Chapter Text
By the middle of November, the small pond east of Forest Hills Trailer Park had frozen over solidly enough to hold the weight of Eddie Munson. Eddie Munson, 20 years old, and the only male figure skater in all of Hawkins.
He was an anomaly and he loved it.
He was a solo skater- never finding someone who he wanted to do couples skate with, or someone who would want to skate with him anyway. He gave up doing synchronized skate- he never got along well with teams, anyway.
So here he was, the only male solo skater in town. He still had competition, there were other skaters in other towns who would show up to tournaments and competitions. Not many people to compete with, but still.
Eddie wanted to be the best. And the best he would be.
So he practiced outside of practice time. He coached himself alone, he spent hours in the chilly air of Hawkins, Indiana until the sun set and he made his way home in time before he got frostbite.
The pond just east of his home was the perfect spot. It was small enough that not a lot of people would come to it, to freeze over quickly and deeply, and big enough to practice his stunts.
It was a Thursday night, the air frigid, and Eddie was making his walk from his parked van nearly a mile away to his favorite pond. His gear was stuffed in his duffel bag, layers of clothing ready to be removed for more flexibility and to prevent too much sweating. As the snow crunched under his footsteps, he stopped. He heard noises from the pond. He quickened his pace until he came out of the woods, the pond in sight.
He nearly dropped his bag.
Someone was skating on his pond.
Not just skating.
Hockey skating.
The figure was puffy with a winter jacket and obvious layers of hoodies and gloves. Thick ice skates cut up his ice, shavings flying up as he dashed around in circles. A beaten hockey stick slapped at the surface, hitting a heavy puck around, back and forth.
A hockey player. On his practice rink. Cutting up his ice. Eddie couldn’t stop himself from speaking up.
“Who the fuck are you?”
The hockey player stumbled, skidding to a halt and kicking up more ice shavings, making Eddie wince. He would have to repair that, and repairing this makeshift rink was a pain in the ass.
“Uh… who are you?”
Eddie walked forward, closer to the figure, who pulled his hoodie down. He looked familiar. Pretty face, pretty hair. Harrington. Well, shit.
“None of your business. And I have to ask, just what are you doing on my pond?”
“Your… am I trespassing? Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t know- I thought this was just, like, the woods.”
Eddie shook his head.
“No, no, I don’t fuckin own the pond, I’m just asking why you’re on my practice rink.”
“… Your practice rink?”
“That’s right.”
“Do you mean that you’ve been practicing on my practice rink?”
Oh, this asshole.
Eddie grabbed his duffle bag, walking closer to the edge of the pond, where Steve skated closer.
“The fuck do you mean, your practice rink? This is my rink, fair and square.”
“What do you mean, fair and square, I’ve been coming here for ages!”
“So have I! And I don’t want my rink getting all chipped up from your stupid hockey practice.”
Harrington shook his head.
“Hang on, what? What, you don’t play hockey out here?”
“No, asshole. I don’t. Not everyone plays hockey.”
Harrington had the audacity to look genuinely confused.
“But… what do you practice out here, then?”
Eddie huffed, unzipped his bag, and pulled out one of his skates. It was thin and the leather was a pristine white, the skate guards covering the sharp blades.
“Skating. Figure skating.”
Harrington froze in place.
“Oh.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well… I got here first, and I have a game tomorrow. So. Sorry.”
He hoisted up his stick in a shitty salute and went back to tossing the puck back and forth with the end of it. Eddie’s jaw was on the floor.
“Seriously? You’re seriously going to ignore me? I can’t practice while you’re here, too, jackass!”
“Sorry! Try again tomorrow! Unless I’m here first.”
Eddie was infuriated. He shoved his skates back in his bag, glaring at the hockey player hogging his ice.
“If I see a single chip- and I mean a single chip of ice out of place, it’s your head!”
“Bye- wait, wait! I didn’t get your name.”
“See if you can figure it out, Harrington.”
With that, Eddie huffed and turned around, nose up high, walking away with a white knuckled grip on his duffel.
Stupid fucking hockey player, stupid fucking stubborn hockey player.
—
It was Friday evening, and Eddie was rushing to get to the pond. He loaded up his van with a few gallons of water, just in case he needed to do some patching before he hunted down Harrington and killed him. Into his van he went, making the short drive and walking the rest, duffle bag in hand. When he got to the pond, no one was there.
