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Robin doesn’t bother to say hi when she stomps through the doors of Burger King; she slams her hand down over the tacky counter (Steve really doesn’t want to know why it is) and says, “Eddie.”
Steve gapes at her. She raises an eyebrow and gripes, “Well?”
“Oh!” says Steve. He reaches behind him and grabs the paper bag marked ‘Eddie >:(’ in big, block letters. He’s not sure why Eddie insists on ordering through UberEats instead of coming over to get it himself.
Robin snatches the bag out of his hands and gives him the stink eye. “Can you guys actually talk for once? This is getting expensive,” she grumbles, shaking Eddie’s bag around as if to make her point.
“It’s not—” he starts, then stops.
“Not what? Flirting?” She rolls her eyes. “Only you, Steve Harrington.”
Steve watches her stomp back out the gilded doors of Burger King and into her cranky little Buggy that’s pushing 150,000 miles. He knows she means well but he’s working up to it, he promises.
As usual, Steve sort of forgets about Eddie as the day drags on. “Sort of” meaning that he pushes him out of his mind and tries not to glance at the phone too often. He smiles at customers and laughs when his old high school classmates walk in and are like “Steve???” even though everyone knows he dropped out of college and everyone knows he works here. It’s like… voyeurism, maybe? These people come here to gloat, as though Steve actually cares about if they graduated cum laude or whatever. They come here to watch middle-aged moms yell at him and get their rocks off on it. It’s pretty gross.
Not that Steve is a paragon of maturity either. He did the same thing in high school, so if this is karma he’ll gladly take Burger King Steve jokes over dropping down to another circle of hell, the only one lower than working in the fast food industry.
Eddie calls near the end of his shift. Steve has to lunge across the kitchen to grab the phone before Ethan does, giving him a beatific smile and mouthing It’s my grandma.
Then he turns to the phone and says, “Hey, baby. Thought you forgot about me.”
Ethan smacks right into the wall.
“The fries were dry,” drawls Eddie, “also I could never forget about you, sugar.”
“Only the driest, crunchiest fries for you,” he coos.
There’s muffled laughter, caught between dry and snotty, and Steve twirls the phone cord around his index finger and chews his mouth. “You know I pay extra for UberEats, right? The least you can do is get me some nice fries.”
“Then maybe you should walk across the street and get your fries. Since you’re so picky,” he chirps.
“Maybe I will,” says Eddie, and it sounds different this time. It sounds like he might actually mean it, which is why Steve’s hands go sweaty and his heartbeat ratchets up.
“Maybe you should, then.”
He can hear Eddie breathing over the line. Can picture him grinning, leaning back against the wall and thinking of what next to say, how best to get under Steve’s skin. Steve wants to tell him that it’s too late; he’s scooped out part of his brain, and Eddie resides there already. God, is it weird to fall in love with someone you only remember from three years ago? Someone who you might’ve bullied?
Poetic justice, sings a voice that sounds exactly like Robin.
“I’ve got to go—” says Eddie, and Steve squeaks, “Have a nice night, Eddie.”
He pauses. “You too, sweetheart.”
Steve avoids Ethan’s gaze for the rest of his shift, forlornly wiping over the counter. This is so fucked. He’s not even sure if Eddie knows it’s him, Steve Harrington in the flesh. Steve is a common name. There could be millions of Steves working at millions of Burger Kings. They could run the Burger King franchise, probably.
And maybe the worst part about this is that Steve really likes him. As in, charges him for a kids’ meal when he’s getting a Whopper, likes him. But Eddie had never been impressed with Steve back in high school, and if anything he’s only gotten less impressive. Steve’s best friends are a lesbian and his younger, nonbiological brother.
Speaking of.
Dustin is waiting impatiently in front of the Wheeler’s when Steve pulls up to the curb. He glares at Steve from across the frosty grass, and Steve thinks, um, okay, before Dustin is clambering into the car.
“Why didn’t you wait inside? It’s cold. I told you to call me if you forget your jacket—”
“Steve,” says Dustin.
“And did the Wheelers treat you well? I know when I was with Nancy she used to hog all the hot chocolate and I’m worried that gene might have passed down—”
“STEVE,” Dustin bellows, still somehow monotone, “it was fine. Can we go home now?”
