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They’re drunk when it happens, because when aren’t they drunk in that month after the end of the world? If Eddie isn’t drunk he’s going to start thinking — thinking about Chrissy, about town-wide manhunts, his Uncle Wayne in the woods shouting his name and not getting an answer — and he thinks it’s the same for Robin and Steve. They have an unspoken pact that they don’t really talk about all the shit that went down unless they’re making jokes about it, no serious talking, no actual helpful unpacking of all the traumatic shit that happened. No fucking way.
One time he and Robin count the little silver scars on Steve’s face, drunkenly giggling when Steve wrinkles up his nose and tells them they can add a couple hundred for mental scarring and genuine, real traumatic brain injury. None of that is funny. Not that it matters. He and Steve have matching scars, still only half-healed and raw, bursting over their waists and necks. Robin’s missing some of her fingerprints from the Molotov cocktails (Steve calls her an idiot for that because he’s not lost any, Robin maintains she’s just clumsy and it isn’t her fault).
So they’re drunk — cross faded actually, Steve and Robin are the only people Eddie lets have his stash for free, even if he has known them like a month (Gareth will kill him if he finds that out) — and laughing about some stupid shit. And it happens, the big it for any person of the queer variety. Eddie’s never actually had to come out to anyone before. Uncle Wayne knew because he saved Eddie from his parents, that was a long custody battle, and hasn’t ever needed Eddie to say it out loud; Gareth knows because he caught Eddie making out with a guy after a show once and had only rolled his eyes and said, “Man, you’ve got to be more careful”; and of course all the gays and homophobes he’s ever met, for some reason both of those groups have excellent gaydars.
“And I thought serving ice-cream with Steve Harrington was going to be the worst part of my summer,” says Robin, breathless with stupid stoned laughter. “How wrong was I?”
Steve is slapping her. “I’m not that bad,” he protests, getting up to sit on her where she’s lying on the floor (they’re all on the floor, Eddie forgets why). Eddie thinks, dumb and high, that he would love to be Robin, between Steve Harrington’s thighs. He would love to be Robin period if it means he gets to date or be fuck buddies (or whatever those two have got going on) with Steve fucking Harrington.
And apparently because he’s a fucking idiot that translates to saying, “I thought being gay was going to be the worst part of my life and then bam fucking aliens .”
Robin sits up so fast she almost bangs her head on Steve’s chin, who is still straddling her lap and like, what wouldn’t Eddie give to be Robin right now and shit now his brain is catching up with his mouth and why did he say that and why won’t Robin and Steve stop staring at him like that, oh shit . “You’re gay too?” says Robin and that sort of wipes Eddie’s brain clean and white and static.
“Huh?” Too? “You’re… bisexual?”
She frowns. “Lesbian.”
“But you’re dating Steve,” says Eddie, incredulously, his brain hurts. He needs another beer. Or maybe sleep. Or maybe another shot, actually, beer is gross anyway. “How are you dating Steve if you’re a lesbian?”
“Why does everyone think we’re dating?” says Steve at the same time as Robin says, “I’m not dating the dingus, Jesus Christ how many times do I have to say that?” They look at each other like get a load of this guy and then look at how they’re sitting and burst into stupid snorting giggles.
“What was I supposed to think?” Eddie groans, rolling over onto his front. Apparently they aren’t going to run him out of town for being gay, brilliant. (Eddie still might throw himself off a roof for even saying he was gay aloud, how fucking dumb is he?) “You’re all over each other all the time, I thought it was like a really badly kept secret or something. Even the kids think you’re dating.” He flings his arms up in the air as they keep snorting and wheezing, Robin is lying back on the carpet again and Steve is still in her lap, leaning forwards over her as he laughs. “You’re like picture perfect couple,” he whines, “stop laughing at me.”
“Rob, Rob, we’re collecting them all. Bisexual,” he says and he points at himself, Eddie’s brain checks out for a moment, “lesbian, gay. In Hawkins, Rob. Gayest piece of shit I’ve ever —”
“You’re the gayest piece of shit,” she says and they’re laughing again.
“You’re bi?” Neither of them hear him they’re laughing so hard which is probably a good thing because he thinks he sounds desperately hopeful and that would be stunningly embarrassing.
Later they’re lying in bed, weed and drink heavy. Eddie’s brain is swimming, the dark shadows of Steve’s room fluctuating and wriggling. Steve is — He turns over so he’s on his side, staring into the warmth of the bed where over Robin’s shoulder he can see Steve, sprawled everywhere, hair a mess. Steve is — Steve likes men and Eddie has a chance, however small, of getting to be with a guy. Of getting to be with Steve . He’s pretty sure Steve will at least fuck him, surely there can’t be that many gay guys in Hawkins? Eddie’s met like, three and two of those were college boys from out of town.
He closes his eyes, thinks it’s fucking insane how he’s ended up here with two friends like him, friends so good he’ll let them have free weed. Jesus.
Eddie fucking Munson gets this, does he? After everything. Is this his prize? He’s still shaking slightly, he thinks, somewhere deep and untouchable, that he ever let it slip. That he ever opened his big dumb mouth and said those words, especially when Steve Harrington had been right there. And sure, he’d been wrong. Wrong about them, wrong about Steve — Steve who… But it hardly matters, the fear is still there, quaking and beating itself against his ribs. Fucking idiot , it tells him, you fucking idiot , even though they had been just like him, even though it had been fine .
It’s so scary, sometimes — all the time, really. Just to be Eddie, sometimes it’s so scary it seems improbable that he’ll ever make it out alive, like a part of him was always destined for something tragic . But he’s allowed, just for the moment, maybe only for the moment, this . He’s allowed this. Robin and Steve, moonlit and quiet in sleep, welcoming him with an openness that aches maybe more than them spurning him.
And then he doesn’t really think about Steve any more and whether he has a chance, it doesn’t really matter any more. It can’t matter. Nothing can matter more than them and their laughter and their weed heavy eyes on him and he doesn’t need to know, in that moment, what cheap beer tastes like on Steve’s lips. He only needs to know that they like him — it’s not even love he needs — they like him , this girl and this boy, enough to let him into this space they’ve carved themselves on the other side of the waterfall on the edge of the map, where the world has reformed itself around aliens and demon wizards and little kids with superpowers.
He doesn’t need anything, in that moment, more than the sleep that takes him, calm finally, into their shared nightmares, ready to be shaken awake by a gentle hand. They’re drunk when it happens, but Eddie knows they’ll be sober by morning and nothing will have changed.