Archive of Our Own

And God, if you are listening, I do worry. God, if you are listening, I count the miles between my body and the body of the person I love and I worry about each of them.

- Hanif Abdurraqib, On Seatbelts and Sunsets

*

Eleven wins again. Vecna is left as nothing but charred remains, broken bones, and a collection of horrifying memories Steve knows will never fully leave him.

The dust around Hawkins settles once more. Buildings are repainted, shop signs repaired. Family Video finally gets an AC unit.

Life continues, as it always does.

The wounds across Steve’s stomach heal over, the stitches dissolve. Unfortunately, the scars remain. They’re obvious and deep against his torso; when Steve runs his fingers over them, he can feel the exact indents in his body where the Demobats sunk their teeth in. Steve tries not to touch them. He hates them, hates how they make him look.

Even now, after five months of living with them, five months of hearing Robin and Dustin’s repeated reassurances that - babes totally dig scars; they’re badass war wounds - he can’t bring himself to believe them.

He wonders if he’ll ever go shirtless at a public pool again.

The circle of scarring around his neck is less obvious, faded to a pale white – only really visible if you’re looking for it. Despite this, he buys several turtlenecks to wear under his shirts. They don’t have any in the men’s section at any of the stores he checks, so he makes Robin get him some from the women’s section.

“You look nice, Steve,” Robin tells him, while he nervously parades his new fashion choices to her.

He’s trying to make a joke of it all, trying to hide how worried he actually is about his latest round of Upside Down related scarring. So, he’s walking the length of his living room as though he’s a model; sunglasses on, one hand on his hip, and a sharp pivot to walk back.

The whole display makes Robin do her ugly snort laugh, the one that’s always slightly too loud for any room she’s in. Hearing it makes Steve’s shoulders feel looser than they do when he’s around almost anyone else.  

“You look very European,” Robin says.

Steve stops his fake catwalk and pushes his sunglasses up to the top of his head.

“What does that mean?”

Robin shrugs, pulling a face at him. She’s curled up on his mom's good couch, feet tucked under herself. Her hair has grown longer again, it's somewhere between the length it was when they first met and her short bob from the beginning of March. She’s pulled it into a messy updo, stray pieces falling out to frame her face.

Looking at her always makes Steve feel better, so he looks at her often. A lot of the time, he feels as though the sight of her sun-freckled face and thin wrists are some of the only things still holding him together.

Steve’s parents have been extending their stretches of their time away from Hawkins rapidly; the murders and chemical leaks and mall fires and death have been keeping them from coming back to stay. They don’t call often; only the money still regularly wired through to pay the household bills lets him know they’re still alive.

Robin is one of the few people who knows this. She stays in the house with him as often as her parents allow, which is nowhere near as often as either Steve or Robin would like. When she does stay, they share Steve’s bed. Robin shoves her freezing feet against his calves and laughs when Steve complains loudly.

It's the only time Steve can manage to drop off to a semi-successful sleep. Whenever he inevitably wakes in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, convinced he hears a clock chiming; a gun cocking; a bone snapping, Steve can reach his hand across the sheets and feel the warm, comforting weight of Robin next to him. It helps him breathe easier.

She helps remind him while they might not necessarily all be okay, at least they’re fucking alive.

“It means you look good, Steve,” Robin replies, answering his earlier question, bringing him back out of his head. “European is, like, the vibe you’re giving off. It’s not a bad thing, you look like one of those Parisian guys who actually knows what fashion is. It makes your hair look taller, or something. It’s cultured.”

“You smell cultured,” he says. “Seriously, I did the laundry last night and some of your socks were in the pile, Buckley. They stink like off milk. I think the smell of your feet is more of a threat to Hawkins than the Russians at this point.”

Robin chucks a cushion at him.

“My feet would be more of a threat to Hawkins, because they are still here, and we have been reliably informed by El, Hop, and the whole fucking state of Indiana that the Russians have fucked off to mind their own business. They’re gone, along with every other creepy crawly, demon animal, or opened door to dusty dimensions. Right, Steve? Right?”

Steve doesn’t know if she’s still trying to reassure him at this point, or if this rant is more about her. He nods regardless.

There’s silence between them for a couple of moments. Steve, still stood in the middle of the room, shoves his hands into his sweat pockets and rocks back and forth uncomfortably.

“Henderson asked me again when I’m going to marry you, by the way.”

“Oh, my mom wants to know the same thing,” Robin says. “She keeps talking about how it’s not, like, proper, for me to keep spending the night in your house. Of course, I would be far more virtuous staying over at one of my female friend’s houses.”

Robin snorts derisively. She tucks her legs further under her ass, straightening her torso so she’s standing on her knees on the couch. Steve looks at her, and she smiles, cracking an imaginary ring box open between them.

“Of course, you could always do me the actual honor of marrying me. Think about it. Would you be the love of my life, Steve Harrington? Aside from the fact the two of us would quite literally never work romantically, I think it could be a truly peaceful union.”

“Super peaceful,” he agrees, smiling despite himself.

She grins. “I was thinking a Winter wedding, myself. Fuck spring, and fuck summer too. You; me; my mom finally off my back; and Henderson crying his eyes out because he’s losing you. Plus, a bit of fake snow and some fairy lights.”

Steve thinks of the cold woods around Hawkins. He thinks of flickering fairy lights scrunched up in Joyce Byers old house, Nancy with her hair unruly and a gun in her hand. He shudders.

“Sorry, but Winter is a no for me, too, Rob,” He says.  

Robin laughs awkwardly, swaying back a little and dropping her hands down from holding out the pretend ring.

“God,” she says. “Will went missing in November, and - Nancy said, of course. The fairy lights.”

Steve nods. “Yeah, Mrs. Byers had the house strung up with them. They were everywhere, like the maddest Christmas display you’ve ever seen. The Demogorgon was coming through, and all of them going on and off like the flashlights in the Creel House.”  

Robin cracks the knuckles on one of her hands. “Well, we’d have to work on finding a month of the year you or I haven’t experienced mortal terror. Really, when you think about it, that’s the trickiest part in all of this. Getting married wouldn’t actually be too crazy at all.” She lets herself fall back down from her kneeled position, lying so she’s fully sprawled across the leather furniture. “We could get ourselves a nice little two bed somewhere out of Hawkins. Everyone would look at us and think we were the perfect couple, high school sweethearts.” 

“What’s in it for me?” Steve asks.

He walks to the couch and shoves her legs out of the way so he can sink down next to her. As soon as he’s settled, she puts her legs over him, her calves a comforting weight against his thighs.

“Oh, I don’t know. There’s my cooking for one, knowledge you’ve got this friendship locked down for another.” Robin holds her hands up as she talks, counting the reasons off on her fingers. “Plus, everyone would finally get off our backs about why we’re just platonic. It would also be the perfect cover for me, Steve. God, I could have girls over and no one would ever suspect anything. It wouldn’t have to impact your dating life anyway, besides it’s not like you’ve had much success. At least not since I’ve known you.”

“Hey! I had a lot of dates earlier this year. It’s not my fault Vecna decided to rip the Upside Down open and fuck everything up again.”

“True, true,” Robin agrees. “The mortal peril was very detrimental to your dating life. Although, of all the girls you were taking out earlier this year, how many times did you even get a second or third date? Also, you’ve not even tried to go on any dates since Vecna.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, uneasily. “Right.”

Robin doesn’t seem to notice his discomfort.

“Face it! You, my friend, are in a dry spell. The reign of King Steve is well and truly at its end.”

Steve sighs. “You don’t know the half of it.”

He looks at his hands, they’re scarred and calloused.

King Steve was taken down by Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Byers, then finished off by a Demogorgon. King Steve was knocked out by Billy Hargrove with a smashed plate and a well-timed punch. King Steve was left to rot miles under Hawkins in a secret Russian base. King Steve was pulled under the dust of the Upside Down by a flock of Demobats.

The only person left behind is Steve. Just Steve.

Steve, who lives in a big empty house and doesn’t speak to his parents. Steve, who can’t look at his own reflection for too long in the mirror. Steve, who can’t go swimming anymore. Steve, whose hands shake in the dark, or when lights flicker. Steve, who won’t even be honest with his best friend in the world. Steve, who did something to mess up one of the best things that ever happened to him. Steve, who –

He cuts his own train of thought off and looks at Robin. She’s looking back at him, eyes wide and clear. For a moment, he wishes the two of them really could fall in love. He tries to imagine it: a world where he and Robin get married. Where they buy an RV and have six kids together and hold down real, adult jobs. A world where they got to live together. A world where they were normal.

He can tell by the look on Robin’s face he isn’t alone in his thoughts. She smiles at him softly, reaching over and tangling her hand in his.

He squeezes it.

“Anyway, don't be mean to me, Rob. It's hard not to feel pathetic about everything, when every time I pick the little shits up they’re lecturing me about love. It’s not just Henderson. Mike’s been at it as well. Even Max has been on my case, though she thinks I’m still caught up on Nance.”

“Aren’t you?” Robin asks.

Her tone isn’t unkind, but the fact she’s asking at all makes him want to curl in on himself. She’s supposed to know him better than anyone, and she still thinks he's caught up on Nancy Wheeler.

Steve wants to tell her. He wants to let the words out, wants to find some way to tamp down on the panic rising up in his throat, so he can finally tell someone the full story.

Instead, he shakes his head, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

“No, Rob. I thought, maybe – when Vecna was in full force, and Jonathan was away in Cali – I thought maybe there was a shot. I even tried to go for it.” He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “I told her about this fantasy I had, where we’d have a picket fence and six kids. I spent years picturing this, like, quiet domestic life with her – and she said half of it sounded like a nightmare. So, I was stood there, heart on the goddamned floor, and I realized everything I'd told her was little kid logic. Like, I was still thinking of me and her as the me and her we were years ago, before the gates even fucking opened.”

“Jeez,” Robin says.

Steve nods. “We stood there looking at each other, and I felt so awkward and embarrassed. I think it was the first time I've, like, really processed how different we are. And, I still love her. There’s always gonna be a part of me that loves her – but I’m not in love with her anymore. It was like I needed to embarrass myself, to properly accept we were never going to be each other’s one, or whatever.”

“I suppose it’s a good thing, in the end,” Robin says, she sounds thoughtful. “It would have been pretty awkward if you guys had, like, kissed, or something. I mean, especially given the fact she never actually broke up with Jonathan, and they’re, like, totally loved up at the minute.”

Steve nods in acquiescence; since the Byers hauled ass back to Hawkins, Jonathan and Nancy have spent the summer completely tangled up with each other. Steve saw them walking Downtown the other day with their hands literally in each other’s back pockets.

“They’re good for each other,” Steve says, chewing on his thumbnail. He pauses, thinks about all the shit Jonathan and Nancy put each other through, then amends. “Well. They’re better together than me and Nance ever were, anyway. They sort of,” he waves a hand. “They understand each other. And they will be good for each other, now they both have their heads out their asses. I’m happy for them.”

Robin hums. She pulls her foot back to kick it gently into Steve’s side, right over one of his scars.

“Well, I’m happy if you’re happy, my most platonic of friends. Besides, don’t worry. You’ll find your new Nancy.” She smiles at him, soft and warm. “You deserve someone who’s good for you as well. You have me and you’ll always have me, because we’ve been through too much together to not be friends forever. But, I know what you’re like, Steve. You wouldn't be, like, fully happy if we were married. You want the real deal. You want flowers and hand holding and romance.”

Steve grabs her ankle, lets go of it again, then taps her leg, once, twice. He thinks about telling her he already found his new Nancy, and it all went to shit again. He opens his mouth, but the words still don’t come. He sighs.

“You’re all the romance I need, Robin,” he says, finally, in his best Kermit impression. She laughs, delighted, and kicks him harder in response.

He smiles back weakly, and looks away. He’ll tell her, someday.

For now, it can wait.

*

Steve wakes up feeling moderately rested. Robin convinced her dad she was staying at Nancy’s, so Steve was treated to her hand, clammy and constant in his all night. It was enough to help him get a few, solid hours of sleep.

Robin's wearing one of his old oversized swim-meet t-shirts. She brews them coffee on the stovetop, using real coffee grounds and a saucepan, ladling it out into mugs when she’s done. It’s a method Steve was unfamiliar with until he met her, but Robin turns her nose up at the instant grounds his parents used to buy.

