliate.
âGreat!â Robin chirped. âGlad thatâs settled. You wonât murder each other if I leave, will you?â
Steve shook his head, but Eddie looked him up and down (assessing, he was assessing, he definitely wasn't taking the opportunity to check the other man out, that was not what he was doing).
âYou got that updated brownie for me?â
A small smile snuck out, despite Steveâs arms still being crossed tight over his chest. âWhat do you think Iâve been working on with my godawful shit playing?â
âWell I guess I can be cordial, then,â he smirked, âAs long as my sugar daddy has something new for me.â
âUgh, ew, bye, Iâm leaving,â Robin gagged, stepping toward the stairs as she waved a hand over her shoulder. âIâm gonna regret this for the rest of my life.â
But Eddie couldnât worry about that as he watched Steve roll his eyes and beckon him into the apartment that Eddieâd been complaining about non-stop for months. It was still possible this was all a vivid hallucination or a dream or a drug-induced vision trying to lure him to his doom, but as the heavenly smell of melted chocolate wafted into the hallway with the last few notes of Like a Prayer, Eddie found that he really didnât care all that much.
Prompt: Crush,Whisper, Popcorn | Rating: G | Word Count: 1,699 | AO3 | @steddiebingo
Apparently, when you adopt a bunch of children and they want to go to the movies, youâre not allowed to say no. Give a mouse a cookie, and everything, right? Give teens a movie, and theyâll want a bucket of popcorn. Give them popcorn, and theyâll want to have a drink to go with it. Give them a drink, and theyâll want something sweet. Itâs endless, itâs fucking endless, and Eddie had no goddamn clue in the universe that Steve Harrington was incapable of putting his foot down.
Mr. High School, Mr. Oh-So-Popular, Mr. King-of-the-Jocks, couldnât for the life of him say no to a fourteen year old. He couldnât say no to one of them, let alone an entire gaggle. He never stood a chance.
Neither did Eddie, really, as he watched Mr. Babysitter put his hands on his hips and pretend to grow a backbone. What was it about utter incompetence that did it for him? Was he broken? Was he delusional? Oh god⊠was he lame? Did he have some kind of mom kink?
He tried to picture Tommy Hagan in a little apron, baking cookies, and nearly gagged at the thought. That was nightmare fuel. That was a horror show. At least he wasnât broken, then.
No, he was just head-over-heels obsessed with the dorky jock who played house on the weekends. And after school. And any time the kids needed a ride.
He glanced over at the theater worker pouring Orange Crush into Dustinâs cup.
Yeah, me fuckinâ too, buddy.
Eddie used to hate the concept of domestic life. It came with privilege, it drowned out anything exciting about being an adult and made it routine, just a list of boxes to tick until you die. White picket fence, check. A golden retriever and two-point-five kids, check. Washing dishes, check. Doing laundry, check. It was like counting sheep for the rest of your life. And yet, Eddie found himself almost craving it every time Steve was around. He could close his eyes and picture those stupid hands on his hips as he scolded six little nuggets fighting in the front yard, and the smile on Steveâs face when they werenât looking at him. He could picture a hectic Thanksgiving, or Christmas, or that stupid winnebago roadtrip and⊠ugh⊠camping. Eddie was doomed.
And yet, instead of turning tail, instead of throwing his own bucket of popcorn to the ground and running for the hills like he should, he followed the herd down the red carpeted hallway and into the darkened movie theater. Eddie Munson didnât run anymore, that was like⊠his thing now.
And whose stupid fucking idea was that, huh?
The group of little ducks wandered toward the front of the theater, claiming six seats all in a row. Luckily (or unluckily, depending on who you asked and the state of Eddieâs crush-induced breakdown), there werenât any more open seats in that lane, leaving Eddie and Steve to find two chairs in a different one. If you ignored the giggling goblins in front of them, it was almost like a date.
Or just⊠two dudes, hanging out. Like normal dudes did. Just⊠dudes being bros. Hanging.
Should I just strangle myself with a napkin now? Or wait until the movie is over? Maybe I could choke on the popcorn and the universe will sort itself out, Eddie thought as he slipped into the red velvet seat next to Steve.
As long as he just sat there, heâd be fine, right? No harm, no foul. Just⊠sitting in the dark. No big deal.
That was, until Steve leaned in close, lips practically grazing Eddieâs ear, and whispered, âHow long until someone shushes them, you think?â
The soft shh sounds slipped from his lips and ghosted over Eddieâs skin, sending goosebumps down his arms like heâd just stepped into a walk-in freezer. He wanted Steve to whisper again, wanted to feel the warm air across his skin, wanted him to shift closer, maybe too close until his lips pressed lightly against cartilage â but he also wanted Steve to never speak again. He wanted to lean as far away as possible and never be in the same room as Steve Harrington for as long as he lived.
âTen minutes past the opening credits,â he whispered back instead, leaning into Steveâs space because he had zero sense of self preservation in the face of a cute boy and a dark room, especially if it meant having Steveâs breath in his ear again.
