To Read on a Rainy Day

He really doesn’t know what he was expecting. 

A gift maybe. A birthday cake. Maybe with frosting and sprinkles. Candles. A wish. A clap on the back and an approving statement about his manhood from his father. Childhood dreams, in hindsight. Silly. Immature. 

But he still longs for it all. To feel the rip of wrapping paper under his fingertips. To feel the warmth of lit candles on his face as he leans close to them. To blow them out with a silly wish and watch the smoke curl toward the ceiling before it fades. To hear his mother’s voice sing to him.

Something like in the movies. Something he’s never gotten before. Something he’s always wanted. 

He’s eighteen today. He should be celebrating somehow. Getting drunk with Tommy H and the other guys. Laughing as they all slap his back and tell him he’s a man. Flirting with some girl by the punchbowl. Humbly accepting her happy birthday. 

But he’s sitting next to his father at the head of their dining table, fingers drumming the dark wood as he stares down at the uneaten food on his plate. Steak and potatoes. An undrunk glass of wine. He’s listening to his father’s coworkers laugh about something, but he doesn’t know what exactly it is that’s so funny. Their voices don’t really make sense to him today. Usually he can talk with them just fine, ask about work and business deals and future plans and everything that they seem to care about. But today they sound almost discordant, like they’re all out of tune, a melody that he doesn’t recognize. He can’t follow along as they all talk, their voices blending and bleeding together, mixing with the sound of their forks and knives scraping the porcelain plates they’re using, the sound of their cups hitting the table harder than they should, the sound of their chairs scraping back over the floor. 

Steve stares at his plate. Counts the pieces of potato. Six. Counts the prongs of his fork. Five. Counts the flowers on the edge of his plate. Seventeen. He drums his fingers on the table, taps his feet on the floor, takes measured breaths. Waiting until he can be dismissed, until he can leave. He doesn’t know where he wants to go, really. He thinks he’d like to go to bed, but the idea of sitting in silence after all this seems suffocating. Maybe he’ll go for a drive. He’ll have to insist to his father that he’s eighteen now, that he should be allowed to go for a drive if he wants to. It probably won’t work. But by the end of dinner, his father will probably be so drunk Steve will be able to leave without him knowing. He probably won’t remember it in the morning. 

And even if he gets in trouble, Steve thinks, it’ll be worth it. To drive in the night with the windows down, the wind in his hair. A CD in, playing on the highest volume possible as he leaves town, even if just for an hour. He’ll take his tie off. Want to toss it out the window and then leave it behind along with Hawkins and this house, but he’ll just put it in the backseat and forget it there for a while. 

He’s distracted from the daydream when his father claps him on the back roughly, startling as he jolts forward with the force of it. He’s always hit Steve too hard when he does this, fatherly slaps on the back when Steve’s done well in something he actually cares about. The most recent one was after a swimming competition; Steve hadn’t put his shirt on when he’d done it, and it stung like a bitch in a way that made Steve feel like a little boy again, but it was worth it. 

“To Steve,” his father is saying, raising his fifth glass of wine to the ceiling, smiling. He has an eerie smile. Steve’s always thought so. His teeth are too white, too straight. Like he’s wearing a mask. 

Steve smiles bashfully as a chorus of his name goes around the room, ducking his head and nodding when the men raise their glasses to him. A few of them wish him a happy birthday. One says something about him being a man. His father drains his wineglass, tilting his head back as his hand rests on the back of Steve’s neck, holding him too tightly, like he’s using him to hold his balance. 

As far as birthday parties go, it was shitty. 

Not that Steve would really have a good party to compare it to. All his birthday parties have been like this, ending with a bunch of wasted men in business suits crashing in his living room or recklessly driving home to their bored wives. Or, in recent years, ending very similarly but with teenage boys instead. Though Steve doesn’t allow them to drive home; usually a few stay in the guest room (often on the floor) or in his room for the night. He doesn’t sleep. 

It’s dark in the living room as he steps around one of his father’s coworkers. It’s the one with the red tie that Steve had admired when he arrived. It’s looser now, draped over his neck as he lays on the floor. He’s snoring. 

The floor creaks as Steve makes his way toward the door. His father is in bed already, probably passed out and reeking of wine. It’s a small comfort to know that Steve’s mom doesn’t have to deal with him tonight. She’s at a bachelorette party or something. She’s probably just as drunk as he husband. 

Steve finds his car keys in the dark, and they jungle in his hand as he opens the door, but he doesn’t bother looking back to check if he’s awoken anyone; he doesn’t particularly care. 

His vision is blurring before he’s even to his car, and before he can think anything else, he’s dragging the end of his key across the door of one of the cars he’s passing. He doesn’t look back, but as he gets into his own car, he realizes it was his father’s car. Maybe in the morning, he can convince him that one of his coworkers did it in a drunken stupor as a joke. 

He rolls the windows down as he drives, blinking tears out of his eyes. 

Eighteen was always supposed to be a big thing, wasn’t it? Adulthood. Manhood. He can vote now. Isn’t that a big deal?

All his friends couldn’t wait to turn eighteen. Steve isn’t the first of them to reach it, but he isn’t the youngest. The other day at school a few of them complained that they have to wait a few more months, and Tommy H joked about celebrating by going into Indy and hitting up a strip club. 

They all laughed at that. And told Tommy it was a great idea, that Jared could drive them all. (He’d gotten his license before anyone else and it was decided that he would always be the designated driver.) They’d all wanted to do it, go out together, have a good time. Et cetera. 

But looking at the sky, the wind drying the tears that are streaking down his cheeks, Steve’s never felt more alone. And he fucking hates wine, hates being drunk in general, but he would do anything for some weed right now. So he takes a left turn toward Forest Hills instead of toward the Leaving Hawkins sign. 

Eddie knows he should have gone to bed hours ago. He doesn’t even know what time it is, but he’s so comfortable here, curled up on the sofa in his sweatpants, shirt off because it’s warm enough that he doesn’t need it. There’s a book in his lap, and his head rests on the back of the sofa as he reads it, thumbing over the page as he silently mouths the words to himself. The glow of the lamp behind him makes the pages gold. 

He’s startled when there’s a knock on the door, and he looks up, wide-eyed. He’d vaguely heard a car pull in in front of the trailer, but he hadn’t paid it any attention, too engrossed in his book, which he sets aside after folding the corner of the page he’s on. It’s just a small fold, but he knows Wayne would smack him upside the head for it. 

He stops short when he opens the door, eye to eye with the King. 

It’s quiet as they stare at each other for a moment. Steve’s eyes wander down to the tattoos on Eddie’s chest, and Eddie is suddenly embarrassed that he’s shirtless and in sweatpants, especially when he realizes Steve is literally wearing a suit, a black tie tied around his neck. The only comfort is that his hair is a mess, which is oddly more satisfying than it should be.

“Hey,” Eddie says hesitantly. It’s odd that Steve is here. It’s not like Eddie’s never sold to him before, but he definitely isn’t a frequent customer. And it’s Sunday night. “What’s up?”

“I, uhm. Can I have some weed?”

Eddie realizes he’s holding his wallet in his hands, looking at Eddie like he’s pleading, and Eddie’s chest feels a little tight, like he’s looking at a dog abandoned on the side of the road. 

“Yeah,” he says, swinging the door open wider and stepping aside. “‘Course.”