Now, Steve looks forward to it every time she’s over; the coffee always comes out bitter and strong, roasted enough he feels it in his teeth. The aroma fills the kitchen, cutting through the lingering smell of burnt plastic almost ever-present from Steve’s microwave dinners.

After they’ve finished the coffee, Steve drives them to Family Video.

They drive with all the windows down, trying to counteract the way the air around Hawkins feels humid and uncomfortable, the end of summer setting in thick around them. The heat makes the turtleneck underneath Steve’s work vest stick to his skin, the wound on his neck sweaty and itchy. He pumps the gas so they go a little faster, taking comfort in the small amount of air through the open windows.

As is standard, Robin takes control of his music. The glovebox has been slowly filling with her cassettes over the past year, so he doesn’t comment when Burning Down the House comes through the speakers. She cranks the volume so loud David Byrne’s vocals come out tinny, and Steve finds himself singing along, while Robin enthusiastically bangs the beat out on the dashboard.

His car has started to make loud noises whenever he twists the steering wheel. The creaking began a few weeks ago, but it's been progressively getting worse. When a particularly loud noise makes both of them wince, Steve grits his teeth, willing the machine to keep going.

He can’t think about his car giving up; so many of his memories are stored between the creases of the car’s leather seats.

He thinks about driving Nancy around, her mid-length skirts and ruffled tops, the shy way she used to smile across the gearstick. He thinks about picking Dustin and the rest of the kids up from middle school, then high school; with their horrible fashion and collections of candy and Dustin’s gummy grin at the fact he always calls shotgun, and the others always let him. He thinks about collecting Robin from band practice, discussing her latest crush and the new films showing in the picture house the next town over.

His car is one of the few things yet to be properly tainted by an alternate dimension. One of the few things he’s been able to rely on, consistently, since the day he knocked on Jonathan Byers’ door and faced the devil. In many ways, the car feels more like home to Steve than his parent's house ever has.  

He hopes whatever’s wrong with the BMW, it holds off until his next paycheque comes in from Family Video. He could probably afford to fix it if he really needed to, but it would mean dipping into his savings more than he’s comfortable doing. He wants to move out, soon. Wants to get a place with Robin and leave his haunted house in the dust.

Asking his parents for help is out of the question. Even if he could get through their walls of secretaries and assistants to speak to them directly, they wouldn’t give him any money. The last time he saw them, his dad made it clear him staying in the house rent free was the extent of their generosity. Everything else he wants – or needs – Steve’s pays for out of his own pocket.

He's kept his finances quiet from almost everyone. Only a couple of people know; he doesn’t want the kids to start feeling guilty for all the Drive-Thru burgers and fries they demand off him. As much as he tries to pretend otherwise, he likes seeing them happy.

If their happiness comes at the cost of his savings, it’s a risk he’s willing to take.

The BMW drives over a pothole and makes a particularly ominous creaking noise, the body shaking so bad the tape cuts out for a second. Robin looks at him with wild eyes, and Steve shrugs helplessly. He tightens his fingers around the steering wheel and grits his teeth. Whatever the issue is, it doesn’t feel like it’s going to be cheap to fix.

“Jesus Christ, Harrington,” Robin says, clutching one hand to the roof of the car. “Is this thing even going to get us to the store this morning? We're on thin ice as it is. I really can't afford to lose this job, not if we still want to get an apartment next year.”

“Look, don’t talk bad about my baby, okay? She’s doing just fine,” he snaps.

They turn onto the street where Family Video is with a final, roaring squeal. He pulls the car into park, cutting the engine and the cassette. The sudden silence around them both feels deafening now the car’s no longer rattling. He looks at her pointedly.

“Look, she got us here, didn’t she?” 

“Just about,” Robin says, unclipping her seatbelt and bouncing out of the car. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to accept more rides from you if we’re driving around in a death trap, though.”

Steve gives her the finger, climbing out too. He leans over the roof. “Again, we got here fine.”

Robin rolls her eyes. “You know, Munson has a job at the garage over on Fair Street. I think Hop blackmailed a couple people into giving him a steady job.”

“I did know that,” Steve says. He walks towards the storefront; all too aware Robin’s following close behind. He tries to ignore the lurch in his chest at the mention of Eddie’s name, focusing everything he has on maintaining the level of his voice. “What does Eddie’s new job have to do with anything?”

Robin fishes the keys to the store out of her pocket. Sliding up the thin metal barricade protecting the shop glass, she squints at him.

“Steve, don’t be stupid,” she says. “He could totally look at your car for you. I bet he’d give you a discount and everything.”

She unlocks the front door, waving Steve in with a dramatic gesture. He goes, flicking on the lights and AC unit in his stead.

“Seriously. I think saving the world with someone and then helping to, like, get them off the hook for their kajillion murder charges means they sort of owe you. Besides, I thought you and Eddie were, like, hanging out, a little? I mean, I’m, like, pretty sure I remember you ditching me to meet him a couple times. I think Dustin mentioned something, too.”

“Oh, yeah?” Steve asks. He’s sure his heart must be pounding loud enough in his chest for Robin to hear.

“Um, I’m pretty sure I remember you saying, yeah.” She looks confused. “Not that you have to hang out with Eddie, but if you aren’t hanging out with Eddie, then I think you should. He’s, like, actually a very nice guy. I think you’d both get on!”

This whole conversation is making Steve very uncomfortable. He swallows, then deflects.

“How would you know how cool Munson is? You spend all your time with me. Spending all my time with you is, incidentally, also the reason I haven’t been hanging out with Eddie.”

Robin snorts. “Incidentally is a big word for you, Steve." 

She’s standing behind the counter, absentmindedly pulling out the clipboard Keith has started to keep a list of daily chores on. She doesn’t look up at him when she continues speaking.

“Besides, I know you have time away from me, because I have time away from you. I do have a life outside of you, Harrington.”

“Oh, you do, do you?”

She does look up at him, then, smiling softly. She holds her hand up, pinching her thumb and forefinger together. “Only a little one,” she says. It's the same inflection she used when admitting to pissing herself in the Russian base. Steve laughs, despite himself.

“Believe me, shithead, I’d be much more comforted if I could be with you every second of the day, but it doesn’t exactly work like that,” Robin continues.

She’s still smiling, but her eyes are serious, betraying the truth to the statement. It’s a rare moment of sincerity for the two of them.

Steve glances around the store, unsure what to do with all the emotions he’s feeling. “Aw, Rob, I absolutely love you the most too." He splays a hand across his heart and fakes swooning, puckering up his lips to blow obnoxious kisses at her.

Robin rolls her eyes.

“Gross,” she says, empathetically. “Anyway, in answer to your earlier question, I know how cool Eddie is because my life outside you at the minute mainly involves doing these, like, study sessions with him so he can make up his final few credits for high school. Higgins is letting him sit the final for Miss O’Donnell’s at the start of September. He said it was only fair after, um, you know,” she draws the know out, long and awkward. “After the whole: he was accused for murder; on the run from the basketball team; blamed for loads of shit which completely wasn’t his fault. Not even mentioning the, um, the trauma that comes with, like, alternate dimensions and witnessing people dying in front of you.”

“Yeah, welcome to the real Hawkins. I knew about his final retake too." Steve purposefully ignores the way Robin’s eyebrows have raised in surprise. “I just didn’t think you’d be able to spend any time alone with Munson without going bonkers. The two of you are like the energy’s turned up to ten and a half, or something.”

Robin’s smile goes goofy and big, and she glances back down at the clipboard. “We get on just fine, Steve. He’s very sweet, actually. He made me a mixtape.”

Steve feels his eyebrows raise. “A mixtape? I didn’t think you were exactly Eddie’s type.”

Robin looks up at him, then, gaze uncomfortably sharp. Steve feels the panic rise in his throat. There are few people in the world who know him as completely as Robin does; her current expression doesn’t bode well for him.

“Why did you say it like that?” she asks.

Steve looks away from her. He focuses his attention on the pile of tapes left on the trolley to be re-shelved. He starts putting them back, slowly. When he doesn’t respond, Robin chucks her pencil at him, letting it bounce off the back of his head.

“Ow, Robin, what the hell?” he cries. He spins around, scowling at her. “What? Why did I say what like what?”

“You said you didn’t think I was Eddie’s type. Even though you know for a fact Eddie isn’t my type. You said it was Eddie who wouldn’t like me. I don’t know, it just makes me feel like, um, like, maybe you know something about Eddie. Also, considering you already knew about him re-sitting his final, and his job in the garage, you seem to know a lot about Eddie, actually.”

Steve continues to stack tapes. Robin hasn’t put any music on in the store yet, so it’s very quiet. Robin stands still, watching him; Steve can feel the weight of her gaze on the back of his neck.

He clears his throat, uncomfortable.

“The only thing I know about Eddie is he has terrible taste in music. I’m sure the mixtape was awful.”

“It was a fourteen-track mixtape,” Robin says.

“And?” He glances over to her, and she chews her lip.

“And I liked three of them.”

Steve snorts, places another tape on the shelf. “Sounds about right.”

Robin throws a bar of candy from the snack display at him.

“Shh, look, don’t tell Eddie, okay? He was so proud he was, quote: ‘finally getting someone into some actual good music, for once.’” She does finger quotes for Eddie’s words, dropping her voice down a pitch. “I felt too guilty to tell him I actually hated all of it! He even decorated the j-card for me, Steve. He decorated it.”

Steve places another tape on the shelf, and says nothing. He can imagine the exact chicken-scratch scrawl Eddie would do across the j-card of the tape, the way he’ll have smudged the pen despite his best attempts to keep everything neat, the tiny doodles to decorate each song on the track list.

“Why are we even talking about Eddie in the first place?” he asks.

“Because,” Robin says. “You need to take the beamer to a garage before your car becomes the most dangerous thing we’ve faced, and Eddie will fix it up, for cheap.” She raises her eyebrows.

He holds his hands up in surrender. Robin is one of the only people who knows the full extent of what he’s paying for himself. She would be far too suspicious if he passed up an opportunity to get his car looked at for a reasonable price. “Fine. I’ll drive over to the garage after we close the store.”

Robin, satisfied her mission has been completed, turns her attention to selecting the store soundtrack for the day. Steve returns to stacking the tapes, trying to ignore the pathetic, twisting knot his stomach has become.

He’s walked barefoot through hell with Eddie, the least he can do is ask for help with his car. It will be fine. It will be.

It has to be.

*

The new AC works well enough to stop them dripping with sweat while they’re in the store, but the day still passes with the thick haze only present during late summer. There’s a slow trickle of customers all day. In a small blessing, none of them are too dramatic or irritating.

Robin lets him pick their film for the day without complaint. Even after he chooses The Blues Brothers again.

When the last customer is out the door – St. Elmo’s Fire clutched in their sweaty grasp – Robin locks up with a sigh.

“I have to go home, tonight,” she says, when the two of them are standing on the street outside. “My dad has been getting really edgy about me staying any nights with you at all, lately, and there’s no way he’ll believe I’m at the Wheelers two nights in a row.” She wrinkles her nose. “He and Ted Wheeler are drinking buddies.”

Steve, who has met both Ted Wheeler and Gerald Buckley, can picture this perfectly. He pulls a face, too.

“Tell him you’re staying with Eddie Munson instead, that’ll really calm him down,” Steve suggests.

Robin laughs, darkly. “Don’t even joke, Steve. I think if I ever mentioned I hang out with Eddie, it would kill him on the spot; he keeps going on and on about how the police around here let Eddie off too easy. I really think he believes all the crap the news has been churning out about Dungeons and Dragons and drugs and,” she sighs. “Queer people. I swear, Steve, he’d leave my mom for Nancy Reagan and think he was making the right decision.”

Steve winces. “No offense, Rob, but your dad is an idiot.”

She blows a breath out through her bottom lip, making the hair above her eyebrows ruffle. “No offense taken.”

Steve pats the roof of the car. Despite the heat, the metal is cooler than his sweaty palms.

“Want a ride home?” he asks, “You’re practically on the way to Fair Street.”

She shakes her head. “Nah, I’m gonna walk. Think it’ll do me some good to be outside, for a while.”

Steve feels a spike of panic at the thought of her walking home alone, but forcefully tamps it down. He’s seen Robin throw Molotov cocktails and fireworks at creatures worse than any childhood nightmare. He's seen Robin spit in the face of Russian guards and violent hell monsters. The gate is closed. The gate is closed, and Robin can manage walking home through Hawkins alone one night.

