#pre-steddie

However, when Eddie heaves himself out of Steve's pool one afternoon and strides towards him, dripping, skin gleaming, black shorts clinging to his thighs and hips, nipples peaked and hair flopping around him like a wet puppy, Steve struggles. Eddie stops between his knees, water droplets tumbling from sopping locks. The chilly shower scatters over Steve's thighs, lap, chest as Eddie leans further… further… biceps tensing, arms braced against Steve's lounger as he smirks, murmuring,

“Y’okay there, big boy? You look altogether too hot.”

Steve swallows; Eddie's eyes follow the movement. Steve reddens, too fast to dismiss as sunburn, and his composure finally cracks. Voice surprisingly steady, he ripostes,

“Too hot for you, Munson.”

Something unidentifiable flashes across Eddie’s face, and he backs off, mouth levelling, chin dipping. Steve regrets it immediately; he meant to sound teasing, not harsh. After that, Eddie stops bantering entirely, and Steve hankers for Eddie's roguish glances and provocative touches, realising far too late that pride really does come before a fall…

“I don't understand. You're… moving?”

Robin’s aghast, disbelieving Eddie would leave everything to go work for Wayne's buddy two towns over.

“I can't stay in Hawkins, Robs. I pulled out my best moves and got nothing, and yesterday he literally told me to my face that I'm not good enough for him. I can't be around here anymore. Let me keep what little pride I have left.”

Robin sighs,

“That's not true, trust me. Just talk to him before doing anything rash, please?”

Eddie does. Van packed, he almost drives past Steve's street as he heads out, but he promised Robin, so…

“Look man, I'm sorry if I ever took things too far. I never meant to make you feel uncomfortable, or fluster you. But don’t worry ‘cuz I'm leav– oof!”

His grip on Eddie's collar is rough but Steve's lips are soft as he drags a very confused Eddie inside. There's not an ounce of pride left in Steve as he backs up against the closed door and yanks Eddie towards him, unabashedly grinding his hips upwards. As Eddie whines and instinctively reciprocates, Steve, hungry, rumbles,

“Fuuuck, I thought I'd lost you. I'm such a jackass. Seriously, fluster me Eddie, flirt with me again. A lot, please. Gimme a chance to show you how it really makes me feel…”

Thanks so much for reading!

Remember comments and especially reblogs literally keep tumblr tumbling 🙏💗

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sorry, sweetie. Maybe next month."

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

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

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

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

There’s a sharp clapping noise that sounds like thunder. A door slamming, Steve’s brain sluggishly supplies. It’s followed by shouting.

“Steve? Steve!” Eddie calls from somewhere on the street.

Steve’s heart feels like it’s going to fall out of his ass. His face is probably still blotchy and wet, his breathing hasn’t evened out yet and his eyes are still leaking like a goddamn faucet. He’s pathetic.

Can’t let Eddie see him like this…

He ducks behind a metal garbage bin, careful not to let anything but the bottom of his sneakers touch the sticky looking surfaces around him. It stinks, like rot.

“Steve?” Eddie’s voice echoes off of the alleyway walls. Steve claps a hand around his mouth to muffle out any of the pathetic sounds that seem determined to escape from him. So much of his body just does whatever the hell it feels like now. Out of Steve’s control, like everything else.

For a few, tense seconds, there’s silence. Eddie’s listening for him, maybe. Steve shuts his eyes and waits him out.

It feels like an eternity before he hears Eddie’s hurried, retreating footsteps, continuing his shouting for Steve. He sounds almost as panicked as Steve feels. Almost.

Steve gives a noisy, wet sniff and does one final scrub of his face before getting to his feet. He starts walking.

