It kept Steve up at night. He’d think about the things that were different between his relationship with Nancy and his relationship with you.

He knew he loved Nancy, so why did his relationship with you feel so different? He never had the lingering pit in his stomach that he did with Nancy. He attributed that pit to the desire to know she was safe and still with him when he was with Nancy, so the lack of it, to Steve, with you, felt like a sign he didn’t care about you the way he should.

It gnawed at him. You were so sweet and perfect. Why couldn’t he just feel the same way for you as he had with Nancy? He desperately wanted to. 

Things had been great, perfect even, up until two weeks ago after your usual date night. Well, what was meant to be date night.

Every Thursday, you and Steve got ready, and he took you for a wonderful night out. Sometimes dinner, sometimes a movie, but it was always full of laughter and warm fuzzy feelings that made you feel like you were 15 again. But this particular Thursday, instead of Steve knocking on your door, it was Dustin. 

“Dustin? What’s going on?” You asked, confused, not expecting to see him, especially not at your house. 

He spilled out his upset words to you like a waterfall. You could hardly even get him into your home before he was word-vomiting to you about his awful breakup with Suzie. You quickly sat him on your couch, taking his hands into your own. This is what finally had him looking at you, noting how you were all dolled up. This particular night, Steve had planned to take you to a more upscale restaurant just outside Hawkins, and you definitely dressed the part. 

You weren’t sure if Dustin started crying because he felt bad for interrupting or if it hurt him to think about you and Steve going on a date when he just lost his own girlfriend. You couldn’t make out his blubbering. Instead of trying to speak, you just wrapped him into your arms, letting him soak your bare shoulder with his tears.

 After a few minutes, there was another knock at your door, and this time you were confident it was Steve. You peeled yourself away from Dustin carefully. 

“That’s Steve, honey. I’ll be right back, okay?” You spoke softly to him, then stepped to answer the door, closing it behind you quickly so that you could speak with Steve before he came inside. 

Your heart fluttered when you caught sight of him, dressed to the nines with a colorful bouquet in his hands. “Someone is eager to get going.” He laughed, reaching to grab the doorknob again. “Let’s at least get these in a vase first, babydoll.” 

“Wait!” You whispered urgently, hand on his before he could turn the knob. Steve’s face contorted in confusion. 

“I can’t…Can we reschedule? Dustin is inside, and he’s so sad, Steve. He and Suzie broke up.” You whisper to him, not wanting Dustin to hear you through the door.

Steve frowns; he was obviously upset that he couldn’t wine and dine you the way he wanted, but even more so, he was worried for his friend. “Yeah, right. Can I come in? Talk to him?” 

You nodded, “I think he’d like that.”

So, that’s how you, Steve, and Dustin ended up on your couch watching movie after movie. Steve would’ve had you happily tucked under his arm under any other circumstance, but tonight, you were holding Dustin. 

It wasn’t weird, like it might seem when an older girl is comforting a teenage boy; it was soft, and it was so obvious that you cared deeply about the boy beside you. 

It made Steve’s heart do odd things when he saw you with Dustin. He was happy that you were so good with his best friend, someone he cared so much about, so why had it spurred on such awful feelings?

All Steve could think about was breaking up with you. His relationship with Nancy haunted his mind, specifically the lack of lingering unnamed emotions he felt with you. He didn’t have anything else to compare it to, so he thought he was doing the right thing when he finally ended things. 

He thought that after things ended, he’d finally feel less confused, that he’d just think about how to get back with Nancy like he had before he met you all those months ago. The weirdest thing happened, though, he didn’t think about Nancy once. It was just you. 

Dustin knew you’d broken up, and he all but hated Steve for it. After the night that him and Suzie broke up, you’d been like an angel to Dustin, and he didn’t take the news of your split with Steve well.

“Steve, just tell me why you did it, man! I just don’t understand. She’s perfect! Especially for you!” Dustin was exasperated; he’d spent the last two weeks trying to convince Steve to stop being an idiot and beg for your forgiveness. Even now, Dustin followed Steve through the aisles of Family Video, speaking to him as Steve reshelved the movies. 