Steve steps in, ducking his head like he’s going to hit it on the doorframe, and Eddie shuts the door behind him, awkwardly glancing at him. He looks nice in the suit. Unfairly nice. Criminally nice. It should be illegal for him to be in public like this. 

“What kinda party you headed to?” Eddie asks, going to the kitchen and grabbing the tin lunchbox from where he left it on the counter. 

“Uh, I left one, actually,” Steve says, pushing a hand through his hair, and Jesus, that should be illegal too. 

“What kinda party you ditch?” Eddie fixes, going to sit on the sofa and opening the lunch box, half-smiling when he sees Steve’s expression lighten. 

“A shitty one.”

“How so?”

Steve sighs, looking around the room. 

“Just… A bunch of my dad’s coworkers came over for dinner. They got wasted. I don’t know. It sucks.”

Eddie glances up at him, pulling a baggie of weed out of the box and preparing to hold it out to him, but Steve hasn’t made a move to open his wallet, and his face is tight again as he looks at Wayne’s hats, like he’s thinking too hard. 

“Tell me,” Eddie says, opening the baggie instead and instinctively lifting it to his nose to smell it. 

“It’s…” Steve pauses, blinking and glancing at him. “It’s nothing, you don’t— You don’t wanna hear it.”

“Yes, I do,” Eddie says lightly, pulling the grinder out of the box. “Go ‘head,” he adds with a jerk of his chin. “You need to talk about it, I can tell. Tell me.”

Steve blinks at him and sighs again. 

“I don’t know,” he says again, turning away to look around again. It’s like he’s fascinated by the living room, like the hats and mugs are from an art gallery or something. “I guess I thought maybe my dad might actually wanna do something nice for my birthday, like— like he might invite over my favorite aunt and her kids, and we’d have, like, a nice dinner. Even though her kids are only in, like, fifth grade, it— it could have been nice. But he just wanted to convince his coworker of something or whatever, so he bought a bunch of wine, and…”

He trails off, grimacing at the wall, and Eddie’s hands slow to a stop, looking up at him. 

“And Mom went to some party,” Steve continues, his voice shaking for a moment. “Some bachelorette or something. Which, I mean… She couldn’t change the date on that, but it still, like, I don’t know. Kind of hurts that I haven’t seen her all day. But also, I mean, I’m kind of glad she wasn’t there with my dad’s coworkers, I mean they… They’re so gross. Especially when they drink.”

“It’s your birthday?” Eddie interrupts, and Steve blinks and looks at him. He’s quiet for a moment, eyes searching Eddie’s like he’s lost.

“...It’s my birthday,” he says, and it’s like he’s just realized it, like it’s just set in. Eddie’s chest hurts. 

“Why… Why didn’t you throw yourself a party?” he asks after a moment, still holding the grinder even though he isn’t doing anything with it. Steve looks away, blinking his eyes hard, tossing a hand with a huff. 

“I don’t know,” he says. “I think— I think maybe I just hoped they’d do something for me. Stupid fucking hope, though,” he scoffs. “Like they’d do shit for me after eighteen fuckin’ years.”

“Didn’t you do something last year?” Eddie asks, finally setting the grinder down. 

“Yeah.” 

He says it so softly. Like he’s remembering. Like he’s sad. 

“Fucking sucked,” he says. “I’m so…”

He trails off, exhaling, but Eddie is curious. 

“You’re so…”

Steve shrugs. 

“I don’t know.” His voice shakes again, and he shrugs, blinking his eyes hard as he pinches his nose briefly. “Tired of it all.”

“What all?” 

Eddie knows he’s pushing it. Steve is going to snap at him. Tell him he came for weed, not therapy. But Steve just exhales again. 

“Everything,” he says. “I’m fucking sick of— of my dad and I'm sick of the house and I'm sick of Tommy fucking Hagan and Carol Perkins and I'm sick of parties and booze and those stupid fucking plastic cups—”

He cuts himself off, turning away, and Eddie blinks, furrowing his brows. 

“...Steve?”

Steve turns a little bit, looking at him, and his eyes are shining with unshed tears, and he looks so small. Like a cornered rabbit. Scared. 

“You can stay,” Eddie says quietly. “If you want to. As long as you need.” 

Steve looks like he crumbles, face falling as he looks at the ground, and he sits heavily on the armchair next to the sofa. Eddie kind of (really) wants to reach out and touch him, but he doesn’t.

“I keyed my dad’s car,” Steve says after a moment. “When I left.”

“Bastard probably deserves it.”

Steve finally gives a soft laugh, half-smiling, and he nods. 

“I didn’t even realize I was doing it,” he says. “Or that it was his car. I just… I was already doing it before I even noticed there was a car next to me, it…”

“I think that’s God making you do what’s meant to be.”

Steve scoffs. 

“Doesn’t that interfere with free will?”

Eddie shrugs, grinning, leaning back on the sofa. 

“He’s gonna be so pissed tomorrow,” Steve says, sighing heavily and leaning back in the armchair. His jacket falls open, and Eddie forces himself to look away. “I might convince him his friend did it while drunk, but…”

“Worst case scenario, you can just blame me,” Eddie says. Steve looks at him, blinking in confusion. 

“Why would I do that?” 

Eddie shrugs. 

“Believable. I can say I was on a nice midnight walk and heard some rich fucks havin’ a grand ol’ time. Pissed me off. Keyed a car.”

Steve listens, looking at him in a way that Eddie can tell he isn’t going to take him up on his offer, but he looks amused, which is nice. 

“Plus it would make more sense if it was me,” Eddie says lightly. “You know. The Freak keying a car compared to the King keying a car. Seems more my speed. Also with all the shit I get into, keying a car is barely a blip on my record,” he adds dismissively. Steve raises an eyebrow (hot), and scoffs. 

“Yeah?”

“The law can’t touch me, baby,” Eddie jokes, and his chest lights up like the sun when Steve rolls his eyes and looks away, his cheeks flushing with color. 

Of course he knows how pretty Steve is. And of course, because why the fuck wouldn’t he, he’s had a crush on him for years. It’s bullshit, in Eddie’s opinion. That Eddie, the Town Queer, falls for the fucking King, the epitome of the Straight Man, the Ladies’ Man. But he fell so easily. And it doesn’t help that Steve is hanging out in his living room, looking around, hair shining in the light of the lamp like it’s threaded with gold. 

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Steve asks softly. 

“You’re not really that bad,” Eddie says lightly. 

“...I’m an asshole.”

Eddie blinks at him, tilting his head.

“Steve,” he says firmly, prompting him to look up at him with those fucking sad puppy dog eyes again. “I told Tommy Hagan his money should pay for a better wardrobe and he called me a fag and told me to kill myself. I told you I could smell your hairspray across the cafeteria and you just laughed. I stand up on the tables and harass you guys in the hallways in you're the only one that doesn't try to shove me into a locker or call me a slur. You're not like them.”

Steve looks away. He looks sad. 

“Why do you do it?” he asks after a moment, looking up at Eddie, and he’s changing the subject, deflecting. “Draw so much attention to yourself when everyone is so shitty to you?”

Eddie relaxes into the sofa again, sighing, pausing. 

“I kind of… I don’t know. Try to keep the target on me. The kids that hang out with me already put a target on themselves by being near me, but they… I don’t know, they’re, like… Fragile, I guess. A lot of their families are shitty, and they’ve been dealing with bullies since they were little, so… I try to keep the assholes’ attention on me as much as I can.” 

