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It’s Monday morning, and Steve’s car is out of commission. Has been the whole weekend too, since Friday actually, but he’d been hoping that it would have been fixed by now. It’s just his luck that Thatcher Tire is only open on weekdays though.
And as if the day couldn’t get any worse, when he walks outside to head to the bus stop — because Robin doesn’t drive and neither do any of the kids he drives around, so he’s been reduced to using the bus to get around — it’s raining.
At least he remembers to grab his umbrella on the way out.
The bus stops in Hawkins are, unfortunately, few and far between, so the nearest one is at the corner of Mirkwood and Kerley. Which means that not only is Steve stuck taking the bus this morning, but he has to walk , through the rain, to get to it.
It’s not exactly his idea of a good time. But whatever. It’s not like he has any other choice.
At least he’s got his umbrella.
Other than the rain, the walk to the bus stop is pretty uneventful. When he finally approaches the stop — just a sad, short little bench, no overhang or covering or anything, which wow — there’s already a few people milling about. Most of them are older business types with their pressed suits and briefcases, probably all heading in to the office for the day. There are no children, but an elderly couple stands arm in arm, the man holding his umbrella over himself and his wife.
There is only one person that looks even remotely close to Steve’s age.
He vaguely recognizes the guy as Eddie Munson, back from high school. Steve doesn’t remember much about him, mostly just that he was supposed to have graduated a year before Steve but didn’t. And that he ran some sort of after school club. Steve couldn’t remember the name, but he’s pretty sure it had something to do with that dragon game the kids were always raving about. He also remembers that Eddie sold weed in the woods behind the school. And that he was loud and opinionated and didn’t like to do things by the book.
Okay, so maybe he remembers more about the guy than he thought.
Point is, that is definitely him, standing there, waiting for the bus. Only, he doesn’t have an umbrella. Doesn’t even have a proper raincoat either. No, he stands there in his torn up jeans with nothing but his leather jacket to keep him warm and dry. (Spoiler alert: it’s doing neither.)
Steve sidles up to the bench, but doesn’t sit for obvious reasons. Munson stands at the other end of it, arms crossed tightly over his chest, glaring out at the street as if that will make the bus show up any quicker. His bangs are flat against his forehead, the rest of his long hair lank and wet over his shoulders.
He looks like a drowned cat.
Steve can’t help the tiny little chuckle that bubbles up and out before he can stop it.
And then that glare is suddenly on him.
“Something funny?” Munson asks sharply, and his lip seems to curl back a little when he registers who , exactly, it is laughing at him.
Realizing his mistake, Steve snaps his mouth shut and shakes his head. “No, no, man,” he says. “You, ah, just— you look a little wet.”
Munson’s glare turns into a scowl. “No shit, Harrington,” he bites out.
And, oh , that would explain the hostility then. Clearly, Eddie Munson remembers him.
But the Steve Harrington from high school is not the Steve Harrington of today. He’s done a lot of learning, a lot of growing. He’s different now. Better. Nicer.
Eddie Munson doesn’t know this, though. So Steve figures he can show him.
So he holds out his umbrella. Tilts his chin and raises his eyebrows at Munson as an invitation to step under and get out of the rain.
Munson looks at the umbrella for less than a second before he turns back towards the street with a scoff. “No thanks,” he says, but he doesn’t sound very thankful. “I’m good.”
“Dude,” Steve says, dumbfounded. He scrunches his face up in confusion and looks between Munson and his umbrella.
“ Dude ,” Munson parrots mockingly.
“You’re really going to turn down my umbrella?” Steve asks, still holding it out.
“I really am,” Munson replies, showing all of his teeth in a rancorous smile. “Now if you don’t mind,” he adds, taking a large step forward, closer to the curb and further from Steve.
Conversation over.
Steve lets out an indignant huff and pulls his umbrella back to himself. Only just refrains from muttering an unsavory name under his breath because he’s a good person now .
Whatever. Let Munson get soaked. Let him freeze.
He spends the rest of the wait for the bus standing right on that curb, not looking back once at Steve or his umbrella.
When the bus finally does pull up, the wheels splash through a puddle right in front of Eddie and send a spray of ice cold water right at him.
