Chapter Text
S,
We arrived late last night and I completely forgot to write. Forgive me? Jonathan said he knows someone who can show us around, so that’s what I’m doing today. California is hotter than I thought it would be. What about you? Did you look at those summer job applications I printed out? Let’s call soon. Miss you.
Nancy
“Absolutely not.”
That’s the first thing the guy says when he swings open the door after Steve’s quick, snappish knocks echo around the grassy propertu. He’s got tattoos running along his pale arms, and frizzy brown hair that curls unevenly around his neck. His face, long and a little haunting, is familiar enough for Steve to realize that they’ve met before— but he can’t remember where. Probably school, since they seemed about the same age, which would also explain his immediate rejection at seeing Steve waiting outside his house. He didn’t exactly have a track record of acting friendly to people that looked like they belonged behind one of the screens at the arcade.
“Chill out, Munson,” a voice, a female voice, chimed from somewhere behind the kind-of-kind-of-not-stranger. “Let him in. He’s the only one that’s shown up, anyway.”
“It’s Steve fucking Harrington, Robin. I would rather die than let Steve fucking Harrington audition.”
The Robin girl appeared underneath the dude’s armpit. She was freckled all along her cheeks, probably from the sun like Nancy sometimes got, and her hair was grown just a little short of her shoulders. Steve thought he might recognise her as well, but again— his whole reputation at Hawkins High was pretty much built off of acting better than people and, to make it work, that whole shtick required not learning the names of losers.
“Aw, look at him, Eddie,” said Robin, smiling, but it was a smile that made Steve think she was making fun of him. “He’s like a lost little duckling.”
“He’s Steve Harrington,” the guy— Eddie, he corrected internally— replied, not removing his round Bambi eyes from Steve.
“You don’t have to keep saying my whole name, you know,” he said, and had to smother the tiny laugh that almost erupted from his throat when Eddie startled sideways, into the doorframe, at the sound of his voice. “I mean, you keep saying ‘Steve Harrington’ like I’m a celebrity, but I’m actually just Steve.”
“Well, just Steve , I’m so sorry about Eddie’s poor fucking manners. Seriously, it’s like he’s never had a guest before.” Robin crossed her arms, still wearing that mean smile, and ushered Steve inside the house. “What do you think?”
Steve glanced around. What did he think? That it was a shit show— there were empty beer bottles strewn along the edges of the floor, stains on the threadbare couch, and a rug that seemed a century older than any rug should’ve been was laid sideways under his feet. He wondered, briefly, if the place belonged to Robin or Eddie. Maybe both, even, or neither. They might’ve been a couple, with how close Robin had squeezed herself into Eddie’s side as they flopped backward on the couch. But realistically, how many teenagers already lived on their own, dating or not? Nancy kind of did, in Cali, except that didn’t count, since it was only temporary. After a moment, Steve returned his attention to the two weirdos staring at him and decided that they had probably borrowed the house for the afternoon from a family friend or something. That made sense.
He said: “So, like, what do you want me to do?”
“Sing,” Robin answered, at the same time Eddie muttered a word that sounded suspiciously like, “Leave.”
“O-kay.” Hesitating, Steve thought about what, exactly, he was meant to sing. Coming here had been something of a spontaneous decision— a reaction , if you will, to Nancy’s increasingly concerned emails. He’d found the flier stapled to the wall at Starcourt’s entrance that morning, read DO YOU LIKE AWESOME MUSIC? DO YOU LIKE PLAYING AWESOME MUSIC? IF YES, COME TO 2121 HOLLAND ROAD ANYTIME ON SUNDAY TO AUDITION FOR OUR BAND!, and promptly canceled all his plans to drive here. He didn’t even like music much. “Uh, what should I sing?”
Eddie finally seemed to lighten up at the question, a bit of excitement entering his eyes. “Do you know any Black Sabbath?”
That sounded like a cult thing, Steve thought. “Not really.”
“Dio?”
“Bless you.”
“Jesus Christ. What about Iron Maiden?”
“I think you’re scaring him,” Robin said before Steve could prove his complete ineptitude to Eddie anymore. “Steve, what’s your favorite song?”
He considered it. There was anything by ABBA, of course, which Nancy had helped him develop an obsession for. And he also liked a lot of that Madonna stuff his mom played when she was cleaning the bathrooms. “I guess… shit, what’s it called? It goes like, Some boys kiss me, some boys hug me, I think they're ok. If they don't give me proper credit, I just walk away… ”
They blinked at him. Steve grinned and did a little shimmy with his shoulders.
“Make him leave, Robin, please,” Eddie said a second later, his mouth curling downwards in a frown while somehow still looking amused. “My ears are bleeding.”
“What? What’s wrong with Madonna?”
Robin laughed (cackled, really). “Nothing, Harrington, except Eddie is a huge fucking music snob and is under the delusion that we’re gonna find the next Ozzy Osbourne by auditioning random teenagers in Hawkins, Indiana.”
“I bet he doesn’t even know who Ozzy is,” wailed Eddie, shoving his face into the crook of Robin’s shoulder. Steve still couldn’t tell if they were screwing or what. “How can you live with yourself if you don’t know Ozzy ?”
