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Look, Steve’s seen a lot of shit over the course of his life. He’s spanned the entire gamut from weird to bizarre, scary to downright fucking terrifying. He’s fought monsters, been tortured by Russians under a mall, and went to an alternate dimension. Compared to all of that, realizing that he wants to kiss Eddie Munson, wants to fall asleep with him and wake up next to him, wants to hold his hand, try on his rings to see what they feel like wrapped around Steve’s fingers- like a brand, like belonging he imagines- well it hardly even registers as a blip on his radar.
After all, what’s scary about liking a boy- what’s weird about liking a boy- when he’s already gone through the weirdest, most batshit insane things that could possibly happen to a person?
If he’s being totally honest with himself, this isn’t the first time he’s found himself looking at a man in a less than innocent manner. There were nights spent half-cramped half-sprawled out in the back of Tommy H.’s Camaro when the buzz from alcohol and brushing ankles would fleetingly fill Steve’s mind with thoughts of what Tommy’s mouth might taste like. Then there was the Russian spy turned jazzercise instructor who left Steve a little wide eyed and dry mouthed as a he had very expertly demonstrated to a group of soccer moms how to properly stretch their hips.
The most memorable, though, hands down has to go to Jonathan Byers. Furious and intense as he’d fucking straddled Steve on the pavement in a back alley. Steve had left that encounter a little bit terrified and a lot turned on.
So, no, coming to terms with his bisexuality isn’t really a challenge for him. It’s not even that surprising. Neither is the fact that he’s fallen in love with Eddie Munson over the months of hospital visits, bandage changes, and physical therapy. You can only go through so many infection-induced fever nightmares with a guy before you realize you just want him around all the time- there really is something to be said about trauma bonding.
No. The thing that’s surprising about this entire thing is the fact that apparently, he, Steve Harrington, cannot flirt with a man to save his life.
**
It’s unusually slow for a Saturday night shift. A chilly breeze blowing leaves across the dark parking lot most likely keeping the customers away. Autumn is kicking in with a full swing, bringing promise of a better night spent indoors.
The only customers in the store right now are an elderly couple looking at romcoms, a preteen who’s definitely contemplating how to make it out with the R rated movie in his hand, and Eddie. Eddie’s been here for about half an hour now, leisurely browsing the horror section, stealing Kit Kats from the candy display that will no doubt be coming out of Steve’s paycheck again, and talking to Steve and Robin, voice booming over the shelves as he continues their conversation from every corner of the store. The old couple keeps shooting nasty glances their way every time Eddie so much as opens his mouth. Robin returns the gesture with a sardonic smile of her own when they finally approach to check out.
As soon as they’re all out the door- the teen with an age appropriate movie he hadn’t wanted- Eddie’s sashaying his way over, propping himself up on the counter like he owns the place. Candy wrappers and rewound tapes fall to the floor, scattering around Steve’s feet.
“Mind checking me out, Stevie?”
Boy does he. If only Eddie knew just how much Steve’s eyes are drawn to him. His hands, his eyes, the curve of his back under the denim vest and jacket combo, like it was made for Steve to slide his hands along, press up close until he’s suctioned against him and they become one. When you look at the vest close enough you can still see stains of blood that refuse to come out no matter how many times it’s washed. Robin says it’s gross, Steve finds it oddly intimate- like pieces of Steve that Eddie carries with him every day.
Throwing on the most charming grin he can muster, Steve says, “I would love to check you out, Eddie.”
“Yeah, Steve basically does it all the time,” Robin chimes in, wrapping her arm around Steve’s shoulders, giving him a little shake, “you’d think it was his job. Checking you out that is.”
Steve jabs her in the side with his elbow. Because his best friend is the worst, she kicks him in the ankle in retaliation and steals a handful of his Sour Patch Kids before stalking off to start on restocking the shelves for closing.
“Ignore her, I think she ate some bad chicken earlier. What movie are you getting?” He changes the subject, sliding the tape across the counter and flipping it around so he can read it. Friday the 13th Part VI: Jason Lives. A slasher flick, why is he not surprised.
Personally, Steve lost his taste for horror movies after facing literal monsters, but Eddie and Robin still love them, and since Steve’s become a bit of a push over for the people he loves, he gets subjected to watching them more often than he’d like. Hence why Little Shop of Horrors is currently playing as the night movie on the Family Video monitors.
So, despite his reservations about it, Steve takes the opportunity that’s being handed to him on a silver platter. “My shift ends in an hour if you want someone to watch it with,” he offers, the scanner beeping as it reads the code. “Hold your hand through the scary parts.”
A surprised laugh bursts out of Eddie. “Uh, thanks for the offer- really,” he emphasizes, giving Steve’s wrist a comforting squeeze, “but, uh, I think I’ve got it covered. Seen way worse than a knife wielding maniac killing camp counselors.”