“It just… it wasn’t like before.” Steve sighed, finally giving in to his weeks of pestering. Truth be told, Steve wasn’t doing well himself, and he didn’t have much more energy to fight with Dustin. 

“Before? What do you mean, before?” Dustin furrowed his brows and handed Steve the new stack of tapes for shelving. 

“Like, with Nancy.” Steve couldn’t say anything else before Dustin was cutting him off with a dry, sarcastic laugh. 

“Steve, you’re joking, right?” His voice was sharp, and for the first time since he’d become friends with the younger boy, he felt like Dustin knew more about the ladies. “You shouldn’t feel the same way! She’s so much better for you than Nancy! What even feels different?” He groaned, dragging his hands down his face in frustration. 

“With Nancy I was always… I don’t know… I cared about what she was doing and where she was and… I don’t feel that way anymore.” Steve admitted under his breath, his voice a low grumble. 

This time, it was Robin who spoke up, her voice carrying down the aisle from behind the desk where she was perched. “So you broke up with her because you feel secure, Dingus?”

He looked to Dustin, hoping to find Dustin expressing that he thought Robin was just as ridiculous as Steve did. “She’s right, Steve. It was stupid.” He huffs, crossing his arms. 

Steve stops shelving the movies, the horrible, horrible realization finally dawning on him. Of course, he felt differently than when he was with Nancy; he felt better with you. He didn’t bother to bring the stack he was currently reshelving back to the desk; in fact, he knocked them all over in his haste when he stood up. “Rob- I gotta go. Be back.” Steve murmured exasperated, throwing his awful green vest over the counter before frantically making his way out the door. The bell ringing was hardly even heard over Dustin's cheers and chants, encouraging Steve to “beg for you back”. 

That's exactly what Steve planned to do. Beg and beg and beg, and then kiss you if you'd let him. Maybe even tell you how much he loves you.

NOTE: first post of 2026, yay! i hope everyone had good holidays and new year's.

i watched stranger things s5 and good lord... why... anyways, at least my boy jonathan got a good ending and jancy WILL be together, trust.

also, welcome, everyone who's byler was a first queerbait. i'm seeing that you're acting just the same way ppl did after the end of sherlock bbc and honestly, more power to you. at least the fanfics has been sooo good. i've been eating for days.

anyways, that's prob the only stranger things posting i'll do on this account. please lmk your thoughts in the comments, if you were also watching the series.

The sound of the lock clicking brings a smile to his face—force of habit—but the sight before him has the smile plummeting straight to a confused frown. Wide, worried, blue eyes meet his, but what really brings the frown is the reddish-purple mark on delicate skin. There on his girlfriend’s neck is a hickey—clear as day. 

Now, Eddie’s never been known to be a particularly gentle lover—often getting too excited and sometimes teeth and suction comes with the territory. But Chrissy used to reprimand him any time he’d try to give the girl a hickey. ‘Eddieeee, stop. I have a game tonight, the makeup will sweat off and everybody will see,’ she’d whine. The good and respectful boyfriend that he is—he abided by her instructions, appreciating the boundaries she set. 

However, it seems those boundaries are nonexistent for her ex. 

No need to see any more proof, no desire to hear apologies and excuses—Eddie throws a look of disgust at his girlfriend. “Fuck this.” Shaking his head at the nerve of the girl, her blue eyes fill with tears—pretending like she gives a shit now. Promptly whipping around, he takes long, angry strides back to his van, ignoring the soft calls of his name. Fuck this.

The world is dangerously blurry as he drives back to his trailer, hot tears spill down his cheeks as he replays every moment he spent with her in his mind. Surely there is something he missed. One doesn’t just go cheat on a good thing. He must’ve done something. Was he not good enough? He satisfied her, he knew that. But was he not a good partner? He’d buy her things, take her places, listen to her complain about class, her friends, practice. He did so much for her. 

Tires skid on gravel as he slams the brakes. He’s thanking every lucky star in the sky that Wayne is working tonight. Eddie would very much like to break down in peace. Muttering curses, he throws the car door shut, harder than he ever has before. Of course, the piece of shit that it is, the door clicks shut and then unclicks with the force he used on it, swinging open again—only pissing him off more. “FUCK,” he roars, shoving all his force and body weight behind his palm, the door finally bangs shut. 