âI say five minutes in, including the credits,â he replied, air once again tickling over Eddieâs skin. Forget about lighting up his spine, it was lightning across his shoulders, into his gut, down his legs, all the way to his toes. It was lightning in his blood, flowing through his veins until he thought maybe they would burst and heâd bleed out in the darkness of the theater. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.
Eddie couldnât even remember what movie theyâd bought tickets for, just that Steve had smiled at him after passing out the twerps tickets and their fingers brushed as he gave Eddie his. Was he expected to retain any information about his surroundings in the face of that heavenly smile? Was he just supposed to pretend Godâs most beautiful creation hadnât landed directly in front of him with the fire of a thousand suns and bathed him in seraphian light? Not fucking likely.
He didnât lean back over and whisper into Steveâs ear again. He didnât sink into his side like he was so sure every one of Harringtonâs pretty little dates had. He didnât put his hand palm-up on the armrest deliriously hoping that Steve would reach over and link their fingers together. No, instead Eddie just sat there as previews ran and he shoved fistful after fistful of popcorn into his mouth. If his mouth was full, he couldnât say anything stupid. If his mouth was full, maybe heâd be graced with mercy from above and choke to death before the movie even started.
That hope floated right out the door once synth music started playing, and the audienceâs soft mumbling drifted into silence. The camera panned over dark, sparkling blue water and over a busy night-time pier, and Eddie reached again for the popcorn, only to be met by the soft skin on the back of Steveâs hand.
âSorry,â he flinched, pulling his hand away and hoping to any god listening that Steve couldnât taste his gay panic through the popcorn, but the man just shrugged with a smile and tilted the bucket toward Eddie.
âI donât have cooties, you know,â Steve whispered into his ear again, the sharp kuh zinging straight through him.
âHow am I supposed to know that, Harrington? You could get your jock germs all over me.â
âOh, puh-lease, maybe youâve got some band geek bacteria.â
âBand geek bacteria? If anyone could give you that, itâs Buckley, so youâre probably immune.â
A sharp âshhhhâ hissed from behind them, catching Steveâs next words in his throat, and Eddie had to shove another handful of popcorn into his mouth before he broke down into laughter.
âWhoops,â Steve whispered behind his hand, smothering his own laugh into his palm.
Less than five minutes in, and it wasnât even the kids whoâd been shushed.
They both turned to try and focus back on the movie. The kids were surprisingly behaving, passing candy back and forth and only turning every once in a while to whisper something quietly to the person next to them. Eddie couldnât help but look back over, trying to gauge Steveâs reaction to the movie.
Instead he caught eyes already on him, sparking the laughter to bubble up his throat again before he could stop it, and Steve hit him in the arm frantically to get him to quiet down. It was so stupid, he wasnât even sure what was happening on screen, but Steveâs red face as he tried to stop his smile, and the slapping against his arm did nothing to stop the quiet giggles from escaping, until Steve decided to just slap his own hand over Eddieâs mouth.
âIf you donât shut up, Iâm moving you next to the kids.â
Eddie licked his palm. Sharp, salty, buttery from the popcorn, it made his mouth water as Steve yanked his hand away and wiped it on Eddieâs jeans.
âYouâre disgusting,â Harrington hissed, though the smile on his face didnât make it very convincing.
âNo, please, Iâll be good.â
Steve swallowed, still looking at Eddie, still not paying attention to the screen, still making Eddie melt inside with the way his eyes sparkled and his lips shined with grease. God, if only he could lean over, tuck himself under Steveâs arm, lick the butter away.
âHave you ever been good a day in your life?â
Steveâs voice was even quieter than before, deep in a way that rumbled into Eddieâs chest like a mound of hot coal, ready to set him on fire from the inside out, if only Steve would strike the match.
âI can be good for a price,â he said, for some reason, for some unknown reason because at this point his mouth was absolutely not attached to his brain, like the dark theater had turned off all reason and rationality. Eddie was fucked, Eddie was so fucked, and he could only play off his words as a joke so many times before Steve probably caught wind of his stupid crush.
âAnd what price is that?â Steve asked, leaning ever closer, until Eddie could almost feel the warm breath against his lips instead of his ear.
âWell maybeââ
âShhh!â another voice hissed. This time, the sharp whisper hadnât come from behind them. No, this time, it had come from Max, who had whipped around in her seat just to glare directly at them. Even in the dark, Eddie could see her evil little smirk as El giggled beside her and Eddie sank as low as he could in his seat.
At least the dark could hide the flush of his cheeks.
Prompt: Time Loop, Scoops | Rating: T | Wordcount: 6,335 | AO3 | @steddiebingo
Eddie was⊠pretty sure he was in a time loop. The first day was normal; the first day was actually pretty good, comparatively. Wayne had switched schedules with a coworker for the week, which meant they were both awake in the morning to share breakfast. Nothing fancy, but eating cheap cereal was still better when Wayne was there to humor him.
It was almost a month into summer break, the point at which days blended together and Eddie wasnât entirely sure whether it was a Tuesday or a Thursday or a Saturday, and sleeping in was less appealing as the days ticked on.