“No, yeah, of course,” Steve says, pushing down the rejection and bagging up the movie. Stupid. Of course, Eddie can handle a little fake blood. And yet, “Still it could be fun. We could have a movie night. Just the two of us?”
“I appreciate the concern for my honor, but Wayne’s gonna be home tonight. The old man’s obsessed with these movies, seen every one of them. We usually go to the theater to watch them- only movies we actually go out to see- but I was still in physical therapy when it came out, so,” he gestures at the tape, filling in the gap.
“Right.” It actually makes a lot of sense. So much of Eddie’s personality stems from Wayne, something that seems surprising until you see the pair interacting in the same room. “Well. Have fun.”
Eddie gives a two finger salute and starts heading for the exit. He’s just about reached the doors when Steve calls out for him again, desperate to salvage this interaction, to say he came out the other side with something to make Eddie think about him later.
Eddie’s staring at him expectantly. From his periphery he can see Robin watching as well, tapes held high in her arms, kept in place by her chin.
Think, think, think. Something smooth, something suave, something- “Rember to be kind and rewind.”
Shit, that was not what he meant to say. He throws in a wink for good measure because he’s a god damn idiot and thinks he can salvage this.
The silence stretches on. Eddie’s looking around like there’s an explanation for Steve’s weird ass behavior hidden amongst the VHS tapes and posters. There isn’t. “Um, right-o, Steve-o,” Eddie says, face crumpling for a moment like he’s tasted something sour. He turns around so fast that he bangs into the door, using the moment to push it open and propel himself outside.
Jesus. Steve scrubs his hands down his face, letting his palms drag his eyes open. Why couldn’t he have just left things the way they were? Eddie’s face had had that nice flush to it, Steve had planted the seeds of a movie night date. Then he’d went and ruined it by saying the dumbest thing imaginable.
No doubt, Steve just gave Eddie something to think about tonight.
Maybe if he bangs his head on the counter hard enough he can forget the last five minutes ever happened.
A thump pulls his attention to his right where Robin’s setting down the tapes she’s been carrying around onto the counter. She’s got an absolutely shit-eating grin on her face. “What the fuck was that?” she cackles, gesturing between Steve and the door where Eddie had been standing seconds before. Like Steve could possibly need a reference to what she’s talking about.
“I don’t know. I panicked.”
“Panicked? Steve, that was like watching the Titanic hit an ice burg. Like you could see it coming, and you’re thinking surely they’re going to avoid that, and then boom!” She spreads her hands like an explosion, “head on collision. That was tragic, babe.”
He groans. “I know! It was just- I didn’t know what to say.” This time he does bang his head on the countertop. There’s a sticky patch on the linoleum- probably toddler slobber or palm sweat from strangers- either way it’s plastered to Steve’s forehead now.
“So, you went with the Family Video slogan? I don’t know how to tell you this, but that was definitely not the right choice.”
“Obviously.” Steve plies his skin from the linoleum, cringing at the sensation, so he could look at Robin. “It’s not my fault they have a terrible fucking slogan here.”
Robin scrunches her nose and cocks her head at him. “Because that’s the problem here,” she says. Steve doesn’t particularly think he likes her tone.
“I’m just saying, Scoops Ahoy at least gave me something to work with on the whole flirting front. Would you like to set sail on an ocean of flavor with me,” he elaborates at Robin’s confused look.
“Ah.” Robin cocks her hip against the counter. “Remind me again, how many chicks did you get at Scoops?” Steve flips her off, picking up the abandoned tapes and walking out onto the floor; Robin continues like nothing happened, trailing after him through the shelves. “Because I seem to remember there being six- six-” she holds up her fingers for emphasis, “tallies in the you suck column, Steve. That’s not exactly a win. Which reminds me-”
Steve turns around at Robin’s abrupt stop and finds her running over to the front desk. She hops half over the top of it to grab something from the back ledge and pen before rushing back over.
“This is strike number five with Eddie.”
She sticks a post-it note to the front of Steve’s shirt. From upside down, he can make out the beginnings of a makeshift tally board similar to the one from Scoops, complete with the “you rule” “you suck” labels and four little dashes under the suck category. Dutifully, Robin draws a slash through the four tallies, tongue poking out in a move she picked up from Eddie.
“You- wha- you’re keeping score,” Steve sputters.
He’s torn between being offended, fond, and slightly homesick- thrown back in time to the beginning of their friendship, back before he knew about the Russians operating under the mall and thought the girl he was working with was just another person passing through his life, someone else who would inevitably leave in the end.
The pen scratches his chest through his shirt as Robin works to get the new tally dark enough.
“Mm hmm,” Robin hums. “Someone’s got to.”
“And we’re up to five already?” That’s entirely possible, but he desperately doesn’t want it to be. “Eddie hasn’t even been in here five times,” he argues.
“This is just a general keeping score,” Robin explains, pulling the sticky note from his shirt in satisfaction, turning it around to face Steve head on. “Things I’ve witnessed, things I’ve heard about.”
