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Graduation was the dumbest thing ever. Ever. If he were to pick a single instance in his life that could be considered the dumbest in recent months? Graduation was at the top of his list.
Eddie had been ecstatic about it, at first. Thoroughly ecstatic. He’d planned it all out, and meticulously at that. Dreamt of it. Imagined it, time and time again.
What he imagined specifically, constantly, was that he’d stroll right up to good ol’ Principal Higgins, look him dead in those beady eyes of his, flip him the most self-assured bird he could muster, snatch his hard-earned diploma and run like hell out of that shithole. It’d be great.
He could practically feel the emotions of the instance in which he’d do it; the defeated, drained look on the bastard’s face, the look of pure amusement from his peers and friends alike— hell, even the overwhelming joy he’d feel as a result of following through with his two year plan. He’d been certain he’d do it. Confident, even. It was too vivid not to come to fruition.
But he didn’t.
He hadn’t.
He simply fell in line like the rest, copied the person before him with unenthused swagger, and spent the rest of the godforsaken graduation ceremony with his stomach doing backflips. He felt like a sheep. Herded into a line and led straight into the slaughterhouse of life.
The rest of the group (who very generously attended his graduation, much to his own surprise) had even asked him what was wrong, as to the outside world he most likely resembled a thoroughly kicked puppy.
Though he had looked Higgins dead in the eye as promised, it hadn’t been the dramatic send off he’d have liked to be remembered by. The memorable one. The dramatic one, full of flair and entertainment for all in attendance. Just a personal acknowledgment of defiance.
It wasn’t the same.
He wanted to be remembered. Idolised, even. Despite the less than mature nature in which he wanted to be revered in the school’s history, he still wanted it regardless. He wanted some kind of legacy. The need was subconscious, if anything.
Not that any of it mattered after his previous, very intense brush with death, anyway.
Eddie didn’t think he’d ever see anything remarkable in his lifetime. Not beyond the four walls of his uncle’s trailer, the treasure trove of novelty mugs and hats it had been lined with beyond his bedroom door, and the hardcore hallucinogens beneath his kitchen sink that made it all bearable.
He didn’t think he’d ever see the world as much as he yearned to. He didn’t think he’d ever have the money to travel. He didn’t think he’d amount to enough of anything to make it in life, or have anyone through thick and thin to be by his side through it all.
He figured he’d always be the weird, filthy and downright ‘evil’ outcast that nobody hung out with, even on a dare. He always had been, why would that change?
This was, of course, his one track mindset before shit happened.
Before Vecna happened.
Before his friends happened, and any and all of his so-called ‘regrets’ from before the upside down were rendered practically meaningless to him.
Graduation flunk included.
He had a real support group he could rely on now. A friend group. Not just his fellow bandmates and club goers — who often didn’t get what he was going through even if they cared to ask out of anything other than pure obligation to keep the campaign going (as good as the guys were) — but a real, big group of people he could rely on without judgement outside of school, outside of the club, any time. It didn’t feel real, and yet it was.
That was another thing.
After leaving school, he couldn’t run the Hellfire Club anymore. Droves of middle schoolers come high schoolers without friends or social hierarchy, he thought, with none of his campaigns to venture through. Zero quests to fulfil. The thought made him feel sick, often, despite how dramatic it probably was.
Thankfully, however, the kids had taken up the mantle as he had insisted they do. They kept him informed, Dustin especially, about how the games were going. Sometimes he even came to observe. It almost made him sad that they were getting on so well without him, but he supposed it couldn’t be helped. It was obvious they cared about the so-called ‘legacy’ he desperately wanted to leave behind, and that was enough.
Eddie had even picked up a job since he graduated, a fairly good one at that, at the local record store. It was practically his reason to live most days, though his friends would argue he was being melodramatic.
He was.
During his shift, he got to hear good music, all the time, and was paid pretty damn well for rambling on about good music and running them a bill for it if he peaked their interest. His manager even allowed him to bring his guitar into the break room, and so each day, he had time to practice and play for a good hour or so. It was amazing.
And of course, through all of it, there was Steve. Steve, of all people.
Steve Harrington.
Fuck, he could go on for hours about him. And he would, if given ample opportunity.
Steve got him, he really did. He understood him like nobody else had in a long time. It was so beyond refreshing that he didn’t have the words to describe it that would do the feeling any amount of justice.
Although they had different interests, and vastly different backgrounds, their several encounters with the supernatural had helped form a close bond, which they considered different to the type they shared with the others in the group. They understood each other on an entirely different level than they did anyone else in their lives thus far.
They also acknowledged their minute differences and, through that, helped one another experience new things. While Steve would bring him to a secluded spot in Hawkins he claimed nobody else knew of (or at the very least, he’d never seen before), Eddie would introduce him to new bands via his own personalised mixtape, often in said spots, and would even go so far as to take Steve to see the select few he had shown interest in.
Black Sabbath was one such band. It was a mutual favourite of theirs by now.
Even if they didn’t end up liking what the latter had shown to them, they still appreciated it regardless, and it helped them gain a better understanding of the other. Minor things, and yet to them, small steps towards creating an intimate and otherwise romantic bond with one another.