Steve bitterly thinks, karma .
On Tuesday, Munson is back at the bus stop.
It’s raining harder today, hard enough that it’s difficult for Steve to see too far in front of himself. And if Munson was wet yesterday, he’s positively soaked today. His jeans look glued to his legs, and his jacket looks heavier than usual, shining with water and dripping from the sleeves. Even his backpack is drenched. His hair, at least, is tied up today, but that means the rain is probably spilling down the exposed nape of his neck and seeping right down the back of his jacket.
And even though Munson was kind of a dick to him yesterday, Steve still feels bad for him. Still wants to help him.
So he readjusts his grip on his umbrella and walks up beside him again.
Steve hears the heavy sigh Munson lets out when he notices him.
“Forgot your umbrella again?” Steve asks, keeping his tone light, friendly .
“I didn’t need yours yesterday and I don’t need it today,” Munson responds, cutting right to the chase.
“Who says I was going to offer it to you?” Steve volleys back, pursing his lips.
Munson eyes him like he doesn’t believe him, but when Steve doesn’t jump out and say sike , he grunts noncommittally and goes back to watching the road.
Steve waits a second, two, three. Then stretches his arm out towards Munson, just enough. “Okay, seriously, come under—”
“ Jesus h. christ ,” Munson exhales, spinning towards Steve but also a step back in the process, separating them further. “What is your deal dude?”
“You’re soaked,” Steve points out, matter-of-fact.
“And what’s it to you?” Munson demands.
“I’m just trying to be nice,” Steve defends. He doesn’t know what else to say to get Munson to believe him — there’s no ulterior motive here. (He also doesn’t know why he’s trying so damn hard; what is it about Eddie Munson?)
“Why?” Munson asks.
“Because it’s raining,” Steve responds. “Because you’re wet and cold and you’re either really fucking bad at listening to the forecast or you’re really fucking forgetful, but either way it sucks to be stuck in the rain, so I’m trying to, y’know, make it suck a little less or something.”
Some of the wariness in Munson’s eyes fades, but he still doesn’t look fully convinced. He looks like he still wants to argue. But before he can, Steve interrupts.
“Come on, man, it’s just an umbrella. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”
And that seems to hook him — gets him glancing up at the sky, at the rain still falling in sheets, then back at Steve’s umbrella, at Steve , maybe not warm, but definitely dry beneath. His bottom lip is clamped firmly between his teeth; he’s clearly contemplating his options.
It’s more than Steve could say a minute ago.
Steve can tell he’s giving in. Slowly but surely. He doesn’t count his chickens before they’re hatched, though. So he raises his eyebrows at Munson and tips the umbrella over him just a smidgen — a taste of the sanctuary to come if he just surrenders.
Another shiver wracks through Munson’s frame, and evidently, is the final kick in the ass he needs to push the last of the doubt from his features. His big eyes are expressive, and they do nothing to hide his annoyance with himself, like he can’t believe what he’s about to do next.
And then, with another heavy sigh, this time in resignation, Munson takes one teeny tiny, itty bitty little shuffle of a step towards Steve — under his umbrella. An admission of defeat. A surrender. An acceptance.
Steve refrains from cheering out at his success at last, but he does let a pleased smile settle across his face.
He stays quiet, doesn’t push his luck, and Munson doesn’t say anything either. But it’s nice, sharing the umbrella. Standing close. Not being alone.
They stay like that until the bus arrives. When they board, Munson finds a seat in the back, foregoing the empty one beside Steve.
Steve tries not to be disappointed.
Tomorrow , he thinks. Tomorrow I’ll crack him .
Wednesday morning rolls around, and Steve wonders if today will be different. If after yesterday, after having no better choice than to accept Steve’s offer to share, maybe Munson will have learned his lesson. If maybe today will be the day he finally doesn’t forget his own umbrella.
Steve hopes not.
When he walks up, Munson, as always, has beaten him there. He’s standing in the rain in the same spot, with the same leather jacket as his only shield from the elements, doing the same subtle dance from foot to foot to keep his muscles moving and his blood flowing in the cold.