He pauses, looking up at Steve to find him looking back already, chin resting on his palm, elbow on the armrest. Eddie looks away again, shifting. 

“That’s kinda why I answered the door so fast,” he says. “Sometimes it’s one of my little sheep. Sometimes they need, like… Ice and painkillers. Or a place to spend the night. Sometimes just… someone to listen to them. Or take their mind off something.” He looks back at him. “Imagine my surprise at finding the Hair at my front door.”

Steve doesn’t laugh, but he’s almost smiling still, eyes shining, lips curved just a little bit. And he’s quiet for a few moments before— 

“I really like you, Eddie.”

Eddie blinks in surprise. 

They haven’t even smoked anything. (Eddie was planning on just lighting a joint up without charging Steve. Because it’s his birthday. Duh.) But Steve fucking Harrington just told him he really likes him. 

Eddie forces a light laugh. 

“Careful who you say that around,” he says weakly. “People might get the wrong idea.”

Steve looks back at him. 

“There’s no one else here,” he says quietly. 

And then it’s quiet as they just look at each other, and Eddie really shouldn’t be reading into this. (Again: Steve Harrington. The King. Straight Man. Ladies’ Man.) But it’s hard not to in this silence, which Steve looking at him like that in the warm glow of the lamp. 

“Do you wanna spend the night?” Eddie asks without thinking. “I… I have some, like, sweats you can borrow, and we have spare toothbrushes and everything.”

Steve finally looks away, toward the door, like he’s expecting someone to come in. 

“I don’t know, it’s… I don’t wanna be a bother—”

“You’re not,” Eddie interrupts. Steve stares back at him again. 

“We have school tomorrow.”

“Fuck school,” Eddie says, shaking his head. “...You deserve to rest.”

Steve is quiet again. 

“...Okay.”

Eddie smiles and beckons with a tilt of his head. 

“C’mon.”

Steve follows him to his room after he toes his shoes off and leaves them by the door, and his mismatched socks are oddly endearing. He pushes his hands into his pockets while Eddie gets some clothes from his closet (a pair of black sweatpants and a black sweatshirt that’s stained with bleach, reddish-orange spots near the hem and on one of the sleeves), and Eddie leaves the clothes on his bed before he leaves to the bathroom to find the extra toothbrush. 

When he comes back, Steve has taken off his jacket. It’s resting on Eddie’s desk chair, almost blending into the mess, and Steve is struggling with the knot of his tie, brows furrowed with frustration, lips pursed in a pout, and Eddie wants to squeeze him. He steps forward and swats his hands out of the way, taking over gently. They’re close as Eddie works on the tie, hands shaking a little bit because Steve is right there, and also because Eddie still hasn’t put a shirt on. (He forgets he isn’t wearing one. Wayne scolds him often for it, but Eddie’s been like this since he was thirteen.) 

He can feel Steve’s eyes on him as he undoes the tie, and when it finally comes loose, he carefully slides it out of Steve’s collar. 

“There you go,” he says quietly, almost whispering, and Steve takes the tie from him, his throat bobbing as he swallows. 

“Thanks.”

Eddie tries to clean up while Steve uses the bathroom to change and brush his teeth, and he tugs on a t-shirt as he does so, pushing his hair out of the way as he clears off his bed and shoves his laundry into his closet. It’s not as awkward as Eddie expected when Steve comes back into his room, his eyes glancing Eddie up and down like he’s analyzing his shirt before Eddie nods at the bed. It’s big enough that they’ll both have space without crowding each other, and a part of Eddie mourns not having a smaller bed. 

Steve falls asleep quickly, facing Eddie, curled up into a little ball with his arms wrapped around one of Eddie’s pillows. His face is buried in it, his hair falling across his eyes, and Eddie holds back from pushing it out of the way. His shoulders rise and fall slowly, steadily, and the sound of his breathing almost lulls Eddie to sleep too, but he stays up with his book and the dim lamp until three. 

He’s careful as he goes back to the living room, stepping over the floorboards he knows are creaky, shutting the door as quietly as he can so he doesn’t wake Steve. And he calls Wayne’s work. One of his coworkers picks up. 

“Hey, it’s— it’s Eddie.”

“Oh, Eddie, hey, kid. How’ve ya been?” 

“I’ve been good, I just, uh, I had to talk to Wayne, is he available?”

“Yeah, he just started his break. He’s eatin’ those damn boiled eggs. Wayne! ‘S your boy.”

It’s quiet for a moment before Wayne’s gruff voice speaks into the phone.

“Eds? You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, I just… Okay, so—”

“What did you do?” 

“I didn’t— Excuse me. I didn’t do anything. I was wondering if you could do a favor for me.”

Wayne sighs heavily. 

“What?”

“Okay, uhm. A friend of mine is over right now, and he… It’s his birthday, right? But his parents are dicks and his dad just had, like, a business meeting for his birthday dinner, and his mom is at some party or something for her friend, and my friend is kinda… I don’t know. It sucks. His friends suck.” He knows he’s speaking choppily, awkwardly, and that the word friend sounds foreign in his mouth, like it doesn’t really fit between his lips. And he knows Wayne is picking up on that too, and that Wayne definitely can already tell that Eddie has a crush, but Wayne, bless his heart, doesn’t say anything. 

“So what’s this favor?”

“I don’t know, do you think… Do you think you can get, like, a cake or something on your way home? He’s spending the night.”

Wayne is quiet for another moment, and Eddie hears a clatter behind him, followed by some laughter. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” he says finally. 

“Thanks, Wayne.”

“What’s his name?”

“Uh. Steve.”

“Steve,” Wayne repeats slowly. “Steve. Of the Harrington sort?”

“That’s the one.”

“I didn’t know you were friends.”

“Well. Our relationship is mostly professional—” 

“Right,” Wayne says with a light laugh. “Go to bed, Eds. I’ll see you when I get home.”

“Thanks, old man. Love you.” 

“Love you too.”

The phone clicks when Eddie hangs it up, and he avoids the creaky floorboards again as he makes his way back to his room. Steve is still laying the same way, hugging Eddie’s pillow to himself, and he looks so… 

Small. 

Not at all like a king. He looks so young here, so little and helpless, and Eddie wants to wrap his arms around him and kiss his forehead. Which would definitely cross some lines. 

He gets into bed slowly, lifting the blanket carefully so it doesn’t move where it’s draped over Steve’s body, and he clicks off the lamp. 

It’s different in the complete darkness. It looks just like it does on any other night, dark and empty and easy for him to close his eyes and forget about the world, but he can hear Steve’s slow breaths. He can almost hear his fucking heartbeat. 

At some point in the night, they move closer, and Eddie, half-asleep, blearily opens his eyes to try to find him in the dark. He can’t see anything, but he doesn’t need to when Steve shifts closer under the blanket. Eddie’s arm wraps around Steve’s waist, and Steve’s head finds its way to Eddie’s chest as he curls up into an even small bundle. The movement feels instinctive, his arm wrapping around him before he’s even fully realized how close they are, and as they settle against each other, Eddie wonders if that’s how it felt for Steve when he keyed his dad’s car. Natural. Right. 

Wayne knows the Harringtons. 