A smug grin grew on his face, and when he noticed that ice shavings had been shoveled to the side of the rink and a few gouges had been patched, he didn’t let himself feel thankful. Instead, he plopped his ass down in the snow and quickly undid his shoes, replacing them with his skates.
He missed this.
He stood up, standing tall as he began to glide circles around the diameter of the pond. Just a warm up. He did simple stretches as he went, arms, legs, skating backwards in easy strides. Eventually, he warmed up enough that he could lose the larger outer coat he wore, leaving him in a warm hoodie that he needed to wash anyway.
He didn’t have his cassette player or his Walkman, so he simply had to hear the music in his head.
Get lost in it.
And he did.
As he heard the music play in his mind, his routine grew into his muscles. Axles and spins, leaping across the ice. He only fell once or twice, and just as he was mentally switching to a different routine, he heard a shout.
“Hey!”
His head whipped around mid turn, immediately losing focus and balance, and he came toppling down onto the cold, hard ice.
“Oh, shit.”
He pushed himself upright and felt a pair of warm, gloved hands on his arm. Harrington.
The hockey player lifted him to his feet, steadying him, though he didn’t need the help. Those gloved hands helped brush away ice and cold that clung to his hoodie. As soon as he could, he shifted himself away.
“Harrington.”
“Munson.”
Something about the way Harrington said his name made his stomach flip. He couldn’t tell if it was in a good way or a bad way.
“Well, as you can see, I was here first.”
“I can see.”
“So you can leave.”
“I could.”
“You should.”
Eddie glared.
Steve’s expression remained fairly blank, but there was a clear veil of amusement.
“And you’re still here… why?”
“Maybe I just wanted to see what you do.”
“I skate.”
“I know, but you skate differently from me.”
“Ah, you mean I don’t skate like a chimp on knives?”
Harrington hissed in fake pain.
“Ouch, Munson. Don’t be so nice to me.”
Eddie kept up his icy stare until Harrington raised his hands in mock defeat.
“Okay, okay. If you don’t want me here, I’ll go. Have a good practice, Munson.”
Eddie hummed, and watched Harrington turn around and begin to walk away. Eddie didn’t stop him.
He didn’t realize until later that Harrington didn’t even have any equipment with him.
—-
It was Saturday, a few hours before sunset, and Eddie couldn’t believe what he was seeing. That stupid Harrington fucker made it here first.
He was doing that thing again, the thing with the puck, but he seemed… more aggressive about it. Eddie approached tentatively, footsteps crunching as quietly as they could against the frozen ground.
Harrington didn’t look up. His hood was down across his back, coat off, eyes filled with determination, brows furrowed and jaw locked. He shifted the puck quickly, quicker than before, and Eddie yelped as a CRACK resounded through the air and the puck went flying forward, thudding into the pile of bags at the other end of the rink.
Harrington startled, looking up to see Eddie.
“Oh. Munson.”
“That was fucking loud.”
The hockey player laughed, the smile not quite reaching his eyes.
“Yeah, sorry. Slap shot. Didn’t know you were there.”
He skated over to the puck, plucking it out of the fabric with his stick before he brought it back over to his previous spot, constantly keeping the puck moving. Back and forth. Back and forth. Eddie watched.
He did the same thing again, but Eddie was prepared this time. No flinching.
Harrington repeated getting the puck, settling it into place, slapping it across the ice.
Eddie only flinched this time because Harrington clipped the puck, still sending it across, but hitting the ice with a solid thud and bringing up snow. The stick shook in his hand.
He watched Harrington’s jaw clench harder, an angry huff of breath puffing in front of him, his eyes shutting for a few seconds.
Eddie felt like he needed to say something.
Should he say something?
He should say something.
“Damn, Harrington. You show that ice whose boss.”
Okay. Not what Eddie really wanted to say, but he said it, and now Harrington is staring at the spot like he either wants to bash it until water seeps through and he falls in, or like he wants to cry.
Eddie isn’t sure which would be better.
“I’ll patch it for you. Sorry.”
Was the hollow response that came out of Harrington. He sounded beaten down. His voice sounded tired. Hell, he looked tired.
Eddie was regretfully concerned.
“Hey, Harrington. Why don’t you take a break, man?”
“Can’t.”
“Mm… pretty sure you can? There’s no coach here telling you you can’t.”
That got the hockey player to perk his head up, to look at Eddie. He stared for a second, gears turning, thoughts debating with each other, until the guy practically sagged in on himself, slumping as he slowly skated towards Eddie.