“Wait, heard about? Who the fuck is telling you about my failed flirtings?”
She shrugs. “Sometimes the kids-”
“The kids?!” he interrupts. Motherfuck. Is everybody in on this? God, just how pathetic can he get?
“Relax,” she says, drawing the word out like that’s supposed to soothe him. (He’s kind of mad that it works a little.) “It’s not all of the kids. Mostly just Max and Erica. I swear they’re like little bloodhounds when it comes to sensing your misery and embarrassment. They come over for girls’ nights sometimes, and they, you know, fill me in on stuff.”
“And I’m the stuff they fill you in on?” Why is he kind of flattered by this? So his kids talk about him when he’s not around, big deal. God, he really is turning into a mom.
“Sometimes,” she says cryptically. She takes half of the tapes Steve was working on and heads to the other side of the aisle to work.
“Oh, well that’s great. Thanks for the elaboration.”
Robin cackles. “Quit being dramatic. And quit flirting with company lines. I’m gonna need to invest in a bigger tracking sheet at this rate.”
**
The next best tactic to try, he figures, is food.
Everyone loves food. Especially homemade food. Especially when it’s been made specifically for you. Steve would know; he had almost cried the first time he’d went over to the Hendersons’ for dinner to find that Claudia had made lasagna specifically because Dustin had mentioned it was Steve’s favorite.
So, he’s going with food this time, and he’s almost positive that it’s going to work.
After the earthquake that wasn’t an earthquake, half of his kids had been relocated and the other half had been injured in some way or another, so Steve’s house had become the temporary home for them and their families. For the first time in a long time (possibly ever), the house had been alive. It had been warm and loud. Steve had started teaching himself how to cook, had dug the dust covered cookbooks out from the back of the pantry and cracked their spines open for the first time in twenty years.
It had been a slow going process- more often than not he’d had to order takeout while either Robin or Dustin waved a dishtowel over the blaring smoke alarm- but he eventually became good. And it was kind of soothing, cooking something for his people. But that’s cooking. Baking, on the other hand, is completely different. For instance, measurements matter a hell of a lot more in baking, and it has to be baking.
Eddie had told him once, fondness and nostalgia laced in his voice, about how Uncle Wayne used to make brownies for Eddie and his friends when he’d first started playing D&D.
So, that’s what Steve’s going to do. He’s going to bake Eddie and the Party- but mostly Eddie- brownies for their next game session, and Eddie will take one bite of Steve’s sweet ass brownies and fall head over heels. Because Steve listened, and remembered, and went through all the effort to make Eddie happy.
With any luck, they’ll be together by the end of the session. Maybe they can even hold hands in the car when they’re dropping the kids off. That would be nice.
The only problem is that Steve doesn’t know how to bake brownies, and he doesn’t exactly have months to figure it out like last time. He’s already spent way too long pining after Eddie from afar and failing to make a move. No, he needs to do this sooner rather than later.
Which is where Nancy comes in. Or really where Nancy, Jonathan, and Argyle come in because apparently when Steve asked Nancy to help him learn how to make some fucking brownies, Jonathan had decided he should be a part of this as well since he had been the one to help Will with school bake sales; and, naturally, wherever Jonathan goes Argyle is sure to follow.
Together, they make a little ragtag team, meeting up at Steve’s house every Saturday for three weeks (baking brownies, baking themselves, and eating a shit ton of brownies; turns out it was a good idea to invite Johnathan and Argyle) until Steve feels confident that he can make a decent batch of brownies by himself.
He shapes them like little bats, ices them, and decorates them with multicolored sprinkles. They’re extremely cute if he does say so himself.
There’s a pep in Steve’s step as he walks down the stairs to the Wheelers basement. His shift at Family Video had run a little long thanks to a mom who couldn’t pick a movie for her son’s birthday party, so the game is already in full swing by the time Steve arrives.
The kids are all gathered around the table, bickering about something that Steve can’t be bothered to sort out- something about a dice roll counting or if they should open a chest. Max and El are sitting on the sofa reading Wonder Woman comics and painting their nails.
Eddie, lounging at the head of the table, legs thrown over the arm of the chair he’s perched on, is the first one to spot Steve. He breaks into a dazzling smile when he does, nearly sending Steve into cardiac arrest.
“Silence, heathens,” Eddie commands, voice booming around the table. All of the kids whip around to look at him, mouths snapping shut, some with an audible click; Eddie looks entirely too pleased by this. “Now, since you’re all clearly struggling with this oh so difficult decision, why don’t we take five. Get your shit together. Yeah?”
He bangs his hands rhythmically on the table and hops up from his chair, making a beeline for Steve.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were pausing the game to come talk to me,” Steve greets him when he’s close enough. And by close enough Steve means entirely up in his personal space- not that he really minds that though.