Three days ago â or what he thought was three days ago â he woke up at 9am, ate breakfast with Wayne, whoâd made a comment about Eddieâs bed head, and then he went to practice with the band at Garethâs house. Gareth made some insufferable jokes about Eddie drooling over Little Sailor Harrington at the mall the day before, and Eddie did his very best to not strangle him with his amp cord. Normal. Average day.
Two days ago â or what he thought was two days ago â he woke up at 9am, ate breakfast with Wayne whoâd made the same comment about Eddieâs bed head; which, though it was a little eye-roll-inducing, wasnât abnormal or anything. Then, after Wayne went to work, he called Gareth and suggested they hang out at the mall again.
Gareth was confused for a second, asking about band practice â which, again, wasnât abnormal; they didnât exactly have the most consistent schedule and sometimes theyâd practice two or three days in a row, or sometimes it would be weeks between sessions. Gareth caved, and they called Jeff and Freak, letting them know to meet at the mall instead of Garethâs house, so it didnât spark anything weird in Eddieâs head. It was all normal. Normal.
Did he suggest they go to the mall to check out the new arrivals at the music store? Yes. Did he also plan on taking a quick detour to Scoops Ahoy to see Steve Goddamn Harrington in absurdly small shorts and a dumb little hat? Also yes, and his friends knew it. But what else did they expect of him? Was he supposed to stumble across The Hair himself bending to the whims of four random middle schoolers two days (what he thought was two days) ago, and just ignore that for the rest of his life? Ignore the put-upon sigh and exasperated glare as he stared them down â hands on his hips like an aggrieved father as he pretended he wasnât completely wrapped around their tiny fingers? Absolutely not, that was not something Eddie Munson was capable of; he was only human.
So he endured his friendsâ teasing, and he schlepped to the capitalistic hellscape that was Starcourt Mall, and he ignored all the side-eye he got from the neon clad masses as he walked. Some radio-ready generic nonsense was playing from the speakers and Eddie thought maybe his ears would start bleeding before they even passed the perky nautical-themed ice cream shop, but then they rounded the corner and he saw those two magnificent beings blessed by god herself â Steve Harringtonâs thighs in all their beefy glory. Seriously, how were those shorts even allowed in a public space? He could see Buckley toddling around behind Steve and her shorts went all the way down to her knobby little knees, but Steveâs? Eddie wasnât even sure those shorts were legal. Lethal, maybe, but legal? He had questions for the court, your honor.
Gareth shoved him from behind, urging him forward until he tripped over his own feet. The bastard was really out to get him, and there was no reason for it! Eddie would swear to his grave that heâd never done anything wrong in his life, ever. Well, nothing the cops had caught wind of, yet, anyway. Jeff caught him around the arm before he ended up flat on his face, but that didnât stop him from ribbing Eddie on his own, elbowing him once he was back on steady ground and laughing with Gareth.
He needed better friends, because clearly the ones heâd picked were broken.
The line for Scoops was absurdly long, some little gremlin child at the front taking unlimited samples a bit too literally. Eddie could respect a hustle, especially at the expense of a shitty chain retailer, but he was not about to stand in that line just to drool over Harrington. The mall certainly wasnât going anywhere, and it seemed â from where Eddie was standing â that Steve Harrington and those sinful little shorts werenât going anywhere, either. Alas. Another day.
So away he was dragged, to the Sam Goody one floor up, and they spent the day fucking around and making fun of other peopleâs terrible choices in music.
It wasnât until yesterday (or what Eddie thought was yesterday!) that these events seemed a bit weird in the grand scheme of things. The grand scheme of things being how many days Eddie knew were in a week. See, it might be summer, and he might not look at a calendar particularly that often, but he knew how many times heâd snuck around catching glimpses of Harringtonâs ham hocks he called thighs, and two was pretty simple to get away with in the presence of his friends â but three? Theyâd have his fucking head, heâd never hear the end of it, never in a million years.
So, Eddie did not suggest they go back to the mall for the second day in a row, especially since theyâd already gone two days before that. He could only handle so many jokes from Gareth before the urge to drown him prickled at his fingertips. And yet. And yet, that didnât stop dear old Gare Bear from heckling about his Little Sailor Harrington, making all the same jokes as three days ago.
Gare wasnât exactly Chevy Chase, but his jokes were usually less redundant than that.
âI mean seriously, I think Jeff was about to call a custodian to mop up all that drool. You were practically making a puddle.â
âYeah, yeah, yuck it up but I think you need some new material, Gare, you canât keep making the same jokes every day of your life or theyâll be as old as you are,â Eddie grumbled, flicking the cord on his guitar with a little more whip-quick aggression than heâd intended.
âOld?! Youâre literally the oldest one here dude,â Gareth scoffed, flicking a potato chip at his head.
âAnd Iâve got my cute little rosey cheeks to thank for my youthful appearance, Gare, what do you have?â
The drummer rolled his eyes, twirling a drumstick around with his left hand and reaching back into the chip bag with his right.
