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Steve was always a bit of a morning person. It’s not that he loved getting up just as the first blue of morning peeked through the clouds, it was purely habit. Between school, basketball, swimming, and his parent’s criticisms, his day was simply ruined if he woke up late.
“Aww, you look comfortable,” his mother would say, peeking into Steve’s room to find him still wrapped up in his blankets. There was always subtext when Mr. and Mrs. Harrington spoke to their son. Every seemingly innocuous comment had some layer of veiled disappointment. Steve had gotten used to it years ago. He learned that if he could lay low and do what was required of him, he would avoid their ire. That meant grabbing as many shifts as possible while they were home and anticipating their every demand so that when they did inevitably leave again, he could let his hair down a little and maybe enjoy a beer on the couch.
Today, when the alarm went off, Steve could already tell that the day would be shit, though he didn’t know exactly how yet. He heard the faint sound of closing cabinets and clinking dishes downstairs, and Steve wondered if he could get out the door unnoticed. As he pulled himself up to sit at the edge of his mattress, he felt it-- a slight pressure in his head-- the telltale sign that at some point today, he’d get his shit rocked by a massive migraine.
“Fuck,” he whispered to himself. He debated calling in sick. He probably needed the rest anyway. These last few days had been nightmare central, ever since Steve had called for Dustin over the radio but got no response. Nobody could reach him. Dustin was fine, of course-- he had only taken a nap, but for those long ten minutes, Steve felt as though the world might collapse around him. Each night after that was filled with gruesome nightmares, nearly as bad as when they back from their last run-in with hell. That was reason enough to want to stay in bed forever.
On the other hand, calling out sick would mean Robin and Keith would be left on their own on a Saturday. It would also mean getting nonstop comments about Steve’s lack of productivity from his parents until they left Sunday morning. He weighed his options for a second longer, accepted his fate, and then pushed himself out of bed to get ready for work.
The hot water of the shower made his skin flush a pale pink, and for a moment, relieved his head of the building pressure. There was no stabbing pain yet, which was good, but at this point, it was only a matter of time. Steve wiped down the mirror and caught a glance of his reflection before the steam inevitably fogged up the glass again.
He jogged down the stairs, vest in hand, and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw two suitcases by the door.
“Hey, I thought you were leaving tomorrow morning,” Steve said curiously. He could hear his mother blow-drying her hair upstairs.
“Well don’t sound so excited.” Mr. Harrington didn’t even look up from his newspaper and coffee.
“I wasn’t, I just thought...” Steve said, rubbing his brow with the back of his hand. He was sure they had told him Sunday.
“Change of plans, Steven,” his father said dismissively. “I expect the house to be kept in order while we’re gone. No funny business.”
“Yes, Sir,” Steve said blankly. Speaking with his father always made him feel subordinate... beneath. Rage bubbled in the pit of his stomach when they crossed paths, and Steve worried that one day he’d snap and finally say something. He grabbed the last apple from the fruit bowl on the kitchen counter, tossed it to himself, and picked off the sticker. “Anyway, I have to go to work. I have a double today. Have a safe flight.”
Mrs. Harrington got to the bottom of the stairs as Steve was about to make his exit. He offered her a quick hug, cold and distant as ever, and then walked out to his car, tossing his keys to himself on the way.
The air was humid and stuffy, ripe for yet another midsummer downpour. It made the pressure behind Steve’s forehead stronger, but he just took a deep breath, cranked the engine of his Beemer, and peeled out of the driveway. He drove a little faster than he usually would in an attempt to make up for the time he lost talking to his parents. Robin would be mad if he was late again. The radio was staticky, clearly halfway between two stations, but Steve could still hear Whitney Houston’s How Will I Know , playing faintly through the haze, so he hummed along and tapped his fingers on his knee as he drove.
Robin was sitting on the steps of the porch when he pulled up to the curb. She hopped up as soon as she saw Steve, and made a mad dash through the yard, sitting down in the passenger seat with a thwump. Steve braced for the earful he was inevitably going to receive for being... Steve glanced at the dash... a whole three minutes late. Instead, Robin said nothing, which was almost more concerning. She pulled her knees up to her chin and stared forward as if there was anything to look at on the same drive they had made together nearly every day for months.