Eddie clasps his hands to his chest and gasps. “Well, of course, that’s what I was doing, Stevie. I figured you would already know the etiquette by now, but when a Kiiing walks in the room-”
Steve rolls his eyes fondly, knocking his elbow against Eddie’s side, effectively shutting him up when he delves into a deep cackle.
“So, how’s it going tonight,” Steve asks, nodding in the direction of the party who have once again picked up their argument.
Eddie groans, tipping his head back to stare at the cobwebs lining the ceiling beams in anguish. For a moment, Steve thinks that’s the answer itself, but then Eddie pitches himself forward, leaning all of his weight into Steve’s side, his forehead resting on Steve’s shoulder; he almost forgets how to breathe.
“Horrible,” Eddie whines. “Nights like this really make me miss Gareth and Jeff. They would’ve figured this shit out without batting an eye. Instead, I’m stuck with this,” Eddie flaps his hand behind him in the general direction of the commotion. He sighs, pulling back enough to look Steve in the eye. Steve misses his warmth immediately.
“Henderson and Lady Applejack pretty much have it figured out, and they’ve almost convinced Baby Byers to go along with the plan. It’s just the other little shrimps that are making me want to slam my head into the wall.”
“Yeah, that sounds like the kids,” Steve says. He can’t tell you how many times he’s been in a similar situation. These kids really need to get their egos in check. Learn to respect their elders.
Eddie opens his mouth to say something else- probably to bitch more about the arrogance of the kids- when he finally registers the slight pressure against his stomach and looks down to find the tinfoil covered plate in Steve’s hands.
“And what do we have here,” Eddie asks, grinning like the cat that got the cream as he peels back a corner of the foil. “Did you bring us snacks, Stevie?”
“Oh, yeah, I um- I baked you brownies,” Steve says, the words pitching up at the end like it’s a question, like he’s asking Eddie if he baked him brownies, like he hasn’t spent the past few weeks preparing for this exact moment.
Eddie freezes, fingers motionless where they were tearing at the foil just seconds ago, the overhead lights glinting off of his rings. “You-” he pauses, swallows, tries again, “You baked me brownies?” At Steve’s nod, his eyes blow wide, eyebrows shooting up to hide underneath his bangs. “Uncle Wayne used to make brownies on D&D nights.”
“I know,” Steve says, rubbing the back of his neck. “You told me that once.”
Eddie blinks once, and he’s staring at Steve with something like awe shining in his eyes, and this is the moment that Steve’s been waiting for, the moment when Eddie finally sees just how much Steve is head over heels in love with him and they can finally be together.
So, of course, it only makes sense for one of the kids to choose this moment to interrupt them.
“Steve, you made brownies!” Dustin shouts in excitement. He’s clearly given up with the rest of the party, opting to watch the two of them instead.
“Thank God,” Lucas exclaims, jumping up and marching over to Steve to take the plate out of his hands. “I’m starving.”
Steve is helpless to do anything but watch as seven sets of hands demolish his labor of love.
A hand on his arm draws his attention back from the ravishing happening at the table. Apparently, Eddie had managed to grab a brownie before the plate had been whisked away, a frosted bat held up in front of his face, shadowing a grin and red tinted cheeks.
“Steve Harrington, actually a good dude. Thank you for this,” he says, raising the brownie in a cheers motion before shoving the entire bat into his mouth at once.
Only for the happy look on his face to immediately fall into… something else. Steve can’t quite pinpoint what it is exactly as Eddie’s eyebrows furrow and smooth out and furrow again, his nose wrinkling like he’s trying to fight off a shudder. Which doesn’t make any sense. He has all the air of someone deeply displeased but trying their damndest not to show it.
And Steve is completely at a loss as to what is happening.
Or at least he is until Mike oh so helpfully chimes in with an overexaggerated “Ack! These taste like fucking ass, dude,” and promptly spits the bite in his mouth out into his hand.
“Yeah,” Erica says, drawing the word out, “I’m not an expert, but I’m pretty sure that there shouldn’t be clumps of flour up in here.”
Embarrassment burns hot down his spine as Erica turns her brownie his way, allowing him to see that there are, in fact, large sections of white powder where there definitely shouldn’t be.
Huh. “That never happened with Nancy,” he mutters before he can stop himself.
“Hey, it’s really not that bad, big guy,” Eddie tries to reassure, but the effect loses some of its power when, in an attempt to prove his point, Eddie takes another bite and instantly starts coughing. “Just needs a little milk,” he says between gasps.
“No, it really is ‘that bad’,” Mike argues, gesturing at a still coughing Eddie who’s doing his best to hide the fact that he’s chocking on Steve’s food. “It’s actually worse. Are you trying to poison us, Steve?”
Steve rolls his eyes. “Yes, that was exactly my plan,” he snarks, hands on his hips. “Figured this way I could take all of you little shits out at once, save myself some time. If I wanted you dead, you’d be fucking dead, Wheeler.” The nerve of this kid. “Poisoning you my ass,” he grumbles, marching over to the couch and plopping down by the girls. He doesn’t need to put up with this ridicule; at least he’ll be appreciated over here.
