spicy doughrito

Who is Eddie to judge what's tragic and what isn't when his life is the greatest example of how it can go from down to up and down again; repeat and whip out a slate that appears clean, but once you turn it, all the dirt and junk is going to be visible on the underside, sticking to it like glue?

After all, this town he loathes so much still hates him. Steve doesn't say it, because Eddie supposes he is a good guy like that, kind enough to spare him the agitation, but Eddie knows. The vitriol is there, no matter how far he is from the centre. It acts like a bomb, ready to blow in his face any time. Cause chaos. Destruction.

Eddie has been chewed on enough times to know his impact on his surroundings is limited to his ability to always find himself in the sketchy, questionable stuff, deep as mud, unable to get out. Sometimes it acts like quicksand, with the way things go from terrible to utterly abysmal in exactly a second’s notice. He hates that, but he has spent twenty not-so-precious years of his life figuring the world out, setting his foot on dried out soil, only to be whacked in the face not once, but multiple times by the cruel twist of fate. It’s safe to say Eddie knows by now that there is no getting out of quicksand, not even mud. He can’t be clean again, because that would be something he would have to give up his life for.

Not that he hasn’t already.

Truth is, he has given up almost everything he had. His sanity, his youth, his future – and present, because if it were up to him, he sure as hell would have packed up and made a run for California instead of spending his days rotting away in a dingy cabin in the middle of the forest. So Eddie has given up a lot. But most of all: himself.

Okay, okay, it might be a little more dramatic than it actually is. Well, except it isn’t, not really. The point Eddie is trying to make is that a lot has changed throughout the years he has known life, but a lot has gone down the drain the same way as well. It could have been mistaken for a badly written script someone accidentally lost, then another fucker found and published with some alteration. What a way to give ideas for the next generations.

“–re you?”

“Huh?” Eddie automatically answers before his brain even registers the owner of the voice.

Tearing his eyes away from the tip of the pencil that still floats above the paper, Eddie’s gaze lands on none other than Steve Harrington, standing in full glory and with his hands stuffed deep into his mustard members only jacket, looking as flawless as ever despite the late night hour.

The worst thing is that another presence didn’t even phase Eddie.

“What are you doing here?” Eddie frowns, then checks the grandfather near the wall. It’s almost ten thirty. “Aren’t you supposed to keep tabs on Squirt One and Two?”

Steve shrugs where he stands, a tiny pout on his lips, “Got dumped.”

“You?” Disbelief latches onto Eddie, because as much as the party can act like menaces, they surely wouldn’t make Steve scarce. Not Steve.

“Uh-huh,” Steve hums, devoid of any hurt.

That’s good, at least. Eddie would have given Dustin and El a talk if either of them treated Steve like garbage, although Eddie knows it’s less likely to happen with those two. But that one time when little Wheeler broke all hell loose just because Steve joined one session – which Eddie was incredibly proud of – proves that even among the kids you babysit there’s at least one meanie. Lightly put.

“How?” Eddie makes the mistake to push for further information. Judging by the soft grin Steve sends his way, it runs deeper than just ditching the cool older brother.

With practiced ease, Steve slides out of his shoes, places them by the front door – it barely is one with the tiny holes and torn hinges – and chooses the couch as his target to sit on. His leg lands a hairwidth away from touching Eddie’s, which Eddie pretends doesn’t freak him out.

“Apparently… This was some date.” Steve starts, frown and grin both pulling at his face. It’s endearing.

Eddie’s eyes bulge out of their sockets, breath stuck in his lungs, “A what.”

“A date,” Steve confirms, puffs out a small laugh when the picture finally clears out, “Didn’t even know I was going to be chauffeur until Henderson pulled El out of the car, no goodbye or anything. I was–”

“Used.” Eddie butts in, cutting Steve off, “That little shit. I’m going to murder hi–”

“Eds, no, gee, it’s okay.” A firm, calming hand lands on Eddie’s thigh, warm where palm meets his cotton clad leg, “Yeah, he used me to skip between point A and B, but El has the same problem you do.”