Richard was called Dick in high school, and Wayne always felt that the nickname was fitting. He was a rich, pompous asshole, who no doubt treats his son the same way he treated anyone he went to school with. He pulled girls’ hair and left ugly notes in their lockers and in their textbooks. He tripped younger kids in the hallways and smacked their notebooks out of their hands, and he and his friends would walk all over their worksheets and loose papers that fell across the hallway floor. He thought of himself as above everyone else, flaunted his big house and fat wallet, and Wayne always kind of hoped he would grow out of it, even when he went after Al relentlessly. It was like he had a personal vendetta against Al, and Wayne would be lying if he said he doesn’t think Richard Harrington is part of the reason Al is gone now. 

And Wayne remembers Catherine. Future trophy wife, queen of Hawkins High, with her pretty brown curls that were always done up so perfectly Wayne sometimes wondered if she had a professional hair stylist. She was similar to Richard, maybe a little nicer. Though, maybe Wayne just thought she was nicer because she was so passive. Everyone knew she was the one that started most of the rumors about the other students. Cruel, cruel rumors. 

They’re perfect for each other. 

Wayne had heard when they had a child, but he never thought much of it. It seemed right to him. Richard and Catherine, with their bright smiles and pretty hair, with their big house and shiny wedding rings. Of course they’d have a son. 

Wayne remembers seeing Catherine with Steve when he was a toddler. They were with one of Catherine’s friends, walking down the sidewalk in town, and Wayne saw them as they passed by the grocery store. Steve had been holding a bare dead dandelion, the seeds already blown off into the wind, but his tiny fist was clutching the stem like he was scared to lose it. Catherine hadn’t seemed to notice, too busy engrossed in the conversation she was having with her friend as Steve stumbled behind them, his legs too short to keep up properly. 

He supposes it makes sense for Steve to buy from Eddie. The rich kids always do. Wayne remembers the local dealer when he was in high school. He was a dick, too. 

But it doesn’t make sense for Steve to be spending the night at Eddie’s. Wayne doesn’t mind, of course. Anyone’s welcome at home. He’s come home from work countless times to find some kid passed out in Eddie’s bed or on the sofa (and once on the floor), and Eddie is always quick to explain. His dad was scaring him. He got jumped on his way home. She thought she was being followed. I’ll drive her home when she gets up. And Wayne, of course, always prepares an extra plate of breakfast before he crashes. 

But Steve Harrington. 

He can’t be treated well by Dick. 

It’s all Wayne can think about as he leaves work, waves bye to his coworkers, drives into town. Everything is starting to open, and Wayne loves this part of the day. The sky is pale and bright, and the world is starting to wake up. Doors opening, sleepy eyes finding one another and greeting each other with waves and calls of “Morning!” 

He’s the first customer of the day in the bakery that’s in town center. (He watched the owner flip the sign to open from his car.) He makes conversation politely as he looks around, ignoring the way the shop owner’s eyes linger on his oil-stained hands. And he points to one of the cakes in the display. 

And he thinks some more about Steve on his way home. He hasn’t seen him in ages. He wonders if he would recognize him, if he resembles Catherine or Richard more. 

The trailer is quiet when he comes inside, and he takes off his heavy boots before moving into the kitchen. There are a pair of nice shoes by the door, shiny and new-looking, and very clearly Steve’s. Wayne puts the cake on the counter before he goes to scrub his hands, and then he searches through the cabinets and drawers for candles. He finds a few, and they’re all uneven and different colors, but they’ll work. One is orange and striped, and Wayne knows it’s from Eddie’s thirteenth birthday. 

He arranges them on the cake carefully, leaning down to make sure they’re straight, and he finds his cigarette lighter in his jacket pocket. 

He makes coffee and waits at the table with a newspaper until he hears them wake up. They emerge from Eddie’s room sleepily, and Wayne sets aside the paper as he reaches for the lighter, suppressing a smile as he lights the candles carefully. 

Steve is wearing Eddie’s clothes, and his hair is so messy he barely looks like a Harrington at all. But when Wayne looks at him, he can see his parents. Catherine’s eyes and nose. Richard’s mouth. Catherine’s hair. But then Steve freezes, eyes finding the cake as Wayne finishes with the candles, and they widen, shining as he stares at the flickering flames and white frosting and colorful sprinkles, and his parents are nowhere to be found. 

The candles are mismatched. Orange and striped and blue and purple and green and white, short and used and loved. They’re all flickering with tiny flames that look warmer than Steve’s ever felt, and Steve just watches. 

It’s a small cake. Round and white, dollops of swirly frosting decorating the top with rainbow sprinkles that are brighter than the wax of the candles, and it’s beautiful. Steve’s never had a birthday cake before. Not even at the bigger parties with his friends. They brought beer instead of cake. 

But Eddie’s uncle is looking at Steve happily, eyes crinkling under his smile, and Steve thinks he’s beautiful too. His voice is gruff when it says, “Happy birthday,” and then Steve can’t see because his eyes are welling with tears and spilling over his cheeks before he can stop them or turn away to hide his face. 

“Oh, Stevie,” Eddie says softly, and he pulls Steve into a hug. No one’s ever called Steve that. He thinks he likes it. Maybe he only likes it in Eddie’s voice. 

Eddie’s hands are gentle as he runs them over Steve’s back and over the top of his head. They sway a little bit, and even though Steve is still crying he opens his eyes enough to see the cake over Eddie’s shoulder. The flames glow brighter with his tears in the way, blurred together with the frosting that looks like it’s glowing too in the morning light. 

“You’re supposed to blow them out,” Eddie says softly when Steve’s crying slows, and Steve lets out a wet laugh, wiping his face with the end of his sleeve. 

“C’mon now,” Eddie’s uncle says, nodding toward the cake. “You’re gonna let them get wax all over the frosting.”

“Sorry,” Steve chokes, moving closer to the cake and looking at it from above. The candles are arranged in an uneven circle, the flames flickering as his breath hits them, and he pauses. 

He knows birthday wishes are silly and childish, but he really, really wishes every birthday would be like this. 

He blows the candles out. 

They sit at the table as Wayne gets a knife to cut the cake. Steve can’t seem to tear his eyes away from it, eyeing the frosting and sprinkles and candles like they’re something made of magic, and Eddie can’t seem to tear his eyes away from him. 

He’s got this sort of absent smile on his face, and Eddie wants to reach out and touch him, but he doesn’t. He still has the light traces of tears on his cheeks, and his eyelashes are wet, and his eyes are glistening, and in the morning sunlight, he looks like a painting, like he’s too good to be true. 

They’re all quiet as Wayne cuts the cake carefully, three little plates stacked next to the cardboard platter. Eddie looks at Steve again. He’s watching intently, unblinking.

Eddie nudges him under the table with his foot, and Steve’s eyes jump up to him, his expression softening. Eddie raises his eyebrows at him, nodding a little, asking, checking. 

Steve blinks at him, his eyes flickering across Eddie’s face, and then he’s leaning over, moving closer, and he’s kissing him. 

It’s a brief kiss. Soft and chaste and tentative, and accidental, instinctive, it seems based on how Steve’s eyes widen as he pulls away. His cheeks flush red, and his lips part, stammering silently. 

“I—” 

Eddie leans in and closes the distance between them, hands finding Steve’s face and holding it between them tenderly. Their eyes flutter shut, and Steve exhales, shoulders falling as he melts into the kiss, and Eddie feels like he might burst. They part slowly, and it takes a moment for Eddie to be able to open his eyes. When he does, he finds Steve gazing back at him, eyes wide and shining and almost fucking hopeful. Eddie’s thumbs brush over his cheeks softly, and his lips curve into a smile. Steve blinks, his eyelashes fluttering at Eddie like a butterfly, before he smiles back, tentative and shy. 