Munson must hear Steve’s footsteps as he gets closer, because he turns around when Steve’s still a few paces behind him. He doesn’t smile when he spots Steve, but his face softens into something not as stoney as the days past.
(Steve doesn’t want to get his hopes up that maybe Munson is… happy to see him, but, well, it’s hard not to when he wants it to be true so badly. And, shit, where did that come from?)
Steve comes to a stop beside Munson, close enough that he could lean over and bump their shoulders if he wants. He doesn’t, but he could. “Hi,” he says, testing the waters.
“Hi,” Munson actually replies.
Rain collects on the bridge of his nose and slides down to gather at the end in one big drop. Steve zeroes in on the little drip there, has to squeeze his hand into a fist at his side so he doesn’t reach over to brush the soft pad of his thumb gently over the tip of Munson’s nose to clear it away. Instead he watches as it builds and builds until it gets too heavy and gravity takes hold.
There’s water stuck in his lashes, too, clumping them together, and Steve has to physically shake himself out of his stupor because, jesus , he’s just standing here staring , while Munson continues to hunch in on himself as the rain drenches him.
Without any more preamble, Steve holds out his umbrella.
To his surprise (and delight), this time Munson steps right under it, no hesitation, no argument. He doesn’t even look annoyed with himself about it either.
Munson’s eyes flicker sidelong towards Steve, but just as quickly flicker away. Steve notices, though. “Thanks,” he says, for the first time.
It’s a gratitude and an apology and an olive branch all wrapped into one word, and Steve accepts it easily. “Anytime,” he replies, and dips his chin down to hide his smile into the collar of his coat.
Munson— Eddie (because they’re friends now. Or, they’re friendly at least) moves to stuff his hands into his jacket pocket, and Steve spies a peek of something caught between his fingers as he does.
“S’that a, is that a d20?” He asks, jerking his chin towards Eddie’s hand. Steve recognizes it from the kids’ game; he’s found a couple of them loose in his backseat before. Always sort of wondered what the hell a die needed that many sides for.
Eddie’s eyes flash over to Steve, an unexpected surprise flickering in them. “You know what a d20 is?” He asks incredulously, slowly pulling his hand back out. He unfurls his fingers and lets the die settle against the flat of his palm, then holds it out for Steve to see.
Steve nods. “Yeah, my ki— the kids I babysit for play, uh, dragons and…” he scrunches his face up as he tries to remember what it’s called, “dragons and dungeons, right?”
The corner of Eddie’s mouth twitches. “Dungeons and dragons,” he corrects.
Steve snaps his fingers. “Yeah, that’s it. You play too?”
Eddie nods right away, perking up like he’s got so much to say about it. He’s brimming with it, looks seconds away from bouncing on his toes and spilling everything to Steve. Only, after he opens his mouth to do exactly that, he pauses, hesitates. Like it’s only just occurred to him who he’s speaking with. He schools his features into something more neutral and closes his mouth. The previous excitement clears off to make way for something a little more wary. And it’s like he’s suddenly on guard. Like maybe he thinks that Steve will start to make fun of him if he lets himself nerd out too much.
That kind of stings, but Steve can’t say he doesn’t get it.
“You had that club,” Steve says then, remembering it again. “In school. It was for— this, right?” He still doesn’t remember the name, but if he thinks hard enough the vague shape of some sort of face from their logo comes to mind. A face with… with horns?
Bafflement paints itself across Eddie’s face. “ You remember Hellfire?” He blurts.
Hellfire , that’s right. “Yeah, dude,” Steve replies, like it’s nothing. “It wasn’t, uh, wasn’t really, like, my thing back in school,” he gives a stilted chuckle, “but I’ve heard enough about it from the little shrimps now to know it sounds pretty— pretty cool,” he says.
And the thing is, he means it . He’d never admit it to the kids, especially not Dustin (god knows he would lord that over Steve every chance he got), but it feels okay, telling it to Eddie. They have a mutual understanding. You don’t make fun of me, I don’t make fun of you . Not that Steve thinks Eddie would make fun of him about this.
Eddie laughs, this happy, delighted little thing, and Steve immediately wants to hear it again. “It is cool,” Eddie agrees.