It’s Eddie’s turn to frown, because as far as he’s aware, Eleven has way less problems than she used to have. No creepy stepfather slash doctor, no bullies, found father, no running– “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” Steve nods, giving Eddie this sweet, sugary smile he probably shouldn’t, because it causes Eddie to lose track of his thoughts, “I don’t mind. I’d rather know they are safe wherever they go on dates than getting a walkie.”

Steve has no idea, Eddie is sure, just how much he acts like a mom around the squirts. He would deny it, sworn on Dustin’s mother – although the term and who it belongs to might be questionable to define at this point – but Eddie catches these glimpses of it. When Steve gets immersed in a talk and he brings them up randomly, when they ask something from him and Steve is simply unable to tell them no, or when one of them pulls a stunt and while Steve actively gets annoyed and pushed until he sees red, he can’t really be mad long enough. Undoubtedly, if Hawkins’s golden boy loves, he loves deeply. That Eddie has learned throughout the months of recovery they had spent side by side.

Eddie places his pencil and notebook down on the coffee table – how long has he been holding those like an idiot? – and sighs. Deep. Dramatic. Just for a little flare to fill up this human shaped gaping hole inside his chest.

“You, big boy…” He trails off as he shakes his head, a secretive, fond grin forming on his lips. Thank god his hair keeps it hidden, “...are hopeless.”

Eddie feels Steve’s hand slip from his thigh. He tries to convince himself it doesn’t affect him.

“What? Why?” Steve snorts, getting comfortable.

When Eddie turns his head, Steve’s sitting cross legged next to him, the same, faux-offended grin he wears brighter than the sun ever could be. Eddie wants to write a song about it. Shit, he already has ideas flying around.

“Because if your motherly instincts were boppers, you’d be drowning as we speak.”

Steve makes a face, one that dances on the thin line between exasperation and amusement, “Hey, I love boppers!”

“Yeah, I know.” Eddie crows, fighting a laugh.

Apparently, he isn’t doing a great job at keeping it at bay, because the next thing he knows is Steve kicking him off the couch, not an ounce of shame following the foul move, not even when Eddie feigns being hurt, rubbing his ass where it hit the ground.

“You’re a monster! A gremlin! A true–” Something soft and puffy collides with his face, only fueling the amusement that threatens to overtake him.

“You done?” Steve asks, derisive.

Eddie whips his head up to pin Steve with a wild, gleeful look, the pillow Steve used to smother him with already held prepared in his hands, “Will you stop?”

“Depends.”

“On?” Eddie widens his eyes in return.

“If you stop.” Steve’s pointer extends towards Eddie’s lap, exactly where the pillow lays.

Eddie hums, pondering, “You know, for a king, your negotiation skills are in dire need of some refinement, because I’m not sure that’s how alliances are fo–”

“Shut up, you dick!” Steve grabs another pillow, lightning speed, and whacks it at Eddie, giggling away.

The sound of a wailing guitar could very well be Eddie’s favorite in the world, but hearing Steve laugh like that? Freely, as if Eddie was someone he could let his guard down around? That fucks with Eddie’s brain, and definitely makes him question whether guitars can ever sound better than joy pouring out of Steve Harrington, coating everything in pure sunlight in the middle of the night.

“Yield! Yield, I yield!” Eddie screams, using the other pillow to shield while rising to his knees. Inch by inch, but he crawls closer to Steve, makes use of the makeshift shield, “Your highness shall receive no harm nor I will showcase my extensive vocabulary! I solemnly swear!”

The gorgeous laugh only strengthens in both volume and intensity. Then, as a consequence, Steve lands a socked foot on Eddie’s stomach, and uses it to keep Eddie away, “You’re crazy.”

Eddie reaches out and circles his fingers around Steve’s ankle, tugs at it to gain advantage, but Steve is determined, because the foot doesn’t budge. Damn, Eddie knows he doesn’t stand a chance against jocks, but he sure as fuck won’t let Steve win. Not this one.

“What is it that you’re saying, sweetheart? This precious, life-saving cushion absorbs your angelic voice.”

“Fuck you!” Steve lets out a playful chuckle, giving Eddie a good shove.