“So I guess I should know your name.”

They both jump, having forgotten Wayne was there, but Wayne isn’t looking at them, smiling as he focuses on cutting and serving the cake. Eddie raises an eyebrow at him (he told him Steve’s name), and his hands fall from Steve’s face as Steve blushes again. 

“I’m so sorry, I’m— I’m Steve.”

“Steve,” Wayne repeats, setting down the knife, looking up at him. Steve is still red. 

“Uh, Harr—” 

“I don’t need your last name,” Wayne says lightly, lifting a hand up, and Steve hesitantly reaches for it to shake. “Steve’s enough.”

They shake gently, and Steve is starting to smile again, like he knows Wayne is cool. The handshake lingers, and Wayne squeezes his hand a little. 

“Happy birthday, Steve.”

“Thank you, sir,” Steve says softly when their hands fall, and the face Wayne makes at sir is enough to make him giggle. 

They eat the cake. It’s sweet, and Eddie can’t help but wonder if Steve will taste sweet afterwards. He kicks at Steve’s shins under the table, and Steve glares at him, suppressing a smile, rolling his eyes as he sips the coffee that Wayne gave him when they started eating. He and Wayne chat about sports and work and school, and Eddie is content here with them. 

Wayne pats both their backs when he finishes eating, ruffling Steve’s hair with another happy birthday wish before he goes to take a shower and go to bed, and Steve’s cheeks flush pink as he watches him go, glancing at Eddie. 

“What?” Eddie asks lightly, licking his fork. Steve shrugs. 

“He’s really nice.”

“I know,” Eddie says, glancing down the hall. 

“What’s his name?”

“Wayne.”

“Wayne.” Steve repeats it like a prayer. “He’s nice.”

Eddie looks at him. He’s fidgeting with his fork, dragging it through the remaining frosting on his plate, and Eddie is about to say something before Steve speaks again. 

“Sorry for kissing you in front of your uncle.”

Eddie snorts, and Steve looks up at him, eyes sparkling with amusement, suppressing a smile. 

“I don’t mind,” Eddie says, flirting, leaning over the table. “Wouldn’t mind if you wanted to do it again.”

Steve’s eyes flick across his face, and Eddie realizes that’s how he was looking at him last night, glancing at his tattoos. Eddie’s smile grows.

“I’ve never kissed a boy before.”

“Third time for everything.”

Steve laughs softly, leaning closer, and their noses nudge together. 

“You really don’t mind that it’s me?” he asks softly, whispering. Eddie blinks his eyes open, looking at him and tilting his head. 

“Ain’t nothin’ to mind.”

“Really?” Steve breathes. 

Eddie smiles fondly, lifting a hand and touching his face gently, running his thumb over his cheek lightly. And he kisses him as softly as humanly possible, so light he almost can’t feel it. Steve sighs, his hand reaching to find Eddie’s neck, and his fingers are warm on his skin, especially in the morning air. Eddie rests their foreheads together when they part, his eyes closed. 

“Really.”

He opens his eyes to find Steve smiling brightly, eyes squeezed shut. 

“Okay,” Steve breathes. Eddie kisses him lightly once more. 

“Happy birthday, Stevie.”

“Thank you, Eddie.”

Eddie freezes and slowly looks up. There's no way he heard that correctly. Shit, is he dreaming? He does not want another Steve dream. Jeff had made fun of him for weeks after he confessed to it. "I'm sorry, what?"

Steve just shrugs casually. "Like, I could give you my watch until I can pay you properly."

Eddie sets his lunch/drug box down harshly on the counter next to him and runs both hands over his face. "Christ, Steve, that is not what I thought you meant."

"What did you think I meant?" Steve asks.

Eddie drops his hands from his face and raises his eyebrows at Steve, hoping he understands. Steve just tilts his head to the side, looking way too adorable for a damn jock, but Eddie blames the sailor uniform for that.

He sighs and curses under his breath before saying, "I thought you were offering to like..." he trails off and reluctantly gestures to his crotch.

Steve finally catches on to what he's saying as his eyebrows raise and his mouth makes a little 'o' shape. He nods for a second before pausing. "Wait, would that get me weed for free?"

Eddie's eyes widen. There's no way that Steve understood what he just gestured.

But then Steve shrugs and walks closer to him saying, "I won't tell if you don't."

Eddie quickly backs into his counter and hisses out, "There's no way I'm letting you blow me when I haven't even had my first kiss." He immediately regrets the words as soon as he says them. NOT because he just rejected Steve but because he just revealed to him that he's never been kissed before.

God, could this get any more embarrassing?

Steve pauses and looks him over, eyes flickering over his face as if considering... "How much would a first kiss get me?"

Eddie's pretty sure his heart stops. What the hell? "How fucking desperate are you for this weed?" Eddie asks.

"Not that desperate," Steve confesses.

Okay, this is definitely a dream. Eddie is now entirely convinced,

But then, Steve sighs and runs a hand through his hair before resting it on his hips. "Sorry, man, it's just... I haven't gotten any action in weeks now, and I have this coworker that reminds me every day about how much that means that I suck. And my favorite kid has gone away to this damn science camp. And my dad is being more of an asshole than usual whenever he comes home, which is honestly not often, but he still somehow makes my life hell. And I'm sorry for unloading this shit onto you right now and for making a move on you. But could you please let me know how I could get some weed without making you uncomfortable?"

Eddie stares at him for a few moments before he reaches into his bag for a half-ounce. He hands the bag to Steve, pressing it into his hand. "Usually twenty bucks, but it's on the house for you." Because shit, he needs it.

Steve stares at it for a few seconds before pocketing it. He doesn't leave though. He just stares at Eddie conflictedly.

"What?" Eddie asks.

"You're sure there's nothing I can do for you?" Steve asks.

Eddie almost thinks it sounds like he wants to do something for him. So he folds his arms and boldly asks, "Why did you offer to kiss me?"

Steve shrugs. "I've heard the rumors that you're um... And I just... I think that you're... cute. For a guy," he rushes to clarify.

Eddie stares at him for a few seconds. Is Steve Harrington... not straight? There's no damn way. He's probably just screwing with him or something. But also... he sees that look in his eyes - the curiosity and fear - that makes him think... maybe he's being genuine.

"Are you fucking with me?" Eddie breathes out.

Steve shakes his head. "No, I wouldn't do that. That's not cool."

Eddie pinches himself hard. Ouch. Not a dream.

"So," Eddie says carefully, "Are you still offering to kiss me in place of paying for the weed?"

"I'll make it worth it," Steve says quickly.

Eddie takes a second to think about it. And really, how the hell can he turn down Steve Harrington in a sailor outfit being his first kiss? He's a weak, weak man. But... it's also sacrificing twenty bucks.

Damn, it's worth it.

"Okay," Eddie breathes out.

Steve smiles and gets closer to him, successfully trapping him back against the counter. His hand comes up to slowly cup Eddie's face, stroking a thumb over his cheek as the other one rests on the counter behind him.

Eddie takes in a deep shakey breath.

Steve's eyes flicker down to his lips and back to his eyes. "I won't do anything you're not comfortable with, so just pinch me if you want out, okay?"

Shit, why do the words make Eddie's brain melt? He hums and nods in response.

Steve leans in slowly but stops right before kissing him to ask, "Can I please kiss you?"

