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There’s about twenty seconds of dead space at the end of the tape, but it’s fine. It has to be fine. If Eddie switches the song out for something longer, he’ll sacrifice the flow and the tape has to be perfect.
He presses eject and slides the tape out, letting it rest in the palm of his hand. This is the closest thing in existence to a definitive collection of his favorite songs. No, they’re not just his favorite songs. These songs are a part of him. They are him. Or maybe he’s them. Whatever.
The point is, this tape has taken him a week to put together, with one particular person in mind, and it is perfect. Finally. He's made tapes for friends before to share music, but this is different. He debates whether to pop the tabs out—he doesn’t want to think that the songs might get recorded over, that they might not mean anything to someone he’d like them to mean something to—but ends up leaving them. If the tape is repurposed then so be it.
For now, it’s filled with the best songs in existence, and it’s complete with an awesome drawing of a guitar on fire on the front of the j-card, and a hastily scrawled tracklist on the other, both done by Eddie’s hand. He slides the j-card into the box, and the tape in after it then tucks it into his pocket.
The tape is as ready as it will ever be, and so is Eddie.
--
Family Video looks mostly empty through the door when Eddie gets there, cassette burning a hole in his pocket, and his heart beating harder than usual. His hand is poised on the door, clammy palm fogging the glass, but he stops short of pushing it open when he looks over to the counter. There’s a girl wearing a purple sweatshirt, her crimped auburn hair piled high, staring up at Steve as they talk. Eddie can’t see the look on her face, but he doesn’t have to. He knows the way girls look at Steve. And it’s not like he can blame them.
Eddie almost turns around, but then Steve glances over, and Eddie can’t tell if he saw him or not, and—
Fuck it.
The bell above the door jingles as he steps inside, glancing over to the counter, but Steve is deep in conversation again—smiling easily, the way he does—so Eddie slips between the shelves. He’ll just wait until Steve and Purple Sweatshirt stop talking. However long that takes.
Once or twice (or three or four or more times), he peeks over the shelves, running his fingers along the plastic covers of the movies, pacing back and forth. But Steve’s still talking to Purple Sweatshirt. Normally, he’d interrupt them, but he feels kind of…nervous? Shit. Maybe he shouldn’t do this here.
It was one thing to spill his guts to Steve in the Upside Down, but another thing to give him a mixtape in Family Video. Still. Steve is cool. They’re cool. He can do this.
He turns around and walks into Robin. “Jesus Christ!” He waves his arms. “What are you doing here?”
“I work here.” Robin crosses her arms over her chest. “Why are you skulking?”
“You know, skulking kind of implies something sneaky. I was…”—Eddie gives a flourish of his hand—“loitering.”
“Uh-huh. Why are you”—Robin mimics the flourish—“loitering?”
Eddie’s gaze flickers back over to the counter. Steve is smiling at Purple Sweatshirt, and Eddie can’t tell if Steve is into her, or just being nice, but it doesn’t matter either way. Steve’s not…
Eddie shakes his head. “Just… Being a coward,” he says and squeezes past Robin, making a beeline for the counter.
Purple Sweatshirt is still there, but when Eddie sets the tape on the counter, Steve looks over at him, and it might be wishful thinking but Eddie thinks his smile brightens. “Hey, man.”
“Hey.” Eddie glances at Purple Sweatshirt. “My deepest apologies for interrupting,” he says with a half bow.
“That’s okay,” she says, eyeing him curiously.
Steve doesn’t say anything, but his lips twitch.
“Excellent," Eddie says, “uh…” He ignores the pounding of his heart, and Robin hovering over his shoulder and nudges the tape toward Steve. “This is for you.”
“Oh.” Steve picks the tape up. His brow furrows as he looks at it, but it seems more like pleased confusion than anything. At least, Eddie hopes it does. Steve glances up again. “Thanks.”
“Yeah, no problem.” Eddie puts his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and shrugs. “Now you’ll know who Ozzy Osbourne is.”
“Cool.”
“Ozzy Osbourne?” Purple Sweatshirt asks.
“He’s this dude who bit the head off a bat,” Steve says.
Purple Sweatshirt’s face crumples in disgust. “Ew.”