Or maybe not. There’s a wicked gleam in Max’s eyes that no doubt means Robin will be hearing all about this later. Yet another fucking tally to add to his unbroken streak of suckage.
She doesn’t comment on it, though. Instead, Max holds up a bottle of nail polish- a glittery dark blue- and wiggles it enticingly. “Can we paint your nails?”
The other kids are all back to focusing on the game, finally having made it to the next section, Eddie narrating dramatically. It’s not like Steve has anything better to do. Not like he hasn’t let them when he has had something better to do.
He shrugs. “Sure.”
El crawls across his lap to sit on his other side, boney knees digging into his thighs making him hiss. It’s easier for El to paint from this angle, though, cross legged and tucked up against his side, cradling his hand close to her face like it’s her own hand she’s painting. She’s using a different color than Max- a soft lilac that matches the chipped polish on her toes- but that doesn’t matter. Steve will gladly take different colored hands for these girls. Knows they like having some else to practice on- El because she’s still fairly new to painting nails and Max because she’s still not used to the bulky weight of her arm brace.
He keeps stealing glances at Eddie while they work. Sometimes he finds Eddie already looking back at him. Sometimes he finds Eddie eating another one of his brownies. And that has to mean something.
Right?
It has to. Why else would Eddie subject himself to Steve’s proclaimed poison brownies if it wasn’t some kind of sign?
Then again, maybe the sign is that he’s surrounded himself with weirdos now, because halfway through the second coat, El gets up and grabs another brownie for herself, informing Steve through a chocolate covered grin that “these are really good.”
**
Apparently, you’re supposed to adjust measurements and portions when changing the amount of items being baked. It also apparently makes a difference when you change the size and thickness from a regular 9x13 square to, oh, say that of 24 little bats. Who knew.
Whatever, though, it’s done. Steve has effectively moved on (meaning he only thinks about it every other night now instead of every night when he’s getting ready for bed.)
Besides, he’s already come up with a much better, more fool proof plan to put his focus on: a mix tape. You can’t go wrong with a mix tape. Carefully curated songs picked specifically for that person? It’s going to be perfect. Especially because this is Eddie Munson, a self-proclaimed music slut.
It takes two weeks. Two weeks of scouring for the perfect songs- songs that make his heart leap just right, that remind him of Eddie when they play- before he can deem it ready to be given. Erica helps him with the finishing touches; bringing her stickers and puffy paint to movie night, they’d spread out on the floor in a secluded corner, The Goonies playing for the others in the background, and decorated the cassette case.
For the most part it looks pretty cool, metal enough to fit in with Eddie’s other tapes, except for the little blue heart Erica paints next to Eds because “if you want this to work, Steve, you have got to stop being so subtle.”
So, now he’s here, pacing in front of his house, waiting for Eddie to pick him up, heart safely tucked away in the pocket of his jeans.
The screeching of tires arrives moments before Eddie does, the van rounding the corner at a quite frankly alarming speed. Steve’s not sure what has him feeling more nauseous, the thought of giving Eddie the tape or getting in the car with him.
“Heya, Stevie,” Eddie calls out the passenger window, leaning across the seat. Loose strands of hair are falling from a messy bun, framing his face. “Something in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” he teases with a lopsided grin.
Leave it to Eddie to hone in on the exact thing Steve’s currently stressing the fuck out about. Well, there’s no backing out now.
“As happy as I am to see your pretty face,” Steve begins, opening the door and hopping inside, Eddie slowly sliding back into his own seat, “I actually do have something in my pocket.”
Eddie hums. “Pity.”
“It’s for you actually.” Steve pulls the tape from his pocket, handing it over to Eddie. Their fingers brush, lingering for an extra second over the plastic. “I made this for you.”
Eddie takes in the stickers, skull paintings, and list of tracks painstakingly written in Steve’s best print. He glances over at Steve. “A mixtape?”
“Yeah, they’re um-” Suck it up, Harrington, now or never, say it. “They’re all songs that make me think of you.”
There. It’s out in the open now. And surely Eddie will put the pieces together, slot this final puzzle piece into place and see the whole picture of Steve’s feelings revealed. Erica was right, he really did just need to stop being subtle.
He watches as Eddie takes in the tape again with fresh eyes, mouthing the song titles as he reads each one carefully. I Was Made for Lovin’ You. Hungry Like the Wolf. Somebody to Love.
His eyebrows raise higher with each song, cheeks flushing a beautiful scarlet that Steve bets would be warm to the touch. God, does Steve want to touch him.
He’s so distracted with his own thoughts that he misses the moment Eddie tenses up, all traces of awe and shy giddiness being pushed aside as he steels himself, puts his expectations back in place- reminds himself that people like Steve Harrington do not make love tapes for people like Eddie Munson.