Steve hates how Dustin can say that; how he can attach we and home so simply, as though Steve isn’t a literal living parasite to the Hendersons. He ruffles Dustin’s hair and racks the heater up. As he pulls away, he swears he sees Dustin give him one of those searching looks, but then it’s gone and Dustin and him are bickering again.
The Hendersons’ home is a small ranch-style tucked behind trees and equidistant from Loch Nora and the Byers’.
Dustin snaps his seatbelt off and opens the door before Steve can kill the engine. He starts towards the house before he turns around and waves. He’s grinning; Steve remembers when he refused to smile because he was missing teeth, and then Steve had gone and threatened those snotty twelve year olds who had been bullying him. Maybe not morally correct (5’10” senior Steve against two runts from eighth grade), but it worked all the same.
Steve waits until Dustin is inside before starting up the engine and rolling out of the driveway.
Loch Nora is where the Harringtons’ house was built something of a million years ago (it was built in 1940). Steve parks outside the front door and locks his car before he shoves his keys into the lock and jacks his hand around. Ten years of living here and he still doesn’t remember which way to turn the key.
The inside of the house is toasty warm and Steve shuffles into the kitchen to burn his hands making hot cocoa on the stove. Ah, the joys of adult life. Nevermind that Steve’s been living alone since he was thirteen.
After a surprisingly safe cup of cocoa, he heads to the shower. He’s pulling his shirt off, thinking through his day, when he remembers Eddie’s low tone purring sweetheart and he accidentally bites down on his tongue.
He shucks his shirt off and glances at himself in the mirror. Steve’s eyes are wide and caught, his cheeks a deep rosy red and the blush is quickly spreading down his chest.
Shit. He’s so fucked.
—
“I ordered a double cheeseburger with no cheese. Why’d you ring me up for a burger? I want a cheeseburger.”
Steve stares flatly down at the register and recites, “It’s less expensive for you if I ring up a burger if you don’t want cheese.”
The woman across the counter rubs her thumb between her eyebrows, unhinged laughter starting to bubble up her throat. Steve cancels the order and rings her up for a cheeseburger, “My bad.”
She tucks a strand of goldenrod hair behind her ear and stares at him with wide eyes. “Wait a minute,” she murmurs, “you’re Rich’s kid.” She grins, uncannily white teeth gleaming. “I know Rich! Tell him Jenny says hi and that his kid is just as much of a troublemaker as he was back then!”
“Will do,” says Steve, flashing her his fakest smile. Jenny moves away to fill her fountain drink and Robin takes her place, looking almost sympathetic.
“That was painful,” she sighs. She leans across the counter and gently pats his shoulder, her red and blue friendship bracelet matching his. Steve glances down at it.
I’m never taking this off, Robin had proclaimed, even though he wasn’t even halfway through an apology about the state of the wonky knots.
“I know,” he groans.
“Hate to be the bearer of bad news but,” she shrugs, “Eddie isn’t here today. Max says he’s sick.”
“That’s— fine. That’s fine.”
“Is it?” says Robin, and then she leans closer. “Because I think it might not be.”
Steve says, “Shut up.”
“Let me tell you: Eddie really works his uniform. He’s got niiiice muscles and that shirt clings to him—”
“This is a family establishment,” Steve hisses. “And he doesn’t have muscles. He was built like a stick in high school.”
“Maybe he got some.” She shrugs again.
“Maybe you should shut up.”
“Steve,” she begins, “this is actually pathetic. Pathetic. That means you look stupid.”
“I always look stupid.”
Robin’s eyes soften at that, her earrings swaying when she pulls back. “Not always. Often. Very often. But not always.”
“Were you here to order anything or?”
“Nope,” she chirps, and then she’s gone. Steve really hates how right she is.
Jenny sidles up to the counter. “So what’s Rich been up to now?”
The thing is, Steve doesn’t really know where to go with Eddie. It feels like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Eddie to put two and two together and figure out who Steve is. It’s possible he already has, and that their phone calls are another form of sick voyeurism.
But it’s also possible that Eddie remembers him, and that he likes Steve with all the intensity that Steve likes him with.
Eddie is still sick when Steve has his day off, two days later.
He texts Robin: do you know eddie’s address and gets back up your ass. Then, two minutes later: 11 forest hills trailer park.