Show off.
âAnyway, what are you talking about âold material?â We just saw him yesterday, thatâs current events.â
âYeah but you made those same jokes three days ago! You canât just say the same lines every single time we go to the mall, youâre just making it easy to ignore you.â
âEvery single time?â He sneered, âYesterday was the first time weâve been there! Youâre going senile, old man.â
Now, Eddie may have failed trig twice, but he could count to two, okay? He could do that much. He knew theyâd gone to the mall twice. Once, when Eddieâd observed that frankly ridiculous, and entirely too endearing display where Steve had let a gaggle of middle schoolers steamroll straight over him. That was memorable. That was significant. That was something that Eddieâs poor little queer heart could not handle, and would be burned into the backs of his eyelids for the rest of his life.
And the second time was the day before. How would he have forgotten the day before? That was the second time! One plus one, equals two!
But then heâd remembered that comment about his bed head, that Wayne had now made three days in a row. Then he remembered it was almost the 4th of July fair, and surely that had to be the day after tomorrow, right? He could not be that far removed from reality, surely. Surely.
But the calendar on the fridge of the trailer had stopped counting down on June 30th, and sure, that could have just been an oversight â human error, as it were â but Wayne was always on top of the calendar, and counting the days, so they always knew each otherâs schedules. He chalked it up to brain fog, with Wayneâs changed hours and everything. Maybe summer was catching up to both of them. So, Eddie doodled a little skull and crossbones on the 4th, just as a test, just to see if it was possible.
And then, lo-and-behold, Eddie woke up at 9am, like he had for the past three days, and greeted Wayne at the kitchen table for breakfast before his shift. Once again, he made the comment about Eddieâs hair, and the doodle on the calendar was gone. Gone. It was gone! He wanted to run around and scream about it, but he tamped down his crazed energy and tried to think rationally.
He was⊠pretty sure he was in a time loop. Delusionally, irrationally, his first thought was that this all started the day heâd seen Steve Harrington break several mall rules because he couldnât say no to a bunch of children, because if anything was going to propel Eddie straight into the Twilight Zone, it was that. And that was apparently yesterday! Not four days ago, not last week, yesterday.
Eddie did the only rational thing he could think of, and called Gareth to say he was sick. He wasnât against lying to his friends to get to the bottom of a mysterious time anomaly. With any luck, heâd fix⊠whatever it was, and everything would be back to normal without them even knowing what happened in the first place. Plus⊠Câmon, any opportunity to see the Scoops outfit, right? If he was stuck in a time loop, he was going to get his moneyâs worth.
So, he went to the mall, the center of evil itself and everything it stood for â capitalism. Wayne would shoot him in the foot if he knew Eddieâd gone to the source of small-town economic disaster three times in⊠well⊠two days, Eddie supposed.
If this was the same day as two days ago, then surely a little gremlin girl would be weaseling her way through free samples of every single flavor Scoops Ahoy had to offer, with a massive line waiting for her to get bored. That is, of course, unless she did that every day. Which was probably possible, given that it was summertime. Either way, she was there, the line was there, and Steve was begrudgingly enduring every order she gave. According to the little crease between his eyebrows, that was the absolute last thing he wanted to be doing.
And, since Eddie had nothing better to do than entertain his little mystery, he got into the ridiculously long line, and settled in to wait it out.
âAhoy! Would you like to set sail on this ocean of flavor with me? I'll be your captainââ
ââDo you say that to everyone, Captain, or just the pretty ladies?â Eddie cut in when he finally reached the front of the line, what felt like hours later. The blush coloring Steveâs cheeks was well worth the wait.
He blinked, mouth open, caught in limbo in the absence of his memorized lines. He shook himself out of it, eyes drooping to their usual glare when directed toward Eddie Munson. âDid you just call yourself a pretty lady?â he asked flatly.
âAm I not pretty, big boy?â he batted his eyes and leaned in, trying to imitate the girls heâd seen drooling over Harrington between every class. Listen, on a normal day, this would be suicide, this would be stupid, this would be certain death, but what was a little flirting between time loops, right? Right. And if Eddie was wrong⊠well, they called him a freak for a reason, it wouldnât be the first time he was punched over an ill-timed joke.
But again, the blush coloring Steve Harringtonâs perfect cheeks was well worth the potential fist to the face that he was flirting with. And despite his big mouth not usually jiving with the general jock population, he did not end up with his nose caved in, which was certainly an improvement from his little dates with both Tommy H. and Billy Hargrove.
Those were two repressed assholes who could not take a joke.
Steve sighed, leaning his hip against the counter and crossing his arms like he was about to scold Eddie for wasting his time.Â
âWhat do you want, Munson?â
âSmall vanilla cup, Sailor, if thatâs not too much trouble.â
âLike youâve ever cared about being trouble,â Harrington scoffed and rolled his eyes, moving leisurely to fulfil Eddieâs order. He didnât seem to be in any particular hurry, and with a quick glance behind him, Eddie noted the rush had severely died down without the My Little Pony blockade.