If he had half a logical mind, he would have noticed the lamp in his bedroom was on. Normally, he’s meticulous about turning off all the lights when he leaves. That one summer Wayne made him pay the electricity bill to teach him a lesson for constantly leaving them on around the trailer really scarred him. But Eddie isn’t thinking logically right now. All he feels is rage, and all he can think about is punching a hole in the universe—everyone should feel lucky he doesn’t have superpowers. He’s pretty sure this would be his villain origin story.

The girl he loves doesn’t love him back, then the girl he gets with to get over her cheats on him. Life is going perfectly for him. 

Fumbling with the keys to the front door, he kicks the wall of the mobile home when they fall from his shaky grip. He crouches down to pick them up, but instead of standing back up and trying again, he just stays down, hunched over with his wet face in his hands. Trying to stop the hyperventilating breaths, he forces himself to hold air in for ten seconds before blowing it out. After about thirty seconds on the ground, he vigorously scrubs the tears from his face, swiping the keys off the ground and successfully unlocking the door. 

As if the crying on the drive over wasn’t enough, even more tears fall once he’s safely inside his home. Looking around at the clutter, he starts throwing shit around. Everything is a mess, everything is bullshit. His D&D character sheets are bullshit, the empty beer cans on the edge of the counter bound for the recycling are bullshit. The heap of homemade Hellfire shirts on the couch are extra bullshit. Picking up the pile of useless t-shirts, he sniffles as he marches into his room, heading straight for his closet and throwing them messily down on the floor in there before slamming the door shut. 

“Are you cleaning up for your date tonight?” 

Eddie’s back goes rigid at the sound of your voice. He had no idea he wasn’t alone. If he knew he had company, he would’ve delayed his breakdown at least long enough to tell you to get lost. But he wouldn’t do that. Not really. Because unfortunately, you’re exactly what he needs right now and he can’t tell you that. 

A fresh wave of tears stream down his wet cheeks, already feeling light headed from all the dehydration. It’s your genuinely excited voice that sends him into another spiral. You knew he was supposed to celebrate eight months with Chrissy tonight, but it appears you had no idea the time he was going to go over there. The insinuation that he’d bring the cheerleader back here makes him bristle, the way you’re so blasé with the comment—you really couldn’t give less of a shit that he’s with another girl, huh? 

“You must be excited,” you try again.

Slowly turning around, he gives you a deadpan look. No need to dismiss your comment—his appearance will do it just fine. Weirdly, he feels vindicated when the light in your eyes dims and your smile falls as you take in his swollen, red eyes and runny nose. 

“In that really awful suicidal way,” you finish slowly, standing up from your place on his unmade bed. “I’m sorry, I just let myself in. I figured you’d be back eventually.”

He watches with a sniffle as you jerk your thumb to the window he keeps cracked specifically for you. You’ve come knocking at his window late at night enough times for him to just permanently leave it open for you—like a cat that comes and goes as she pleases.

At his heavy silence, you continue, nervously fiddling with your fingers, “I didn’t know if you’d already gone over or–” It’s pretty clear now where he was, he can see it in your face. You’re sad for him and you don’t even know any details yet. You’ve always been like this, though. You feel what he feels. Sharing in his joy, his sadness, his fear, his pain. How could he not love someone who loves him so completely—but not the way he needs it, that’s the caveat. 

“Did something happen–” Okay, that was a stupid question, you’ll admit. But how else do you broach the radioactive emotions of your best friend when you don’t even know what went down? 

A humorless, wet chuckle leaves his throat as he shakes his head at the question. Did something happen? No, not really. Just the past eight months of his life blew up in his face tonight. What’s new in Eddie’s world? Nothing much, what’s new with you? 

Deciding he needs something to do, he starts fluttering around his bedroom, throwing any garbage he finds onto the floor. The mixtapes of pop songs Chrissy swore were good—floor. Food wrappers from late night ventures into the kitchen while staying up on the phone with her—floor. The goblin PEZ dispenser she got him for their five month anniversary—floor. 