“Tell me about one of your, uh,” Steve fishes for the word, knows it’s floating around in the depths of his brain somewhere — he’s been reminded enough times by now that he should be able to pinpoint it, but he comes up short, “stories,” he finishes. He figures Eddie will know what he means anyways.
“Campaigns,” Eddie corrects again, but he lights up at the request and immediately launches into describing the most recent one he put together for Hellfire. They’d only just made it to the final session a few days ago, and Eddie is more than eager to tell Steve all about it.
It’s more than Steve’s heard him speak all at once since they started this little song and dance by the bus stop, but it’s absolutely captivating. Eddie’s a brilliant storyteller, Steve can tell just from this alone, and he finds himself completely sucked into this world of orcs and elves and giant spider monsters.
He’s so caught up in Eddie’s narration that he doesn’t even realize the bus has pulled up until someone accidentally bumps into him as they try to squeeze past him to board.
Eddie doesn’t stop explaining as they climb aboard themselves, and instead of cutting himself short and bidding Steve farewell so he can take his usual seat in the back, he swings right into the spot next to Steve.
They spend the entire ride talking, and Steve thinks it might just be the start of something .
On Thursday, Eddie is just as talkative as he was on Wednesday.
He immediately joins Steve under his umbrella when he walks up, not even bothering to wait for Steve to offer this time. It amuses Steve to no end considering three days ago Eddie had been ready to catch his death in the rain than share. But he’s not at all mad about it either, not with the way Eddie presses in close to fit beneath.
They strike up an easy conversation after that.
Steve finds out that not only was Eddie the leader of his club in school, but he was also in a band . Still is, actually. For both of those things.
The band isn’t something Steve ever knew about. But he thinks it’s even cooler than the DnD stuff.
When he tells Eddie this, Eddie laughs and says it’s probably not Steve’s kind of music.
“Try me,” Steve challenges. “I like a lot of music.”
Amusement sparkles in Eddie’s eyes and he crosses his arms over his chest. “Alright,” he says. Smirks like he already knows he’s going to win. “We’re a metal band.”
Metal — as in the loud, shouty stuff? It’s… well, it probably isn’t Steve’s kind of music, but then again, he can’t exactly say he’s given it much of a try before, so who’s to say he doesn’t actually like it?
Of course, there’s no way he can let Eddie know this. Not when he looks so damn smug already.
“Oh, metal,” Steve repeats casually, like it was exactly what he was expecting Eddie to say. “Yeah, that’s cool. Metal is… cool. I like metal.”
Eddie snorts. “Sure,” he replies, unconvinced. “Who’s your favorite then?”
Shit. What the fuck is he supposed to say to that?
Like a shining beacon, Eddie’s vest catches his eye — his vest that’s adorned with patches and pins from what have to be all sorts of different metal bands, right? All Steve has to do is pick one. Easy . His gaze bounces from the silver W.A.S.P. pin above his breast pocket, to the Mötorhead patch on his shoulder, to the Megadeth patch near the edge where Eddie’s fiddling with the inside corner.
There’s so many to choose from, and Steve’s brain scrambles to pick the perfect one, the right one. Naturally, his mouth has other plans.
“Mötordeth,” Steve blurts with all of the confidence of someone who knows exactly what he’s talking about. Too bad it’s all bullshit.
Bullshit that Eddie absolutely sees right through.
His eyebrows fly up, and his lips purse, like he’s trying hard to hold back a grin. “Mötordeth?” He repeats, giving Steve the chance to backtrack. To admit right now that he’s got no fucking clue about metal music. He meets Steve’s eyes dead on and stares , like he can compel Steve to drop the shtick just from the force of those big doe eyes.
But Steve’s had lots of practice with the gremlins. He knows how to resist. So he just nods and stares back . “What? You haven’t… you haven’t heard of them?”
Eddie opens his mouth, but Steve cuts him off.
“Don’t tell me I’m an even bigger metalhead than Eddie Munson ,” Steve gushes, feigning shock at the revelation.
Eddie breaks the stare, the first to crack, and he drops his eyes to his lap as his resolve splinters and his smile finally wins out, spreading across his mouth and popping his dimples hard. He shakes his head and reaches for his hair, tugging it over his mouth, but it’s too late. Steve’s seen the damage.