“Uhhh, Rob?” Steve said hesitantly, as though he were poking a wasp nest with a stick. “You good over there?” And that was all Robin needed to spiral into an anxious ramble about her date tonight with Vickie, although she repeatedly reminded him that “No, Steve, it’s not a date.”
“Why isn’t it a date?” He mused.
“Well, she asked if I wanted to hang with her and some of the other clarinets from band,” Robin clarified. Steve furrowed his brow.
“Okay, maybe not a date, but Robin, she clearly likes you.”
“But that doesn’t mean she’d be willing to date me, now does it, Dingus? It’s not like we live in Los Angeles.” Steve mulled this over and then nodded succinctly. Robin took that opportunity to continue on with her diatribe about dating, and how she wished people would just be clear with what they wanted. Steve didn’t dare bring up the irony.
They arrived at Family Video just in time, clocking in and then immediately getting to work on their opening duties. Even when the store opened, there weren’t guests for at least the first thirty minutes. Robin had this theory that the longer they went without customers, the busier it would be when the rush hit... A sort of “calm before the storm” effect. The two sat and rewound tapes, and Steve, for the first time in a while, complained out loud about his parents. Robin would never say anything, but Steve could tell she was happy he was talking about it. As unaware as she could be sometimes, Robin Buckley knew when it was her turn to listen.
“Steve, you know you’re always welcome to come with me to college,” she joked. They had laughed about it before. Steve would sleep under the bed or in the closet, and Robin would feed him what she could sneak out of the dining hall without getting caught. A foolproof plan.
“You know, I’m considering it,” Steve replied with a humorless laugh.
Robin slid a box of tapes across the countertop to be shelved. Frankly, she could do it better-- Steve always ended up having to ask which shelf certain movies went on, despite her endless attempts to educate him on different movies-- conversations she dubbed “film school”-- but he took the box without hesitation and got to work.
Customers trickled in, and thus ended Robin and Steve’s back-and-forth banter. They worked well like this, both familiar enough with their tasks to operate like a well-oiled machine.
The rain started around noon. It was the kind of torrential downpour that made it nearly impossible to see 50 feet in front of you.
“I’m gonna go out there,” Robin sighed. Steve looked at her with faux concern.
“And do what?” He said.
“Just stand out there like the main character in a period drama. Symbolic, y’know?” Robin leaned over the counter and rested her cheek on the palm of her hand. She stared out into the greyness that blanketed Hawkins. Steve pretended to get it. He sighed and picked up the tape the last customer had returned. The case was slightly damp, despite her best efforts to protect it from the rain. When he looked at the title though, it was blurry. He squinted, but the blurriness didn’t budge.
“Steve?” Robin said, her voice soft and full of concern. He recognized the blurry spot in his vision.
“Yeah, I’m good,” Steve said a little too quickly. Robin clearly was not convinced judging by the raised eyebrow she gave him. Steve sighed, realizing it would be far less painful to just give in and tell her. “I’m getting the...” he gestured in front of his eyes with his hand. “The migraine thing.”
“The auras?” She asked.
“Yeah,” Steve conceded. When he looked around the room, the spot followed, making reading anything nearly impossible.
“Steve, why didn’t you tell me? Is your head hurting yet?”
“Just the auras and a lot of pressure right now. I probably have some time. And I didn’t say anything because I can’t just call out every time I think I might get a migraine,” Steve explained.
“You really should, Dingus. Should I call someone?”
Steve got up to finish putting away the last of the returns, ignoring her offer. Robin sighed but didn’t argue. There was no point in arguing.
After a few minutes, Steve made his way back to the desk, giving up on the task. By now his entire field of vision looked like a kaleidoscope, and it was frankly a miracle that he didn’t walk directly into a shelf. Before he got to Robin, however, the pain rolled in like a wave. He froze directly where he stood and squinted to block out the fluorescent lights. She was already on it. She grabbed him by the shoulders and directed him to the back office, where Steve crumpled on the dilapidated plaid couch. She turned off the lights.
“I can call Joyce... Jonathan... Nancy?” She listed off in a whisper.