“Okay. I hope you know I’m still going to call you tonight,” he says.

“Oh, I know. I want to see the way my dad’s forehead vein twitches when you do,” she laughs. “Besides, I want to hear Eddie’s professional opinion on what the fuck is up with your car.”

Steve gives her the finger, and she waves him off, turning in the direction of her house. He watches the slope of her shoulders move away from him for a few moments, standing there like an idiot, before he forces himself to let her go. He sighs, shaking it off, and finally heaves himself into his car.

The one benefit to driving alone is getting to choose what music he gets to listen to for once. He digs through the tapes to find The Works. Lets the opening notes of Radio Ga Ga calm his nerves for the short drive over to Fair Street, Freddie's voice filling the empty space around him. He rolls the windows down again, shakes his hair out in the wind, and then nervously fixes it again in the rear-view mirror.

He’s not sure if the car or his hands are shaking more.

*

The garage Eddie works in sits at the end of Fair Street, right at the edge of town. It's been owned by Matthew Wilson for as long as Steve can remember, a man known throughout Hawkins for being miserable. 

The building itself is an unattractive, rickety, metal warehouse; more scrap than structure. A few years ago, Steve’s dad had been part of a campaign to knock it down and build new housing on the land, but Mr Wilson refused to cede any ground. The garage remained.

Steve knows the way innately, Carol’s cousin – James Perkins - used to work there. When Steve first got his driver's license, he and Carol used to skip classes to hang out on the lot, bumming smokes off the mechanics while they worked. Tommy never went with them, so Carol would play Carly Simon ear-splittingly loud in the car, and the two of them would laugh about things other than everyone else’s misfortune.

Then: James had moved away to work at a bigger, better garage in Indy; Carol had started fucking Tommy, so she stopped hanging out with Steve alone; Carol and Tommy brought out the worst in each other, their meanness turning sharp and severe; and Steve felt like he was floundering, quietly drowning. Then: he started going out with Nancy; Barb died; he picked a fight with Jonathan Byers. Then: the Upside Down; the Demogorgon; the Russians; and then –

Steve shakes his head, turns the volume on Queen down as he pulls into the garage lot. He feels oddly self-conscious about being seen by any of the other mechanics, as though he'll be judged for showing his face around here after so many years. As though they'll hold his dad's history against him. As though all of Hawkins is bearing down, making judgements on him.

Thankfully there's only two cars in the lot. One is parked a short distance away, the other has it's hood is popped open. Eddie's leaning over it wearing mechanic coveralls, his long hair pulled up into a ponytail.

Steve steps out of his BMW. Eddie has headphones on, Walkman blasting something loud enough he won’t have heard Steve’s engine pulling up. For a few moments, Steve doesn’t alert him of his presence.

It’s been three weeks since he and Eddie have spent any time alone together. Three weeks since they've spent any time together at all, outside of the brief moments when Steve drops Dustin and the others off to play D&D at Eddie’s uncle’s new place. He stands there, taking a quiet moment to process the shape of Eddie’s figure; the curve of his back, the bare nape of his neck.

Eddie’s hands are buried in the engine of the car he’s working on. Steve knows he won’t be wearing his rings; he takes them off for working with cars. Steve always thought Eddie looks naked without them. Looking at his unadorned hands, his long fingers, always felt intimate. In the same, strange way seeing someone barefoot for the first time is intimate.

Knowing he’s stared long enough, Steve coughs. When Eddie doesn’t respond, he steps forwards until they're in each other's space. He coughs again, louder.

Eddie startles. He pushes the headphones off his ears, straightening his back too quickly. The top of his head bangs on the metal from the popped-open hood.  

When Eddie turns around and sees Steve, it's like everything between them pauses. They look at each other, taking each other in. Eddie’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. His eyes track over Steve, and all his muscles seem to tense. He can see, in real time, Eddie debate running away.

Neither of them moves. Eddie’s eyes are very big; Steve’s throat is very dry.

“Hey, Eddie,” he says. He holds up his hand and does an awkward wave, regretting it instantly.

Eddie swallows again. Steve tracks the movement of his throat, unable to look away. He's always been unable to look away.

“Hey, Harrington."

There's a beat of silence. Steve’s hands twitch at his sides, and he places them on his waist for something to do. “Um, I'm sorry. It's just - my car could do with being looked at."

Eddie’s eyebrows raise, and he takes a small step back, ass leaning on the open car behind him. He laughs, but there’s no humor in it.

“You drove all the way across town to the ass-end of Hawkins, just because there’s something up with your car?”

Steve shrugs, helplessly. He wants to reach over and tug at the beltloops of Eddie’s coveralls. He wants to put his hands on Eddie’s cheeks and look into his eyes. He wants Eddie to look at him while Steve says: I wanted to see you as well. Or: you look good in those coveralls. Or: sorry, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what I did but I miss you so much, please come back.

He takes a deep breath, tries to steady himself.

“I’m sorry, I’m not – I wouldn’t have come here, but my car really is fucked, and obviously Robin knows you’re working here. She suggested I drive here after our shift to get you to look at it,” he says. “She thought you’d, y’know, give me a friends and family discount, on account of the fact we saved the world together. She thinks we'd like each other if we, um. If we were to hang out." Steve runs a nervous hand through his hair, then drops it back down to his waist. He looks at Eddie and laughs awkwardly. "You don’t have to, though. Give me a discount, I mean. I’ll pay full price. Or, um, you can give me a quote and I’ll let you know if I can afford to pay full price. With the noises she’s been making when I take any corner, I’m kinda worried it'll be expensive. Think I’ll have to go without a car for a while.”

Eddie’s eyebrows are still in his hairline. Despite this, he waves away the latter half of Steve’s speech. “As if I’d make you pay full price, Harrington. We don’t get a lotta BMW’s in here, but when we do, the repairs are always pricey. Parts are more expensive. If I charge you my real worth, you're gonna blow through your savings. Then who’d keep Dustin, Red, and the rest of the gremlins in burgers and fries? I know how much you earn, man, and it’s not a lot. Not enough to afford me, anyway.”

He grins, quick and sharp and Steve laughs. It’s jarring to be reminded how well Eddie knows him. Unsettling to remember just how far behind the curtain Eddie has actually seen. Disarming to relive the unthinking, easy way Steve peeled back his ribcage and let Eddie look right into his beating, messy heart.

“You really don’t have to,” he says, though he knows Eddie well enough to realize his protests are futile. “You don’t owe me anything.”

Eddie twists his fingers together, as though he’s playing with rings which aren’t there. When he speaks, his voice is quiet.

“I don’t know if that’s quite true, Steve.”

Steve lets his eyes flick down to Eddie’s chest. He remembers, almost unwillingly, carrying Eddie's body from the Upside Down with an inhuman strength, born from sheer panic at the thought of Dustin having to watch Eddie die. He remembers the feeling of Eddie’s blood against his torso. Remembers fighting against his own exhaustion. Remembers the bone-deep pain. Remembers the weak, ragged breathing Eddie had been doing. Remembers the fear, and the worry, and the -

“I told you already,” Steve says. “There wasn’t any question when it came to saving your life; Dustin loves you, I don’t think the kid would have pulled through without you.”

Eddie looks at him again, something changes in his expression, but Steve can’t figure out what he’s said wrong.

“Yeah,” Eddie says. His voice is flat. “You did it for Dustin.”

Steve doesn’t know how to explain it wasn’t just for Dustin. It was also for Eddie. It was for the way his cheeks dimple when he smiles, for the way he plays the guitar. For the way he makes the kids laugh, big and loud, like they’ve never seen a horror in their life.

He doesn’t know how to say he saved Eddie because Steve loves the way he fills a space, loves the feeling that spreads through his chest, his whole body, when Eddie gets in close to him. He doesn’t know how to explain Eddie’s so bright he's like a flashlight exploding in front of Steve’s eyes. Doesn't know how to say that Eddie makes Steve feel like he’s standing at the precipice of discovery.

Eddie makes Steve feel as though he could find an alternate route out of Hawkins. He gives Steve hope there’s a way to leave behind shitty retail jobs and the looming ghosts of his parents, of Barb, of all the people they've had to bury. Eddie makes Steve feel like he could moving into something bigger, like the future isn’t just an empty space. Eddie makes Steve feel like he might actually be worth something better.

Steve doesn’t even begin to know how to say Eddie has always had a bit of something better in him.

So, he does what he’s been doing best, lately.

He says nothing.

Eddie rocks back and forth on his heels, once. Then, he looks to where Steve’s BMW is still parked.

“So, what’s your problem with her, Harrington?” he asks, walking over to it.

Steve follows after him, thinking of the way Eddie used to always wait for him, used to always walk beside him, used to call him Steve.

He feels pathetic. He wishes he’d never listened to Robin. He wishes he’d gone to a different garage. Maybe he should have taken himself all the way to Indy, gone back to James Perkins, back to before the Upside Down. Back to before this cavern in his chest was carved open, year after year, loss after loss.  

He and Eddie reach his car, and Steve tosses him the keys unthinkingly. He watches with an inexplicable lump in his throat as Eddie catches them with the ease of someone who’s caught the things Steve has tossed him a hundred times before.

Eddie pops the hood open, peering into the engine like he can simply read what’s wrong burned into the metal of the car itself. Maybe he can; Steve doesn’t know enough about cars to guess.

He lets himself sway closer into Eddie’s space, and says, “It’s just making lots of noises. Whenever I turn the steering wheel it’s started, like, creaking. It shakes a bit, too.”

“Huh,” Eddie says. He closes the hood and looks over at Steve, he’s chewing the inside of his cheek, the way he does when he’s nervous.  

“What?” Steve asks.

“Well, if what you’re saying is right, then you’ve probably got issues with the suspension, which isn't the easiest fix. So, I think you’re gonna need that discount,” Eddie says. He puts Steve’s keys in the pocket of his coveralls and smiles crookedly. “Sorry, Harrington. You were right, you definitely will be without your chariot for a while.”

“Shit,” he says. “I live completely the other side of town from here. What the fuck am I going to do?”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “God, Steve. Don’t freak. I’ll give you a ride home, no big deal. I know things are, uh. Awkward - but I'm not going to, like, strand you here.”

*

Mr. Wilson has apparently gifted Eddie a beat up 1978 Honda Accord. Eddie grins when he spins the keys on his finger, claiming he only got given it because he kept showing up late to shifts. Steve nods, but there’s a part of him that wouldn’t be surprised if Eddie Munson was the first person to break through the old man’s veil of perpetual sadness.

“Sorry,” Eddie says, when they settle in. “The car’s a dump, and the radio’s broken. I haven’t replaced it yet, ‘cause I’m saving up for a new one. I want to get one that can play tapes as well as the local stations, but it's, y'know, more money.”

Steve chews the flesh on the inside of his cheek. The journey will be even more awkward without the familiarity granted from Eddie blasting whatever band has captured his interest this week. Still, it’s not like he wants to walk the length of Hawkins – especially not alone, especially not out to his house - so, he’s not going to turn down a ride, broken radio or not.

A few minutes in, the silence is almost unbearable. All Steve can think about is how easy conversation used to flow between him and Eddie. Now, the weight of discomfort sits heavy across their shoulders. Just for something to do with his hands, Steve rolls the passenger window down.

Eddie’s Accord is stick shift, so he can’t gun the gas in the same way he used to do with his van, but he’s still going about twenty over the limit. As soon as the glass for the window is even cracked open, wind whips through the car, blowing Steve’s hair out of its perfectly coiffed style. Eddie glances over and smiles a little at Steve, as though he can’t quite hold it back.

“Messing up your ‘do, Harrington? That’s not like you.”

Steve can’t think right now, not when the air is still thick with late summer and the center console is the only thing separating their bodies. Not when he’s close enough to Eddie he can see the flyaways in his hair, the freckles on his nose. He wants to be reckless, wants to say something stupid like: I used to let you mess up my hair all the time. He shakes the thoughts away, coughing.

“Remind me again what’s wrong with my car?” he says.

He’s sure he won’t retain the information. He’s not good at keeping technical terminology in place at the best of times and right now every one of his neurons feels fried. He’s sure if you cut him open, he’d look like an unspooled VHS tape; messy and dysfunctional. Eddie for his part doesn’t comment on the abrupt change of topic, nor Steve’s anxiousness. He keeps his eyes on the road, voice calm when he speaks.