“Look, gentlemen,” Robin said, as if they were suddenly in an actual business meeting, and not a living room that stunk of weed and old socks. “The way I see it, we have two options here. Steve-o can either leave and we never find a lead singer for the band, or Steve-o can join, and we teach him what good music sounds like. I think we speak for us all when I say the second choice seems much more fun.”
Steve furrowed his brows. “What exactly do you mean by good music? Madonna is cool.”
Eddie, speaking over him: “Robin, you should know that you are now uninvited to my funeral.”
Tucking a lock of hair behind her overly pierced ear, and wrapping an arm haphazardly around Eddie’s shoulder, she ignored them both and yelled, “Great, it sounds like we’re all in agreement! Welcome to The Wig , Steve. Congratulations, you’re a real fuckin’ rockstar now.”
That night, sitting at his older-than-old computer with a new email addressed to Nancy opened, Steve found himself typing out and deleting half a million sentences. He even struggled writing her name without second-guessing it, because what if she thought it was weird he had put ‘dear’ at the start? She never did, after all. Plus there were the actual contents of the email— she had asked if he was setting up any job interviews like they’d planned before she ditched him for the journalist internship in California. The truth was that he was never going to go to any interviews because spending his summer break scooping ice cream or watching kids piss in the public pool for hours was akin to actual torture, in his mind. Maybe joining a band with a couple of freaks wasn’t any better, but it was an exciting new prospect for now, and Steve was sort of maybe (okay definitely ) looking forward to properly starting tomorrow. He imagines what Nancy’s face would do if he told her about it. She might burst a blood vessel.
How would the conversation go? Aren’t you tired of sabotaging your future? she might ask, that pitying and perfect lilt in her voice that had made Steve fall for her in the first place. And then he’d wait for a beat before responding, Why do you assume I had a future to begin with? It’d go back and forth in that vein for a little while, each of them growing meaner and meaner, until Nancy finally would make some comment or other about how this was why she dumped him, he was too stubborn— too much— and only a girl with no brain would ever be capable of putting up with his bullshit for longer than six months. That was how their last few in-person conversations went, anyway. Nowadays Steve just tells people good riddance when they ask about his priss ex-girlfriend. People always laughed when he said stuff like that. He never told them that he was still in contact with her, all these miles away. He definitely never told them that he might kill himself if she stopped pretending to care about him.
Eventually, the email is typed out and sent off without him rereading it for mistakes. Steve secretly enjoys it when she sends it right back with a bunch of corrections to his grammar, since it guaranteed she’d always have at least one thing to say.
Nancy,
I miss you like crazy. I TOLD you Cali would be too hot for your delicate skin but you never listen to me do you? Anyway I have a job interview on Wednesday for that Family Video place near the mall. Please call me when you have some spare time. Oh and don’t have too much fun without me (because I’m not having any which I bet you already had guessed)
Yours, S
Weeks pass. Steve’s throat hurts from singing every day. He’s almost entirely certain that he’s never listened to this much music in his life.
Eddie and Robin are obsessed with bullying him. Eddie calls it retribution, except Steve is pretty sure he never bullied Eddie, while Robin just says it’s fun to see him get mad about comments that they don’t even mean, like “you sound like you’ve got a fucking hairball in your throat” or “are you tone-deaf, dingus?” because apparently, Steve wasn’t too bad when he practiced. He wouldn’t call himself a natural or anything, but he’s still alright.
On Wednesday, sixteen afternoons after Steve lied about having an interview for Family Video, and fifteen nights after Nancy promised she would call (she only ever responds to his emails when the sun is already down), the three of them head to Starcourt for lunch. It’s a scorching day, the hottest it’s been for years, and Steve’s already changed his shirt twice because he keeps drenching the cheap fabric in sticky sweat. When they practice, he moves around a lot , ‘cause standing still while he’s singing to his sort-of-sort-of-not friends is super awkward. One time, a few days back, Robin had prepared a bucket of ice water to pour over him for when they finished. Steve hadn’t actually wanted her to pour ice over him, but Robin was so excited to do it and Eddie was so excited to snap a photo of King Steve drenched in water looking like a wet cat, that he just resigned himself to letting them do whatever they wanted with him. He would never, ever admit it, but watching them giggle about it afterwards was the closest thing to satisfaction he’d felt for a long fucking time.
But back to that Wednesday— they drag their feet across town to take advantage of the cool air-conditioned mall when Eddie suddenly announces he’s craving a massive bowl of raspberry ice cream (which by the way, what the fuck he likes raspberry ice cream? inexplicably became the only thought that Steve had for the next twenty minutes) so then, naturally, they’re all standing in the line for Scoops Ahoy, and Robin is rambling about something stupid— conspiracies about JFK, maybe. That was her newest obsession— while Steve counted the coins that he had sitting in his jean pocket. Eddie was plaiting the front strands of his hair, hm-ing and ah-ing at the right spots in Robin’s passionate speech on why Marilyn Monroe was actually still alive and hiding out in Texas.
It strikes Steve, as they order their cones, that these are his friends. His real friends, that is, not in the way Tommy H and Carol were his friends.
As soon as he realised this, he heard words spilling from his mouth without waiting for a second to reconsider, “D’you guys wanna come to my house tonight and get high?”