“No, no, don’t call anyone. I got it,” Steve groaned, his words drawn out from the pain. He buried his head in his hands, relieving some of the tension but not nearly enough.
Robin left the room and immediately started making calls. Steve wanted to stop her, but couldn’t even bring himself to sit up. It felt like she was gone forever, though he was in no place to make an accurate judgment of time.
“How ya feelin’, Steve?” She asked softly.
“Like someone drove a stake through my skull.” Steve’s voice was muffled by the couch cushions.
“You’re a regular Phineas Gage,” she quipped.
“Huh?” groaned Steve.
“Nevermind,” Robin sat on the arm of the couch. “Eddie’s coming to get you.”
“Shit,” Steve sighed.
“I tried calling everyone I could think of, but the Byers and Hopper are on a trip, Nancy’s working... So Eddie was next on the list,” Robin had gotten a little too loud. Steve winced. “I thought you two were good,” she finished in a whisper.
“It’s fine, I just said I was fine, Rob.”
“Well, Eddie’s gonna be here in ten, so I’m gonna grab your things for you”. Another wave of pain hit, and suddenly Steve couldn’t devote any energy to caring.
It’s not like Steve disliked Eddie. In fact, he realized that he really enjoyed being around the man. He just didn’t think they were friendly enough for Eddie to have to tolerate migraine-addled Steve. He took deep breaths, trying to ride out the stabbing feeling in his skull.
Some time had passed, and Steve had fallen into that valley between being awake and asleep, conscious, but not present.
“Hey, big boy,” a voice said. Steve felt a hand rubbing circles on his arm.
“Eddie?”
“Yeah, let’s get you home, okay?” He whispered before helping Steve up. Eddie wrapped an arm around his back when he stumbled. “I gotcha,” he encouraged.
Robin said something Steve couldn’t hear as they left the store. He wondered if the customers were staring at him, but couldn’t find it in him to care too much.
The rain was coming to an end, and steam rose from the sidewalk. Eddie draped his leather jacket over Steve’s shoulders to keep him dry, a gesture that he couldn’t think too hard about or his brain would actually explode.
Steve kept the jacket when he got seated in the van. He pulled it up so he could bury his face in it to avoid the glare of the overcast sky. The leather smelled faintly of cigarettes and cologne.
Eddie let out a breathy chuckle, and for a moment, Steve was truly embarrassed. He lifted his head to gauge Eddie’s expression. Had he made it weird? That was weird, right?
“It’s all good. Cover your eyes,” he said softly, as though he could read Steve’s mind. He buried his face back in the soft leather again, and the two were silent for the entire drive. Eddie drove slowly, avoided all the potholes, and took each turn as carefully as possible.
The trek to his room was pathetic. Steve leaned more of his weight on Eddie and slurred out apologies the entire way. Eddie hushed him each time. When they made it to his bed, Steve flopped down into his pillow.
“Hey, where do you keep the pain meds?” Eddie asked quietly. Steve tried to sit up, and go get them himself, but a firm hand on his shoulder was enough to keep him down. “No, you stay here, sweetheart. I’ll get ‘em.”
Steve swallowed hard. He almost forgot to respond. What was it with Eddie and nicknames?
“Uh... b-bathroom, the medicine cabinet,” he mumbled finally. A few moments later, Eddie returned with a glass of water and two ibuprofen.
“Can you take these for me, Steve?”
Steve wanted to cry. For one, he felt completely and utterly useless. He was the one who took care of people, not the other way around. But he also just felt so loved... so taken care of. He wondered what it would be like if his parents had made him chicken noodle soup and checked his temperature with the back of their hands when he wasn’t feeling well. If they had believed him when he said he had a migraine instead of assuming he was just trying to get out of work.
He took the pills from Eddie and bit his lip to keep himself from sobbing. He tossed the pills back, and Eddie held the glass to Steve’s lips, letting him drink as much as he needed.
“There ya go,” he praised. “Now lie down and get some rest, okay?”
Steve did as he was told. He felt the mattress dip down beside him and opened his eyes a little to find Eddie sitting on the edge of the bed.