“I’m not a hundred percent sure, yet,” he says. “I’ll need to properly poke around in her a bit before I can answer with full confidence, but if she’s clunking and shuddering when you turn then it sounds like it could be something up with the suspension bushings, or the tie rod ends.”

“I don’t know what those are,” Steve admits.

Eddie smiles. “You don’t gotta know what those are, Harrington. All you have to know is your car is not safe to drive right now. Like, if it is the tie rod ends, you could have lost control of the steering entirely. Robin was right to worry, man.”

“Shit,” Steve says.

He swallows down the bitter feeling of disappointment the BMW is genuinely fucked up. A small part of him was still hoping it would all be okay, hoping Eddie was making up some kind of excuse just to drive him home, some bullshit reason to spend a little more time close to him. He cracks the knuckles in his right hand, ignoring the way Eddie winces at the sound.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do without my car. I’m supposed to pick Dustin and Lucas up from the Wheeler house tomorrow. Lucas is literally next door, but his mom still doesn't want him to walk it alone. Their parents are still freaking out about having them go anywhere, after, y’know.” He waves his hand awkwardly, trying to convey Max nearly died and the town nearly fell to pieces with a gesture.

Eddie drops the gear as he turns onto Randolph Way, one hand spinning the steering wheel of the car with practiced ease.

“Yeah. I mean, personally I think Mrs Sinclair and Mrs Henderson are both a little justified, for that one. Honestly, I don't want those little squirts falling into another inter-dimensional hell hole. I feel antsy knowing any of us are still walking around here when, like, there's those things out there." He shudders, shaking his head. "Still, don't sweat it, Harrington. I’ll pick the little worms up. I know Mrs Henderson doesn’t like me, but if she knows your car is busted I’m sure she’ll forgive the ride this one time.”

The late evening traffic is bad, so the car slows. Eddie taps a little rhythm on the wheel, his gaze fixated out on the road ahead of them.

“Will you not be working?” Steve asks. "I don't want to make you miss a shift."

“For Henderson? I'd miss a thousand shifts. That little dickhead is one of my favorite people,” he says. He looks at Steve quickly, flashing him a smile. “But no, really, it’s fine. I can, um, usually set my own hours, at the garage. As long as I get my work done, no one really bothers me; the other guys are, um, more than happy to stay outta my way.”

Steve sees the way the lines around Eddie’s eyes tighten when he talks about the other men he works with, and feels a spike of fury run through him. Despite his innocence, Eddie’s still had so much shit the past few months. There are small things, like people swerving past him in the street and giving him dirty looks, but there are bigger things, too; Mrs. Henderson trying to keep Dustin away from him; his uncle’s front door getting graffitied; the freaky letter he got in the mail.

All of it makes Steve’s stomach twist with a sick feeling of helplessness.

“People aren’t still being assholes about you, are they?” he asks. “’Cause if they are, that’s fucking crap! Hop told everyone you were innocent, I mean, the fucking Feds put out a report telling everyone about how the murders were Jason fucking Carver! You’d think the people in this shitty town would believe them!”

Eddie laughs sardonically. “Steve, people don’t trust anyone, these days, ‘specially not the fucking government that tried to cover up a chemical leak here, or the fucking cops who work for that government. Plus, as good as Hop is and as much as people 'round here respect him, they aren’t exactly chomping at the bit to trust a man who’s come back from the fucking dead. Jason may have gone down for the murders, but that doesn’t mean people are going to stop thinking this town is cursed, or that I’m a big, queer, devil worshiping freak who should be kept away from their precious little kiddies.”

Steve looks down at his hands, feels the familiar frustration settle itself deep and dark in the caverns of his chest. He wishes people could see Eddie for who he really was: patient, kind, careful. Steve sees it in the way he lets Max and El braid his hair, the way he always holds the door open for Robin, the way he lets Dustin talk, and talk, calm smile on his face.

Steve’s been the subject of Eddie’s attention, his affection. It certainly feels biblical, but it’s never felt demonic.

“They’re all idiots. They don’t even fucking know you at all.”

Eddie snorts. They’re far enough along Randolph for the traffic to have thinned. When Eddie indicates left to turn onto Prospect, Steve feels a spike of panic at how close they are to his house.

He thinks about asking Eddie to take him the long way home, instead. Thinks about asking Eddie to keep driving forever. Thinks about asking Eddie not to take him home at all, to drive them to Eddie and Wayne’s new apartment out by the dump. Steve would take the nightmares, the conviction he can hear Demodogs screeching in the woods, he would take all of it if it meant being the other end of town from Steve’s house, with its haunted pool and empty hallways.

He opens his mouth to ask, before he lets it fall closed again. Eddie’s doing him a favor with this ride, but it's not like he's been trying to spend any extra time with Steve lately. Silence falls over the car, again.

Steve can be so fucking good at silence.

“Not many people want to get to know me,” Eddie says, then.

He’s never been able to handle lack of noise as well as Steve. He gets nervous when people are too quiet and starts babbling. Steve guesses it's a difference in how they grew up.

"I do," Steve says.

Eddie's hands tighten on the steering wheel. He shakes his head.

“You didn’t want to get to know me. If you didn’t love Henderson so much, if you didn't trust him, you’d have thought I was guilty, just like everyone else did.”

Steve is silent for a few more moments. He watches the houses pass through the car window, pointedly doesn’t look at Eddie when he talks. “Yeah, I wouldn’t let anything I think go to your head too much. I’m as much of an idiot as the rest of the people in this stupid town, Eddie. That's what Nance used to always tell me, anyway.”

He thinks of her saying you’re an idiot, Steve Harrington, over and over again. The way she stood there, smiling at him in the bathroom of Hawkins High, her hair curling around her face. The way she let him kiss her, over and over again.

Back then, Steve thought he figured everything out when she’d agreed to go on a date with him. Back then, he thought he’d go to college and get a degree. Fall in love, get married. Move back to Hawkins with Nancy Wheeler and buy a nice house on the end of a cul-de-sac, have a couple kids and take them to their sports games.

Back then, he thought the worst monster in Hawkins was his dad.

“You’re not an idiot, Steve,” Eddie says.

It’s the second time he’s slipped up and said Steve’s name instead of Harrington. Steve is about to comment on it, but Eddie’s still talking.

“You’re one of the smartest people I know.”

Steve laughs, loudly. He lets the sound of it peel out of the car and settle onto the sidewalk outside. “Eddie, we hang out with some of the smartest people in Hawkins. Hell, maybe some of the smartest people in the United fucking States of America, and you think I’m anything like them?”

Eddie shrugs. They drive past Lincoln Park; Steve’s house is only a few more minutes away.

“It’s a different kind of intelligence. You don’t have to score big in tests to be smart. Hell, look at me; I’ve still not even graduated high school, man.” He flashes a quick grin at Steve.

“You know that’s not the same thing,” Steve objects, ignoring the way his heart pounds at the glimpse of Eddie’s dimples. It’s pathetic, he’s pathetic. “You’re, like, crazy smart. You read all those Lord of the Ring books like ten times. I can’t even get through the first couple of chapters without the words just swimming in front of me.”

"Steve -"

"No, I'm serious Eddie. C'mon."

Eddie doesn’t say anything, but the look he shoots Steve is sad, like he really doesn’t understand why Steve won’t accept he’s intelligent. Steve is a little disappointed he doesn't keep going, but he doesn't want to push it. He's tired of trying to push things.

When they reach Steve’s drive, it’s Eddie who hops out, unlocking the gates and pushing them open with practised ease. He doesn't even struggle with the left one, which sticks. Pulling up to the front door, Eddie looks unsurprised to see the driveway empty of Steve’s parent’s cars. All of it serves to remind Steve, again, of how deeply Eddie knows him; how much of himself he’s given away.

“Well,” Eddie says. His tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip, wetting it. “You’re home safe and sound, Harrington. Don’t let anyone say I never did anything nice for ya'.”

Steve can’t help it anymore. He reaches his hand out, places it over where Eddie’s is still resting on the stick shift. Despite the sticky summer air, Eddie’s skin is cool to the touch.

“Eddie, you did nice shit for me all the time,” Steve says, quietly. “You’re one of the nicest things that ever happened to me.”

Eddie looks Steve in the eyes. Then, for one glorious, split second, his gaze travels down to Steve’s mouth. Steve’s heart pounds, his hand feels clammy where it’s still resting over Eddie’s. He wants Eddie to kiss him

so -

fucking -

bad.

Then, Eddie pulls his hand away, turns so Steve can only see the side of his face. When he speaks, his voice shakes.

“You can’t do this to me, Steve,” he says. He puts the hand Steve touched over his mouth like he’s kissing it. He takes one, deep, rattling breath in. “Look, I’ll be in touch, about the car, okay? And I’ll get Henderson and Sinclair tomorrow, don’t worry.”

Steve wants to catch his eye, wants to ask him what he meant, wants to touch Eddie again, wants, wants, wants –

Eddie is still purposefully looking away, hand still pressed over his mouth. Steve waits one, two, three beats. Then, when Eddie still won’t turn around, Steve climbs out of the car and shuts the door with a soft snick.

“I’ll see you round, Eddie,” he says, softly.

Eddie nods, head tipped down, so his hair covers his face. “See you round."

The car peels away. Steve is left alone in his driveway.

*

He dials the Buckley’s as soon as he gets inside. His hands are shaking so badly it takes him a couple of tries to punch in the right numbers, even though he knows it by heart.

“Hello?” Mrs Buckley picks up, voice measured and pleasant through the phone line.

“Um, hello, Ma’am,” Steve stutters back, wincing at himself as soon as he does. His hands are still unsteady. He can’t stop thinking about Eddie in the car, hair over his eyes. “Is Robin there?”

Mrs. Buckley sighs, loud enough it crackles down the phone line. “Hello, Steven,” she says. There’s absolutely no surprise in her voice. “She’s in her room, I’ll call for her.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Buckley."

He hears the click of another phone being picked up, there’s a few moments of silence, before Robin yells, “Get off the phone, mom!”

There's a pause, then a crackle, and the line sounds clear again.

“S’up, dingus?” Robin says, over the phoneline. She sounds so normal. She sounds so calm.

Steve closes his eyes and takes a moment to thank God, thank the Russians, thank Scoops-fucking-Ahoy for Robin Buckley being brought into his life. He clutches the phone tight to his ear, skin around his fingers going white with the intensity of his grasp.

“Look,” he says. “I have something I really need to talk to you about, okay? And I’m sorry in advance for the fact I didn’t tell you about it earlier, but I’m telling you now. Or, I will be telling you now.”

“Okay,” Robin says. Her breathing is still even paced and steady over the phone, a reassuring contrast to Steve’s own shaky gasping. “Do you need me to sneak out?”

“I, um, yeah. I’m sorry, yeah. I really need you to sneak out. I’ll meet you by Bollier and 8th,” he says. “You were right, by the way. Eddie says my car is fucked, he’s keeping it at the garage, so I’m on foot. I won’t be able to get too far from the house.”

“Okay, Steve,” Robin says, again. She leaves off any of her usual questions, as if sensing the nervousness in his tone. Steve loves her so, so much. “Head over there now. I’ll find a way to get my parents off my case and I’ll be there soon. Don’t worry, okay? I’ll be there.”  

“See you soon,” Steve says, trying to even out his breathing. He puts the phone back on its cradle, grabbing his keys and heading back out the door a few minutes later.

*

Robin’s already there when he arrives, her bike propped up on its kickstand beside her. She’s changed out of her Family Video uniform into black pants and red suspenders over a striped shirt Steve is almost positive she stole from him. Her hands are shoved deep into her pockets.

He can see the worried pinch of her eyebrows when he gets closer to her. The way she’s bouncing slightly on her feet.

“I climbed out my window. I’m pretty sure my mom saw me cycling off but I’ll deal with that nightmare when it comes for me, yeah? I figured, what the heck, right? I mean, we were on the phone so she'll probably know where I'm going but I don't exactly care, because if you need me, you need me. So, are you alright?” She’s babbling in the way she always does when she’s worried or scared, words spewing out quicker than she can stop them. “The car didn’t, like, give out on the drive to the garage, did it? I’m really hoping this is a problem with the car and nothing to do with the Upside Down or the Russians or anything. I’m going to keep talking like it’s something to do with the car, okay? Eddie’s not charging you a fortune, is he? I know you can’t really afford to fix your car right now but I’m sure I can pool some of my savings together to help if I need to, because God knows you give me enough rides and, actually, it really isn’t fair of me to expect you to just keep doing that! I don’t even help pay for the gas, and –”

Steve reaches a gentle hand out to put on Robin’s shoulder, halting her panicked ramble.