Well, doesn’t Eddie dream about fucking Steve. As a matter of fact, not a day goes by when Steve isn’t on his mind, rendering him useless and unable to function. Sometimes it goes as far as staying in bed, rotting away until he hears the familiar rumble of the BMW and has to get his shit together, at rapid speed, before he blows the only good thing in his life all to pieces.

Sharp as a tack, Eddie takes advantage of Steve’s move by yanking at his leg, essentially pulling Steve closer and towards the edge of the couch. It goes without a hitch, suspiciously easy for Eddie’s liking, now that he thinks about it.

Either he is being played with, or his muscles just gained a weird amount of strength in the past two minutes. The latter is less likely to be the case – although there have been questionable things going on with this town for Eddie to be wary – so he settles with the first option.

“You didn’t pass out on me, did you, Harrington?”

Eddie can’t see shit of Steve’s face from behind the pillow, but he knows Steve is listening, in fact, pretty much alive and kicking, because the ankle held captive in his hand wiggles.

Suddenly, there’s movement right in Eddie’s face. The pillow he’s been using as a shield gets gently lifted and moved to the side, revealing the main attraction of the magic trick. Because it might as well be one with the way Steve makes a show of clearing the way, patient as ever.

Steve grins, but it’s softer around the edges. The curves around his eyes tone down to a gentle, mellow gaze. Eddie briefly compares it to honey, flowy and sweet and golden, the innocent, finished product of months of hard work. Then – because Eddie failed to notice the proximity despite being the one initiating it in the first place – Steve leans in, eyes trained on him like Eddie is a prey he needs to catch.

“Not so chirpy now, are you?”

Every single thought Eddie has flies right out the window and into the dark, autumn night, caught on color changing branches and shiny, white moonlight.

What the hell.

Eddie gulps despite the fear of sending the saliva that’s gathered in his mouth down the wrong pipe.

“I did swear I’d spare you.” He mutters, eyes twitching from trying so hard to keep them from flitting to Steve’s lips. Those – probably – plush, pink, juicy lips that accompany every nasty little daydream he has had about Steve.

Steve hums, long and satisfied, grin widening, “In that case, I’ll let this slide.”

In his head, Eddie is begging to be freed from the misery he is currently forced into. As much as Eddie downplays the effect that day has on him… this might live up to that experience, although under a different light, under different circumstances.

“Let what slide, exactly?” Eddie asks, bordering on losing his mind.

Because Steve still has a metaphorical grip on him, even when the only part of him that touches Eddie is his foot.

Steve is quiet for a moment, chest slowly expanding with each collected breath he takes. Not that Eddie is looking, that would be foolish and unadvised, “The shield.”

“Shield?” Eddie cocks his head to the side, confused.

What does Steve mean by letting the shield slide? What is he even talking about?

“Mmhmm,” Steve hums again, this time more at odds than before, yet his confidence remains weirdly present. He reaches out and swipes a finger down Eddie’s cheek, eyes following the movement, “One day.”

If Eddie didn’t feel anxious and ripped apart already, he would totally think he died when the bats chewed him out.

Before he could react to whatever this is that’s unfolding within arms reach, the moment is over. Steve smiles, and retreats, falling back against the couch, taking Eddie’s breath with him, too.

“There’s a full moon tonight. Wanna watch?”

The ease with which Steve offers such a mundane thing up has Eddie both want to rip his hair out and sag into this alternate reality his life has come to.

Truth is, Eddie hates the way his life turned out. The lack of contact with the world, the lack of opportunities, the lack of everything he used to have. But something about Steve has him question most of it, pushing him to have faith, at least while he has this. The people he cares about, the ones that got his back in return.

They all have scars not even time can heal, Eddie knows. They go bone deep, an everlasting reminder of a youth neither of them will get back. But learning might just lie in the different shapes they take up. Learning how to avoid quicksand, for example.

Maybe this is his way of finding the path back to himself, to the life he lost years ago, and months back, too.

Maybe he doesn’t even need to do it alone.

Because maybe things can take a turn for the better when you can share. The good. The bad. The ugly. But most importantly…

“My ears may deceive me, but are you, Steve Harrington, suggesting to do nerdy stuff?” Eddie smirks, fueling this newfound rush inside his chest.