“Fuck off,” Eddie says, laughter in his voice, and he shoves his shoulder into Steve’s. “You are so not.”
Steve pushes his shoulder back into Eddie’s and grins back at him. “You got me,” he admits. “I don’t know shit about metal. But I still think your band is cool as hell.”
Before Steve can ask about any upcoming shows, the bus arrives. By the time they’re situated in their seats (together again), the topic has changed.
On Friday, Steve’s got a pep in his step as he makes his way to the bus stop.
The Steve of a week ago would never have believed that riding the bus would be something he’d look forward to — he hadn’t been thrilled with the idea on Monday, so by Friday? Yeah, he was sure he’d be downright pissy about it.
But that was before Eddie Munson.
Eddie Munson and his useless leather jacket and sopping wet hair. Eddie Munson and his charming wit and devilish smile. Eddie Munson and his miles and miles of talent and skill.
Eddie Munson and his ridiculous penchant for not carrying an umbrella.
A giddy flurry of something erupts in Steve’s stomach just thinking about him. He can’t pinpoint when exactly that started, but it’s a thing now. The butterflies. He hasn’t felt them in a while. Not like this. Steve had almost given up on feeling them ever again. Had almost thrown in his towel on his search. It’s hard to be hopeful when everywhere he looks he comes up empty.
Turns out he’s just been looking in the wrong places, apparently.
Because, against all odds, he likes Eddie.
Likes seeing his goofy face. Likes spending time with him. Likes hearing what he has to say.
It surprises him, but it’s true.
And Steve is just a short walk away from seeing him again.
It isn’t pouring yet; the rain just comes down in a heavy sprinkle, but it’s only getting heavier with each passing second. Steve picks up his pace, wanting to make it to the stop and to Eddie before it gets any worse.
Eddie waits for him by the bench with his hands tucked into his pockets, hair shining with the droplets that cling. He smiles when he spots Steve and starts to close the distance, meeting him halfway.
He’s a few steps away when the sky does decide to open up.
It’s almost comical the way Eddie’s big eyes grow ever bigger, his mouth falling open in a silent yelp as he jumps forward, reaching out to grab onto Steve’s arm and pull himself to safety beneath the proffered umbrella.
“My savior,” Eddie jokes, still holding onto Steve’s arm, fingers curled around the crook of his elbow.
Steve can feel the burn of them through his layers.
“Okay, I have to ask,” Steve starts, turning towards Eddie. “Do you, like, not own an umbrella?”
Eddie’s brows pull together, mouth twisting. His hand leaves Steve’s arm and he starts to sway back, like he wants to maybe put some distance between himself and Steve, even with the rain spilling down around them, and oh, oh no, that’s not what Steve meant. That’s not what he wanted.
He reaches out to stop Eddie from going far, but he doesn’t grab onto his arm. Just lets his hand hover near it. He doesn’t want Eddie to feel trapped.
“I’m not— I’m not kicking you out from under mine!” Steve says quickly. “I’m just curious,” he clarifies. “Like, I show up every day after you, and you’re just. Standing in the rain. Waiting for me. Do you— does that not bother you? Does it not make you want your own umbrella?”
Eddie relaxes, settling back into his place beside Steve, then he shrugs. “It’s just a little water,” he says.
“Okay, what about a better jacket then? Like one that’s actually waterproof,” Steve asks, pinching at the wet leather covering Eddie’s arm.
Eddie shakes his elbow to get Steve off of him, more for show out of any real annoyance. He tilts his head and raises an eyebrow. “A rain jacket? One of those ugly yellow vinyl things?” He scrunches his nose and shakes his head. “That wouldn’t be very metal, now, would it?”
“Doesn’t have to be yellow ,” Steve points out, rolling his eyes fondly.
Eddie shakes his head again. “No thanks.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Steve laughs.
Eddie just grins.
The bus arrives a few minutes later, and Steve realizes Eddie never said if he owns an umbrella or not.
Whatever. It’s not like the answer is all that important anyways. Steve’s more than happy to share his.
Saturday brings more rain and a vicious wind.