“You don’t have to stay. I’ve already been enough of a hassle,” Steve said. Eddie gave him a look he couldn’t quite decipher.
“I can go if you want...” he paused for a moment. “Is that what you want?” Steve couldn’t respond. He knew what he wanted to say, but he couldn’t get the words out. He wanted to tell Eddie to stay, but only if it wasn’t weird. Only if he didn’t mind.
Eddie got up, and for a moment, Steve thought he had ruined it. Eddie would leave, and Steve would be left to his own devices yet again. Instead, the metalhead walked to the other side of the bed and kicked his shoes off. He sat down and leaned back against the headboard with a sigh.
“You want me to go, you just say the word, Harrington,” He said with a certain tone of finality... “Until then, I’m gonna keep you company.”
Steve couldn’t say anything, so he just offered a smile that he hoped conveyed his gratitude. Eddie smiled back, and he figured it worked.
Steve drifted off.
When he awoke again, the clock by his bed read a little after 4 pm. He had been asleep for nearly three hours. The stabbing pain in Steve’s head had been replaced by a dull thrumming. Steve sat up and chugged the rest of the water that had been left on his bedside table.
“How ya feelin’, sunshine?” Eddie said, looking over.
“Sunshine?” Steve questioned.
“I dunno, it just felt fitting,” Eddie chuckled. “I won’t call you that again.”
“No,” said Steve, nearly cutting him off. “I uh... I like the nicknames,” he admitted. And shit, if Steve didn’t know better, he would have sworn he saw Eddie blush. “And yeah, I’m feeling better. Still hurts... but it’s better.”
“Good.” Eddie nodded.
“Oh, shit, I forgot about Robin. I have to give her a ride,” he said with a start.
“You’re all good. She’s got a date, remember?” Eddie reminded him. Steve wondered when Robin told Eddie she was a lesbian. He didn’t ask.
“I’m so sorry, you must’ve been dying of boredom,” Steve said to change the subject, suddenly reminded that Eddie took the time out of his day to tend to him like a child.
“I kept myself entertained,” Eddie ensured, holding up Steve’s battered copy of The Outsiders . The cover was worn and the pages were dog-eared, not because of repeated use, but because when the entire seventh grade read the book, Steve kept it crumpled in the bottom of his backpack the entire semester. “Plus, your snoring was very cute,” Eddie cooed, leaning in a little closer like he was sharing a secret.
“I do not snore,” Steve said, emphasizing each word. Eddie pursed his lips and shrugged. “I do not ,” Steve repeated.
“Sure, sweetheart. I believe you,” he said, making it clear Eddie did not believe him. Steve’s face dropped.
“Wait, do I really? You’re not serious.” He whined as though it was the worst news he could’ve possibly received.
“A little,” Eddie laughed. Steve clasped a hand over his face in embarrassment. “Don’t worry, you’re nothing like my uncle. I swear that man could wake up the whole neighborhood.”
“Motherfucker,” Steve breathed. “Hey, I’m starving. You wanna get something to eat?” Eddie looked at the clock and thought it over for a moment.
“Yeah, I could go for some food.”
“I would make something here, but there's like, nothing to eat at the moment,” Steve chuckled lightly. He stopped when he noticed Eddie’s face. There was a sort of concern or... anger?
“Have you eaten today?”
“Yeah, I had... an apple.” Steve realized as he spoke that it sounded really bad. It’s not like he meant to go the whole day without a meal, he just forgot some days... a lot, actually. Most days he went to work without breakfast. By the time his shift was over in the mid-afternoon, he was hungry and tired enough that he often just ate whatever was leftover in the fridge and slept as long as he could before the nightmares had him in a sweat.
“Not cool, dude,” Eddie admonished gently.
“Sorry,” Steve said.
“Nah, don’t apologize. We just gotta get King Steve his royal feast,” Eddie replied with an accent he often used for DnD. Steve rolled his eyes.
“Okay, I take it back. Anything but King Steve.” Eddie gave a devilish grin, and Steve suddenly realized he had made a mistake.
“Anything?” Eddie asked, tapping his fingers together like a comic book villain.
“Don’t make me regret that,” Steve warned.