“Okay.”
Eddie didn’t really know what to do now. Harrington approached the edge of the pond, and Eddie could make out a yellowing bruise on his cheekbone. He was talking before he realized, moving before he could stop himself. A hand- his hand, rested on Harrington’s shoulder, trying to get a better look.
“Shit, man, what happened?”
Harrington shrugged.
“Fight.”
“With who?”
“Dunno.”
“What do you mean, ‘dunno’?”
“I dunno who it was. Some guy from the other team last night. Got mad at me, I got mad back, boom. Bruise and the penalty box.”
Right. Right. There was fighting in hockey. Eddie hated that. He grimaced as he looked at the guy. His hand slipped away and settled around him, crossing both of his arms and tucking his hands under his biceps.
“Harrington, why are you practicing if you’re beat up?”
“Steve.”
“What?”
“Can you call me Steve?”
Eddie felt thrown off guard by the sincerity of it, by the way Harr- Steve sounded. He seemed so genuine. Like he was practically pleading with Eddie to call him by his first name. He nodded.
“Yeah, yeah I can. Steve. Why are you out here, man? Go home. Take a load off. Working yourself to the bone isn’t gonna help.”
“Isn’t it, though? Coach said I needed to work on my slap shots. I got too messy during the game yesterday. So I’m working on them.”
“Okay, yeah, and I’m sure you’re doing great, I don’t really know, but you look exhausted, dude.”
He got a joyless laugh in return, and Steve rubbed a hand over his face.
“Yeah, yeah. I kinda am.”
This was really not the interaction Eddie was preparing to have today.
“Okay, how about this, Steve. You throw in the towel for today, but come help me patch up the ice. You put in your practice, and you’re paying for chipping up my rink.”
“ My rink.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Okay. Okay. That… sounds fair.”
Eddie waited as Steve shoved his skates off, gathered up his stick and puck and slung it all into the bag over his shoulder. They walked together through the woods as the sun fell low in the sky, eventually coming upon Eddie’s van. He flung the back doors open, a few milk gallons full of water in the back. He had Steve set down his gear in the van and handed him two gallons, which Steve insisted wasn’t enough, he could carry more, but Eddie hushed him. He set his own stuff down, grabbed two more, and slammed the doors shut.
They made their way back in silence, peaceful silence. Comfortable silence. They got to the pond and Steve worked on shuffling the flakes of ice and snow off of the main area to smooth it out as Eddie poured water into the gouges and divots.
He hated to admit it, but they made a good team.
As the water began to freeze over, the gallons were empty and the sun was set. Eddie motioned for Steve to follow him back to the van, back to their stuff.
“I can drive you back to your car, if you want.”
“… that would be nice. Thanks, Munson.”
“Eddie.”
“What?
“Can you call me Eddie?”
Steve smiled, the first real smile he’d seen from the guy today.
“Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”
Eddie drives the two to where Steve parked his car, the opposite side of the pond. His BMW sat in a small parking lot next to a dilapidated basketball court. After he parked, Steve climbed out of the car and grabbed his bag from the back. Before he shut the door, though, he lingered for a moment, looking to Eddie as he patted at the steering wheel.
“Um. Eddie?”
“Stevie?”
“I- uh. Thank you.”
“Nothing to thank me for, Steve. Now go home.”
Steve nodded, a small twitch of his lip suggesting a smile, and he shut the door. Eddie made sure he made it into his car before pulling away, driving back to his home.
Steve Harrington, he decided, was the weirdest hockey player he’d ever met. He didn’t throw girly insults in Eddie’s face when he learned about his figure skating. Steve didn’t get aggressive with him, didn’t bully him off his pond. It was still Eddie’s pond, but maybe… maybe Steve could use it.
He seemed nice enough.
Eddie would allow it, he decided.
He wouldn’t ever say that to Steve, though.
—-
The next time Eddie saw Steve, he looked in much better spirits. He was also looking at Eddie. Intensely, really. Eddie had been so caught up in his head, listening to the music in his mind and breathing with the notes, jumping and twirling as he did, that he never heard Steve approach. He never heard Steve sit down. He did hear Steve begin clapping, whooping and cheering as Eddie finished a double axel.
Unlike last time Steve snuck up on him, Eddie didn’t fall, but he did scream. Steve stopped his clapping and, even worse, started laughing.
That motherfucker.