âAnd vanilla? Really?âÂ
âWhatâs wrong with vanilla?â he reeled back, acting for all the world like Harrington had just insulted his mother, her mother, and her mother before her.
âNothing,â Steve shrugged, arms straining as he twirled the metal scoop and dug it straight into the ice cream mound. Jesus H. Christ, how the girls in school werenât falling all over themselves to watch Steve Harrington sling ice cream all day, Eddie would never know. If he wasnât setting an example, heâd be drooling away at the corner booth 24/7, melting away like the ice cream itself.
âItâs just,â Steve continued, âI never really took you for a vanilla guy. What about all that non-conformity bullshit youâre always on about?â
âDo my ears deceive me, or have my preachings been absorbed by none other than the king himself?â
âYeah, whatever man,â he rolled his eyes, placing one more heaping scoop precariously on top of the first. âItâs not like you make yourself easy to ignore, jumping on tables and everything.â
And wasnât that⊠something. Eddie had always assumed the apex predators on the top of the high school food chain had found him easy to ignore. When he didnât cave in, they usually just got bored and went for other targets, or in the case of Billy Hargrove, started devouring the reigning king himself. It didnât matter anyway, his speeches werenât for them, they were for the kids who were too scared to speak up themselves, who thought maybe Eddie was right even if they werenât brave enough to say it out loud, who heard the bullshit their Regan worshiping fathers spewed and remembered Eddieâs words as a comfort that not everyone was like them.
And yet. Here Steve was, king of them all, admitting heâd heard a few words up in his castle.
âWell, vanilla is actually the least conforming flavor there is, if you must know.â
âWhat? How?â Steve stopped, dunking the scoop in hot water and leaning against the counter once more. His eyebrows were scrunched, figuring out some kind of puzzle that Eddie presented.
âWell, vanilla can be transformed into anything, right? Fudge, strawberry, caramel, cookie dough pieces â you can do whatever the hell you want to vanilla, and itâll be perfect every time, because what matters isnât how the world sees you, itâs how you listen to yourself and make yourself into what you want to be. Non-conformity,â he nodded, winking at the baffled and yet, somehow â surprisingly â still listening, Steve Harrington.
He was still holding on to Eddieâs cup of ice cream. He seemed to take Eddieâs words to heart, blinking at him and glancing toward the closed blinds in the window behind him. He looked down at the small cup in his hand, overflowing with too much ice cream to fit, and cleared his throat.
âWell, is there anything youâd like to add to this vanilla? You know, to stick it to society or whatever,â he added with a smirk, wiggling the slowly melting cup like Eddie didnât know where it was.
âNah, sometimes the vanillaâs exactly what I want,â he said, leaning toward the ex-king because he just didnât know when to quit, and that stupid smile made him weak at the knees. He felt like he wasnât even talking about the ice cream anymore. He could stare at the way Steveâs smirk melted into more of a smile for hours, days even. If Gareth were here, heâd certainly have some less-than-savory words. But he wasnât. And Eddie was experimenting with the space-time-continuum anyway, so what did it matter?
He made sure to brush his fingers against Steveâs as he handed off the ice cream, discreetly (and yes, Wayne and Gareth and Jeff and Mrs Click, Eddie did know what discreet meant). He left with a wink, throwing all of his shots to the wind at this point because Steve hadnât run him out of town yet, and the potential for a clean slate tomorrow was too tempting to ignore.
He didnât really know what to do with himself. Coming to Scoops was just a whim, and though that silly outfit was a sight to behold, thereâs no way it had anything to do with Eddieâs little problem. If it even was a problem. This whole thing could totally be in his head, it wouldnât be the first time Eddie had gotten days mixed up, and though he was kind of sure that it had been June 30th several days ago, that wasnât exactly irrefutable proof.
So he took the cup home, instead of throwing it out. He put it right on top of his dresser, cleared a space for it and everything, and doodled a little ice cream scoop on the calendar. Surely, surely, heâd be able to tell tomorrow if he was stuck in a time loop. If the cup was there, everything was normal and Eddie could forget all about it.
But it wasnât.
The cup wasnât there when he woke up at 9am. It wasnât on the dresser, it wasnât on the floor, and the space heâd cleared for it wasnât even cleared at all! The calendar was once again wiped clean, and according to that stupid bundle of paper, it was still June 30th. No ice cream scoop; no skull and crossbones, either.
Eddie was stuck in a fucking time loop! An honest to god time loop. One hundred percent, without a doubt, he was stuck in a fucking time loop. Short of absolute, mind numbing panic, Eddie didnât even know what to do with that information. Though it certainly was a thrill to flirt with The Hair sans consequences, and what was the harm in having a nice view while he tried to figure out what the fuck was going on?
So, he went back to the mall.
He grabbed a notebook, and he went back to the mall.