“ Fuck yes,” says Eddie, nodding his head fiercely enough to cause the half-done braid to hit him in the chin.
“I thought you would never ask,” Robin added.
So that was how they found themselves sitting under the moonlight, legs swinging back and forth over the edge of the Harrington’s recently emptied pool. Eddie had supplied the pot, even though Steve had offered to, while Robin brought what had looked like an entire shelf full of snacks for them to eat. Chips, soda, chocolate, and overpriced candy were now dotted in the small gaps of personal space separating the trio of getting-there-adults. Steve could feel himself getting relaxed, getting high , and yet it had only been about five minutes. If he wanted to be cheesy, he’d probably say that he was high off their company.
He peeks sideways, at Eddie’s profile. His skin appeared paler than usual from the moon cloaking him in light, and Steve wondered what it would taste like. Eddie gave off secretly sweet vibes, a bit, in the same way that sour lollies are sweet when you lick past all the… well, sourness. Or maybe he’d just be plain salty, because surely under all those layers of black clothing, he was sweating up a fucking storm. Steve caught a whiff of him a few days ago when they were sitting together in the Buckley kitchen, waiting for Robin to return from the bathroom. Eddie had smelt like cigarettes (not a surprise) and female perfume (a surprise). He never talked about dating— none of them did, actually— so Steve had previously assumed that Eddie was a virgin, like most nerds. But that lingering lady perfume made him reassess the theory.
Once he was bored of staring at Eddie’s pink lips and eery eyes, Steve moved his gaze to Robin. She was pretty. Really pretty, though he’s 99% sure she would stab him if he ever complimented her. Her voice was the perfect amount of gravelly, and her hair was shorter than most girls liked to keep theirs, but Steve didn’t care about trivial stuff like that. He knew that if they ran into each other at a house party, he would’ve hit on her. He probably would hit on Eddie too, if he was drunk enough. Eddie could pass as a masculine woman when Steve squinted.
“I’m cold ,” Robin whined, forcing him out of his musings and back to the real world. “Why didn’t we bring blankets out here?”
“We can go inside,” Steve said.
Robin feigned a sob. “But I don’t wanna go inside. I wanna sit outside, but I wanna be warm while I do it.”
“It’s the middle of summer, Buckley,” Eddie grumbled, a smidgen unkindly, as he blew a puff of smoke in the direction of the pool. “If you’re cold right now, you must be fucking mental. This is like the nicest weather. Not too hot, not too cold…”
“Yeah, it’s neutral weather,” Steve finished for him, and then laughed because neutral weather seemed like a funny concept.
“I’m going inside.” Robin stood and ignored their protests, stomping forward to the backdoor, which would lead to the downstairs living room. Once she was gone from view, Steve laid back against the cement and breathed in.
Next to him, Eddie copied, smiling upwards at the starry sky. “This is crazy,” he said, as he gestured with the left hand that was holding the blunt. “I mean, I’m smoking with Steve ‘the Hair ’ Harrington, at his house, and I’m genuinely having fun. God, what I would do to tell middle-school-me about this fucking summer.”
Steve rolled onto his side so he faced Eddie. The ground scratched him through his shirt. “I don’t know if it’s that crazy.”
“Oh, it is.”
“Why?”
Eddie hesitated. “It just is.”
“You’re lying,” Steve said, frowning. “There’s something else. Come on, you know I’m not just Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington anymore, right?”
He squeezed his eyes shut. “Yeah, yeah. I hate to say it, but you’re a pretty good guy.”
“Then what ?”
A voice shouting from above stopped Eddie from admitting whatever he was about to admit. Steve cursed under his breath and turned around, spotting Robin sticking her head out of his bedroom window. “Hey, idiots! Come up here. I fucking found Harrington’s porn stash.”
Eddie jumped up immediately, and Steve noticed his cheeks had gotten all pink at some point in their conversation. He didn’t comment on the redness, just filed the observation away for later consideration.
Robin, meanwhile, was still yelling. “Hop to it, boys! The night is still young!”
“I hate you,” Steve called up. “And I don’t have a Goddamn porn stash.” Not one she’d be able to find that easily, anyway.
They end up passing out together on Steve’s king-size bed. He himself is laid across the center of the mattress, arms and legs stretched every way, uncaring of accidentally touching the two people sleeping beside him. Robin, meanwhile, had curled herself into a ball near the bottom of the bed, a bit like a cat too shy to sit on its owner’s lap. And then there was Eddie, who in wakefulness never failed to seem larger than life, but in unconsciousness, he took up as little room as possible and made no noise (unlike Robin and Steve, who snored louder than they talked). The trio would have made a pretty picture if the Harrington parents had ever given enough of a shit to take photos of their kid.
In the morning, Steve led his guests to the bathroom and watched them brushed their teeth with their fingers. Robin talked about visiting her Nana on the weekend, and Eddie complained about his uncle’s new girlfriend. Steve listened to them silently, still feeling warm, inside and out, from spending the night cuddled up together. He felt a bit childish, but he was also having a good time, so who gave a shit, right?
The first time Steve was properly alone with Robin without Eddie present was two days later, on Friday. She randomly showed up at his front door, holding a pack of iced beer in one hand and two newly rented movies in the other.