As he goes deeper into the alleyway, he thinks back on all the things he’s been wrong about. The fact that Eddie had some of his band t-shirts mixed in with Steve’s clothes… well, that was because they were both guys who wore about the same size, and Eddie left his shit everywhere. It’s no wonder some of his stuff got mixed into their laundry. And the times Eddie’s driven him places? That’s just… what friends do, Steve supposes. And all those times Eddie made Steve laugh? Made him feel like the center of the universe? Well, that’s just… Eddie. He must make everyone feel that way. It’s like his super power. But it isn’t romantic… It doesn’t mean anything more than Eddie being a magnetic person.

Steve is just so stupid. Painfully so.

He blinks as the sun hits him. He must’ve reached the other side of the alleyway.

Steve cups a hand over his eyes and grimaces. His migraine wasn’t backing down. He sighs. Time to head back.

Steve turns back into the alleyway he’d emerged from, only he’s about halfway through when he realizes the color of the buildings on either side of him are wrong. They’re brown on one side, painted green on the other. That isn’t right…

His heart jackrabbits in his chest, but he keeps walking forward. Maybe he’ll recognize the street once he’s back on the other side.

But when he gets there, it’s as unfamiliar to him as the alleyway. Steve turns, looking up and down the road to see if he could spot Eddie, or his van, or the Center. But there’s nothing.

And when someone shoulder checks him, Steve supposes he was sort of asking for it, standing in the middle of the sidewalk like that. He apologizes, but it’s too late. The person’s already out of range to hear him.

It’s as if everyone else is on fast forward while Steve’s stuck on pause. The world keeps moving along while all he seems to be able to do is watch it go by.

Why would he ever think someone as dynamic and spirited as Eddie would hitch his horse onto Steve’s busted up, barely mobile cart?

Stupid, stupid, stupid…

He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes and wills himself not to start blubbering again like a goddamn baby. His life is already one big, painful lesson in humility as it is, he doesn’t need to wallow in it.

Steve keeps walking. Figures he’ll spot something, or someone familiar to him eventually. The pounding in his head’s eased off to a dull ache, at least. Maybe there was something to this exercise and fresh air thing the doctors were always going on about, after all…

The thing is though, Steve doesn’t spot anything familiar. Not even vaguely so, and it’s not until the streetlights turn on that he realizes he’d spent the majority of the day wandering around the streets like some lost dog that managed to slip his leash.

It’s cold too, and all he’s got on is jeans and a polo. It’s October, isn’t it? No wonder he’s got goosebumps all up and down his arms.

Then, he finally spots something familiar; a phone booth. Steve breathes a sigh of relief. He’d just call his parents. They’d come pick him up.

He gets the booth and lifts the receiver before he blanks. A quarter. He’d need that. Duh, Harrington. So he hangs up the phone and pats his pockets until he finds a wallet, but all that’s inside of it are a couple of crisp bills. He’d need to break one.

Steve turns, scans the street until he spots a well lit, invitingly warm looking diner. The joint looks so damn cozy that he forgets to make sure the street is clear before he steps out into the middle of it.

Tires screech, harmonizing with the horn that’s blasting at him—Steve flinches, reaching up to cover his head and braces for impact.

To his great relief, the hit never comes. Which, thank fuck. He can’t afford anymore accidents. As it is Robin’s threatened to make him wear a helmet full-time.

Steve doesn’t listen to whatever the person yells at him, he just hurries to get the hell out of his way of the other moving vehicles.

“Smooth, Harrington. Real smooth.” He mutters to himself as he catches his breath.

He pushes the door to the diner open with shaking hands, but it’s blissfully peaceful inside, and he can actually feel his insides unclench as he stands inside of it.

“Sit anywhere, hun, I’ll be right with you.” A woman’s voice tells him. Steve nods and slips into the nearest booth overlooking the street. Watches the cars go by. There’s even a couple of cop cars, sirens blaring, lights flashing. Steve wonders briefly what sort of emergency they’re rushing off to when the waitress comes to his table.

“What can I get you, handsome?” She asks, cheery and warm like the rest of the diner.

“Uh…” Steve frowns, taking a few seconds to process the question, “nothing. I’m just waiting for my parents to come pick me up.”