He wonders if anyone in the neighboring houses are watching this – Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley, that unlikely pair - meeting up in secret in the middle of the night. Half of town think they’re dating already. Anyone seeing them like this would just confirm it.

Knowing what he’s about to tell her, the idea makes him want to laugh hysterically.

“I’m fine, Rob,” he says. Shoves his hands in the pockets of his sweats. “I mean, I will be fine.”

“Well, what happened, then? I mean, I'm really trying not to be judgemental or jump to conclusions, but you’re sort of freaking me out a little, Steve.”

Steve takes her hand, pulling her off the road and towards the trees lining the street, until they’re more hidden from view.

“You know, half the town think we’re dating already,” Robin says, conversationally. “If someone sees you pulling me behind a tree then no one is ever going to believe us when we say we’re platonic.”

Steve is so, so lucky to have her.

“I was actually thinking the same thing. It's funny - um, for a lot of reasons. You're about to think it's even funnier."

He runs a hand through his hair, feeling wild and nervous. He doesn’t know why his heart is beating so fast, why his palms are so sweaty. Steve has faced down Demodogs; alternate dimensions; Vecna; and the world ending several times over. It isn’t even a big deal, really. He knows Robin loves him, he knows she - of all people - won’t view him any differently, won’t stop wanting to be his friend. He knows she’s safe. Knowing these things still doesn’t stop the panic from setting in.

Once he says something like this out loud, he can never take it back. Once it's out there, it will be out there. Steve feels like he’s going to unravel.

Robin is watching him, waiting for him to speak. Her eyes are wide.

“Steve, seriously. You’re really freaking me out. You’re not going to tell me you want to date me again, are you? I know you know I’m a lesbian but knowing doesn’t necessarily stop the feelings and I’d hate to be the one to have to break your heart!”

Steve shakes his head. “Rob, no. I really don’t want to date you, okay? Promise with a capital P, platonic with a capital P. This is actually – this is about something the total opposite of dating you, actually.”

She watches him, expectantly. When he says nothing, she gestures with her hand, as if to remind him to hurry up.

He takes a deep breath, feeling dizzy. To center himself, he bends over and puts his hands on his knees, closing his eyes; he allows himself five deep breaths, five more seconds with his secrets.

Then he stands up straight, looks Robin in the eyes and says: “So, Eddie and I were hooking up. Like, after Vecna, we were hooking up for a few months.”

There’s complete silence. Robin’s mouth drops open in shock, her eyebrows raising.

“I’m sorry,” she says, after too long of a pause. Steve can taste vomit in the back of his throat. “I thought I just heard you say you were hooking up with Eddie.”

"Yeah."

"Eddie Munson?"

"Yeah, d'you know any other Eddie?"

"No - but. I mean - I'm - Eddie?"

Steve’s mouth tips up into a wry smile. He does a weak jazz hands, and swallows down the fear. “Surprise! I’m queer. Guess they were right when they said it was contagious, huh, Rob?”

Robin presses both hands to her mouth and sinks down onto her haunches.

“Okay,” she says, “I’m processing this. You have, um, you have my total support, but you’ve also shattered a lot of my worldview. Just – just give me a second.”

Steve waits. Eventually, Robin stands up again. He can still read the surprise in every line of her body, but she’s smiling now, too. Her teeth look very white. 

“I’m going to hug you now."

She instantly wraps her arms around his shoulders, pulling him towards her in a fierce embrace. He puts his arms around her waist; lets himself fall into the comforting, familiar shape of her body against his own. She smells like his laundry detergent, brewed coffee, and lime. She smells like home.

Robin presses her face into his chest. “Thank you for telling me, Steve. I love you, and I support you.”

“Yeah,” he says, quietly. “Thank you for being here.”

Then, Robin pulls out of the hug and whacks him, hard, on the chest.

“Ow, what the fuck, Robin?”

“I can’t believe you had your big queer revelation and hooked up with someone without even telling me about it! I mean, I, like, can't believe that you so much as kissed someone and you didn’t share it with me? Usually you tell me everything! Usually you tell me too much! I still can't look Caroline Levy in the eye, by the way.”

Steve rubs a hand on the back of his neck.

“Hah,” he says, “Yeah. Well, I um. I kissed someone and didn't tell you.”

Robin whacks him again. “Oh my god, you were hooking up. You had sex with a boy before I held hands with a girl! This is so depressing.”

She stands up taller, frowning at him deeply. “And the other day I was talking to you and I said you had no game, and you just let me! You have more game than anyone I know. I mean, you're not even just sleeping with women anymore! And it's awful, because it means all the hype about the hair was accurate. Now I’m the one who looks like an idiot because I keep saying you suck, when this whole time you’ve been secretly hooking up with Eddie, which explains why you knew I wasn’t his type. Like, I was wondering, oh, has Eddie come out to you too? But obviously you knew because you were hooking up –” Robin cuts herself off, taking a step back and looking at him. Her eyes are very wide. “Oh, Steve.”

Steve pulls a face at her. He knows what Robin has talked herself round to realising. 

“I’m so sorry. You were hooking up with Eddie. Implying you and Eddie are no longer hooking up.”

Steve looks down at his hands. His knuckles are dry and red, and there’s peeling skin around each of his fingernails.

“Yeah,” he says, around the lump that’s formed in his throat. “It ended about three weeks ago.”

Robin purses her lips together, looking sad. She holds her hand out to him; he takes it, intertwining their fingers together and pulling her back to him so she’s leaning against his side.

“C’mon,” she says, “We’ll go back to yours. If I’m gonna get in trouble for leaving the house tonight, we might as well get a few hours of sleep from it.”

*

Robin says she ate at home, pushing herself up onto Steve’s kitchen counters and watching as he makes a sandwich.

“You sure?” he asks, holding up the bread bag and shaking it at her. She nods, and he shrugs. “Alright, suit yourself.”

“So, you and Eddie,” she says, kicking her feet into the lower cupboards as he places slices of cheese onto the bread. “Tell me everything. I can’t believe it’s been months and I didn’t even suspect. I thought we were best friends, Steve. You usually, like, you usually never keep anything from me and you know I wouldn’t judge you about this, and-”

“I know,” Steve says. He slaps the final slice of bread on top and cuts the sandwich into four, handing Robin one of the quarters because he knows she’ll stare at his food the whole time otherwise. She grins, immediately starting to eat it. “I was going to tell you, I wanted to tell you, but I kept choking. It was so stupid because if anyone was going to get it, it would be you. But we'd be hanging out, and you'd say something about a hot girl, and I kept picturing trying to tell you Eddie and I were a thing, and how I’d have to actually say I’m queer, and like. How could I be queer, anyway? Because it’s not as if I don’t like girls, it’s not as if I haven’t loved girls, but it’s also not like there’s a problem with being gay –”

“Wow, Steve. You sound like me,” Robin cuts in. "Anyway, of course I know you like girls. Half the reason you're happy I like women is because it gives you a chance to talk about boobies."

"Exactly!" Steve cries.

Robin snorts. She's looking at her food. She tears everything she eats into pieces, tiny little mouthful after tiny little mouthful. It takes her ages to eat anything; they went to a diner together once, and Steve had four cups of coffee in the time it took for her to finish her pancakes. He doesn’t think she’s ever finished a meal while it was still hot.

God, he loves her.

Without thinking, he reaches out his hand to place it on her knee, steadying himself. She smiles at him from where she’s still perched on the kitchen counter, still tearing her sandwich into pieces.

“I mean, exactly. I love boobies. I loved Nancy, I've slept with, like, loads of girls, and I loved it -"

"Steve," Robin cuts in.

"Right sorry - so, like, girls, but also I was sleeping with Eddie and it was such a fucking mess. I don't know - I guess I didn't want to say something, and have someone say I was only pretending with girls, before.”

“Steve, I don’t doubt you genuinely loved Nancy.” Her eyes are soft, “I also know it’s one thing to have queer friends, and totally another thing to be queer yourself. I know it’s hard, I know it’s awful to accept all the stuff people say about queers and freaks is actually about you –”

“It’s not even the stuff other people say,” Steve interrupts. “I mean. Not really. It's going to suck, sure, but it's also the stuff I said.” He tugs his hands through his hair. “Seriously, Rob. The crap I gave people.”

“Steve,” Robin says, quietly. “You’re not like that, anymore. Yeah, you were a bit of an asshole in high school, we all know you were a bit of an asshole in high school. It doesn’t matter, though, because you’re not an asshole, now. You’re the guy who goes first through the gate, the guy who goes first into the Russian torture room, and the guy who’s my stupid, douchebag best friend. I fucking – I know we don’t really say it, but I love you, okay? You think I’d still hang out with you if you were a homophobic shithead?”

Steve rolls his eyes.

“Alright, Rob. Point made. I love you too.”

"So, Eddie?"

"Yeah. Eddie," Steve says. "I mean - it came out of nowhere, but it was. It was - it was a lot. I mean, he's a lot. But, like. It was really, really good. In a lot of ways."

He shoves one of the sandwich quarters into his mouth to stop himself saying more, chewing on it slower than usual. Robin rolls her eyes at his puffed-out cheeks, but says nothing. When he’s swallowed, he takes a drink of water. Robin gives him a goofy thumbs up.

He laughs, shaking his head. “So, yeah. Eddie and I were a thing, for a few months. It ended three weeks ago, and, um, I’m –”

“Really fucking sad about it?” Robin asks. Steve pinches his thumb and forefinger over the bridge of his nose, and nods.

“I am really fucking sad about it.”

It feels good to say out loud; it’s freeing, almost, as though he’s shedding his skin of secrets. It feels like the first shower he had after Vecna. Feels like watching the dirt and blood and grime sluice off his skin and disappear down the drain. Letting Robin see this part of him, letting Robin have this last piece of him – it’s cleansing.

He lets himself sway further into her. She spreads her legs apart so he can stand in between them, rest his head on her shoulder. His hand is still on her knee. He thinks of what Dustin would say if he walked in, right now, and snorts. She snorts back, as though she’s picturing the same thing, and then kicks out the leg he’s still resting a hand on.

“So,” she says. “Now we’ve established you’re here, and you’re queer, and we love each other –”

“Platonically.”

“Oh, of course. With a capital P.” Robin puts what she has left of the sandwich down on the counter beside her, lifting her hands to rest on Steve’s shoulders. Her eyes are sparkling. “Anyway, because you capital P love me, you have to tell me all the details. You and Eddie? How, when? Where?” She grabs the top of his turtleneck. “Oh my god, please don’t say your bed, because I sleep there with you.”

“I always changed the sheets,” Steve confesses.

Robin lets him go like she’s been burned and pulls a face. “Ugh!"

Steve sticks his tongue out at her, and she pokes it with her finger, wiping his own salvia onto his cheek.

“Okay, we’ve established the where, although I wish we hadn’t. Tell me about the how and when. C’mon Steve. I know you’re sad about it, but it’ll be good to talk it all through. So, tell me, tell me, tell me!”

Steve takes a deep breath. “So, in the couple of weeks after everything, before Hop got reinstated. You know, when the government were still handwaving and trying to pretend they couldn’t just pin Chrissy, Fred and Patrick’s deaths on Jason?" 

"Yeah."

"So, it was when those left from the Bears were out in force, with their stupid fucking plan to find Eddie. It was – well. You remember what they were like, Rob.”

Robin nods, mouth downturned. “I remember.”

“Yeah, and Eddie didn’t want to, like, go anywhere or do anything. He was freaked out, I think, though he was trying to play it all down - and he was still super hurt. So he was just staying in mine. We just. I don’t know, Rob." Steve rubs the back of his neck. “I just really like him. He makes me laugh. It was like – god, it was like, no matter how bad things were, Eddie and I were getting on. We were friends, you know? And he’s just - I liked him so much, I always wanted to be around him. You should have seen me – I was pretty obvious. I spent half my time trying to be around him. It felt like how I was with Nancy, but dialled up to twelve, or something. I – I don’t even remember the last time I felt like that about someone.”