Maybe he was going insane. Maybe heâd finally lost his goddamn marbles. Maybe he was hoping that little girl wouldnât be there this time and he could prove he wasnât in a time loop, like the stupid Scoops cup just⊠evaporated into the messy abyss of Eddieâs room, and Wayne just forgot to mark the calendar or maybe the bastard was swapping the whole thing out! Like it was all just some fucked up prank.
So, he went back to the mall.
The little girl was still there. The line was still there.
Eddie felt two seconds away from bashing his skull against the wall, but that wouldnât have been fair to the minimum wage workers whoâd have to clear his smattered brains from the tile. Instead of joining the line this time, Eddie sat on the ledge of the fountain with a clear view of the nautical hell hole. He didnât know why he was compelled to stay, surely his horny little teen mind wasnât too far gone, to just ogle at Steveâs ass all day in the middle of a crisis. There had to be something else, something he was missing that his subconscious was clinging on to.
He pulled out the notebook, and started writing down things heâd noticed the past however-many-days. He wrote about the gaggle of middle schoolers, wrote about the little girl in line, because why not? She looked bossy, irritated even though she was being handed several cups worth of ice cream for free, and Steve rolled his eyes every time, but obliged her nonetheless. It was disgustingly adorable. Steve and Robin bickered, there was some kind of white board with tally marks. Some guy ran into a skinhead down the hall, a large looking man that must have been made of concrete or stone or something because he barely moved as the guy was sent toppling to the ground. He wrote that down, too.
It was all very⊠normal.
He observed for a while longer, noting some flickering lights and another intimidating looking blond man built like a brick house. Jesus. The mall was filled with the fucking Ikea Mafia today, apparently.
Another few minutes of waiting and Eddie startled, shoving his notebook in his bag and following his feet through the open doors. Another child had wandered into Scoops, pulling King Steve into a frankly absurd handshake.
When Eddie woke up that morning, heâd expected to rewrite everything he knew about the universe â heâd expected time fuckery and maybe wormholes or magic, but Steve Harrington and a dorky little middle schooler playing lightsabers in the middle of scoops? Forget about that gaggle of kids using Steve as their ticket into the employee-only tunnels, this was the Twilight Zone. How could Eddie go on living his life now?
Eddie felt like he was in a daze as the curly haired child started dragging Steve to an open booth, Robin eye-rolling away behind the counter. She seemed startled to see him walk up, clad in black, chains clinking away at his side, surrounded by bright red, white, and blue nautical decorations. Out of place.
âYou looking to infuse some ice cream with weed, Munson?â
âNope, but thatâs a wonderful idea, Buckley, Iâm gonna keep that in my back pocket as a business plan.â
âOnly if I get a cut of the profits,â she smiled, sharp, like she meant it.
Eddie wasnât really sure what to say, then. Obviously, he should probably order ice cream at the ice cream shop, but he was way more interested in the King and his unidentified child, huddled together just a few feet away. He knocked his knuckles against the counter, turning back to face Robin, who looked bored enough to not care about whether Eddie ordered or just stood there.
âSo⊠Steve Harrington?â he hedged.
She rolled her eyes and leaned her hip against the counter. âSurprisingly, heâs not a total lost cause,â she nodded to the kid next to him, âPlus heâs like, weirdly mama-birding an absurd amount of children.â
âAn absurd amount?â
âYeah, like⊠ten, or maybe a hundred, they all look the same to me. Thereâs a new one every time I turn around. This one materialized out of thin air,â she said, pointing to the child currently stuffing his face with a large spoonful of ice cream sundae.
Eddie hummed in response. The kid and Harrington were whispering together like they were on some secret mission, and it was nearly impossible to imagine the king of Hawkins High waddling around with a gaggle of little ducklings following in his steps. Maybe they were blackmailing him? Could The King be blackmailed? If that was the case, Eddie desperately needed to know what kind of dirt they all had on the guy, because it must have been something earth shattering.
Maybe even more earth shattering than time travel.
âYou gonna order or are you gonna keep wasting my time?â
He whipped back around to the usually quiet band geek he knew from school. âDamn, Buckley, customer service has made you feisty.â
âBite me,â she said with a smile.
He ordered vanilla again, oddly a little sad at the realization that Steve wouldnât remember their conversation from yesterday, because it hadnât technically happened. He didnât offer the same explanation to Robin, and she didnât ask â just scooped the ice cream into the small paper bowl without a second glance.
Eddie looked over his shoulder, watching as the curly haired kid leaned in real close to Steve and whispered something frantically that even Steve didnât catch. He squinted his eyes and leaned in closer, missing the hushed jumble a second time. God, his confused face was so cute, it was just his luck to get stuck somewhere the king wouldnât remember his flirting.Â
âI intercepted a secret Russian communication!â he finally shouted, enough for even Eddie to hear across the store. He shared a look with Robin as he took the scoops cup and paid, wondering just how many times heâd eat ice cream with the same dollar bills before this was all over.