"Fuck yes," Eddie says, grabbing Steve by the tie of the sailor's uniform and pulling him until his lips press against him.

It's like every nerve in Eddie's body is on fire. He lets go of the tie to run his hands over Steve's back, pulling him closer as Steve traces his tongue over the seam of his lips.

Eddie moans, letting him in, tasting mint and a hint of something cherry as Steve deepens the kiss. Eddie makes it his mission to get Steve as close as possible to him, hands moving into his gorgeous hair and tugging him closer, groaning when Steve pulls away and bites his bottom lip only to soothe it with his tongue before moving in again to kiss him.

Eddie gets lost in it all, knowing that no first kiss is supposed to be this fucking good. He groans when Steve's hands move to grip the back of his neck and try to pull him in the same way Eddie is doing to him.

And shit, he cannot get enough of him. But he also cannot breathe.

He breaks the kiss, panting into Steve's mouth, but not feeling bad about it when Steve does the same, sounding equally out of breath.

Steve still presses three more gentle kisses against his mouth before pulling back and mumbling out, "Fuck."

Eddie takes in the boy, flushed red, hair wild, lips a bit puffy and wet, and with pupils blown wide. And he knows the image will forever ruin him.

Steve runs his hand through his hair again - a nervous tick? - as he catches his breath.

Eddie can't help but ask, "Was that... okay?"

Steve's eyes widen in disbelief. "Are you kidding me? That was perfect. And you've never kissed anyone before?"

Eddie shakes his head.

"Shit, man. I guess you're a natural or something."

Eddie flushes red at the compliment.

Steve clears his throat and gestures toward the door. "Well, I've gotta head out. But thank you for this, and for not making fun of the stupid sailor outfit."

Eddie chokes down the words I think it's hot and instead says, "Of course, and if you want a... discount... I'm always available."

Steve nods. "Right." He smiles and moves toward the door.

Eddie follows behind him.

Right before he opens the door, Steve turns around and kisses him again, it surprises Eddie so much that he almost doesn't register Steve slipping something into his front pocket. But as Steve pulls away, he gives him a wink before slipping out the door and making his way to his car.

Eddie watches as Steve gets in and slides his hand into his pocket. He feels something folded up and pulls it out, looking down to find a twenty-dollar bill in his hand meaning...

Steve shoots him a wicked smile before driving away, joyfully bobbing his head along to whatever song is playing on his radio.

Eddie pinches himself one more time to make sure he isn't dreaming.

Ow.

He smiles wide. Maybe Steve will take him up on his "discount" again.

And I love you bounces around like a rogue ping pong ball in Steve’s chest. Steve sees that Eddie’s drunk— he can tell from the giggle, the tight grip on his skin, the glossy eyes. And Steve is heartbroken. He’s been head over heels for the man in front of him for at least the three months, consciously at least, and here he is, reminding Steve of everything he can’t have.

“Man, don’t say shit like that if you don’t mean it, alright?” Steve tries to make it joking, tries to laugh and smile in the way he thinks he should because Eddie's drunk but shit, if he hasn't daydreamed about Eddie saying those words to him. 

Eddie though? Well, Eddie might be drunk but goddamn it he knows Steve. And he means it. He loves Steve so much, it feels like it's trying to claw its way out of his body. He's just tipsy enough to finally tell him.

“Stevie, I do mean it. I mean okay—”  Eddie readjusts his Zeppelin shirt beneath his leather jacket and stands taller, fingers threading their way through Steve’s belt loops. “I may not be completely sober but I’m like, completely fuckin' in love with you? How dumb is that?” He laughs and ducks his head against Steve’s chest, wrapping his arms around back Steve's waist where this all began.

“Not dumb at all, Ed. Not dumb at all. Ball’s gonna drop soon, wanna watch it?” Steve feels Eddie's laugh against his chest where he holds Eddie tighter, suddenly afraid of beginning a new year. Eddie clings to him and Steve's brain begins a hysterical loop of questions like What if Eddie suddenly doesn't want to be this close when it's not 1986? When it's not the same year that we'd met and fought demons together? What if this fades, like everything else has?

"I dunno, do you love me? Be a hell of a way to ring in a new year, gettin' kissed by the one and only Steve Harrington!" Eddie's question throws a stick into the wheel of his looping brain, screeching it to a halt.

Steve knows this isn't the time and he knows Eddie probably won't even remember this in the morning but he does it anyways. He pulls back, takes a look around the room where all of their friends are cheering and counting down.

Robin had started the countdown at 60 seconds, just a touch too early, and they're only at 47 when Steve runs both of his shaking hands up and down the length of Eddie's arms. The last time they approach Eddie's shoulders, he keeps them there and inches closer, searching Eddie's wide, beguiled eyes for hesitation and finds none. Just finds what he always does: warmth, joy, comfort.

"39!"

"38!"

"37!"

"Ed, stop me if I've got it wrong."

"36!"

"35!"

"Definitely not wrong, Steve."

"33!"

"32!"

It's still 1986 when Steve Harrington finally kisses Eddie Munson. It's soft, gentle, close-lipped and tender without pushing for more. Eddie's fingers go numb and his toes curl in his boots, and Steve sees colors in a new way when they pull away and open their eyes.

"I do love you, Eddie." Steve says, breathless and happy in a way he hasn't been in years. He's still afraid, but even if he only gets this one moment, he's going all in for it. "So fucking much."

One palm comes up to rest on Steve's cheek, warm metal against his skin in the way of Eddie's rings. "It's not even the new year yet." He says with a laugh and a smile with his bottom lip between his teeth.

"19!"

"18!"

"Couldn't wait. I'll do it again in 1987, if you'll let me?"

"Any year, any dimension, Steve."

The countdown is getting closer and Dick Clark is yelling on the television when Steve grabs Eddie's hand and pulls him to join their friends, one arm slung over his shoulders and Eddie's around his waist. Steve gets a beaming smile and cocked eyebrow from Robin and his nod is all she needs.

"7!"

"6!"

"5!"

People start pairing off, and Steve's sober enough to realize that none of this would have made sense to him just a few months prior. Robin pulls Nancy closer with the hand not holding an obnoxiously loud noisemaker, Argyle smiles meaningfully at Jonathan, and Steve finds himself being spun back to face Eddie.

"Ready?"

"3!"

"2!"

"1!"

It's 1987 when Eddie Munson finally kisses Steve Harrington. They don't join the chorus of Happy New Year's! around them because it's Eddie's turn to kiss Steve, and he fucking does. A little harder, a little more tongue, a bite or two when Steve returns the same eagerness and impatience. It's Eddie who breaks the kiss, lips shiny and swollen.

"Jesus fucking Christ!"

"Who is this guy?"

"I wanna lick him all over, holy fuck!"

And he's a walking wet dream for people like Eddie. Hair almost the same as before — longer on top, curly and hanging in his eyes, but the sides are buzzed. Steve looks dangerous with those big, brown eyes painted black, eyeliner smudged and making them pop. Piercings lining the shell of his ears.

And is that a fucking silver ring in his bottom lip?

Steve's wearing combat boots as well, tight military print cargo pants tucked into them. The curve of his ass looks divine and the studded belt's a nice touch. He's wearing a simple, black tank top that's showing off his toned biceps and broad shoulders, he's still a peak basketball player, after all. Going against the grain and giving the expression a whole new meaning.

Leather jacket's slung over his shoulder in a casual way as he's cooly strolling toward the school gate from his dad's burgundy BMW, not looking back to see the starstruck stares.