“ Dead Poets Society and Breakfast at Tiffany’s, ” she said to the question in his eyes. They headed to the living room. “You might not like them, but they’re sort of my guilty pleasure movies. Don’t tell Eddie, though. He isn’t just a snob about music.”
“I promise I won’t tell him your big dirty secret.”
She hummed, sitting down.
“By the way, if you don’t cry at the end of Dead Poets Society, you’re fucking dead to me,” Robin said as they started the film.
Steve sipped his first beer. “Does that count as a spoiler? I know it’ll be sad now.”
“Not necessarily.”
Halfway through, Steve glanced over and saw that her crystal-blue eyes, lined with black shadows, were drooping. Her head fell on his shoulder. With his heart beating quicker than usual, Steve slowly curled his arm around her body. He chewed on his lip. He wanted to kiss her, or hold her, or something , but he also wanted to do none of those things. It felt like he should want to touch her, because that’s the kind of guy he was— Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington, King Steve, the great Steve, Hawkins’ biggest douche. But he didn’t want to be that guy. He wanted to, to…
“If you’re about to hit on me,” she whispered, her voice tiny and even coarser than usual. “Please don't.”
“I wasn’t going to,” he lied, which settled that.
An hour afterwards, Robin stretched her arms out and yawned. The credits were rolling. Steve rubbed at his eyes, feeling tired himself. Both their hair was messed up from sitting against the couch for so long. “Wanna watch the next one?”
“Nah,” Robin said. “Let’s finish the beers.”
And so they did.
Steve was in the middle of chugging the last bottle when the phone rang from down the hall. They met eyes across the kitchen counter as the noise echoed around the house, and a gem of confusion settled in the pit of his stomach; nobody ever called the house if his parents weren’t home.
“Well, are you gonna answer it?” asked Robin. Steve, shrugging, nodded and they headed towards the ring-ring-ringing of the phone.
He grabbed it from its position on the wall. “Uh, Steve Harrington talking?”
It was, oddly enough, Eddie that greeted him on the side. “ Harrington ! Perfect. Just the man I wanted to speak to.”
Steve mouthed ‘Eddie’ to Robin. She tilted her head, curious. “Oh. Hey. What’s up, dude?”
Eddie chuckled, and it sounded breathless from wherever he was calling from. “Nothing in particular, dude , except. Well. There’s this itsy-bitsy-thing. Um, have you talked to Robin today? Or even yesterday? ‘Cause she hasn’t been answering my calls, and I kind of really need to see her— there’s something I gotta tell her about, you see— but, as I said, she’s gone totally AWOL on me. Not that I’m worried or anything, I don’t give a shit, really, but we usually talk every day, so…”
“Maybe she’s out,” Steve suggested as casually as he could, while simultaneously gesturing to Robin as if that would magically translate what Eddie was saying. “Did you try talking to her parents?”
“Ye-es, I just did. Her dad said she left earlier this morning, but he didn’t tell me where.”
“Weird,” Steve said. “Well, sorry I couldn’t help you, man.”
“All good, man ,” Eddie replied. He realized Eddie did that a lot— parroted the whole ‘man’ and ‘bro’ thing back at him with more emphasis than was required. It was endearing. “I guess I'll see you on Sunday, then? At my trailer?”
“Yup. Unless something comes up, anyway.”
Eddie murmured something too low to hear, said another goodbye, and then hung up. Steve waited for a beat before angrily turning to Robin, his hands on his hips.
She sighed, staring at the floor.
“What the shit , Buckley?” he said. “Are you two in a lover’s spat or something else fucking stupid? Is that why you came over here? Jesus, I thought you wanted to hang out.”
“A lover’s spat? Don’t be stupid, dingus.”
“Then why are you ignoring him?”
Robin licked her bottom lip and finally fixed her gaze on him instead of the ground, setting her jaw. “I’m not ignoring him, per se,” she explained. “It’s more like I’m just not talking to him. We’re always together, you know? So sue me if I wanted to spend time with my other friend for once! And I would have just told him that, but he gets so weird when we talk about you without you there, so I kept it a secret.”
Steve frowned. “Weird how?”
“Like—“ she stopped, breathing in. “Nevermind. You have to ask him yourself. It’s not my business.”
They stood in awkward silence for a few minutes. Eventually, Robin walked off to the living room and Steve, feeling like he wasn’t even in his own house he was so damn uncomfortable, followed her.
More moments went by. Robin kicked her feet up onto his lap and shoved her face into her hands. Steve pursed his lips; he had a feeling she was working herself up the courage to tell him something.
Finally, she spoke. Her words were halting, like somebody was forcing her to say them, but it was only Steve and Steve doubted he had the power to convince Robin to drink a whole glass of milk, let alone make her say something she didn’t want to. “You know how I asked you, earlier, to not hit on me? You probably thought I was crazy. What girl in Hawkins doesn’t want Steve Harrington to flirt with her, right?”
She didn’t give him time to respond.
