Steve is intimately familiar with jealousy in a way he doesn't think most people are. He's been left before, replaced. He knows the burning, bile-inducing sensation of seeing your person with somebody else.
He is still absolutely blindsided by it when Eddie tells him that he's going to Indy the following weekend to meet his previous hookup from a few weeks ago.
Eddie is not his. Eddie can do with his time, with his body, with his feelings, whatever he wants. There's not a single reason in the whole of the universe for Steve to feel jealous.
And, still, knowing the feeling so well, having endured it for so long, he knows there's no other explanation for it.
It's jealousy that makes him snap at Robin when she makes a remark on how the humidity has made his hair explode into untameable curls.
It's jealousy that has him stewing in front of the TV that night with a bottle of lukewarm beer crushed between his knees. Jealousy that has him take a too-hot turned too-cold shower, and scrub his skin until it's an angry red. Jealousy that has him staring at the ceiling at night, kicking at his blanket.
Jealousy, the green-eyed monster that lurks in the dark corner of his bedroom. Jealousy that twists his stomach into a tight knot.
It's worse the next day, when Eddie's around the WSQK, going through their vinyl collection, planning a special late-night rock show together with Robin for all the freaks in Hawkins.
Steve's not done much to expose how he really feels yet, beyond flicking through a magazine about cars or some shit, occasionally frowning in their direction.
But it comes to a head when Robin leaves first to get ready for her date with Vickie and asks Steve to close up the station after Eddie. Eddie's being his usual chaotic self, pulling out Vinyl after Vinyl and taking them out of their sleeves without putting them back properly, forcing Steve to grumblingly clean up after him while Eddie rattles down the entire history of rock ' n ' roll.
When Eddie leans against one of the shelves with his shoulders, gesturing wildly with his arms while rambling about how Elvis was a truck driver before he became a star, Steve ruffs his hair in frustration, combs it back, then pins Eddie down with a glare.
"Do you ever shut up, dude?" he scathingly asks. Eddie's grin falters, his hands falling to his side.
"Seriously," Steve mutters, turns away because he can't stand seeing that hurt in Eddie's large eyes, "You should come with an off-button."
"What- What's crawled up your butt?" Eddie asks, but he sounds more shocked than angry.
"Nothing," Steve throws back, taking the Vinyls he's just put back in order and sliding them into the shelf next to where Eddie's still standing, frozen. "You're just a lot, man. Not really in the mood to babysit your loud ass every night."
He glances at Eddie from the corner of his eye, sees him clench his jaw, nodding along to Steve's words. They've been bickering before, made fun of each other, but never like this, never with any serious intent to hurt the other.
Steve feels like a prick. He wishes Eddie would just punch him, hurl something back at Steve that would hurt just as much.
"Yeah," Eddie says, laughs an almost inaudible, "Christ," to himself before pushing off the shelves. "I just get out of your hair then, Harrington." Another humorless laugh. "Ha, hair, get it?"
Steve doesn't. Steve doesn't get anything anymore. Especially not himself, and how he can act so carelessly with somebody else's feelings. Again.
He's the worst friend. Hasn't learned any of his lessons.
"Eddie," he calls at his retreating back. "You're not getting out of here before you clean up your mess."
Not what he wants to say, but god, he's still so angry.
Eddie throws him the bird over his shoulder and keeps walking.
"Munson!" Steve bellows, storming after him. He shoves Eddie's shoulder when he catches up with him at the entrance doors. Eddie stumbles around and shoves him back with a palm against his chest, hard. And, yes, fuck that's what he wants, Eddie angry, furious, pushing into his space, breathing hard.
"Don't be a fucking brat," Steve seethes.
"How about you stop being such a dick, then?"
Steve wrinkles his nose, steps in closer. Eddie backs away, colliding with the door behind him. His eyes widen, but Steve doesn't back off, gets right into his space, curling his fingers into the collar of his shirt.
"Jesus, Harrington. You're really itching for a fight tonight, aren't you?"
"Yeah," Steve agrees, sees no point in denying it. "Will you give me one?"
Eddie frowns at that, eyes flickering down to Steve's parted lips where he's panting. Then his hands come around Steve's wrists, and he's pushed backwards, sideways, shoved right into the wall next to the doors, Eddie's rings biting into his skin. Steve grunts at the impact, pulls harder on Eddie's shirt, lifts his chin in defiance.
"You're gonna explain the bruises to Henderson, then?" Eddie growls, and Steve can't help but remember the time he had him pushed against the boathouse, broken bottle at his neck, Steve's heart racing, running away from him, just like now, and still different.
"You're gonna mess me up, Munson?"
"Only if you keep running your mouth," Eddie says, even lower, eyes flicking down again, fingers tightening around Steve's wrists, callouses pressed right into his throbbing pulse in a way that almost hurts.
"Do your worst, asshole," Steve hurls back, tugging so hard on Eddie's shirt collar that a seam pops.
Eddie seems at a loss for words, his frown deepening. Then, he pushes a thigh between Steve's, tilting his head.
"This is what you want?" He pushes his thigh higher, high enough that it comes in contact with where Steve is rapidly hardening, chokes all the air out of his lungs.
He shakes his head, and Eddie's about to move away, eyes troubled with regret, but Steve puts his jock reflexes to good use and grabs him with hands on both sides of Eddie's face. He pulls him back in, muffles the gasping moan that flies from Eddie's mouth with his lips, and kisses him hard.
Eddie gives back as good as he gets, hands still locked around Steve's wrists like a vice, bruising him with a kiss that feels more like an extension of their fight than any confession.
When Eddie's teeth dig a little too hard into Steve's bottom lip, he pushes him away again with a hand against his shoulder.
Eddie looks completely dazed, pupils blown to shit, brows still knitted together.
"What the fuck is even happening right now?" he asks, sounds less angry and more anxious now.
"Don't go to Indy," Steve blurts, then pulls himself away, so he doesn't have to look at Eddie for the fallout of that declaration. He turns away from him and thumps the side of his head against the wall. "Fuck, I'm the worst."
He can't believe how impulsive he still is, that nothing ever brings out the worst in him more than fearing that the person he wants could want somebody else.
Did he just let Nancy go, so he could make the same mistake with the next person he's... he's- well, no point denying it anymore- falling in love with?
Steve cringes, keeps his eyes shut tight. He doesn't want to look at Eddie after making an absolute fool out of himself.
"Jesus Christ, Harrington, you're unbelievable."
Steve shrugs, can't bring himself to answer. Where's Robin to slap him over the head with some sense when he needs her?
He waits for Eddie to leave his stupid ass like he deserves, waits for the telltale sound of the glass door sliding open, then shut, but it never comes. When he finally opens his eyes, Eddie's right in front of him again, leaning sideways against the wall, arms crossed in front of his chest, mouth open wide in a shit-eating grin.
"So, this is your jealous side?" he asks, grin growing even wider.
"My worst side," Steve huffs, scrubs his hands over his face in embarrassment. Eddie catches his wrists again and pulls his hands away.
"You're unhinged if you think that was cute."
"Yeah, what a couple we make, huh?" Eddie laughs, then his mouth is back on Steve's, softening their fight into something warmer, gentler, until finally it feels like the confession it was meant to be from the start.