Steve goes against his grain and pulls a hat over his head this morning, all too willing to flatten his hair horribly if it means his ears stay warm. He takes one of the scarves (red and orange striped in a charming homemade knit — a gift from Claudia Henderson, sweet sweet woman that she is) from the hook by the door and wraps it around his neck, tucking it into his coat. Before he leaves, he snatches another one to bring for Eddie. God knows that man isn’t going to be prepared for this weather, and Steve doesn’t want him freezing to death. A scarf won’t do much about the rain, but it’ll help keep him at least a little warm, and it’s better than nothing.
It’s a struggle to keep the umbrella open against the wind, but Steve blusters through it, holding on tight as he approaches the bus stop.
When Steve sees Eddie by the bench, he shakes his head to himself, tutting under his breath. Just as he thought, Eddie’s wardrobe is no different — well, actually. That’s not true. Steve can see the end of a dark sweater poking out from under his leather jacket. There’s still no proper jacket, but at least his layers are thicker today. Steve has to give him that. He hopes he’s got some nice, wooly socks beneath those boots. And, oh, those are new too. Boots instead of his usual sneakers. That’s good.
His hair is flat against his skull, drenched, and Steve wishes he would’ve thought to grab a hat for Eddie too.
“You’re late ,” Eddie complains in lieu of a greeting. He hugs his arms tighter around his chest and presses against Steve’s side as he dips beneath his umbrella.
“I’m not late ,” Steve replies, glancing down at his watch to double check. Sure enough, he’s right. Not late. “You’re just cold ,” he laughs.
Eddie pouts at him, but doesn’t have anything to bark back with, so Steve counts that as a win.
It’s then that he remembers the scarf.
“Hold this for a second,” he tells Eddie, thrusting out the umbrella handle for him to take.
Eddie accepts it automatically, but not without question. “What are you doing?” He asks, watching Steve carefully.
Steve just holds up one finger and then reaches into his jacket pocket. He pulls the scarf out and untangles it, holding each end in his hands. He faces Eddie fully and holds it up with a lopsided grin. “Brought something for you,” he tells him.
Surprise lights up across Eddie’s face like christmas lights, and he opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, only nothing comes out. He’s speechless , so it seems.
Steve fights the giddy little laughter that wants to bubble up at that, instead swallows it down and stows away this happy, fluttery feeling it brings him for later.
He moves closer, close enough that the toes of their shoes knock together, and he brings the scarf around the back of Eddie’s head. He drapes it so each end settles over Eddie’s shoulders, and he could leave it at that. Could let Eddie adjust it himself, how he likes it. But Steve doesn’t want to step away yet. Doesn’t want to leave Eddie’s space. So he tugs on one end of the scarf, pulls it longer than the other so he can loop it around Eddie’s neck once, twice. Then he smooths each end down, straightens out the strings at the end so they sit flat.
Eddie still hasn’t said a word, but when Steve finally steps back, he can hear him exhale shakily.
Their eyes meet, then, and Eddie’s sparkle with something warm, something soft. He’s looking at Steve like he’s some sort of marvel , and Steve’s insides squirm in the best kind of way.
“Thanks, Steve,” Eddie says, and those two words do more to fill Steve with warmth than his hat and scarf and coat combined.
“‘Course, Eddie,” Steve replies and holds his hand out to take the umbrella back.
Eddie passes it over, and their fingers brush in the handoff.
It sends sparks through the tips of Steve’s fingers and down his whole arm, and he gets so lost in that little wisp of a touch that he is fully unprepared for the gust of wind that sweeps through the air then. It blows hard against the umbrella, pulling roughly at the canopy and rattling the runner dangerously, and very nearly turns the whole thing inside out.
Steve yelps out and tightens his hold on the handle, but the umbrella rustles wildly and Steve can feel his grip slipping.
Just before the wind tears the umbrella from his hand completely, Eddie’s flies out to curl around it too. His hand lands just above Steve’s, fingers curling tightly around the wooden handle. His pinky ends up overlapping with Steve’s, fitting snugly in the space between.
Eddie’s fingers are cold, but that isn’t what makes Steve lose his breath.
He forgets about trying to keep the umbrella steady as his gaze snaps over to Eddie. And it’s Steve’s turn to look at him like he’s the marvel.