“Well, the reason I asked that wasn’t because I secretly think you’re, like, hideous.” Robin fiddled with the singular gold ring on her index finger— Steve was pretty sure it had been a gift from Eddie. “I wish I wanted you to like me. But I don’t. And that’s- that’s the problem. That’s also why Eddie is my only friend, and I’m his. We have problems, Steve. Got that? And we’ve made peace with that, maybe even grown to like that about ourselves. But then you came and auditioned for our dumb band and ruined it, although you didn’t actually. You didn’t at all. Eddie is obsessed with you, which was the opposite of what he thought about you only a few weeks ago, and you’re kind of my best friend, which is nice. It’s nicer than you being an asshole, anyway.”
“Robin,” he interrupted softly. “You’re rambling.”
“Shit, right.” She breathed in. “What I’m trying to say is that I really like you, Steve, but you have to promise not to try and- and assume anything about me and Eddie’s relationship, alright? That includes making comments about, like, lovers' spats and stuff.”
So they weren’t dating , Steve thought instantly and almost hit himself. She had just asked him to stop with the assumptions. “I won’t, Robin. I promise. Was that all?”
“Basically, yeah.”
“Alright, then.” He flinched, smothering the urge to hug her because she looked fucking sensitive at that second and skin-on-skin contact would most likely piss her off. “Do you want to… watch Breakfast at Tiffany’s now?”
“I- sure, okay.”
Steve!
I’m so happy you got the job with Keith. How’s the pay? And the customers? Do you have to wear a uniform?
Jonathan and I are making good headway with the internship. I think the boss actually likes me, and not in a creepy boss way. We’re going out for another intern’s birthday tomorrow, which should be fun. She’s nice; I think you two would get along.
Nancy
N,
There was never any doubt that you’d impress every damn person in that office Nance. You’re amazing. I'm surprised you haven't realized it already. Should I call Jonathan up and ask why he isn’t telling you that more often?
Keith is fine. Family Video is fine. Yes to the uniform. It’s nowhere near as exciting as what you’re probably doing in California.
Yours (as always)
Steve,
I wish you’d stop with the compliments, I’ll get a big head. It’s not fair, anyway, because you aren’t telling me enough about your life for me to return them. I am begging you, how is Hawkins going? Are you still seeing that Rebecca girl?
Nancy
Dear Nance,
Rebecca is LONG in the past I had almost forgotten about her.
If you’re interested, maybe we could call tonight? I’m not working or have any other plans so hopefully we'd have a couple of hours to ourselves. I’d like to hear Jonathan’s voice as well, it feels like it’s been years.
Steve x
As planned, they met at Eddie’s place on Sunday for band practice. Usually, they spent a couple of hours playing whatever songs they liked in Robin’s backyard because her parents always made them lunch and cold drinks while they did it, but her mom was out of town this week so they had no choice but to relocate to the Munson trailer. Steve had considered offering his own house, but he was certain that his dad would get pissed off if he heard his only son blasting rock music for a whole afternoon.
He didn’t bring up his last conversation with Robin when they arrived together, and it didn’t seem like Eddie was angry at her, so he assumed they had made up or just not made a big deal about the whole purposefully-ignoring-each-other thing.
“Hello, children,” greeted Eddie, even though there was only a two-month age gap between them, and then ushered them inside, out from the glare of the sun. He shoved Robin and Steve onto his threadbare loveseat. His hair seemed even wilder than usual. “You guys are going to sit there and make no noise because I have done something that will either make you both very, very excited or… possibly super mad.”
Steve crossed his arms, squinting at him. “Spill, dude.”
“Alright.” Eddie hesitated, and said, extremely quickly, “Okay-so-I-basically-booked-us-a-gig-at-that-4th-of-July-picnic-thing-happening-next-Thursday-in-the-park.”
It was silent.
To his left, Robin looked gobsmacked. She mouthed wordlessly. Steve wasn’t feeling much better himself.
Eddie made a ta-da movement with his arms, and Steve felt a moment of deja vu from his audition at the start of the summer– well, he used the word audition loosely– when it was the other two staring up at and judging him from the sofa. “Well? What d’you think?”
“I think you’re a fucking asshole,” Robin retorted. “Why wouldn’t you consult us? The Wig is not ready for a public performance! I still drop my Goddamn drumsticks every time we finish a song, and Steve doesn’t even know what an octave is!”
Eddie rolled his eyes. “That’s just your nerves talking, Buckley. We’re fucking ready, alright? I promise. Would I lie about that?”
Steve finally found his words. “What exactly are we meant to sing? The Independence Day picnic is for, like, old people. We haven’t been practicing old person music.”
“Harrington, you’ve been ‘practicing’ old person music your whole life.” Then, probably catching the offended look on Steve’s face, Eddie started singing, “Like a virgin, touched for the very first time. Like a virgin, when your heart beats next to mine… Remember?”
Steve scowled. “Madonna is not for old people, you little shit. And for the last time, Munson, I didn’t audition with ‘Like a virgin’, I auditioned with ‘Material Girl’. They’re completely different songs.”
“They’re both for schoolgirls dreaming about their crush, so check-fucking-mate.”
“Oh, that’s rich coming from you, Mr Can’t-Help-Falling-In-Love.”
“ What .”
“Yeah, Robin told me all about how you were obsessed with Elvis as a kid, so you can come down from your high horse, now–”
“I was not obsessed with Elvis, I’d rather gag on a bloody spoon than–”
Robin stood, stepped towards Eddie, and slapped the back of his head. The sound of her hand hitting him shut them both up, and Steve watched him raise his arm to rub at the presumably sore spot, lines of hurt knitting themselves into his face. “Hey. What the hell was that for, Buckley?”