A fucking menace. Eddie wants to devour him or have Steve do downright nasty things to him, it doesn't matter what order, he just wants.

Meeting up with his friend, Robin Buckley at the side of the building, Steve lights a cigarette held between his lips as he's listening to her. Back pressed against the wall, one leg bent and propped against it, zero care in the world.

Robin lowers her voice and suddenly, Steve smirks with the burning cig hanging from his lips. Eddie's mouth goes dry as their eyes meet, electricity crackling between them.

It's like watching a car crash happen, Eddie can't make himself look away. Steve exhales the smoke to the side, not moving his piercing gaze from Eddie’s. Eddie swallows, the sound loud in his ears.

Then Steve fucking winks and it's game over for Eddie.

He almost trips over his own feet, jaw down on the concrete. Darling, little Chrissy Cunningham pokes him in the side, giggling knowingly. Eddie's cheeks turn red as he clears his throat and presses his lips together in a tight line. Keep it cool, man.

Steve arches an eyebrow coyly, checking him out with the confidence of the King he used to be. He still is, just a different kind. The King of Punk Rock, possibly. And if Eddie's the King of Misfits, maybe they should just unite their Kingdoms and see the absolute mayhem that comes out of it.

I'm adding to the madness:

Steve's in his rebellious phase, suffering neglect from his parents. He wants to stand out, to show his middle finger to the world and say 'fuck you' to authority, like his new favorite bands do.

Is there someone else better to help with that than Eddie Munson?

So Steve makes sure Eddie knows he's interested. He's good at doing that, he didn’t just buy his King title (even if his parents kind of did).

He's aware where Eddie hangs out between classes, he's heard his music before when coach sends them out to run laps. Eddie's hideout is underneath the bleachers, smoking and blasting music like The Ramones, Sex Pistols, Green Day etc.

Sure enough, that's where he is with his group of misfits. The rest of the band, Corroded Coffin.

So Steve joins them and he pretends not to notice the baffled look on Eddie when he does. Sits close to the guitarist and holds out his smoke to him. He's not ignoring the others, but makes his interest blatantly known. Steve’s up to date on rumors, knows that Eddie’s gay, being called a freak for it, hence why he probably created this persona with a hard-shell and yeah, Steve gets it. He really does.

Steve's pleasantly surprised when Eddie flirts back. Adding fuel to the searing hot fire in his stomach. Acts like he can't see that Gareth kid's shocked face, instead bumps his knee against Eddie's naked one, where the fabric exposes his pale skin. Damn, those ripped jeans are doing something to Steve.

When Steve lets a suggestive remark hang in the air about his rings, Eddie stumbles over his words a little, but quickly regains his composure.

Tells Steve he only ever takes them off on three occasions: when he's messing around in the junkyard, smashing old cars and stuff, during showering and... well. Sometimes he's got company to shower with.

"You should join me once," Eddie stubs the cigarette, tapping his other foot absentmindedly to the rhythm.

Steve bites his lip. "Awfully straightforward, aren't we?"

"Straight? Nah, afraid not, sweetheart," Eddie chuckles, sharing a knowing glance with his boys before turning to Steve, doe eyes big and filled with curiosity. "I was talking about the junkyard, Harrington. See what a basketball jock can do with a baseball bat."

Steve laughs, stepping on his own cigarette with the heel of his boots. Considering. "And what makes you think I'd be into that, huh, Munson?"

Eddie strokes his chin and tilts his head to the side, gaze assessing. Steve swallows, feeling uncharacteristically small under his scrutinizing. He realizes it's excitement, brewing in his stomach.

The two had been attached at the hip for months, and while Eddie was no stranger to having friends, having one that slept in his bed nearly every night was certainly new. And if that wasn’t a dead giveaway to what was really going on, then all of the touching sure would have been. He had never seen his boy be so tactile with someone before, and that was saying something considering how freely Eddie liked to give out touch. But with Steve? It was like he couldn’t go five minutes without being all over him, whether that be an arm draped around his shoulders, a hand on his thigh, or pressed against his side, if Steve was within arms length, then Eddie was reaching for him.

At first, Wayne worried he was keeping quiet because he was scared of his reaction, but he had been more than clear with Eddie growing up that being different in any way was nothing to be ashamed of, despite what the world may tell you. And Eddie seemed to be living up to that advice in every other aspect of his life, so that couldn't be it.

Then, he thought it was because he knew Wayne didn't like Steve. Or at least used to not like Steve. In hindsight, he was a little ashamed of his mistrust of the kid, but could he really be blamed? It wasn't so long ago that Steve Harrington was on the list of jackasses Eddie would complain about after school, a smarmy smartass just like his father.

But then Eddie went up and almost died, and suddenly Wayne was met face to face with just how much the kid had changed, and just how much the kid loved his Eddie. Slowly but surely, Steve wiggled his way into his good graces.

Like the way he made his boy smile wasn't enough, the kid basically became a live-in nurse during those first few awful months of Eddie’s recovery. And if Wayne thought Eddie was obvious with his feelings, Steve was on a whole other level. The kid was walking around with heart eyes whenever Eddie was around, always giggling like a high-school girl at whatever lame jokes his boy made, always leaning heavily into any touch, always obsessed with wearing his clothes. And as much as the cutesy behavior made Wayne roll his eyes, it also melted his heart a bit, knowing his kid was with someone who loved him just as much, if not more.

He just…wanted Eddie to know he was safe to be himself, both of them were, in any way that was. Eventually Wayne just let it slip, on one of those rare nights when Steve wasn’t there for dinner. He was working a late shift, and as Wayne watched Eddie wrap him up a plate for when he got off, he just let the question fall out of his mouth,“So…you and the Harrington boy huh?”

Eddie almost dropped the plate in surprise, spinning to stare at Wayne with wide eyes, “Huh?”

“You and Steve,” Wayne reiterated, “Not that there’s anything wrong that Eds, really, I don’t care-”

“There’s nothing going on between me and Steve!” Eddie interrupted, face bright as he put the plate down, “Why would you think that?”

Wayne sighed, “Eddie, you don’t got to hide anything from me.”

“I’m not!” Eddie insisted, face still insanely red, “Steve’s great but we’re not-I’m not like that, okay?”

Wayne blinked at him. He knew what his Eddie sounded like when he lied, and this wasn’t it…but Wayne also knew what he saw, and he couldn't help but feel his heart break a bit for Steve. Maybe his boy wasn’t in love with the kid, but Harrington sure as hell was, “My mistake then,”

Eddie gave him a nervous laugh, running a hand through his hair, “You bet it is, really letting that imagination run wild over there huh?

Wayne sighed as he stood up, “But Eddie?"

“Yeah?”

"Try and let him down easy when the time comes." He patted his shoulder as he made his way to his bedroom, already wondering if there was any way he’d be able to help the poor Harrington boy out when his heart got broken, leaving a shell-shocked Eddie in his wake.

Let him down easy when the time comes.

Eddie didn’t know what to do with that. He trusted Wayne, respected him too, but there was no way in hell that Steve felt anything towards him that wasn’t friendship. King Steve wasn’t gay, if anything he was a flaming heterosexual considering his insane number of flings in highschool.