“Head Over Heels makes you think of me?” he asks, disbelief coloring his tone. “Still pushing the ‘Eddie is a secret Tears for Fears fan’ agenda, I see.”
“What? No,” Steve hurries to say, “It’s on there because-”
“Thanks for this, Steve,” he interrupts, holding the tape up. “It’s great. I’ll be sure to give it a listen later- Tears for Fears and all- but we should get going before the kids start radioing demanding to know where the hell we are.”
He looks at the tape one last time, thumbing at the corners of the case. He makes a move like he’s going to touch the blue heart beside his name, but aborts the motion at the last minute, shoving the tape inside the glove compartment instead.
Steve slumps down in his seat in defeat.
How did this end up going so sideways? It was so perfect. Hell, he even had other people backing him up this time, that’s how he knows it was a good idea. It was not supposed to end up with the tape stashed away from sight and Steve feeling like he could scream- or cry- but he’s not going to have a breakdown in the front seat of Eddie’s van. That’s something he refuses to do.
Eddie takes the turn onto Will’s street hard, tossing Steve into the door hard enough to knock the wind out of him. For a fleeting moment, he considers the merits of being flung from the car entirely- it probably wouldn’t be the worst thing- but he clicks his seatbelt on anyways because he figures Robin wouldn’t appreciate being called to the hospital because Steve was being dramatic.
It’s just, he thinks he’s entitled to at least a little bit of dramatics at this point. He’s been trying for months to flirt with Eddie, to make him understand, to realize that Steve is fucking in love with him, and nothing. Not even a blip as far as he can tell. All of Steve’s attempts either getting botched of his own accord or- if they do go well- being brushed off as a joke of some sort.
And, now, he’s sitting in the van, listening to the kids’ voices morph together in the back, and spiraling. Because maybe it’s not just Eddie. Maybe he’s never been good at flirting with anybody. After all, does it really matter if you have game as long as you’re popular, rich, and have the space to take people back to? Take all of that away, and what are you left with?
He’s suddenly struck with memories of girls snickering, of see ya later alligators, and boards filled with tallies, the phantom scent of waffle cones tickling his nose. And it possibly goes back even further.
Like Nancy Wheeler. Did he ever even successfully flirt with her? Or did he just compare himself to a ninja and help her study for biology? Which wouldn’t even work with Eddie because he finally earned his diploma back in the spring. What’s he supposed to do, ask Eddie to teach him how to change the oil in his car?
… He could ask Eddie to teach him how to change the oil in his car.
No.
No, he is not going to do that. Not happening. It’s a dumb idea that’s not going to get him anywhere and he is not that desperate. He’ll figure something else out.
**
He’s picking at the oil stains on his palm as the phone rings.
“Strike number nine,” he laments pitifully when Robin answers.
She laughs so hard she falls off the bed.
**
Steve wakes up to pale moonlight spilling through the window, painting shadows across the bed, and a mouth full of dark curly hair. He pulls the hair out of his mouth and brushes the rest of it off Eddie’s face. The moonlight plays over Eddie’s form, lighting his hair like a halo, ghosting the outlines of scars peeping out of the open slits of his self-made tank top, reminding Steve that he’s alive through the glaring reminder that he almost wasn’t.
In sleep, Eddie’s beautiful. He’s always beautiful, but it’s different when he’s asleep. Here, Eddie looks younger, softer, calm in a way that he never fully reaches when he’s awake. It makes Steve’s heart clench. Like his love for Eddie is finally going to swallow him whole.
He sighs, rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling.
He’s decided that he’s going to stop trying so hard with Eddie. Not giving up- he’d never do that- just taking a break. There’s a voice in the back of his head that he’s loathed to admit sounds a lot like Robin telling him that if it’s meant to happen it will. He’s been trying too hard, making things awkward- at least in his own head- and he doesn’t want that with Eddie.
So, he’s dialing things back, moving at a better pace, enjoying the quiet moments. Like tonight, smoking with Eddie, falling asleep beside him in his bed. That had been a good moment.
Gently untangling their legs, Steve crawls out of the bed, careful not to jostle Eddie too much as he climbs over his back.
The floor is cold under his feet as he makes his way to the bathroom and back, only pausing to move the coffee mugs from the two-seater table by the door into the kitchen sink to be washed in the morning. There aren’t nearly as many mugs and knick knacks lining the walls here as there were at the old trailer, and Steve knows that despite all of Wayne’s insistence that it’s fine, that they can find more and it’s not Eddie’s fault, that Eddie still blames himself for it every time one of them reaches for something that isn’t there anymore.
(Steve had went with Robin and Dustin to pick through the trailers and salvage anything they could for Eddie and Max while they were both still in the hospital, but it had been an unfortunately small haul. Almost everything broken or wrapped up in vines that despite Vecna being dead didn’t particularly fill any of them with excitement to mess with. “What if they suck some of our life force out and give it Vecna?”)