Eddie glared daggers, but there was no heat behind it.
“You scared the shit out of me!”
“I was cheering for you!”
“I didn’t do anything!”
“You were spinning and it looked cool!”
Eddie couldn’t help but start to laugh, too, joining in the joy that Steve had brought with him today. Eventually, the laughter died down and Eddie skated to the edge, grabbing his water bottle and taking a swig.
“I got here first today.”
“You did, Eds, you did.”
“… You didn’t bring your equipment?”
“Nah. Figured I’d… watch. If that’s okay.”
Eddie’s brows rose to his hairline.
“You want… to watch me practice.”
Steve shrugged.
“Yeah. You skate different.”
“So you’ve said.”
“… Listen, if you don’t want me to be here-“
“I didn’t say that.”
They held themselves in an odd stare down, neither upset with the other, but Eddie was confused. Why would Steve just want to watch Eddie flip around and skate? Why wouldn’t he just go home? Though, he supposed he had been watching Steve practice just the day before. Maybe Eddie was being a bit hypocritical.
“Do you want me to leave?”
“Do you want to see the double axel again?”
Steve seemed to visibly brighten at that, shifting on the ground in his puffy coat and warm gloves.
He nodded, his hair flopping and framing rosy red cheeks as he smiled.
“Yeah, the spinny thing!”
Eddie smiled and skated backwards for a little bit until he felt ready, straightening, hurling himself into the air and spinning, landing with a graceful lunge and slide. He grinned from ear to ear when he heard Steve clapping behind him, turning to see the hockey player cheering with a hand cupping the side of his mouth.
“Woo! Yeah! Eddie!”
Eddie broke out into laughter, warmth rising in his body despite the chilly temperature. This was nice, having someone cheer for him, even if it was Steve Harrington sitting beside his pond on the edge of the woods.
“Alright, alright. What else do you wanna see, big boy?”
Eddie asked and watched Steve, and he couldn’t tell if Steve was blushing or if he was just cold, cheeks bright and nose pink.
“Uh… I dunno? I don’t know the names. Why don’t you just do your… routine! Yeah, why don’t you do your routine, and I can just watch. Pretend I’m a judge!”
And how could Eddie say no to that?
He did his routine, getting lost in the mental music, his muscles soaring and contracting and his focus centered on this moment. Occasionally he would hear a gasp or a “wow” or a “nice!” from the side that he would dutifully ignore, and he would ignore the way it made his heart pound faster than the skating made it.
As he finished his routine, he froze in his final pose, still gliding on the ice before he straightened up, turning to Steve, and bowing.
“I promise, it’ll be even better with the music.”
“There’s music?!”
Eddie giggled, and giggles turned into chuckles, and chuckles turned into full on belly laughter as he gasped for air. Steve was laughing too, trying to get words out, something like, “don’t know!” and “never” and “music” but Eddie couldn’t care less, because right now, this moment…
It felt like magic.
A water bottle was shoved into his hands as he struggled for breath between laughs, and he gasped out a word of thanks before chugging down the water and keeping himself from laughing into hysteria.
Steve smiled wide from the sidelines, looking like Eddie was the funniest person in the world.
When Eddie was with Steve, he sort of felt like it. A moment of boldness struck him, and once again, he was speaking without thinking.
“Hey, uh, Steve, yaknow, I have a meet this Saturday. In Indy. If you- I mean, you don’t have to, but if you wanted to come, it- like I said, it’s not important, it’s just, you looked like you were interested in the double axel and I’m working up to a triple for the next competition, so I-“
“I’ll be there, Eds.”
Eddie’s heart stuttered, eyes wide.
“You… will?”
Steve nodded, still smiling.
“Yeah, man, it sounds cool. I’d love to come. Just…”
Steve motioned for Eddie to come over, and he did, waiting as Steve pulled out a pen and an old receipt from his pocket. He scribbled down a series of numbers.
“Give me a call later and let me know when and where. I’ll be there.”
Steve gave him this beautiful, stunning, dopey smile that had Eddie’s cheeks flaming red, and he hoped it just looked like he had wind burn.
“Y-…I… Yeah, okay! No one else is gonna be there t’see me, just my uncle and my coach, but um. That- yeah. Thanks, Steve.”
Eddie clutched the wrinkled receipt like it had the cure for cancer written on it, eyes wide and shining.
Steve nodded and playfully punched Eddie on the shoulder.
“So. The fuck is a triple axel?”