The only problem was, they weren’t dating.
Not at all.
Neither of the two had even brought up the idea.
It didn’t help that Eddie was under the impression that he was still into Nancy Wheeler. The way he looked at her, and oftentimes stared at her, was enough to give him that notion.
Yet Eddie was head over heels for him.
He often lay awake at night, staring at his very discoloured ceiling, wondering how a guy like Steve could even stand to be around him most days. He had a shot, both platonically and romantically, with anyone he set his mind to. He had plenty of friends he could spend time with. Yet somehow, inexplicably, he always hung out with him. Spent time with him. Liked him. He just didn’t get it. Why him?
#
One night later into the week, when both his and Steve’s schedules were completely wiped for the oncoming weekend, Eddie had invited him over to stay for the two days at his trailer. Steve had accepted, and that had been the end of that. No further question needed. That was how it always was.
Steve had brought them drinks and snacks, despite Eddie’s protests. Although it stemmed from a dislike of freeloading from others, friends especially, Steve had assured him that it wouldn’t go to waste, that he wasn’t freeloading, and that it was for them to share over the duration of his stay. Eddie begrudgingly agreed after that.
It was very late at night, around 3AM, by the time the pair had settled down in comfortable attire, and began lounging on Eddie’s bed in a fairly comfortable silence. The silence only broke when Steve invaded his space, music still blaring from the headphones around his neck, and struck up a soft conversation in the confined space between them.
“What’s that?” Steve asked in a breathy manner, shifting behind Eddie in order to see the page over his shoulder.
The page in question was contained within his song journal, in which he kept anything from fully written to half-assed scraps of songs, and often times poems.
This particular song he was writing, however, was about Steve.
It was the result of at least a weeks “hard work,” which mostly consisted of him lying alone in the dark thinking of the boy in question, as well as adding the odd word or two before simply gazing headlong into the page.
Even the title itself was unfinished.
‘My Friend Steve’ (TITLE PENDING) — as if he, Eddie Munson, had any hope it’d change somehow.
Like hell he’d let him see it, let alone breathe on it.
Like. Hell.
“Nothing, man!” Eddie barked quickly, slamming his book shut and rolling away from the boy in a hurry. He knew this was suspiciously defensive of him, but in the moment he couldn’t bring himself to care. The very title of the song was incriminating, and Steve was mere inches away.
“Well shit, sorry- “ Steve huffed in response, throwing up both hands in defence of himself before dramatically yanking the headphones of his walkman back over his head.
Eddie’s ears burned, red , when the gravity of the situation had set in, and he was fairly certain that the same heat was filling his face in the coming seconds. He realised, in the newfound silence, that not only was it now very uncomfortable silence, but that Steve would now be incredibly suspicious of the contents in his journal. He’d probably steal it when he fell asleep.
Oh god, what if he read his songs while he was asleep ? Or if he had to go to the bathroom? Would he have to bring the journal with him everywhere, creating more scepticism? Fuck—
“Sorry man, it’s just… it’s not finished , so I didn’t- you know, want you to see it. It’s kinda shitty right now, so… you know.”
Eddie pursed his lips together, hoping that his explanation would fly him under the radar for now. The nod he received was a good enough response for him to settle down and relax again.
As he returned to his writing, his guard was very much lowered, and so he was not expecting the lean arm from beside him to shoot out and pluck the book from his hand. He didn’t even have time to blink, let alone react.
“Hey—!”
“C’mon, man, call it ‘proofreading’! You never let me see your stuff in the drafts. I can give you some input! I’m not Nance, writing wise, but I’m like— lyrical, poetic, kinda—“
“—Steve! Dude, come on, give it!”
“Come on! Can’t I just have a peek?” Steve begged, quickly shifting out the way of Eddie’s attempted grasp. “I wanna see what all the drama’s about. You writing about a girl or something?” he asked through a grin.
Eddie hadn’t even the time nor the means to gather his words before Steve had flicked carelessly to the page he had dreaded him seeing, and it was evident in the way the boy’s face tensed that he had, at the very least, seen the title.
With a sigh of defeat, Eddie fell back into his bed, covering his face with both hands and silently hoping, praying that a sinkhole would open up beneath him and swallow him whole. This wasn’t even the drama talking. He genuinely wanted the ground, something, to kill him there and then.
This was hell. This. Was. Hell. It had to be, right?
“…Eddie-“
“Don’t,” came the muffled response.
“No man, it’s— Eddie… -“
Eddie could feel through the way the mattress sank that Steve was coming towards him, but he was so far into his self loathing already that he didn’t have the energy to react.
He wanted to kick. To scream. To punch his walls and make a dent, or a hole. He wanted to call Steve a fully comprised list of insults for looking at his book, and for looking at his song. He hated him for making him feel the way he did. He hated everything in that moment. Everything about it. Everything about him.
Everything.
And then Steve hugged him.
He tensed, understandably, but found himself relaxing into the warmth that enveloped him, as a hesitant hand began to drift down the back of his hair in a slow, soothing motion.