The waitress taps the side of the notepad. “Well you gotta order something, hun, or you can’t stay here.”

Steve wants to stay here. It’s warm and smells fucking amazing, like “pancakes?”

She waitress smirks. “Yeah, we got those. You want a stack?”

“Yeah, please.” Steve smiles back, laughing along with the waitress like he’s in whatever joke that’s currently so amusing to her. “I’m starving.”

“You want some coffee too, to help you sober up, maybe?”

“Oh, I’m not drunk.” He huffs out a little self deprecating laugh, “I wish. No, I—uh, my meds, they’re the kind that you can’t mix with alcohol. Coffee too. Bummer, right? Yeah… But, uh, it is what it is, I guess—so…”

He can feel it. The way his mind so often wanders. He’s lost his train. His track. He frowns, eyes drifting towards the street again, watching the headlights zip by.

“…so just the pancakes then?” The waitress asks, jolting his train back onto its rails. His attention snaps back onto her.

“Yeah, pancakes. Sure.” Steve flashes her what he hopes is a charming smile.

She returns his smile and leaves him be, and he lets himself relax. Props his head up on a fist and watches life go on for everyone else but him.

He gets his pancakes, and some juice too that he doesn’t remember ordering, but hey, that’s nothing new. And damn, the pancakes taste even better than they smell. He needs to remember the name of this place so he can come back with everyone. What did the doctors say? Repeat something in your head over and over until it sticks. Repetition. Repetition, repetition, repetition…

It’s around the time his fork hits an empty plate that one of the police cars stops in front of the diner window, lights on, but the sirens are off now.

Hopper steps out.

Huh. That’s weird. Steve wonders what sort of emergency he’s here for.

When Hopper enters through the glass doors, the bell hung over the entry way rings out pleasantly. An angel getting their wings.

His eyes land on Steve and the older man sighs, shoulders falling. Relief, Steve recognizes. Hopper pulls the radio from his belt and says something into it before stomping over.

Then it clicks.

Oh. Steve’s the emergency.

He feels his face heat up. The handful of other patrons scattered across the diner are all looking at him.

“There you are.” Hopper sighs, gruff and exasperated.

Steve sinks into his seat, just a little. “Shit. I fucked up, didn’t I?”

“Just a little.” Hopper chuckles dryly. He takes off his hat and slips into the booth across from Steve, apparently not in any sort of hurry now that he’s found the runaway dog.

Steve runs a hand through his hair, a nervous tic he’s developed. “Sorry.”

“Nah, don’t be sorry. Just strangle Munson for me when you see him next, will ya?” Hopper drops his hat onto the table and waves the waitress down. He orders a coke.

Munson. Eddie.

The memory of how he made a total and utter fool of himself comes rushing back, slamming down onto him like one of those cartoon anvils. Jesus, how did he forget that..?

Suddenly the pancakes aren’t sitting so good in his gut. Feels like he’s gonna ralph.

“Was he freaked out? Eddie, I mean.” Steve asks, cautiously approaching the question. Did Eddie say anything about why…?

“Yeah, him and Robin both. Then the kids found out too—don’t ask me how. I suspect the curly-haired one has an illegal transmitter.” Hopper leans back in the booth as the waitress drops off his coke. He takes the straw out and drinks it right from the glass. Steve waits for him to finish, doesn’t say a word.

When Hopper puts the glass down, Steve just sits and watches the way the drops of condensation run down the cup, distorting around the fingerprints Hopper’s left. “Anyway, they’re all out on their bikes looking for you too.”

Hopper smiles fondly, like it’s something charming and not… pathetic. “You got a lot of people that care about you, kid.

Steve swallows around the lump in his throat, and nods. Tries for a grin, but it’s weak. Probably wouldn’t fool anyone, much less a cop. “Yeah, I’m a real lucky guy.”