She was breathing a bit faster, her eyes round in anger. “I’m mad at you, Eddie Munson. That’s what it was for. You told me when we made the band that it would just be a private thing, but then you insisted we needed another member, so I said fine, but no weirdos, and sure, we got lucky with Steve, but now you’re ruining your promise again, with a Goddamn gig at the Independence Day picnic of all things. What would even possess you to do that?”
Eddie bit his lip. “I didn’t think you’d hate the idea so much.”
“Yeah, Munson, it seems you weren’t thinking at all.”
And she stormed off, out of the trailer, without a backward glance. Steve stood from the couch, contemplating leaving as well as she disappeared from the park, but a single look at Eddie ‘the Freak’ Munson’s depressed black eyes made him change his mind. Sighing, Steve walked closer to the guy and put a cautious hand on his shoulder.
“Just give her a few days to come around.”
“Whatever.” Munson flicked his hand off him and melted into the middle of the couch. “You know, I thought she was finally getting over her anxiety. I mean, she had no problem making friends with you , and it took months for her to warm up to me.”
Steve’s mouth twitched. Eddie looked so pitiful, sitting there, it was sweet. “I think making one new friend is a bit different to performing in front of hundreds of strangers.”
“Maybe.”
Eddie shoved his face into his hands, groaning. His curly hair hid his eyes, and Steve resisted the urge to move closer for a better view of him.
“I just…” he trailed off, peeking between his fingers to aim a sad expression in Steve’s direction. “I just wish she realized how awesome she is. I mean, do you know any other girls that can play the drums? She knows three fucking languages, for Godsake. She shouldn’t feel the need to care about other people’s opinions of her, but she does, and it’s so dumb. I’m not even half as cool and I stopped giving a shit when I failed math for the first time.”
“Yeah, but not everyone is you .” Steve didn’t even realize he had pronounced ‘you’ like he thought Eddie was the stars and moon, and simply continued, “Nobody’s gonna be perfect. You’re a massive nerd, I spent years ruining people’s lives, and Robin has trouble talking to people. That’s just how life is.”
He hadn’t planned to spend his Sunday afternoon giving therapy to Eddie Munson of all people, but sometimes things turned out differently than planned. Steve perched himself carefully beside the poor guy, who had somehow tugged himself into a tiny ball as he was talking– like, full-on legs pulled tight against his chest, his chin nestled between his kneecaps. He had a strange desire to touch him, like he had that fleeting moment on Friday, with Robin. Except that desire only lasted a second, and he immediately felt guilty for wanting it, especially once she’d practically begged him not to think like that again. This time it wasn’t fleeting; Steve wanted to touch Eddie all over his skin. He wanted to drag a finger across his chapped mouth, curl his palms around his hips. He wanted to outline the ink on his arms, or lick them and listen to how it caused a hitch in Eddie’s breath. He wanted– wanted… he had a fucking boner.
“Steve?”
“Um, yes?”
“Are you alright? You spaced out for a bit there.”
No I’m not alright I just fucking fantasised about sucking your dick even though we’re both guys and I like women in fact I LOVE women, all my wet dreams in the past month have been about Nancy Goddamn Wheeler and she’s definitely a woman since I’ve seen her tits and enjoyed touching them too, except she’s gone, she left me, her tits are in California but you’re here with your dick and pretty cheekbones and you have hair like hers a bit and actually I’m not alright, no, why do you ask?
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
Eddie nodded. “Cool, cool. Wanna smoke?”
Steve agreed and pretended his brain wasn’t begging him to suggest they make out instead.
That same day, several hours afterwards, Nancy finally made good on her numerous, numerous promises and called the Harrington house phone. It was Steve’s mom that answered, and she shouted up the stairs for him to come and talk to his ‘nice friend, Nancy’.
Once his mother had passed the damn thing to him, Steve shoved the phone to his ear and immediately grinned when he heard her perfect voice. The ball of foreboding that had been building in his stomach for a few weeks now evaporated. Nancy sounded the same, she was the same girl, California hadn’t ruined her, she still loved him enough to call.
Feeling a bit like the schoolgirl with a crush that Eddie was so dead set on describing him as, Steve leaned his back against the wall and said, “Hey, Nance. Been a while.”
“So it has,” she said, laughing a bit, and God Steve had missed her. Why did she even have to leave for that dumb internship in the first place? “I was worried you wouldn’t be home. That’d be just our luck, wouldn’t it? When I finally got a chance to talk, you were busy.”
“I’m never too busy for you,” he almost replied. Thankfully the words fizzled on his tongue and were replaced with: “Yeah, that would’ve seriously sucked.”
He heard her sit down somewhere through the phone, through the distance. “So. How’s Family Video?”
Steve imagined Eddie’s lips when he blew out gray smoke from his mouth, how his collarbones were quickly becoming one of his favorite things. He recalled how sometimes he got this glint in his eyes that screamed I like when you’re mean to me and I like being mean to you. He wondered if that was what friendship was; it’s not like he knew. The only friend he’d ever had before Eddie and Robin was Nancy, and look how that turned out. “Family Video is alright. I get paid, like, three bucks an hour and the boss sucks but I pretty much spend all my time–” singing, laughing, smoking, “–watching movies, so it’s whatever.”