Wide eyes watch him with shock and worry as he doesn’t show signs of stopping his rampage, you don’t know how to help him if he doesn’t tell you what happened. “Eds, what’s going on? Is she not well?” You’re shooting in the dark here—it could be anything for all you know. 

Another humorless chuckle escapes him as he swipes a stack of D&D papers off his dresser. He watches as the papers drift peacefully to the ground—a stark contrast to the raging tornado of emotions inside him—shaking his head at the idea that Chrissy Cunningham could be unwell. She had two boyfriends, after all!

“Oh no, she’s well, alright. She’s fucking fantastic. Got her boyfriend back and everything.” 

Missing the indignation in his form, you frown as you pick up the papers he threw. You know he’s on a whole other level right now because he’d never treat his precious D&D stuff like this. That’s the one place in his life he’s the most organized. Compiling the looseleaf notes, press them into a neat stack again. “I didn’t know you guys were having problems.”

“Her old boyfriend,” he specifies, sending another trinket she bought him flying to his carpet. 

You stand up, placing the papers back on his dresser now that he’s moved on to the pictures on the mirror. A look of shock and horror crosses your face at his revelation. All you manage to string together in response is a somber, “Oh, shit.”

Choosing once more not to look at you, he rips up a photo of himself and Chrissy from the day they went to Indianapolis together. “Yeah, my sentiments exactly.” 

Unsure of what to do with yourself, you cross your arms, squeezing the skin on your biceps anxiously. “Well, it’s okay,” you try, taking on a soft, consoling tone. “There’s plenty of fish in the sea.” 

It’s a classic for a reason—there’s so many more people out there and it’s not over because Chrissy Cunningham cheated on him. You never really understood their whole thing anyway. It was weird to see him crossing the social stratification, especially in a town like Hawkins—that was practically unheard of. 

Making sure there are no pictures of Chrissy left on his mirror, he pauses at the one of you and him. It’s from last summer, when you dragged him to the Hawkins pool, even convincing Wayne to come along since it was his day off. He grumbled the whole time and refused to dip more than a toe into the water, but it gave the old man the perfect opportunity to capture the moment.

The picture shows Eddie holding you bridal style in the water, while you’re very clearly pushing his head away, trying to get him to put you down because he wouldn’t stop dunking you. Both of you are mid-laugh, with wet hair and squinting eyes. 

The sunny memory drives an icicle into his heart—followed by fifty more—only making him feel worse. He can’t have you, but he can have you just enough to hold you in a joking manner. He can’t feel you, but he can feel you just enough to know the heat of your skin from a thousand half-hugs. You’re not his, but you’re his just enough to take up precious space in his small room.

Snorting at your pitiful attempt to help him, he smooths his thumb over the image of your smiling face. “There’s only one fish I want and she’s not interested.”

Your scoff draws his attention, placing the photo back onto the mirror, he turns to gauge your reaction. “Well, that fish is stupid!” 

His eyebrows raise, unimpressed by your defense of your own argument. Also, you clearly don’t understand what he’s talking about—you must think he means Chrissy, judging by the way your reaction shows unbridled anger.

“Eddie, seriously, fuck her. She didn’t know what she had when she had it, dude. You deserve so much better! Any girl would be so lucky to call you hers,” you declare, pissed at your own sex for neglecting such a gem of a man. You’ll never admit it, but a small, selfish part of you is secretly glad he doesn’t exactly have girls knocking down his door for a date. However gnawing that feeling is, you won’t rejoice in his sorrow.

Bristling at your constant friend-zoning, he huffs out. You never fail to slip a ‘dude’ into your sentences when you speak to him, it makes him even more upset. He’d die just to hear you use at least one endearment. If Hades himself came to drag him down to the Underworld, he’d barter for one ‘baby’ in that sweet tone you only use when he’s upset or you’re talking to animals. 