Who is Eddie to judge what's tragic and what isn't when his life is the greatest example of how it can go from down to up and down again; repeat and whip out a slate that appears clean, but once you turn it, all the dirt and junk is going to be visible on the underside, sticking to it like glue?

After all, this town he loathes so much still hates him. Steve doesn't say it, because Eddie supposes he is a good guy like that, kind enough to spare him the agitation, but Eddie knows. The vitriol is there, no matter how far he is from the centre. It acts like a bomb, ready to blow in his face any time. Cause chaos. Destruction.

Eddie has been chewed on enough times to know his impact on his surroundings is limited to his ability to always find himself in the sketchy, questionable stuff, deep as mud, unable to get out. Sometimes it acts like quicksand, with the way things go from terrible to utterly abysmal in exactly a second’s notice. He hates that, but he has spent twenty not-so-precious years of his life figuring the world out, setting his foot on dried out soil, only to be whacked in the face not once, but multiple times by the cruel twist of fate. It’s safe to say Eddie knows by now that there is no getting out of quicksand, not even mud. He can’t be clean again, because that would be something he would have to give up his life for.

Not that he hasn’t already.

Truth is, he has given up almost everything he had. His sanity, his youth, his future – and present, because if it were up to him, he sure as hell would have packed up and made a run for California instead of spending his days rotting away in a dingy cabin in the middle of the forest. So Eddie has given up a lot. But most of all: himself.

Okay, okay, it might be a little more dramatic than it actually is. Well, except it isn’t, not really. The point Eddie is trying to make is that a lot has changed throughout the years he has known life, but a lot has gone down the drain the same way as well. It could have been mistaken for a badly written script someone accidentally lost, then another fucker found and published with some alteration. What a way to give ideas for the next generations.

“–re you?”

“Huh?” Eddie automatically answers before his brain even registers the owner of the voice.

Tearing his eyes away from the tip of the pencil that still floats above the paper, Eddie’s gaze lands on none other than Steve Harrington, standing in full glory and with his hands stuffed deep into his mustard members only jacket, looking as flawless as ever despite the late night hour.

The worst thing is that another presence didn’t even phase Eddie.

“What are you doing here?” Eddie frowns, then checks the grandfather near the wall. It’s almost ten thirty. “Aren’t you supposed to keep tabs on Squirt One and Two?”

Steve shrugs where he stands, a tiny pout on his lips, “Got dumped.”

“You?” Disbelief latches onto Eddie, because as much as the party can act like menaces, they surely wouldn’t make Steve scarce. Not Steve.

“Uh-huh,” Steve hums, devoid of any hurt.

That’s good, at least. Eddie would have given Dustin and El a talk if either of them treated Steve like garbage, although Eddie knows it’s less likely to happen with those two. But that one time when little Wheeler broke all hell loose just because Steve joined one session – which Eddie was incredibly proud of – proves that even among the kids you babysit there’s at least one meanie. Lightly put.

“How?” Eddie makes the mistake to push for further information. Judging by the soft grin Steve sends his way, it runs deeper than just ditching the cool older brother.

With practiced ease, Steve slides out of his shoes, places them by the front door – it barely is one with the tiny holes and torn hinges – and chooses the couch as his target to sit on. His leg lands a hairwidth away from touching Eddie’s, which Eddie pretends doesn’t freak him out.

“Apparently… This was some date.” Steve starts, frown and grin both pulling at his face. It’s endearing.

Eddie’s eyes bulge out of their sockets, breath stuck in his lungs, “A what.”

“A date,” Steve confirms, puffs out a small laugh when the picture finally clears out, “Didn’t even know I was going to be chauffeur until Henderson pulled El out of the car, no goodbye or anything. I was–”

“Used.” Eddie butts in, cutting Steve off, “That little shit. I’m going to murder hi–”

“Eds, no, gee, it’s okay.” A firm, calming hand lands on Eddie’s thigh, warm where palm meets his cotton clad leg, “Yeah, he used me to skip between point A and B, but El has the same problem you do.”