The king and his duckling were back to hushed whispers, and Eddie tried to be discreet as he took a table near them to eavesdrop. He added âsecret Russian communication??? (from child, unverified)â to his notebook page, and sank into his seat to appear smaller. He wasnât used to being discreet, too used to using his lack of shame as a shield to protect the quiet ones, to take the attention onto himself because he could take it; but spying and time travel probably required discretion â lest he want to be chased down by the feds or the fucking KGB or whatever three letter organization was behind this alleged secret communication.
Steve leaned in closer to the kid with a smirk on his face, âAmerican heroes?â
âJust think, you could have all the ladies you want, and more.â
âMore?â
âMore.â
âI like more.â
Eddie nearly spit his mouthful of ice cream across the table, choking it back before it made its escape. Certainly, what King Steve meant by more was not what Eddie would think of more. He meant more ladies, more women, more boobs or whatever, not ladies and more than ladies. Obviously. He needed to get a grip.
âIâm gonna need your help,â the kid continued, oblivious to the disaster that was Eddie Munson just a few seats away.
âWith what?â
He pulled out a thick book from his backpack and presented it to Steve with a wide, toothless smile. âTranslation."
Eddie panicked as they both got up and headed to the back, behind the counter that Eddie was certain children were not allowed behind. Shit. How could Eddie get back there? Would Robin let him in?
He looked over to her, and promptly threw that thought away when he caught the irritated expression seared onto her face â pointedly sticking her tongue out at the door marked âEmployees Onlyâ. Yeah, that wasnât going to happen. Sheâd probably let him back there the second pigs flew.
Although, he thought, he did see Hopper catch some air when he tripped chasing after Eddie that one time⊠So. Anything was possible. Maybe he could just⊠ask? He shook his head again as the line began filling up once more and Robinâs eyes looked deader and deader as the customers filtered in.
Plus, what was weirder? Pigs flying, or literal time travel?
Did time loops actually count as time travel? Was he actually going back and forth through time or was it like a record skipping and repeating the same line? Was it really travel if you didnât go anywhere? He shook his head and focused back on the notebook.
âSecret Russian communicationsâ were at the top of his list for suspicious time-related activity, so far. Even unconfirmed, Eddie was stuck in a time loop, and suddenly some random kid was rambling about Russian spies? That had to be related, right? Though, how some kid just happened to contact Russia through a dinky little radio in bum-fuck Indiana was beyond him.
He perked up again when the small child with an attitude problem strolled right back on up to the counter, ringing it several times despite Robin standing directly in front of her. She had three other lemmings behind her, all in the same bright colors and shiny hair bows.
âCan I try the mint chocolate chip?â she asked sweetly, though her face looked more smug than the voice should allow.
Robin didnât say anything. She just rolled her eyes again and reached the tiny sample scoop into the container.
âHmm⊠Can I try the peppermint stick?â
âHavenât you already tried the peppermint stick?â
âYes, and Iâd like to try it again,â the little girl sassed back.
Instead of indulging her, Robin rolled her head all the way back and shouted for Steve, looking increasingly like she was about to commit aggravated arson and burn the whole mall down with everyone inside if the man didnât show his face in the next five seconds.
She locked eyes with Eddie from across the shop and rolled them again, telling the little girls sheâd just be a moment before she marched through the swinging door into the back room. He had to hold back from shouting that if she rolled her eyes too much theyâd get stuck, just for a laugh. Eddie had a sneaking suspicion that Robin would not find that funny. But he also had a sneaking suspicion this would be his only chance to eavesdrop on whatever the fuck was going down behind the âEmployees Onlyâ sign.
He snuck closer to the front of the store, pretending to look over the cake options in the small freezer by the door he desperately wanted to walk through.
ââThat was important data, Shitbirds,â Robinâs slightly-muffled voice complained.
âI guarantee you, what weâre doing is way more important than your data,â the childâs voice replied. And Eddie had seen that âdataâ, it was nothing more than a few one-sided tally marks. A grocery list was probably more important than whatever sheâd been counting.
âYeah? And how do you know these Russians are up to no good, anyways?â
Damn, Buckley was going for the jugular. Eddie had to admire the chutzpah, even if she lacked tact while doing so.
He couldnât quite catch the mumbled responses, but he did hear Robinâs voice calling out that she could hear them, that everyone could hear them because they were loud (even when she was being just as loud) and then summarize the entire argument theyâd been having behind her while she manned the counter alone.
Unfortunately, that was all he heard as the tiny pink menace began ringing the service bell non-stop again â ringing and ringing and ringing â and Eddie had half a mind to walk behind the counter and kick her out himself before Steve pushed the door open and nearly brained Eddie with it.
âWhoa there, sorry dude.â
âNo, I, uhââ
âWere you listening?â
Eddie fumbled his words, the ringing bell still shrieking in the background and his sudden panic at being caught evaporating anything heâd planned to say.
âWell, I mean, really whatâs the difference between listening or overhearing? Was I listening or did I just happen upon the things you said out loud?â
âMunsonââ
âHel-lo,â the little girl called out, still ringing the fucking bell like it was her job to disrupt and distract. âCustomers are waiting. Chop, chop, Sailor Man.â
Steve rolled his eyes, hands once again upon his hips like his palms were magnetized to clip there automatically. It was the dad stance, the one he used with all the other kids Eddie had seen, and it was certainly a sight to behold a mere three steps away from the source.