Nancy hummed. “I’m glad your summer wasn’t ruined by me leaving, then. To be completely frank, I was worried you’d end up following me to California just ‘cause you got bored.”
Maybe, he considered, I should just tell her the truth.
But then he remembered how much fun she was having, how much experience she was gaining, how close she was to her dreams, and decided that admitting to joining a band named ‘The Wig’ with Eddie Munson and Robin Buckley was too humiliating.
“I don’t know. I feel like me flying over there wouldn’t be so farfetched.”
“I know, Steve, that's why I was worried you’d actually do it.”
“Wow, thanks. You must think I’m a desperate loser, then.”
Nancy paused. “Steve, don’t turn this into an argument.”
“I was kidding. Jeez-us.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” he murmured, thinking, when did we drift so far apart you can’t even tell when I’m joking anymore? Is this the end of us?
They talked for five more minutes until Nancy claimed Jonathan was looking for her. Steve let her hang up without argument.
Through half a miracle and half an excruciating amount of begging from both Eddie and Steve, they were able to convince Robin to perform at the picnic. She made them promise no funny business, though. That meant no spontaneous songs thrown in a few minutes before they went on, no rearranging the positions so Robin’s drum set was right in front of the audience, and no announcing her name at the start or end. Steve conceded to the terms easily, but Eddie didn’t. He thought Robin deserved recognition for her bitchin’ drum skills, and not saying her name at any point on the day sort of made that impossible.
Neither of them was budging, no matter how many compromises Steve made up. Not for the first time, he resented how stubborn the two were. He supposed that was why they made such a perfect match.
They were sitting on the grass, thirty minutes before they were scheduled to go on, and still, they hadn’t come to an agreement. It was killing him.
“Guys, please ,” he said, hating how desperate he sounded because the Steve Harrington from six months ago would have thrown up if he saw this. Families, teen couples and old men on their own were sat sparsely around the three, on a variety of picnic blankets and beach towels. The sun’s rays were angled downwards at the field of locals, heavy and cruel. “Eddie, it’s Robin’s decision if she wants people to know it’s her drumming. And her decision is no. Why do we have to turn it into a whole thing?”
“Because I’m so sick of her hating herself!” exclaimed Eddie. He had his hair tied back– an uncommon sight; it was making Steve’s stomach feel a bit like a rollercoaster. Who knew necks could be so attractive?– and only a white singlet on, which did a good job at showing off his tattoos and surprisingly well-toned arms. “She’s one of the best people I’ve ever met, and not enough people know it. This might be her only chance to prove to this awful town that she isn’t just a loser like everybody else who lives here.”
“Why do you have to always do that?” she cried in response, and she looked genuinely distressed. “I’m a normal person, Eddie! I’m not a genius, or a superstar, or anything. I’m a loser and everybody knows it. We’re all losers! That’s why we’re friends in the first place. Why do you refuse to admit that about us both ?”
“Okay, everyone chill out.” Steve rested his hands on both their knees and encouraged them to breathe in, breathe out. Eddie just bared his teeth while Robin rolled her eyes. “Fine, don’t chill out. See if I care.”
Several minutes passed, where they sat in frustrated, stormy silence. Eventually, Eddie dragged himself onto his feet and, tugging a curl that had fallen out of his bun back behind his ear, told them, “I’m going to go warm up. Robin, either stay here and wallow in your self-pity or come with. Steve, let’s go.”
Steve shot an apologetic look in Robin’s direction and followed.
They walked in a blanket of silence. He couldn’t think of anything to say. More and more often he found himself losing his words in front of Eddie.
“She makes me feel so fucking crazy,” Eddie said, partly to the world and partly to Steve in particular.
“Girls will tend to do that,” he answered, and he wasn’t even thinking about Nancy.
Eddie sighed. They stopped in front of the makeshift stage (a big rug slapped over a few slabs of wood, with their instruments all ready to go on top), where a small crowd– mostly mothers holding their kids’ hands– was waiting for the performance. “Totally, girls . Anyway, Harrington, are you ready to go? Got that pretty boy voice of yours nice and warmed up?”
“Definitely,” said Steve. “How about you? I’m assuming you’ve already creamed your pants at the chance of showing off your electric guitar to everyone.”
“Gross, Steve-o. There are children present.”
“Yeah, but I’m not wrong, am I?”
“Shut up.”
Steve laughed. He prayed Eddie would mistake the blush on his cheeks as a reaction to the summer weather.
The songs they had prepared were, in order, Africa by Toto (courtesy of Steve), Come to my window by Melissa Etheridge (courtesy of Robin) and I was made for lovin’ you by KISS (courtesy of Eddie, who had originally wanted to do Believer by Ozzy Osbourne— AKA the love of his life— before realizing how badly Steve was butchering the song and promptly changing his mind). They had all mutually decided they’d prefer to pick the music based on what they wanted to do, rather than based on what the conservatives of Hawkins wanted them to do. Steve privately thought it would be hilarious to see the reactions of Republican mothers when Eddie did his cool solo guitar bit.