Steve has never claimed to be a very good chef, but he can make soup. Everyone can make soup except Lucas, who somehow burnt the top off tomato soup the last time he was over. Steve thinks he should probably sit him down and have him watch Ratatouille; that movie is actually pretty educational.
He spends twenty minutes fretting over if Eddie might be allergic to gluten before remembering that he eats the buns from Burger King. Then he spends another five looking for a pasta shape that says “trying but also not really trying but also Trying, and you knew that because I came over with soup”. He settles on bowties.
Forest Hills trailer park is just the sort of place his mother would hate to see him at, and he has to admit that he looks balefully out of place, sitting in his BMW with his fancy coat and fucked up red scarf (it was a gift from Jane).
He locks the car behind him and waddles up to number eleven, nearly slipping and braining himself on some ice on the steps and then he’s still righting himself when the door opens to reveal Wayne Munson.
“Mr. Munson!” says Steve, and almost falls again.
Wayne grabs Steve by his scarf and reels him back, though Steve notes that he has not yet invited him in.
“You’re Rich’s kid,” grumbles Wayne.
“Yes. Yes, I’m his kid. Ah, um. I heard Eddie was sick so I brought soup.”
Wayne leans against the doorway and studies him carefully. This is where Steve drops his eyes. No matter what he says, Wayne will have his reservations about Steve so long as he knows his father. Steve’s used to this: Rich’s kid, Rich’s son, Terry’s son, doesn't he look just like him? He’s got his mother’s smile.
“You got rat poison in the soup or somethin’, kid? Why ya so nervous?”
“Just,” Steve pauses, “pasta? In the soup?”
That gets Wayne to crack a smile. “He’s asleep. I’ll get it to him when he wakes up.” He takes the pot from Steve’s hands. “Thanks, Rich’s kid.”
“Steve,” he says quickly, “Steve Harrington.”
“Steve,” Wayne repeats, and then shuts the door in his face.
Well. That went as well as he expected. Steve stomps back to his car and turns it on. It’s an older model, not the push-to-start his dad bought and then subsequently abandoned in their garage. Her engine turns over once, twice, and then she wakes up with a cranky whine. “That’s my girl,” he whispers, patting the dashboard.
Wayne took the soup, at least. No promises he’ll actually keep it but Steve will take it. If it ends up as toilet water then so be it.
He gets a text from Robin at 12:13 that night. no way, she’s sent, you got him soup???
i made it, Steve replies.
you’re seriously gonna housewife eddie munson into a date. i hate you
—
Christmas break starts and Burger King remains open, an oasis of grease and health violations. People flock to it like it’s the messiah.
Steve hasn’t gotten any texts from Eddie (which he might have been expecting even if he doesn’t have his number), but he got a call yesterday from McDonalds, where Eddie once again complained about the fries and insinuated that Steve should come over so he can teach him how to fry them.
(“I’ll be realllll helpful, baby,” he’d said. “This sounds like a chance to tank Burger King’s sales.” “Shucks, babe, you’ve got me all figured out.”)
The Christmas season means that the college kids are back from school, which means all of Steve’s remaining graduating class is back, which means—
“Stevie!” Billy crows. “My favorite little fuck up!”
He’s wearing a leather jacket in 30 degree weather, his smile just as smarmy as when it was back in junior year. Steve’s head throbs as he remembers all the basketballs launched at the back of his head.
“What can I get started for you today,” Steve drones.
“How ‘bout a Whopper and a fountain drink?” He leans across the counter and slips his fingers under the hood of the tips jar, smile widening. “Still creeping on my sister?”
“I’m not— dude, I babysit her.” Steve punches in the final cost and mutters eight fifty under his breath.
Billy shells it over in five dollar bills and a heap of quarters. Steve bites back a scream.
“Last time I checked, sixteen year olds don’t need to be babysat. What are you? Twenty? At least go for legal girls.” Billy leans closer, his breath stinking of cigarettes, and croons, “Or boys.”
Steve slams the cash drawer closed and dumps Billy’s change in front of him. “Have a nice day.”
“You too, King Steve.”
So, Steve is having a bad day. Eddie calls halfway through rush, and when Steve takes his fifteen to call him back he doesn’t pick up. Steve’s last day of the year is tomorrow, Christmas Eve, and then he’s off through January 1st. Maybe he won’t even get to wish Eddie a merry Christmas.