You mistake his huff of annoyance for rejection of your assertion and march over to him, doubling down. “I’m not just saying that! You’re kind, you’re handsome, you have interesting hobbies, you’re fucking funny,” you list out each description on your fingers, looking at him wildly, imploring him to believe you. “Seriously, I’m jealous of any girl who gets to be with you because I know she’s got the best man in Hawkins—no, the universe! Just because Chrissy fucking Cunningham was too much of an airhead to see it doesn’t make it any less true.” 

Slowly, his frown melts into a look of quiet shock. Did you just say you’re jealous? Not to mention, this is the first time he’s hearing you say something bad about the girl he’s been dating for the past eight months. You always seemed so supportive, but were you covering up your disdain? 

You assured him you’re not just saying that because of everything that went down tonight, so he’s inclined to believe you. Did he miss something in his friendship with you? He certainly missed some change in his relationship with Chrissy, so he doesn’t think he’s been on his game. Maybe you feel differently for him than he originally thought.

You called him handsome to his face just now. And you said you were jealous of any girl who gets to have him. You also said it like you don’t know he’d drop any date in a heartbeat if you’d even look his way. Maybe he hasn’t been clear enough. He can be clear. 

Observing the change in his expression, you’re pretty sure he just looked down at your lips. You don’t think you imagined that—or maybe you did. It wouldn’t be the first time, unfortunately. The world feels like it’s moving in both slow motion and hyper-speed when he leans down, large, ringed hands holding your face ever so gently as he brings your lips to his. 

The kiss makes you feel like the laws of physics no longer apply and you’re floating up to the ceiling, his warm hands are the only things tethering you to this plain. The way his lips move on your stunned mouth feels like a wave of butterflies will erupt from your throat, traveling up from your stomach the second he parts from you. 

But that’s not what happens. 

When your frozen lips still refuse to meet his languid movements, he jumps back like he’s been burned. Your mouth is parted in surprise and your eyes make him think he’s never going to see you again once you leave this trailer. “Oh fuck. Oh shit, I’m so–I’m so fucking sorry,” his hand covers his mouth, mumbling his words. It probably looks like the general reaction of shock, but the hand is there more to stop him from trying again. 

He’s mortified and on the verge of angry tears—at his awful actions, not your lack of response—but he’s also vibrating with the need to feel you that close again. It’s like you’re a neodymium magnet and he’s scrap metal trying to fight the pull. 

His head won’t stop shaking side-to-side in awe of his stupid actions and because it’s the only movement that feels like the word ‘sorry’ without saying it. Eddie watches in horror as you stay silent, only bringing soft fingers to your lips, like you could feel his kiss still lingering. “God, that was so shitty, I’m so fucking sorry, sweetheart. Please, please forgive me, that was–I shouldn’t have done that.” 

Your prolonged silence and distant stare have him mentally flogging himself for forcing this on you—his best fucking friend, who was only trying to make him feel better. He’s never felt more like a piece of shit, and he’s had the town on his ass since he was eleven. Hurting you is the most deplorable thing he’s ever done, and he’s two seconds away from dropping to his knees to beg for your forgiveness.

“Jesus H. Christ, I’m such an asshole,” he shouts with a humorless huff, restless hands grasping the roots of his curls. He fucked up with you, then he fucked up with Chrissy, then he fucked up with you, again. It’s the definition of insanity at this point. Despite your lack of interest in him for all twelve years that he’s known you, his stupid ass thought maybe eight months made a difference. Clearly it hasn’t. 

“I ruin fucking everything, no wonder she went back to Jason! Am I just like–a plague of a person? What the fuck is wrong with me? Everything I do–”

His rhetorical, self-deprecating meltdown is halted when you shut him up with your perfectly soft lips. A grunt of surprise turns into a moan he’d feel humiliated over if it wasn't for the fact that you’re kissing him. Of your own volition. And you’re not stopping when he hesitates. No, you’re taking the reins with no qualms, trusting his brain will catch up eventually. 

Once the Big Bang happens behind his eyelids, his hands move on their own accord, desperately grabbing your cheeks, pulling you in closer. The tiny mewl you let out nearly has his knees buckling. 