“Shall we do this thing, then?” asked Eddie.
“What about Robin? We can’t exactly perform the songs without the drums.”
They glanced around and spotted, miraculously, Robin running towards them.
“I hate you idiots so much,” she said, and she still looked mad but at least it wasn’t mad-mad. “Let’s just do it.”
Then, because Steve was feeling cheesy and loved these people more than he had ever thought he was capable of loving, he put his hand out to the middle of their little huddle. It was the universal signal for the hand stack thing, which he used to always do with his swimming team before a competition. Eddie shook his head as he did it, but put his hand in anyway. Robin, her cheeks dimpling, placed her palm on top.
“I fucking love you freaks.”
“You too, dingus.”
“Yeah, yeah. You’re gonna make me throw up with all this sappy shit.”
Steve laughed. They shouted hurrah and went on.
Tonight, I want to see it in your eyes
Feel the magic, there's something that drives me wild
And tonight, we're gonna make it all come true
'Cause girl, you were made for me
And girl, I was made for you
I was made for lovin' you, baby
You were made for lovin' me
And I can't get enough of you, baby
Can you get enough of me?
I was made for lovin' you, baby
You were made for lovin' me
And I can give it all to you, baby
Can you give it all to me?
Oh, can't get enough
I can't get enough
I can't get enough
The godawful song was stuck in Steve’s head as he drove home. His head moved with the beat, his foot tapped, his fingers danced on the wheel. He kept humming it over and over, remembering how at one point while singing he had glanced over and caught Eddie’s eyes. He’d been sweaty, which wasn’t a surprise, and bits of his hair was sticking to his neck. Steve had thought, I wanna bite him. He was almost sure Eddie had sensed the thought because he’d raised an eyebrow in Steve’s direction as he played, as if to say not here, Harrington . But that was probably wishful thinking. It was oddly erotic, playing a song like that with your maybe-crush in front of a hundred or so homophobes.
Anyway, he pulled to a stop a small distance away from his house. Still muttering the lyrics— I was made for lovin’ you, baby… — as he headed across the street, he noticed through the windows that the upstairs lights were still on. That was weird. His parents usually went to bed early on weeknights, and it was already ten o’clock.
The three of them had gone for burgers when they finished, still giddy from adrenaline and giggling through their mouthfuls while they recounted the best moments. Steve was sure Eddie never looked more beautiful than when he was just letting himself melt into his emotions, instead of smothering them, and allowing his joy to run wild. Steve knows that was a thought he’d had before, about Nancy and her smile, which she only released into the world when she wasn’t stressing about school or the future. If he was starting to view Eddie in the same way he used to view Nancy, it was probably too late to stop the train crash that would inevitably come out of loving a person with too much passion.
He swung open the front door.
There, sitting in front of the black TV, was his mother.
Steve stilled. Has something happened? Was his dad okay? She didn’t notice him enter at first, just continued staring off into space with a tiny— was that a smile?— on her face.
“Ma?” he said, cautious, as he walked further into the room.
“Oh!” she jumped a bit. “I’m sorry, Steven, I didn’t hear you come in. How was the picnic?”
“Um. It was nothing special, I guess.”
It wasn’t often that his mother displayed any interest in something separate from his future. That was all she talked about these days; what were his plans for college? Did he want to join his dad’s company? What about getting an apprenticeship somewhere, to become an electrician or something? Steve usually brushed these questions off, because he couldn’t exactly answer something he didn’t know yet.
“That’s nice,” she told him, and there was still the barely-there smile visible on her lips. “Sweetie, by the way, there’s a surprise for you upstairs.”
What the fuck .
“Like a gift?”
His mother shook her head. “Like a surprise visitor.”
Steve frowned.
She gestured for him to go up.
He did.
His heart was pounding. He couldn’t think of a single person that he knew who would pay him a ‘surprise visit’ halfway through summer break. Tommy H had gone on holiday to New Zealand or some shit, and even if he was in Hawkins he probably wouldn’t show up here, not after Steve beat the shit out of him last semester. It obviously wasn’t Robin or Eddie either, since he’d literally just seen them and anyway, he doubts his mother would’ve been acting so happy if the town’s pariahs were inside her son’s bedroom.
Steve arrived in front of his closed door. He almost didn’t want to go in, because what if it was someone bad ? Like, bad-bad. Like, old-Steve-Harrington-bad?
He went in, anyway.
He found Nancy on his bed, sitting next to the pillow as if they were fifteen again and still playing 20 questions to get to know each other.
The muscles in Steve’s throat jumped. She glanced at him, her eyes wide, her cheeks a nervous pink colour. He knew what the expression on her face meant immediately (how could he not? He’d spent months learning what every twitch meant, what every frown indicated. He’d fucking loved this girl; he would’ve died for her). It meant she was scared but, thankfully, not of him.
“Nance?” he whispered, astonished.
She stood up, slowly, moving in a way that reminded him of babies learning to walk for the first time. The word that next came out of her mouth sounded like it belonged underwater, where he never would have to hear or process it. But it wasn’t underwater, it was here, now, in Indiana, when it was meant to be in California—
“Hi.”
Steve didn’t waste a second. He tugged their chests together, smiling but also a little shell-shocked, and hugged her as hard as he knew how.