“Too late, snookums,” Eddie purred. Steve fake gagged. “What, cupcake? Can’t handle it?”
“Eddie, I swear to god.”
“Swear all you want, sweetcheeks, he can’t help you,” Eddie quipped. The two broke down in laughter that made their sides hurt. Steve's headache pulsed a bit with each chuckle, but he didn’t care. He just grabbed a couple more painkillers before they hopped back in the van.
They ended up at a burger joint, agreeing that greasy food and milkshakes were in order. The vinyl booth was slightly sticky, and there was a dead fly on the windowsill, but Steve was just glad that his headache had almost completely disappeared. After they got their food, Eddie grabbed one of Steve’s fries.
“Munson, you have onion rings,” Steve complained.
“Yes... and you have fries.” Eddie retorted. Steve snatched an onion ring off of his plate out of retaliation. “Now you’re getting it! What’s the point in just having one when you can have both?” Steve shook his head and laughed. For the rest of the meal, they took fries and onion rings off of each other’s plates.
“So, uhh,” Eddie began. “How often do you get migraines?” Steve took a sip of his milkshake.
“Like two or three a month maybe,” he answered. Eddie’s eyes went wide. “Don’t worry, it wasn’t that bad this time. You know, just a few too many blows to the head,” It was clearly not as comforting as Steve intended.
“What the fuck, Harrington. You could barely walk today, and that’s what you consider ‘not so bad’? How bad do they get ?” Eddie had stopped eating and began fidgeting with the ring on his middle finger, awaiting Steve’s answer. Steve noticed how the silver caught the light that shone in from the window.
“Umm, well sometimes they last much longer... and sometimes I throw up ‘cause they hurt so bad,” he admitted, suddenly feeling like maybe he should have lied.
“Okay, well next time you get one, call me,” Eddie said. He grabbed a pen from his jacket pocket and wrote his number down on a napkin.
“It’s not your job to take care of me anytime I’m having a bad day, dude,” Steve insisted.
“Well, then how am I going to put my medical license to use?” Eddie deadpanned. Steve chuckled a little bit and Eddie broke into a goofy smile.
He wondered how they had gone this long without exchanging numbers, considering all they’d been through together. Honestly, he was shocked that Eddie was so willing to help since they hadn’t really hung out after everything. All the times that the two crossed paths had been because of the kids. Eddie would be DMing, Steve would be chauffeuring... they’d make polite back and forth and then be on their way. The idea of Eddie being around more often put a warm feeling in Steve’s chest.
“What if I don’t have a migraine? Can I still call?” he asked, a little quieter than he intended. He cringed slightly at his delivery, but Eddie just beamed and stole another fry.
“Absolutely, Stevie!” he said, clearly feeling accomplished. “I’d be honored.” Steve hoped his cheeks didn’t look as red as they felt.
Eddie drove Steve back to Family Video for his BMW, playing a Black Sabbath cassette at a tasteful volume for the sake of Steve’s ears. The summer sun was still shining from behind the treeline, casting an orange glow over the town even at nearly 7:45. When they pulled up to the store, Steve hopped out of the van. Eddie rolled down the window.
“Seriously though, call me... Migraine or not,” he called. Steve patted the breast pocket on his polo where he put the napkin.
“Will do, Munson,” Steve called back. He stood there, in the parking lot, even after Eddie had left. He smiled to himself like he just remembered a joke nobody else knew.
Just before he turned to get in his car, the door opened with a ding. Robin immediately clocked the grin before Steve could wipe it away. She made a face as she held the door open for Vickie.
“You good there, Steve?” she chuckled.
“What? Yeah, why?” He retorted a little too defensively.
“Nothing. We’ll talk about it later,” she said nonchalantly, practically skipping over to Vickie’s Chevy. Steve stood dumbfounded, and Vickie was just as confused. She offered a polite wave before unlocking her car and hopping in.
Deep down, Steve knew exactly what Robin was talking about. He knew exactly how that conversation would go... But for now, Steve wanted to keep this feeling to himself. On his drive home, he grinned until his cheeks hurt and wondered how soon he could call without seeming weird.
He could work out the confusion and the logistics another time.