âErica, youâre not even a customer. Take your little clique to Mrs. Fields, they have a whole tray of cookie samples you can steal.â
Was this another one of Steveâs alleged gaggle? Maybe Robin was right, they seemed to materialize out of thin air. Maybe his hairspray had some fumes that attracted children? Maybe they were brainwashed? Maybe theyâd imprinted on him like some kind of mother bird, and they didnât know he wasnât their mom.
In any case, Eddie was struck dumb once again as the little gremlin â Erica â actually listened, and led her little group out the door. Sheâd probably be back later, but it was impressive none-the-less. He itched to write down âSteve Harrington â commander of child armyâ in his notebook, just under the bit about Russian Communications. It was really a toss-up which one of those was the more likely cause of his time mishap. Alleged Russian Communications were probably his better lead, even from the mouth of a middle schooler, but who was Eddie to say, really, which one was weirder at this point?
He didnât know how he was in a time loop, he didnât know why he was in a time loop, and he didnât even know the first place to look for how to get out. Would he be stuck here forever? Nineteen and helplessly stuck living the same day over and over and over again? If he had infinite time, would he figure out how to sneak a kiss from The Hair at least once?
That was a thought. Maybe he should spend a few days on it, just in case.
âYou gonna order anything else, or just stand there and watch me all day?â Steve asked, turning that very-much-not-hot âDad Glareâ onto Eddie now. He followed Steve to the counter, where he twirled his ice cream scoop like it was nothing. The ladies did always say he was good with his hands.
âSo, whereâs your little slogan, huh?â he nudged, hoping to start the flirting right where he had yesterday. It was a loop, right? It was supposed to be the same day, the same words.
âWhat slogan?â Harrington squinted at him.
âYou know, the whole âAhoy Matey, oceans of flavorâ thing.â
âAre you making fun of me?â
â... Maybe.â
Harrington rolled his eyes, harnessing his scoop and leaning against the counter.
âIs that policy, by the way, or do you only say it to pretty girls?â
Attempt number two just earned him another glare. Maybe he hallucinated the flirting two loops ago. He tapped his foot awkwardly, chains on his jeans jingling. Steve didnât try and answer his question, just kept standing with one hip cocked to the side and an eyebrow raised until Eddie cleared his throat and gave up trying to start a conversation. Maybe conditions had to be perfect for the king to grace him with a few words. Maybe the planets had to align and it had to be written in the stars for Eddie to successfully flirt with Steve Harrington. Maybe it was a fluke. Or maybe, it had never happened at all, and Eddie had hallucinated the whole thing. Jury was still out on that one.
He sighed and leaned against the counter, glancing at the multicolored containers on display. âFine then, donât engage with your paying customers,â he muttered, âJust give me a small chocolate cone with sprinkles.â
Steve paused, looking at him strangely, like he was trying to puzzle something out. Eddie just blinked at him, looking behind him for a cause that wasnât there.
âWhat?â
âNothing.â
âWhat, Harrington, what did I do now?â Eddie scoffed. He just couldnât figure this guy out. One day, they were flirting and Eddie thought maybe he had a chance (which was only slightly less unbelievable than time loops and Russian communications) and then the next day, this.
âNothing,â Steve insisted, âI just thought youâd get vanilla for some reason,â he shrugged and turned toward the ice cream, pulling his scoop from his belt and twirling it once before digging into the container of chocolate.
âI never really took you for a vanilla guyâ
Thatâs what Steve had said. Thatâs what he had said the first time, so why would he expect Eddie to order vanilla this time? Steve whistled while filling the cone, not focused on Eddie at all. Did he remember their conversation? Then why wasnât he talking more? What was really going on here? He tried to compose himself before Steve looked up again, tried letting it go and putting on the smug face he used to tease people instead of whatever struck expression must be showing right now.
âYou think about my ice cream choices a lot, Harrington?â he prodded.
âI could care less, Munsonââ
âCouldnât,â Eddie cut in as Steve leaned back out of the freezer, cone full and near-toppling.
âHuh?â
âIf you could care less, you must care a lot, huh?â
âIâ,â he blinked, running through their conversation in his head before rolling his eyes and stepping back over to the register. He handed Eddie the cone and a few napkins before jabbing the numbers into the register. âWhatever, dude. You know what I meant.â
Eddie tapped his fingers against the counter. He didnât really want to end the conversation yet. He still had to figure out what Steve meant about the vanilla ice cream. Plus, he kind of felt like heâd lost something â like Steve not flirting back was a failure or a missed opportunity. But it wasnât like it was his last opportunity, he was stuck in a damn time loop after all. He could try again tomorrow, lay it on thick, maybe try some other pet names just to see if his ears went bright red. In any case, he had time to think about it all as he wandered back over to a booth and sat, trying to overhear more of the conversation happening behind the swinging door, despite both Robin and the kid being too quiet to make out.