It’s Eddie’s turn to frown, because as far as he’s aware, Eleven has way less problems than she used to have. No creepy stepfather slash doctor, no bullies, found father, no running– “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” Steve nods, giving Eddie this sweet, sugary smile he probably shouldn’t, because it causes Eddie to lose track of his thoughts, “I don’t mind. I’d rather know they are safe wherever they go on dates than getting a walkie.”

Steve has no idea, Eddie is sure, just how much he acts like a mom around the squirts. He would deny it, sworn on Dustin’s mother – although the term and who it belongs to might be questionable to define at this point – but Eddie catches these glimpses of it. When Steve gets immersed in a talk and he brings them up randomly, when they ask something from him and Steve is simply unable to tell them no, or when one of them pulls a stunt and while Steve actively gets annoyed and pushed until he sees red, he can’t really be mad long enough. Undoubtedly, if Hawkins’s golden boy loves, he loves deeply. That Eddie has learned throughout the months of recovery they had spent side by side.

Eddie places his pencil and notebook down on the coffee table – how long has he been holding those like an idiot? – and sighs. Deep. Dramatic. Just for a little flare to fill up this human shaped gaping hole inside his chest.

“You, big boy…” He trails off as he shakes his head, a secretive, fond grin forming on his lips. Thank god his hair keeps it hidden, “...are hopeless.”

Eddie feels Steve’s hand slip from his thigh. He tries to convince himself it doesn’t affect him.

“What? Why?” Steve snorts, getting comfortable.

When Eddie turns his head, Steve’s sitting cross legged next to him, the same, faux-offended grin he wears brighter than the sun ever could be. Eddie wants to write a song about it. Shit, he already has ideas flying around.

“Because if your motherly instincts were boppers, you’d be drowning as we speak.”

Steve makes a face, one that dances on the thin line between exasperation and amusement, “Hey, I love boppers!”

“Yeah, I know.” Eddie crows, fighting a laugh.

Apparently, he isn’t doing a great job at keeping it at bay, because the next thing he knows is Steve kicking him off the couch, not an ounce of shame following the foul move, not even when Eddie feigns being hurt, rubbing his ass where it hit the ground.

“You’re a monster! A gremlin! A true–” Something soft and puffy collides with his face, only fueling the amusement that threatens to overtake him.

“You done?” Steve asks, derisive.

Eddie whips his head up to pin Steve with a wild, gleeful look, the pillow Steve used to smother him with already held prepared in his hands, “Will you stop?”

“Depends.”

“On?” Eddie widens his eyes in return.

“If you stop.” Steve’s pointer extends towards Eddie’s lap, exactly where the pillow lays.

Eddie hums, pondering, “You know, for a king, your negotiation skills are in dire need of some refinement, because I’m not sure that’s how alliances are fo–”

“Shut up, you dick!” Steve grabs another pillow, lightning speed, and whacks it at Eddie, giggling away.

The sound of a wailing guitar could very well be Eddie’s favorite in the world, but hearing Steve laugh like that? Freely, as if Eddie was someone he could let his guard down around? That fucks with Eddie’s brain, and definitely makes him question whether guitars can ever sound better than joy pouring out of Steve Harrington, coating everything in pure sunlight in the middle of the night.

“Yield! Yield, I yield!” Eddie screams, using the other pillow to shield while rising to his knees. Inch by inch, but he crawls closer to Steve, makes use of the makeshift shield, “Your highness shall receive no harm nor I will showcase my extensive vocabulary! I solemnly swear!”

The gorgeous laugh only strengthens in both volume and intensity. Then, as a consequence, Steve lands a socked foot on Eddie’s stomach, and uses it to keep Eddie away, “You’re crazy.”

Eddie reaches out and circles his fingers around Steve’s ankle, tugs at it to gain advantage, but Steve is determined, because the foot doesn’t budge. Damn, Eddie knows he doesn’t stand a chance against jocks, but he sure as fuck won’t let Steve win. Not this one.

“What is it that you’re saying, sweetheart? This precious, life-saving cushion absorbs your angelic voice.”

“Fuck you!” Steve lets out a playful chuckle, giving Eddie a good shove.