Not to mention the fact that Eddie wasn’t gay, or at least…he didn’t think he was gay. But then again, he wasn’t thinking about much these days that wasn’t Steve, Steve, Steve. But they were best friends, new best friends, so wasn’t that normal? And okay, sure, Eddie had never felt like this for anyone ever before, but that didn't mean it was romantic. And so what if the thought of Steve with a girl made him ill? He was just a needy guy who loved having all the attention on him.

And so what if Steve was objectively attractive? Was it gay to know that a man was pretty or was it just having eyes? And okay, sure, Eddie had had a few wet dreams about him, but dreams didn’t mean anything. Right?

Eddie flopped face down onto his bed, groaning into his pillow. If, on some very off chance that Wayne was right, then he was going to have to put a stop to it wouldn’t he? It’s not like he and Steve could just drive into the sunset together as gay lovers, not in this town. No, Eddie would just have to lay down the law, put up some boundaries, do something to make this relationship make sense, because now that he was actually thinking about it, they were nowhere even close to normal.

Eddie could hear the front door unlocking, the tell-tale sign that Steve was finally home. Eddie wasn’t sure when their shitty trailer had become Steve’s home, but he hoped it stayed that way, even after they managed to put their friendship back into the strictly platonic category.

He kept his face in the pillow, mind racing on how to even start this bizarre conversation when he heard Steve laugh behind him, “What’s got you so dramatic?”

You.

“Wayne,” he mumbled into the fabric, listening to the sounds of Steve puttering around the room. He could tell everything he was doing from the sounds alone, so used to the little night routines they had developed together. He was digging through Eddie’s drawers now, definitely looking for something clean to sleep in.

Shit, would Steve stop wearing his clothes after they talked? Would he stop sleeping in the same bed as him? Eddie was really starting to question the worth of useless things like boundaries if it meant having his Steve around less.

His Steve. Platonic friends didn’t call each other that did they?

Eddie could feel Steve start to crawl onto the bed, laying right beside him, “Are you ever going to come out of there?”

“Never,” Eddie grumbled, because that would mean he would have to look at Steve. He’d have to acknowledge all the stupid shit going through his head and things would change. And he didn’t want things to change.

Steve laughed at that, and Eddie could feel warm hands start to poke at the side of his face, “But what if I want to see you?”

“Then that sucks for you.” Eddie mumbled. He could feel Steve getting closer, close enough that his breath was tickling his face. Close enough that Eddie felt like his heart was going to escape his chest from how hard it was pounding.

“You’re such a shithead,” Steve giggled right into his ear, “Come on, please? I missed you today.”

Eddie sighed, finally turning his head to look at him, only to be met with that stupidly pretty face. Was it legal for men to be this cute? Steve was smiling, the small kind that Eddie was almost sure was just for him, and he was so close. Eddie glanced down at his mouth, realizing it would take almost nothing for them to be kissing.

And from the look on Steve’s face, he just realized the same thing. They stared at each other, all of the playfulness from earlier gone. Steve was biting his lower lip, and Eddie knew that he was watching him stare at it.

“Do you wanna?” Steve finally whispered, leaning in the slightest bit closer, so near that it was making Eddie’s head spin.

This was it right? What Wayne was talking about, the perfect opportunity to let him down easy. He should just sit up, tell Steve to stop joking around, and start talking about what the hell they were even doing.

"Sure," he said instead. Vaguely, in the back of his head Eddie remembered he was supposed to be having reservations about this whole thing as their lips finally met, but whatever they were vanished into thin air the second they touched.

Because kissing Steve Harrington felt fucking amazing.

The thought of saying no? Of never kissing him again? It wasn’t going to happen, not after he'd gotten a taste. Eddie gripped his shirt and pulled him in closer, relishing in the little surprised sound Steve made when he slipped his tongue into his mouth. He wanted to do this forever. He couldn’t even remember what the argument against it was, not when Steve was moaning against him, not when he was too busy scrambling to move and get Steve in his lap, definitely knocking multiple things off the nightstand in the process.

If this is what being gay meant than Eddie was on board, himself from half an hour ago could go to hell.

He should have realized that they were making too much noise, noises that his very protective uncle, who just found out Hell was a real place and it lived below Hawkins, was not used to hearing from his room.

They both jumped when the door slammed opened, a frenzied Wayne standing in the doorway with Steve’s favorite bat over his shoulder, He let it drop at the sight of them, half relieved that they were fine and half shockingly amused to see what they were doing.

Steve tried to scramble out of Eddie’s lap, an apology already on his lips when Wayne started to cackle, “I really let my imagination run wild huh?”

Eddie laughed right along with him, rolling his eyes as he kept an iron tight grip on Steve’s waist, forcing him to stay in place, “You win this round old man,”

“Damn right I do.” Wayne laughed, turning on his heel, “You kids have fun now, just not too much.”

Steve could still hear him cackling as he went down the hall as he sat dumbfounded in Eddie’s lap, “What the hell was that?”

Eddie shrugged, “My uncle approving of us. Now kiss me again.”

it was your sixth month anniversary and osamu would’ve rather spent the night cooking for you but you’ve been dying to go to that fancy restaurant in town for weeks. he made the reservation a few days ago and tried to be on his best behavior and not make comments on the food. you were happy and smiling and that was enough for him.

“thank you for tonight,” you said, walking into his house. you’re on him as soon as the door is shut, jumping into his arms and suffocating him with your kisses. he easily holds your weight, somehow managing to make it through the house while kicking off his shoes and removing both of your jackets before plopping you on his bed.

“of course, baby,” osamu crawls on top of you, tongue easily finding its way inside your mouth. eager as always, he starts pulling at the blankets to get them off the bed, wanting all your focus to be on him. “so fuckin’ pretty,” he says, rough hands reaching for your soft skin.

his hands are moving every which way, it’s hard to pay attention, but when you see a flash of yellow heading to the floor... “samu!” you whine, pushing him off you for a second. reaching over you grab the small duck plush, bringing it right to your chest. “careful, you almost dropped cheep!” you hold the thing like a baby—you should be holding him right now.

osamu rolls his eyes. “again with this thing? can’t believe ya still have it…” he tries taking it out of your arms so he can touch you again but you don’t let him. “look, one of its eyes is gone, i can just get ya another one.” he points at the missing button from the plush’s face. osamu remembers how you cried for hours when you noticed it was gone. there was nothing he could do to console you.

you puff out your cheeks, looking strikingly similar to the toy you have. “i have his eye, i just need to sew it,” despite your pout, you allow osamu to kiss you anyways. “besides, i don’t need another one. you already gave me him.”

osamu pauses. “huh?”

“of course, you don’t remember,” you snort, crawling into your boyfriend’s lap. “we have to have been eight or something. you came over to my house with your mom and you gave him to me. it was so cute too! you were so grumpy and didn’t want to look me in the eye. you were like ‘here, take it, crybaby’ because of course you said that.”

you keep rambling, telling osamu about every detail from the day he apparently gave you the little thing. he can’t believe he was no memory of it, as far as he was concerned you always had “cheep” by your side. but it was because of him and you still had it all these years later.

“and ya still kept it?” osamu asks, voice low from the shock.

you shrug. “well, duh…someone special gave him to me.”

osamu rushes in to kiss you, the force of his embrace crashing you both back down to the mattress. all your whines and giggles get swallowed into his mouth. he’s not sure what’s happening to him but he’s feeling a bunch of different emotions at once and all he wants is you.

“baby, you’re blushing!” you laugh, taking in osamu’s flushed face in your hands. for as massive as he is, he looks so small right now—like the little boy you met on the playground.