Eddie’s already looking back.
They hold each other’s gaze for a moment, but Eddie is the first to break it, ducking his head down and reaching for his hair. The scarf hides his mouth, but when he glances up a second later, Steve can see the almost shy sort of curve that peeks out from behind it. The something sweet that pulls at the corners. That pops his dimples.
A twin smile curls onto Steve’s face, and, feeling brave, he tucks his pinky more securely beneath Eddie’s. Fits their fingers together properly.
Eddie doesn’t let go of the umbrella until the bus rolls up, even as the wind settles around them.
When they board, they take seats next to each other again and sit close enough that they’re pressed up against one another, shoulder to thigh, the line of their bodies blurring together into one.
It’s Sunday and Steve is running late.
The storm that brought all of that wind yesterday wreaked havoc through Hawkins, knocking out most of the power by nightfall. This, of course, means that this morning, Steve’s trusty digital alarm clock does not go off.
His internal clock must have noticed something was off though, because he wakes with a start and a horrible horrible pit in his stomach.
Thankfully, his alarm not going off is the only actual problem (Steve doesn’t know what he would have done if it had been an Upside Down thing, he really doesn’t), but it still kicks his ass into gear. He rushes through his morning routine, doesn’t dawdle over his clothes, skips his usual breakfast of slightly burnt toast and not-sweet-enough coffee all so he can make it to the bus stop in time.
He can’t miss the bus.
Except, in his rush, he forgets to grab his umbrella on his way out the door.
Outside, the rain isn’t coming down too hard yet, so Steve isn’t too pressed about it, and one glance at his watch tells him he doesn’t have time to turn back for it even if he wanted to.
Of course, the universe must really have it out for him today, because the rain starts to pick up, falling harder and harder until it’s thundering down around him in sheets.
By the time he makes it to the bus stop, he is soaked to the bone .
Eddie does a double take when he first sees Steve walking up. Like he almost didn’t recognize Steve without his umbrella.
As Steve comes to a stop at his side, a crooked grin pulls at Eddie’s mouth like taffy. He takes in Steve’s drooping hair, his sopping clothes, the way his shoes squish with each step — the scowl taking over his whole face.
“No umbrella today?” Eddie asks, amusement twinkling in his tone.
“ No ,” Steve huffs out, shoving his hands beneath his armpits and hunching over. It doesn’t do anything to keep the rain from drenching him further, but it makes him feel a little better anyways. “I was in a rush this morning. Overslept,” he explains. “Forgot to grab it on the way out and didn’t have time to go back for it.”
Eddie bumps his shoulder into Steve’s in consolation, then holds up a finger. Hang on a second .
He slides his backpack from his shoulders, swinging it to settle against his chest, and he tugs the zipper down and roots around the insides for a moment before pulling out a— an umbrella . One of those compact, retractable ones. Small and black and in his backpack .
“Has that—” Steve starts. Stops. Squints. “Have you had that the whole time?” He asks, dumbfounded.
“Maybe,” Eddie answers, even though the answer is so obviously yes .
All this time, all this time — his very own umbrella right there in his backpack, and he never pulled it out once.
Steve doesn’t know what to say. “I— but— you— you never used it!” He finally gets out. “ Why ?”
Eddie shrugs, smiles. “I liked sharing with you,” he answers like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
It punches the breath right out of Steve’s lungs.
I liked sharing with you , Eddie says. But Steve hears it for what it is: I like you.
Enough to stand in the rain. Enough to weather the cold. Enough to do it for a whole week.
It’s so much. It’s so much , and Steve wants to kiss him. He wants to run straight into Eddie’s arms and kiss him . But there are other people at this bus stop, other eyes that have no business witnessing such a personal moment, and he isn’t so sure Eddie would appreciate that here, now.
Even if Steve is sure that Eddie wants to kiss him back.
That’s okay though. They have plenty of time for that later.
For now, though, Steve can close that distance between them, can sidle up to Eddie under his umbrella, can look at him with big, hopeful eyes and ask, “Eddie, do you— do you want to get breakfast? With me?”
Beside him, Eddie grins so wide his dimples pop. “Steve Harrington, I thought you’d never ask.”