Robin’s eyes are so wide. “Holy shit,” she whispers.

“Hah!” Steve says, though it’s not funny at all. “Yeah. Then, one day we were laid on the couch smoking and we'd just been talking about our folks, and shit. It was - he listens, y'know? I was telling him things and he was listening, and he was so close to me and I just - I kissed him.”

“And he kissed back.”

Steve nods shakily. “And he kissed back. And then it just kept happening.” He hangs his head, wills the tears not to spill over. “Then, y’know, then it stopped. It just. Stopped. I don’t even, I don’t properly know why. I know it must have been my fault because now he won’t answer my calls and when I tried to go ‘round the trailer his uncle just said he was out, even though he obviously wasn’t, and -”

He cuts off, all too aware of the way his eyes are starting to burn with unshed tears.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” Robin says. “You deserve to feel happy. You deserve to have someone.”

He laughs again, though it's still not funny. There’s a lump in his throat he tries to swallow down.

“Yesterday, you said I should find my new Nancy, but.” His voice cracks, horrible and embarrassing and obvious. “I’m pretty sure I found them, but I fucked it up anyway.”

Robin shakes her head. “I just can’t believe you’ve been going through all of this alone. I mean, I can’t even believe you had Eddie staying here and I didn’t notice! I stay the night all the time. How come I didn't know?”

Steve shrugs. Despite being one of the most intelligent people Steve has ever met, Robin can be a little short-sighted, almost oblivious at times. She has a habit of focusing only on the things she’s interested in; everything else fades into the background. If she wasn’t thinking to look for evidence of Eddie and Steve spending time together, she wouldn’t find any evidence of Eddie in Steve’s house at all.  

Really, it was all too easy for Eddie to hide. After the stitches in his side healed enough he could move around a little, he was removed from Hawkins General pretty promptly. Sure, the government sprung for him to have the best medical attention money could buy, but almost everyone in Hawkins was still convinced Eddie killed Chrissy, Fred and Patrick. The staff at the hospital hadn’t exactly been kind to him. Steve hated the government for a lot of things, but he was at least glad they used their pull to ensure Eddie’s wounds were treated professionally. He doesn’t like to imagine what would have happened otherwise.

Still, when Eddie was unceremoniously checked out from his room, Wayne had been busy delivering food to people who were fucked over by the town peeling in half. The Munson trailer was still a government testing site, and nothing was set up for a recovering bat bite victim. So, it had been left to Steve to collect him.

Steve still hates to remember how he'd been that day: pale, shaking, and uncomfortably quiet beside Steve in the BMW seats.  

Eddie spent his first couple of weeks in Steve’s house cowering away in the spare room every time the doorbell rang and jumping out of his skin when Steve made too much noise. He’d been unwilling to socialize. He’d been angry, tired and defensive. He had been pissed off.

Dustin was one of the only people other than Steve who Eddie deigned to tolerate The three of them spent a lot of time crammed on the couch, some stupid movie playing on the VHS, their shoulders pressed together. Much like Steve with Robin - it was a physical reminder they were all alive. Physical proof they had all made it through.

Dustin and Eddie would whisper to each other, sometimes. Occasionally, they would have little conversations with their eyes Steve wasn’t a part of. He knows whatever they experienced when Steve was off fighting Vecna with Robin and Nancy fucked them up. He knows Dustin shakes awake at night now, screaming for Eddie, or Steve, or one of the other kids.

Before Vecna, the thought of Dustin leaning on someone other than Steve would have made him feel hot with jealousy.

After Vecna, he was mainly relieved Eddie and Dustin had each other.

After Vecna, Steve was relieved they all had each other. Relieved they had people who understood what it feels like to walk through hell and come out the other side.

He looks at Robin. She's already looking back, watching him with wide eyes. Her legs on either side of his hips are comforting brackets. He thinks, not for the first time, that he’s so, so fucking glad she was put on the same shifts as him in Scoops. So glad she speaks four languages. So glad she overheard him and Dustin talking in the Scoops staff room.

He’s so glad she’s here, now, asking him about his history with Eddie fucking Munson.

"I just - I am still surprised, Steve. I mean, Eddie told me he was queer. You know about me. I - I thought, I thought one of you would have told me, I guess," she says. 

“I'm sorry, Rob. I should have, I wanted to. And, I mean - I don't know why Eddie didn't. I guess he just - he just, he didn’t really want to speak to anyone, Rob. You remember what it’s like coming into all this stuff. I mean, I didn’t sleep for weeks after the Demogorgon crashed out of the Byers' wall, and you had it pretty fucking bad with the Russians, but both of us had people there at the time. Eddie’s introduction to the Upside Down was when he was alone. Chrissy died, like, right in front of him.”

“Yeah,” Robin’s voice is quiet. She closes her eyes. “God, this is all so fucked up. No amount of therapy will ever fix how fucked up this all is.”

Her voice cracks. Steve, still in between her legs, puts his hands on her hips and squeezes tightly. She crosses her legs behind his waist, using them to pull him closer to her, tipping her face into his hair.  

“We’ll get through,” he says. She nods, swaying them back and forth slightly. “I’m glad I have you, Robin. Like, it seems fucked up to be relieved you’re going through all this shit with me, because you know I want you to be okay, but -”

“I know,” Robin says, half into Steve’s hair. “I’m glad I have you, too. Getting drugged in a secret Russian base was almost worth it, because it means I got to properly know you.”

Robin’s legs are still wrapped tightly around his waist, clinging onto him like a monkey. He squeezes his arms tight around her. There’s a long pause of silence, the two of them tangled up together. When Robin speaks again, it’s soft.

“Steve. I know you’re still blaming yourself for how you and Nancy ended, so I can’t imagine how shitty this is for you, but I need you to listen to me, okay? If Eddie doesn’t want you, then he never deserved you. Against all odds, Steve Harrington, you are the best person I know. I mean it, okay? There's no one better.”

Steve tightens his grip on her hips, pulls himself in impossibly closer to the warmth of her. He doesn’t have to say anything; he knows she’ll understand.

*

Steve and Robin fall asleep in the living room. Steve drifts off, still in his clothes from the night before, curled up on the furniture with Robin’s legs on his lap, halfway through watching Annie Hall. He doesn’t feel too bad about missing most of the movie; Robin talked over most of the dialogue – too focused on pointing out each one of Diane Keaton’s outfits to let him take in any of the plot.

Robin has a shift in the Family Video this morning, but Steve has a rare day off. He’s thankful for it; at around four in the morning he jolted awake, convinced he could hear a clock chiming. He hadn’t been able to fall back asleep again, afterwards.

“I hope you know my parents are going to hate you even more, now,” Robin says. She’s cheerfully brewing coffee at the stove. Steve blinks at her, feeling bleary-eyed and wrung out.

“I know,” he replies.

Robin smiles and passes him a cup of coffee.

“I will try and stop them from thinking you’ve corrupted me too much. I’m going to try and convince mom I wasn’t seeing you by saying I went over to stay at Jenny P’s house. She plays clarinet in band so it’s not, like, totally implausible we’d know each other, and I think mom would cry tears of joy if she thought we were friends.”

Steve frowns. “Is Jenny P the one who comes into Family Video like four times a week and always pops gum in your face?”

Robin’s nose wrinkles as she nods. “Yeah, that’s her. She’s a total waistoid, but my mom knows her grandma from church so she’s convinced the whole Patterson family are angels. I’ll say to mom Jenny’s boyfriend dumped her and she’ll be so pleased I’m doing normal girl stuff like talking about boys, I think she’ll let me live another day.”

“Well, the boyfriend dumping thing isn’t even a lie,” Steve says. “You’re just talking about the wrong person.”

“God,” she says, “Every time I think the two of us can’t suck anymore, something happens to prove me wrong.”

Steve leans over his mug, breathing in the strong smell of coffee. “Tell me about it, Buckley.”

“I gotta go,” Robin says. “If I’m cycling to work then I need to get there earlier so I can, like, sit down in the back office for a while and try to stop looking so fucking sweaty.”

Steve bats his eyelashes at her. “I, for one, think you look beautiful when you’re sweaty. It reminds me of one of the best moments in our friendship: coming down from drugs on the floor of a bathroom in Starcourt with you.”

Robin laughs, loud and unabashed. In a terrible Russian accent, she leans over him and hisses, “Tell me who you’re working for.”

Steve laughs, ducks his head to hide it and says, “Scoops! Scoops Ahoy!”

Robin plants a wet kiss on his cheek. “Well, you’re not working for anyone, today. What are you going to do with all your free time? Not that I’m jealous, or anything.”

Steve smiles, leans back in his seat and takes a drink of coffee.

“No plans,” he says. “I was due to cart Henderson and Sinclair home from the Wheelers, but since Eddie’s stolen my car, looks like I’ll just be staying in.”

Robin pulls a face. “You're gonna crack up, Steve. Why don’t you call Nancy, or something? You know it isn’t long until she’s off to Emerson – I’m sure she’d be glad to spend some time with you.”

“Oh, please. Dustin only just gave up on his half-brained attempt to get me and Nancy back together, and you want me to go and spend the day with her? Besides, she’s been trying to spend as much time with Jonathan as possible before he’s off to NYU, and he still thinks I'm a waste of space. I doubt they'd want me tagging along like the pathetic mess I am.”

“Fine!” Robin says, holding her hands up. “Stay miserable, if you want to be.”

Steve puts his head down on the counter in front of him.

“I do want to be miserable,” he says, “I’ve been miserable for three weeks.”

Robin smiles. “You know, I’ve seen you in the wake of two world-shattering nightmares; I’ve watched you throw fireworks and flamethrowers at a monster made from melted humans without blinking; I’ve seen you get bitten by monster bats in an alternate dimension; and the only time I think I’ve ever seen you properly flustered is when it comes to your love life. Like, right now, it’s Eddie Munson who’s really rocking your shit.”

Steve keeps his head on the counter. “You know, I am so glad I finally opened my soul and shared this deeply personal thing about me and you’ve reacted like this.”

“Oh please,” Robin says. “You are literally the first person in the world I ever came out to, and your reaction was to make fun of my taste in women.”

“But Robin,” Steve whines. “I need you now tonight, and I need you more than –”

Robin whacks him on the back of the head. “I’m going to work,” she says, but even with his forehead pressed into the counter, he can hear the laugh in her voice.

Steve doesn’t lift his head up to see her go, but he does raise his hand to wave. He’s sure she’s giving him the finger in return.

*

It’s ridiculous, but Robin was right. Almost as soon as she's pulled the front door shut, Steve feels a thrum of anxiety go through him at the thought of being alone. He is cracking up. He wants to fidget, to run after her. He can’t remember the last time he was home alone, without access to a car. He feels trapped, like a little kid.

Without his car, he can’t even drive over to the Wheeler’s house a couple of hours earlier than he was scheduled to pick Dustin and Lucas up. Right now, an hour or two in Mike Wheeler’s smelly basement with the rest of the kids crowded around him sounds like a dream.

He knows if he made his way over, the kids wouldn’t turn him away even if his presence wasn't explained by him picking Lucas and Dustin up, but Steve can’t bring himself to step out the door. Something about turning up at the Wheeler’s house without the thinly veiled excuse feels intrusive, wrong, somehow.

He knows, logically, Dustin would be happy to see him; they’ve not seen each other for a couple of days, which at this point, is unusual for both of them. He knows Will has wanted to include him in one of their campaigns for a while, he probably has a character sheet ready to go for Steve already. Srill, knowing he’s welcome in theory, and biking round there to actually be welcomed, feels like two completely different things.

Steve groans. He drains his coffee and moves to dump the mug in the sink. Then, he stands suspended in his hallway. The indecision over how to fill his day is paralyzing.

The thought of the hours stretching ahead of him without any plans or structure makes him feel like he’s going to shake out of his skin.  

He considers showering. It’s been a couple of days, and his hair is starting to get to the bad stage of too greasy. Though, as quickly as the thought of showering passes through his mind, it’s dismissed; being under any amount of water makes him feel sick now. All too often, submerging his face under the stream of shower water takes him back to the raw panic he’d had when he was being pulled under Lover’s Lake. In the moment when the bats were cascading around him, he understood how Barb must have felt, dragged into a world that was hostile and violent and terrifying. The last thing he needs is to freak himself out when he’s stuck here alone.