Somehow, that’s the thought that really upsets him.
When Steve pulls into the driveway the foyer lamp is on. He groans and drops his head onto the steering wheel, wishing desperately that he’d gone home with Robin. Even Dustin would be preferable, though he’s starting to get sick of getting kicked off the bed.
“Steven!” his mom squeals as he opens the door. She rushes up to him and presses an air kiss to his cheek, as though even in the privacy of their home she can’t bear to show affection. She’s wearing her heels and a shiny emerald cocktail dress.
“Mom,” he says.
“It’s so nice to see you, really, but we’ve got to get going. There’s a party at the Winstons’, you should come!” Then she gives him a look that tastes like spilled wine and clearly reads Don’t you dare come.
“I’m tired,” he offers feebly.
“Terry,” snaps Richard Harrington, “where the hell did you leave the BMW’s keys? This is why I tell you not to drink so much, damnit. You women are all the same…” he trails off as he sees Steve. “Steven.”
“Dad.”
“You’re looking scruffy. Go shave, and Jesus, you smell. Your mother and I are going to a party, we’ll be back to catch a plane to New York tomorrow morning.”
“I’ve got a morning shift.”
“That’s unfortunate,” says Richard in the same tone Terry had used: I’m glad I won’t have to see your face tomorrow, then. “Goodnight, Steven.”
“Goodnight, dad. Mom.”
Steve unlocks his phone and drops onto his bed, face first, screaming. He doesn’t care if his parents can hear him. They already think very little of him. He rolls onto his side when his chin gets sticky with spit and unlocks a text from Robin.
812-930-1126. youre welcome <3
is that his number
call him!!!
Steve presses call before he can stop himself.
“Eddie Munson speaking! If you’re here to accuse me of something please lodge it with the cops,” Eddie drones.
“Uh,” says Steve, “hi? Eddie?”
“Oh,” Eddie gasps. There’s the sound of something falling, a metallic clang, and then a couple whispered cuss words.
“Are you alright?”
“Perfectly okay. Peachy,” Eddie says breathlessly. “So what do I owe the honor of you calling me, Harrington?”
Steve winces. “You know who I am?”
“…Yes? There’s only so many Steves that work at Burger King. And your voice is— it’s distinctive.”
“I thought you might not know,” he laughs weakly.
“Well. It’s not a bad thing. Even if your fries haven’t really improved in the three weeks you’ve been pestering me.”
“I haven’t been pestering you. You keep ordering from me!”
Eddie laughs. It’s a soft, crackly sound, like when you pop the tab of a soda can. Steve softens into the sound, imagining if Eddie were here, laughing all bubbly right into his ear. “Don’t sound so defensive, honey. But isn’t it considered pestering when you come to my house to find me?”
“I came to bring you soup! Robin said you were sick!”
He expects Eddie to chime in with another snippy retort, but instead he says quietly, “It was nice. I liked the bowties.” It seems impossible for Eddie to hide emotion from his voice; even now Steve can hear the smile in it.
He whispers, “I’m glad you liked it.”
“If I get sick again, will you make me chocolate cake? It’s my favorite. Please, sweetheart? Baby? Darling?”
Steve chokes. “I’ll make it for you for Christmas. I can bring it over for you tomorrow evening.”
There’s silence over the line and then, softly, “Don’t you have better things to do?”
“Huh?”
“I dunno? Parties or family stuff or family parties?”
“Oh, no. My family isn’t here for Christmas.”
“You’re… alone?”
“Yeah?”
“Alright,” says Eddie quickly. “No, yeah, bring cake over tomorrow. Tomorrow evening? Okay?”
“Okay?”
“It’s a date,” Eddie chimes.
Steve smiles. “It’s a date.”
—
Steve dodges Billy just seconds before he gets in, clocking out and rolling his BMW out the lot before Billy pulls his car into it. He buys all the ingredients for cake and spends the rest of the afternoon baking it; his hands shake the whole time.
He couldn’t tell you why he likes Eddie so much. Maybe it’s because he’s the first person to treat Steve like a person outside of the Harrington name, after high school. Maybe it’s the names he calls Steve, all of which send zings of affection rushing down his spine. More than that, though, Steve thinks that he might be the most untamed, genuine person he’s ever known.
