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The Wheelers’ had a party planned at their house. Nothing monumental to write home about. Just a costume-enforced party in their basement with mainly the Upside Down crew and some guys from Eddie’s band Corroded Coffin on the guest list. Even if Mike wanted to claim that the party was his, Nancy was certainly playing host, gathering food, drinks, and candy, while the younger but taller Wheeler was in charge of games like a costume contest and scary movie trivia. It wasn’t going to be the beer bong, throbbing music, and keg stand house party the older crowd was used to, but they were still looking forward to it. Honestly, if given the choice, Eddie is pretty certain all of them would opt for the more low-key, intimate option nowadays.
After defeating Vecna just before summer, they all found themselves carving quiet spaces filled with the people who they could trust, who they could be honest with. About their trauma, their slow-healing fears, and their budding relationships. One of those being his own ever-evolving connection with Steve Harrington—his now boyfriend—who is currently curled up on the couch under a growing pile of blankets.
A mess of used tissues and a glass of water lay on the coffee table in Steve’s parents’ living room. As usual, there’s no one else home but them. Eddie tends to stay over most nights, aside from going to assure Uncle Wayne that he’s alive and well—and not suspected to be dead or wanted for murder again. It’s getting easy, even though folks in town are quick to turn the other way or worse, stare him down without an ounce of empathy. The truth is, Eddie wouldn’t forfeit any of that bullshit because it got him here. Sitting at the end of the couch by Steve’s socked feet, watching the other man blow his nose for the 78th time today.
The metalhead grabs at
“You should start getting ready, Eds,” croaks Steve, throat obviously rough and raw. “Dustin’s already going to be mad that I’m not there. Can’t have you being late too or the dweeb will blow a gasket.”
“Nah,” Eddie starts. “I think I’ll just stay here. Keep you company. Not much of a party with The King there anyway,” he smirks, knowing the nickname still irritates the jock.
Eddie chuckles as Steve does his best to roll his eyes, but the gesture is half-hearted considering it’s requiring far too much energy to even breathe or keep his gaze alert and engaged.
“I’m just going to sleep. Not much to witness here either,” Steve counters.
Eddie knows he’s right. The other man is basically down for the count. But the metalhead not only feels guilty for going to a party but wants to keep Steve company, to take care of him. It’s a damn rarity that anyone is given the opportunity to play caretaker for the default mother hen, and Eddie can’t lie, he’s itching for the chance to repay and perhaps dote on Steve.
“It’s fine. I like watching you sleep.”
“Creep,” comes Steve’s joking tone that’s struggling to not be overcome by affection or another chest-rattling cough. “I’d rather you go though, Eds.”
The metalhead tries to snuff out the rejection that begins to bubble in his throat. His heart knows but his head still tries its damndest to protect him by fearing and preparing for the worst. Because surely the man sprawled out next to him on the brown leather couch can’t possibly adore a social outcast such as him. But before the clashing internal confrontation between his mind and heart can continue, Steve elaborates on his wishes.
“You’ll have fun and I don’t want you to miss out because of me, you know?” Steve explains. “I’ll be fine and probably won’t have even left the couch by the time you get back—so go get changed, punk,” he concludes, foot giving the side of Eddie’s thigh a solid shove in encouragement.
Eddie nods, realizing that getting Steve to admit that he wants the metalhead to stay and keep him company is next to impossible, not when the other is uncomfortable with having needs of his own. “Okay, okay,” he relinquishes, palms facing out in playful surrender. “I’m going, your highness.”
Steve grunts in approval. “Good. But let me see that costume before you leave.”
The costume. Right.
Eddie vacates the bathroom and descends the stairs two at a time leading back to the living room. He’s decked out in clothes he never thought he’d ever wear. Fortunately, the purpose is ironic and the clothes are Steve’s, so he’s not too torn up about it. Steve cranes his neck up from where it’s smushed up against a throw pillow so his eyes can take in Eddie’s form. His gaze starts at the bottom and works its way up, slowly—whether from a lack of energy or an attempt to ingrain the image into his brain—Eddie’s not sure, but he soaks up the attention regardless. Every item of clothing is a tad too big, Steve’s shoulders, hips, and feet proving to be broader than his, but he knows he looks pretty damn good considering the ways the jock bites his lip subconsciously.
A week ago, they had decided to dress up as one another. Steve as a metalhead. Eddie as a jock. That’s why he’s now dolled up in the other man’s red and white Nikes, basketball joggers and matching tank, and his yellow and green Letterman Jacket. Eddie appreciates that each article smells of Steve. His cologne and sweat.
“Not gonna lie, this feels like torture,” groans Steve, neck still craned at an awkward angle.
Eddie smirks. “Yeah?”
Steve nods and then sighs. It’s a little mopey and a whole lot defeated. “All right, get out of here before I have a hissy fit about being sick. And take the beemer—your van is one mile away from falling apart.”
Eddie scoffs but snatches the keys to the burgundy ride anyway. He presses a firm kiss to Steve’s forehead and brushes his hair back. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
On his way out, the metalhead snatches a bowl of candy from the coffee table and sets it on the doorstep hoping it’ll appease any savage kids or teenagers on the hunt for expected sugar.
Although Eddie heads in the direction of the Wheelers’, he’s not going there. Instead, he makes a left into the closest grocery store in search of a few things that might make Steve feel even an ounce better. The cashier gives him an odd look—well, odder than normal—as he steps to the counter in his all-American-jock attire and places a two-liter of ginger ale, a can of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup, and some cough medicine on the belt.
