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They kiss.
And it’s simple, in its way. The most complicatedly simple thing that Eddie has ever had in his life. Which has mostly just been complicated. Complicated before all this bullshit, and definitely complicated now, in the after. But it’s warm, kissing Steve, bright against his lips, a conflagration that heats without burning and chases away the cold.
And Eddie. Eddie is always cold these days.
So, if it’s simple, or complicated, or right, or wrong, he doesn’t give a flying fuck, because it’s a lifeline, in its way. Steve. Kissing Steve. Keeps Eddie in the land of the living, tethers him right when he thinks his thoughts are about to hurtle so fast and sharp they’ll just blow his brains out. Maybe levitate him into the air as his bones snap. Because his body is the right temp again, warmed back up to normal again, but there’s ice in his mind. And that’s worse. Somehow. Because you can’t wrap a blanket around the goddamn broken edges of your brain. Can’t melt away the aching anguish of death or the frozen fingers of the Upside Down with a blow torch. And fuck, he’d probably try, if he didn’t have this. If this wasn’t better.
Steve pulls away, and Eddie tries to smile. Tries to play it off, even though he knows it’s pointless. That Steve Harrington is good at way more things than he’d written him down for, and that includes being a master at calling Eddie out on his bullshit. But still, it sits on the edge of his tongue to spin out some lie, purr our something distracting, because I just got lost again thinking about how fucked up I am just doesn’t have that nice ring to it. Makes Eddie feel that itchy, uncomfortable restlessness that he’s always felt here, in this town, in this place, in his head, but has amplified after everything. That nasty voice that sounds, worst of all, like himself, reminding him of exactly what he’s worth.
But the moment for that has passed. For coming out with something smooth and dashing, and flustering Steve into forgetting. And he knows his eyes look fucking lost because Steve’s do that terrible, soft thing. The one where they go all open and sad. And Eddie doesn’t even deserve that from him because they’ve all suffered, and he’s just being a fucking baby about it. Because he’s just too weak to pull himself together. Because he desperately needs Steve, and it’s a terrifying feeling. Needing. And Eddie has made it his number one mission to not need anyone, and for sure, no one has ever needed Eddie. He wants to hate it. But something’s cracked open in him. Between the kids, and Robin, and Wheeler the Eldest, and, Steve. And goddamn Steve. And he can’t repair that dam, not anymore. Can’t stop the yawning hunger he has for what’s inside of it.
His breath rattles as Steve’s thumb traces over his cheek. It leaves a trail of touch that blazes. And Eddie can feel the loneliness now, when they part. The stark difference of it. When he’s all by himself. Like he was for those weeks in the Upside Down before Steve’s hands came down from the heavens, the white knight Paladin himself, and pulled him back into the world of the living. Like he was, in the days before that, hiding alone in a shed, everything out of his control. Like he was, mostly, even before the town called for his blood outright, not fully, but mostly, at arm’s length from everyone because at some point or another, he’d realized he could choose that loneliness or it would be chosen for him. The lesser of two evils.
But now. Now it’s rare. The moments alone. Because Dustin is always rifling through his things. And Robin has no concept of personal space at all. And Steve. And Steve.
And it’s somehow habit-forming. A dangerous addiction his body craves. And more dangerous because he can’t control the substance. Can’t control them, but somehow, they still turn up. And Eddie thinks he’s just coming apart at the seams, really. He’s so fucking scared. But somehow, craves, and craves, and---
Steve’s fingers have twisted into his own and he’s squeezing. And Eddie pulls himself out of his brain, that icy, dangerous fucking, unraveling place to be. Motionless. And then, because Steve’s eyes are on him. Golden and glimmering and fucking expectant, he squeezes back because how could he not? Because someone expects something of him now. And he’s so fucking exhausted, but it still makes his heart leap in his chest.
“You’re thinking too fucking loud, Munson.” Steve murmurs, but there’s no heat to it. Just that unbearable gentleness. Eddie’s cells dance under it, bask and shudder at once. Celebratory terror. He’d run if he could, but Steve’s holding onto him and he holds on right back. Because he would. But he doesn’t want to.
“Guess I was bored.” He murmurs back, and Steve’s laugh is a low hum that Eddie inhales. Their bodies shift even closer somehow, so their arms press along one another on the couch, so their knees brush as they shift. Eddie closes his eyes for a breath, for the stutter of a heartbeat, as the ice melts some more. Like Steve is the fucking sun. His own personal life-giver when it’s dark outside and dark inside. Which he desperately needs. Because this Eddie, who died and was born again in hell, is afraid of the dark. But in some incomprehensible twist of fate has ended up with so many lights around him.
Steve’s arms wrap around his body and pull him close, grip him tight. Like he knows. Like he knows it makes everything quiet. Even though they don’t talk about it, exactly. Even though Eddie doesn’t know if he could ever form the words. But still, Steve reads him like a book.
“You’re warm.” Steve’s voice is quiet in his ear, pleased. “Saves me the trouble of getting a blanket. Convenient honestly.” And the undertone of that is loud in Eddie’s ears. The way the syllables dance softly around Steve’s tongue and paint in, I need you too .
“That’s lazy, Harrington.” He gives back into the skin of Steve’s neck though it’s thin, though it's fragile in ways his ears hate, a little too erratic to be casual. “Must be rubbing off on you.”
“Must be.” Steve’s voice is a little wry, but it’s full of a smile. A smile that Eddie can fully relish in, tucked up against the other like this. And maybe Steve can tell, in the way his back relaxes in slow inches, one vertebra at a time. And maybe if he does, that’s not so bad.
Thank you. Eddie wants to say, but doesn’t. Just squeezes the other back. But he thinks Steve can hear it anyway, in the silence between them. In the careful way his fingers come up to tangle into Eddie’s hair, one slow stroke after another. Like it's nothing. Like it's not exactly everything. Like it’s not Eddie’s whole fucking world.
He’s not clinging , he tells himself, as he gives in and exhales again, lets his thoughts get lost in something a little more pleasant this time. He’s just basking. After all, what else could you be expected to do in the presence of the sun?
Eddie is always cold these days. Except sometimes he’s not. Sometimes, for a breath, everything is warm again. Sometimes, for a breath, it’s warmer than he’s ever felt in his life.