“No, it was very, uh”—Steve glances at Eddie—“metal.”
Something flutters in Eddie’s chest; he crosses his arms over his chest, tucking his hands under his arms.
“Sure,” Purple Sweatshirt says, drawing the one syllable out. “Well, I have to pick my sister up, but I’ll see you when I return this?” She holds up the tape she’d rented.
“Yeah,” Steve says, “I’m here…a lot,” giving her a little wave as she walks off.
Eddie steps aside, letting her pass; he waits until the bell jingles again and she’s out of sight before he turns back to look at Steve. “So…”
“Thanks for this,” Steve says, waving the tape, “it’s…cool.”
“Cool.”
“Is it all songs from the bat guy?”
Eddie huffs. “No, it’s just my own personal best of metal.”
“Cool.” Steve nods.
The pounding in Eddie’s chest is getting harder by the second, which doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. Steve seems to like the tape and no one’s called him a freak—which, you know, he usually revels in, but today he just…couldn’t. He clears his throat and says, “Well, I gotta…” gesturing over his shoulder.
Steve frowns. “Oh, okay.”
“See you ‘round.”
“Yeah, of course.”
Eddie dips his head and nearly trips over Robin as he backs away.
“Bye, Eddie,” Robin says, grinning, hands folded behind her back.
“Bye.” Eddie waves then turns and finally leaves the store.
So. That’s done. Mission accomplished.
Fuck. He hopes Steve likes the tape.
--
Robin snatches the tape out of Steve’s hands before he can get a proper look at it. “I can’t believe Eddie made you a mixtape.” She turns it over, taps the front of the box. “Do you think he drew this?”
“I don’t know,” Steve says, “I guess.” He reaches out for the tape, but Robin is still holding it tight. There’s a glint in her eye as she opens the box, takes the tape out, and looks at the tracklist that Steve doesn’t like.
“Give it back,” he says.
“Ew, it really is all heavy metal.”
“Well, yeah, that’s what Eddie said.”
Robin’s nose scrunches up and she looks at Steve. “You better not listen to this when I’m in the car.”
“Only Robin approved music, I swear.” Steve holds his hand over his heart. “Now give me back my tape.”
There’s a sharp plastic click when Robin closes the box again and holds it out to Steve. Before he can grab it, she pulls it back. “You know, it was pretty sweet of him to make this.”
“Sweet?”
“Yeah.” At Steve’s incredulous look, Robin adds, “He made you a mixtape of his favorite songs.”
“He just wanted to, you know…” Steve trails off, biting his lip. He shrugs. “Make sure I know who Ozzy Osbourne is.” Which wouldn’t take a whole tape. He clears his throat. “And then filled it up with his other favorite songs.” And, sure, Eddie didn’t have to do that but—
But what?
“Exactly.” Robin presses the tape into Steve’s chest. “Sweet.” And then she turns away to help a customer.
Steve stares down at the tape in his hands, feeling like he’s missing something.
--
It’s not until later that Steve gets to listen to the tape. He drives Robin home, and she keeps telling him she has something called the right to veto, so they have to listen to her weird music when she’s in the car. And he wants to listen to it properly, not on the ten minute drive back to his house, so he doesn’t bother with it after he drops her off, either.
The house is dark and empty when he gets home, so he switches on all the lights, grabs something to eat, and takes a shower. Once he’s dressed, he pops the tape in the cassette player in his room and flops onto his bed.
The first impression is that it’s loud. Grinding guitar blasts through the small speakers, the sound screeching and distorted. He turns it down but then it’s too low, so he turns it back up again.
It’s not bad.
Steve grabs the tracklist, so he can follow along with which song is which. Eddie’s handwriting is scratchy and messy but there’s something kind of pretty about it, too. There’s a note tucked inside that says “if your ears aren’t bleeding, it’s not loud enough.” Steve snorts and turns the box over. The drawing on the front is very Eddie. Steve smiles, tracing the outline of the guitar and the words “Eddie’s Badass Metal Mixtape, for Steve.” His heart flutters a little and…that’s weird.
He shakes it off and turns the tape up some more.