Even Eddie’s room isn’t quite what it used to be, giving Steve little to peruse when he gets back. An amp that had thankfully been in Gareth’s garage during the “earthquake,” a handful of posters taped up from Wayne, a cheap guitar the kids saved up for and bought at a yard sale from one of Mike’s neighbors, and a pile of band tees from the thrift store a town over piled on the floor. It’s messy and homey and completely and utterly Eddie.
On the dresser, beside the handful of scattered D&D figures Erica’s been helping him paint, are Eddie’s rings, shimmering in the moonlight and pulling Steve to them like a moth to a flame.
It’s no secret that Steve likes Eddie’s rings- likes watching them on the other man’s fingers, likes imagining what they would look like on his own. Something about the shelter of the night and the last of the fading buzz dancing through his veins has Steve reaching out, plucking his favorite from the cluster and sliding it down onto his ring finger.
It’s a perfect fit. Looks like it belongs on Steve, like this piece of Eddie is meant to be with him. His breath comes out in a staggering, shaky punch at the thought.
The black gem- onyx he remembers- stares back up at him.
He’s always liked this kind of stone, always been drawn to it. Steve remembers one time when his mom was mad at his dad (he’d cheated on her again but Steve was too young to realize at the time) and she’d packed up Steve and his dad’s credit card and driven them three towns over to the biggest jewelry store Steve had ever set foot in. They’d spent hours looking for the perfect, most expensive jewel they could find. Steve had liked the case with the tiny black gems- had wanted a bracelet for himself- but his mom had grabbed his wrist and drug him away to the diamonds; “those are too cheap, Steven, far too tacky for us.”
He'd always wanted one.
“And here I thought I was the thief out of the two of us.”
“Fuck.” Steve startles so bad he bangs his knee into one of the handles on the dresser. Hard. Shit, that’s definitely going to leave a mark.
Eddie’s snickering behind him, brown eyes lit up with amusement when Steve meets his eye over his shoulder in the mirror. He’s standing so close to Steve that he can feel his breath softly grazing his neck with each exhale. “Sorry.” He definitely doesn’t look sorry; maybe a little sympathetic, but not sorry.
Steve brushes it off, rubbing his knee as discretely as possible. “Did you forget that I literally stole an RV once?” he asks, turning around to face Eddie.
“Sure. An RV that I hotwired,” Eddie reminds, tapping Steve on the nose. “Wouldn’t have gotten very far without that.”
“Would have gotten even less far if I hadn’t driven it.”
Eddie shrugs. “Potato, potahto.”
He looks like he’s about to say something else, most likely to bicker a little more with Steve, when he catches sight of the exact ring that’s on Steve’s finger and his breath catches in his throat. Steve watches his adam’s apple bob as he swallows.
“I wasn’t actually going to steal it,” Steve informs him when the silence drags on uncomfortably.
Eddie blinks twice before abruptly turning around and walking back to the bed. It’s barely three feet away but it might as well be miles for how Steve’s feeling right now. Tense, like a live wire charging the air around them. He rubs at the bridge of his nose awkwardly.
“I- uh- I know, Stevie. Never really thought you were.”
Eddie watches him for a moment, taking in the way he’s shifting from foot to foot with warm, wet eyes before holding his hand out, beckoning Steve to come over to him.
Steve stumbles over on weak knees, joining him on the bed, sitting criss-cross in front of him. Their knees are touching, the thin fabric of Steve’s sweats the only barrier between them. There’s a fading W.M. tattooed on Eddie’s left knee cap- a tribute to his uncle he’d gotten shortly after his 18th birthday, after Wayne refused to let Eddie leave his home even though he’d gotten notice that Eddie wouldn’t be graduating that year like they’d thought.
Eddie still has his hand held out, palm up, waiting. Steve places his hand in Eddie’s, heart banging in his throat as Eddie wraps his fingers around Steve’s. He touches the ring reverently, plays with Steve’s fingers like they’re something precious, a fragile honor being bestowed upon him. It makes Steve’s eyes prickle like cactus needles.
“This was my mom’s ring,” Eddie tells him, smile soft and quiet. “I helped her pick it out. She never took it off. At least not until after she died. Dad wanted to bury her with it, or maybe he was just going to pawn it off, but Wayne knew how important it was and made sure that it came to me instead.” A tear falls down his cheek. He wipes it away as quickly as it fell. “It’s the only thing that I have left of her.”
Eddie takes a shaky breath, looks up at Steve. “Why did you pick this ring?” he asks, voice tainted with a desperation soft as a bird’s feather. “Why this finger?” he asks, tapping Steve’s knuckle, like they both don’t already know the significance, like the implication of it all isn’t sitting heavy between them, a third person joining them on the bed.
It would be so easy to lie, to come up with some other plausible explanation. He could tiptoe around this like Eddie seems to be expecting him to, breath held in anticipation as he waits for his answer. His hand is shaking in Steve’s.