This still didn’t feel real. It was all happening too fast, and certainly not how he wanted it to in the first place. Why couldn’t Steve just leave well enough alone?
“It’s okay. You’re okay.”
As Eddie continued to settle into the embrace, the two sat in an almost comfortable silence for a while. It was- nice. It was nice.
It felt good.
It felt good to be held. Comforted. Wanted . Eddie knew Steve was probably only holding him because he felt obligated to, but the context didn’t matter. Steve knew his feelings, and he was holding him. He wasn’t pushing him away, or packing his things. He wasn’t yelling at him, or hitting him, hurling insults at him, or calling him a freak — he was just… holding him.
That was enough.
The boys only parted after a good ten minutes had passed, involuntarily face-to-face with one another.
Inches apart.
Inches.
The tension was agonizing at best.
At worst? Downright excruciating.
“Eddie—“
Another beat of silence.
“Dude, you don’t… have to say anything. I get it, it’s weird as shit. It’s weird that I wrote it. It’s weird I was still writing it. It's weird I hid it from you. It’s weird—“
“—I like you, man.”
Eddie blinked in abrupt confusion, whatever words he planned on saying becoming lodged in his throat.
Had he heard that right?
Was he going insane? holy shit, he was going insane. He had to be.
“…What?” came the ungracefully sputtered reply.
Steve pursed his lips together and sighed through his nose, a slim, hesitant hand moving up to frame the right side of Eddie’s face.
“I like you. I have liked you. I do like you. A lot, I mean—“
“Steve…?”
“—I love you, dude.”
Another silence fell over them, this time not of discomfort, or awkwardness, but mutual processing of one another’s words.
It felt good this time around.
Right.
The shared warmth of one another’s brown eyes met, embracing in a kind, infatuated gaze that washed any doubt the other had away in seconds.
It was Steve who was the first to move, bringing a careful hand towards Eddie’s hair, and allowing the curls to drift through his fingers.
It was then, and only then, that he invaded the other boy’s space for a second time that night.
They started off slow, Eddie meeting Steve in the middle as he allowed their lips to brush. The mere implication of a kiss was enough to wrench a sigh from him, smiling as the same reaction could be both felt and heard from the boy before him.
Eddie’s hands weaved themselves into Steve’s shirt, tugging just hard enough to finally have their lips resting together in what he could already describe as being the best kiss of his life.
It felt so natural, having Steve’s lips on his. Not only was it everything he imagined it would be, but it was better. Better than anything he’d ever felt, ever.
Steve, with his fingers still very much entangled in Eddie’s curls, began to sweep them back as he lowered the other boy to the mattress. Adjusting to the movement, Eddie’s own hands found purchase in the back of Steve’s mullet, and the two found a rhythm with their lips as the newfound embrace deepened.
They hummed in a somewhat broken unison, pressing their foreheads, and ultimately their faces, in just enough so that they could feel the heat radiating from the other. It was perfect.
It felt right.
The first break came when Steve drew back for air, with Eddie taking the opportunity to draw in some air of his own. All the while, through several gasps for breath, Eddie smiled at the boy above him.
It was returned all the same.
As Steve’s lips greeted Eddie’s again, it somehow felt better than the first time. It was as if they had become molded for one another in a matter of minutes, and now everything was fitting together perfectly.
To Eddie, it felt like a dance. A dance he knew, but somehow, Steve knew the steps much better than he did. He ultimately let him take the lead, and in doing so, sank further back into the bed with the newfound comfort washing over him.
The second time they drew back, both boys settled their foreheads against one another’s with a laugh, crowding warmly into their shared space as they collapsed together in a mixture of snorts and giggles.
A good twenty minutes passed before either of the two said a word. The only communication exchanged was the odd brush of hair, a consistent smile, and their ever tightening embrace. That was all they needed, really.
They were positively smitten, and there wasn’t a thing in the world that could disturb them in that moment.
“Are you gonna let me hear that song you wrote? It… it was a song, right-?”
“It’s… it’s still not finished, man. No — no. No way. No, way.”
“But… you’ll let me hear it when it’s done? Right? Come on Eddie, you can’t keep me hanging forever.”
“… I’ll think about it.”
“Works for me.”
With a pensive look, Eddie crowded his face into Steve’s again, catching his lips in one more tender kiss. It was to affirm his feelings, more anything else. And the fact that Steve kissed him back? That was enough to assure him.
They barely broke apart before Eddie began to ramble against his lips. “I love you. I mean that, I— I love you, a lot. That’s not even just, like, to make you feel less awkward, or to come off as cheesy— I know I’m coming off as cheesy. Sorry— sorry, I’m… I really love you.”
Steve chuckled. ”I really love you too, Eddie. You’re… you’re awesome, man. Fuck everyone who thinks different, you’re the coolest guy I know.” Steve pressed a light kiss to Eddie’s nose. “You’re not their shitty kind of weird. You’re not their shitty kind of freak. You’re the best kind of everything. I love you, Eddie. All of you.”
As they closed any gap between them with an embrace, it didn’t take long for them to settle into one another’s warmth and drift off.
Sleepovers, they thought, would be a little more consistent from hereon out.