By the end of the last song, Steve’s decided that Black Sabbath is pretty cool, he doesn’t like Megadeth, and he’s not sure about Judas Priest. He could get used to them, though. And some of the songs sound kind of like Queen to him. The guitar, at least, and maybe the drums. He doesn’t know much about music, but he likes Queen.
He turns the tape over and presses play again.
He keeps thinking of Robin saying it was sweet of Eddie to make it, and how Eddie had seemed almost nervous to give it to him. He has no idea what it means, or what he wants it to mean, or if it means anything at all, and he’s not sure if he wants to find out or not.
Fuck.
He turns the music up all the way and pulls his pillow over his head.
--
“So, I listened to the tape.”
Eddie looks up, pulse skipping, and says, “Hey,” and then, when the words sink in, “Did you like it?”
“Yeah, well“—Steve slides into the booth across from Eddie—”some of it.”
A mix of relief and disappointment swishes around Eddie’s gut. He drowns it with some pop, chased by a handful of fries. “That’s cool, dude, I didn’t really think it would be your kind of thing.”
Steve frowns. “No, I— I said I liked some of it.” He takes some fries when Eddie nudges the plate across the table. “Some of it was too…” His face scrunches up in thought. So fucking cute. “Too loud, you know?”
“That’s the point.”
“Yeah.” Steve huffs. “I figured.” He chews the fries, throat working as he swallows. “But I liked more of it than I didn’t.” He taps his fingers on the table. “And I definitely liked Black Sabbath. And Ozzy Osbourne.”
Eddie smiles. “Cool.”
There’s a shitty pop song playing on a jukebox mixed with the chatter of everyone else in the diner and a humming at the back of Eddie’s mind.
And then Steve says, “Maybe I could borrow some of their albums,” and it all fades to the background. He ducks his gaze with a shrug, then looks back up. “Or we could listen to them together?”
“Yeah, dude,” Eddie says, “whenever you want.”
--
Wailing guitar fills Eddie’s room, pounding drums rattle the walls. His uncle isn’t home, and the government relocated them somewhere a little more private than the trailer park, so he can blast the music as loud as he wants. And he wants it loud, wants Steve to feel what he does when he’s listening to it.
They’re on the A-side of Master of Reality, and Steve has his eyes closed, bottom lip tucked between his teeth and even if he doesn’t seem moved in the same way as Eddie, he seems to be into it.
It shouldn’t really matter if Steve likes it, or not, because they have a kind of bond after everything they went through together. But Eddie just…really wants him to.
Steve’s mouth moves, and Eddie realizes he’s saying something. He reluctantly turns the music down. “Huh?”
“I said, this song is cool.”
“Hell yeah, it is,” Eddie says around a grin. “Oh, hey, this is the best part.” He turns the music up again, pulling out some awesome air guitar moves.
Steve is smiling all wide and pretty and the thing is… This music always makes Eddie lose his mind—in the best fucking way—and before he realizes what he’s doing, he’s leaning over, and pressing his lips against Steve’s.
It’s only a moment of madness, but it’s enough. “Shit,” he mutters and pulls away. “That was— That was the best part,” he says. “Of the song.”
Steve is quiet for a moment before he says, “I think I missed it.”
“Right.” Eddie leans over to rewind the song but before he can, he’s being tugged back down by the back of his vest, and Steve is leaning over him.
“I didn’t mean the song,” Steve says, and then he kisses Eddie again.
It’s like listening to Motörhead and Sabbath and Priest all at once but somehow even better. Eddie makes this desperate noise and he’s not sure if he hopes it’s drowned out by the music, or not, and then Steve tilts his head and the kiss deepens and he doesn’t care.
When they pull apart Steve says, “Yeah, that was the best part,” and Eddie laughs.
It’s such a corny thing to say, but Eddie’s so fucking relieved he doesn’t give a shit. “I concur,” he says, blood singing and heart beating wildly. He leans up, lips brushing Steve’s, the barest hint of a kiss.
Steve smiles again and flops back down next to Eddie on the floor. “I’m definitely a metal fan, now.”
Eddie looks over at him, brows raised. “Yeah?”
Steve’s hand twitches against Eddie’s, and then he hooks their pinky fingers together and says, “Hell yeah.”