It’s deja-vu to end up outside of the Munsons’ trailer later that night. He can see the string bulbs from outside. There’s a pine tree pushing up against one of the windows.
Wayne is the one to open the door again. He looks down at the cake in Steve’s hands, then up at Steve’s weak grin, and rolls his eyes. “‘Least he told me you were coming, this time.”
“Just to drop this off,” Steve says as Wayne steps aside to allow him in. There are so many trinkets attached to the tree that it’s bent sideways, casting an angel-topper-shaped shadow over the gifts all across the floor. “Eddie said he liked—”
“Cake!” says Eddie, and his voice is remarkably softer in real life. Steve shrieks a little as he drapes himself over Steve’s back and coos into his ear, “I can’t believe you really brought it.”
Steve turns around and holds the tin out and oh. Oh, Eddie is so pretty. He’s gotten taller since high school, his hair longer and darker, but his eyes are still big and shiny. He’s got maybe a thousand piercings up his ear and an eyebrow ring and the nicest smile Steve has ever seen, all crooked to the right but full of laughter.
Mortifyingly, Steve goes bright red. “Ah. Yeah. I brought it.”
Eddie’s smile softens. “Thanks, Stevie. I really appreciate it.”
He ducks his head; “Well, it was nothing. I hope you enjoy it. Merry Christmas.”
Eddie grabs his wrist before he can get too far. Jesus, the boy is like a heater and Steve is shivering. “You’re going home?”
“I, uh— yeah?”
“Why?” he says incredulously.
“Because Christmas is a time to spend with your family—”
“Just stay, kid,” snaps Wayne, though there’s no heat behind it. “Your folks sure ain’t in town. Ain’t ever in town this time of year.”
Steve sighs. “…Thanks.”
He’s never spent a Christmas Eve like this. They order pizza and Wayne tells Steve stories about his days in high school, and Eddie continues to be obnoxiously plastered to his side like he’s trying to warm Steve up from the outside in. It’s embarrassing.
“And then Dustin was like—” Steve glances at the microwave and jerks against Eddie. “Oh, shit. I’ve gotta get home.”
“I’ll walk you out,” says Eddie, taking another bite of the cake on Steve’s paper plate. He waggles his eyebrows and Steve laughs.
It’s snowing outside. Maybe it’s that Steve is so incandescently happy, but he looks up at it and just laughs. He tumbles down the steps and turns in a circle outside of the Munsons’ lawn, closing his eyes and feeling the flakes fall gently onto his lashes.
“Eddie,” breathes Steve.
“Steve,” Eddie says, suddenly so close. Steve yelps, grabs onto his flannel, and this time he really does fall, right on top of Eddie.
He can’t help it: he just keeps laughing. Eddie is laughing too, these great big heaving laughs that shake Steve from where he’s on top of him.
Steve has never been a big fan of Christmas. But he supposes he hasn’t been getting the full treatment; this is what it’s supposed to be like. He doesn’t know if he can stomach another Christmas alone after this.
Eventually, his laughs petter out. Eddie is staring at him, eyes fixed somewhere around his chin before he ducks his head and carefully reties Steve’s scarf. “You’re freezing cold, man. This is bad for you.”
It feels like he might be talking about something else. “It’s okay,” says Steve softly. “Eddie. Honey.”
Eddie startles a brilliant shade of red. “Uh.”
“Will you tell me if you don’t want this?” Steve asks. He leans down and brushes their noses together. When did he get so bold?
Eddie answers by pulling Steve down with his arms wrapped around his shoulders, sliding their mouths together. He’s still so warm, his nose rubbing against Steve’s cheek as he moves their mouths together. It feels unspeakably intimate, the way Eddie is treating him. Steve’s hands tighten on his flannel.
“You’re so cute,” Eddie is murmuring, “I like pissing you off. You always sound so cute when you get angry.”
“Thanks,” says Steve dryly, pulling away with a slick pop that has his stomach doing funny things.
Eddie laughs and presses a kiss to his cheek. “You’ll come back, right? Tomorrow? I’ll take you to town.”
“Where would I go?” whispers Steve. He smiles. “I made you soup.”