Hopper looks like he wants to say something else, but he just takes a breath and nods. Steve’s grateful he doesn’t argue. Doesn’t think he has the energy in him right now to fend off the ‘but look how far you’ve come!’ ‘Your speaking’s gotten so much better!’ ‘It could be a whole heck of a lot worse!’ comments.

“What do you say we get you home? Unless you want dessert? My treat.” Hopper offers with a grin.

“No, I just want to go to sleep,” he says, before remembering his manners, “thanks, though.”

“Alright then.” Hopper glances down at the cleared plate of pancakes and the half finished coke before sliding out of the booth, followed by Steve. He takes out wallet, but Steve beats him to it. He tosses down a few bills, hoping it’s enough. Hopper doesn’t comment, so it must be.

The drive back to his and Robin’s apartment is a solemn one, but it’s strangely peaceful. Hopper’s got the heat on full blast due to Steve’s lack of coat, and the motion of the vehicle along with the darkened sky leaves Steve feeling wrung out in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time.

In fact, when they finally arrive, Hopper’s gotta shake his shoulder to wake him up.

“We’re here.” He rumbles out in his gruff baritone.

Steve lifts his head from his folded arm and looks up at the modest building. He wonders how far they live from the pancake diner. If they could walk there, sometime, him and Robin and Eddie.

But then Steve realizes he never got the name of it. He feels his insides sink. Another thing lost to him.

“Thanks, Hop,” Steve gives Hopper a nod and what he’s sure is a tired smile. “I’ll, uh—I’ll try not to run off again.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it.” Hopper says, diplomatically. “Let me walk you in.”

Steve cringes at the idea. He’s grateful for Hop and all he’s done—especially the part about not making him feel like a complete dummy—but he just wants this all to be over and for things to revert back to how they were. And at this point he’s so close he can taste it.

Steve busies his hands by undoing his seat belt. “No, it’s okay, really—“

Hopper looks like he’s about to argue but Robin damn near crashes out through the building’s illuminated front doors. She makes a b-line for Steve, who’s just barely gotten out of the cruiser.

She wraps her arms around him and doesn’t let go. “Steve! Holy shit, you scared me so bad. I’ve been out of my mind!”

Steve’s arms are trapped at an awkward angle, but he reaches around her as best he can, arms like flippers. “I’m okay. Seriously. Look, not even a scratch.”

She doesn’t laugh. Just squeezes him harder. Truthfully, Steve doesn’t know if he’s okay, but it’s what everyone always seems to want to hear from him, so he says it often.

“I’ve already killed Eddie like three times.” Robin murmurs into Steve’s chest, before finally pulling away. Her eyes are bloodshot, her nose stuffy, like she’s been crying.

“It’s not his fault, Rob.” Steve’s brows pinch together as he frowns, “is he…”

But when Steve looks up towards their building, he can see Eddie standing in the doorframe, his dark silhouette illuminated by the entry way lights. He’s still as a statue, holding open the door for them, arm extended out into the cold autumn night. Steve’s insides squirm.

“You got him from here, Buckley?” Hopper calls from his cruiser and Robin ducks to meet his eye before giving him a thumbs up. She loops her arm around his waist and they start towards their place—towards Eddie.

Before they reach him, Steve keeps his voice down as he asks, “Can I just go to bed? I don’t—I can’t talk about it right now.”

“Okay.” She nods, “I get it.”

But she doesn’t, not really.

Steve avoids eye contact with Eddie when they finally reach the building, and before he can say anything, Robin interrupts. “He’s going straight to bed. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” Eddie says in a small voice. He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t even follow them back up to their apartment. Maybe Eddie’s even relieved he doesn’t need to confront it tonight. Maybe they won’t ever confront it… maybe he’s hoping Steve’s brain will take care of everything and make him forget. Make it like it never happened. Part of Steve wishes—

No. He doesn’t wish that. His brain’s already functioning at half capacity, he doesn’t want to thank it for fucking up, even if it might make Steve’s life easier.