The newfound anxiety around water has been really shitty. It's ruined most of Steve’s usual relaxation methods. Even though his home pool has been untouched for years, he can’t even swim in the community pool anymore. Fuck, he can’t even wash his hair without feeling slightly panicked.

Steve paces beside the stairs, chewing a thumbnail. He feels frustrated and uneasy. It's not even ten in the morning. He has no fucking idea how he’s supposed to survive the rest of the day.

He thinks about cycling over to Family Video. He wouldn’t be working, so he’d be free to sit in the back office and bother Robin whenever the store was empty. Of everything, it’s the most appealing plan he’s come up with - except Keith is scheduled to work today, and there’s no way he would let Steve forget about his life being so pathetic he has nothing better to do but come into work on his day off.

He shoves a hand through his hair in frustration. He wants his car. He wants to roll the windows down and gun the gas and get the fuck out of Hawkins. He wants to sit by the beach and not feel like he’s going to drown. He wants to never see the inside of this house again. He wants to know the kids are safe.

He wants to sleep, a full night, uninterrupted.

Steve walks over to the foot of his stairs and sinks down onto the bottom step, burying his head into his knees. He can feel himself allowing the stress and anxiety to take him over. His fingertips feel fuzzy, blood pumping through them so fast. A full breath is hard to take in. His eyes are watering. Weakly, he holds his head down and tries to regulate his shuddering breathing. He counts each breath in, and out, the same way Robin showed him.

He’s only starting to regain the feeling in his hands when he hears the sound of someone squeaking the driveway gate open.

His stomach drops. He can’t think of anyone who would be coming up the drive now except his parents, though neither of them even bothered to call and let him know they’d be coming home. He chews his lip and ignores the spike of hurt he feels: usually his mom, at least, remembers to lets him know if they’re on their way back to Hawkins.

He glances around, frantically. There isn’t too much out of place: a blanket in the living room; a couple of mugs in the kitchen. The fact Robin has left for work is a blessing, because then they won’t have to sit through his dad and his stupid fucking comments. Steve has no desire to hear about how his dad views women, sex, or relationships. God. He can feel bile rise in his throat just thinking about how his dad would look at his relationship with Robin.

The car crawling up his drive rattles, an unusual sound for his dad’s Corvette. It makes Steve pause, frozen on the stairs. He listens, silently, as a car door slams and some feet crunch up the gravel. It only sounds like one person, which is strange – because his mom never leaves his dad alone, anymore, and -

The doorbell rings.

The sharp sound of it makes Steve jump. His parents have keys. His parents don’t ring the doorbell. His parents have a car that doesn’t rattle. His parents travel as a duo. His parents usually ring ahead.

Whoever is outside the door was not invited, and they are not his parents.

He swallows, pushing himself to stand on still shaky feet. The adrenaline is pumping through his body, now. His eyes dart around his hallway looking for something, anything he can use as a weapon. The lamp, perhaps. Maybe the decorative plate.

The person outside thumps on the door and calls out. “Steve? I know you’re in there, ‘coz I know Buckley’s working a solo shift today and I have your car!”

At once, the air deflates from him, embarrassment taking over instead. He doesn’t know what he expected. Doesn't know why he let himself get so worked up; it’s not as if a Demogorgon or Vecna would have driven up and rang the fucking doorbell.

Awkwardly, his hands drop back to his sides, and he walks to the front door, swinging one half of it open.

Eddie is stood on the other side. He’s dressed down, today: plain blue jeans and black top. If not for his long hair and rings; he’d look like any other guy in Hawkins. Steve blinks at him, wordlessly.

“Hey,” Eddie says. “You busy today?”

Steve shakes his head, and Eddie smiles, lightly.

“I figured Mrs Henderson would be a little less jumpy about me bringing her precious Dusty-bun home if you were in the car, too. Hence the new look, as well.” He gestures to his outfit. “What’dya think? Do I clean up, Harrington?”

He leans a little further into Steve’s space, face coming closer like he’s drawn there by some invisible, magnetic force. Steve steps back.

“Um,” he says.

He wants to tell Eddie he shouldn’t change himself for other people. Wants to tell him he shouldn’t worry about Mrs Henderson, she’ll come around when she sees how important he is to Dustin, when she sees how important he is to Steve. He wants to ask Eddie why he’s here, at Steve’s, so, so much earlier than he needs to be for them to drive over to the Wheeler’s together.

He wants to ask Eddie if he thought about him, last night.

Instead, he just nods.

“You look fine, Munson. You scared the shit out of me, though. I thought -" He laughs, shaking his head. "I don't know what I thought. At first, when I heard the car I thought it was my folks back without warning. Then I heard just the one set of boots, and. Well – I don’t know who I thought you were.”

Eddie chews on the inside of his cheek. Steve watches Eddie’s eyes take in Steve’s messy hair and his crumpled clothes. Watches Eddie clock the fact Steve’s hands are shaking. Watches Eddie map the features of his face. Eddie has always been able to read Steve far too well. Even before he wormed his way into the edges of Steve’s heart, made a home for himself in every one of Steve’s irrational thoughts, Eddie Munson was always able to take one look at Steve and see the shit he tries so hard to hide.

So, Steve isn’t surprised when Eddie meets Steve's eyes with a worried frown. He sags forwards.

“Sorry, Steve," he says, voice soft. "I didn't even think, I'm an asshole. I should'a called ahead to let you know I was coming." 

He reaches out a hand, as if he’s going to touch Steve’s shoulder. Then he seems to think better of it, and his hand falls down to his side. Steve wants to press himself against Eddie and lean all his weight there.

“I would have appreciated a heads up. I’ve been, um –”

“Not sleeping?” Eddie cuts in.

Steve huffs out a breath, snaps his fingers and points weakly in Eddie’s direction. “Yeah. As per usual.”

The two of them stand in the foyer of Steve’s house. He coughs, and then steps away from the entrance.

“Sorry. You can come in, Eddie.”

Eddie does so, hesitantly. He pulls the door behind him with a clean snick, then looks around. His eyes fall past the stairs into the living room, raking over the blankets piled up and the cracked open case of Annie Hall on the floor. He smiles, slightly.

“Robin over again last night?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Steve nods. Then, figuring he’s got nothing to lose, he says, “I um – I, I told her about us.”

Everything in Eddie’s body seems to freeze. He looks at Steve, mouth open, slightly. “Sorry, you what?” 

Steve looks down at his hands. They’re still shaking from earlier. He feels weak and uncomfortable, and he sighs, figures this is going to be a conversation. Turning away from Eddie, he stalks back towards the living room. If he and Eddie are going to have to talk things over, they might as well be comfortable.

Eddie follows after him, practically at his heels. “No, seriously, Steve, you need to talk to me here, because I just thought I heard you say you told Robin about me and you –”

Steve throws himself down on the recliner. The sun is streaming in through the living room windows, and he swivels the chair away from the pool, purposefully angling himself towards the inside of the house. Eddie watches him, hands clenched together in front of him like a nervous schoolboy.

“You can sit, Eddie." 

Eddie swallows. Doesn’t take his eyes off Steve as he moves to sit down on the couch. “You told her?” he asks, again.

Steve nods, looks back down at his hands. He cracks his knuckles.

“I, um.” He glances up at Eddie, meets his eyes, then looks away again.

It feels like they’re back in the tail end of March, when Steve wanted to get close to Eddie but didn't know how to do it. He wants to lose the distance between their bodies, wants to soothe the wrinkle that’s settled between Eddie’s eyes, wants to kiss, and hold, and –

“I just. I wanted to tell her. Fuck, Eddie. I’ve – I’ve been going half crazy. I actually feel like I’m going half out of my mind at any given opportunity,” he says. He tugs his hands through his hair, again, messing it up even more than it already is. Eddie is uncomfortably, unusually, quiet. “The idea of Robin not knowing everything about me was always crazy to begin with, and I was just sitting on all of this stuff. I had this whole fucking - I don't know, I had all this queer shit going on, and - and she didn’t even know! Not about me, not about us, and Rob is. She’s –”

Steve shrugs, helplessly. He's been failing for over a year to explain what exactly Robin means to him. There’s a reason Dustin burned out on his brief obsession with getting Steve and Nancy together again, switching back towards the idea of Steve and Robin. People look at the two of them, and they see something, because Steve and Robin just – work, together. They click.

Steve rolls his head back into the seat, looks up at the ceiling. He’s shitty at communicating at the best of times, crap with words in all the ways that count. How is he supposed to explain to Eddie what telling Robin represents? How is he supposed to convey the act of her knowing makes him feel more complete?

“She’s your person,” Eddie says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. His face has smoothed out from the shock, and he’s relaxed himself enough to curve his back into the leather of Steve’s couch. This time, when he looks at Steve, he doesn’t break eye contact.

Steve has never felt so grateful to be understood by someone in his life.

“Yeah,” he says, letting his shoulders drop down. The anxiety from earlier hasn’t quite abated, though, so he chews his thumbnail again. “Are you angry?” 

Eddie’s brow wrinkles in confusion. “What, why would I be angry?” 

Now, it’s Steve’s turn to feel confused. “Um, because, it was a secret?”

He’s not sure if he’s asking Eddie or telling him.  

“I mean, the only secret was yours, Harrington,” Eddie says. “You were free to tell whoever you wanted.”

“I told her we were hooking up,” Steve says. “That sorta implies some things about you, as well as me. Like, things that weren’t totally my place to divulge. I mean - she said, after, that she knew about you - but I shouldn't have presumed, and -”

“Nah, Harrington. I, like, really don't care about that. I mean, Rob and I totally sniffed the homosexuality on each other the second she stormed her little dyke boots into Reefer Rick’s boathouse, so it’s not like you let it spill that I’m flaming, or anything.” Eddie’s mouth twists into a sardonic smile. “I mean, half of Hawkins already knows I’m a big ‘ole homo, anyway.”

“People should keep their fucking noses out of other people’s business,” Steve snaps.

He clenches his jaw. He hates it when Eddie talks about himself like this, hates it when he downplays the way people treat him, the vile shit they chuck at him. He hates being reminded he used to be one of those people.

“Well, yeah,” Eddie says, agreeably. “They should, but they won’t. Not in a town as small and fucked up as this.”

“You ever think about getting away?” Steve asks. “Like, when you do graduate. Are you gonna stay in Hawkins?”

Eddie’s eyes snap to his. When he smiles, there’s a sadness to it.

“Where would I go, Steve?” he says. His voice is soft, “My uncle's here, and I mean. C’mon, what else is out there for me?”

Me, Steve thinks. I’m out there for you, and I’d take you anywhere. Steve thinks; I want to build a future around you.

As usual, he says nothing.

The silence weighs over the two of them, pressing down against the walls. It’s Eddie, like always, who breaks first.

“So, you were saying about how Robin knows, now?”

“Yeah.” Steve nods. He rubs his jaw. “I just – she’s my best friend, you know? And I wanted to talk about –” He trails off, looking for the right word; then he figures fuck it. “I wanted to talk to her about everything. About the fact I’ve not been doing so great, lately.”

Eddie looks at him, expression unreadable. “Why’s that?” 

“Oh, you know,” Steve says, he laughs humorlessly. “Where do I even start?”

He holds up his hands, ticking things off with his fingers as he speaks. “I’ve been sleeping like crap; I wake up with my palms sweating convinced someone I love is dying almost every night; I keep asking El if she’s sure the gates are finally closed and she keeps saying yes but I still don’t believe her; I earn under four bucks an hour; my car is fucked and I can’t go anywhere or afford to pay for the repairs; my future is one giant toilet; oh, and to cap it all off, the guy I was pretty fucking in love with dropped off the face of the Earth and never told me why!”

He stops, looks away from Eddie and rubs his jaw again. He’s not sure if he revealed too much – but he’s also not sure he’s got anything else left to lose.

“In love?” Eddie’s voice is very quiet. The words wobble out, uncertainty audible in a way Steve hasn’t heard from him since he told Dustin over the Walkie he was: pretty fucking far from okay.

Steve pulls his knees up to his chest, so he’s curled up in a ball on the reclining chair. He speaks to his thighs.

“Yeah, Eddie. In love. What, you think I act like that around every guy I kiss?”

“I don’t know,” Eddie says, “You kissing many guys?”

Steve tips his head further forwards, curls himself up impossibly smaller.

“Nah. Not many,” he says. He pictures his dad’s scowling face and continues, “Figure the risk is only worth it if you’re in love with the reward.”

