Chapter Text
“Harrington, has anyone ever told you that you can sing man?”
The comment made Steve chuckle. He was lying on the couch in Eddie’s trailer, slumped down and surrounded by marijuana smoke, Eddie’s speaker on low in the corner. He must have been here so many times now that he had picked up on the lyrics to the, if Steve was being honest, frankly terrifying music Eddie had playing constantly. He didn’t know what the song was called and, when he actually thought about it, he started to forget the words. His voice trailed off, his already stupidly-high brain clearly still capable of being self conscious.
He laughed because he did know that. Plenty of girls had told him that before. Nancy had, in the early days of a relationship that had been entirely made up of early days. Robin had, and then she immediately regretted it. On that hot, boring day at Family Video, Steve had cranked up his Duran Duran and Wham mix and tormented her with how upsetting his voice began to sound if he jumped up a couple octaves.
But yeah, he had been told that before. It was one of his many tools of seduction.
“Hold your fire, big boy. I’m not trying to get in your pants.”
Steve didn’t realise he had said that out loud. A blush creeped up onto his face. Part embarrassment that the pot had made him lose all self-awareness, part reaction to the nickname that, for some reason, had stuck.
“I must be higher than I thought.” He commented, sitting up straighter on the beat-up couch. He tossed a tentative glance in Eddie’s direction. He rolled his eyes.
“Nah, man. You’re just still a total lightweight.” Eddie laughed at him, taking another hit from the joint they had been passing back and forth. Steve couldn’t disagree. Smoking hadn’t been his thing in the past few years. The world ending multiple times and his never-ending babysitting duties didn't leave much time for recreational activities. But, when Eddie had suggested it that week where it seemed like things were sinking back into normalcy, or at least when everyone started putting on a charade of normalcy, it didn’t seem like such a bad idea. The kids went back to school, Nancy was helping Jonathan apply to NYU - dragging Robin into photoshoots with her (this time with everyone’s, albeit begrudging, consent to be in them) - and Hopper was still holding out in his cabin until the world got used the Police Chief being back from the dead - the second time this miracle had occurred in this cursed small town. Steve didn’t have much else to do, so forgetting his troubles with Eddie ‘the Freak’ Munson seemed a good enough idea as any.
So now, Steve was familiar with the ceiling of Eddie’s trailer. The crack left there by the gate. The caps hanging on nails on the walls. The band posters that haloed that entrance to Eddie’s room. The shitty stove that had cooked them many a godly serving of macaroni and cheese, sharing from the same pan, sometimes even the same fork. It gave Steve a strange sense of calm, being in the place that, until very recently, had housed an entrance to hell. Maybe it was because he could see that this mini gate was closed; maybe it was simply the contact high he got upon arrival.
It wasn’t a healthy way to cope with his grief, his anger, his lingering fear and PTSD that he had a sinking suspicion might never go away. It would always be with him, as long as he was in Hawkins. As long as any of them were in Hawkins. He got anxious on school days, preferring the Wednesdays when the Party had Hellfire, knowing that someone older, someone who cared about them, was watching over them. He trusted Eddie with them implicitly. After his reckless but outstandingly heroic defeat of the demo-bats, Eddie was bonded to them all for life.
He looked over at Eddie now, his eyes were closed, but his face was angled towards Steve and his hair fanned out over the sofa cushions. Steve was fascinated by the other boy’s hair and wondered if this was how girls felt when they looked at him. But that thought triggered an almost-pain in his stomach that he didn't have the brain capacity to decode right now, so he dragged his eyes away from Eddie’s hair.
He had a blissful smile on his face. It was an expression Steve wasn't used to on him. The Eddie Steve had known in high school was angry at the world, his smile always rare, sharp and sarcastic. Steve wondered how much of that was an act. The Eddie Steve had come to know had been understandably stressed-out, smiles in the upside down were even rarer than in high school, and these were brought on by delirium. Steve felt he was finally getting to know the real Eddie. But then again, they were also both high.
After a few moments, Steve began to sing again, softly, thinking Eddie had fallen asleep. When Eddie’s smile grew, Steve’s face flushed; he had been caught out again. But Eddie didn’t open his eyes, so Steve didn’t stop this time.
They both eventually drifted off into sleep, it was the always the best rest Steve got. Steve suspected it was the same for Eddie.
The truth was, Eddie thought after Steve had woken up and headed back home, spraying on his aftershave in the doorway to mask the stoned smell, that Eddie was trying to get into Steve’s pants. Eddie lingered in the doorway now, knowing he would regret it when he next saw sober and definitely straight Steve.
But right now, Eddie was basking in the glory that was weed mixed with Steve’s expensive aftershave, Steve’s unusual but undeniably pretty singing voice replaying in his head, and he let himself have the almost thought that this is what Eddie’s life might always smell like, if him and Steve lived in a version of reality where him and Steve was an option.
A pipe dream, but a dream nonetheless.
And hey, all of Eddie’s nightmare’s had already come true.