Whatever Eddie’s expression is, Steve doesn’t look back to find out. He keeps his eyes on his feet, focusing on putting one step ahead of the other.

When they finally arrive at Steve’s matchbox sized bedroom, he doesn’t even bother changing into pajamas, or even out of his jeans for that matter. He just falls into his bed, pulls a pillow over his head and wills himself to let go of the day and surrender to the sweet pull of blissful unconsciousness.

🫣 Oops, I made it worse. But I promise the Eddie and Steve confrontation is in the next part! 🙏 This is tagged angst with a happy ending for a reason.

Tag List: (message me to add or remove yourself.)

“what the fuck are you wearing?” eddie blurts out before he can even think twice about it. not that he would’ve, anyway.

steve looks up from where he’s cooking at the stove to glance at eddie before looking down at his own torso. “you don’t like it?” steve frowns, as if he actually cares about eddie’s opinion. “i know it’s a few months early, but it’s one of my favorites. i found it at a goodwill a couple of years ago, can you believe it? someone just gave this away?”

“uh, yeah,” eddie rolls his eyes dramatically to make sure that steve can see. “i can definitely fucking believe it.”

because steve is wearing the most disgusting christmas sweater vest eddie has ever seen. hand-knit, if the crooked & misshapen santa head is anything to go by, & absolutely covered in… jingle bells.

“come on,” steve says, returning to his task of cooking eddie’s breakfast. “surely even you don’t hate christmas.”

“i do,” eddie lies. “and this is a strictly non-religious household. it’s against company policy to bring christmas into the building.”

“what company is that?” steve asks, not even looking at him.

eddie scowls but doesn’t respond, noticing a green gift bag on the counter. “what’s this?”

steve turns. “what’s what?”

“this,” eddie gestures toward the bag.

“oh,” steve smiles. “well, since you gave me such a great ‘welcome to the team’ gift yesterday,” steve gestures to the pink cat collar eddie hadn’t noticed that he’d looped through one of his belt loops, “i figured i should get you something too.” eddie makes no move toward the bag on the counter. “go ahead,” steve goads, still smiling. “everyone loves presents, right?”

eddie, not one to back down when challenged, pulls the bag toward himself & stares at it for a moment, as if it might bite him. steve has gone back to plating eddie’s morning omelet for him, like he doesn’t even care if eddie opens the gift or not. eddie discards the green tissue paper & pulls out… a set of black plastic tongs. the cheap kind you get at ikea for 39 cents when you finally move out of your parents house & have your first ever apartment. clearly used, if the melting on one side is anything to go by, like whoever owned them had left them resting on top of a hot toaster for too long.

“what the fuck?”

steve brings eddie’s breakfast plate over to where he’s standing at the massive kitchen island. “i thought they’d be helpful.” he’s still, infuriatingly, smiling.

“helpful for what?” eddie demands.

“to pull the stick out of your ass.”

~*~

eddie had fired vickie for less. he’s still stewing on it, the insufferable way steve had grinned at him as he’d thrown the tongs across the room & stormed from the kitchen, leaving behind the omelet he’d actually been looking forward to. he’d retreated to his basement studio without a word, pretending as if he’d try writing or even just playing mindlessly in the hopes he’d strike gold, but so far he’s just been sitting in silence with his guitar in his hands, replaying the events from the kitchen in his mind.

the thing is, eddie knows he’s an asshole. and he knows it’s gotten worse since… well, he knows he’s gotten worse in the last year. since everything happened. since wayne.

he knows it & he can’t stop it, even if he really wanted to, which he doesn’t. he likes the power rush, the adrenaline, the superiority he feels when he’s nasty to someone & they just have to take it. it feels good, after so much bad. as long as he doesn’t really consider the feelings of the person on the receiving end of his ire. as long as wayne isn’t there to give him that disappointed sigh & those sad hangdog eyes of his.

because wayne had been his moral compass. wayne had been everything. and now that he’s gone, eddie has no way to check himself. no reason to. it just doesn’t matter anymore.

so he’s mean & he knows it. likes it. won’t stop for anything.

he startles when there’s a knock on the glass that separates the booth from the control room & looks up to see steve waving at him & then point down at his watch.

eddie waits until steve retreats back upstairs before following.