You pull away first, your delicate hands gently pushing against his chest. He gives you space, but he’s needy for your touch already, refusing to drop his grasp on your cheeks. His mouth is parted and he’s panting like he just ran a marathon. Before you speak, you make sure his eyes are on yours—but what you don’t know is that he’s never not looking at you.

“Shut up.” It’s a firm order to someone who hasn’t spoken a word since your lips graced him a second time. “You’re not a plague, you’re the best person I’ve ever met and when I said any girl would be so lucky, that included me.” 

Afraid to speak too loudly and break the spell he seems to have cast on you to finally capture your attention, he whispers hesitantly, “You like me?”

Your palms glide down his abdomen. Your fiery touch has him fighting everything inside him to keep the groan in the back of his throat from escaping. He’s not religious by any means, but he used to pray for moments like this—falling asleep dreaming about the way you touched his arm that day or pretending the soft pillow was your body, finally allowing him to hold you. You play with the hem of his shirt as you give him a chiding look. “Do I even have to dignify that with a response?” 

He sure would like you to. “But if you–then why didn’t we–” Unable to form coherent thoughts, his mind replays every interaction he’s ever had with you in a split second—this time with a better outcome to hold onto than the one he found in his reflection on his relationship with Chrissy.

You give him a wry smile, shrugging half-heartedly. “You never asked. I didn’t know you felt the same. Thought I was doomed to watch you marry Chrissy Cunningham and live in a big house with a picket fence.” 

Coming back to his body, he frowns at that, “Where would I get the money for a big house? Marrying Chrissy wouldn’t make me rich.”

Scoffing, you click your tongue at him, “I don’t know, Edward. I was too busy breaking my own heart to figure out the logistics.” 

Your biting tone brings a smile to his face, his cheeks feeling like unstretched leather, stiff from the dryness left by his tears, but his grin still puts every shining star to shame. “Aw, baby,” he coos, leaning in to give you a sweet peck. “Don’t break your heart for me. I like you too.” Purposely holding back, he doesn’t think you’re quite ready for the other ‘L’ word—but lord knows he is.

You can’t fight the relieved smile that overtakes your face at his adoring words and gentle affection. He kisses you so easily, like you’ve been doing this forever. The thought makes you both happy and sad—you could have been doing this forever. But at least you know you will be doing this forevermore. 

“But what about Chrissy? Why’d you–” You struggle to question his choices—not for lack of confusion, but because you hate to bring up his very recent ex when he’s trying to tell you how much you mean to him.

His brown curls sway as he shakes his head, but his grip on your cheeks never falters. “I’ve been trying to be a good friend for the past five years,” he whispers, thinking back to when you went from his best friend to the girl he dreams about at night. “And, of course, being the asshole that you are, you just kept getting prettier and prettier every year,” he quips, “It got harder and harder to be around you.”

Your face warms at the compliment. You try to look away from his piercing gaze, but he doesn’t let you. With heavy eyelids, your best friend leans in again, halting your attempt to retreat with another world-altering kiss. His lips on yours makes you feel like those cartoon characters entranced, floating toward a delicious-smelling pie. You can’t help but get trapped in his orbital pull, his tongue draws you in for more. He shines so bright, it’s blinding, and you’d gladly feel your way around forever.

When he frees you once again, your body is swaying from the hum of electricity he shot straight into your bloodstream with that kiss. “Chrissy asked me out as a rebound and I thought it was the perfect chance to try and get over you. But now I don’t wanna be over you,” he rushes out, desperate for you to understand just how ‘yours’ he’s always been. 

No, he doesn’t want to be over you—maybe under you, but that’s a ways down the road. He’s going to treat you right—not rush into things, get you to stop calling him ‘dude’—because he doesn’t want to be alone again. He’s tasted your lips, felt your hot touch, and he’s pretty sure if you take this drug from him, he’ll go insane. He just got you, and he knows there’s no reality where he’d rather be without you. No reality where he could stand to be without you.

Realization dawns on your face, you let out a gasp as you look into his eyes, “Am I the fish?”

An elated chuckle leaves his lips as he watches you with crinkling eyes and a toothy grin, “You’re the fish, sweetheart.”

A/N: like, reblog, and comment if you enjoyed it! I wanna know what y'all think!!!

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