He swallows. “I wanted to know what it would feel like. To be yours.”
All of the air seems to leave Eddie at once. He slumps forward into Steve like a marionette with its strings cut, forehead pressing into their joined hands. “Sweetheart, if you wanted to be mine, all you had to do was ask. Afterall, I’ve been yours since the stupid fucking Upside Down.”
And now it’s Steve’s turn to feel that rush of emotions.
“So, you do like me then?” he asks, giddiness spinning in his stomach.
Eddie throws his head back in the most beautiful, carefree laugh Steve’s ever heard. A bright, shining supernova of Steve’s very own lighting up the room from the inside out.
“Steve,” he laughs, fond exasperation coloring his tone, “I’ve listened to your mixtape at least a hundred times. I ate your- quite frankly- extremely shitty ass brownies. Hell, I even rewound that fucking movie for you because you asked with a smile. Of course, I love you.”
It doesn’t escape Steve’s attention that Eddie just upped the ante. He doesn’t just like Steve, he loves him. He loves Steve. He fucking loves Steve!
Steve has no other choice but to throw himself at him, tackling them both back onto the bed. They land in a tangle of arms and legs and hearts.
He rests his forehead against Eddie’s, their noses bumping, lips dangerously close to brushing. And what a thrilling thought that Eddie would probably let him, that he would possibly even welcome it.
“I love you too,” Steve whispers fiercely, the words fanning across Eddie’s cheek, burning into his skin like a permanent etch.
Eddie’s smile is a fever flash pressed into Steve’s neck.
He’s never been so ready to burn.
They shift into a more comfortable position, legs still twisted together, hands twined, Eddie’s hair tickling Steve’s chin as he lays almost entirely on top of his chest. A comfortable weight.
“You can keep this if you want,” Eddie says, tapping the ring that’s still on Steve’s finger.
Steve shakes his head. He can’t keep something like this. “It’s important to you.”
A huff of air hits his neck. “Steve,” the smile is evident in Eddie’s voice, like he enjoys the taste of Steve’s name, “you’re important to me too.”
Eddie props himself up, boney elbow digging into Steve’s ribs. “She would’ve liked you,” he says matter of factly, “I know she would’ve.” His eyes catch on a piece of lint just to the left of Steve’s hair on the pillow; he’s chewing on his hair like he’s chewing on the words he wants to say next. Steve gives him time, rubs a hand up and down his spine while he waits. “If it’s with you,” he says, “then it’s like two of my most important people are looking after each other. Like I’ll always be with you in some way.”
A lump forms in his throat. Here's Eddie offering Steve everything he’s ever wanted. Here’s Eddie waking up to find Steve basically stealing his ring and rather than getting defensive, getting angry, he’s giving it to him.
Here’s Eddie putting his heart in Steve’s hands and saying I trust you to keep it safe.
And he will. For as long as Eddie will let him.
“I’d be honored to keep it,” he vows. Eddie smiles, presses a kiss onto Steve’s knuckle, against the corner of his mouth, leaving the faintest taste of smoke lingering. “I’ll find something that I can give you too,” he says, mind already racing with possibilities.
“Just as long as it’s not more brownies, we’re good,” Eddie teases.
“Hey!” Steve pushes Eddie’s shoulder in mock offense, the vibrations of his giggles soaking into Steve’s bones. “You said they weren’t that bad. You ate five of them!”
“Yeah, but I have bad self-preservation skills.”
“And I’ll have you know I made those specifically for you. I was flirting,” he finishes smugly.
Eddie’s eyes widen almost comically. “Flirting?! I hate to break this to you, baby, but that wasn’t flirting. That was- wait,” Eddie cuts himself off abruptly, a calculating look in his eyes as he scans Steve’s face. “Was all of that,” he makes a circular gesture with his hand that Steve guesses is meant to encompass all of the things he’s done these past few months, “supposed to be you flirting with me?”
“… No?”
“Oh, sweetheart, we are really gonna have to work on that.”
“Whatever. I still got you, didn’t I?”
He catches the hint of a smirk before Eddie flops down on his chest like a dead fish, knocking the breath out of him in a whoosh. “Bad self-preservation skills,” he repeats, snuggling in against Steve.
Steve huffs, rolling his eyes fondly at the ceiling. So, what if he can’t flirt. Maybe he never really could. Or maybe it was something reserved solely for King Steve, a sacrifice he had to make to become a better person, a person he actually likes, a person who has people that genuinely like him back.
Either way, it doesn’t really matter. Steve got his boy in the end. And if he has any say in the matter, he’ll never have to flirt with anyone else ever again.
He wraps his arms more securely around Eddie’s waist, breathing in the lemon and weed scent that clings to Eddie’s hair. Lets it lull him to sleep.
Yeah, this is Steve’s favorite.
Nothing scary about this.