With the bag of lame but necessary goods secured and paid for, he makes one more stop at Family Video where Keith is manning the store. He tells him to put the three film rentals on Steve’s tab, knowing damn well he’s got a handful of late and overdue fees waiting to be sorted out, and after some hesitancy, Keith rolls his eyes reluctantly and agrees.
When Eddie makes his way back to Steve’s, half of the candy from the bowl is gone and he finds Steve asleep on the couch. He tiptoes to the kitchen and mills about as quietly as possible, pulling a glass from the cupboard and putting a pot on the stove to heat the soup. The metalhead is far from a gourmet chef, but he feels comfortable warming up canned goods. As it heats, Eddie reaches for the phone in the adjacent dining room and rings Nancy.
“Hello,” she answers, soft-spoken and ever-prompt picking up on the second ring.
“Hey, Nance,” he responds, “It’s Eddie—” In the background, he can hear Robin’s impatient and anxiously annoyed voice asking when he and Steve are going to get there so they can start playing some games. Nance shushes into the phone, but he knows it’s directed at the frantic girl instead. He laughs before continuing. “So about that… we’re not going to make it. Steve’s sick.”
“Oh, no,” the elder and more mature Wheeler sighs. “What about you?”
“Not sick, but I’m going to skip, too. Maybe get a few boyfriend brownie points, you know?” It’s a joke and they both know it. Eddie is smitten with Steve at this stage and his desire to be by his side, even when he’s incapacitated and full of snot, comes as no surprise to their entire crew of misfits.
“Ten bucks you wind up sick by tomorrow,” quips Nancy with a light laugh. “You’re a good guy, Eddie. Take care of Steve. We’ll miss you guys.”
“It is my absolute honor to serve the King,” he declares dramatically into the phone as he twirls the cord around his finger.
As he goes to hang up, he once again hears an exasperated Robin and now Dustin in the background huffing and puffing about their absence. Eddie certainly feels bad for letting them down, but Eddie doesn’t have it in him to be away from Steve for that long—especially when he’s ill.
Christ am I pathetic and lovesick, he thinks.
The click of the phone somehow seems to be the noise that wakes Steve up from his slumber. Eddie watches as he groans and wiggles, eyes blinking open and nose sniffing the air, smelling the soup. It’s adorable and Eddie both loves and hates how it makes his inside blossom with warmth. Before he’s spotted, the metalhead returns to the kitchen and sets a tray with food, drink, and medicine all accounted for. As he enters the living room, balancing the tray in one hand and the stack of movies in the other, he smiles broadly at Steve’s bleary and confused face.
“Party over already?” comes Steve’s question as he moves into a sitting position.
Eddie shakes his head, curls following the motion and obscuring his vision for a moment.
“Eds…”
Eddie shakes his head again, this time with more effort, and sets everything in front of the other man on the coffee table. “Don’t, Steve,” he instructs. “I’m choosing to miss it, okay? I want to be here with you.”
“But… why?”
Eddie’s heart aches a little at that, at Steve’s genuine confusion.
“Because I want to take care of you,” Eddie declares, aiming for an explanation that leaves no room for misunderstanding or disagreement. “Let me take care of you, Steve. Yeah?”
Steve’s demeanor softens significantly and his cheeks twinge with a pink hue. He nods. “Okay, Munson.”
“Plus, you’re behind on far too many cult classics, so get comfortable, pretty boy. We’re starting with Halloween.”
Steve shakes his head this time, but there’s a grin stretching across his face as he reaches for the glass of bubbling ginger ale.
Once Eddie presses play on the VCR, he moves to the couch and slots himself right up again the other man, and slings an arm around his shoulders. Steve feels flushed, likely from sleep and a lingering fever, but Eddie doesn’t mind since he’s almost always running cold.
He can feel Steve hesitate to lean into the comfort and touch. “I’m going to get you sick,” he starts.
Eddie considers placing a finger against Steve’s lips to get his point across but opts for something more direct. He leans down to slot his mouth against the jock’s. It’s a chaste kiss, gentle and lacking passion, but Steve still gasps. The other man pulls away first to get some air into his compromised lungs.
“Don’t care.”
Eddie smiles when Steve settles into his side. He’s definitely going to owe Nancy Wheeler ten bucks, but he honestly couldn’t care less. Not if it means getting the chance to hold Steve while Mike Myers ravages the small town of Haddonfield, Illinois on the TV.
Sorry, Henderson. Sorry, Buckley.
Not even halfway through, the bowl of soup is empty, a quarter of the cough syrup has been swallowed, and Steve is deadweight against Eddie. The metalhead maneuvers them both onto their backs, Eddie stretched out across the length of the leather couch with Steve on top of him, head on his chest and body cradled between his legs. Steve’s soft snores mix with the laughter of trick-or-treaters still on the streets of Hawkins and the screams of Jamie Lee Curtis on screen. Eddie releases a content sigh into his boyfriend’s hair and lets sleep consume him.
It’s nearing 3 am when Eddie stirs. The heavy weight of a sleeping Steve pinning everything but his head and arms in place. His eyelids are thick, throat scratchy, and nose stuffed. Against his will, he sneezes into the quiet of the night, causing Steve to shift up a touch.
“Told you so,” croaks a barely awake Steve.
Eddie groans with feigned annoyance and swats at the other man before pulling him back to his chest.
Worth it, he thinks.