Eddie makes a small, choked noise. It’s not a noise Steve has ever heard him make before. He wants to look up, to find out what expression is on Eddie’s face – but he also wants Eddie to make the next move. Steve has finally let his last secret out. He’s finally opened every cavern within himself, shaken loose every last piece of truth.

Across from him, Eddie is still frustratingly silent. Steve lets the weight of it hang, heavy and unbearable, before he finally breaks.

Steve looks up at him to watch him twisting the rings on his fingers. His hair is hanging ‘round his face again, and there’s an unfamiliar expression hovering around his eyes.

“You gonna say anything, Munson?” he asks.

Eddie meets Steve’s gaze, then quickly averts his attention back to his hands.

“I’m – I – do you want to come with me to the Wheeler’s house, or not? I figure we should leave soon enough. I know it's early, but, like, I want to see how mini-Byers is doing leading a campaign with those tips I gave him.”

Steve furrows his brow. Eddie has pulled his hair in front of his face again, so his features are hidden from view; he doesn’t know what expression Eddie has.

“That’s all you’re going to say?” he asks. He feels wounded, rejected. He feels like his bones are going to fall through his skin and lie, loose and exposed, between them. “I tell you I’m in love with you and you just wanna talk about Dickheads and fucking Dorks?”

He feels like Eddie has taken the last threads of his strength and thrown them out the window. Eddie shrugs, still refuses to meet Steve’s eyes.

“You’ve gotta give me some time to process that, Steve. I’m –” he sighs, seems bone tired and small. “I’m processing, okay?”

Steve thinks, were it any other day, he would give Eddie all the processing time he needs. Were it any other day, Steve would climb quietly into the passenger seat of Eddie’s car and come with him to collect Dustin and Lucas.

It isn't any other day. It's today. It's today, and he’s shaky and irritable and still feels like he’s about to run a marathon. Today, he's running on no sleep and no work. Today, he just pulled his whole fucking heart out and left it beating and bloody on his mom’s living room carpet. Today, he needs to understand why it’s getting stomped on.

“Eddie,” he says. “I’m sorry, okay, but you gotta give me something here. I – I tried to give you all the space you clearly needed. I mean, I stopped coming ‘round the trailer and I stopped hanging out with Dustin when you were there, and I wouldn’t have even gone to the garage if it wasn’t for the fact my car was genuinely messed up. You’re the one who drove me home; you’re the one who came here, totally unprompted. And - I'm, I’m tired and I’m sleeping like shit and I miss you so fucking much I feel like I’m going actually, out of my mind crazy – which is saying something, because I’ve seen more shit than most people have and you’re the thing that’s making me go out of my mind crazy.”

Eddie is finally meeting Steve’s gaze, eyes wide and serious. His bottom lip is pulled in between his teeth.

“Steve,” he says, “I just –”

Steve holds up his hand to stop him. “No, look, let me say this, okay? ‘Cause I’ve spent way too long not saying anything important to you.”

Eddie sinks back into the sofa, looks at Steve with clear eyes. He gestures, silently conceding Steve should continue.

Steve looks down at his hands, again, unsure if he can continue to make eye contact with Eddie as he’s talking. He’s not sure what Eddie’s going to say after he’s finished. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to stand seeing Eddie try to find a polite way to officially sever every tie between them.

Still, Steve knows he’s going to shake out of his skin if he has to keep everything he’s been thinking, everything he’s been feeling, inside for any longer.

Taking a deep breath, he continues.

“Look – before, y’know, before the world started ending for a fourth time - back when Henderson first started talking about you, I was so jealous he had someone other than me.” Steve’s foot is tapping, nervous energy too much to fully contain. “I don’t have that many people, not really. You know, my folks are pretty crappy, and I didn’t have anyone who, like, actually knew me, before, um, before Nancy, and you know how that exploded in my face. Henderson was sort of the first person who took the time to talk to me, not, like, King Steve. He’s, like, fuck – that little dickhead means so much to me, and I didn’t want to lose that. I know me and Robin were hanging out, but it doesn't change the fact the dork is, like, my kid brother. So, yeah. I was jealous. But - but then I actually got to know you – and it was the worst possible time to get to know someone, because Vecna was on the loose and the kids were all in danger, and you’d been through so much, but you kept going, Eddie. I was so impressed with you. You kept going! And then you were in my house and you were so fucking nice to me. You made me laugh! You know how few people make me laugh? Like, actually laugh? Basically just Robin and you. And so - and so I, I just wanted to be near you, like, all the time.”  

Steve buries his hands in his hair, tugs at the end of it. He risks a look at Eddie, who’s still sat there. Steve doesn’t know what the expression on his face is; it’s not one he recognizes.

“I just. Eddie, man. I feel like I’m back before the Upside Down, like I’m fifteen again. It started to feel like all the bad shit didn't even happen, 'cause I was so gone over you. I mean, we have these months of spending time together, of being around each other, and every day I liked you even more. I love the kids, but if I spend too long with them it makes me feel like I’m going to scream. There aren’t many people I wanna spend all my time with, the list is pretty much limited to Robin and you. Then Wayne’s got this new apartment and you’re never coming over, and you’re avoiding my calls and you’ve got, um, you’ve got Wayne fucking lying to my face telling me you’re not in, even though, I know you are, and I just –”

Steve looks up again. Shakes his head.

“I love you, Eddie. I love you, and I want to, like, rent a flat with you and move away from Hawkins with you and Robin. I wanna get a less shitty job and learn how to be a fucking adult in a place that isn’t on top of the literal jaws of hell, and I wanna come home and cook dinner and call Henderson, or Max, or Lucas, and I want them to come over and trash the place and piss me off, and I want to live a life and I want you there for all of it. And if you don’t - if you don't want any of those things with me, that’s fine. I mean, it fucking sucks, but I’ve survived worse, okay? Like, I’ll learn to deal. I just – um, I just want to know what I did wrong in the first place. I wanna know why you stopped showing up.”

Across from him, Eddie’s expression is still unreadable. He’s moved so he’s leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. His eyes are focused completely on Steve’s face, tracking over his features like he’s looking for something there. Steve doesn’t know what’s reflected in his own expression, but whatever Eddie sees, he softens at it.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says. His shoulders droop. “Jesus Christ, I was, like, totally unfair to you, man. I’ve not – I’ve never actually been in this situation before. So, I really am going to need you to bear with me while I completely reconsider my whole life here.”

“Like I said, I can deal if you don’t want anything to do with me,” Steve says. “I’d rather you just tell me. I don’t want to keep hoping that something will change if nothing’s going to.”

Eddie laughs, a wet, uneven thing. He pulls his hair over his eyes and groans.

“Steve,” he says.

Steve wishes he could bottle the sound of his name in Eddie’s mouth, store it up and save it for when the terror is taking him over; apply it to his skin like a balm for his worst moments.

“Steve,” Eddie continues. “I, like, I want everything to do with you, man. I just – I don’t know. I got in my own head, about me and you. I really fucking liked you, Steve, but you can have anyone you want and I mean, let’s face it, I’m no catch. I guess I figured it would be easier if we just – stopped.”

Steve blinks. He still feels half out of his mind, as though the walls are going to start warping in front of him any second now. He feels like he’s going to shatter apart like his car’s suspension. Feels like he’s going to rip Eddie Munson’s hair out then kiss him stupid.

“Jesus,” he says, after silence weighs heavy through the room for several beats too long. “I can’t believe people call me the idiot.”

Eddie holds his hands up. “I’m the town freak, Steve. You’re the poster boy for rich parents and nice clothes, and you look after those kids like they’re your own fucking spawn and Robin spends thirty-five percent of her rambling singing your praises. I thought you could do better, and you never said anything about this. You didn’t tell me that you were feeling, like, anything about me. So, forgive me if I thought a clean break would, I don’t know. I thought it would be the best thing for both of us.”

Steve stands up, moves across the lounge so that he’s standing in the middle of the room. Eddie’s eyes follow his movement, but he stays sitting on the couch, expression pinched.

“Eddie, I’m not better than you! I work shitty retail jobs because I turned down the select few colleges that did want me so I could look after a bunch of kids. Kids who are going to graduate high school in a couple of years and move away from Hawkins. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing with my future. I’m surrounded by people who are seventeen times smarter than me and I’m so shitty at telling people how I’m feeling, you thought I’d be totally okay with it if you just stopped seeing me.”

Eddie stands, then, pushing himself to his full height so his eyes are level with Steve. He reaches out to wrap his hand around Steve’s wrist, stopping him from pacing a hole in the living room carpet.

“Steve. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I pulled away, and I’m sorry I hurt you, and I’m sorry I didn’t say anything about how I was feeling, either.”

Steve sags forwards, lets his body lean into Eddie’s without even thinking about it. Eddie catches him, wraps his arms around his shoulder and pulls him close, chest to chest. It loosens something in Steve’s throat, lets his hands stop shaking. Sometimes, Steve feels so fucking young. Sometimes, all he wants is someone to hold him and tell him everything is okay, tell him he doesn’t have to do it all himself.

“You're fucking stupid." Steve says, wet and messy into Eddie's neck. "I love you." 

He fists his hands into Eddie’s t-shirt; it smells like sweat and cigarette smoke, and he wants to clutch it so tightly it’ll pull the world back together around him.

“I’m, I’ve been so fucked up these past few weeks thinking that I did something wrong, or you didn’t want me, or – well.”

“I want you all the time,” Eddie says. He’s speaking very softly, his hands warm and familiar as they stroke up Steve’s back. He laughs, a sharp, happy thing. “Fuck, if I could go back to a couple years ago and tell the younger version of myself Steve Harrington is saying he's in love with me I think I’d–”

Steve feels the motion of Eddie’s head shaking against his own. He pulls away slightly so that he can look Eddie in the eyes again.

“You’d what?” he asks, smiling slightly.

He can still feel the tingle of adrenaline in the tips of his fingers, but he’s more centered now. He can take in the faintest imprint of freckles on Eddie’s nose, the different shades of brown in his eyes. He can see the way Eddie’s smile is starting to appear at the edges of his mouth, the excited spark buzzing between each of them.

Eddie lets his smile spread fully, then says, “I don’t know, Steve. I’d cry and then punch myself in the face out of fear? I’d get myself sent off to the mental institution? I’d absolutely not believe it under any circumstances?”

Eddie pulls fully out of Steve’s embrace. Taking a step back, he spreads both arms out wide beside him.

“This is truly a magnificent day,” he says. His voice has the same tone he uses for narrating D&D games. “Ser Eddie the Banished hath been welcomed into the Kingdom of Ser Steve, nobly and truly, the two are united in their affection for each other.”

Steve laughs. “Just because you’re talking about your nerd shit now, doesn’t mean that I’m, like, totally okay now,” he says. “You really messed me up, just leaving, like that.”

Eddie’s smile drops, and he pulls his hair across his face, hiding again. “I'm sorry. I know I’ll probably need to prove to you that I’m sticking around, and we, like. We definitely need to talk, um. More, generally - but, I've been pretty fucked up these past few weeks without you too. I – I don’t know if you’ll believe me, after I totally bailed and ruined a pretty good thing. But,” he stops, taking a deep breath in. When he looks at Steve, his eyes are wide open.

“I love you too,” he says. “Like, I’m really fucking crazy about you, Steve. Have been for ages.”

“Oh,” Steve replies. His heart is beating quickly, but fight or flight isn’t kicking in the same way it usually does. “I mean, I think I could probably learn to believe you.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks. He drops his hair, exposing his full face to Steve again. His smile is small, but real.

“Yeah,” Steve says, feeling the quiet joy spread through him, deep and real. It’s been so long since he’s felt happiness, pure and unfiltered like this. So long since he’s felt at home in his own body, felt his heart slow to a regular pace. So long since he’s felt relaxed.

Right here, though, in his stupid haunted house, he meets Eddie Munson’s gaze and feels something in him settle comfortably into place. Right here, he isn’t looking for the nearest exit, he isn’t prioritizing something else, someone else.

Right here, he wants to settle in this moment. He wants to crystalize it, keep it preserved like the bugs in glass Dustin has in his room.

“Okay,” Eddie says. He reaches out his hand for Steve’s own. “Let’s go pick Henderson and Sinclair up from Mrs. Wheeler’s, then.”

Steve tangles their fingers together.

“Yeah,” he replies. “Let’s go.”