Well, doesn’t Eddie dream about fucking Steve. As a matter of fact, not a day goes by when Steve isn’t on his mind, rendering him useless and unable to function. Sometimes it goes as far as staying in bed, rotting away until he hears the familiar rumble of the BMW and has to get his shit together, at rapid speed, before he blows the only good thing in his life all to pieces.

Sharp as a tack, Eddie takes advantage of Steve’s move by yanking at his leg, essentially pulling Steve closer and towards the edge of the couch. It goes without a hitch, suspiciously easy for Eddie’s liking, now that he thinks about it.

Either he is being played with, or his muscles just gained a weird amount of strength in the past two minutes. The latter is less likely to be the case – although there have been questionable things going on with this town for Eddie to be wary – so he settles with the first option.

“You didn’t pass out on me, did you, Harrington?”

Eddie can’t see shit of Steve’s face from behind the pillow, but he knows Steve is listening, in fact, pretty much alive and kicking, because the ankle held captive in his hand wiggles.

Suddenly, there’s movement right in Eddie’s face. The pillow he’s been using as a shield gets gently lifted and moved to the side, revealing the main attraction of the magic trick. Because it might as well be one with the way Steve makes a show of clearing the way, patient as ever.

Steve grins, but it’s softer around the edges. The curves around his eyes tone down to a gentle, mellow gaze. Eddie briefly compares it to honey, flowy and sweet and golden, the innocent, finished product of months of hard work. Then – because Eddie failed to notice the proximity despite being the one initiating it in the first place – Steve leans in, eyes trained on him like Eddie is a prey he needs to catch.

“Not so chirpy now, are you?”

Every single thought Eddie has flies right out the window and into the dark, autumn night, caught on color changing branches and shiny, white moonlight.

What the hell.

Eddie gulps despite the fear of sending the saliva that’s gathered in his mouth down the wrong pipe.

“I did swear I’d spare you.” He mutters, eyes twitching from trying so hard to keep them from flitting to Steve’s lips. Those – probably – plush, pink, juicy lips that accompany every nasty little daydream he has had about Steve.

Steve hums, long and satisfied, grin widening, “In that case, I’ll let this slide.”

In his head, Eddie is begging to be freed from the misery he is currently forced into. As much as Eddie downplays the effect that day has on him… this might live up to that experience, although under a different light, under different circumstances.

“Let what slide, exactly?” Eddie asks, bordering on losing his mind.

Because Steve still has a metaphorical grip on him, even when the only part of him that touches Eddie is his foot.

Steve is quiet for a moment, chest slowly expanding with each collected breath he takes. Not that Eddie is looking, that would be foolish and unadvised, “The shield.”

“Shield?” Eddie cocks his head to the side, confused.

What does Steve mean by letting the shield slide? What is he even talking about?

“Mmhmm,” Steve hums again, this time more at odds than before, yet his confidence remains weirdly present. He reaches out and swipes a finger down Eddie’s cheek, eyes following the movement, “One day.”

If Eddie didn’t feel anxious and ripped apart already, he would totally think he died when the bats chewed him out.

Before he could react to whatever this is that’s unfolding within arms reach, the moment is over. Steve smiles, and retreats, falling back against the couch, taking Eddie’s breath with him, too.

“There’s a full moon tonight. Wanna watch?”

The ease with which Steve offers such a mundane thing up has Eddie both want to rip his hair out and sag into this alternate reality his life has come to.

Truth is, Eddie hates the way his life turned out. The lack of contact with the world, the lack of opportunities, the lack of everything he used to have. But something about Steve has him question most of it, pushing him to have faith, at least while he has this. The people he cares about, the ones that got his back in return.

They all have scars not even time can heal, Eddie knows. They go bone deep, an everlasting reminder of a youth neither of them will get back. But learning might just lie in the different shapes they take up. Learning how to avoid quicksand, for example.

Maybe this is his way of finding the path back to himself, to the life he lost years ago, and months back, too.

Maybe he doesn’t even need to do it alone.

Because maybe things can take a turn for the better when you can share. The good. The bad. The ugly. But most importantly…

“My ears may deceive me, but are you, Steve Harrington, suggesting to do nerdy stuff?” Eddie smirks, fueling this newfound rush inside his chest.

Redraw of that GTA 6 girl everyone is doing