~*~

the car ride to nancy’s office is silent. eddie wears his noise canceling headphones & sits in the back seat, doesn’t even acknowledge steve when he jumps out of the car at the valet stand, just shoves past the security guard at the door & makes his way toward the elevator where chrissy’s waiting for him.

“hey,” she greets him, sunny smile on her face. eddie wants to say something biting, wants to hurt her because he knows he can, but he doesn’t.

“hi,” he grumbles instead & follows her into the elevator where she hits the button for nancy’s floor. he leans against the back wall, folds his arms over his chest & stares down at his boots.

“so like we talked about, his team it here. doesn’t look like he’s with them,” she tells him. eddie looks up at that.

“then why the fuck do i have to be here?”

chrissy sighs. “he was supposed to show. that was part of the deal. that you’d both be here to work out the details of the appearance.”

“if he’s just gonna make this a joke—" eddie can feel the anger rising in him.

“i don’t think that’s what this is, eddie,” chrissy levels him with a look. “i think he’s in real trouble with his label.”

“chris, i don’t need this. i didn’t do anything wrong,” eddie tells her, anger flaring.

“you started a brawl at a club that damaged twenty thousand dollars worth of property, eddie.”

eddie rolls his eyes. “there’s no way anything in the hideout is worth twenty thousand dollars. the land it sits on isn’t even worth that much.”

chrissy sighs again. “what’s the issue? seriously. i thought you guys hadn't even seen each other in over a year. i know he was shitty back then, but i thought everything was fine. how did this even start?”

if it were anyone else, eddie would just ignore the question. but since it’s chrissy, he takes a deep breath and says, “he talked about wayne. said shit that was private, between us. stuff that was said behind closed doors. stuff that shouldn’t have been brought into a fucking club in front of a bunch of drunk strangers doing coke, for fucks sake.” he slams his fist into the elevator wall, too angry to stop himself. chrissy doesn’t even flinch, too used to his outbursts at this point.

chrissy just looks at him & he can feel himself squirm under her gaze. “okay,” she says, like that’s all there is to it. and maybe it is, because she loved wayne too & she was there for it all. wayne’s illness, the funeral, the fallout. she saw it all. “why don’t you go home? he’s not here. we can do this without you.” eddie tries to interrupt but she cuts him off. “we won’t agree to anything without talking to you first. i promise.”

the elevator dings. they’re finally at nancy’s floor.

“fine,” eddie says, leaning back against the elevator wall & crossing his arms again as chrissy moves to hit the button for the lobby before getting off.

“i’ll call you, okay? and we’ll talk about it,” she says, before walking down the hall to the conference room.

~*~

the elevator ride seems to take forever & by the time eddie makes it back down to the lobby, steve has somehow managed to park the car and find another smoothie, the same purple as yesterday’s.

“let’s go,” eddie grumbles as he passes where steve is sitting. steve looks up in surprise.

“that’s it?” steve asks, getting up from the bench he’s sitting on. “i thought you had a meeting?”

“canceled. i wanna go home,” eddie pushes through the glass doors out into the LA sunshine.

steve doesn’t say anything, just hands the valet their ticket & they wait several minutes before the car is brought back around.

eddie knows he shouldn’t. knows it’s mean. but he can’t help himself. as he brushes past steve to climb into the backseat, he knocks the smoothie straight from steve’s hand, where it falls to the sidewalk, sending splatters of purple all across steve’s clean sneakers & the bottoms of his light wash jeans.

“oops, sorry. no liquids in the car,” eddie says, shrugging in mock remorse as he slides into his seat.